#tattoo flower au

[minimiaarts]

The Shadamy Flower Shop/Tattoo Parlor AU is real and rotting my every waking thought 😔🫶🏼

[apolaskiart]

Went back to the tattoo/flower shop au (modern au as well???) I dabbled in as another vision came to me. Will be posting my headcanons so stay tuned!

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

[honeylashofficial]

Imagine with me.

A Flower-ranchers trio AU where Jimmy is the receptionist to the Bad Boys Tattoo Parlor, Scott is a self-starter flower shop owner, and Tango serves at a local coffee shop. They all work on the same street, and through a series of events probably involving some mixed up order of sorts, they stir up a bit of business chaos between their companies, but still manage to meet and become great friends at the end of all of it.

Tango is often looked upon as the toughest of the three and is sometimes avoided by wary people, but he’s also the most gentle and tender hearted of the three. Jimmy absolutely hates needles, yet his brothers Joel and Grian somehow still roped him into the family business. Scott is a dream chaser who doesn’t let anyone get in his way when he wants something. Even if it means being lonely in his endeavors.

Once they’re friends, they enjoy breakfast together at the Ranch Hand Cafe before departing for their individual work days. Tango convinced his boss to purchase small bouquets from Scott’s flower shop, named Dual Dependence, as part of their cafe table setups. Scott joins Jimmy for lunch every day so that he can have a small break and distraction from being surrounded by needles all day long. The session sign-ins for the tattoo parlor close earlier than the cafe, so most days, Jimmy goes back to the cafe to spend the last hour or so with Tango as he begins the cleanup process from the long shift.

Just an idea.

[willsimpforanyone]

hey !! i absolutely adore your account. your writing is just amazing!!! i was wondering if you could do more leo valdez smuts!?

ahhhh thank you so much i'm glad you like my writing!!

this will have obligatory spanish pet names in it because i am cringe and proud k thanks also it's a flower shop/tattoo shop au because that's the best trope i don't make the rules

-----------------------------------

There was a tap on my shop door.

"Knock knock, chica, where you at?"

I rolled my eyes but grinned. "In the back," I yelled back. "Gimme a sec."

The door opened and closed, the little bell dinging, and I stripped off my black gloves. "Okay, all done! How'd you like it?"

Nico nodded approvingly at his new tarot card tattoo - Death, of course. "Looks awesome, how much do I owe you?"

"£180, because you're my favourite." I winked at him as I led him out the room.

He shook his head. "You know that's not the right price." Nico took out an envelope of cash and slid it across the counter. "£200, plus tip, don't even think about it."

He caught me before I could protest, and made to leave. "Hey Valdez."

From the sofa, Leo grinned up at him. "Hey dude, whatcha get?"

Nico pulled up his shirt sleeve to show off his new tattoo. Leo nodded approvingly. "Looks sick, Will's gonna love it." Nico coloured slightly but gave a small smile, nodded and left.

I leaned forward on the counter. "So, Valdez, what brings you to my dark corner of the world?"

He brandished the small collection of blooms he held. "Thought I'd bring it a little bit of colour." Beelining to where I had a wilting bunch of flowers in a vase, Leo swapped them out. I leant on my hand and smiled- he was right, the studio could use a little colour now and then.

"Is today the day I get to ink you?" I tapped my fingers on the wooden surface, fingers buzzing slightly from the tattoo gun.

Leo grinned. "Oh, you wish you could make your mark on this." He gestured down to himself, and I allowed myself to rake my eyes over him. His loose grey shirt was faintly patterned with roses, and his jeans clung to his legs appealingly.

"You have no idea, honey." I winked at him and got the pleasure of seeing his tan skin tinge with red.

He coughed lightly. "I don't think I'd suit tattoos, anyway." He shrugged. "Probably not, anyway."

I slipped out from behind the counter to face him. "Oh, I don't know, I wouldn't say that." I considered him carefully, as an art piece rather than a person. "Tattoos are for everyone, as long as they get something they love."

Leo shifted slightly and I reached out for his arm. He let me take it. "See, I'd do a flowering vine-" I ran my fingers down his left forearm. "-along here, delicate but thick enough not to get lost in your skin."

"Oh yeah?"

I nodded, reaching up to his shoulder. "Perhaps your favourite flower, or a flower of significance, resting on your shoulder." Carefully, carefully coming to rest a finger on his chest. "A little something here, anything you'd like, just for you."

Leo had frozen, deep brown eyes fixed on my face. I took a step back, not missing where Leo swayed towards me just slightly.

"Of course, it's up to you." Just for the hell of it, I decided to push my luck. "I have a few other ideas of how I could mark you, should you be interested."

I heard him let out a shaky breath and push dark curls behind his ears. Silently, I prayed that I didn't push it too far and scare him off. The crush I'd been harbouring for the past two months squeezed my heart.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, god I hope I'm not wrong, but we're very much not talking about tattoos anymore, are we?"

I turned round to see Leo with his hands clenched by his side and his lip being worried between his teeth. Slowly, I shook my head.

