A/N:
Disclaimer: I love them, but I don't own them. Many thanks to all the folks at CSI, especially JF and WP, for all the amusement they have given me.
Rating: T.
AO3 version: This story is also posted on AO3. There is a small "drawing" meant to accompany the story, which unfortunately I cannot post here, so if you use both sites I would recommend reading this story there. The accompanying GIF-set (also very fluffy!) will be posted on Tumblr tomorrow.
Summary:
Our two lovely science nerds engage in some fluffy pillow talk—emphasis on the fluff—and ponder that age-old question: "What tattoo would you get?"
Notes:
I headcanon Betty Grissom having led a very full life and having gone to join her late husband sometime between the end of "Immortality" and the start of CSI: Vegas. ❤️ This story refers to Betty as having passed away, and, while (as I hope will be evident from the story) Sara and Grissom have had time to process their grief, I don't want this detail to take anyone by surprise in the midst of what is otherwise really an extremely fluffy tale . . . tail . . . tale. 🐇
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
You & Me Together: Tattoos & Cottontails: Some CSIV Fluff
December 2021. The Eclipse Hotel. Las Vegas, Nevada.
The moon and the stars, they will follow the car
And then when we get to the ocean
We're gonna take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world
[. . .]
You and me together could do anything, baby
– David John Matthews, "You and Me."
I heart you
"I could get used to this, you know." Sara lazily drew a heart over Grissom's chest.
"What's that?"
"Massive bed, fluffy duvet, breakfast brought right to my door, thoroughly fucked by my husband . . ."
"Sara."
She laughed; he still never liked the word "fuck" in that context—aside from when he was in the midst of (or urgently about to engage in) the act itself. Then she drew another heart as she looked up at him. His face no longer had the ease of a moment earlier.
"But I miss the breeze," she continued. "And the salty sea air. Plus you make better pancakes—and better hollandaise." She reached up and over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "And I can be thoroughly fucked by my husband in any corner of the globe." She grinned.
"And I believe you have been thoroughly, uh . . . satisfied by your husband in many, many corners of the globe?" His fingers glided over her thigh.
"Mmmm. You know it, baby." She laughed and drew another heart as she settled her head back onto his shoulder.
"Speaking of pancakes, though, I think there are a couple left." He nodded over to the room service cart, which had been emptied of most of the food it had once contained.
"Oh, no, I'm stuffed—fully sated . . . in more ways than one. . . ." Again Sara laughed. She was feeling thoroughly relaxed—almost giddy—now that they'd cleared David Hodges from any involvement with the alleged evidence-tampering scheme that had embroiled the Vegas lab in controversy and threatened to destroy their sterling reputations.
"Funny girl. You're sure you don't want another pancake? Another veggie sausage?"
"What?" Sara looked up at him. "You trying to fatten me up or something?"
He reached over to her left hand and easily twirled her wedding band around her finger. "Buckets of goo I can handle. But I'm not sure what I'll do if this ends up at the bottom of the ocean in the biogenic ooze."
"Hmmm. Good point. Maybe I should put it on a chain for now?"
"Might be safest. I'm sure you have something that will work in that extensive collection of yours."
"Yeah . . . but then my finger's going to feel naked." She couldn't help pouting slightly. When pressed, she could still remember what it felt like to have her finger go naked the first time, and she didn't like it one bit.
"We could go down to one of the arcades. I could try to win you a plastic ring." He smirked at her.
"Oh, my prince. And they say romance is dead."
Grissom laughed. "Did you ever meet Corey and Laurie? They worked with the Sea Shepherd."
"Uh . . . no, I don't think so."
"They were this old hippie couple. Didn't believe in material possessions. So they tattooed their own wedding rings on."
"What, like, they did it themselves?"
"That's what they said."
"Gruesome." She shuddered.
"They'd both spent some time in jail over some of their protest activities, so I think maybe it was a learned skill."
"Prison-quality," Sara said knowingly.
Again Grissom couldn't help laughing. Occasional misadventures (and past professional necessities) aside, he couldn't imagine anyone who belonged less near—or inside—a prison than Sara.
"Well, to each their own, of course—and I'm glad it worked for Myrtle and Gyrtle—"
"Corey and Laurie."
"Right. But I prefer having the option to take my wedding ring off."
Grissom started coughing. Loudly.
