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duskowithapen · 4 years

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Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles Chapter Two

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The Flowers

Luka walked into the Secret Garden. Juleka took one look at his face, sighed, and led him towards the backroom. “Be glad I hadn’t had time to take this home,” she grumbled, emerging from the freezer with a tub of caramel ice cream tucked under one arm. After a moment, a spoon appeared under his nose.

Rose looked up from where she was doing paperwork. “What happened Luka? I thought you and Marinette would get along really well!”

With a groan, Luka flopped into a chair. “We were!” He totally-didn’t-whine. “She designed the most kick-ass looking tattoo that was everything I wanted, she gave me the friends and family discount, she didn’t laugh at me when I flirted…”

“Well, that’s an improvement,” Juleka sassed from her own ice cream rub – strawberries and cream, because she was a sap for Rose, who she was intermittently feeding. “But I can’t see the issue…?”

“It was all going well until her boyfriend showed up.” Luka glared over his ice cream. “So thanks for the warning, guys.”

Rose frowned and put down her pen. “What do you mean? Marinette doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“She was moaning about it during our last girls night,” Juleka interjected. “Talking about how all the guys who came into her shop seemed to be over-muscled sissies who cried the second they saw the tattoo needle.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what to tell you. Him and Marinette were definitely close.” Luka was about ready to drown himself in his ice cream. Even the excitement over his tattoo had faded into abject misery. He looked into the depths of his slowly melting ice cream, recalling the last ten minutes with perfect clarity.

Marinette looked like she was going to devour him. Her eyes kept flicking between his, darting down to his lips and back. She had even started to lean in when someone coughed.

“Uh, excuse me, am I interrupting something?” It was a tall blonde, formally dressed in a pressed black suit that made his eyes stand out (yes, Luka noticed. He might have been besotted with Marinette, but he wasn’t blind.) While his question may have been innocent, the smirk that crossed his face wasn’t.

Marinette’s face lit up bright red as she jumped out of her seat. “Adrien! I wasn’t expecting you here till 4.30!”

“Look at the time, buginette. If I’d known you had another client, I would have waited.” Adrien laughed as he wrapped the smaller girl up in a hug, lifting Marinette off her feet.

Luka glanced down at his phone, while Marinette began to stutter out apologies. 4.28. He couldn’t have been a couple of minutes late, Luka thought bitterly.

“I’m really, really sorry Luka!” Marinette had come back, the blonde – Adrien – wandering away to look at dragon tattoos. “I didn’t realise how long I’d spent on your tattoo, and Adrien had been a last-minute booking, so I’d completely forgotten!”

“It’s okay, Marinette.” With an internal sigh, Luka gave her a smirk. “Gives me a reason to come back.”

It seemed to snap Marinette out of her anxious haze.

He didn’t know if it was his words or his smirk, but something snapped Marinette out of her anxious, apologetic haze. Her grin was evil when she stepped into his space. “You needed another reason? I thought you said you were fine with needles.”

Luka’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he collected himself. “I’m fine with needles if you’re the one poking me with them.”

Whatever Marinette was going to say in return was interrupted, yet again, but Adrien. “Sorry Mari, but I’ve got dinner with Pere tonight, so if I’m getting this tattoo, I kinda need to get it now.”

Adrien was now shirtless.

That’s all Luka could process as Marinette stepped away with another apology.

Adrien was sitting in one of the tattoo stations, jacket and button up slung over the top of the chair. Marinette ruffled his hair as she walked past. “Don’t go rushing an artist, kitty. Otherwise you might end up with something less badass fire dragon and more Mushu.”

“Hey! Don’t go hating on Mushu!” Adrien gasped in faux-outrage, turning away with his nose in the air. “He’s travel-size!”

“Uh huh,” Marinette sighed as she walked back over to Luka. “Anyway, ignore him.” She held out a clipboard with a form on it. “If you just want to fill in your details, I can polish your design after I do Adrien’s tattoo, and then send it through for you to look at. If you like it, I can fit you in…” She paused and walked over to the desk near the door. “Well, I have a cancellation tomorrow morning, and I can get Nathaniel to do Ivan’s tattoo… I can fit you in for tomorrow at nine, if you’d like. If that’s too soon, I have openings next week?”

“Tomorrows fine,” Luka said as he wrote down his email. “And I’m sure I’ll love whatever you send me. Your rough sketch is incredible – I can’t want to see what it looks like in colour.”

The smile Marinette sent him was almost blinding. After Luka handed her back the clipboard, Marinette said goodbye and walked back towards Adrien.

The last thing he saw was Adrien’s smile as Marinette pecked him on the forehead. “Ready to get stabbed, mon chaton?”

