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morningfears · 4 years

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Linger

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: Calum gets a little handsy while you’re out at a bar with friends. (Fingering in public, basically.)

Word Count: 2.1k

The bar was crowded, typical for the late summer evening, and the sounds of revelry could be heard from the parking lot as you stepped out of Calum’s car. It was the one bar that everyone in your friend group loved - it was also the bar where you and Calum had met - so it was no surprise that you ended up there, ready to spend the night catching up on things you’d missed throughout the week.

It wasn’t often that you all went out drinking, not anymore, but tour was fast approaching and you were all eager to take advantage of your time together as a group while you still could. There was no telling when you’d be able to do this again, without the added pressure of work, so you and Calum abandoned your plans to spend the night alone together at home.

As you weaved through the rows of parked cars, Calum’s hand found the small of your back. His skin was warm against yours and you breathed a quiet sigh as you climbed the steps to the patio where the rest of your friends were already waiting. He was always glad to spend time with the boys, however, he’d made it clear that he’d had other plans for the night.

Right before he left for tour, Calum got into a mood. He was a little clingier, a little more hands on, and today had been no different. He’d taken every opportunity to wrap his arms around you, to touch you, to kiss you, and you weren’t complaining. The touches were light, loving, and the kinds of touches that you most associated with Calum. However, that changed after you’d gotten dressed for the night out.

The outfit was nothing special, nothing Calum hadn’t seen you in a million times, but the way he’d reacted to seeing you dressed in the black mini skirt you knew he loved never failed to bring heat to your cheeks. He’d - only half seriously - propositioned you to stay home and let him remind you of just how much he loved seeing you in that skirt but the girls were blowing up your group chat. Though it pained you to turn him down, you reminded him - and yourself - that you could always enjoy yourselves when you returned home.

He’d agreed, he knew that you were right, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that told you he wasn’t going to relent entirely. Not without a little fun, anyway.

“There you guys are. Thought you’d gotten lost on your way.” Ashton is grinning, happy to see the two of you, and you return his smile in kind as you take the seat in the corner.

“L.A. traffic is a literal nightmare. ‘Sides, we both had to actually put on clothes suitable for leaving the house. We’ve been living in sweats,” you retorted with a laugh as you watched Calum settle into the seat beside you.

“We’re not even late. You guys were just uncharacteristically early,” Calum pointed out as one hand found your thigh while the other reached for the drink menu in the center of the table as if he didn’t already know what he wanted.

The conversation quickly shifted to plans for the future as Michael, the person who’d drawn the short straw and was tasked with grabbing the first round, headed to the bar with Crystal. Sierra, grinning and bright, gestured to Luke’s recently bleached hair before she pointed at Calum’s nearly completely faded pink curls. “How do we convince them to keep these for longer than a few more weeks?”

They’d both dyed their hair for the Wildflower video and you’d fallen head over heels for the pretty pink that Calum had donned. You knew that he was planning on either buzzing it again or bleaching it but you enjoyed the pink tint that remained. Without thinking, you lifted your hand to run your fingers through his curls and Calum leaned into your touch with a glance in your direction and a slight tilt to his lips that hinted at his amusement. He returned your touch with one of his own, a squeeze to your thigh, and that was that.

“I’ve tried everything,” you assured her as you gently tugged at the curls and bit back a grin at the groan Calum released. “But even the puppy dog eyes aren’t working. He’s not budging on the pink. I think I talked him out of the buzzcut for the time being, though.”

“Why do you hate the buzzcut so much? I like it.” He knew why, you’d explained yourself time and time again when his head was between your thighs and you were incapable of doing anything but whine his name and grip his shoulders instead of the curls you wanted to tug, and his grin told you that he just wanted to hear you explain yourself.

You rolled your eyes and tugged at his curls once more, relishing in the increase in volume of his groan. “You’re really annoying. You know that, right?” You weren’t serious, he knew that. It was exactly the answer he was expecting, accompanied by heat rushing to your cheeks when Ashton howled in laughter, and his grin grew as he shot you a wink.

That was one of his favorite things to do - making you flush and either lose your words entirely or retort with a roll of your eyes - and though you’d whined at first, you loved it more than you’d ever tell him. It was never explicit, usually just him asking you to explain something that sent your mind straight to the gutter instead of letting it remain unspoken, but it was a game that he liked playing and one you had yet to grow tired of.

As always when you were with the group, the conversation never lingered on one subject for too long. It was always chaos, sometimes controlled but usually a complete clusterfuck of tangential comments masquerading as a coherent conversation, but there was no shortage of laughter. As the night wore on, as the patio grew darker and the conversation grew stranger, your sides hurt from laughing and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your group was in the corner, away from prying eyes and listening ears, and Calum’s hand never left your thigh as you both enjoyed your night out with friends.

As Michael and Luke found themselves in the midst of a playful argument, both men pointing fingers and giggling uncontrollably as the alcohol tinted their cheeks pink and emboldened them, Calum’s hand drifted a little higher up your thigh. You wrote it off as nothing, used to his touch and even leaning into it, however, you were quickly proven wrong as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your skirt.

When you turned your head, glancing at him questioningly, Calum kept his eyes on Michael and Luke but squeezed your thigh as a warning not to let on that anything was happening. It had been a while since he’d tried anything in public - the last time ended with the pair of you locked in a bar bathroom for a little too long before Ashton, the only sober one in the group, had to drag you out and take you home - and you found yourself a little too excited by the prospect as you shifted a little closer to him.

Calum was always better at feigning nonchalance than you. He was good at keeping the easy grin on his lips and laughing in the right places in the conversation. You, on the other hand, had a hard time concentrating on anything but Calum as his hand drifted higher up your thigh and his fingers brushed the lace of your panties.

You kept your drink in your hand, teeth nipping at your straw, to keep yourself from sighing as he teased you. He knew that he had time, Ashton had just started telling a story that he’d heard a million times but knew the others were pleasantly tipsy enough to want to hear again, so he took his time just brushing his fingers over your heat. He wanted to see you squirm, to watch you struggle to keep quiet, and with the combination of alcohol and the setting, he knew that he would get exactly that.

Every time Calum touched you in public, he had a sort of routine. He would surprise you, slip his hand between your thighs when you least expected it, and then lull you back into a sense of complacency as he took his time working you up. He alternated between brushing your thighs, his fingers warm against your already heading skin, and brushing his fingers over your clothed heat as he felt the material begin to dampen. He waited for your shoulders to relax, for you to return to the conversation and offer a comment or two on the topic at hand - whether you believed Ashton should bleach his hair, too, or leave it dark -, before he brushed the lace aside and let his fingers brush through your wetness.

You gripped your glass a little too hard and thanked your lucky stars that the conversation surrounding you was loud enough to cover the gasp you released as his fingers found your clit. You tried your hardest to keep your face neutral and when that failed, you returned your straw to your mouth and pretended to focus on the drink in your hand. Beside you, Calum hid his grin behind his beer and shifted to get a little closer as your thighs threatened to close around his hand.

You swallowed your desire to close your legs as Calum’s fingers rubbed lazy circles over your clit. He said something, responded to something Ashton said, but it all sounded like white noise as you shifted enough for him to finally slip a finger into your heat. You couldn’t focus on anything but him as he finally gave you what he’d been building up to for far too long.

It was never frantic in situations like this, though you imagined it would be, and you were almost in awe of how slow he seemed to be moving as he took his time with you. Every drag of his fingers, every time the hell of his hand bumped your clit, you wanted to whine at him to hurry but you knew that you couldn’t. You had to sit back, content with what he was giving, and stew in silence lest your friends catch on and tease you about it for the foreseeable future. And that was one of the things he loved. He loved hearing you whine and beg, your lust clouding your patience, but moments like these were his favorite as he was in control of the pace.

When your free hand moved to his knee, your nails digging into his leg through the material of his jeans, he decided to take pity on you. He’d teased you enough, had taken his time, and you’d been patient enough to keep the attention away from what was happening beneath the table. So, when Luke stood to grab the drinks and pouted at Sierra for her to join him, causing everyone to devolve into giggles at his clearly lovesick attitude, Calum took the opportunity to give you what you’d been waiting for.

He moved his fingers as quickly as he could to avoid drawing attention. It was an awkward angle, one that made touching you the way he really wanted to a little difficult, but he did the best he could with the space he had. It was enough to draw soft sighs of pleasure and to have you struggling to keep your eyes open as you barreled toward your end.

He was grateful, just as you were, that it was dark out. Even under the lamps littering the patio, your face was hidden in shadows and only he could see the way your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth opened slightly when you finally fell over the edge. It was a sight reserved for him and him alone, something he would never tire of seeing, and he let his hands linger between your thighs as he drew out your high as long as he could get away with.

