FIC: We’re a Chance Left Untaken: 1/31 (MLB, Lukanette)
Characters/Pairings: Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng; Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Summary: Luka Couffaine has been on the road with his rock legend dad since he was seventeen. Now at twenty-two, he moves back home with the hope of getting some stability in his life. Too bad his new flat is haunted by a ghost who has more unfinished business than an aspiring composer with writer's block and daddy issues. (…too bad the more he helps her the less he actually wants her to cross over.)
Author’s Notes/Warnings: Angst, Established Character Death, Canon Divergence. Tags and rating subject to change as needed.
Ok so. Here’s…here’s what’s going on here. 😂 August is @writersmonth, and LBSC is also doing a minific month (where one of the prompt lists suggested was the WM prompts). About a week before August, Quick found this prompt about a ghost having lame/silly unfinished business and needing to find a medium willing to help them cross over without laughing. We started spitballing, as we do, and like four of us walked away going “DAMMIT QUICK”.
So. What I was attempting to do here was follow that initial prompt (Marinette is a ghost with unfinished business; Luka is a Seer trying to help her cross over) by writing 500-word minifics using the Writer’s Month 2022 prompts. I had a feeling, from my notes on some of the prompts, that “mini” was going to be…subjective. I was about 1.6k into the first prompt when I said “yeah screw that just write”. I’m trying to keep these short, for my own sanity and the sake of finishing PH, but…the prompts. The fic. These Eejits. They do what they will. 😂
We’re a Chance Left Untaken (And We’ll Probably Always Be)
Luka Couffaine was two the first time he saw a ghost – or at least the first time he remembers. There had to be more before, ones that he couldn’t remember or had been too young to know what they were, like the time his Granny had told him spirits – wisps – used to dance above his Ma’s cradle.
“It’s how I knew,” Granny had laughed, wiping the smudge of flour from his nose as he helped her roll out shortbread. “Yer Ma had the wind in her soul, b’y. She’d follow the wisps anywhere.”
Neither Granny nor Ma had ever mentioned wisps dancing above his cradle, but his Seanair had always grumbled he’d seemed a bit touched as a bairn. Crawling after things that weren’t there. Babbling at the wall.
Luka didn’t remember, but he’d been a baby. He was sure they’d been there, but the first one Luka remembered? Himself, not from a family story?
He’d been two and standing on the orange stool the nurses had pulled up for other Siblings, his pudgy face and hands pressed to the glass of the nursery window.