Luka refused to look up as Rose and Juleka digested what he just told them. They shared a glance in that way all couples do – like they can communicate via intense eye contact – before bursting into laughter. Well, Rose burst into laughter. Juleka just chuckled and shook her head.

“You’ve got it bad, brother,” She said around a spoonful of ice cream, “It’s almost pitiful.”

Rose poked her with a pen. “Jules, don’t be mean to him!”

A scoff. “I can be mean to my brother as long as he remains a dumbass.”

Luka raised an eyebrow. “Oh really, sister? Do I have to mention the Prince Charming incident?” That had happened back in college, when Juleka had moped for days when she thought Rose had fallen for the foreign prince who she met on his visit to Paris. There had been much relief when Rose had clarified, no, the prince was too male for her refined lesbian tastes.

Alright, Luka had been pretty insufferable then too.

Juleka snapped the lid closed on her ice cream and turned to put it away. “You said that your appointment is at nine, right? Rose, we can open late tomorrow, right?”

“Ooo, yay!” Rose clapped, gathering her paperwork. “I can’t wait to see what kind of tattoo you’re getting Luka!”

“Do I get a choice in this?” He asked with a raised brow.

“No.” And Juleka pulled away his ice cream.

Later that night, Luka opened an email from [email protected]. Hey Luka! I’ve attached the full colour layouts for your tattoo. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

He was so glad he lived alone – there was no one there to watch him blush over an email from a girl who may or may not have a boyfriend. Then he looked at the photos. His breath caught.

These are incredible. The image was flat but drawn so that when the transfer paper was wrapped around his arm, the sides would line up. The snake was coloured in various shades of blue, with a lighter sea blue down what could be seen of the spine before merging into a deeper teal green near the belly. The belly itself was a pale yellow, blending in perfectly to the ring of daffodils just above where his elbow would be. As for the flowers themselves, they seemed to pop off the page. Bright blue iris’, with the edges of the petals tinted purple, bold red gladiolus’ with a white outline, pale yellow daffodils with brighter yellow middles… they all emerged from around the snakes body, with the gaps a deep shade of brown – the colour reminded him of his mothers’ mahogany chest – and tiny flickers of pale green leaves creating little spots of calm.

Beside the larger image was a single iris, connected to the main tattoo by two deep brown branches, with a scattering of leaves ringing it. The blues of this flower were paler – closer to the colour of his eyes, Luka realised with a blush – and the purple of the petal’s edges were the same shade as Juleka’s hair. The orange streak down each petal stood out starkly from the rest of the flower.

It was incredibly detailed, and just so much more than Luka ever thought a tattoo could be. He thought back to Rose and Juleka’s tattoos, how lifelike the flowers were, and found that he preferred this saturated, brighter than life version better. It matched perfectly against the calmer tones of the snake and stood out against the dark wood and pale greens of the supporting stems.

He sent back a response before going to bed. Luka couldn’t wait to go to Charmed Ink tomorrow.

This is amazing Marinette! I didn’t think your sketch could get any better, but you’ve blown all my expectations out of the water. Should have expected that such an incredible person can produce incredible art. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow – and get the tattoo.

**************

The next day, a blushing Marinette waved Luka into the tattoo parlour, throwing a glare over her shoulder at where a red head was busy with another customer. “Luka! Hi! I only saw your email this morning – I was too tired yesterday to do much more than send you the design and go to bed.” She hopped up a little on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek, moving away before he could react.

“Rose! Juleka!” Rose was pulled into a hug that lifted the shorter blonde off the ground, while Juleka was greeted with a faire la bise, which his sister returned. “I believe I have you guys to thank for my newest customer!”

“Well if anyone deserves a Marinette Original tattoo, it’s Luka!” Rose chirped, “And he refused to show us the design – I can’t wait to see it!”

Juleka smirked from her other side, and Luka instantly felt on guard. It was never a good think when his sister made that face. “It’s something sappy, isn’t it? Mine and Mum’s name on a ship, or the score for his first song, or his guitar? Gods know he rarely goes anywhere without it – I had to convince him not to bring it with him today.”

Luka raised an eyebrow and wandered closer to Marinette. Her cheek kiss restored some of his earlier confidence, and he leaned into her space a little. “Marinette could make the most sappy tattoo concept into something that could even fit in with your Lady of Midnight, goth chic style. After all,” And here Luka returned Juleka’s smirk with his own, “She managed to turn your love song into a pretty cool looking tattoo.”

There was a hint of a blush on Juleka’s face as she pushed at his shoulder, making him wrap an arm around Marinette’s shoulders so that they didn’t both go over. Her first tattoo idea had been the Always from Harry Potter, surrounded by roses – Rose had always been a big fan of the series, and had actually cried onto Juleka’s shoulder as she read the last book – but when Juleka came back from the design appointment, it had been with the flower wreath concept. It maintained the original intent behind the tattoo – a permanent reminder of Rose’s impact on her life and of her feelings – while being truer to Juleka’s style and personality. Rose had loved it enough to get the same one.