When it finally became too much for you, when you nudged at his hand and shifted uncomfortably at the overstimulation, he removed his hand and wiped his fingers on a napkin. Though he wasn’t normally one for public kisses, he couldn’t help himself as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. He heard coos from the others and lifted his hand to show them all the finger as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

The haze of your orgasm lingered over you as a summer breeze blew. The night wasn’t exactly what you’d expected but any night with Calum was more than perfect. And you couldn’t wait to return the favor once you made it home.

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Author’s Note: Is this good? Not really. But it was fun. And it was inspired by a fantasy I had for this person (and if that person, by some miracle, happens to read this.... sorry). I was reminded of it when I read this fic for Spencer Reid (I know. I’ve been watching CM) and needed to write. The fantasy was..... Different. A little rougher, a little more ending in a broom closet or something but this felt more Cal. I dunno. Anyway. Yes. This was a struggle to write but I desperately needed to write something. I feel so useless being so unproductive when I literally have all the time in the world. Ugh. Okay. Anyway.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!) : @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985, @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @mindkaleidoscope , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog , @333-xx

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palmett-hoes · 3 years

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Do you have any fan casts or strong takes/feelings on the foxes’ appearances? Fandom tends to use the same Pinterest models, which feels wrong to me.

i do in fact! i've actually been meaning to make a post about how i choose to write all of the foxes' ethnicities anyway

but yes i absolutely agree that the typical pinterest model types u generally see on edits is not how i see any of them. nor is reece king or froy gutierrez or lucky blue smith one of my FCs for anyone

for a lot of them i don't necessarily have a single specific FC so much as i have like,, a general impression of features that i will see on various different people, who all may look wildly different from each other or who may not even look how i see the character as a whole but do have a specific feature i associate with them. mostly it boils down to the Energy i get tbh and that's just a Feeling i cant even explain

fun fact im a tiny bit face blind so that might account for some of why i'm so all-over about this

may as well go chronologically. some of them i definitely have more thoughts on than others

1. Dan

ethnicity: Afro Native (Sioux)

features: medium dark skin. buzzcut, killer fade. she often styles it in waves. she's very butch, wears a lot of basketball and cargo shorts, tank tops and flannels and jerseys, hiking boots. skinny but muscular, with a very rectangular body shape. defined jaw. probably like 5'4 or 5'5

FC/Energy: sometimes i get some dan energy out of janelle monae but more butch. lotta dan energy out of samira wiley. lashana lynch

2. Kevin

ethnicity: a lot of things tbd, but he's pretty multi-ethnic. i like the idea of kayleigh being half- or a quarter-japanese in addition to irish because it gives her more of a reason to go to japan for her undergrad. wymack is from d.c. which is a majority black city for its actual residents, but i also like the idea of him being Pasifika/Hawaiian. HOWEVER - and this is pretty important to my read of kevin's character - he's white passing, and has been mostly treated as a white guy who tans his whole life, like occasionally asked if he's italian maybe. learning that his father was a Distinctly Not White Man was a big shock to him.

kristin kreuk, lindsay price, phoebe cates, and marie digby are all half-asian actresses i base kayleigh on

i suppose i base his story partially on broadway actress carol channing, who revealed publically that she was a quarter black when she was like 80 years old. though maybe wentworth miller, a biracial actor who knows his father is black but also doesn't know him, is more accurate to kevin's story. then keanu reeves is a white passing actor with asian ancestry

also none of these people look anything like how i picture kevin lol. kevin is just like,, a guy. handsome ig. but kind of in a CW character kind of way

actually

kevin looks exactly like young jason momoa

3. Andrew

ethnicity: kayin/karen from myanmar

features: fat and muscular, very wide and heavy. this blog is basically all andrew body type refs. medium-olive skin, has a bit of a greyish tinge that makes him look a bit eerie or unhealthy. deep set, droopy eyes; looks so tired. flat face with a low-bridged nose. crooked teeth, especially his canines. natural hair black-ish but he bleaches it light blond. has the beginnings of martial artist punching callouses in his knuckles

FC/Energy: holy shit the characters i feel have Andrew Energy are all over the place. pedro pascal. babe ruth (yes fr). oddjob (harold sakata) from goldfinger. the jinn (mousa kraish) from american gods. gaear grimsrud (peter stormare) from fargo. takeshi kovacs (joel kinnaman) from altered carbon. and i wanna be clear, it's these characters specifically, and generally NOT the actors outside of that specific role. except pedro ❤️

4. Matt

ethnicity: cuban

appearance: matt has more of an Energy than specific features to me rn. that energy is Warm. he has that Warm bro jock dude energy. kind of a marvel hero build, hunky and muscular. very rectangular face. has this haircut:

5. Aaron

i get to cut myself some slack and not go AS in depth about aaron because he and andrew are identical twins

ethnicity: kayin/karen from myanmar

appearance: similar build to andrew, less confident and casual posture and body language. less apathetically murderous and more emotive expressions. better teeth bc his mom took him to the dentist. yes also bleaches his hair

celebrities: probably a lot like the difference between the characters and the actors. andrew is the characters and aaron is how the actors actually look. idk ive never looked at someone and thought 'hey! looks like aaron!'

6. Seth

ethnicity: have been going with half-vietnamese. considering looking into various south asian possibilities like pakistani

appearance: string bean build. that's all i have to offer

7. Allison

ethnicity: allison's very up in the air for me. she and seth are the two foxes i feel fine with being white, but im committing to having no white foxes sooo. i would say i generally see her as either half-middle eastern or chinese

appearance: plus sized and hourglass shaped. heart shaped face. taller, like 5'8 or 5'9. she has a pretty fraught history with her appearance and her parents payed for/pressured her into getting a nose job to have a 'prettier' nose. she also bleaches her hair blonde. she gets it done at a salon tho the twinyards do it in their bathroom

FC/Energy: elle king and nadia aboulhosn are my main inspos for her, esp body type but nadia esp in Vibes

8. Nicky

ethnicity: multi-ethnic. his mother is southern mexican Indigenous, possibly oaxacan. his father is mixed white/kayin

appearance: definitely takes after his mother while his father is white passing. dark brown skin, warm undertones. slightly stocky build. tall ovular head and thin aquiline nose. he's kind of just,, the opposite of the twins ig, so like their facial features look very different, which is a big part of why people don't make the connection between him and the twins alongside the difference in their skin tones, heights, and builds. nicky's build and features are very vertically-oriented, with a tall head, narrow-set eyes, thin nose with a high bridge, etc. the twins are horizontally-orienged, with broad, flat faces, wide-set eyes, wide noses with a low bridge, etc.

FC/Energy: yalitza aparicio, not a guy but one of the few Mexican Indigenous stars in the film industry and i really like her features for nicky. she's oaxacan

9. Renee

ethnicity: Black. african american

appearance: plus sized, circular/apple body shape. round face. dark skin. microlocs to a bit past her chin, bleached white and dyed at the ends. she and allison go to the salon together. femme but plain style, a lot of blouses and long skirts, practical shoes. knuckle callouses. about 5'6

FC/Energy: dominique fishback. tracie thoms, esp in RENT. gabourey sidibe. nicole byer, but not in Energy. brandy, for some reason, probably bc i think she has very serene Energy and is a little bit otherworldly. like if brandy played arwen or galadriel from lotr it would make perfect sense to me, and that's the Renee Energy™️

10. Neil

ethnicity: mixed. Black/Jewish on both sides. his father is polish ashkenazi and afro-brazilian. his mother is Black British and algerian jewish

appearance: very... sharp. like sharp all over. does that make sense? sharp features, sharp face shape, sharp angles to his body. he's got what i vaguely think of as a 'basketball build' not meaning tall but meaning very rangy and angular and lean. all limbs. seth has a similar build. lighter brown skin. he has waardenburg syndrome which is actually where he gets he gets his eye color, and his eyes are very large and widely spaced as well. freckles freckles freckles. freckles everywhere. 4a hair but at least during canon it's not very healthy and thus the curls aren't well-defined. he grows it out long enough to tie back and starts taking better care of it in post-canon. wonky, slightly crooked teeth, with a gap between the fronts

FC/Energy: now neil i actually have a ton for. mostly models which im a lil ashamed of bc i do try to draw more from athletes. alton mason is a main body type ref. mugsy bogues is good to see what i mean about the basketball build without the height. here're the boys: cykeem white, luka sabbat, désiré mia, Leo Hoyte-Egan, dylan hasselbaink, this beautiful stock photo model i've never been able to track down

i think about him every. goddamn. day.

in terms of like,, real ppl and not models: corbin bleu, especially during Jump In. figure skater elladj balde. rayan "ray ray" lopez from mindless behavior. A$AP Rocky a lil bit, maybe i just like his hairstyle idk

two more models i think are important: carissa pinkston and ralph souffrant

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the-claire-bitch-project · 5 years

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Original Character Blurb Challenge

Okay guys, so I had this idea of giving y’all a list of every OC I’ve ever created, and a list of all the people I write for, and y’all would send in requests to pair together those that didn’t originally go together in the fics they came from. So here we go:

Henley Thompson: “Find Your Way Back.” Originally with Tom Holland. 21 years old. Bisexual. In her original fic, Henley meets Tom while he’s in Houston for Comicpalooza. She sleeps with him and then leaves. Based on the little information he has, he finds her in Boston, and realizes that she cheated on her girlfriend to be with him.