"No, not tattoos. Or rather, the kind that would fade in a couple days and are made with my mouth against your neck."

"Oh thank fuck." Leo relaxed and reached out, pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine.

Instantly my arms were wrapped around his neck and I was grinning like an idiot. For a brief moment I wondered if I had any more clients today but a quick glance at the clock told me it was past 6pm, closing time. Regretfully I pulled away from Leo and he pouted.

"What's wrong?"

I disentangled myself from his arms, racing to the door to lock it and turn the 'open' sign to 'closed' before returning to pull Leo's face down to mine. "Absolutely nothing, hermoso, nothing at all."

Leo let out a throaty groan and looped his fingers in my belt loops to pull me closer. "Woman, you are driving me insane." He kissed me hard, hips pressing againt mine and I felt heat flame in my stomach, looping and curling.

"Hey-" In between kisses, I tried to talk. "-I live-" Kiss. "-literally right upstairs-" Kiss. "-if you want to-" Kiss. "-take this further."

Leo pulled back this time, massive grin on his flushed face, already looking a mess. "Oh hell yeah, lead the way."

It took only moments to take his hand and lead him through my studio, up the stairs and into the flat I owned above my shop. I shut the door behind us and pinned Leo to it, fingers twisting and gently tugging at his hair. He whined and slipped his hands under my shirt, smoothing them along my stomach. "Do I get to see your tattoos?" He panted, eyes dark with want.

"Maybe, if you ask nicely." I winked at him. "But I believe I was going to give you a few."

"As many as you want, mi amor, whatever you want." Oh, this was going to be fun.

I pulled him away from the door and practically dragged him to my bedroom. I pointed to the pillows. "Sit."

He did it without question and I got a thrill of satisfaction. I crawled over to him, throwing a thigh over his lap and settling into his lap. Serious time for a moment. "If you want to stop at any point, let me know, okay?"

Leo nodded. "Same goes for you."

Cute. I pressed my lips to his gently, softly, a small thank you for being receptive. I shifted myself forward a little, until my hips were almost against his. My lips ghosted over his lips one last time before I swept along his jawline. I felt his hands hovering over my waist, my hips, my thighs, before I took his wrists and settled him on the tops of my thighs. "I'm not fragile, baby."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not, but if we keep going like this, I might be."

I rested my hands on his chest. "I'll try not to break you." Leaning in closer, I kissed just below his ear. "At least, not this time."

He whimpered, fingers digging into my flesh beneath my jeans.

I dragged my mouth along the planes of his neck, skin warm and heartbeat pounding beneath it. Finding his pulse point, I gave it a gentle suck, feeling Leo inhale sharply. "Good?"

He let out a shuddery breath. "Very good."

That was all the encouragement I needed. I nipped hard up and down his neck, leaving a trail of blossoming red in my wake. I bit purple roses and violets, tattooing the little moans and gasps from him into his skin. His collarbone was decorated with faint teeth marks, each one marked with the memory of a twist of his hips.

I pulled back briefly to tug at his button-down and he nodded emphatically, practically ripping it off so I could continue to kiss and bite and suck at his overheated skin.

"Hey," he breathed, tapping my thigh. "I made a questioning noise, still buried in his neck. "Hey, if you don't stop we're gonna have a problem that can only be solved with doing laundry and I don't think you have jeans my size."

"So what? I think that's sexy as fuck." I continued to work on the large brand I was sucking into his skin.

"My point still stands." He ran his hand up my back and into my hair, gently tugging to pull me away. I let a moan slip before I could catch it and Leo raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up," I poked at a hickey and he hissed. "You look like you got too enthusiastic with watercolour paints."

He rolled his eyes and before I could register the action, he flipped us round so he was hovering above me, elbows supporting him. "You've had your fun, reducing me to a whimpery mess, now it's my turn."

I bit my lip at the look in his eyes, suddenly feeling that I was wearing far too many clothes.

Waiting for any indication that he should stop, Leo dragged my shirt over my head as best he could, leaving me in a bra and my jeans. He caught his breath as he saw my tattoos. I was covered in them, an art gallery of my favourite things done by some of my favourite people. Reverently, he traced a finger over the lines and I shivered, goosebumps mottling my skin.

"Holy shit, you're gorgeous."

I gave a breathy laugh. "What, only just noticed?"

Leo shook his head, deadly serious. "No, you're always gorgeous, this is just... a new part of the gorgeous that I've never seen before."

My cheeks felt hot and I wriggled under him at the compliments. "You gonna do something about it, or?"

His eyes flicked up to mine. "What, you don't think I'd fuck you into next week if I had the chance?"

I didn't have a chance to formulate a retort. He deftly undid the fastening on my jeans and dipped his hand into them. I arched my back at the contact and Leo swore. "God, you're soaked, hermosa, glad to see I'm not the only one on the edge."

My hand made weak contact with his arm and he laughed. "Very much not a bad thing, very much a 'sexy as fuck' thing."

"Just fuckin' touch me, Valdez."

"As you wish."

He slipped a finger inside my pussy, and my eyes rolled back. Marking him up may have affected me more than I let on. "M-more, Leo, I need more."

