#jadysal

[omniswords]

lukanette for kiss #1

1.  Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss! [CLOSED FOR NOW]

i think we can all agree that we could do with some good old-fashioned luka(nette) sugar right about now, yeah? enjoy!! <3

“Okay,” Luka says. “Talk to me.”

He must really mean it, because he’s actually stopped playing to listen to Marinette, even though she hasn’t said anything. He’s patient with her, has been in all three years they’ve been dating. (Three and a half, she reminds herself.) If there’s something she needs to say, he’ll spend all the time in the world waiting for it—even waiting for her to realize she needs to say something at all. “What do you mean?” she asks, hardly looking up from her work.

“You’ve got the wrinkle,” is all he says.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “I do not.”

“I can see your face right now, babe.” Luka sets his guitar aside, moving from the couch—their couch— in favor of the spare swivel chair at her desk. “You only get that look when you’re unhappy about something and think it’s better to bottle it up instead.”

Marinette scrunches up her lips, pretending to look more focused than she actually is. “How do you know I’m not just unhappy about how this dress is coming out?”

She can practically feel how his gaze flickers to the dress form in front of her. The wide-brim straw hat, decorated with a plain white ribbon, that’s supposed to bring this whole summer ensemble together. “Because you’re never really unhappy with your work,” he says, rolling his chair closer to her stool. “Even if you think it sucks, you’re always sort of happy that you made it anyway.”

“That’s just being an artist,” Marinette argues weakly around the stick pins in her mouth. “You get the same way about your music.”

“What are you thinking about?”

It’s hard to say anything to that besides what she’s actually thinking, especially when he starts to rub her shoulders in an attempt to coax her away from her work. She knows she’s done for when he thumbs at the baby hairs at the back of her neck, kisses the top of her head, eases the pins out of her mouth one by one. “Do you think I’m boring?” she blurts out.

Luka’s in the middle of taking down her hair from its messy I’m-on-a-deadline bun by then, but he stops. His fingers still thread through the locks like they're looking for something to do while he mulls over what he wants to say next. She’s always appreciated that about him, the fact that he always thinks before he speaks, but now the silence is anxiety-inducing. Maybe almost as much as it is when he calmly says, “Did… I do something to make you feel that way?”

“No! No, I just… I guess I was just… thinking. About it.” She slumps forward in her seat a bit, and Luka’s hands are back on her instantly, soothing the words out with every knot he works. “Just how it feels like… you know when you go out and you see new couples being all… couple-y?”

She can almost hear the smile in Luka’s voice. “I’m familiar with it, yeah.”

“Were…” Marinette trails off, holding her breath and pushing it out through her teeth while he targets a finicky crick in her neck. Maybe she’s been more of a workaholic than she thought. “Were we ever… like that, when we started dating? Showing each other off and being so public about it? It just… it feels like so long ago.”

She’s still got her thimble on—porcelain with a polka dot design she painted herself—and she toys with it like she needs something to do, too, while Luka takes care of her and pieces together just what it is she’s trying to say. “Nah,” he murmurs, not rejecting or judgmental, just matter-of-fact. “I don’t think we were ever like that. But I also don’t think we ever really needed to be like that.” He pauses. “Unless you wanted to be, and I just totally whiffed on that the whole time—”

Quickly, Marinette shakes her head. “No, no, I was just thinking about it recently.” Her body seems to relax almost entirely in his grip, and for a moment she nearly forgets just what she has to do to make this dress work. “I guess I… was thinking about how I used to think about love. How I felt like I always had to be nervous all the time around whoever I liked because that meant I really felt something. Or like whatever relationship I was in had to be exciting, and emotional, like a rollercoaster all the time, because I thought… life was always better if it kept you on your toes.”

Luka hums in thought. “How’d that work out for you?”