Michaela “Mick” Louviere: “Switch.” Originally with Harrison Osterfield. 21. Bisexual. In Switch, Mick is a photographer who is secretly a part of a club with some of her friends to basically have sex and take photos of each other. She recruits Harrison for this club. Appearance? About 5′10, curvy, a dark buzzcut that grows out over the course of the fic, with multiple piercings, an octopus tattoo on one thigh, and a tattoo sleeve covering one arm, brown eyes.

Collins Priaulx: “Switch.” Originally with Tom Holland. 21. Bisexual. In Switch, Collins is Mick’s best friend. She’s an up and coming model whose fake relationship with Tom starts to turn into something real, and she ends up leaving the club because she only wants to be with him. Appearance? About 6′. Model’s body. Long hair dyed silver, blue eyes.

Stevie Levitsky: “Carve.” Originally with Shawn Mendes. 21. Straight. Jewish. Stevie is a ski instructor whose father is dying of a lung disease. She meets Shawn, a bartender, and begins to fall in love and patch up her motivation to continue to follow her dreams. She’s got wild curly hair, but that’s all that has been revealed about her appearance so far.

Cecilia: “Office Hours.” Originally with Gwilym Lee. 23. Straight. Originally just a one shot, Cecilia was so popular I wrote a sequel. After speaking up in her History of Rock Music class, Professor Lee calls Cecilia to his office. There, sexual relations occur, and the spark of an actual relationship begins.

Rosanna: “The Adventures of The Woman of The House.” Originally with the entire BoRhap Cast. 21. Bisexual. Rosanna is the woman of the Pike house. She’s always there. She has regular hookups with Gwil, dommes the hell out of Ben, and smokes weed with Joe. She’s known for being sexy, outspoken, and giving fantastic orgasms while demanding the same.

So I know I left a couple out, notedly Cassidy. That’s because Cassidy’s story is still incredibly open and we don’t know much about her yet. I also left off some other OCs from one shots, because I don’t have well-developed stories for them yet. Also apparently I’ve neglected to give some of my OCs last names. My bad.

Here’s my list of dumbasses I’ll write for:

Harrison Osterfield

Shawn Mendes

Tom Holland

Brie Larson

Ben Hardy

Gwilym Lee

Joe Mazzello

Lucy Boynton

70s!Brian May/college!Brian May

70s!Roger Taylor/college!Roger Taylor

Send in some blurb requests, but try not to match OCs with who they were with originally (exception only for Rosanna I guess)

Have fun!

#harrison osterfield #shawn mendes #tom holland #brie larson #ben hardy #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #lucy boynton #brian may #roger taylor

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lemmetellastory · 3 years

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Like 3 years ago, i got my hair damaged from dye. Yes, i was constantly changing color and had done blondes oranges blue-greens and what did it was the grays. I actually wanted to do the white but my hair was growing dead, like i had a bunch of dead knotted hair. And cutting them didn’t work either. So i got a buzzcut.

At first, it still grew dead. i was doing an oil therapy and egg therapy(I didn’t buy any product for hair, i got organic olive oil and coconut and almond oils, basically i went with the idea of what you can eat, you can put into your skin or hair too. And it did wonders for me, but i had a buzzcut, so they healed the skin and hair follicle, I don’t know if they could do the same to the damaged hair too.) and after like 6 months, it finally started to work on my hair. My dead, weirdly knotted hair slowly got soft and grew right.

But I didn’t start to grew my hair right away. I grew it after 1.5 year of buzzcut. Let me tell you something about buzzcuts. They are the best. You literally get a huge time for yourself you didn’t know you were spending dealing with your hair. Showers got short, getting ready got short. It is very practical. And some people do a double take and, if you had long hair, they would have casually dismissed you or insulted you, but buzzcut is daring. buzzcut says i let go of my long hair- to some people, most important part of their being- so they just shut up with mindless comments that a buzzcutless girl could have let go but they might not get away with this time.

And came my second idea that i was gonna grew out my buzzcut naturally, i mean, never cut or made shaped, no scissors, no razors, no dying or any chemicals. I reaally wanted to see how my hair will grow out.

I was expecting a mullet. I was expecting a 80s hair style.

But my hair is curly, and that was something i did forget because dyes actually fuck your hair so much that they lost their base, and it was like very light wavy hair, before the dead-knotted hair happened. As soon as my hair got enough length to curl, they curled. And my mullet thinking died, lol i could have straightened it, but i like my curls, i missed them, so i let them be. My hair did grow like a mullet but the curls hide it very well. There might be still lingering damage on my hair because my curls got more curly nearing my neck, while my bangs mostly only wavy. It looks like a 80s hair style, but not mullets.

And in just a one and a half year, my hair is long enough to do ponytail. I still do oil therapy to my hair but less frequent. If you can, oil therapy for hair, coconut, olive or almonds is the best thing you can do for your hair. (I usually apply the oil before bed and wake up next morning to wash. Once a week for regular use.)

And right now, i am hating my hair because it is long but winter is coming, it is gonna keep me warm. Only bad thing about buzzcut is that you got chills easily, especially if you are used to long hair keeping you warm. and maybe, my hair might survive into the summer, maybe.

#hair #buzzcut #personal #random #i wrote this so i wont cut my hair #i am inclined to get another buzzcut #but like curly hair too #haircut #curly hair #hair dye

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faux-pas-intellectual · 6 years

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Reasons why the bee movie sucks, aside from the obvious

Summary of the Bee Movie

Before we begin, let me run over the plot of the Bee Movie, because for many of us, the sheer concentration of bee-related puns is too overwhelming for any single person to power through. So, the bee movie starts when Barry B. Benson goes for his Bee College graduation, and goes through an orientation into the job market, which I’m sure we all wish we had. He gets upset at the fact that he’ll work until he dies, as we all are, and he decides to take a bit of a risk and join the worker bees—I’m sorry, Pollen Jocks on their job, a bit like he’s gotten a day-long internship with them. He then gets into a sticky situation (literally, he sticks to a tennis ball for a bit), but he gets saved by this human woman and florist, Vanessa Bloome. They get to know each other and hit it off, and by the end of it, Barry’s pretty head-over-heels for her, and so they start spending more time together. This is when Barry finds out that humans have been stealing and selling the bees’ honey, and he gets around to suing all of mankind, or honey-producers, at least, for their honey sales. Now, we all know that bees are integral to the pollination of flowers. Barry – a honey bee who literally saw and heard about pollination and its importance during his ‘internship’ – somehow didn’t consider the likelihood that bees not going out to pollinate flowers would cause flowers to start dying out. Which it does, although in a rather scientifically unsound amount of time. He and Vanessa then take a plane to a flower parade which has some of the last surviving flowers, and smuggle a parade float to have enough flowers to pollinate all the flowers in their city, or something like that. All the bees help them do just that, and they pollinate all the flowers, almost immediately bringing the wilting or dead flowers right back to life.

What Will Be Covered

Now, what exactly is wrong with the bee movie? Well, a lot. The obvious would be the very uncomfortable and largely criticized romance between a human woman and a bee. The second most obvious problem is the sheer number of really, really bad and frustrating bee jokes, both verbal and more subtle, visual puns. The bee puns are plenty, and the lady bees have beehive hairstyles, whereas the gentle-bees have buzzcuts. Aside from that, the entire movie is painfully scientifically unsound, from start to finish. And to add on to that, the sociopolitical message of the bee movie is, to put it lightly, a little bit questionable. But that last point will be a little lengthy, so we’ll cover some of the glaring inaccuracies of the Bee Movie first. Now, I’d rather do a lot of incredibly painful things before I rewatch the Bee Movie with the sole purpose of finding inaccuracies, but since I just watched it again about a week ago, I still have a pretty clear idea of what was rather noticeably wrong.

Scientific Inaccuracies

The Issue with Pollen The most basic grasp on how plants work will tip you off that there was something wrong with the Bee Movie’s understanding of pollen. When Barry follows the Pollen Jocks out to collect honey and pollinate flowers for the first time, one of the experienced bees tells him that they take some of the pollen from one flower, and sprinkle it onto the next. And that would be fine, except that when he demonstrates this, the bee gathers pollen from a daisy, and then sprinkles it onto a rose. Now, anyone who took science at the age of 11 will know that this isn’t how pollination works. The pollen grains contain sperm cells and, when met with the stigma of a flower, will fertilise the egg cells within the flower, and this will begin the process of the flower ripening into a fruit. Since this is the process of sexual fertilisation, the pollen grains will have to be from the same species of flower as the flower that it fertilises.

