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crescent-woods · 6 months

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 17: Garden (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch17: Garden

Luka had been right: it was a nice day for a ride. Still, Marinette had been surprised when he led her outside to where his motorbike was parked. She hadn’t even known he owned a bike, but really this was the first time she’d known any of them to go on a reap that wasn’t…well, immediately within the city. Most places they needed to go could be reached by walking or taking the metro.

She’d had a scooter, when she was alive. Her Nonna had gotten it for her for her sixteenth birthday, and she had kept it in pristine condition. It wasn’t quite the same as riding on the back of her Nonna’s bike, but for Marinette’s purposes – getting around in the city – it had been perfect.

Riding with Luka had felt like riding with her Nonna again, except she had never found herself pressing closer to her Nonna’s back, or tucking her face against the back of her neck to sniff at her hair, or…

Marinette was starting to think she might be developing a little crush.

…when he took a bend too fast, tipping the bike too close to the pavement for her comfort, and she screamed and clung to him even tighter and he just laughed…she realized she definitely had developed a crush.

And it wasn’t exactly little.

“You ok?” he asked, still chuckling as he pulled into a parking space at the gardens. He pulled his helmet off and looked back at her, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw the way he was grinning at her. “Didn’t scare you too bad, did I?”

“…you’re a madman, Luka,” she said, tightening her arms around his waist. His smile softened, and her heart stuttered in her chest when he dropped a hand to rest over hers. His thumb slipped under the sleeve of her coat to brush against her wrist absently.

“Couffaine,” he said, as if that should explain everything. Thinking back on some of Juleka’s stories about her family, she supposed it did. He squeezed her hand and turned back to the gardens, nodding as he checked the clock on the tower above the entrance. “We’ve got about half an hour before K. Truscott is supposed to go. Let me try to find him, and then the rest of the day is yours. Your reap was for this morning, right? So we don’t need to head back right away?”

“…yeah,” she said. He looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her, tapping a finger against her hands.

“So…shall we go? Or did I scare you so bad your legs forgot how to work?” he teased. She sucked in a breath – she definitely did not squeak – and scrambled off the bike, spluttering apologies as she tried to remove the helmet. It felt stuck, though, and the more she fought with it the worse it got. She stopped when she felt his hands batting hers away, his warm chuckle making her face burn. “Easy, easy.” When the helmet was off and she could see him without the visor, his smile softened. “Better?”

“We…we should go find Truscott,” she said, swallowing thickly. “That…that fucker’s not gonna reap himself, right?”

He was laughing again as he reached for her hand, nodding as he lead her away from the bike and towards the gardens.

It was maybe a little too late when Marinette realized, listening to his laugh and wondering at how his hand felt in hers, that she might be in trouble.

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crescent-woods · 6 months

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 11: Folklore (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

This week has been a little hectic, and my time to work on this was…not what I wanted. It did not help that it also totally ran away from me? I was playing with ideas, about gravelings and missed appointments and souls going south. There was so much lore to explore in a third season that was completely abandoned by the time we got the movie, and that whole storyline with Ray and what exactly a graveling could be still haunts me.

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch11: Folklore

“Are you ready for this?” Luka asked, glancing down at her as they stood outside the door to the café. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line, and her thumbs were picking at the cuffs of the sweater he’d made her. A nervous tick.

“No,” she said, her voice flat. “How mad is she?”

“It’s Mendeleiev,” he said, shrugging as he flicked his cigarette towards the pavement and extinguished it with his boot. “She’s always mad.”

“…how much worse is she?” she asked. He sighed and tipped his head back, staring at the early morning clouds.

“How mad do you think, Marinette? You’ve been…not awol. Not really,” he said, shrugging. “She likes you, though. Believe it or not, she does like you. She hasn’t had any post-its for you the past few days, so I think she was honestly trying to give you time to process. She knew it would be a difficult job.”

Marinette bristled at that.

Mendeleiev fucking knew?

And she had sent her in anyway?

…part of her had suspected that, what with the warning their ‘boss’ had tried to give her the morning of, but to hear it actually confirmed…

Mendeleiev gave them hardly any information. A name. A location. An estimated time of death. She had always assumed the head reaper didn’t know any more than that. What other secrets was the woman keeping?