She laughs, quiet, sheepish. “I guess it didn’t. Except for the part where it led me to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda like that part.” He kisses the top of her head again, thumbs finding a home at her shoulder blades. “Do you want me to tell you what I think? Or do you have more to say?”

Marinette closes her eyes. “Go ahead.”

Sometimes she feels as though, when Luka touches her, cares for her with those hands of his, he’s playing her the way he might play his guitar. As though, when he speaks to her, he’s singing. He’s told her before, that music somehow makes its way into just about everything he does—especially when it comes to her. It happens even now, as he pauses only to press his lips to her hand.

“I think,” he says, “that we’ve always been kinda comfortable with each other, and that maybe that’s a good thing. Being comfortable… well, it makes for a good relationship in the long run.” There he goes again, playing the strings in her shoulders, the chimes in her hair. “But I also don’t think it’s so bad to want a little extra excitement every so often. Life’s gonna keep us on our toes anyway, so why not make it for the better? Maybe we deserve that.” He rests his chin atop her head. “Maybe we deserve to fall in love with each other all over again.”

Marinette will never understand why he thinks he’s not so good with words when he can so easily take her own and make such sense of them. She swivels around in her seat, unable to help the smile that erupts across her face. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Luka grins right back. “You’ve told me,” he teases. “But I won’t complain about hearing it some more.’’ He cradles her face then, littering soft kisses all over her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, as though he’s dead-set on doing it until he makes her giggle. And once he does, and chuckles along with her, he leaves one last lingering one on her lips, pulling away far too soon for her liking. “C’mon. Let’s get ready.”

“Mm?” She blinks slowly, coming back to herself. “For what?”

“Date night.” His fingers trace her hairline, catch delicately on the curve of her jaw. “We haven’t had one in a while, huh?”

Her brow furrows. “We didn’t plan a date night.”

Luka’s still smiling. “I know.”

Within seconds, that dopey grin of hers is back with a vengeance, and she doesn’t even try to fight the warmth or the onslaught of butterflies that fills her stomach. She doesn’t want to. She wants Luka to see what he still does to her.

“That’s my girl,” he tells her with one more kiss. “Let’s go fall in love all over again, huh?”

Marinette already misses the feeling of those comfortable, musical hands on her face once he gets to his feet. And she might be hallucinating from the leftover dregs of stress, but she thinks she might see the outline of a little box in the back pocket of his jeans.

[dreamaredoodle]

if u like ben drowned, good news: it's finishing its final arc rn

Honest anon, I didn’t even knew there was more than one arc afsgsg.

I knew there was some sort of website “Ben controlled” or something like that? But I stop looking for more at the time and didn’t knew Jadysable had made more arcs for Ben drowned.

[marichatmas]

you guys if my blog ever get deleted or whatever my other blogs are @takeemdownbabe and @jadysal and i have @iwishyouamarichatmas saved too

my twitter is @kitkatnissx

[omniswords]

Felinette #28 🔥🔥

28. One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss! [CLOSED FOR NOW]

read more of the Fake Not-Dating AU!

University-age Felinette and figure drawing? What could go wrong? Well. Nothing goes wrong. But it does go a little spicy. Oops 🤦🏻‍♀️

“For the love of God,”  Marinette huffs. “Would you please keep still?”

It’s quite adorable, Félix decides, when she’s focused to the point of irritable. Actually, it’s adorable when Marinette is irritable at all. So unlike her. “I can’t help it,” he replies airily. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been sitting like this.” A chaise-longue can only be comfortable for so long, after all—not to mention the strain in his back and his legs from keeping them crossed.

“Oh, quit being a baby. It’s only been—” Marinette checks the time on her phone, then pales and flushes within a matter of seconds. “Oh.”

Félix quirks an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he breaks to check his own phone. An hour and a half. She’s been bent on drawing him—trying to get a diversity of bodies, or so she said, along with some preliminary practice for a figure drawing class she’d be taking in the spring semester—for an hour and a half. He supposes it’s starting to show in her now, with the wrinkle in her brow that just won’t disappear, and the graphite smudged all over her fingertips and the side of her hand, and the way the hair in her untidy bun is starting to fall out and over her eyes when she shifts in her desk chair.