"Oh, baby, are you—" She reached over to the side of bed and took the lid off her bottle of water. "Here, have a sip."
Slowly Grissom sipped the water Sara had passed him.
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah—never better."
"Right . . . So what was I—oh! Oh, no, my love! I meant that I like being able to take off my wedding ring because that makes it feel more significant. I choose to wear it. I choose you over everyone else. I get to choose you every day—every day and twice on Sundays."
"Twice on Sundays?"
"Three times if you're lucky, stud."
"Funny girl." This time he whispered it.
"So did Daryl and Sheryl—"
"Corey and Laurie."
"Right. Did Corey and Laurie teach you any of their tattooing skills?"
"No—although I'm sure they'd have been happy to share if I'd made the request. They did offer to give me a tattoo, though."
"Ha! And to think you turned them down. . . . Wait, you did turn them down, right?"
"Sara, if I had a tattoo, I'm sure you'd have found it long ago."
"Mmmm, so true." She twerked her eyebrows lasciviously. "So, so true . . .
"I'm trying to picture you with a tattoo. . . ." she continued after pausing for reflection. "I have a hard time when I think of 'the eminent entomologist Grissom of the Las Vegas crime lab' . . . but, I mean, honestly, when you were out at sea all alone, doing your eco-pirate thing, drowning your sorrows in drink and loose women—"
"Sara. You know there were no loose women. And there was very little drink."
"Oh, of course I know that, baby—I'm just painting a picture. So when you were out at sea all alone, doing your eco-pirate thing, drowning your sorrows in drink and loose women . . . honestly, it seems kind of wrong that you didn't have a tattoo."
"It seems wrong that I didn't have a tattoo?"
"Yeah . . . a seafaring man, a pirate . . . you should have had a tattoo. On your bicep, I think . . . yeah, definitely the bicep." She drew another heart, this time on his upper arm.
"And what exactly should this tattoo have been?"
"I don't know . . . Hank . . . a skull and crossbones . . . an anchor . . . the Ishmael . . . a portrait of your mom . . ."
"Okay, well, with all due respect to my mother, may she rest in peace, but now I know you've lost it."
"Big 'M-O-M' right underneath . . . " Sara started laughing.
"Can you imagine it—you and me—finally reunited—our first day back together, on the Ishmael—can you imagine if you'd taken off my shirt and found that?" Grissom also started laughing.
"Oh, god." Now she couldn't stop. "I'm sorry. Rest in peace, Betty, but oh my god . . . oh my god." Tears were starting to form. "Oh my goooood." She still couldn't stop the laughter.
"You all right there, darlin'?"
"Yes, just . . ." She was still laughing. "Could I have some of that water?"
He passed the bottle back over to her, and she took a sip. "Okay?"
"Yes. Yes. Yes." She tried to stay solemn. "No, I'm sorry, I just . . ." She was laughing again. "No, no, sorry. It's okay. I'm good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Okay. So no tattoo from Hertie and Gertie?"
"Corey and Laurie. And no."
"Did you ever think about it?"
"Getting a tattoo from the ex-hippies? No."
"No, but . . . generally . . . Did you ever think about getting a tattoo?"
"No . . ." The pads of his fingers lightly grazed the soft underside of her tits as he stopped to think. "Not really. Why—did you ever think about getting another one?"
"Do you think I should?"
"Well, your body is your body, of course, but I've always been quite delighted with your skin just as it is." He moved his hand up and lightly cupped her silken breast, rubbing his thumb over her hardened nipple, and she shivered.
"Yes, well . . . that has been my experience." She turned her head and lightly bit his shoulder.
"Hey!"
"You don't want to be marked by me?"
"I have been thoroughly marked by your already, my dear."
"Mmmm . . . Wait, okay, you said, 'Not really.'"
"Yeah."
"So have you ever thought about what you would get—in theory, I mean—if you were going to get a tattoo?"
"Again—"
"Not really?"
"Yup."
"Okay, let's play 'What if?' I feel like everyone needs at least an idea of what they'd want to get if they were ever going to get a tattoo."
"You're the one with the experience, though—you give me an idea first."
"Welllll . . . definitely not 'Mom.'"
"No."
"How about . . . a spider? Oh—a tarantula!"
"You want me embracing you with a tarantula on my arm?"
