"Alright Tikki, let's work some magic."
The tattoo gun hums agreeably in Marinette's hands. The needle tips dip into a well of green ink and rise to pause, poised over Mylène's marked arm.
There is always that split second of calculation, the tracing of paths in revolution and collision leading to inevitable formation. Simple single-colour tattoos align straightforwardly, where coloured tattoos make for a more nebulous process; but Marinette has done this long enough to be a masterful creator.
Her own deep pink peony tattoos gleam red in the light as her wrist angles, the tattoo gun comes down, and she begins.
Tikki chatters away as Marinette carefully works circles of green ink into Mylène's arm, pausing every now and then to let Marinette wipe away excess ink and blood. The clear image transfer on Mylène's skin provides a map for Marinette to follow, and Tikki skillfully imparts her mark in each place Marinette directs her to.
"Shilin Stone Forest," Marinette comments as she rinses Tikki's needle tips in a cup of clean water. Green washes out before Marinette dips Tikki into a small cup of cool blue ink. "Does it really look like this?"
This being silhouettes of tall, slender rock formations rising like stark monoliths above soft, lush clouds of green treetops. This being less forest and more maze, less talk and more echo. This being a world far away from anything Marinette's ever known.
"Bigger," Mylène replies evenly as Marinette comes down unto her skin again to start inking shadows. "Taller. A little overwhelming. The stone just felt old when you touched it."
It's hard to imagine the sense of scale when the stone trees Marinette inks are as tall as her index finger. They march around the circumference of Mylène's bicep, forming a panoramic bracelet of the landscape.
"Old shouldn't really be something new," Marinette says as she repositions Mylène's arm to tattoo the underside. Though Mylène keeps her muscles relaxed and motionless, Marinette still catches the slight grimace of pain flickering across her face when Tikki bites back into her skin. To keep Mylène's mind off the stinging of the needles, Marinette continues, "Paris is pretty old too, and you've walked these streets hundreds of times."
The distraction works as Mylène bites her lip in thought. Her head turns absentmindedly as her gaze drifts to watch Marinette sculpt form with colour and shadow on her skin.
"Maybe old isn't the right word," Mylène muses. "Ancient, might be better. If the place wasn't so tranquil, I would've been pretty frightened. Even Ivan was kind of uneasy. It felt like… like it was haunted, almost. There was always something more we couldn't see but we could tell was there."
"The tour guide couldn't tell you what it was?" Marinette jokes.
"He didn't know French, and none of Papa's troupe knew Chinese or English to translate," Mylène sighs ruefully. She watches Tikki etch out another stone tree before looking away. Her coloured curls slide down to obscure her face, creating a curtain shielding her gaze from the ink being stitched into her arm. "The most I understood was to not stray off the path."
"Let me guess: Ivan didn't get the memo," Marinette guesses as she redips Tikki into the cup of blue ink.
"He's so big! You think he'd be pretty easy to find, even in a place like that," Mylène laughs. "I can't say anything though. We both ended up getting lost." The memory has her cringing in bashful embarrassment, though she softens when Tikki's humming soothes over the thought.
"That must've been scary," Marinette remarks as Tikki's needles crest over a stone peak. The small image offers no indication at how frightening it must've been to have become lost within its depths. Fear would not have been Marinette's first reaction; fear would not have been allowed sanction within her at all unless every possible solution in her creative arsenal had been exhausted to no effect.
But Mylène isn't Marinette.
"It was," Mylène admits freely, easily. "I was pretty scared."
"Did Ivan or anyone else end up finding you?" Marinette asks as she defines the last shadow. She rinses Tikki in clean water to wash out the blue before saturating the needle tips in a red cool enough to border on purple. Without missing a beat, she starts blending along blue watercolour edges, working the colours so they melted down and softened into each other.
"I found him." Mylène practically glows with the twist in her tale. "I felt like such a mouse, running in between these massive stone trees. It's not hard to feel small in a place of giants."
"Being small has its advantages," Marinette points out with a knowing grin.
"Well, sort of. Do you know how many hidey holes and little caves that get formed in a place that big, in a place that old? It's just endless."
"Oh boy, tell me about it," Marinette encourages. Tikki hums steadily on, leaving swaths of coloured ink in her wake.
"Ivan was actually stuck in an archway when I found him," Mylène laughs. "Don't tell him I told you that; he's still embarrassed by it."