Obediently, he added another finger, and another, curling all three so deliciously inside me. My hands were clutching at his shoulders, at the pillows, the bedspread, I was sure I looked a mess but Leo looked at me like I'd hung the stars in the damn sky.

"So fucking pretty, so beautiful, I'm gonna take you out on a proper date tomorrow, I swear." He muttered promises and affections and it was all I could do to not come right there, impaled on his fingers and whining desperately.

When his hand pulled away I nearly sobbed before he was kissing my face, murmuring reassurances. "I know, I know, but I gotta get your jeans and panties off, okay? You want me to fuck you, right?"

That gave me a little clarity, and I allowed him to tug off the rough demin both from me and from him. I threw myself to the side, rummaging around in my bedside table before triumphantly producing a foil packet.

Leo accepted the gift and I got to see him slip on the condom and bite his lip to not come from the contact.

"Leo." He looked up at me, curls a mess, lips slightly swollen.

"Fuck me into next week."

He pounced on me, hands grasping at my hips to pull me flush against him. The pads of his fingers tightened and I allowed myself a moment to imagine the bruises they would leave after this.

He guided his cock in between my thighs, pausing right at the entrance. "You all good?"

I smiled. "So very good."

He pushed into me with one swift motion and I cried out, feeling so full and so good. Leo pounded into me, looking as desperate as I felt. He buried his face into my neck. "Okay, super lame but I am not gonna last long."

"Super not lame." My voice sounded wrecked. "Super fucking hot that I got you that worked up. You are super welcome to come whenever you want."

I felt him smile against my skin. "You first."

His hand reached down in a feat of strength with how hard he was thrusting into me, and he began pushing circles into my clit. My head tilted back and Leo pressed sharp kisses into the exposed flesh.

The sensations were too much and would never ever be enough and I tilted my hips just right so he was hitting just right inside me and the thin line keeping me tethered snapped.

My nails dug into his shoulders and I came hard, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and excitement and with just enough clarity I felt Leo's hips stutter as my pussy clamped down on his dick as I came. His swearing was muffled into my skin but he pushed into me as much as he could, coming with almost a shout.

There was a moment of quiet, the two of us remembering how to breathe and enjoying the feeling of being connected. It was with simultaneous groans that Leo pulled out of me, flopping to my side and pressing absent kisses to my shoulder.

"Well," he breathed. "How do my new tattoos looks?"

I ran my fingers over my masterpiece. "I'd say they look pretty good, if I do say so myself."

-----------------------------

yes i did get carried away lol hope you enjoyed and thank you for requesting!

[sthormiiii]

today i offer you:

viravos flowershop au !!! 💐

kim'dael has a tattoo shop nextdoor bc i lovee the idea of them being besties !! (also bc im such a lesbian and needed to draw her in a pretty outfit...)

i want to make this au a fanfiction so badd, but I don't have enough free time😕😕

[todayisafridaynight]

[rabbit-hearted-girl]

Hey guys, I think Joost survived and opened up a flower shop...

[charlclerc]

Harlow Street

Lando Norris/ Oscar Piastri - Chapter 1/?

“Hello.” An accented voice came from behind Lando.

“Hello,” Lando responded meekly, like a child caught drawing on the walls. He didn’t turn around just yet, already eager to plan his escape before the unknown figure could see his face.

“It doesn’t bite, by the way- the bike, that is- although, it was entertaining to watch you jump a mile. It won’t hurt you.” He recognised the accent immediately; there was only so much hanging around Daniel you could do before you became accustomed to an Australian’s way of language.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando scoffed. “That orange is enough to scar someone’s eyes. Someone could probably claim against that.”

“I don’t know about that, but sure.” The man gave a small laugh.

Or,

Lando is a florist in Harlow Street, a close community town, and Oscar is the new tattoo artist that caught his attention.

Spotify Playlist

[fruitcoops]

Bam-Boo!

Day 10: tattoo artist/ flower shop owner because...what the hell else would Mr Walker dream of, other than his hot goth-jock girlfriend? Never passing up that opportunity. Characters belong to @lumosinlove and header/ fest credit goes to @noots-fic-fests!

Day Nine movie: Jaws (1975)

“Stunning.”

A slitted brow rose. Thomas wanted to melt into the concrete like a sad, sad ice cream cone on a hot beach.

Your sign. Your art. Your face. “Plant?” he offered, holding the terracotta pot up between them.

The woman’s suspicion faded into surprise. She looked between them at the vibrant leaves (Thomas had made sure it was his best, and the same color as her eyes, not that she needed to know that) and smiled.

She smiled.

Smiled.

“Mint,” she said, and then there were dimples. “How did you know?”

Thomas swallowed. “Shot in the dark. Your window was empty.”

“Ouais. Still moving in.”

French. Oh, god. “It’s a hard one to kill.”

“I know.” Her fingernails were short and painted a glossy jet black, like thin pieces of obsidian. She took one leaf gently between her thumb and forefinger, then looked up at him with blinding curiosity. “My mother has it in her garden back home.”