Marinette glanced up at him, not bothering to move out from under his arm, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Ahh, so you’re one of those musicians. Any girl would have to fight your guitar for your affections.”

“With you, Marinette,” Luka said with a wink, “There wouldn’t be much of a battle.”

Another blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheekbones as she stuttered, almost drowned out by Juleka’s fake-gagging and Rose’s squeals. Despite that, it was a nice moment.

Of course, with Luka’s luck, someone had to break it.

The door of the tattoo parlour was slammed open, and a woman with black hair cut in a no-nonsense bob stormed inside, one hand curled around a wooden rapier. Behind her stood the blonde from last night – Adrien – and Luka’s stomach dropped.

“Marinette,” The scary woman started, “What exactly have you been tattooing on my fiancé’s chest?”

#miraculous ladybug #ao3 #fanfiction #of flowers and tattoo needles #lukanette #chapter two #tattoo artist marinette #tattoo artist/florist au

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clonerightsagenda · 7 years

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Let’s see if the tuesjade tag accepts my offering this week. I’ve truly hit the apex of barely mentioning the prompt and then doing something else entirely. Tbh this only exists for the betas arguing over soft drink nomenclature. Otherwise I would’ve scrapped it bc it’s kind of boring.

Tuesjade prompt: old-fashioned

You grew up talking with the gods of universe B2, but you grew up reading about the ones from B1 in the tattered volume left in your meteoric prison. When you look at them, you can almost see the loops and curls of Rose's handwriting superimposed over their faces. "Forgive me the quaint device of introducing the cast of characters," she'd written, "but if anyone finds this account in the future, they might as well know in whose incapable hands the fate of reality was entrusted, if only they can curse the gods by name." You’d thought it was funny, then. Now, as you watch the gods of the new world argue over whether to put chunky or creamy peanut butter on the shopping list, you think she had a point.

"We only have the illusion of freedom," Rose reminds them. "Jane's father will be double checking whatever we decide on anyway, so we don't splurge on personal twelve-packs of Mountain Dew."

"Now we have to do that," Dave says. "Alchimeters never got the carbonation right."

John elbows his sister. "You've been missing out on drinks that can go up your nose."

"Like sasparilla?" she asks.

He frowns. "Saspa-what?"

"It's an old-fashioned word for a kind of soda," Rose tells him.

"You mean pop," John says.

Dave holds up an admonishing finger. "I'm afraid it's coke.”

Rose shakes her head. "That's a brand."

His alternate self interjects. "Coke transcends brands. That's two to one, you're outnumbered."

"That's not fair," John says. "It's like you're voting twice."

Jade groans. "I'm sorry I said anything about your silly sugar water."

The beverage taxonomy issue is tabled, and they settle on creamy peanut butter. Rose leaves to deliver the list to Jane’s father, and the boys depart bickering over voting rights. Jade stays seated, rolling the pen they were using away and calling it back with flicks of her index finger. Beyond the glare of the Green Sun, her power is muted, but she’s working on finer control.

You can see Rose sitting in the paneled halls of your meteor, pen to paper. Jade Harley, our session’s Witch of Space. The only one of us with any common sense. I should have more to write about her than I do, but she kept a lot to herself. Does she not trust us?

Maybe I should have asked better questions.

Rose described her friends for you in anecdotes and psychological sketches. She’d tried to stay clinical for imagined posterity, providing bulleted lists of their strengths and weaknesses and making predictions for what her absent friends would be like in three years. At times, though, especially later in her journal, sentiment had crept in. She’d share an anecdote, comment on some trivial detail and then apologize for it. That’s how you came to know them. In truth, text is how you came to know everyone, when all your interactions were through messages you sent to each other, what you chose to share or keep to yourselves. You love words, but they can only do so much. They condense people to characters, and when they do, it’s so easy for those characters to go off script.

“I use the wrong words too,” you say.

Jade looks up. The pen skitters off the table, unheeded. “What?”

“I didn’t have anyone to tell me how to speak. I learned from things that were left behind.” The laptop your troll semi-guardian left behind for you contained old chats with strange slang – words like hive and respite block. You’d hoped a foreign affect would hide the idiosyncrasies, but your anachronisms were from a lot further than across the pond.

“I noticed when I met you,” Jade says. “You didn’t lift your questions at the end. I used to do that.”

Questions rise in pitch, you’ve found. A flat tone means it’s a statement in disguise. Words gain so much based on how they’re spoken. They don’t have that life on the page, only a semblance given by italics, underlines, emoticons. You have a lot to learn.

