#so for future reference link will be drawn with zero arm

[cartoonsaint]

Luka Gets a Tattoo

[Ao3]

thanks to the AFiT server for enabling me! zero thanks to those who were trying to get me to give him a tramp stamp -- you get nothing, good day sirs

Summary: the prince can have little a bodily autonomy. as a treat Characters: the Prince (pre-Snatcher) Rating: T for college parties, altered states, poor coping mechanisms, and reference to an unhealthy relationship. 

Just one night, then you’ll have the whole weekend to study for the final exam, they said.

Please, Your Majesty? Indulge your classmates just this once? they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

And goodness gracious, Luka thinks as his hooting classmates tilt the tapped barrel of red wine so the last drops of it spill onto his tongue, were they right.

He pumps his fists straight up in the air and the room, already packed with raucous, sweaty, excitable (and very, very drunk) young adults, goes wild. Two — rather, four — no, six? Oh goodness he’s had a lot to drink — an at-present uncountable number of hands reach down and haul him off the floor to toss him, unexpectedly, into the air. Luka can’t help the yelp that escapes out of his mouth as his sloshing stomach flips, nor the laughter that comes after it when many hands catch him and set him back on solid ground, patting his back companionably all the while.

“ALL HAIL THE PARTY KING,” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Luka’s used to having a lot of eyes on him, has been literally trained since he was a toddler to be in the public spotlight, but the energy of the crowd and the alcohol in his own system has him pressing his hands to his burning face to muffle his embarrassed laughter.

A madly grinning and particularly beefy young woman parts her fellow students like a ship cutting through the sea. Luka’s gaze is drawn to the item she holds reverently in her enormous hands — and he bursts into laughter again, shaking his head and attempting to back away. The circle of cheering party-goers around him clumsily link arms to prevent his escape. “I didn’t even drink the whole thing!” Luka protests, flapping his hands. “It was practically empty before I started!”

But the huge woman easily spans his slim shoulders (with one hand — goodness gracious) and hauls Luka in. She clears her throat with impressive projection — Luka’s background in performing arts nods in approval — and the clamor of the room dulls to near-bearable levels.

“Esteemed guests and revelers,” she pronounces with minimal slurring and maximal gravity, “I present to you: this evening’s Party King.” 

The room cheers as she places the cut-and-taped paper crown atop Luka’s head. His first, honest impulse is to pull it off and take a closer look as it seems to be made out of first-year sample contracts and, well, it’s been some time since he last reviewed those and who knows what will turn up on the final exam? But the exuberantly drunk woman seizes his hand and yanks it into the air like he’s just won a prize fight and someone thrusts a tiny glass of something that smells vile in his hand and he loses track of time for a bit.

When his head, the room, and the kaleidoscope of gleeful faces stop spinning, Luka finds himself squashed between the arm of a lumpy couch and the arm of the enormous muscled woman from earlier. She notices his gaze and offers him a shark-like grin that jogs his memory.

“You’re Natasha,” he blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth because of course she is, you fool, she knows that and you ought to have known that, what kind of a person forgets the name of someone they’ve spent years sharing classes with —

But if anything, her grin widens. She turns to the duo sat across from them and says, “Ha! You see?”

“I’m so sorry,” Luka says, pressing a hand to his burning face. He doesn’t usually drink at all, and not just because it makes him extra stupid. He’d normally have spent the night studying or writing letters, but his classmates had been very convincing and tonight is his last chance to spend time with them before the final exam and graduation (and his tutor had threatened him if he didn’t go). “I promise I know who you are, I just didn’t recognize you at first without, ah,” he looks again at her rather… distracting arms, “sleeves.”

“Relax,” says one of her friends. She’s a dark-skinned woman with a ton of dark curls framing her face — Belle, Luka remembers — and she smiles kindly as she passes him a glass of water. He thanks her profusely and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, leaning back and crossing her arms. She raises an eyebrow at her hulking blonde friend. “Tash does it on purpose — thinks it will make her more effective in the courtroom when she takes her jacket off. Besides, she forgot you were already royalty.”

Natasha grins unrepentantly. “Party King trumps any small-town monarch, Belle. Besides, you really expect me to remember details like that about someone I only ever see in class?”