It’s… rather beautiful, now that he thinks about it.

“Perhaps,” he says, pocketing his phone, “you should have employed the use of someone who’s accustomed to sitting perfectly still, or following the whims of artists around them. You know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Such as my cousin? At the very least you might have tried a self-portrait.”

“I didn’t want to draw your cousin.” The words come out a little too quick and a little too sharp. Whether Marinette notices so or not, she rolls her chair closer to him, cups his chin and tilts it up with her clean hand while her thumb drags over his lips. “Or me. I wanted to draw you. Now, come on. I’m trying to get your face right, and if I have to keep adjusting it myself, I will.”

“By all means,” Félix replies, in that teasing purr he knows gets to her if he keeps at it long enough. “Let me be your doll.”

“Stop that,” she hisses, although she squirms in her seat, and he tries to grin only with his eyes. It’s working.

Still, he indulges her for a while longer, lets her shuffle him around if and as she needs. Sometimes she brushes his hair out of his face; sometimes, she thumbs his eyebrows into line; and still sometimes, with a drifting gaze, her fingers pass over the outline of his lips. Like there’s something she’s trying to capture there, something that succeeds, over and over, in evading her. Eventually, she sighs, putting her now closed sketchbook and her pencil aside, and she rests her face in her hands. “I can’t get it right. It doesn’t matter what I try. I’m gonna suck at this class.”

Had this happened a year or so ago, Félix’s patience would have been rattled, and he might have said something he’d later regret about the point of making him sit like this if it was all for nothing. He’s seen too much of the ebb and flow of Marinette’s creativity, virtually and in person, for any of that to even think about coming out now. Instead, he tilts his head and leans forward, trying to meet her where she is as he bumps his head to hers. “Perhaps you could do with a break,” he murmurs. “Or perhaps I was not meant to be committed to paper.”

“Course you are,” she shoots back through her hands, and she looks up slowly, her eyes wandering all over his face. “You’re meant to. And I want to. To paper, and memory, and…” Her face colors, so deeply he thinks he just might be able to feel it. The same way he might be able to hear the way her heart picks up—or perhaps that’s simply his own, pounding between his ears. It must be the way she’s been touching him that’s finally getting to him.

Félix brushes their noses together and bites. “And…?”

This close, he swears he can feel the way she bites her lip instead of actually seeing it. Even the way she rubs her hands together just comes in at the corner of his eye, until her fingers are at the corner of his mouth again. “And me.”

Out of instinct, he presses a delicate kiss to her fingertips, and then to her lips when she presses closer with the silence that tells him she can’t bear keeping distance anymore. It’s gentle but insistent, deepening the longer they stay this way, and from the jostle of the desk chair he guesses that she’s hovering over it instead of actually sitting in it. “What are you doing?” he whispers in between kisses, making way as she crawls into his lap and straddles his hips almost without a second thought.

“Taking my break,” she whispers back, gathering the collar of his shirt in her little fists, her eyes starting to go hazy. He can’t even complain about the graphite; cleaning and pressing his clothes comes a dime a dozen, but Marinette’s hands on him and the shivers she sends chasing down his spine are far too delightful to get caught up in anything else. “Cause you suggested it, and you’re not fair.”

“Oh? I’m not fair?”

“Yeah, you’re not fair.” She kisses him again, so emphatic that he’d fall backward if it weren’t for his hands. “Sitting there all handsome, so much that I can’t even get you down perfect. And, without even doing anything, making me want to… to…”

Félix grins against her lips, reaches up to cradle the back of her neck and pull her hair away from it. “To?”

