Needles and Roses AU! Crackfic Emsiecat

Summary:

I promised myself I'd never try and be funny or write crack... I'm a dirty rotten liar.

After seeing a post by radioproxy discussing the Needles and Roses AU, and how that in real life whenever you see a tattoo parlour there will invariably be a florist nearby; my head jumped straight into conspiracy theories and crackfic hell. THIS monstrosity is the outcome. For the sake of your collective sanity, I apologise <3

"Needles and Roses" is the wonderful brainchild of tosquinha and radioproxy on Tumblr. I am so so sorry for this you two! XD I took a LOT of artistic liberties with your plot I think.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a tattoo parlour must be in want of a florist.

Such seemed to be the case on every high street the country over. Where you found one, the other was never very far away.

There on the corner would be the tattoo parlour, and just a little way down the street, a florist. It was the way of things, a gentle constant as old as tattoo parlours themselves.

It was, in actual fact, the code.

One learnt such things when training to become a tattoo artist. It was drummed into you from the very start, usually by a big, hulking, bearded man with more tattoos than free skin could allow.

"Find yerself a florist," he would growl. "You get yourself set up near a nice proper florist and the trade'll come pourin' in."

Nobody was quite sure why that was exactly. Be it that people passing the florist saw the artistic displays and beautiful flowers and thought to themselves with the need of starving men for food 'I need that inked on my skin'. Or perhaps it was just some cosmological coincidence, as regular as the turning of the tide and the waxing and waning of the moon.

Find a florist and your tattoo parlour would flourish as well as their flowers!

Nobody questioned it, everybody tried to adhere to the rule, and woe betide anyone who did differently; they would fail, their tattoo artist ancestors would shake their heads in shame, and the world would spin on mocking their folly for trying to change the status quo.

Bilbo Baggins was not one to shirk tradition or tempt ill fate.

As soon as he had graduated from that place where all tattoo artists learn how to artfully jab at people with needles, he went out into the big wide world with one singular thought in mind; find a florist!

It was a race, nay a battle, to find the most coveted spot on the high street amongst newly graduated tattoo artists, but Bilbo was nothing if not cunning.

He used his mother's contacts (see also: long bearded retired hippy folk who poked their noses into others' business), to find one such florist that had yet to be snapped up by a tattoo artist in a village in the more rural outskirts of Oxford.

Bilbo had balked at the idea at first; how on Earth would he find any trade in a village?

Gandalf had been adamant though; this location was the absolute pinnacle, in the mad old codger's opinion, and if Bilbo got as much trade as the florist did, well he'd be set up for life!

Bilbo personally failed to see how he was going to persuade octogenarians and farmers that tattoos would be a good idea, but Gandalf had never led his mother astray when she had been in the business; so for lack of a better idea, Bilbo decided to trust him.

Gandalf was probably the best person ever and if Bilbo didn't wish to throttle him on a daily basis, he might actually hug him.

Despite the tattoo artist's reservations, the village turned out to be quite different than expected. True, it had the quaint homey feel of any typical English village, but being within a stone's throw of Oxford meant that a lot of students and young business folk passed through, and all seemed rather taken with both the florist shop and Bilbo's new tattoo parlour.

The tattoo parlour was located directly opposite the florist, and Bilbo had nearly wept for joy at the utter beauty of the displays on show. The unspoken magic of the world would definitely work here, he thought confidently. People would see those flowers and want them inked onto their body forever more, even if they were needle phobic!

And the florist... good gracious, the florist!

He was probably the most handsome thing Bilbo had ever seen, and see him Bilbo did, quite frequently busily working in his shop as Bilbo would sit and stare longingly in between clients.

Thorin, his name was, or so his assistant Ori had told him, and if Bilbo didn't find a way to flirt with the man soon, Ori was probably going to tattoo a love confession across Bilbo's forehead whilst he slept just to move things along (or so he had threatened).

Time passed, and eventually that same unspoken magic that forever bound tattoo parlours to florists seemed impatient to make this particular bond something other than professional...

... Either that or Thorin had got over his own lonely pining long enough to study some flower language and present Bilbo with a bouquet that all but screamed 'marry me'!

Plans were made, dates were had, an unlikely couple became inseparable, and eventually Thorin did good by that bouquet and proposed to Bilbo properly.

The otherworldly magic that connected tattoo parlours and florists was one again appeased, and they all lived happily ever after.