Envisioning giant and imposing Ivan as embarrassed is a difficult feat of the imagination even for someone as practiced as Marinette; picturing him wedged between a stone archway is comparatively much easier.
"I don't know who'd believe me anyway," Marinette says as she turns Mylène's arm over again. Tikki sinks into the soft underside once more. "I'm pretty sure you're the only one who sees this side of him."
"I think I'm the only one who's ever seen him that scared too," Mylène says. She pauses for a moment, letting Tikki take over the conversation with the chatter of her needles. Her head tilts suddenly, as if weighed by a thought. "You know me, Marinette. I've never really been the bravest or strongest person. But when I found Ivan, when I was with him again…"
The unfinished sentence has Tikki pausing, has Marinette looking up to Mylène in complete attention.
"...I wasn't scared anymore," Mylène says. "And that was very big to me."
"Well," Marinette breathes after a moment. She scoops a dollop of Vaseline with a gloved finger and rubs it onto the partially coloured tattoo in a gesture that's as much practical as it is comforting. The jelly soothes over the irritated skin and brings out the bright and clear gleam of the colours. "No wonder you want to add that place to your tattoo collection."
"Ivan says it's kind of ironic, that these moments become small enough for me to carry around," Mylène says. Her free arm lifts up, letting the bright overhead lights wash over the three tattooed bracelets ringed around her forearm.
Marinette knows them as well as the day she inked them into Mylène's skin. No tattoo escapes her memory in spite of the hundreds, maybe even thousands she's given over the years.
This part is easy. The artistry and the creativity, those are traits Marinette inherited from both her parents and cultivated with pride. Her hands fit and wield Tikki perfectly, masterfully, like she'd been born to stitch and weave threads of colour together into tapestries for others to wear.
"What do you think will happen this time? I mean, when he touches this tattoo? Which you're totally ok on passing this question if it makes you uncomfortable," Marinette asks, then fumbles over as she dips Tikki into a cup of red ink.
"You've given both of us all our tattoos and helped us find each other." Mylène smiles kindly. "Uncomfortable is the last emotion I think I could feel with you."
"Glad you think so for the moment at least," Marinette chuckles nervously as she colours the rest of the stone faces in.
Mylène's gaze is almost a palpable touch as she considers her new tattoo for a moment. "Maybe the trees will go through different seasons? Or maybe moss will start growing on the stone? Maybe both. I can never tell if the reaction will be a drastic one or not, it's always a surprise."
The grin Marinette gives Mylène strings up tightly at the corners. Despite the multitude of tattoos Marinette's given, despite knowing exactly what kind of culture and business she was getting into when she took over Luck be A Lady, this part is still uncomfortably foreign to her. Her own cluster of tattooed peonies gleam from her wrist, the only such mark on her body.
"Right. A surprise," Marinette mutters as she works Tikki into colouring the last patch. "As much as a surprise as one could get from your soulmate anyway."
The first time she saw Ivan's heavy fingers brush against one of the vivid tattoos etched onto the pale translucence of Mylène's skin, it had been a sight as breathtaking as it was painfully intimate. The band of stars had ruptured into fireworks, raining glittering gold upon the silhouetted cityscape of Paris against the deep blue of the night. For such a small tattoo, the reaction had been stunningly explosive.
The stars only glimmer and twinkle faintly now, a pulsing of potential energy that will come undone for only one.
Marinette hasn't seen how the other places tattooed in rings around Mylène's arms react to Ivan's touch; but in the end, that is only for them to know.
"If you still want to know, I can tell you when I come in for a checkup," Mylène offers.
"You're sweet," Marinette sighs, an answer and yet not an answer at all, and leaves it at that.
With the final portion of the landscape coloured, she steps off the pedal of the tattoo machine and waits for Tikki to fall silent and motionless before setting her aside. Despite the number of times Marinette's done this, she still takes her time wiping excess ink and blood thoroughly away before rubbing over the new tattoo with ointment, preparing the fruits of her labour for final judgement.
At Marinette's nod, Mylène slides off the chair and walks over to the floor length mirror tucked in the corner.
"Oh, Marinette," Mylène breathes. "Just when I think you can't get any better, you always outdo yourself."
One of Mylène's most endearing qualities is that she is unabashedly expressive in her happiness; her voice alone carries the full, round weight of her delight. Still, Marinette pauses from disassembling the tubes and needles from Tikki to properly dispose of to look up and catch Mylène gingerly turning her arm to examine the band of soft green treetops and the stone trees jutting up like sentries marched around her bicep. Pleasure makes Mylène's round cheeks and hazel eyes glow bright.