"Uh . . . no offence to Little Stevie, but, no, I think I'll pass. Maybe an ant colony—"
"Right . . ." Grissom grimaced, and Sara wrinkled her nose.
"Or a couple of racing roaches . . . No, that's not exactly appealing either. . . . Could be . . . a bee—maybe . . . maybe Apidea, Apinae, Anthophorini."
"The digger bee. Very good."
"Or . . . Aprocrita, Apoidea, Andrenidae."
"The mining bee—are you considering taking up gold mining as a pursuit, dearest Aurora?
"Mmmm." Sara hummed as Grissom ran his fingers through her hair and over her scalp.
"Watch out for cyanide in the soil."
"Still gruesome." She shuddered. "Okay, perhaps instead Apis mellifera."
"That does at least sound a bit sweeter, honey, but . . ." He shook his head.
"You can feel free to jump in any time, you know."
"I don't know. . . . A microscope, a magnet, a magnifying glass . . ."
"A lab coat, a beaker, a pair of goggles . . ." she teased.
"Okay, yeah, none of those."
"Nope. Maybe . . . a map of the universe."
"Vast." He raised an eyebrow.
"The solar system," she amended, more reasonably.
"A constellation," he countered.
"The coordinates for where we first met," she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.
"The date we first met."
"A picture of the Hilton San Francisco and Towers Hotel."
"Ha. No . . . The date we first kissed." He paused. "And a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge."
"Oooh, you're getting good at this. But still no."
"A roller coaster?"
"Well, you have taken me on quite a ride—"
"I think you've almost taken me on a ride or two, too"—he interjected, as his hand continued to caress.
"Stimulatory effects and all—or so my boss used to tell me."
"Right you are, darlin'. I knew there was a reason you were my star pupil." He winked at her.
"Speaking of which . . . maybe some pithy bit of wisdom—I know: something in Latin."
"Post hoc ergo propter hoc, perhaps?"
"Yesss. Very logical." She wrinkled her nose. "But not very romantic. Hmmm . . . maybe song lyrics instead?" Sara thought back to the music she'd heard coming from the casino's retro lounge the day before. "A little Bryan Adams could work: 'Everything I Do (I Do It for You).'"
"While I would happily endorse the sentiment, for a tattoo . . . I think I'll pass."
"Something from our wedding vows? Or your wedding speech?"
"What about a line from Shakespeare?"
"'The course of true love never did run smooth.'"
Grissom laughed. "That might be a little on the nose. What about: 'Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds / Or bends with the remover to remove.'"
"Oooh, that's so good. But, honestly, I'd expect something a little more obscure for you, baby." She furrowed her brow. "Oh, I know—something from deeeeep into Moby-Dick."
"'The skeleton dimensions I shall now proceed to set down are copied verbatim from my right arm, where I had them tattooed; as in my wild wanderings at that period, there was no other secure way of preserving such valuable statistics.'"
"Ummm . . . That's on point. But kind of an armful?"
"'The shrouded phantom of the whitened waters is horrible to him as a real ghost.'"
"Uh . . . no. I think once we're out of Vegas and home on the boat we could go back to having death being just a little less present in our everyday lives."
"So I guess 'a world full of grave peddlars, all bowed to the ground with their packs' is also out."
"Ahhh . . . yeah. I should think so."
"Okay, this captures the romance of the sea a bit more: 'all their eyes gleaming in that pale phosphorescence, like a far away constellation of stars."
"It's lovely. And very poetic."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah! Not exactly pithy, though." She shook her head. "But . . . ohhhh . . . oh, yes"—Sara's voice raised in excitement—"a whale. A drawing of a whale—that would be perfect."
"A whale?" Grissom was skeptical. He looked down at his body, or as much of it as the duvet revealed to him. "I know I'm not as svelte as I used to be, Sara, but that seems a bit harsh."
Sara laughed. "You know that's not what I meant, my love." She ran a hand over his chest. "You are absolutely perfect. And, as you've already pointed out, I speak with the authority of someone who is intimately familiar with every last inch of you." She licked his neck. "Sight, scent, feel, and taste."
"Mmmm."
"Anyway, I meant because you were my lonely whale."
"Well, as someone who is intimately familiar with every last inch of me, you should be more than aware that I'm not exactly lonely anymore."
"And I'm very, very, very glad of it. So . . . well, how about two whales—you and me—two no-longer-lonely whales. We could even have the matched set—two for you and two for me!"