“She had a post-it for you yesterday, though,” Luka said, bringing her attention back to him. He was looking down the sidewalk, staring at some nondescript point in the distance. “She asked Fred to give it to you. He asked her not to.”

“…he didn’t say anything,” Marinette said, and Luka sighed. He stepped around her, his side brushing her arm in the process, and opened the door.

“Then she’s probably pretty fucking pissed, if you missed an appointment,” he said, nodding for her to go in. Marinette swallowed, squared her shoulders, and made it barely two steps into the café before Mendeleiev was pushing her back out, Fred in tow.

“Field trip,” Mendeleiev bit, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the street. “Now.”

“Hey!” Luka called, but he stopped when Fred laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the older reaper, confused, but Fred just shook his head and followed after them. Luka watched as they disappeared in the early morning crowd, a nervous feeling he didn’t like settling into his gut. Fred hadn’t been wearing his hat, he noted. It had been in his hands, and it had looked almost crushed from how the man had been anxiously wringing it. And Mendeleiev had looked pissed.

He wondered how bad it was, if both of them were in trouble.

A skittering above caught his attention, and his eyes turned up in time to see a graveling scurrying over the awnings of the shops, moving in the same direction Mendeleiev had taken the others. That feeling in his gut got worse as another graveling peered over the roof at him. When it realized he had seen it, it hissed and swiped at the ledge of the building, knocking off one of the exterior lights. Luka stepped back before it could hit him, and the second graveling raced off after its friend.

He picked up the light, intending to give it to someone inside, and hoped Marinette would be all right.

– V –

“I hope your little vacation helped, Marinette,” Mendeleiev bit as they turned a corner. Marinette felt herself bristling at the words.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Vacation? I was not on vacation, you –”

“Then what would you like to call it? Sabbatical? Rest? Temper tantrum?” Mendeleiev asked, stopping at a crosswalk and turning her head to glare over her shoulder. There was a challenge in her hard eyes, but Marinette had been an aspiring designer once upon a time. She had rubbed elbows with the likes of Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste. She knew how to stand up to challenging people.

“You sent me into that house knowing full well what that man was going to do,” she said, her voice tight. “You made me an accomplice to murder, Philece.”

It was the first time Marinette had dared to use Mendeleiev’s first name.

There was a spark in the older reaper’s eyes, one that Marinette wasn’t sure if she recognized as the woman being amused or impressed. On her grandfather, she used to call the look constipated.

“I gave you a job, Marinette,” she said, turning to cross her arms over her chest. “I don’t control how they die any more than you do. We just –”

“Facilitate the transfer, I know,” Marinette spat, “and that’s fucking bullshit. This wasn’t External Influences, Philece. This was murder.”

“Technically murder is an ‘external influence’, and therefore fully within our jurisdiction,” Mendeleiev said, an eyebrow lifting over her glasses. “Marinette. Believe me, I know. I understand how hard this job can be. And I tried to give you time to cope with this, but the world moves on, kid. The job still needs to get done. And last night, you failed to do that.”

“I didn’t even know I had a job last night!” Marinette cried.

“You would have, if you had bothered showing up for breakfast,” Mendeleiev said. She turned her eyes on Fred, and they narrowed behind her lenses with a glare. “If your friends had been more considerate of the Rules.”

“…I told you she wasn’t ready,” Fred said, worrying his lip. He was still wringing his hat in his hands. “I told you not to give it to her.”

“And I said she was, and I gave it to her anyway,” Mendeleiev said, turning back to the light as it buzzed. They crossed the street, the two reapers following behind her like chastised children. “Not you. And now you both get to see what happens when we don’t do our jobs.”

“I did the job, though!” Fred argued. “I met him five minutes before his reap. I popped his soul. He should have been fine!”

“He wasn’t your soul to reap, Fred,” Mendeleiev said, stopping outside a nondescript building. Marinette looked up at the sign by the door, her eyes widening when she realized Mendeleiev had taken them to the city morgue.

…she had only been here once before, a few months back. For her own autopsy. Mendeleiev had claimed there would be a sense of catharsis in watching. It had just made Marinette sick.

“Some things you kids need to understand,” Mendeleiev said, her voice easily slipping into the lecturing tones of the teacher she had been. “Life and death. Ying and yang. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. It’s all about balance. People come and go. Live and die. It’s what they do. We make the going easier, however that going is meant to happen. If we do our jobs right, we catch them before the going. They don’t feel it, and they don’t get stuck. It’s a small comfort, but it’s all we can do to make things easier for the poor fucks we help.”

