#his 'my name is luka' is the saddest fucking

[rainbow-arrow]

i hope luka gets a boyfriend in season six

bonus points if it's adrien but i don't think i can afford to be picky rn

[clarenecessities]

spooky luky

Word Count: 1027 Summary: who’s this clown?  idk but he sure loves to overshare Chapter Warnings: discussions of kidnapping, murder, and child death [First] [Previous] [Next]

The newcomer stood on the other side of Bridgette, hands tucked into his pockets, and looked them all over with clear speculation. “There’s something going on here,” he continued, “and at Aesc. We’ve got to keep our heads if we want to find out what it is. You know this aosán?”

“Hey,” protested Adrien immediately.

“He’s not evil, Luka,” said Bridgette, rolling her eyes. “He’s good, I promise.”

“Just checking,” said Luka, with an easy grin. “Sorry, kid. Goading’s a quick way to test the waters.”

“I understand,” said Adrien, though he only barely refrained from pouting. “These are dangerous times, after all.”

“All times are dangerous,” said Luka. “Even the safe ones. Maybe especially the safe ones.”

“Stop being so fatalistic,” huffed Bridgette. “Nothing’s going to happen. We can protect ourselves now.”

“Not if we don’t know what we’re up against,” said Luka. He still had that same easy smile, looking perfectly at ease despite his apparent caution. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Fairy, witch, wolf… shapeshifter?”

“Kitsune,” Alya corrected, looking impressed. “How’d you know? I can’t imagine you’ve got a very good nose. You smell pretty human.”

“It’s the aos sídhe stuff,” said Luka, “we can sense magic like they can, and I know enough witches and werewolves to pick out their vibes. Don’t think I’ve ever met a kitsune, though. You’re not a yako, are you?”

“Luka, stop asking everyone if they’re evil,” said Bridgette. “Honestly, who’s being naïve now? She’s not just going to out and say, ‘oh no, you got me, now I’ve got to kill you’.”

“I’ve got bad instincts,” said Luka, grinning wider. “It never hurts to check! I’ve gotten a couple fuath to fall for it—finfolk practically brag about how evil they are.”

“That’s because finfolk suck,” said Bridgette, rolling her eyes. She nudged him towards the group with her shoulder. “Anyway, this is Luka. He’s another changeling. I know he seems laid back, but it’s just a clever ruse to disguise that he’s stressed out like, all the time.”

“I’m not stressed out,” Luka disagreed, pouting. “I’m vigilant. I am a super chill dude, alright?”

“That was a lie,” said Marinette. Adrien snickered into his hand at the wounded look Luka gave her.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, waving to draw Luka’s attention off his witch. A good familiar had to be willing to take one for the team! “Bridgette and I were kids together.”

“Oh, the cat sídhe,” said Luka, apparently surprised. “Right on, man. Look out for Félix, though.”

“Félix?” Adrien asked nervously.

“Félix Ainsel,” said Bridgette, getting a weird, dreamy look on her face. “He’s really strong and smart and cool, but—Luka’s right. He kind of hates cait sídhthe in particular.”

“Wait, I thought Ainsel was your headmaster,” said Nino, frowning.

“Félix is his son,” said Luka. “Though you wouldn’t really know it from how he treats the kid. Bridgette told you her theory, but mine is that Ainsel’s trying to train us so he can get like, a team to kill the aos sídhe. Félix was definitely a changeling, and Ainsel isn’t the type to take his son getting stolen lying down.”

“If he’s training us, why would he recruit you?” asked Bridgette, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been fighting the aos sídhe for longer than most of us have been alive.”

“Whoa, what?” asked Alya, blinking. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen-ish,” said Luka, shrugging. “But I was born in the 18th century. I just lived in a sídhe for so long that my timeline got a bit jumbled up.”

“And you’ve been… fighting us?” Adrien asked carefully.

“Well, not all of you. Just the bad eggs. Most of the aos sídhe are perfectly cordial if you don’t mess with ‘em,” said Luka. “The one who raised me was like, an angel. And the one who taught me magic was chill as hell. They’re just like humans—you’ve got your mostly indifferent majority, and then an occasional offshoot who doesn’t think people are people. Those are the ones I fight.”

“Those are the ones we fight too!” said Adrien, smiling. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad. “Who raised you? Maybe I know them!”

“I doubt it, if you’re the age you look,” said Luka, smiling sadly. “Selkie by the name of Anarka. An each-uisce killed her and my sister about a hundred fifty years ago, chronologically.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, swallowing. He was really putting his foot in his mouth a lot with these changelings—first Bridgette, now Luka. “I’m—fuck, I’m really sorry.”

“’Preciate it,” said Luka. “Don’t worry, I got him back.”

“Good,” said Alya, frowning with surprising vehemence. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Me, too,” said Luka, laughing the saddest laugh Adrien thought he’d ever heard. “She was… she was the best. But I’ve got all the other kids at Aesc now, and they’re—they’re pretty great. Bridgette here is practically a sister to me herself.” He jostled her shoulder affectionately.

“You’re the most obnoxious big brother a girl could ask for,” said Bridgette, leaning into his side and rolling her eyes again.

“You should’ve seen me when I was a little brother,” laughed Luka. “I was insufferable.”

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Adrien looked around for the source. An Aesc student in a blue dress shirt was waving to get their attention.

“What’s up?” called Luka.

“Class is starting soon,” the boy signed, jostling a small bird on his shoulder. “We’ve gotta go.”

Luka flashed him a thumbs up and turned back to the group, his grin back in full force. “That’s our cue. See you guys around, I hope. Any friend of Bridgette’s is a friend of mine.”

“Any friend of mine is also a friend of mine,” said Bridgette, waving at them and giving Adrien one last hug. “It’s really, really good to see you again. I hope we have some classes together! I’ll see you around for sure.”

“For sure,” agreed Adrien, beaming.

The Aesc students disappeared into the crowd, leaving the four of them in relative silence, a pocket of stillness in the churning crowd that still filled the courtyard.