“Where’s home?” Thomas asked before he could choke it back into a friendly hum.

But she answered anyway. “Québec. A lake town outside Montréal.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“Stunning,” she agreed, grinning. Thomas was grateful for his nigh-invisible blush, because his face was in absolute flames.

“I meant—I meant the store,” he managed lamely.

The woman gave him a look. “Did you?”

Yes. Maybe. “Mostly.”

“Quel dommage.”

“Damage?” Thomas frowned at the storefront behind her. “Is it the plumbing? Mine is always acting up because of the irrigation systems. They’re old buildings, sometimes those things crap out—sorry, fail.”

She was still looking at him, expectant and amused. Thomas’ mouth was chalk-dry.

“I could take a look for you,” he offered. “Just…to make sure it’s working.”

Her gaze pierced his soul the same as a thin silver hoop pierced her upper ear. A wisp of her hair flitted in front of it on the next gust. Thomas flexed his hand at his side and forced himself to remain motionless. “Noelle,” she finally said.

His heart stuttered. “Christmas?”

“My name,” she corrected. Her face sparkled. “My name is Noelle, and I would very much appreciate it if you came in to take a look sometime.”

“Oh.” Very much appreciate it. Her name was Christmas, and she very much appreciated him. “Well. I would be happy to.”

Her clunky black boots squeaked at a slight rock forward and back. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed.

“Thank you for the mint.”

“You’re welcome.” She was playing with the leaves again, her hand so close he could see each silver ring and had to quickly look away. A fleur-de-lis had been inked in black behind her silver hoop. Who had done it for her? A coworker at the parlor? A friend? Did she do her own tattoos?

Noelle had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes despite the boots. “I use it in my tea.”

“You have tea?”

“Mhm. Every night.”

“That sounds nice.” He was going to faint. On the ground.

“It is.” Her sweater looked warm, but she still shivered at the next bit of wind that rustled the crunchy leaves down the sidewalk. They’d make it inside by nightfall. Probably.

Thomas might just stay here, now that he thought about it, frozen between his cheerful You Grow, Girl! welcome mat and her own bat-themed one.

“It’s better when it’s fresh,” Noelle continued with half a shrug. “So. Merci beaucoup.”

“We have a lot of extra, if this one doesn’t work out.”

She made a little humming sound, life-green eyes darting over his face and hands and apron and why had he not left his apron inside? “I think it will,” she said decisively.

“Don’t jinx the poor guy,” Thomas tried to joke, giving the mint a light shake. “That’s bad luck he doesn’t need.”

Noelle kept on smiling, like she had no idea what it did to him. “I’ll come by tomorrow for flowers. For the shop.”

For you, Thomas decided right then and there. They’ll all be for you. “Let me know what you like, and I’ll have it ready.”

“I’m sure I’ll find something.” That Mona Lisa smile. She took the pot between callused palms, holding it gently near the rim and under the base. A bit of graphite and ink stained the heels of her hands. He had missed it before. Her eyelashes looked impossibly thick when she glanced up at him. “Any care instructions?”

“Um.” Nothing. Blankness. What was mint, again? “Light and water, mostly. There’s a packet of plant food in the top to start him out while he adjusts.”

Noelle brought the plant up to cover one half of her face. “Feed me,” she joked in a low growl, wiggling the leaves at him. He laughed; the weight across his shoulders grew light. Noelle’s grin widened, all white teeth and a light rose flush to her cheeks.

“I’ll be in at eight tomorrow,” Thomas said before he could chicken out.

Noelle gave a crisp nod. “À demain…?”

“Thomas.” He sounded hoarse even to his own ears. “Thomas Walker.”

She cradled the pot in one hand and waved with the other, stepping back toward the rich black lace and neon purple adorning from her front windows. “See you tomorrow, Thomas Walker.”

Thomas stayed on the sidewalk after all, sneakers refusing to budge. The bell above her door jingled as it shut behind her. “Bye, Christmas,” he whispered to nobody at all.

[watcheraurora]

17k word one-shot completed and posted! Enjoy!

[amiharana]

ok I was reading thru your tattoo/flower shop au and I had to share the brainrot.

I hc revali as indigenous (particularly great plains native american) and oh man, what if at some point he very hesitantly brings up with link that he wants to get facial tattoos or something similar that's significant to him but he's nervous?? And Link goes out of his way to learn traditional stick-n-poke techniques so he can be the one to give revali his tattoos?? And it's like super sweet and meaningful for them both and Link feels honored that revali trusts him enough to ask? (and also revali is scared shitless and Link has to stop several times so he doesnt mess up and hurt revali more than it typically would)

like what if though???