“…what do you mean, stuck?” Marinette asked, her voice low. Mendeleiev narrowed her eyes at her.

“P. Fischer was your reap, Marinette,” she said. “Not Fred’s. Come see what happens when you miss your appointment.”

It didn’t look like much, at first. Just another dead body on a table. That wasn’t anything new to Marinette: she had seen plenty of dead bodies over the past few months. Mendeleiev had led them inside and into the back with a few well-placed lies, and now they were standing over the corpse of P. Fischer, who looked…fine. Dead, but fine. They hadn’t even done his autopsy yet.

“I don’t understand,” Marinette finally said. “He’s…he’s still dead. Fred said he got his soul. What’s the problem?”

“The problem, kid…” Mendeleiev said, leaning back against the wall of coolers and folding her arms over her chest. She nodded towards the open cooler where the examiner had pulled out Fischer. “…is that he wasn’t Fred’s job. He’s dead, yes, and he’s still in there.”

“…what?” Fred asked, dropping his hat as his head snapped up to look at Mendeleiev. “But…I popped his soul! I know I did!”

“Fun little fact, Freddie,” Mendeleiev said, her eyes narrowing over her glasses. “He wasn’t your soul to pop. There are Rules, kids. Rules we can’t get around. This soul wasn’t assigned to you. It was assigned to Marinette. She’s the only one who can do it.”

“But…but…” Fred tried to say, shaking his head as his mind raced. “No. No. I know…a soul’s a soul! I’ve seen –!”

“A soul is not a soul, Fred,” Mendeleiev said, her voice harsh. “You should know it’s more complicated than that by now. They can’t miss their appointments because their souls go funny if left unchecked. We can’t miss their appointments because they suffer needlessly if we do. It’s bad customer service. Downright irresponsible.”

“…I didn’t…I didn’t know,” Marinette said, shaking her head. Mendeleiev’s expression softened, but only for a moment. “He…he asked for the reap. Couldn’t…why didn’t you just change the appointment?”

“It doesn’t work like that, kid,” Mendeleiev said. Marinette sucked in a breath, and Mendeleiev sighed. “You didn’t know. And maybe that’s on me, not warning you properly. Forgive me for expecting people to follow simple instructions.”

“Philece,” Fred said, but the reprimand was missing from his voice. He was still looking at the corpse, his hands curled into shaking fists at his sides.

“This thing we do. It’s not a game, kids,” she said, ignoring him. “It’s our responsibility. It’s the last kindness we can give in a world that’s usually too cruel to care. Now get the hell over here and do your damn job. This poor man’s suffered enough.”

Marinette approached the slab, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the man staring up at her through wide, unblinking eyes. She swallowed and brushed her hand along his arm, shivering when that gooseflesh feeling of a soul leaving its body chased up her arm. An instant later, the soul sat up on the slab, screaming.

She jumped back, but Mendeleiev was already behind her, a surprisingly comforting hand on her shoulder. She squeezed but said nothing, and Marinette swallowed against the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as Fischer continued to scream.

It seemed to take an eternity before he stopped.

When the screams finally cut out, he just…sat there. Staring at the wall of small metal doors, his eyes wide and mouth open. He was panting, his ragged, unnecessary breathing so loud in the quiet room that felt so much worse after the screaming.

“…Fischer?” Marinette finally asked, her voice soft, and he slowly turned his head. His face was twisted in fear. His misty hands gripped at the table, and Marinette was certain they’d be white-knuckled if he still had blood to blanch. She stepped forward cautiously, like you’d approach a wild dog, and held out her hand. “It’s…it’s ok, Fischer. It’s ok now.”

“…th…they put…they put me in the dark,” he choked out. His entire body was trembling. Marinette raised her hand and helped him off the slab, keeping her eyes on his face to give him some semblance of decency. “They put me in the dark.”

“I know, Fischer,” she said, her voice soft. She squeezed his hand, and he shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re safe now, Fischer,” Fred said, and the man’s eyes snapped to him at the voice. Fischer gave another yelp and stumbled back through the slab holding his body, his eyes locked on Fred.