Luka sinks into the couch, stammering apologies, but the woman laughs and claps a lung-clearing hand to his back — he wheezes, attempting to regain his breath. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You can make it up to me by telling us what you’re like! We’ve been in the same course for years and we hardly know you. What mysterious responsibilities keep you so busy you can’t come out for a night, Mr. top-of-the-class?”

“W-well,” he says, immediately falling into his practiced lines, “of course, my studies here are very important to me as a future leader of—”

“We already know you’re a nerd,” the last figure of the group says matter-of-factly. Their name eludes him, but they’re button-nosed, with hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks much sleeker than Luka’s ever managed his own. “What else?”

“Haz,” Belle scolds, but when her friend raises a single, archly amused eyebrow at her she sends Luka an apologetic grin. “Sorry about them, they were raised by extremely rude wolves.”

Luka snorts, then covers his mouth in embarrassment, but no one seems to mind. “I… have a fiancée?” he shyly offers.

“What!!” Natasha swaps his water out for her scarily large flagon of beer. “Drink and dish!”

Luka sips obediently, aware his face is already red and only getting redder. “Her name is Vanessa.”

Natasha sighs dreamily, which makes Belle giggle. Luka grins, feeling a little dreamy himself — thinking about Vanessa always makes the rest of the world feel dull. She stands out to him like fine embroidery on plain linen. “I hate to be away from her — she misses me when I’m gone, and my life certainly isn’t as bright without her in it. I write her letters everyday,” he says, alcohol freeing him to talk about himself a little more than he could otherwise stand. “She gets upset if I don’t. I love her, of course, and there’s nothing more important to me than her happiness, but… well, between all the letter-writing, my studies, and princely duties, I suppose there’s not been much time for, ah. Much else.”

He trails off and takes a gulp of lukewarm beer. Belle and Natasha glance at each other, communicating something past Luka’s current ability to parse. Haz leans forward, their eyebrows drawn down.

“So you don’t get to do anything just because you like it? Just for yourself?”

“I like being a prince,” Luka protests immediately. “It’s my duty, and an honor to serve my people. And I love Vanessa.” Luka thinks, briefly, of how hurt she would be if she knew someone had suggested he didn’t, how her magic might react beyond her control. He shivers, even in the stuffiness of the crowded room. “Compared to those things, I’m just… well, not very important.”

The group exchanges looks that Luka hardly notices. Who would he even be, without his work and without her? “Not important” seems about right.

“Well, if you say it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you!” Natasha announces, sounding a little strained. Belle hums noncommittally and swaps his drink out again for another glass of water.

“So,” says Haz, and offers him a small, genuine smile that Luka finds himself quite touched by — must be the alcohol in his system making him even more emotional than usual. “Besides your duties and your fiancée… what else do you like?”

“Ah,” he says, and presses a hand again to his warm face. This evening, right now, is probably the first time in years that Luka’s had a chance to do anything for himself, and he had to be bullied into it. Surely there’s something he likes to do besides, er, read law reviews for fun? His mind is blank. He seizes, only a little frantically, on the view of the night sky out the window. “A-astronomy! You know, the stars?” He chuckles nervously and takes another huge sip of his drink. “You can, ah, actually see them much better at home than here in the city. I used to know all the constellations.”

“That’s great,” Belle says firmly and kindly. “I don’t know anything about the stars, but I always wanted to.”

“My ancestors used to navigate by them,” Natasha adds. “That’s very cool knowledge.”

“What else?” Haz prompts quietly.

“Um,” Luka says into his cup. “Well, ah. I suppose I always liked animals? Like, snakes, and things…”

“That’s great!” Natasha exclaims.

“Great,” Bella says again.

“Hm,” says Haz.

“JIM!!” someone hollers, breaking the tense air of the group. “And Jim’s friend!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A FLAGON!”

“Hoho, Jim and friend!!” Natasha exclaims, mood immediately forgotten. “I’ve been meaning to get some work done, bee-arr-bee.” She rises from the couch, claps Luka’s shoulder once again (though considerably more softly this time, thank goodness), and sails through the crowd, on towards the new arrivals.