ahem (taps mic) Hello can anyone hear me. i haven't written a tumblr ask in ages i feel ancient

first of all, i'm glad to hear that you still think of my tattoo/flower shop au haha it's been way over a year now since i wrote it. i still very much appreciate everyone who drew art for it 🫶 i've had a few passing thoughts about writing it into an actual proper multi-chaptered fic but i've been busy wrestling with school, work, and my personal demons for the past year that it's been quite difficult to even think about writing anything. thank you to anyone who's still here; i appreciate you a lot 🤍

i love the hc of revali as indigenous and i think it really fits in with the presence of the rito people as we're introduced to in the games, but i won't touch on that too much since i'm not indigenous/well-versed in indigenous culture. you know what i Am well-versed in though? these gay ass mfs

i had to reread my own au post for this Lord it's been too long, i wrote back then that i thought of revali as someone who isn't too fond of tattoos and doesn't have a great pain tolerance for them, and i still believe in that LOL. mixing that in with a hc where revali is indigenous is quite interesting, because i would assume that tattoos are an important/frequently appearing aspect of the culture? revali's parents have also passed in this au and he's alone with no family running the shop, so perhaps revali was estranged from his indigenous culture while growing up/at some point and became interested in trying to connect with it as an adult. maybe he came across the topic of traditional tattoos and after researching about it, he became interested in getting one but again because of his low pain tolerance, he thought it probably may never happen. well...

during one of their shared lunch breaks perhaps at a new cafe that's opened up on tabantha street, revali absentmindedly mentions his family and the tattoos. link immediately looks up at him from his food, those lovely blue eyes searching his face curiously.

"traditional tattoos?" he says, cocking his head at revali. revali blinks. well, of course link would have interest in the topic since he was a fellow tattoo artist himself, but the way he was looking at revali was...

"well yes," revali continues. "i suppose i haven't really talked to you much about myself personally, have i? i'm an indigenous hyrulean and my blood is descended from the rito tribe, but i'm not well-versed in my own culture." he mumbles the last few words, looking down at his coffee. "my parents and i lived on reservation land until i was 5 and then we moved away to a bigger city for work. there weren't many other rito there and so i didn't grow up with a lot of other indigenous folk. i don't know much about my family or my culture because of it, and even after my parents passed, it's never come up until now." revali glances back at link, who is now watching him with rapt attention. he looks away again, his cheeks beginning to warm. "i thought it would be nice to connect with my culture by getting a traditional tattoo of the rito tribe, perhaps something small so i can handle it. though, i wouldn't be able to travel to the reservation to find a traditional tattooist because of the shop and neither do i know of any tattoo artists nearby that could do it..."

"i'll do it," link says suddenly. revali looks at him again and blinks. link's eyes are bright and wide, blazing with determination. he's still holding his sandwich in his hands.

"i-i couldn't ask that of you," revali says, heart skipping a beat. "you'd likely have to learn an entire new and unfamiliar technique, and—"

"i'll do it," link insists, placing the sandwich down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes are still trained on revali, just as insistent as his mouth is. revali swallows.

"use a napkin, please," he mutters, passing link one. the blond takes it and grins at him. "if it's something that you greatly desire to do... i will assist you in offering as much information as i can. i... appreciate it, link." i appreciate you, he thinks but the words get stuck in his throat. link's smile only grows.

thinking about link who researches rito tribal tattoos for a few weeks and reporting and discussing his findings with revali during their mon/wed lunch breaks. thinking about link who spends countless nights staying up compiling everything he finds into a document, the different types of tribal tattoos and their meanings, researching the materials and tools needed for traditional tattoos, sketching different tribal symbols endlessly for the perfect one for revali in between tattoo sessions with other clients, thinking about where on revali's body it would go, thinking about revali's warm skin under his hands... let's keep it PG link 🫡

the day finally arrives when link introduces the tattoo sketches to revali. link probably shows him a few ideas of a small rito symbol on his fingers, wrist, deltoid, ankle, and even ribs. HOWEVER. i really like the idea of the winged rito symbol across the back of revali's shoulders to represent his wings in canon? so what if. link who sketched a drawing of revali's back muscles with the winged rito symbol and he doesn't mean to show it to revali since it's a much bigger tattoo than revali wanted, but revali happens upon it anyway while scrolling through the sketches on link's ipad.

"what's this one?" revali says pointing at it.

link glances over at the screen and flushes. "oh, i didn't mean for you to see this one," he murmurs. he uses two fingers to zoom in on the image slightly. "i just had an idea for this particular symbol, so i sketched it out because i thought it'd look nice. i know you wanted a smaller one, so we can just focus on the first sketches—"

"it's beautiful," revali cuts him off, voice soft and still looking at the winged sketch. "how much do back tattoos hurt?" and link is jaw dropped, staring at him with hearts in his eyes LMFAOOOOOOOO

thinking about link who actually reaches out to a traditional tattooist from revali's tribe and asks if he can mentor link so he can learn their technique??? maybe link and revali who end up traveling to the reservation together so revali can visit and link can learn directly from the tattooist??? revalink road trip and sharing a bed trope??? link would probably only take a week tops to learn the technique since he's like a prodigal artist and the tattooist is impressed. also revali getting to spend time with and learn more about his culture from others from the tribe who live there 🥺

if revali does get the winged rito symbol tattoo on his back, he probably wouldn't get it as a solid color, maybe link would incorporate more tribal lineart into it like the totk zonai imagery? i've never gotten a tattoo so i don't know if back tattoos or the style of solid color tattoos would hurt, but regardless, link would make revali as comfortable as he can throughout all the sessions 🥺🥺🥺

originally when i read this ask and you mentioned facial tattoos, i thought about link gently holding revali's jaw between his pointer finger and thumb to readjust the positioning of his face in the midst of tattooing him, and revali sucking in a breath at the contact WAHHHH but with the direction i took with this post, i also thought about link laying a flat palm between revali's shoulder muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin and tracing his shoulder blades with a featherlight touch and revali getting flustered but muttering, "are you going to keep me in suspense?"