"It looks good on you. You gave me the perfect set of pictures to make a stencil out of," Marinette acknowledges as she rolls the needles in a red bin labeled for sharp objects and gathers the cups of ink, the disposable tubes, and paper towels to dump in the trash bin. Her latex gloves snap off before she rummages around her cabinet for a camera.
Used to the procedure, Mylène offers her arm with a huge smile, holding still as Marinette snaps photos all around her arm. Even though the point of the pictures is to capture just the tattoo, just her work, Marinette can't resist sneaking a portrait complete with Mylène's glowing grin.
"Perfect," Marinette announces as she scrolls through the pictures quickly. The camera disappears into the cabinet once more before Marinette snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves, gesturing to the seat. "Let me bandage this up."
Mylène plants her butt comfortably in the chair once more, patiently offering her arm for Marinette.
"You," Marinette starts, "know," another wipe down with ointment, "what," the unfurling of non-stick plastic wrap. "When you do find how what happens with this tattoo when Ivan touches it, tell Alya. You know her, the more she can figure out how all this soulmate stuff happens, the happier she is."
"Is she still running the Ladyblog?" Mylène asks, swaying in the chair as Marinette tugs and wraps the bandage around the tattoo.
"Yup. I don't know if you've checked it since you've been back, but she added a forum where people can go and share what their tattoos do when 'The One' touches them." That was not condescension that leaked into her voice just now. "She's done some serious encryption to protect user confidentiality if you're not comfortable sharing your name or identity. Don't call it an obsession where she can hear you though," Marinette warns. "That girl means business."
"I'm glad," Mylène laughs. "I'm ok letting you and Alya know what happens but otherwise I kind of like to keep this between me and Ivan. I'll check the new forum out though, it sounds fun."
"A happier place than the support group for people with tattoo and love life issues," Marinette agrees. "It was nice of Alya to set that one up too though. Ok, you're all set, Alya will help you pay out, and you know all the aftercare stuff as well as I do at this point."
"Maybe you could pay me to give the spiel to new customers instead then," Mylène jokes, sliding off the chair and gathering up her bag and coat.
"Not that tired of doing the talk just yet," Marinette laughs, punctuating with a wink as Mylène heads out the door to the front area. The door wafts open in her wake, spilling in waves of laughter and the distinctive voice of Kim issuing a challenge likely as ridiculous as much as impractical.
Knowing that Alya is more than a match for Kim and whoever else is hanging around out there, Marinette takes her time disinfecting the machinery of Tikki's body before putting her into the autoclave. The counters and the chair gets a thorough and meticulous wipe-down, an exacting routine that Sabine impressed upon her very early on, before the gloves roll off and are thrown out. She washes her hands and gives the space a once-over, mentally checking to ensure everything is cleaned, spotless, and ready for the next customer, before diving into the fray outside.
The familiar wood and glass walls decorated with pictures of everyone who has gotten a tattoo at Luck be A Lady greet her, a space as much a home to her as her parents' boulangerie-pâtisserie. Large, comfortable couches covered liberally with pillows circle the room, with low coffee tables bearing books full of tattoo ideas and designs seated in front of them.
Alya tap-tap-taps her fingers against the front counter, her hazel eyes glittering sharply in observation as Marinette joins her. Before them stands everyone else in various stages of undress.
Just another normal day.
"Bite me," Alix snarls as she shoves her sweatpants down, baring black spandex shorts. Her crop top already lies in a crumpled heap by her feet, leaving her torso clothed in only her sports bra.
"You wish," Kim barks as he yanks the collar of his shirt over his head to toss onto the floor. He pivots on the spot to display his bare back, smugly flexing his muscles.
"I have nothing to prove to you guys," Nino declares as he slings his sweatshirt over his shoulder. He backs up and plops back into a couch, sinking into the soft cushions. "I'll be the judge though."
"I'm guessing Mylène didn't want to stick around for this?" Marinette asks Alya in a low voice, not wanting to interfere with whatever was going down in front of them.
"She came here for a tattoo, not a show," Alya cackles. "Too bad, this is the most entertaining thing that's happened all day. Though Mylène did tell me something very interesting as she was paying."
"Hmm?" Marinette hums absent-mindedly.