"Matching tattoos?"
"Mmm-hmm." Sara nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, if I were ever getting something written on my body . . . I think it would have to be for you, sweetheart—my love for you is the only thing that never falters."
"You know you already got my panties off and me in bed, right?"
He slipped his hand down between her legs as if he needed further confirmation. "Yes, yes, yes, that appears to be about right."
Sara whimpered.
"So you and me together . . ."
"Two of a kind . . ." she managed to gasp out.
"Could be two trees . . ."
She tried to focus, despite the nimble movements of his hand. "Two bees . . ."
"Two butterflies . . ."
"Two—oh! Oh! I've got it!" Sara sat up, jarring Grissom's hand—and disappointing herself in the process. "Oh." She wrinkled her face and groaned. "Oh. Well—okay, we'll come back to that."
"What is it, Sara?"
"Give me—just give me a sec." She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the pen and small notepad the hotel's housekeeping staff kept stocked there (much to her pleasure). Then she leaned back in toward Grissom and started sketching—though she kept the notepad from his view. "Uh . . . no, that's not good." She ripped the top piece of paper off the pad, wrinkled it up, and tossed it over to the bedroom's wastepaper basket, where it hit the rim then gracefully dropped down.
"Changed your mind?"
"No, just poor execution. The artist is a little out of practice. Just give me another second." She stuck her tongue out a little as she worked at her art.
"Of course. I would never wish to rush the artist," he responded, and she stuck her tongue out fully at him.
When Sara had completed the drawing to her liking, she peeled the paper off the pad and handed it to Grissom.
[Line drawing of two playful rabbits surrounded by stars.]
Grissom looked it over. "Bunnies?"
"Rabbits."
"And rabbits really convey the machismo of the seafaring man, do they?"
"The seafaring man who spent his nights pining for his rabbit-chasing wife? That seafaring man?"
"I guess I'm not really one for machismo, am I?"
"I think you are probably the opposite of one who possesses machismo."
Grissom couldn't help looking a bit hurt.
"But I don't think I'd ever have fallen for you in the first place if you were one for machismo, Gil."
He made a slightly smug duck face. "Well, that is a tragedy I'm glad we managed to avert."
"Besides . . ." Sara reached over to the bedside table again, this time for her phone. "Rabbits may not scream 'machismo,' but"—she quickly typed something into her search bar, clicked a link, and started scanning the screen—"Aristotle described the rabbit as one of the most fertile of animals. And, according to Wikipedia, in classical antiquity, 'it thus became a symbol of vitality, sexual desire, and fertility. The hare served as an attribute of Aphrodite and as a gift between lovers.' And you are very, ah . . . vital, my love."
"Well, I have excellent inspiration, my dear."
"Always happy to inspire." She puckered her lips at him and continued reading down the page. "Oh! And in late antiquity it was used as a symbol of good luck."
"Lucky rabbit's foot."
"Exactly." She touched her phone's screen a few more times. "Rabbits also represent overcoming fear."
"What exactly are you trying to say, Sara?"
She ignored his playful ribbing. "Plus, you know what Steinbeck said: 'Ideas are like rabbits.'"
"'You get a couple and learn how to handle them and pretty soon you have a dozen.'"
"Right." She smirked. Why was she not surprised—she didn't think she'd ever stumped him on a quotation.
"You know I don't need a dozen rabbits, though, right? Your little cotton tail is enough for me."
"It better be!"
"I'm very fond of that little cotton tail, in fact . . ."
"Mmmm, don't I know it."
He reached down and lightly squeezed that little cotton tail. "As perfect as the day we met."
"You were ogling my ass the day we met?" She had certainly been ogling his ass the day they met (and every day she'd had the chance since).
"I wouldn't quite say ogling." He squeezed again. "And of course I didn't quite get a proper feel for it until a few days later. . . ."
"That was no one's fault but your own."
"But I do like to think I've made up for my tardiness with vigor."
"And vitality."
"Back to the bunnies."
"Mostly I just like . . ." Her voice lowered slightly. "Mostly I just like that eventually you decided you were willing to go down rabbit holes with me." She nuzzled her head in even closer against his neck.
"Always, Sara. Always and forever."
"My man."
"So rabbits. And those are stars around them?"
"Yeah. So it's kind of like they're constellations—always up there in the sky together."