link traces a line down revali's spine. "are you sure you want to get this tattoo?" he murmurs. "we can still do the smaller ones instead if you want. i know how you feel about it, with your pain tolerance and all."

revali snorts, trying to mask his nervousness. "i've already made up my mind. it's a beautiful piece that you put a lot of thought into and i'm not backing out now. besides..." revali's voice lowers into a mumble. "i wouldn't have gone through with it if it was anyone else. i trust you."

link's cheeks pinked in the sweet way they do when revali catches him off-guard, but he can't take it back. he doesn't want to take it back, because it's true; revali trusts link for this with everything he has.

hhh . AHHHH . i just think. yeagh.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Delicate

it's been a weird day already.

but not, like, bad: the sky is clear and it's not windy, which is such a welcome break from the weeks and weeks of rain you kind of want to dance down the sidewalk or something (you don't, but only because you have on this cool new pair of pants you thrifted last week and one over-exuberant roll through a puddle and they'd be wet for the day); there wasn't a long line at camila's coffee shop, so you were early to work; none of your appointments, even, have been late. good-weird sometimes feels way more unsettling than bad-weird, though, or at least that's what you've told your therapist who nodded — trauma responses, this and that, or so she says.

your first two clients are easy — small, simple stuff, which is always nice to start off with. chanel is finishing her last session on a wicked cool back piece with a chill client, and it's all pretty vibey until you're outside on the little front patio of the studio eating the pizza you'd grabbed from down the street for a late lunch, casually people watching. it all happens so fast: you're taking a bite and then, bam, there’s someone on a bike skidding out of control and then falling with a thump, tangled up in the metal frame and pedals spinning.

'shit,' you say, even though the person is already struggling their way out from under the bike — a good sign, overall. but still, you put your pizza down on the table chanel insisted you buy and wheel down the ramp until you're on the sidewalk, close enough to be able to ask, 'are you okay?'

the person — a very, very hot person, in carhartt overalls, a pristine white t-shirt, and blundstones — groans but then nods, stands up fully from the street and hefts the bike back upright by the handlebars. 'yes. i'll be fine. a minor fall.'

there's an embarrassed blush rising behind freckles and, 'you're bleeding.' it's roadrash, nothing serious, along an elbow, both palms, but still — 'my shop is right here.' you point behind you. 'let me patch you up, we have all the sterile stuff and everything.'

'i — okay.'

you smile, then smile even bigger when this very hot bike-falling blushing stranger takes her helmet off and her short hair — slightly sweaty — is tousled, a little messy on the top, even messier after she tries to brush it back with her fingers. 'sweet.' you offer your hand, even though she's dragging her bike alongside her. 'i'm ava.'

she leans the bike against her hip, grants you a small smile, and meets your eyes, even though her blush gets worse. 'beatrice.'

her hand is calloused and warm and she locks her bike against your railing, then follows you up the ramp.

'so you're who moved in,' she says, not unkindly, and you nod. it's a beautiful studio — you'll claim it was 50/50 design choices all day long, but it really was mostly chanel who chose the perfect shelving, the easy colors, the furniture that was simple and comfortable and cool as fucking hell, all at once. 'me and chanel, the other artist and owner,' you say. chanel's gun is very quietly buzzing behind the partition that separates her station from the front desk, and you lead beatrice back to your station.

the scrape along her elbow — delicate, one of the most difficult places to tattoo properly, all small, sharp bones and live-wire nerves — isn't deep or particularly dirty, so you clean it quickly and without too much discomfort, if her comfortable quiet and measured breathing is anything to go by.

'you're an expert on this, i suppose,' she says, as you get out your second skin once everything is clean and dry.

you laugh. 'tattoos aren't too dissimilar.' you allow yourself to look — after a lot of restraint, thank you very much — at her nearly-finished sleeve: fine lines and tender greyscale of flowers and plants, a few bugs, woven together. there's space on the underside of her wrist, still, a little unexpected. 'this is beautiful.'

beatrice smiles softly, a little sad. 'thank you.'

'no, like, genuinely.' you take your gloves off once the second skin is on perfectly and roll back in your chair to see it a little clearer. 'it really is.'

that blush again. 'i'm a gardener,' beatrice says, as if that explains everything. you have a few silly tattoos along your thighs — some are from you practicing along your own skin, a perk of not feeling anything below your waist — and your favorite along the top of your right hand. it's the first chanel did for you, the start of how you became friends — and business partners, eventually — and it's not hard, really, to remember the control you felt when you got to choose to make your body in your own image, when you had someone you trusted to help.