“Y-you…” he gasped. “I saw you. Before…before…”

“I was trying to help,” Fred said, his voice miserable. Marinette swallowed and held her hand back out to Fischer.

“We’re friends, Fischer,” she said, and his eyes snapped back to her briefly.

“I couldn’t close my eyes,” he said, his eyes darting to each of them wildly as he clung to the wall of coolers behind him. He was trembling, from the unsteady arms misting against the metal doors to the legs quaking below the table. He was terrified. “They put me on that table, and then they put me in that box, and I couldn’t close my eyes. They shut the door. Why couldn’t they hear me? I was screaming...”

“…I’m so sorry,” Marinette said, her voice catching in her throat. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she was in front of the soul. She held out a hand and tried to ignore how it was shaking, too. “I’m so sorry. You never should have had to go through that, Fischer. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like the dark,” he said, his voice so small. So scared. “I don’t like it.”

“Where you’re going now, it won’t be dark anymore,” Marinette said. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and held her hand closer, forcing a smile on her face. “Come on. I have the prettiest lights to show you.”

It took a long moment, but eventually the soul laid his hand in Marinette’s. Her smile became steadier as she led him from the room, towards where she could see his lights materializing down the hall. They walked out the door, away from that cold, sterile room, and Mendeleiev found herself smiling as the door swung shut behind them.

“Maybe there’s hope for her after all,” she said. Beside her, Fred was staring at where his hat had landed on the ground.

“…I didn’t know, Philece,” he said, his voice softer than it usually was. “I didn’t…I just assumed…”

“I know,” Mendeleiev sighed. She reached into her pocket for a cigarette, then thought better of it. Her fingers fiddled with the pack in her pocket. She’d need to pick some more up soon. “And sometimes it works like that. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, as long as the soul’s dealt with. Most times it does, though.”

“She was hurting,” he said. “I just…I just wanted to give her a break. She’s had so much trouble adjusting to this life. I just wanted to help.”

“Then let her figure it out,” Mendeleiev said, turning towards him. “Show her the ropes. Let her learn why we do what we do. Tell her a ghost story if you must. Just get the message through her thick head: she’s a reaper now, like it or not, and death is just a part of life. Even the hard deaths. Especially the hard deaths.”

“A ghost story?” he asked, looking up with a slight smile. She looked back at the body that had been P. Fischer and shrugged.

“I heard tell once of a man who missed his appointment,” she said. “Early in life. A reaper went soft and refused to do their job. So the soul stayed, and it went sour, and the man grew up to do some terrible things.”

“What happened to him?” Fred asked. Mendeleiev fiddled with her cigarettes again, itching to light one.

“I heard a reaper killed him,” she said. She looked up, her eyes guarded. “Not popped his soul and watched as a graveling dropped a piano on his head. Beat him to death with a baseball bat or some shit.”

“…what…what happened to his soul?” Fred asked, an uneasy feeling stealing into him. Mendeleiev reached over and slid her hand over Fischer’s eyes, closing them. Her hand lingered on his head for a moment as she considered her words.

“It went sour,” she finally said. She looked p at Fred, that look in her eyes hardening. “He became a graveling, Fred. That’s what they are, you know. Those little bastards. Souls that rot and wither away, stinking up from the inside out. They don’t get lights. They stay, and they’re so mad about it they stir up shit for the rest of us.”

“But Fischer still died,” Fred said, swallowing.

“He did,” Mendeleiev nodded.

“He didn’t rot,” he said.

“He didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. She looked back at his corpse, the screams from when Marinette had finally pulled him out still echoing in her head. “Who knows what would have happened to him if we’d left him in there, though. If he’d been buried. If he’d had to crawl his way out of his own grave.”

“…I was just trying to help,” he said, shaking his head as he looked away from her. “It’s…it’s not fair, Philece. She’s just a kid. I was just…I was trying…it’s not fair.”

“It’s death, Fred,” she said, pushing the slab with Fischer’s body on it back into the wall and closing the door. She laid a hand on the cool metal, and if Fred didn’t know the woman any better he’d say she was saying a prayer for the deceased. “The Great Equalizer, they call it. It’s about the only thing in this world that is fair.”

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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THANK YOU, MAPPA!