"You asked about Ivan touching the tattoo you just gave her."
Like an unexpected sting, Marinette snatches her wrist up, pressing her fingers into her pink peonies hard enough to leave starbursts of white spots dappled across her skin.
"C'mon Al, you know me," Marinette murmurs. "Just because I ask the questions doesn't always mean I want to hear the answer."
No rebuttal or lecture comes from Alya in the wake of her admission, only an understanding hug around the shoulders. Following age old habit, Marinette snakes an arm around Alya's waist and leans her head to rest against Alya's fiery, curly mass of hair, as good as a pillow. As laced together as they are, their bare hands rest on clothed arms, clothed shoulders, clothed hips, the landmarks of safe zones.
There are some things Marinette would rather not know. Some absolutes she'd rather not be burdened with.
A low, appreciate whistle from Nino hooks both of their attention back to the spectacle in front of them. With the dramatic display of toned muscle from Alix and Kim both, it's hard to tell whether they're comparing who has the more impressive set of abs, or who has the more defined definition of back muscle, or who has the more spectacularly sculpted butt-
"You did a damn good job on those tattoos, Marinette," Nino interrupts the posturing and enlightens the situation.
"Fucking nailed them." Alya's declaration of agreement practically slams down with the ferocity of her pride. "But then, Mari's always been the best at what she does."
"You mean who she does?" Alix snaps in cheekily.
"Can't help it if everyone wants me to do them," Marinette shoots back sweetly, tossing her dark cloud of short hair back with theatrical flair. "I'd threaten to tattoo you over the boniest parts of your body, but I'm pretty sure your pain tolerance has literally no limit."
For how tiny Alix is, the totality of her tattoos map around the circumference of her body in continents segmented into sinuous, feathery wings. Boldly inked in sky blue and vibrant lilac, the tattoos curve up the swell of her calves and thighs, wrap around the narrow curve of her hips, creep across her killer abs, envelop the entirety of her strong shoulders, and rest pale blue feathers upon her neck like fingers.
As a star athlete involved in a myriad of sports, notably professional roller derby, Alix is no stranger to pain.
"Good," Marinette had said when she saw the tattoo designs Alix wanted during consultation. "Because you'll be looking at a whole world of it if you want to go through with all of these tattoos."
"'If'?" Alix repeated, rolling her eyes. "Don't insult me, Marinette. I never do anything halfway."
No one else could claim an intensive a tattoo as Alix; Marinette lost track of how many hours it took to ink every wing and every feather, but it had taken the better part of the week and the most amazing display of pain tolerance she had ever seen from anyone. Even the hours Tikki spent stitching over hip bones, shoulder blades, ankles, and collarbones, Alix never flinched and never cried. Her skin had wept in blood, but the numerous scars littered across her body already strikes the number of times she's split herself open and patched herself up.
The results had been worth every second of painstaking work and endurance from them both; the multitude of wings that close around Alix's body is more feral than ethereal, more electrifying than temperate. With her snappy blue eyes and shock of neon pink hair, she's the personification of a force of nature.
Marinette imagines when Alix races, the speed of her flight sparks her into a bolt of lightning, merciless and absolute.
"You can't touch me anywhere you already haven't," Alix agrees with a snicker. Her laugh crows out raucously when Kim rolls his eyes up.
"Dude, c'mon now," he complains. "I don't need to hear what you and Marinette do when you're alone together."
"You don't need to hear about anything," Alya interjects. "You can see it all over Alix's body."
On cue, Alix spins around to present her back to everyone present, lifting up her arms to flex impressively. The bright blue feathers on her back ripple with the shift in muscle, both a preen and a goad.
"Besides, it's not like you're so innocent from Mari's hands either," Nino laughs. "Your back has her marks all over it."
"I can't tell if I'm running a tattoo parlour or a harem," Marinette mutters. "Does it technically still count if my hands are always gloved when I'm touching them?"
"Absolutely. Safety and consent first." The confirmation comes far too fast to be truly serious, but Marinette bumps her hip against Alya anyway in retaliation, sending Alya careening into the counter and upsetting the vase of delicate Queen Anne's Lace with the force of her laughter.
"Who wouldn't want to touch this magnificence?" Kim says, smugly running a hand up his undercut to smooth his fingers through his styled mohawk.