'that's awesome.'

she nods, once, like it's a finite truth. 'along with my sister, i run the florist shop on the other side of camila's. we farm all of our own flowers, only local pollinators.'

'permaculture,' you say, 'sick.'

it gets a laugh out of her — fucking delightful, and, whew, you want to keep making that happen — 'it is.' she stands, looking almost — dare you say it — regretful. 'unfortunately, i do have to get back to said shop for the afternoon. but maybe i can buy you a coffee?'

'camila gives me my coffee for free.'

she blanches and it takes a few seconds before you reach out and pat her hand with a laugh. 'i'm sorry, i was just messing with you. i'd love to get coffee with you.'

'yeah?'

'dude, are you kidding? i want to know all about your plants.'

she's got the most proper accent of all time, and you're kind of wishing for her to say something like, and i, your art, but instead she just nods, a little tongue-tied, you think, which is endearing in its own way too. 'thank you again, ava.'

'anytime.' you pause. 'well, not the exact same circumstances. don't need you flinging yourself off of your bike just to say hi to me again —'

'i didn't fall because of you —'

'i know i'm, like, cool and stunning, but you really should be more careful.'

she rolls her eyes, but there's still a smile on her face. you know you're, as chanel puts it, dangerously charming, so you'll take it.

you watch her walk down the ramp and unlock her bike, then walk it two doors down to the florist that always had swathes of wildflowers in the windows. you've only been here a few weeks, and you'd been very busy setting everything up and getting your clients in asap, but you'd planned to check it out eventually. now, you have even more of a reason to.

and, like, maybe it's a little gay, whatever, but you transfer out of your chair to sit more comfortably at your station while you wait for your next client and start to sketch some wildflowers and their pollinators. bees, your favorites, and maybe it doesn't mean anything or maybe it means something. you don't really believe in everything but you do think that people can be kind and that the earth itself is overwhelmingly good. that's enough, most days, really.

chanel finishes with her client and it's a good-good-weird day because she offers to order dinner without you even having to whine. you fall asleep later at home thinking abt how warm beatrice's skin had been, how it had been easy to make sure she would heal well, all the flowers there, blooming; her freckles and her blush. maybe, if you're lucky, she's thought of you too.

[seeker-of-stories19]

Simon who hates every scar on his body, from his top surgery scars to the Glasgow smile and every other mark between. He doesn’t wear them with honor like so many of the soldiers he knows- doesn’t even feel the slightest bit of pride in what he’s survived.

No his sense of masculinity and self worth was so damaged by his dad that he views each mark on his body as a failure. Too stupid, too weak, too slow, unable to save his mom, unable to save Tommy, unable to save his team from Roba, unable to save himself- even the matching crescents under his pecs that Gaz and Soap had been shocked to learn were quite old, so old it was a miracle he found someone to do the operation at all, don’t bring any kind of positive feeling to him it’s just another reminder of his body fucking failing him.

It breaks Johnny’s heart that he’s so deeply distraught by the marks on his body and he spends a ridiculous amount of time kissing them gently and reminding Simon how beautiful he is. He thinks of the scars completely differently to Simon- a constant reminder that he survived what no one else could.

He hates that someone so precious could’ve been hurt so much but throughout his entire life he survived every one of the horrible violent marks on his body, lived long enough to find him. Sometimes when they’re in bed and Simons in a particularly forgiving mood he kisses the painful pink smile carved crudely into his cheeks and tells him how good he is for waiting for him, for not giving up before they could find each other- tells him he’s brave for surviving everything just so they could meet.

It definitely makes Simon very emotional even if he doesn’t agree.

One day when they’re lounging around Johnny asks him if he has any scars he doesn’t hate and Ghost immediately points to a fairly fresh bullet scar on the outside of his thigh Soap is baffled as to why a random bullet wound, and particularly one that annoyingly knocked him out of commission for a couple weeks, would mean more to him than any of the more significant wounds he’s survived.

Simon just says that he likes it because it was for Johnny and he just sits frozen as Simon adds on that he likes all the scars he got protecting Johnny- those are the only ones that mean anything to him.

It’s something he thinks about a lot in the following months but he never expects that after Makarov he’ll wake up in a civilian hospital with Ghost pressed against his side, cradling his head as gently as possible and pressing kisses against his bandaged temple as he cries, apologizing profusely the whole time for not being fast enough.

Apologizing for not taking the bullet for Soap.

Soap can’t talk and can barely move at the time but he doesn’t forget those words even when everything else from that period blurs together.

When he’s finally released and honorably discharged with various medals he’s shocked when Simon tentatively brings up the incident with Makarov and asks him if he can forgive him, if he’ll still have him even though he couldn’t protect him. It’s absolutely insane to him that Ghost could even ask because they all know what they signed up for but the last thing Simon has ever done is not protect him.

Throughout his entire recovery the man was with him every day, his family had visited often as had Price and Gaz but no one had protected him like Simon. From the pity and discouragement and from himself. When the doctors said he’d never walk again he’d been crushed but Simon had just rolled his eyes and given him a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’ And it had been walking toward him clutching the rails for dear life in the PT room that he took his first steps into this new life.