呪術廻戦 S2 Ep. 12: Blunt Knife

#kdfjhaksdjchasldkfasd #jjk #nanami kento

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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#and theres a special seat waiting for them in heaven #doing GOD'S work here #jjk #jjk s2

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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wish that was me

#LORD HAVE MERCY #the way mappa CHOSE to animate this differently than the manga #they know! they know what we want!!!#jjk #sorry ml friends who don't care about beefy anime men this is tonight's menu

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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Even Superheroes Need a Hand

Normally I don't do great with word count limits (or word count goals) but I thought the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers minific challenge might be a good chance to try getting some mojo back. Instead of checking my word count I did a timed sprint, but apparently I gave myself a little too much time because I still came out well above word count.

I also kind of fizzled out at the end, not sure exactly where to go (probably should have rewatched the NY special bus scene, but I was too lazy).

But, I figure any writing is better than no writing, right?

No edits, just brain dump.

Fictober prompt Day 1: "It's not too late, let's go."

Even Superheroes Need a Hand

She was panicking. She could feel it in the way her heart felt like it was shoving up into her throat and choking her, still beating wildly the whole time. She was so stupid, she knew better, why did this always happen, why couldn’t she be on time for just one day—

Think. She needed to think. Solve the problem, that’s what we do right? Marinette put one hand on her purse, but guilt stopped her. There had to be another solution, Tikki wouldn’t like it if she just—but what else was she supposed to do? A taxi—did she have enough money for a—

“Marinette?”

Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring up at Luka, who was standing with one foot on the ground and the other still on the pedal of his bicycle. His brow furrowed in concern even as he looked at her. “Weren’t you supposed to go on your school trip today?” he asked. “I thought that’s why Juleka left early, to catch the bus.”

Marinette slumped, ashamed, and whipped her hand away from her purse to rub at the back of her head. “I—” Even as she stuttered out an explanation, she could see Luka taking in her suitcase and putting together what must have happened.

Her babbled explanation was cut off by the click of his kickstand as he got off of his bike. “Come on, it’s not too late, let’s go.”

“What? But Luka—” Marinette began protesting, even as Luka was loading her bag on the luggage rack. “You can’t ride all the way to the airport!”

“I could try,” Luka grinned. “But I think I can catch the bus before it come to that. It couldn’t have left too long ago, right?” He was still moving, even as he was talking, and Marinette took the pink helmet he handed her without thinking.

“Luka, I can’t ask you to do that—” she began, but he was already straddling the bike again. She took the hand he offered without thinking, climbing onto the bike seat. “You can’t catch up to a bus—”

“In this city?” Luka snorted. “Bet you I can. Hold on, though, it might not be the smoothest ride.”

“This is insane,” Marinette moaned as she put her arms around his waist. “You’ll be late for school!”

Luka just shot a grin back at her and started the bike with a hefty push. “Here we go.”

Marinette moaned to herself, and held on tighter.

The ride was a blur. It was hard to see much beyond Luka’s back anyway, and between the crisis and the bump of the bike Marinette’s brain was too rattled to process what was going on. Luka whipped into alleys she hadn’t even known were there a heartbeat before he turned, and Marinette clamped her teeth to keep from squealing and distracting him. He didn’t have much breath for talk, anyway, and some corner of her mind found the time to be impressed, not only at how well he knew the city’s back ways, but at the way he was thinking on the fly to find them a route that would, she hoped, eventually intersect the bus. Then they hit another bump and Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to Luka and praying for heavy traffic on the main roads.

“We’re going to make it,” he told her as her hands tightened on his shirt. “Don’t worry.”

Marinette laughed weakly, and as a downhill slope gave him a chance to glide, he looked over his shoulder and shot her a reassuring smile.

She had to smile back.

She was too overwhelmed in the moment to take in everything that was happening, but that night, she would call him, babbling apologies, promising him pastries, and anxiously asking how long it had taken him to get home. He laughed at her concerns, admitted he was a little sore but he had taken his time getting home, stopping by some shops in that area of the city. He’d gotten his mom to call him in sick, so as long as his classmates didn’t rat him out, he wouldn’t be in too much trouble.

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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Ring The Bells

Notes: For the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge. I tried to hold myself to the word limit of 250 as a personal challenge to develop a couple skills.

Prompt 2 from the Flufftober 2023 List 1:

"Family, Friends, Loved Ones."