His eyes only narrow in contentment at her expression: purely agitated, and flustered, and quietly wanting. “See more of you,” she whispers, nipping at his lip and his jaw and making her way down his neck. “Get you right, as right as I can. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

He swallows, fingers curling tight in the back of her sweatshirt. “By all means,” he breathes as she nudges him onto his back. “Commit me however you like.”

Félix has always known Marinette to be bold, to go after the things she wants without question. But he derives a certain piercing satisfaction, the kind that demands to be felt and seen and tasted on all sides, from the way it comes out when no one else is around to see it. Especially when she’s looming over him, her gaze dragging over him at every layer, just before she crosses her arms and reaches for the hem of her shirt.

[omniswords]

#24 for felinette!!!!!!!! 🗣

24. Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss!

ma’am i stayed up until 4am writing this nonsense, you’re WELCOME.

still connected to #12 and #16 because we love fake not-dating-shenanigans 😏

He’s really got to stop ending up at functions like this. And this one has to be even worse than the New Year’s Eve party.

Félix has never been one for anniversaries—never really saw the significance of them. So you’ve gone around the sun with someone twenty-five goddamn times. Or without someone for six. So what? No reason to commemorate it with the nonsense of balloons and music and food and… other people.

He wouldn’t say he’s spent the majority of the Bourgeois’ 25th anniversary party sulking, although he’s pretty sure it’s the word other people might use to describe him. Especially Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeois themselves, who are apparently bickering over the placement of the baby grand piano as though something like that can be fixed in the middle of an event. And especially Chloé, who—perfectly on brand, even at age twenty—is fawning over her mother and staring  at him as if to say, don’t ruin this for me.

As though this is her thing to have ruined.

Besides. He’s not sulking. He’s just very much preferring to be literally anywhere else, the way anyone else with a brain might feel. In fact, the only part of this whole affair that’s been even remotely palatable is the fact that the Dupain-Cheng family is catering. And it’s not because of the food.

Well.

Not necessarily.

It’s because Marinette’s helping. And as much as he needs to keep the opinion to himself, she’s very much a sight for sore eyes in the Grand Paris. Dressed in a black-and-white dress she mentioned making herself, and with her hair in a high ponytail, she pays more attention to her parents and the platters on the table in front of her than to the overly dignified laughter around her.

Admittedly, they haven’t been able to interact much; they agreed on that much as recently as the night before, along with a promise to make up the lost quality time later. This is her summer job, after all, and she says that means something to her. Besides, he has to make himself a certain percent sociable—with the Bourgeois family, with the Tsurugis, even with the Rossis—so everyone and their cousin doesn’t write him off as the Fitzwilliam Darcy of the Agreste/Graham de Vanily family.

(He doesn’t see what the big deal of that is, though. In fact, Marinette would probably agree with him, with that silly little giggle of hers hiding behind her sketchbook, and he’d think, perhaps, that she’d make the perfect Elizabeth.)

Still, it doesn’t sit with him particularly well to ignore her or otherwise treat her just like “the help”—if there’s anything his parents taught him besides their version of love, it’s to thank and remember the names of every person regardless of position. And on top of that, she’s been stealing more than her fair share of glances over at him, as if to invite him over. As if, for a moment or two, she might need some reprieve of her own.

He won’t tell anyone what a sucker he is for the blue in her eyes. He’ll take that to his grave.

It’s just as Félix is getting to his feet and making his way to her table, though, that Lila Rossi decides to try and make herself known. Again. He sighs; he really thought she would have gotten the hint by now. But apparently Lila is nothing if not persistent, even years later, and the way she greets him and all but latches onto his arm is so disgustingly syrupy that he feels the sudden urge to run upstairs and brush his teeth. “Isn’t it lovely?” she says, her fingers curling impossibly tight into the sleeve of his button-up shirt. “Twenty-five years. Can you imagine being invested in someone for so long? It must be beautiful…”

Félix declines to answer, feels his own eyes going dark, and finds a strange solace in the way Marinette, out of the corner of his eye, stiffens and clenches her fist at her side.