Last night when he’d whispered into the dark of the hospital room his deepest insecurities that he’ll never be the same, that he might need help for the rest of his life Ghost hadn’t even hesitated before shrugging that it didn’t matter if he needed help because he would always be there if he did.

And now he was asking permission to rest after a lifetime spent in the trenches he was asking for gentleness and a life with him- most people would never understand the significance of that moment but from Simon it means more than a proposal ever could.

When they go home to his Glasgow flat together he sits on the couch while Ghost does the heavily lifting moving his things in alone and it takes everything in him not to cry when he pulls his shirt off to wipe some sweat away from his eyes with a tired smile before going back to work, pale skin flexing in the light, scars as much a sign of strength as his massive muscles.

When he’s done he makes them both coffee and settles into his side while Soap contemplates how to approach the idea he’s been mulling over for the last hour. Instead of bringing it up he reaches for the pen on the coffee table and starts sketching a slightly messy arrangement of flowers onto Simons upper arm opposite the tattoo sleeve.

He tries to pour all his affection and gratitude and love into each shaky stroke and line of the pen against his partners skin. Simon just hums contentedly, it’s not the first time they’ve done it and it won’t be the last but this is different than the little bar of soap and the Scottish thistle and little stars he’d sketched along the top of the unfinished sleeve Simon had got tattooed so long ago.

“S’ looks nice Johnny, spending a lot of time on it” he murmurs and Soap just bites his lip in concentration as he nods “Want this one to last” he admits as he adds another detail to one of the leaves in response as Simon lets out a surprised grunt. Sure he’s got several of Johnnys little doodles inked onto him permanently but it’s all random stuff and he’s certainly never asked Simon for this before or designed anything with the intention of it being a tattoo.

“Why this?” Simon asks confusedly and he briefly pauses with the pen “Cause you like the scars from saving me,” he blurts out like it hadn’t been an offhand conversation over a year ago “and in the hospital you apologized for not taking this bullet for me but you were wrong because you saved me from it in every way that coulda mattered- did so well mo ghràidh, you deserve a reminder- something pretty for doing so well.”

He’s half embarrassed to have said it and worried he’s overstepping but Simon just shudders and lets out a choked noise he thinks is his name before slumping shakily into his side as he finishes.

He does get it tattooed the next day and his big brown eyes tear up when Johnny kisses the saniderm and tells him again how good and strong and brave he was for protecting him.

It’s nearly a month later that Simon works up the courage to ask Johnny if he can decorate some of the other scars he got for him- to make them pretty. Since Simon is super into the meaning of different flowers and that’s the theme Johnny choose for the first tattoo he sticks with it for all the smaller ones, picking a flower that’s symbolic to how he got each scar.

He’s very careful not to cover the puckered skin at all, instead creating little rings of flowers around bullet holes and Simon gets each of them tattooed. It’s not many compared to the sheer amount of scars he has but the little flashes of color never fail to make Simon blush when he looks in the mirror and Johnny absolutely melts because he never could’ve imagined something so simple could keep Simon from flinching at his reflection.

Of course it reaches a point where all the scars Ghost has from protecting Soap are done, each having their matching flowers and he thinks it’s over.

But then he cuts his finger opening a jar for Soap who’s hands shake slightly and who’s grip is too weak to loosen the lid and when it heals into a thin white line Soap draws a single stem next to it.

And the same happens when he pushes an angry chihuahua off a terrified Soap and the dog doesn’t like his skull half mask, biting his ankle.

The tattoos draw attention to the scars Simon doesn’t hate and they stand out from the black and grey ones he’d had done in the military.

One day a few years into their marriage when Simon is working at his flower shop while Soap paints in the studio upstairs a young woman buying flowers for her friend asks him about the ring of small blue forget me nots looped around a circle of puckered pink flesh on his bicep where his shirt has ridden up. He proudly tells her that the scar is where he took a bullet for his husband and that Soap had drawn the flowers around each of the scars he got protecting him.

The woman tears up a bit at the story but it’s nothing to how Soap dissolves into silent tears in the stairway when he hears Simon share the story behind the markings with pride in his voice because he hadn’t ever though that was in the cards for him with how he talked about himself prior to the tattoos.

And it just hits him in that moment that they truly made it out in a way that so many who make it out on paper never manage. They’ve built this life together from the ashes of something difficult to even think about and it doesn’t fix any of the horrible things that were done to Simon but they made it out and they were safe now.

Most importantly he has made something Simon thinks is beautiful not only out of their life but out of the mess of gnarled scars on his skin.

He did that.

And Simon is a little confused by his clinginess that night but he absolutely melts into it as Johnny kisses each cluster of brightly colored flowers decorating his skin.

[punmster]

being ace means i don't get giggly or horny about omegaverse aka abo but instead become painfully obsessed with details in anatomy and world building

[icantthink-ofagoodname]

Whaaaat i dont project onto characters i would neeeeeever! *Runs quickly to hide this*