Now, this isn’t the only thing that the Bee Movie gets wrong about pollination. There’s another thing that doesn’t quite make sense about pollination in this movie is the role it plays for flowers. The time lapse in the movie shows that within four days, the plants in the city have all started wilting rather drastically and visibly. Now this just isn’t right. Pollen, unlike water or sunlight, isn’t necessary for the survival of the individual plant. Pollination only needs to occur when the plants have to bear fruit, and produce offspring, usually at the end of spring and nearing winter, as seeds can remain ungerminated – is that a word? – until the time whereby the conditions are optimal for the plant to grow again. This, obviously, is specific to plants which can’t grow in the winter. Depending on the plant, this period whereby fertilisation is important depends on when the plant species’ flowering cycles and periods. So without pollination, plants will not just start to shrivel and die. And, anyways, bees aren’t the only way for pollination to happen. There are other things which pollinate flowers, too, like wind, and humans, and other nectar-sucking creatures like hummingbirds, so the flowering plant population would drastically fall without bees, for sure, but it wouldn’t all just die.

But the biggest issue with all of the problems in how the movie depicts pollination is in one of the final scenes, where the bees are pollinating all the wilting and dying plants. The pollen, in this scene, acts like some sort of pixie dust, because sprinkling it on flowers and plants brings them all back to full health and a state of vibrant colours immediately. This is obviously not how pollination works, and not how pollen grains work. At all. In fact, it’s rather insulting to anyone under the age of 10 that creators of the Bee Movie think that pollen grains would magically resurrect literally already-dead plants, even with our beliefs suspended for this film about talking bees.

Somehow, even with all these issues regarding just pollination, there are other scientific inaccuracies within the movie. And these issues are much more integral to the movie itself. Specifically, there is an inaccurate representation of the biology of honey bees, throughout this entire movie.

Problematic Bee-ology The biology of bees isn’t in any way something that I expect people to know off the top of their heads, but I think it’s fair to expect the people writing an entire movie about bees to know, at the very least, the bare minimum about honey bee biology. So what did Dreamworks get wrong about bees in the Bee Movie? Well, everything, really. In reality, all male bees have no stingers, and have no job except for mating with the queen, after which, they’re killed by means of having their endophalluses -- which is the bee equivalent of a penis -- ripped out, alongside their abdomen. So who does all the work in the hive? Well, the worker bees do. They do all of the hard work, like collecting honey and protecting the hive. And all of them are -- you guessed it -- female. Every single worker bee is a female bee. So the Pollen Jocks, which look like an oddly buffed-up version of literally every other bee, should, in fact, be female. For that matter, every working bee in any of the largely arbitrary careers available to bees should be female. Male honey bees are just for mating purposes. So, really, the Bee Movie is what happens when people apply human societal norms to bees, while simultaneously expressing their hero worship for those with a masculine physique that’s considered ideal. And this explains why the Pollen Jocks are all male bees, with the inverted triangle body shape for men exclusively applied to them. It’s because some human people considered the bees which collect honey and leave the hive as to having a rather glamorous and very important job, and so obviously, it’s allocated to the muscular male bees. Who would have expected that the creators of Bee Movie would have applied human gender roles to bees? But this isn’t what I meant when I said that I would be covering the socio-political messages within the bee movie.

Questionable Implications

Somehow, the bees in the Bee Movie, despite being about a community of bees living in a hive under a ruling monarch which we never see, ultimately runs like a capitalist society, where the working class bees don’t get to keep what they produce, and they produce far more than they really need. As a result, the bees work till they die, which is actually what pushes our protagonist, Barry, into action that leads him to both meeting Vanessa and later, suing humans for selling honey without the knowledge of bees. A bit of an aside here, but the Bee Movie depicts beekeepers as evil and abusive towards bees. And recently, this has become untrue. In fact, a quick search will tell you that bees are not controlled by the beekeeper, and allowed to leave if they wanted. Usually, the bees actively choose to stay, because they recognise that the beekeeper’s hives are clean, dark and sheltered, which they like. Previous beekeeping practices have a lot of faults, which one should be wary of supporting since they're pervasive, even now. However, as the importance of bees is being more largely discussed, beekeeping practices have improved to aiding weaker hives to help with their survival which would previously have been more likely to die. In general, while some beekeeping practices are still not quite up-to-date, and beekeeping in smaller local practices tend to be better in that regard, having beekeepers does aid in the preservation of bees.

Now, back to the point about capitalism and bees. Barry B. Benson sues the humans and since bees have perfected their honey-producing process so that the bees have sufficient honey despite being exploited, it isn’t long before the process is able to stop entirely, with enough honey having been made to last the bees a long time. Barry’s friend Adam tells him how everyone has stopped working and is now merely lazing about, and expresses his grievances over the fact that his whole life had been leading up to contributing to honey production and contributing to the colony, and that Barry had taken that dream away from him. The well-deserved rest that the bees receive from the fall in demand for production and labour is presented with empty, desolate work stations, instead of the relief one would expect from finally getting a break from their tireless efforts which often costs them their entire lives. The situation worsens as the suspension of honey production means that the bees no longer have to collect nectar, and as a result, flowers die as they aren’t pollinated. We already know that this isn’t how pollination works, but we’ll just go along with it. The movie goes on and we end with bees coming to an agreement with mankind to allow humans to continue selling their honey, so that the bees can continue working themselves to death for the profit of an entity other than themselves, and maintain the natural order of things, or something like that.

Even after setting my own biases aside, there’s something inherently malicious with painting the portrayed bee society as both necessary and pivotal, the loss of which causing huge detrimental effects to the affected areas. When applied to the real world, the implication of this message is the justification and normalisation of a real and very harmful issue in many societies today. Unintentionally, the Bee Movie has sent a message of its support for labour with little rewards, and the justification of slaving away to produce beyond what is needed, to the point of numerous workplace hazards resulting in frequent deaths. While played off as comedy - ha ha, the bees die so often, a new job opens up every millisecond - it’s no laughing matter in the real world. Contemporary slavery is a dire issue, affecting almost 45.8million people around the world, and about a quarter of that is likely to be children, forced into child labour. Most of the work done by the impoverished have small returns for an immense amount of physical labour, and they are hardly sufficient for survival, much less comfort. In fact, many apply for jobs which adhere to extremely lax safety precautions, leading to a high injury and death rate, all for the sake of a relatively higher wage. People are being forced to exchange their safety and their lives for a pay that is still too low to lift them out of absolute poverty to this very day. The Bee Movie states that the bees’ revolt against producing honey to accommodate the wants of humans as ‘an unholy perversion of the balance of nature’. Under the assumption that the bees’ honey production is comparable to capitalism, then this isn’t true. Largely socialist countries exist, and amongst them is Finland, which has one of the highest standards of living in the world. Personally, I’m not of the opinion that having a high standard of living is an unholy perversion of the balance of nature, but it seems that others may disagree with me.

Conclusion

Overall, the Bee Movie is subpar. It isn’t even that enjoyable of a B-movie, considering its lacking humour which is built mostly on too many puns and no finesse, and the on-screen romance is uncomfortable. Consistent scientific inconsistencies are also a major issue, considering anyone under the age of 12 would already be aware of the process and use of pollination, and that it isn’t some magic fairy dust that brings plants back to life. The subtle sexism that exists in making the rightfully female bees all masculine and male is an unnecessary application of human society to a movie about bees, and yet the creators did not take into account the message it sent about the justification of a society that valued production over lives and how that could in turn be applied to human society.

#bee movie #barry benson #capitalism #sexism #movie analysis #analysis #essay #science #biology #the bee movie #bee movie meme #barry b benson #vanessa bloome #media analysis #social media #mine

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morningfears · 4 years

Text

Rose Tattoo [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 | Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of a panic attack.

Summary: Inspired by this blurb. | Calum is a tattoo artist. Stevie is getting her first tattoo. She’s terrified but determined and though Cal looks tough, when he takes off his jacket, Stevie notices the marker staining his arms and realizes that he’s a gentle giant who lets his son use him as a living coloring book. They hit it off but are either of them ready for anything more? [I’ll come up with a better fic summary later, promise.]

Word Count: 8.3k

series masterlist | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

Stevie could see the clouds of her breath curling around her face, rising and disappearing just as quickly as they appeared, as she weaved through the crowds cluttering the sidewalk. She was uncomfortably aware of the eyes on her, small-town tourists staring at the shock of green hair atop her head, as she waited at a crosswalk. She focused on the music blaring in her headphones, on the bitter cold nipping at the slivers of exposed skin, on evening her breathing and keeping her face void of emotion, as she attempted to ignore them.

She hadn’t lived in New York long, barely two months, but the adjustment period had been painfully short. She’d learned, almost immediately, the best ways to avoid anyone asking her for directions or tips about the city. She’d also learned how to navigate the city through the path of least resistance (read: tourists). She rarely crossed paths with them, usually only on the subway to and from her office, as she tried not to venture too far from her own neighborhood. However, it seemed unavoidable today.