In the wake of his hand trailing back down, an intricately detailed falcon follows in a nosedive, wings folded in flight along his skull with the head stretched down to angle over his neck. The falcon's beak points down to the rest of the flock soaring down across the shoulder blades and spine. With sharp eyes, sleekly tipped feathers, and lethal talons inked up in solid black, they're dramatic, bold, and impossible to ignore.
It's not hard to understand why a group of falcons is called a cast considering the theatrical production that showcased through Kim's expressions during his tattoo sessions. His most colourful faces appeared when Tikki delicately and painstakingly hummed over his skull for hours, carefully embroidering each detailed feather that composed the primary falcon.
Large feathers called for neat cross hatching and solid blocks of shading which had Marinette's ears ringing and Kim's head rattling for hours after. Tiny, fine feathers speckling the falcon's neck and head called for endlessly repetitive stippling akin to "a thousand merciless pecks", in the eloquent words of Kim.
Being a personal trainer meant he had a rich vocabulary stored in his arsenal, which he used liberally and with great feeling throughout the entire process. Some of his more bizarre terms of expression incorporating tidbits of Korean would punch out when Tikki had to travel over the bone, leaving Marinette wondering if she was causing more destruction than creation.
Well, Kim always did have the hardest head of anyone Marinette's ever known.
"Are you a personal trainer or a wannabe model?" Alix laughs as she rests a dainty foot against the thigh of his track pants. For one so small, Alix is nothing but pure muscle, proving so spectacularly as she delivers a mighty push that knocks Kim back onto the couch next to Nino.
The impact of Kim's fall has Nino scrambling to the edge of the couch closest to Alya and Marinette to avoid Kim's flailing limbs, but the look of alarm that crosses Nino's face holds an edge of an extra thought as well. He turns expectantly, catching Marinette's gaze, and opens his mouth to say something-
"Alright then, so who has the better and more badass tattoo?" Alix demands, taking advantage of Kim's sudden incapacitation.
Drawn back to the whole debacle at hand, Nino swivels his head back to Kim and Alix.
"My vote's for Alix," Alya pipes up.
"Hey! My tattoos are over my skull, not to mention down my spine. I think that immediately makes me the bigger badass." Nothing reanimates Kim faster than the thought of losing a challenge.
"Ok," Alya starts authoritatively, propping her head up with a hand and surveying Kim with dry amusement, "if you have to say you're something, you're not."
"Played yourself sucker," Alix snickers before whooping in victory.
"Bro?" The desperate last chance for redemption weighs in that single word, offered to Nino from Kim.
"I think Alya's swiped the judging decision from me. I can't save you here dude."
Abandoned from all sides, Kim turns a hopeful gaze to Marinette.
The look on Marinette's face informs that all that it's a futile endeavour. "I am the least impartial observer in this room. Your tattoos are like my kids; I don't play favourites."
"Speaking of kids," Alix drawls slowly, still basking in her win, "aren't you supposed to meeting up with Chloé at the gym in like, five minutes?"
For one long beat, there's only silence as Kim stares confusedly at the clock ticking away on the wall before realization shocks him onto his feet and propels him into a blur of motion. In one smooth motion, he swipes his shirt from the ground, shrugs it on, and vaults for the door.
"This isn't over Kubdel," he promises as he yanks the door open. "Next challenge, I'm totally winning."
"In your dreams," Alix hollers as Kim disappears into the world outside.
A second later, the door cracks open again for Kim to peek back. His free hand points back and forth between his eyes and Nino's, the universal code for "I'm watching you".
"Time," Nino warns, but Kim is already gone.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think he's a walking disaster," Marinette sighs as she leans against the counter, toying idly with the tiny star clusters of the Queen Anne's Lace.
"What makes you think he isn't?" Alix snorts as she picks up her crop top and sweatpants and redresses herself. "By the way, do you have time to do a quick touch-up for me?" She thrusts her arm out, rolling to display the crease of her elbow where some of the ink has faded from wear and tear.
"Sure, I don't have anyone else coming in today." After a moment's pause, Marinette's head lolls to the side to look at Alya. "I don't have anyone else coming in today, right?"
"Nope and nada," Alya confirms a few clicks on the computer later. "You're free as bird."
"Come into my nest, then," Marinette says dryly as she straightens up and motions for Alix to follow her to the studio room.
"You spend so much of your time here that this is your nest at this point," Alya says.
"Luck be a lady, Al," Marinette points out before ducking into her studio. "Not a homing pigeon."