“Can’t you picture it?” Lila’s going on as they approach the catering table—doesn’t she ever get tired of hearing herself talk?—and she attempts to slip her hand into his. Smoothly and without missing a beat, he swipes his hand away, sticking it in his pocket with a pointed look. Manners be damned; he’d rather choke on a macaron than hold Lila Rossi’s hand. A cloud passes over her face, subtle and on the edges of manipulative where Chloé would burst out, but otherwise she doesn’t seem fazed. She’s probably developed more resolve, or perhaps more poison, ever since Adrien made it more than clear to her that his interests lay elsewhere. “Haven’t you considered it, Félix? My family’s done some lovely work in England—they’re Italian ambassadors, did you know?”

“Yes,” Félix manages to deadpan, acutely aware of how Marinette turns away from them to unpack another box of ridiculous paper straws. “In fact, Miss Rossi, you’ve told me so frequently that I may very well develop that tinnitus you so often complained about before.” He tilts his head, deeply feels the shift in Marinette’s energy and how hard she must be trying to stifle her own laughter. “Remind me, have you gotten that checked out?”

Marinette has to dip behind the table; he has to try not to smile. If he can’t talk to her directly, he might as well amuse her.

“Oh!” Lila says. “You remembered. Yes, yes, of course I did. It took some extensive treatment, but the doctors say I should be cured by now. It’s miraculous, isn’t it?” She gives her hair a flip. “But really, Félix, you’ll consider what I’ve told you, won’t you? I hear your family’s in the film business, and—wouldn’t you know it, I’ve done quite a few photoshoots with your cousin. I’m sure he could put in a good word for me with your mother. Think about it, us starring opposite each other—”

Félix suppresses a sigh, honestly about to tell her that if she had any sense of his family, he would have known that his aunt was the actress. But before he can so much as open his mouth, Marinette clears her throat to get their attention. Her expression is sour, and her arms are folded. “If you’re not going to take any refreshments,” she chides, “I’m going to ask you make way for those who are. And by the way, it might help you to know that merit and tact get you much farther in life than empty flattery.” She clicks her tongue, tightens the apron at her waist, and turns on her heel. “You should try it sometime, Miss Rossi.”

He knows that expression. The Customer Service Smile, she branded it. It’s half-terrifying, seeing her actually unleash it. Half-terrifying, and half-vindicating.

From the corner of the hotel lobby, Chloé’s mouth falls open in elated shock. Adrien and Kagami pause their hushed conversation to look their way. And Lila turns a deep, angry scarlet. (Oh, Marinette’s gotten so good at getting to her. Perfect, perfect Elizabeth.) In seconds, she’s composed herself, thankfully all but unraveled herself from Félix, and she approaches Marinette’s parents—who are honestly lovely people, and don’t deserve whatever’s about to come to them. (Especially Mrs. Cheng. She’s snuck him into the house too many times.)

They don’t get it. Whatever words Lila’s gathering, whatever excuse me she’s trying to preface it with, Félix doesn’t let it out, and it’s certainly not for her sake or for the Bourgeois family. “Thank you,” he cuts in with a cordial smile, careful not to shake Mrs. Cheng’s hand while she’s handling food. “You’ve been doing wonderful work for this event. Might you permit Miss Dupain-Cheng a short break? I’m sure she could use one.”

It’s practically textbook. Compliment. Persuade. Twist the knife with a little kindness. Perhaps Lila Rossi hasn’t learned all the tricks just yet.

And he certainly won’t let her.

Marinette’s parents look to her, and she looks to Félix, and he raises an eyebrow, as if to say, You gave me an out. Now it’s my turn. She hesitates a moment, then gathers herself. “Actually,” she says, as if finding a second wind, “a break would be really nice. Papa, could you text me when you need me back?”