Stevie’s job kept her in the same general area. She usually met artists she was scheduled to interview near her office for coffee or in the park nearby if the weather permitted. Her neighborhood, though not perfect by any means, had everything that she needed to live - including an overpriced grocery store and a Vietnamese restaurant whose staff knew her, and her usual order, by name. There was a gym close enough and a coffee shop that made the best chai latte she’d ever had. The only things it lacked were the things that she rarely needed, like a good tattoo shop.

The tattoo shop at the end of her block with blinking neon signs and Sailor Jerry-esque artwork covering the walls didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. The owner, and the most prominent artist, lived across the hall from her and seemed more concerned with his reputation than with good art. The shop itself catered mostly to a certain brand of wannabe Instagram influencers and specialized in a type of tattoo that she didn’t want. So, to her dismay, she found herself having to step outside of the comfort zone she’d constructed and venture across the city to a tattoo shop a friend from work recommended.

Stevie felt a flurry of emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach as she drew closer and closer to the shop. She was excited, of course, because she had always loved tattoos. Her dream as a child was to be covered in them, a dream that she abandoned when she realized that she was too indecisive for something so permanent. However, she was also terrified. Needles had always been a fear of hers. Although she’d been pierced several times, her nose and ears and belly button were all bejeweled, none of her piercings took longer than a few minutes. The needle was in and out before she could really think about the choice she’d made and that was it.

Tattoos, on the other hand, were a different story.

She knew that the appointment would be at least a few hours long and the thought of sitting there for so long, immobile as a needle was repeatedly driven into her skin, made her nauseous as she stood outside the shop and attempted to control her breathing. She knew that she would be fine once they began the process, it was just getting into the shop and getting started that freaked her out. She knew, though, without a doubt that she had to get the tattoo. She couldn’t back out but the thought of postponing briefly crossed her mind as she stared at the bright blue neon sign in the window.

After sending Calum her references and telling him exactly what she wanted, he recommended two sessions. Her tattoo consisted mostly of fine lines and intricate detail, something Calum was comfortable with but knew would take more than the standard few hours, and neither really wanted to plan a day session. The first session was for line work, to get the basic outline of the tattoo onto her skin in black ink, while the second - scheduled for two weeks later - was to be spent adding color and detail. It made sense and she was happy that he didn’t push a day session but she almost wished she could just get it all over with immediately. At least that way she would only have to begin a session once.

As she stood outside the shop, gathering herself and hoping that she didn’t look as panicked as she felt, the world around her faded. She no longer heard the noise from the street or the loud hum of neon. She didn’t see the bright blue glow or the buildings reflected in the shop’s plate glass window. She didn’t notice the people passing her by, brushing past her without so much as a glance in her direction, nor did she notice the one person who decided to stop as her nerves held a firm grip on her. It was all white noise and a meaningless blur as she breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

Stevie only became aware of the person when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Stevie jumped, startled out of her reverie, and turned to face the stranger. She recognized him from the few photographs she’d seen on his Instagram - there were very few of his face but he’d posted one recently so she recognized the buzzcut and fading blue dye - and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she met Calum’s eyes. She had hoped that she would have herself together by the time she met him, she didn’t want to give him pause, but that seemed to be out of the question as he stood in front of her.

He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in person as he did in pictures and that eased some of the worry in the pit of her stomach. However, Stevie still found herself shrinking under his gaze. A few tattoos - the majority stark black and traditional, a mixture of intricate lines and simple designs from what she had seen online - peeked out of the collar of his shirt, a few more decorated his hands, and she tried not to stare as she took him in. His eyes, contrary to the mask of indifference he wore, were soft and concerned as he moved his hand from her shoulder and let it drop to his side.

Calum stared at her for a moment. He hadn’t made it a habit to stop and chat with pedestrians he happened across, regardless of where he happened across them (including in front of the tattoo shop where he worked). In the six years he’d lived in New York, he’d learned how to keep walking. He knew how to tune out the city around him and had gotten over the deep seated desire to help lost tourists or recent transplants. But something about this girl was different.

Her short hair, an artful mix of dark brown and green, was mussed - Calum assumed it was both the wind and her seemingly nervous habit of running her fingers through it - and her knuckles were white as she clutched her jacket tight against her body. Her face, illuminated in the late afternoon sun, looked mildly panicked but he could see a steely resolution in the set of her shoulders. It was interesting, the mixture of emotion he saw swirling in her eyes, and he felt compelled to speak to her.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he began, his voice quiet and soft in the din of the city as to not frighten her further but loud enough for her to hear, “but I just wanted to see if you were alright?”

It took Stevie a moment to gather herself, to formulate a response and push it through the thick cotton of panic that had formed in her mouth, but Calum seemed in no rush as he watched her knit her brows and internally assess herself. “Sure,” she nodded quickly, the word forced from her mouth and sounding garbled as she brought a hand up to run her fingers through her freshly dyed hair, “yeah. I’m fine. I’m just, uh, just a little nervous is all.” When Calum raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue speaking, she added, “About getting a tattoo, my first one. I mean, I didn’t just pick a random tattoo studio to have a breakdown in front of. I know that it’s silly but, yeah.”

Stevie noted that Calum’s gaze were curious, maybe a little amused, but in no way judgmental. He understood her apprehension and saw it more often than not with his clients. Getting a tattoo was a big commitment; they hurt, they could take hours to complete, they could be expensive (if they wanted a good tattoo), and they’re permanent. Although he had more than his fair share, Calum still felt a lingering nervousness in the back of his mind any time he added a piece to his ever-growing collection (though it usually faded to a sort of excitement, something of an adrenaline rush) but he remembered how nervous he had been for his first tattoo and couldn’t blame her for needing a moment to settle her nerves.

“It’s not,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It’s normal, especially for the first one. Nerves are a part of the process,” he stated with a nod that suggested finality as he moved out of the path of pedestrians. She stepped to the side - subtly, he noted, but just enough to put a small distance between them - and averted her gaze as he glanced at his watch. He lifted his head, turning his gaze to her once more, before he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be Stevie, would you?”

“Yep,” she nodded, placing an emphasis on the ‘p’, before she huffed out a sigh, “although I wish I was anyone but at the moment. Calum, right?” When he nodded, Stevie copied the gesture and offered him a weak smile. “Sorry you’re getting stuck with such a baby for a few hours. I have to get this tattoo. I’m just…” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed and her shoulders dropping, before she added, “Needles.”

Calum raised an eyebrow at her explanation as he took in the septum ring and the several studs and rings in her ears. He was sure he’d seen a flash of silver when she opened her mouth and he felt certain that if he looked closer, he’d see a barbell in her tongue. “You have a nose ring,” he pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and took in the gunmetal ring looped through her septum, “and I’m pretty sure I saw a tongue ring.”

Stevie huffed indignantly and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned her head. Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, deepened in color as the embarrassment heated her body. “Tattoos and piercings are different,” she defended as she glanced at the people passing them by, “one lasts thirty seconds, at most, and the other takes hours. I’d rather be jabbed with a needle once than have someone keep stabbing me. It’s…” Stevie paused, searching her brain for the right words to adequately describe her feelings, before she settled on, “It’s the repetition, I guess.”

Calum laughed at Stevie’s explanation and she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away from the conversation. She imagined that he didn’t mean any harm - she hoped that he didn’t, anyway - but she didn’t like feeling like she was being made fun of. She knew that she was being overly sensitive, that her anxiety lowered her threshold for rationality, but she still didn’t like it. However, she wanted Calum to tattoo her - she needed him to tattoo her - so she bit her tongue and stood still as she contemplated her next move.

Calum, sensing the shift in Stevie’s attitude, shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “If that’s how it is for you, that’s how it is for you,” Calum offered with a shrug as he attempted to catch her eye again, “but, trust me when I tell you that you probably won’t be my worst client this week. As long as you don’t faint, you’re miles ahead of a guy I had a few days ago.”

Stevie paled at the mention of fainting and Calum realized, too late, that that might not have been as reassuring as he’d intended it to be. He’d hoped to put her at ease, to relax her before he brought her into the shop, but with how tight she was wound, he didn’t imagine he would be able to. Instead, he sighed and stepped around her to head toward the door. “You ready to head in? I’ve got some designs drawn up. We can look at them and you can decide which one you like best.”

“Sure,” she nodded as she stepped through the door and into the studio itself. “Sorry I’m so early. You know how some people are chronically late? I have the exact opposite problem.”

“You should stick around, teach us your ways,” Calum hummed as he followed her in. “No one here is ever on time.”

“Fuck you. I am always on time.” Stevie turned just in time to catch sight of a crumbled ball of paper flying toward Calum’s head. The culprit, a man with inky black hair and an array of black and red tattoos, was seated at a drawing table and smiled at her when she caught his eye.