"Like Zhinü and Niulang."
"Yeah. Yeah. Exactly."
"And, again, these bunnies wouldn't ruin my nonexistent machismo?" Grissom asked playfully.
"No, it's like how confident men can cry or wear pink or whatever without feeling insecure. My studly, ever-so-handsome husband with two little fluffy bunnies on his bicep."
He laughed.
"And I would put it on . . . I think . . . I think the back of my shoulder—my right shoulder."
"Your shoulder?"
"Yeah. Sometimes I think about whether I'd ever get another tattoo. Just, like, idly, I mean. I always figured, if I did, I'd get something on my hip or my shoulder. But this"—she gestured toward the piece of paper—"I would definitely see on my shoulder. And, I mean, 99.9% of the time, you're the only one who sees me there anyway, which is kind of perfect—it'd just be for you and me."
"Hmmm." Grissom was trying to picture Sara's shoulder adorned with bunnies.
"Just think of it. We're back on the Ishmael—"
"Sounding good already."
"We're out at sea. Breeze blowing in our hair. No one's around. I'm making sure I don't have any tan lines or white cottontails."
"I always like the sound of that—or, rather, the sight, I guess I should say." He twerked his eyebrows.
"You've also decided to cut down on your tan lines."
"Oh, I have, have I?" His fingers once again glided over her thigh.
"Yesss. In this scenario, anyway. So I'm standing near the boat's railing. You bend me over the railing and . . . well . . ."
"You're not going to stop there, are you?
"I think you know what happens next, Gilbert."
"I've already started picturing it."
"So what happens when you add two little rabbits onto my shoulder?"
Grissom had closed his eyes; his fingers continued to glide. "Looks pretty good, sweetheart." He leaned down and kissed her shoulder.
"Perfect. So you can get the tattoo on your bicep, and I'll get one on my shoulder."
Grissom opened his eyes. "Uh . . . Sara?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"This was just a thought experiment, right? A 'what-if' scenario?"
"I mean, sure, if that's what you want. But . . ."
"But what?"
"But"—her smile was—it must be said—mischievous—"really it can be whatever we want it to be."
"Sara!"
"Baby, we can talk about it later. Right now I really need you to finish that thing you were doing with your hand."
"Like this?" His fingers glided higher.
"Oh, yessssssss."
January 2022. The C. Willows Residence. Las Vegas, Nevada.
I trust you
"Catherine, thank you so much. It really is so great you could bring this many of us together here. I know you're missing Lindsey and the baby," Sara told their host.
"Yeah. Business called. And, as long as I had to be in town for the week anyway, I figured we might as well make the most of it," Catherine responded. "We had Nicky's wedding, of course, but I think the last time I managed to get so many members of the old team together here in Vegas was when the two of you got married." She nodded over at Grissom as she spoke.
"Yes. Thank you again, Catherine." Grissom added his thanks to his wife's.
"Well, I thought a little post-holiday potluck was well-deserved."
"Potluck, that's right." Brass joined the conversation, doing a quick scan of Sara and Grissom. "I believe that means you're supposed to bring some food to the gathering?"
"I seem to recall being told we were the guests of honour, what with having spent several months figuring out who was trying to destroy all—and I mean all"—Grissom gestured around himself, not just to his present companions but to all who had gathered—"our years of good work."
"And a mighty fine job you did there, too, buddy," Brass responded, slapping Grissom on the arm.
"Ow—" Grissom grimaced, trying not to cry his pain out more fully to the room's many occupants.
"What's the matter—you getting soft in your old age?"
Grissom looked over at Sara, who lifted slightly her hands and shoulders, as if to say, "Your call."
"No." He paused, still undecided. "I . . . I got a tattoo. It's still healing."
Many heads turned as Catherine spit out her red wine and began coughing.
"Cath, you okay?" Sara asked.
"Oh, god, that's going to stain—wait, no, you got a tattoo?"
"Yes," Grissom answered.
"Like, a real tattoo?"
"Yes."
"Not a temporary tattoo?"
"No."
"Not just something Sara drew on your arm?"
"Yes, Catherine, that's right. My arm is sore because Sara poked me too hard while drawing hearts on my arm with her finger."
"I just . . . well . . . I think you're about the last person I'd have imagined ever getting a tattoo."
"I don't know what to tell you. It happened."