“Wait, no—!” Belle shoves herself to her feet, then glances at Luka and hesitates. Then, brief and tight, she hugs him — he blinks, startled — but separates herself before he can process it and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go stop her. Tash, wait!!” And off she goes after her tall friend.

Luka watches her go. Haz clears their throat. “Jim’s friend is magic. Does tattoos,” they say.

“Ah,” says Luka. He should probably head home — he’d planned to leave early in the morning so he could spend as much of the weekend with Vanessa as possible. She needs him, especially after the accident with her mother. He can spend the rest of his evening studying, like he should have done in the first place — it’s the responsible, prudent thing to do.

Haz nudges his knee with their own. He looks up to find them offering a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol. “You’re allowed to do things just for yourself, you know,” they say, eyes soft.

In a spontaneous move that shocks even himself, Luka takes the mug and downs it in one go. The world gets a little blurrier, a little easier to deal with.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he says determinedly and pours himself another.

***

Luka wakes up just after sunrise with a pounding headache, a stinging thigh, and the deep dread of knowing he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

The first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom. His reflection has mussed hair, tired eyes, and is still wearing a crumpled paper crown on his head. He snatches it off, balling it up and tossing it on his desk before running the water and pressing his forehead to the cool mirror.

This isn’t exactly why he doesn’t drink, but it’s an excellent point against it. What he remembers of last night makes him wish he’d had enough to totally block out what he’d done to himself. Though he supposes that would be worse, to wake up and only then find out he’d drunkenly gotten a…

Luka dutifully goes through his morning routine. He doesn’t look at his stinging thigh, doesn’t even think about it until he’s toweled off and staring down at the clothes a cheerfully drunk version of himself had prepared the night before. That Luka had even packed him a travel bag so he could set off for Subcon and Vanessa more quickly.

That well-meaning fool had really thought he was doing a favor for sober Luka of the future. Ooo, hungover Luka of the present hates him.

He stands there for a moment longer, feeling frayed and stupid and sorry for himself. Finally, he sighs — there’s no use to just waiting here hoping — and drops the towel enough to check the damage.

On the side of his thigh, perfectly placed for his non-dominant hand to cover when hanging loosely by his side, is a tattoo of a snake so black the ink looks nearly purple. It wraps around a stylized crown decorated with a crescent moon and a few stars. It’s a kingsnake, he remembers — he’d been adamant about getting that one because they were constrictors, not venomous. “They just want to hug!” drunk Luka had explained, tearing up.

Luka now allows himself one long groan, burying his face in his hands. He’s blown it. He’s totally screwed himself. His parents and his people won’t care, but Vanessa is going to kill him.

He can just imagine her distress that he would do something like this without her knowledge or say-so. Maybe he could fix it if he proposed they get matching tattoos, but she has no fondness for snakes and he’s rather certain you’re supposed to get matching tattoos together. She’s going to find out, she’s going to be hurt, and it’s going to be all Luka’s fault.

Fool, he thinks miserably.

Fifteen minutes he spends experiencing every possible variation on denial, anger, and depression before he can no longer justify wasting time like this. Vanessa is waiting for him and if he wants the time to properly apologize to her then he had better leave sooner rather than later.

Luka gets dressed and scowlingly seizes up his travel bag. He makes his bed and shuts the door to his bathroom. He reorganizes the papers on his desk and is about to toss out the crumpled paper crown before he stops, shoulders tight.

He made a monumentally foolish mistake last night. But despite that… he thinks about the delighted support offered by Tash, Belle, and Haz when he had decided to stay longer at the party; about how freeing it’d been to not worry for a little while about how terribly Vanessa might be feeling without him; about how light and filled with possibility the world seemed without the weight of his kingdom on his mind.

It had been, truly, quite a nice night.

Luka sighs and flattens out the crumpled crown. He folds it neatly and files it away with the rest of his papers.

He’ll buy flowers for Vanessa on the way home. Maybe it will help.

#a hat in time #the prince (ahit) #ahit #saint writes #otm fic #feat. 3 chars who #probably aren't mu bow n hat #but were good practice for them! #tattoos