“When you own the place, I guess you can never really be late,” Calum deadpanned as he stepped around her and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch in the corner. “Hang out here for a second,” he instructed as he reached for the crumbled ball of paper on the floor, “I’ll go grab the designs and we can talk about placement and get everything figured out.”

Stevie nodded and watched as Calum navigated the array of equipment with practiced ease. He paused for a moment, long enough to nudge the - well, the owner, she guessed - and laugh as he messed up a line, before he disappeared through a door marked ‘staff only’. She glanced around the building, her eyes raking over the various paintings and prints and flash sheets that covered the walls, and found herself getting lost in the artwork as she waited for Calum to return.

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

As Stevie was twenty minutes early for her appointment - something that he appreciated; he would rather clients arrive early and have to wait for him to be ready than have them arrive late and derail his schedule for the day - Calum didn’t feel so bad taking a moment to breathe as he sifted through his files to find the few designs he’d created for her. Though it was barely three in the afternoon, his day had already been long. He’d been up since four that morning and he wanted nothing more than to finish her tattoo and head home.

The tattoo itself was fairly simple in concept, a bouquet of roses in shades of red and green with a ribbon tying them together (the only odd detail was a small skull pin on the ribbon), but the tattoo itself was quite large. He’d warned her, over email, that it would likely become close to a half sleeve if he made it as detailed as she wanted and she hadn’t been deterred at all. Despite it being her first tattoo, something she mentioned, she seemed incredibly committed to making it work.

Normally, Calum wouldn’t have minded sitting for a full session. The tattoo wouldn’t have taken more than ten hours and, though he hated marathon sessions, he could’ve done it. However, their schedules never quite clicked and the only time Stevie could get into the shop was after three in the afternoon. In another life, four years earlier, Calum wouldn’t have hesitated to accept staying in the shop until one in the morning. A session that ran late into the night would’ve just been another day at work for him. But, as fate would have it, he was no longer able to schedule his life so selfishly.

The deciding factor in his availability was - and had been for nearly five years - his son.

Calum became a father at the young age of twenty and his apprenticeship (back when he first began tattooing), his bookings now, his life; they all revolved around Tāne’s schedule. He had a babysitter, one that watched Tāne after school and kept him until Calum’s last appointment of the day finished, but it wouldn’t be fair to either his son or the babysitter to accept an appointment that lasted so long. Even if it was a one off appointment, he wanted to get home, to have dinner with his son and read him a bedtime story or just tuck him in, just as much as he wanted the babysitter to be free to go home and do her homework or see her own parents.

Calum had seen friends, men older than him and even some younger, that let their lives be consumed by their work and made their families pay for it. They chose local celebrity, fleeting online fame, over their home lives and he’d seen what it could do firsthand. He’d seen them end up divorced and alone, unable to get weekends with their children despite promising to be there for them. He’d seen them depressed, missing a part of themselves they hadn’t even known they’d had until it was gone. He’d met the teenage children of older artists and had been told stories about their childhoods, dealing with the absence of their fathers. And he desperately wanted to avoid that.

Calum wanted to be present for his son. He wanted to be a steadfast figure in his life, to be there whenever he needed him, so every decision was made with him in mind. His decision to cut a ten hour session into two shorter, five hour ones was made with Tāne in mind. It gave him time to pick up his son from school - they got out at 1:00 on Fridays - and spend a few hours with him before he had to disappear to the shop. It also helped ensure that he would be home in time to tuck his son into bed before he passed out himself. It ensured that he wouldn’t be dead on his feet, dragging into the living room as Tāne begged for chocolate chip pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons. It ensured that he wouldn’t be a shell of himself, present in body but absent in mind.

It ensured that he would be able to give his son the attention he deserved.

He leaned against the counter, staring at the transfer paper in his hands without truly seeing it, and took a deep breath. He could already feel the tension in his shoulders. It was present after the long morning he’d had and he could already anticipate the aching pain that came with sitting hunched over for hours at a time. He’d done a marathon session the day before, an eight hour tattoo that ended with a beautiful piece and a customer he could count on seeing again, but it left him aching and ready for a day off. However, as he lifted his head and turned to face the shelves, he reasoned that at least this session wouldn’t be so bad with the placement of Stevie’s tattoo.

After gathering himself, after clearing his head, Calum grabbed the items he would need from the supply closet and returned to set up his station. He imagined that Stevie would be sitting on the couch, waiting patiently as she attempted not to panic, but to his (almost lack of) surprise, he found her sitting on one of the extra artist stools with her chin in her hand as she watched Ashton outline a tattoo he was working on for Michael. Ashton looked calm, happy, even, as he explained the design to her and Calum rolled his eyes.

Stevie was cute, that much he could admit. Her hair, something she’d smoothed since stepping into the shop, was a shock of green among the blacks and blues of the shop. She was a strange mixture of hard edges and soft lines with but Calum imagined that that only added to her intrigue. Her cheeks seemed permanently flushed despite the warmth of the shop and Calum imagined that it was her nerves. Ashton, however, seemed to have a sixth sense for flirting with cute, nervous clients and it was starting to get old. He told everyone it was to help them be at ease, to calm their nerves before the tattoo, but Calum imagined it was more to help him get laid.

He let them be for a moment, long enough to drop the items he’d gathered onto the stand beside his station, before he decided to interrupt them. “If I could have my client back, mate,” Calum called, glancing over at the pair of them as he unzipped his jacket and began to shrug it off, “we can go ahead and get started.”

Ashton, used to Calum’s interruptions, shot him an easy grin as he nodded. “I was just keeping her company until you were ready for her. She’s all yours,” Ashton assured him with a mock salute before he returned his full attention to the drawing in front of him.

Stevie smiled at Calum, a little uneasy grin that seemed to be a reflex more than anything, before she returned the stool to the station she’d grabbed it from and crossed the shop to join him. As he arranged his set up, his movements steady and practiced, Stevie shrugged off her coat and paused for a moment. She glanced around the shop, empty save for her, Calum, and Ashton, before she asked, “I have on an undershirt. Like, I’m wearing a tank top beneath the long sleeve. Do I just…?”

Calum glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, an amused laugh leaving his lips as he watched her hesitate. “Yeah,” he nodded as he grabbed the black ink, “long sleeve has to go. You can take it off out here or there’s a bathroom over there.”

Stevie stood frozen, seemingly unsure, and Calum almost urged her toward the bathroom but before he could, she gripped the hem of her long sleeve with one hand and the hem of her tank top with another. She tugged the black garment up and over her head, huffing as it mused her hair even further and as she hit her elbow on the corner of the countertop behind her. She remained stuck in the garment for a moment, struggling to free herself, and Calum had to bite back a laugh as she rubbed her elbow with a frown on her lips.

“Right,” she nodded after dropping her shirt onto her bag and taking a moment to watch him set up - something he felt almost too aware of. “Where do you want me?”

Calum didn’t look at her as he arranged the little pots of ink on his workstation. Instead, he nodded his head toward the designs laying on the counter of his station. “Have a look at those for me,” he encouraged as he reached for the box of gloves beside him, “let me know which one you like the most and we’ll see how it looks in terms of placement and size.”

Calum’s station was in a corner of the shop. There were mirrors surrounding him, something that he felt almost neutral about most days, but he used them to his advantage as he watched Stevie through the mirror. He watched, curious, as she carefully traced her fingers over the designs laying on the counter and analyzed the emotions on her face. She hadn’t told him what the tattoo was for, he hadn’t asked, but he had gotten good at recognizing emotion in his years as an artist. He’d always been good at reading people, it was a gift, but he’d learned how to spot grief despite the many faces it wore as he’d done more memorial tattoos than he could count. Each circumstance was different, everyone dealt with grief in their own way, but the tattoo serving as a memorial explained why she felt so strongly about getting the tattoo (including the size and details) despite her obvious nerves.

Although he was outwardly the most reserved artist in the shop, he had always been the one that felt the deepest connection with other people. He empathized far too strongly for his own good and sometimes he hated that part of his job. He sat with people for hours, inking permanent memorials into their skin and listening as they told him stories of parents or grandparents or, God forbid, children that had passed and his heart bled for each one. He never knew what the session would bring - whether they would be an open book or whether the grief was too fresh to even consider speaking - and he didn’t know what to expect with Stevie. Usually, he knew what he was hoping for - more often than not, it was a happy medium that didn’t leave him emotionally drained by the end of an appointment - but with Stevie, he found himself unsure of what he hoped for.

But, by the way her hand shook and her breathing stuttered when she followed the outline of the skull with soft fingers, Calum knew that, regardless of the session itself, he hoped that the experience would bring her some semblance of closure.

Calum was finished setting up his station by the time she chose a design. He didn’t want to push, not when he could see tears glittering on her lashes, so he leaned against the counter and waited for her to speak. “This one,” she finally breathed, her voice quiet in the nearly empty shop. “This one’s perfect.”