Summary:

Read on AO3 or read below:

Luka fiddled with his sleeves. Beside him, Juleka laid a calming hand on his arm.

"Breathe." She quietly encouraged him.

Luka took a grounding breath to dispel his nerves and excitement. The music started and Marinette walked in. The world seemed to disappear as he looked at her. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

She made it to him without tripping and handed her bouquet over.

"Family, friends, loved ones. We are gathered here to witness the joining of these two youngins." Anarka began officiating, guiding them through the vows.

May you never steal, lie, or cheat.

But if you must steal, steal away my sorrows.

And if you must lie, lie with me all the nights of my life.

And if you must cheat, then please cheat death because I couldn't live a day without you.

With sniffles, laughs, and whoops echoing around the room they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

The evening was full of celebration and love, the occasional teasing mentions of honeymoon and babies sparking blushes in both the newlyweds.

The night found them alone in their home, relaxing in bliss. The quiet comfort of home was soothing after the high energy day.

Basking in their happiness and the reality soaking in, they found themselves feeling sentimental. Marinette's eyes got misty knowing she had married her best friend. Luka held her close, the love of his life now his wife.

It was the best day of their lives so far.

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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🌙✨

🔥THIS IS FINE 🔥

Fairy Misunderstood AU: Chapter 55 - BONUS

___________________________________________

✨Fairy Misunderstood AU - Chapter Guide🧚🏼‍♀️✨

___________________________________________

Based on the famous meme:

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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Anticipation

Notes: For the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge. I tried to hold myself to the word limit of 250 as a personal challenge to develop a couple skills.

Prompt 6 from the Fictober 2023 List:

"I can't wait for you."

Summary: A video call while Marinette is out of town. They're both counting down the days until she comes home.

Read on AO3 or read below:

"I miss you." Marinette pouted at her phone. "Why did I leave you behind?"

Luka chuckled. "Because this internship is an amazing opportunity. And I couldn't leave the shop that long."

Marinette sighed dramatically. "I guess."

"You only have two weeks before you come home." Luka smiled, setting his phone down. She watched him reach off screen before settling in frame with his guitar.

"I know. I just…want to be with you. I can't wait to be home. I can't wait for snuggles and good pastries." She smiled mischievously. "I can't wait to drag you present shopping for the holidays when I get home."

"I can't wait for you." He smiled. "Snuggles, shopping, and all. I miss my blanket stealer."

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. "It's not like you need them. You're practically a human furnace."

He hummed and started playing a soft tune on his guitar. Something slow and peaceful.

Marinette yawned and settled lower on her bed. "I miss hearing you play. It's not quite the same through the phone."

Luka nodded in understanding. He continued the song until he noticed Marinette's eyelids fluttering shut. He set the guitar aside and picked up his phone. "You better get some rest Melody. We can talk tomorrow."

Marinette whined but agreed. "Yeah, it's been a long day. I'll call tomorrow. I love you."

Luka blew a kiss. "I love you too."

When the call ended, he pulled the ring box out of his pocket. Only two more weeks.

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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I Want To Believe You

Marinette wants to get back together with Luka, so she approaches him with the suggestion. She still loves him and wants to try again. She's sure they can make it work this time. He isn’t.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50515549

"Ahoy!"

Luka looked up at the familiar call to see his favorite person in the world. There was a lightness to her step and a smile on her face that belied the difficult day he knew she'd had. His confusion grows when he spots her wringing her hands in a sure sign of nervousness. She appears hopeful but worried all the same.

"Hi, ma-ma-Marinette, welcome aboard." He taps the railing next to him and she joins him, leaning against it as she looks out at the steady river.

"It's peaceful here."

Luka chuckled, the Liberty is a lot of things, but peaceful is rarely one of them.

"Being with you, I mean." Marinette clarified her words as she nudged him gently with her shoulder.

"I'm glad of that…" he hesitated, there was such a thing as too much truth, "...I was worried that breaking up would make you less comfortable around me." It had for a time, of course, but she'd come around.

She paled under his gaze. "That… that's sorta, umm, actually what I wanted to talk about." The sweet and lively heart song he associated with Marinette seemed to speed up as her notes jumbled up and went flat. Luka stayed supportively silent, giving her space and time to speak.