"What did you get?" Can we see it?" Catherine looked about ready to roll up his sleeve herself.
"It's bandaged right now. But I can show you pictures, if you want."
"Ohhh, yes."
Grissom pulled out his phone, flipping back through a couple of days' worth of Vegas (and Sara) pictures, until he came to the right spot. Then he passed the phone over to Catherine, who was quickly flanked by Brass. "That's from right after."
"That's . . . that's two bunnies. . . ."
"Yes—well, rabbits."
"You got a bunny tattoo?"
"A rabbit tattoo. But yes."
Catherine was trying not to laugh. "A bunny tattoo . . ." she whispered. She and Brass continued flipping through the pictures. "Okay, but . . . but that looks like a shoulder not an arm."
Grissom took the phone back and looked at it, before returning it to his former colleagues. "Oh, that's Ms.Cottontail."
"Wait, Sara got a tattoo, too?"
"Of course."
"Of course?"
"They're matching. Me and her. Together. Two of us. Two rabbits. Two tattoos." He cleared his throat and nodded over at Sara. "It was 's idea," he added, to the surprise of none present.
"My husband tells me I can be quite persuasive," Sara added smoothly, drumming her fingers on the side of her wine glass.
"I don't doubt it." Catherine glanced at Grissom then looked the younger woman up and down. "He always did love his work."
"What's that?" Sara asked.
"Never mind," Catherine replied.
The spotlight turned away from Grissom then, though his phone continued to be passed around. Sara walked over and took his arm.
"I wasn't unduly persuasive, was I, baby?" she murmured in his ear.
"What?" He looked over at her. "No. Of course not. But I trust you. And I want you to be happy—you know that. So if a slight gesture on my part can make you a bit happier . . . well, I'm more than happy to oblige, darlin'."
"My man."
"And don't get me wrong." He dropped his voice. "I am still counting the days till I can bend you over that railing."
"Yessssssss."
THE END
NOTES
On the biogenic ooze:
Many thanks to the ficwip Discord server for (incidentally) bringing the biogenic ooze to my attention:
biogenic ooze, anypelagicsediment that contains more than 30 percent skeletal material. These sediments can be made up of eithercarbonate(orcalcareous) oozeorsiliceous ooze. The skeletal material in carbonate oozes iscalcium carbonateusually in the form of the mineralcalcitebut sometimesaragonite. The most common contributors to the skeletal debris are such microorganisms asforaminiferansandcoccoliths, microscopic carbonate plates that coat certain species of marinealgaeandprotozoa. Siliceous oozes are composed ofopal(amorphous, hydratedsilica) that forms theskeletonof various microorganisms, includingdiatoms,radiolarians, siliceoussponges, and silicoflagellates. The distribution of biogenic oozes depends mainly on the supply of skeletal material, dissolution of the skeletons, and dilution by other sediment types, such as turbidites orclays.
[. . .]
Carbonate oozes cover about half of the world's seafloor. They are present chiefly above a depth of 4,500 metres (about 14,800 feet); below that they dissolve quickly.
Source: https/science/biogenic-ooze
Sounds roughly as nice as those buckets of goo, right?
On the bees:
Apidea, Apinae, Anthophorini: often referred to as digger bees, featured in "Under the Skin" (CSI: Vegas, 1x03).
Aprocrita, Apoidea, Andrenidae: commonly known as mining bees, featured in "Immortality" (CSI, 16).
Apis mellifera: the Western honey bee, featured in "Eleven Angry Jurors" (CSI, 04x11).
A/N:
I believe the idea for this short story germinated from a Tumblr post pondering the (un)likelihood of Grissom getting a tattoo. While I don't think he'd be likely to decide on his own to get one, I could see him doing it if it would make Sara happy. 💕 And thus this small ball of fluff was born. 🐇
My idea for the specific look of the tattoo came from an Etsy listing for a temporary tattoo. Obviously I wasn't going to steal someone's Etsy work for my story, though. So originally I was going to try to draw something myself, but . . . uh . . . apparently my drawing skills have atrophied. So I found some rabbit PNGs that seemed suitable for the purpose, and I think they worked out quite cutely! 🐰💕🐰
I don't actually have a playlist for this one, but you can always listen to Crash! 💛🎵
Thank you so very much for reading; I hope you enjoyed it, and I would love to hear from you! 💛