The design wasn’t much different than her original request, it was still a bouquet of roses with the ribbon and skull (a detail she’d insisted on), but there were a few smaller flowers throughout as well as a few more intricate lines and details. It was, without a doubt, the hardest of the drawings to place onto her skin, it would bump the session up to twelve hours instead of ten, but it was his favorite, too.

Calum never gave his opinion on which design a client should choose. At the end of the day, it was their body. However, he found himself breathing, “I was hoping that’s the one you’d go for,” before he knew what he was saying. He didn’t know why but something about her vulnerability made him want to assure her that she was making the right decision.

Stevie looked up from the counter and when he met her eyes, his heart broke for her. He could see a glassy sheen of unshed tears and beneath the layer of nerves, he could see just how lost she looked. It was a jarring change, gone were the flushed cheeks and doe eyes, replaced by sadness, and it was hard to keep himself together as he watched her nod. “Let’s get this stencil on, then, and see what it looks like,” he mumbled, his voice quiet as he reached for the stencil and beckoned her closer to him.

Stevie seemed lost in her own thoughts so Calum worked in silence. He didn’t speak as he placed the stencil on her upper arm, exactly where she’d asked for, and was glad to see that the measurements he’d used had worked in just the way he’d hoped. It was a big tattoo, especially for the first, but - and Calum wasn’t sure if this was his own selfish desire to make his tattoos look as if they had always been a part of his clients’ bodies - it looked like it belonged.

Calum stared at it for a moment, his eyes raking over the pale purple lines on her skin, and he decided that it was beautiful. It fit her perfectly, exactly the way he’d hoped it would, and she echoed the thought as she breathed, “It’s beautiful. It looks perfect.”

“The placement is okay?” he asked, just to be sure, as he nudged her toward the full length mirror to get a better look at the angle. She stared at her reflection for a moment, her eyes glued to her right arm, and nodded. Calum, happy that she was happy, repeated the gesture and pointed to the chair. “Okay. Take a seat for me and we’ll. Get started.”

Stevie settled into the chair and kept her eyes on her hands, folded across her lap, as Calum settled onto his stool beside her. He could see the shaking in her limbs, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to steady her breathing, but she was quiet. She didn’t want to give him pause, he realized that, and he admired her follow through as she was clearly panicked. The only sound that echoed through the shop was the scratch of Ashton’s pencil against paper and the sound of traffic outside. Calum almost didn’t want to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, just pensive, but he had to get started so he said, “I’m going to start with a line, just to give you a feel for it. Remember to breathe for me and let me know how you’re doing. If you need a break, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Calum kept his eyes on her arm as he traced one line onto her skin. He heard a sharp intake of breath over the hum of the machine but, to his surprise, she kept perfectly still. She was rigid, almost alarmingly so, and had her nails dug into her palms but she nodded at him. “I’m fine. It’s fine,” she assured him, her voice tight as she stared straight ahead at the artwork on the wall, “Go ahead.”

Stevie kept her posture for the first thirty minutes of her tattoo. Those long minutes passed in silence, Calum focused on the bigger lines that gave the entire image shape, and Stevie kept her eyes on the wall. He glanced at her every so often, just to make sure she hadn’t passed out, and was somewhat surprised at how well she seemed to be holding herself together. Her anxiety faded as they went on, her body relaxing and her breathing evening, and nearly an hour into the process, Calum could feel her eyes on him.

Stevie watched him work but her gaze wasn’t scrutinizing, just curious. She was engaged in the process and Calum was glad to see that she’d calmed at least somewhat since their initial meeting. He didn’t mind silent sessions, ones where the clients didn’t speak at all, but he was curious. He wanted to know exactly what the tattoo stood for so he asked, “Why a bouquet with the skull?”

Stevie hesitated, her eyes glued to his hands as he traced another line, and he almost retracted his question. However, before he could open his mouth, she sighed and leaned her head back against the headrest. “It’s for a friend,” she offered, her voice quiet and barely audible over the buzz of the machine. “She died a few months ago.”

Calum occasionally offered his ear to clients - some he didn’t have to offer it to, they were more than willing to spill regardless of his feelings on the matter - and he felt the need to listen to Stevie’s story. So, as he paused to wipe at the ink on her skin, he asked, “You want to talk about it? I’ve been told tattoo artists are like therapists. Just, less frequent visits. For most people, anyway.”

Stevie cracked a smile at Calum’s attempted banter and he was surprised at the feeling of accomplishment that blossomed in his chest. He never really invested himself in his clients’ lives, he had his own shit to worry about, but he felt for her. Losing a friend so young - she had to be his age or younger - and one that meant enough for her to face her fear and get a tattoo for had to be hard. And, if her accent was anything to go by, she was a long way from home and likely didn’t have anyone to vent to. So, he felt compelled to offer her an open ear.

“It was cancer,” she finally answered after such a prolonged silence that Calum had almost forgotten he’d asked. He glanced up from the line he was working on and frowned as she kept her eyes on the ceiling. “Her name was Angela. We were best friends for ages. She was the first friend I made when I moved after Katrina and we did everything together. We went to college together. We were going to move up here together. But she got sick.” Stevie paused for a moment, gathering herself, and Calum almost reached for the box of tissues on Luke’s station but stopped himself as he continued tattooing. “She dropped out, couldn’t keep up with the work because of the chemo, and that was it. She died. She had this bucket list, all these things she wanted to do before before she died, and I promised her I’d finish it for her. The tattoo was the next thing on the list. She really wanted the roses. You wouldn’t have thought it, looking at her, but she loved flowers.”

“Shit,” Calum breathed, his voice barely audible despite the absence of the buzzing machine. “That’s… I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Don’t be,” Stevie shrugged before quickly apologizing for the movement. “She’s not suffering anymore. It got really bad toward the end. She was in a lot of pain. I would’ve preferred she got better, of course, but an end’s an end, I guess.” She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to blink back tears, before she added, “The skull is this ring she wore literally every day. Her mom gave it to me.” She lifted her left hand and pulled a long chain from beneath the neckline of her tank top. At the end dangled a small silver ring in the shape of a skull with two red gems for eyes.

Calum, despite his countless jokes about how much they annoyed him, couldn’t imagine losing any of his friends. They were his brothers, they always had been, and he knew that no matter how much they exhausted him, he’d be lost without them. They made his world better, they made his son’s world better, and if he lost one of them, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to properly function. He admired what she was doing, finishing her friend’s bucket list, and felt honored to be part of the quest.

However, before Calum had the chance to tell her as much, Stevie shook her head. “Sad hours are over,” she laughed as she brought her left hand up to wipe at her eyes. “What about you?” she asked, glancing at his arm. “Your tattoos are beautiful. I really like the intricate line work - it looks good on you - but it looks like someone’s been coloring outside the lines.”

Calum was mildly thrown off by the sudden shift in her attitude but found himself glancing at his forearms, at the tattoos she could easily see beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and flushed as he caught sight of the neon marker staining his skin. “My son,” he explained, smiling sheepishly at her. “He likes coloring in my tattoos. Some of them are a little too intricate for him to stay inside the lines but he likes it and the markers stain.”

Calum could see Stevie’s face light up with a smile out of the corner of his eye. The crushing sadness, the loss, that had been so clear only a moment earlier faded slightly as she took in the marker staining his skin. “That’s so sweet,” she cooed, her accent growing thicker as she brought her left hand to her heart. “He’s got a living coloring book. How old is he?” She paused for a moment, considered her question, and then added, “If you don’t mind me asking, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Calum assured her, a soft smile on his lips as he nodded toward the photo of Tāne he kept on his station. “That’s him. He’s almost five.”

“Four and three quarters, thank you,” Ashton, who had been silent throughout their conversation, interjected with a bright grin as he was given the opportunity to talk about his pseudo-nephew.

“Four and three quarters,” Calum agreed with a laugh, “yeah. He gets offended if you forget that part.”

“I’m the same way with my height,” Stevie nodded, “I get it. He’d adorable. He looks just like you and I’m assuming he’s got the artist thing down, too?”

“He’ll put us all out of a job one day,” Calum agreed with a smile as he glanced up at her. “He was a tattoo artist for Halloween. Had Ash give him tattoos like mine and everything,” Calum confessed with a grin as he thought back to the shock of seeing his son, dressed in a small pair of Docs and covered in Sharpie.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that was incredibly adorable but also got you a lot of funny looks.” When Calum laughed, Stevie smiled. “I’m guessing the curls are what you used to look like?” she asked, glancing at the photo once more before she returned her gaze to Calum’s buzzed and blue hair.

“Mm, yeah. Once upon a time,” Calum nodded. Calum studied her, glancing at the green and brown mess of curls, before he asked, “What about you? I’m guessing the same was true for you before you chopped and dyed yours?”

“Brown, yeah. Curly? No. I wish. My hair was limp as fuck,” Stevie laughed as she tousled the green curls with her left hand. “It was gross and unhealthy so I cut it all off when I moved up here. I dyed it, too. I always wanted green hair and people don’t give a shit about your hair color here.”