"I mispronounced things too,” Jade continues. “I thought purpose rhymed with propose, it sounded stronger that way. And Dave said he'd pay me to ask Rose about "peskyology" when we all met up."

"Pesky...” You hesitate. “Oh, psychology?"

"That's right." She laughs. “It fits, doesn’t it? Especially since she uses it to mess with people’s heads.”

“I suppose it does.”

“The dictionary had a pronunciation guide, but the IPA is confusing. It was bad enough that I didn’t know which words I should use… people laughed when I used the bigger ones, so I tried to stop.” She sticks out her tongue. “I don’t dumb myself down anymore, but then my vocabulary isn’t as surprising at sixteen as it was as a kid.”

You nod. "It’s hard to know what to say sometimes. Dirk and Roxy did something similar before they revealed they were from the future.” You remember the way you all danced around each other – you concealing your true species, Dirk and Roxy trying to talk like they hailed from 2011, Jake with his bravado and Jane not wanting to admit she was an heiress. “It's like we were all putting on our own acts."

Jade retrieves the pen from the floor with a ‘come here’ gesture and clicks it closed. "I know what that's like."

“It’s hard growing up alone, isn’t it?”

She touches an ear with a self-conscious laugh. “It’s a miracle I didn’t grow up totally feral.”

Feral. When you’d been truly alone, is that what you were? No, your other self was stone-smooth and just as hard, more like a goddess than a child in the garb of one. You know which version you prefer. “I’ve seen what I would have become. I’m glad I had what I did.”

Jade shakes her head. “I can’t even imagine how bad I might have gotten without people to talk to. When we made it through our first session and I wasn’t living alone anymore, that was the best day of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, even with all the problems and arguments that came after.”

An argument would be a good collective noun for the group of you. But you wouldn’t give it up either. From the moment John came for you after you’d risen, bewildered, in the wreckage of your session, you’d been dragged into a whirlwind of colours and mayhem, and you wouldn’t trade in a moment of it. You’re no longer watching a story of an octet of faraway gods, their consorts, and their compatriots. You’re living it.

Rose had compared them, tongue in cheek, to archetypes from a heroic narrative. The fearless leader. The reluctant hero. The sacrifice. “I guess I would be the bad one,” she wrote. “The one who doubted the fantasy paradise they’d stumbled into. It’s not inaccurate. I’m still not sure I was wrong.”

Jade had been labeled the wise one. That was the part you’d carved out for yourself too, the mysterious messenger bearing knowledge and keeping secrets. Rose had placed them into those rote roles to mock the practice, but it caught your fancy. Once upon a time, you painted people in broad strokes. But you’ve met a version of yourself who only saw the big picture. You’ve learned the value of detail. “I like the arguments too,” you say. “They’re charming.”

“Not the ones we used to have.” She shrugs. “Or maybe they would be, from an outside perspective. I mean, John yelling so hard he passed out was pretty objectively funny, if you weren’t caught up in the moment.”

You giggle. “I remember seeing that in the clouds. I drew it. He reminded me of my brother throwing a tantrum, although don’t tell him that. He might find the comparison is insulting, and well he should.”

“I won’t tell if I can see the picture.”

“Oh, it’s long gone.” Your brother destroyed a lot of your artwork, and what was left is lost somewhere in the wreckage of your planet or far future Earth. You miss it sometimes – so much work, gone. It’s probably a good thing your fanfiction didn’t survive, though. “Maybe I’ll redo it for our illustrated account of your adventures.”

She grins. “I’ll describe it in detail. You need to get his legs sticking up just right.”

“I’ll make sure we include it in the authoritative summary of our epic.”

“It won’t be worth it otherwise.”

And she’s joking, but she’s right. Detail is where the people are. In their foibles, their silly spats, their embarrassing moments. If you wrote about Jade, you’d include the way her forehead creases when she concentrates, her favorite kind of peanut butter, the way she mispronounced purpose for the first thirteen years of her life. That’s important.

Who knows what stock character Rose would assign you, but in your own mind you have always been the storyteller. That can lead you down dangerous paths when you make the world your journal, but it doesn’t have to. The universe is made of DNA and song. Both boil down to letters. Those are constructs, symbols used to make sense of sequences of acid or sound waves, but everything is. You are all stories telling themselves. And while you might not welcome an editor with a red pen coming to slash through the parts they find unseemly, sometimes a beta reader can help make it even better.

“We’ll work on it together,” you say. “I wouldn’t want to do it all myself.”

#tuesjade #kat writes fic #i struggle to write interesting scenes w/ calliope #mostly bc i enjoy conflict and there's not enough push and pull

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