"I hate that we broke up. And I know it was my fault… I still care. No! I still love you Luka, and I wanted you to know that. If you still wanted…"

Marinette took a deep shuddering breath, and with her heart on her sleeve, she met his eyes, "I want to get back together, I've thought about how and why I went wrong, and I think we could work this time."

Luka's heart clenched at her words; only days ago he would have done anything to hear that. Would have jumped at the chance to date Marinette, to love her the way he wanted to.

"I want to believe you." The words passed his lips, unbidden. Because he knew the truth. He knows what she's up against and why it didn't work the first time. Luka knows why she always left, why she had to. And he understands. He does. But Hawkmoth is still plaguing the city. And Marinette is still Ladybug. He also knows how much it hurts to come second to the city, and he doesn't know if he can sign up for it again.

Her face fell and he hated that she felt the same semblance of pain that he does, that his choice, his fear, was hurting her. Regardless of anything else, he was still her friend. Luka pulled the crestfallen Marinette into his arms for a hug as she began to sob. Her voice was muted against his shirt, but even so, he could hear her.

"I want to believe me, too."

His heart broke a little more, and his silent tears soaked into her hair, just as hers dampened his shirt.

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge

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crescent-woods · 7 months

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 1: Autumn (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

...I was gonna do these, and then I wasn't gonna do em, and then work life flipped off creative life and here I am, joining the fun at @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers's late. Using the Ghostober 2021 prompts here. Just having fun. 👀

Read on A03

To Feel Alive Again: Day 1: Autumn

A chill breeze whispered through the street, nipping at the edges of exposed skin peeking out from coats and scarves. Marinette pulled her own coat – a lumpy, gray thing she had lifted off a reap a few weeks back – and tried not to scowl.

She used to love this time of year. Before.

The changing of the seasons meant a new wardrobe. Layers of material, vibrant splashes of color, boots and hats and scarves – so many accessories. She used to have the cutest peacoat, made from a deep burgundy wool that always kept her warm on the coldest fall days. She had embroidered a swirl of leaves around the hem in a rich gold thread, and she had even found golden buttons shaped like maple leaves to line the front. She had been so proud of that coat. She’d lived in it every fall for years.

…she hadn’t died in it, though.

She’d died in the spring.

When it was too warm for such a heavy coat.

She supposed it was funny, in a way. Before, the fall – a season marked by death – had always brought a new life to her, but the spring – the season for life and renewal – had brought with it her death.

Now she saw it everywhere.

It was hard to love things anymore. In the After.

“You’re still allowed to love things,” Théo had said, not unkindly, one morning over breakfast. It was a rare moment of seriousness for him, and if she hadn’t been in such a foul mood she might have appreciated it. Instead, she hunkered down deeper in the gray coat she hated and stared – glared – out the window. She hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing. She didn’t see the way Luka glanced up at her from his coffee, a small frown playing at the edges of his mouth.

She did see the large, chunky sweater folded on the foot of her bed when she came home a week later, though.

“…Fred, what…did you leave this here?” she called, her hands trembling as she held the sweater up. It was obviously handmade – not as good as she could make, but absolutely perfect in its little imperfections. The stitches pulled just a little too tight or a little too loose, the slightly uneven ribbing along the neck, the braiding that hadn’t been blocked properly zigzagging down the front…it spoke of time, and care, and things Marinette hadn’t let herself think about in far too long. And it was soft, the yarn used to make it obviously high quality. She knew just how much a sweater like this would cost – more than she could dream of affording these days, when she was still struggling to hold down an after-death job.

“Hmm?” Fred called, popping his head in the room. When he saw the sweater, his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, that? No, it wasn’t me. Luka dropped it off while you were out. Said something about pink suiting you?”

Marinette’s head jerked up, surprised, but Fred was just smiling at you.

“You’re still allowed to love things, Marinette,” he said, inclining his head towards her. “You’re still allowed to feel.”

She looked back at the sweater, her lips pursed and her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, and didn’t answer. Fred sighed and flipped his hat onto his head, nodding at her.

“I’m off,” he said, tipping his hat at her. “Make sure you eat tonight, kid, all right?

…he probably hadn’t meant a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of macarons, but as she hunkered down in the nicest sweater she had ever worn and watched her old favorite sappy movie on the cracked tv…well.

At least when you’re dead you don’t have to worry about calories.

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