Touch-ups usually don't take long, and Marinette could go through the motions in her sleep. For something as small as the area around the crease of Alix's elbow, that could be done in a flash, but Marinette still takes the time to snap a fresh pair of latex gloves on to wipe down the counter and chair with disinfect.
"Go ahead and take a seat," Marinette tells Alix as she pulls the latex gloves off and washes her hands.
Sabine had drummed thoroughness into her marrow, and even for tiny jobs Marinette follows her mother's teachings to the letter.
A new pair of gloves snaps on before she meticulously lays down a dentist bib onto the cleaned counter, a placemat for the tiny cup of bright blue ink she prepares next. Sterilized needles and disposable tubes pop free of their packaging as Marinette expertly loads Tikki up once more.
"Seriously?" Alix comments as Marinette pulls her gloves off yet again, washes her hands, and replaces them with a fresh pair. "Prep and cleanup time will take longer than the actual touching up at this rate."
"You don't mess around when it comes to puncturing holes into someone's skin," Marinette says, picking Tikki up. "I'd rather spend the extra time making sure everything's clean and fresh than have you coming in a week from now suing my ass for an infected tattoo."
"Still seems excessive," Alix says as she lays her arm, palm up, on the chair's armrest.
"You can take it up with my mother if you really want to argue it," Marinette informs her as she dips Tikki's needles into the well of bright blue ink.
"Too much effort," Alix says as Marinette bends over the crease of her elbow and begins filling in the patches where the ink has faded away. Tikki's humming fills the air, as steady and soothing as a lullaby. "Alya is probably someone who'd be willing to argue to the ends of the earth and back."
"Oh, not probably," Marinette laughs. "Most definitely."
Unlike stitching onto a completely new canvas, remnants of Alix's original tattoos still linger in the spots where the ink has faded, providing a familiar map for Marinette to follow. True to Alix's prediction, Tikki finishes up the touch-ups within a few minutes, already taking much less time than it took for Marinette to prep.
"Don't skip out on aftercare," Marinette tells Alix as she wraps the area with a bandage. "If I can't slack, you can't either."
"Yes, Coach," Alix laughs as she hops off the chair. "Thanks for the touch-up. I'll see you around."
"Good luck on your match next weekend," Marinette calls after Alix as she swings through the door. A small hand trails back, fingers waggling to her in acknowledgement before disappearing from sight entirely.
As Marinette slowly takes her time in thoroughly cleaning her station and disposing equipment and trash, Alya and Nino's conversation filters back to her through the open door.
"Why don't you just bring him here? Everyone's always here anyway," Alya says.
"I kind of thought, why not start small first?" The shrug that must have accompanied the response is almost tangible in Nino's voice.
"Nino… Is he your dirty little secret?"
"Nothing stays secret for long around you babe."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Are you asking us to adopt a stray cat?" Marinette asks as she emerges from her closed studio space.
The light joke hardly warrants the guffaw that bursts out of Nino. His smile widens, the corners of his mouth pulling back with the weight of his own little joke in a gesture reminiscent to Adrien's crooked grin from that silvery blue rainy day.
"Yeah," Nino chuckles. "I guess you can say that."
"Is he shy?" Alya presses relentlessly with her insatiable curiosity.
"Nah, but he can be a pretty private person," Nino admits, running a hand over the top of his cap in thought. "Doesn't like a lot of attention. Kind of wary around cameras."
"You make it sound like he has wanted posters up everywhere or something," Marinette laughs, perching herself on the armrest of the couch. As an avid fan of too many murder-mystery drama shows, Alya brightens with interest at the suggestion.
Nino only rolls his head up to peer at Marinette from underneath the brim of his cap, his glasses framing the secret of his amusement sitting low and bright in his eyes.
"...You know, you're not that far off the mark."
AN: I definitely recommend looking up this chapter on my tumblr or on my ao3 (matchaball is my username across the board) for links to Mylène's tattoos, Alix's tattoos, and Kim's tattoos, as well as the post that started this whole idea of tattoos that move and come alive.
Dialogue has always been a weak spot for me, which is hilarious since the majority of this chapter turned out to be nothing but dialogue. Irony sure likes to come back around when I least expect it. A lack of Adrien in this chapter sadly, but fear not! Next chapter is when the ball really gets rolling :)
Thank you so much for your wonderful comments and tags from the last chapter! I endlessly adore and treasure each beautiful thought and word you leave! :')