Her father lets her go—he’s always been good about giving her the things she needs, which is sometimes more than he could say about his own. None too quickly, she undoes her apron, takes a deep breath to center herself, and disappears into the carpeted corridor by the elevators. And Félix, with that twist-the-knife bow and a macaron in hand, dismisses himself from Lila Rossi and finds a new corner to occupy.

There. Now no one can say he doesn’t talk to anyone. And no one can say he sulks.

———

He makes it about three-fourths of the way through the macaron before he finds his out to the corridor. It’s fine; he knows he won’t be missed, and he made sure Lila was properly occupied when he slipped away. She can’t follow him if she doesn’t know where he’s going, after all.

Almost predictably, Marinette is still outside the elevators, pacing back and forth in front of them and only making way for the people coming out. She catches his eye and pauses mid-step, and then collapses by one of the carpeted staircases with her head in her hands. “That was stupid,” she mumbles. “I was stupid.”

Félix doesn’t give her what she’s probably looking for. Instead, he holds his hand out to her and says, “Come with me. It’s suffocating, being in there.”

To his relief, Marinette takes the out. Her hand feels so small and so soft in his as he helps her up, and they slip into one of the elevators; all at once, he’s grateful for the hotel room that accompanied his invitation. They don’t say much, don’t do much even though they finally have the privacy for it. In fact, Marinette doesn’t crack until the elevator door closes behind them and they’ve begun to stroll down the blissfully quiet hallway. “I was working,” she sighs. “And I get it, it wasn’t professional of me to say something like that on the job. Especially during someone’s entire anniversary.”

“On the contrary,” he says, his hand finding a home at the small of her back; he’s relieved that she doesn’t protest, and instead leans into the touch for comfort. “I’ve never heard someone vocalize a middle finger quite as subtly and as eloquently as you.”

“It was hypocritical, Fé,” she points out. “You know I used my connections to get into university, too.”

Félix gives her the type of look that he hopes says, are you kidding me. “You asked for letters of recommendation. Which, as you may recall, is standard for university applications?”

Marinette looks like she wants to find other points to argue, like she’s really racking her brain for it. Eventually she stops, and sighs, and unties and reties her hair. Which is killing him on the inside, but he doesn’t dare say so just yet. Not when she’s still got steam to blow. “I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I should have let you handle it. You can hold your own.”

“Oh, please. To me, she’s a nuisance at best. A sycophant and a sour taste in my mouth. To you, she’s been a terror.” He tosses her a smirk. “I’m impressed that you have the capacity to dislike someone so deeply and so honorably. I should’ve expected something like that from you.��� He glances behind them, just to make sure they’re truly alone, before he slips an arm around her waist, pulls her close and murmurs against the shell of her ear. “Were you jealous, love?”

It works. He can practically feel out her goosebumps, the way her muscles relax, with every sense he has. “Félix…”

“Well?” He hardly moves away from her, noses right into the flyaway hairs her elastic didn’t catch, into the sugar-and-almond scent she’s been carrying all day. “Were you?”

Marinette doesn’t bother to look his way. She stares straight ahead, and folds her arms across her chest. “Why should I be jealous?” she says. “You’re mine.”

Dear God. If he wasn’t attracted to her before, he certainly is now. He can feel the flare of it in the pit of his stomach, and before even he knows it he’s kissing the comebacks off of her tongue, pressing her against the wall just a few doors down from his room. He sighs, all but covering her mouth with his, and his hands catch on her dress on the way to tugging her hair tie out and securing it around his wrist for safekeeping. He always knew that sleight of hand would prove useful someday. “Yours, huh?” he hums in between kisses. “Is that how you feel?”

“I’m not wrong,” Marinette argues back, tugging him back in by the lapels of his jacket, and he’s far too busy tangling his fingers in her hair and mouthing down her neck to dispute it. And even if he weren’t busy, he certainly wouldn’t want to. Not when she sounds like that.

