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itsnothappening · 2 years

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and we meet again | daminette

word count: +0.8k

summary: "i'm looking for an alien. his name is thanos. or something like that."

a/n: do i have any idea of what i'm doing? absolutely not. will i continue? most likely.

ao3 | wattpad | prompts | masterlist

part 1

Marinette ignored the harsh glow of the screen on her eyes as she scrolled through her laptop, looking at websites that would probably get her arrested.

In her defence, she was doing it for a good reason. Which usually meant it was for the safety of the miraculous.

But no one needed to know that.

"Marinette," Tikki said, floating by her owner. "I'm sure whatever you're searching for can wait for a few hours, while you sleep."

The fashion designer groaned, running her stiff fingers through her hair that was sticking out in various directions.

"No, Tikki, it can't because if it goes too far," Marinette said, closing a tab furiously. "It's going to destroy our planet as we know it."

Tikki stared at her, completely unfazed. "Well then take a break. I'm sure the world is not going to end in the next few seconds."

Marinette paused her blindingly fast typing, considering Tikki's offer.

Her answer was an immediate and resounding no.

The other kwamis who had come to support Tikki's point sighed in annoyance.

"Really, Guardian," said Wayzz, floating next to Tikki, "I would very much like it if you listened to Tikki; what you are doing is not healthy. Also, Master Fu once told me, if you take a break, sometimes what you're looking for appears right after."

That made Marinette pause. And her rumbling stomach, but we're just going to ignore that for now.

"Well," Marinette stretched the word out, her eyes flicking from kwami to kwami. "I suppose I could take a few minutes break."

The cheers of the kwami echoed around the penthouse.

Marinette sighed in bliss as she took a sip of her coffee, feeling a little less tired than before.

"Coffee," she announced, carefully sitting on her couch. "Is god's gift to Earth."

"Nah, Pigtails," Plagg said, floating in front of her. "It's cheese. Always and forever."

He groaned in delight as he gobbled up a large piece of cheese.

Giving him the stink-eye, Marinette turned back to her laptop, continuing her search.

"If I could just find the name..." Marinette took another sip of her coffee before typing furiously again.

"If I may ask," said Nooroo, blinking his large eyes. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Marinette stretched her back, cringing at the loud crack it let out. "I'm looking for an alien. His name is Thanos. Or something like that."

"Then I suppose we can help each other."

Marinette froze as the familiar, smooth and silky voice of Damian Al-Ghul rung in her ears.

She turned around slowly, cringing at her state, slipping her confident mask on.

"Al-Ghul," she said coolly, straightening her back. By now, all of the kwamis had flown into their respective hiding places, knowing who Damian was. "What are you doing here?"

Currently, Damian was perched upon her windowsill, which, for your reference, was quite high up in the sky.

"First," he asked smoothly, deep voice rippling. "May I come in?"

At her suspicious look, he held his hands up, leaving him in a precarious position. "I don't have any weapons. I have not come here, intending to fight with you."

At Marinette's signal from behind her back, Plagg and Wayzz flew around Damian, scanning him for any weapons.

Plagg flew in front of her after a few seconds, casually saying, "He's clear, Pigtails."

Too casually.

Marinette saw the look in his eyes and mentally pinched her nose because it meant that Plagg wanted to tell her something.

It could wait.

"All right," Marinette said, suddenly aware of her hair and how it must be looking. "Come in."

Before she had even finished her sentence, Damian was already leaping inside, like a cat.

Oh kwami, Marinette thought, suddenly having an inkling of what Plagg wanted to tell her.

She really hoped she was wrong.

Once Damian was standing in front of her, Marinette stalked towards him, eyes cold as ice. "Now answer my question from before, Al-Ghul. Why are you here?"

Damian gave her that infuriating smirk, the one she still remembered from when he kidnapped her two weeks ago.

"I assume we are both looking for the same...alien," he said, looking slightly annoyed at the thought. "Thanos."

Marinette raised her eyebrows, unwilling to believe him. "I suppose we are. Provided you are telling the truth."

"I am," Damian said, looking more annoyed now. "Some of my assassins are going off track, assassinating people who they shouldn't be. I have been forced to dispose of them, their actions drawing too much attention to the League. I did my research a week ago and came across the same name you did, as well as the word 'miraculous.' I suppose that explains your involvement as well."

Marinette was intrigued now, Wayzz's confirmation that Damian was telling the truth reassuring her. "Well, did you come across the term infinity stones?"

"I did." Damian looked and sounded completely confused, proving to Marinette that this was something out of their world, something that none of them knew.

"Well," Marinette knew she was making a terrible decision and she should probably stop herself but two minds were better than one right?

"How about working together to figure this out?"

Marinette would remember Damian's expression for the rest of her life because it was that priceless.