“They did back home?” Calum asked, reaching out to wipe at her skin. When Stevie nodded, Calum asked, “Where is home?”

Stevie paused, staring at him as he added another line, before she said, “I’m sure you can tell by the accent, but I’m from the south. New Orleans. Well, not really New Orleans because if I was from there, they wouldn’t have cared about the hair - they see far weirder shit on the regular, believe me, but that’s the closest city you’d know.”

Calum nodded, certain that was true - he barely knew anything about New Orleans, let alone Louisiana as a whole - before he asked, “Why New York?”

“We had this running joke,” Stevie began, shifting in her seat as the discomfort of sitting still for nearly two hours started to set in, “that I was going to move to New York to become some obnoxious fucking fashion blogger or something and that Angela was going to follow me and be my photographer. That’s not exactly what happened but, well, close enough.”

“How close is close?” Calum asked as he pushed away from her and pulled off his gloves. “We can take a break for a second. Get up, move around. I’ll grab you some water.”

It was unlike him to be so invested in a client’s life but he felt at ease chatting with her. Something about her was easy, like talking to an old friend, and he felt himself growing more and more curious about her life. So, he kept the conversation flowing and was happy to hear her answer.

“I write for Rolling Stone,” Stevie told him, her voice following him as he moved toward the back to grab a bottle of water for himself and one for her. “Angela was going to be a photographer. Her editing skills were out of this world and she had an eye for detail like no one else. All of my work, the writing samples I sent in, they were a package deal. They all came with photos from her. We both had jobs lined up but… Anyway, I couldn’t stay at home so I took the job. Packed it all up and here I am.” Calum watched as she wandered around the shop, her right hand flexing as she attempted to wake it from where she’d sat with it so still for nearly two hours. She moved slowly, carefully, and paused at each flash sheet to study it just a little closer. “What about you?” she asked after a moment of silence, turning her head to glance at him over her should. “There’s a twinge of something not New York there.”

“Australia,” Ashton answered for him, a wide grin on his lips as he stood from his drawing table and stretched his arms. “All of us hail from the land down under. We packed it all up and moved here after Cal, Luke, and Mike finished high school. It was supposed to be a temporary thing but here we are, six years later.”

“You’re a lot farther from home than I am,” Stevie noted as she returned her gaze to the flash sheets on the wall. “But I guess some places just become like home, regardless of whether you mean for them to,” she offered with a shrug and Calum couldn’t help but agree.

He hadn’t meant for New York to become his home. He, like Ashton said, hadn’t intended to stay very long at all. The goal was to get enough experience under a talented enough artist to return home and open his own shop somewhere in Sydney. He wanted to be near his parents, near his sister, but something about the city sank its claws into his heart and kept him rooted in the Big Apple. He’d decided to stay before Tāne and now, now he couldn’t imagine disrupting his son’s life. Now, New York felt more like home than his real home did, though he sometimes felt the familiar ache to return to warmer weather and familiar scenes settle in his bones.

As the conversation lulled, Stevie returned to the chair and Calum found himself surprised at how quickly her appointment seemed to pass. Her initial nerves, the crippling fear that had seen her almost have a panic attack on the sidewalk in front of the shop, disappeared after the first few strokes of his machine. Getting started had been the hard part. Every part of her body had been tense and Calum was worried that she would stop breathing and pass out on him. However, once he’d settled into a groove and got her talking, sharing stories of her hometown and telling Ashton what bars to avoid should he ever venture down south for Mardi Gras, the appointment flew by.

He didn’t get attached to clients often, didn’t truly enjoy their presence beyond them being easy to work with, but he liked Stevie. She was his dream client, easy to work with and good at sitting still. She didn’t seem to mind the pain - or, if she did, she didn’t say anything about it. She sat calmly, never forcing conversation but letting it flow naturally, and Calum found himself at ease as he worked on her. The rough morning he’d had melted as he talked with her (and occasionally Ashton) about music and he was almost surprised when he added the last stroke to her outline. Her upper arm was covered in a beautiful bouquet of roses, only missing the red and green ink, and he had to take a moment to admire the beautiful, finished (for now) product.

“Alright,” Calum began as he pulled away from her and nodded his head toward the full length mirror she’d first taken a glance at her arm in, “take a look and let me know how you feel.”

Stevie walked across the shop, groaning as she got the blood flowing in her legs once more, and stopped in front of the mirror. Calum watched her face, his eyes on trained on hers, and breathed a sigh of relief at the awed look she wore. Her left hand came up to her arm, her fingers not quite touch the fresh ink, as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was quiet, scrutinizing, but Calum could see the approval in her eyes. It looked like she’d wanted it to, exactly as she imagined it would, and that was all he wanted.

Stevie was quiet for a moment, gathering herself, before she turned away from the mirror to look at Calum. “She would’ve loved it,” she breathed, her voice cracking slightly as she smiled at him. “I know it’s not finished yet but it’s already so perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Calum nodded, a small smile on his lips as he gestured for her to return to the chair, “I’m glad it’s doing her justice. Let me wrap it up and we’ll get you out of here.”

Wrapping her tattoo took only moments and, after she paid, Stevie was out the door with a final heartfelt thank you and an agreement to return the same time two weeks later. Calum watched her leave, his eyes glued to the door, and remained in his spot behind the desk until Ashton said, “She was cute.”

Calum blinked, surprised at the sound of Ashton’s voice, and rolled his eyes as he let the comment settle in his mind. “She’ll be back in two weeks,” he informed him with a sigh, “you can ask her out then.” Normally, that wouldn’t have irked him so much, imagining Ashton taking one of his clients out for drinks. However, something about him asking Stevie unsettled him and he didn’t like the annoyance he felt in the pit of his stomach as he imagined Ashton flirting with her.

However, the annoyed was short lived as Ashton tossed another ball of paper at his head. “Not for me, dickhead,” he huffed as he stood from his chair and turned off the lamp at his station. “For you. You two would look good together.”

At that, Calum turned and stared at his friend. It wasn’t in his nature to attempt to set him up, to even encourage him to date, and he wondered what the change of heart was about. However, he didn’t bother to ask as he stated plainly, “No,” and moved to clean his station so he could get home to Tāne.

“Look,” Ashton began as he crossed the shop to help him clean, “I know that you don’t want to make things difficult for Tāne and you’re still on edge after El but it’s been three years. One date won’t be the end of the world, mate.” He paused, weighing his words carefully, before he added, “You talked more with her today than you ever have with a client. You guys clicked.”

Calum was quiet as he considered Ashton’s words. He had spoken more with Stevie than he ever had any client. He’d felt comfortable with her, the conversation flew naturally and five hours passed in the blink of an eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider that as an option. He knew that time had passed for him to move on, he had moved on, but he didn’t want open himself up to another heartbreak. Not when the first one was still weighing so heavily on his life. So, instead of telling Ashton that he was afraid of loving and losing once more, he deflected the conversation.

“El’s lawyer called this morning,” he sighed as he returned the box of gloves to his station. “I’ve got other shit to deal with that doesn’t involve finding a girlfriend. And Stevie - she’s nice but she’s got other shit on her mind, too. Just leave it, mate.”

“Wait, El’s lawyer? She’s not still trying to get custody, is she?” Ashton asked as he stopped cleaning and turned his full attention to Calum.

“Mm,” he confirmed with a sigh as he dropped the bottle of antiseptic cleaner and took a seat on his stool. “Still thinks I’m an unfit parent. She thinks that she and fuckface will do a better job. They want to move to Boston and she wants to take him with them.”

“Fuck, Cal,” Ashton breathes as he reaches out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. She doesn’t deserve custody and I’ll help you however I can. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he reached for the discarded tissues he’d used to wipe at the ink on Stevie’s tattoo. “I know.”

Calum knew that his friends would help however they could. He knew that, like Ashton, Michael and Luke would do whatever he needed of them to help him keep his son and the job he loved so much. He also knew that, when the dust settled around the latest in his ex’s attempts to unsettle his life, Ashton would return his attention to the topic of Calum’s lack of a partner and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t exactly mind it. He was steadfast in his decision to focus on one problem at a time - his most pressing being his impending battle for custody - but maybe, just maybe, there would soon be room in his life for someone else. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the girl with the rose tattoo.

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Author’s Note: So. Thoughts? Feelings? I’m really excited for this. I’ve had this fic in mind for ages. The first chapter wasn’t as fluffy as I was imagining it would be nor is it as filled with Calum being a dad but there are some soft moments and I’m really looking forward to continuing it. I have it all planned out and I’m already halfway through chapter two I’m pretty stoked. Also, I’m trying to do it from both perspectives (Stevie’s and Calum’s because a) there are things about Stevie I don’t want you to know yet and b) it’s about single dad!Cal so. Anyway!). Let me know your thoughts!

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