He pauses to laugh into her ear, her hair spilling over her shoulders as his hands find a home at her waist. “Don’t you have guests to cater to?”

Her lips are as red as her cheeks, and as far as he’s concerned her eyes are hooded beyond redemption. “Don’t you have a couple to congratulate?”

“Why should I? I’ve got something worth celebrating right here.” He grins faintly, steals another searing kiss, runs his hands up and down her sides and jumps at the opportunity to slip tongue when she gasps. “And she looks so good in wrinkles and a peter pan collar.”

Marinette’s breath hitches.

Bingo. And here she probably thought he didn’t pay attention to her fashion rambles.

Her eyes are sparkling by the time he pulls back enough to look at her.  She looks him up and down, stops his hands, gives them a squeeze.

“Where’s your room?”

[omniswords]

saw this on a post the other day and thought of our girl Cam: What’s something people assume about her that ISN’T true? And is there something people assume about her that is actually true?

ooh, that’s a good question

something people assume about Cam that isn’t true: probably that she’s 100% confident around the people she’s interested in 100% of the time. sure, she can flirt like nobody’s business. but with the people she’s been really, truly interested in, her mind kind of loops a cringe compilation of everything she said. or she tries to act cooler than she is. what can i say? she’s a disaster bi.

something people assume about Cam that is true: that she hates high heels. she thinks they’re from the devil, and you will never ever ever see her in them, ever. (her go-to shoes are sneakers, combat boots, or hospital clogs when she has to work or go to practicums)

[omniswords]

Hey there I just read all your Lukanette kiss fics and they’re all so great 😍 And it’s a good thing you mentioned I was kinda lost thinking I was the only one who didn’t know who’s this Cam they were talking about? 😂

First of all, thank you so much for reading all the requests I’ve been putting out 🥺it’s made a lot of this time much more bearable (and my day much more structured, if I’m being honest).

As for Camila (Cam for short) 🥰she’s a friend of Marinette’s from university. They lived on the same floor in their residential building and so they often passed each other by, but never really got to talking until a few months of this. They didn’t share any classes or anything, because they’re on different career paths. 

Marinette’s first impression of Cam was that she seemed sort of “untouchable,” because she carries herself with a lot of confidence, especially around people she’s capital-I Interested in. But, surprisingly, when they both happen to be out on the town one evening (where Cam is with friends and Marinette’s doing her usual people-watching thing), Cam straight-up approached her table and said, “I just bet my guy friends 20 euros that I could get a girl’s number in five minutes or less. If you wanna write a fake number on this napkin, I’ll split the winnings with you” 😂😂😂

She ended up giving Cam her real number, and they got to know each other better as friends that way. Since Cam’s a year older, she sort of takes Marinette under her wing for their uni years and ends up being the person who helps her really come to terms with the fact that 1) she’s not entirely straight and 2) she’s got it Real Bad for Luka. She ends up becoming friends with Luka and his housemates, who @universeenthusiast created ;u; ask them about them!!

She also, coincidentally, has a connection to… another character… 🤔but who?

[omniswords]

cant believe you invented lukanette only a year ago it feels like a lifetime wow

ALJFKSKDKD

[omniswords]

5, 10 and 13 for Stumbling through heaven :3

give me one of my fic titles and a number!

5. What part was hardest to write?

I distinctly remember having the most trouble with writing about Tom taking Marinette back to the surface. It was a very delicate balance of trying to figure out how much I was sticking to the myth, and how much I was subverting it for the women’s empowerment angle. Papa Garou was a big help for developing Tom’s character here!

10. Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I mean, the simple answer is that I happened to mention it in the Lukanette Discord server, and everyone was really excited about it, so I just took it and ran. But I guess the more complex answer is because I see Luka holding himself back a lot in the canon, and I see Marinette having so many facets to her personality and aesthetic and such, and the myth and the way I worked with it just fit them both perfectly.

13 answered here!