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delusionland · 3 years

Note

' okay , before you give me a lecture , least i remind you that i'm not the first kid you have who this happened to , ' dick says , cryptic as the door opens. he's unable to keep the serious expression for long , a wide grin spreading across his face , and his little munchkin certainly helps out by no longer hiding behind his jacket ( and the bulk of his body ) and instead floating upwards ( still holding onto his jacket ) until she could peer over his shoulder to get a good look at alfred for herself. ' mar'i , meet your grandfather , alfred. alfred , meet your granddaughter , mar'i. '

‘Alfred, my good man! Let me introduce you to---’ A young boy stands before an excessively lanky man smelling of sandlewood, just past twenty. The boy tries to hide behind his Father’s pantlegs, a bit older than you would expect to display such shyness. Niether of them want to be here. His Father tells him to straighten up, to face his new butler head-on, like a man. In that, Alfred hears his own Father’s gruff voice, a larger than life personality that would fill any room he entered. The young boy’s cheeks pink, and he delicately places forth his hand. Alfred smiles, bows, and kneels to his level.

“You know, I’ve heard of you.” Of course he has. Even across the pond---the newspapers tell stories of the Wayne boy and his transition. Alfred had shared the standard English breakfast with boyfriend & girlfriend alike with news of the boy’s journey for months. Americans, they had all said. Leave the kid alone.

The boy’s brows knit, furling wrinkles into light fuzz, his forehead like sphinx cat’s back. And in that moment, Alfred can swear he can read the child’s mind, so apparent is every worry in his trembling lips, his still full & round cheeks. He does not know whether to retract his hand. It twitches, and the boy turns just slightly as if to request back-up from his Father.

“All good things, Master Bruce.” He takes his hand, shakes it. Joy spreads across his face like a rash of happiness. In the next months, Alfred would guide the child through a bout of chicken pox, the flu, and several different private school bullies. Each time he would play Bruce’s worries like a well-tuned viola, turning wrinkles like strings to well-strung notes of pride.

There’s nothing like meeting a child for the first time.

‘This is---’ ‘Richard Grayson.’ Bruce’s booboos did not prepare Alfred for Dick’s casts, stitches and fractures---but fortunately for the family, while Bruce was off learning poisonous darts and magic, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth was learning much more practical skills. Long nights with hot cocoa and marshmellows, helping Richard with his homework when Bruce was not so inclined. Richard’s face was not so chubby & elastic as his second Father’s, and his sullen grimace to start with often bore more resemblance to his second Father’s now than then, but when he smiled----oh, the world wanted to do backflips with that boy.

‘You have some explaining to do, Master Bruce.’ ‘His name is Jason, he---’ Alfred learned just as much from Jason as Jason did from Bruce. Everyone calls Dick and Steph the chatty ones, but Jason? At his most hyperactive, Dick couldn’t hold a candle to him. Jason settled into a life of luxury far quicker than Dick---loved to have a ‘cool British Butler friend.’ They shared so many laughs, despite Jason’s near-constant disrespect to start. They bonded over being poor, they bonded over Bruce, they bonded over a mutual love of tea & junk food & music. Bruce talked of Jason as if he was always a criminal---born bad & angry. But Alfred remembers Jason’s cheeks full of brandname junk food, what he called ‘the good stuff’---dancing to Little Richard like no one was watching.

‘Damian. Damian Wayne.’ The boy introduced himself, every bit the image of his Father, as if from an alternate dimension, a little brother lost to time. In every way, Alfred had wondered when exactly Bruce had changed from that chubby-cheeked boy into the Bat. Was it Alfred’s fault---or was it something more, a biological assurance that he would flock to the night with his level of trauma? He could not correct his mistakes with Master Bruce, now. But he could try to help Master Damian, who had a hidden soft spot for animals that untethered his wrinkled brow---and Bruce’s same seasonal sniffles, that only Alfred had the proper cure for.

Alfred can’t help himself, looking at this girl, the well of tears in his eyes. He sees all the youths he’s met, most important to his soul, in her face. The spitting image of the handsome Dick and beautiful Kori---and yet, so perfectly her own. Shy, and sweet. Hiding, just like Bruce.

“Hello, Miss Mar’i.” He bows his head, so pleased that in his old age, he no longer has to kneel or crouch to get eye level with his grandchildren. “It is so wonderful to meet you. I am so pleased to be able to welcome you to one of your Father’s many homes. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I have served this house for three generations, over fifty years of service. And I am delighted to serve you & your family for the rest of my days.”

“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate, with mini-a-ture marshmellows? Your Father is still very fond of the beverage, as I’m sure you very well know.”

Regardless of whether or not the child is capable of speech, he will continue to talk to her like she is an adult, capable of understanding, capable of listening, capable of so much more than any adult that condescends or speaks down to will be able to comprehend. He can tell already, as Mar’i smiles down at him, and he puts out his hand for her to take and hold. They are going to get along absolutely splendidly. He feels played like a fiddle, and the bittersweet song finally errs more towards the sweet.

#ic: alfredo #ch: alfredo #yoakkemae

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