Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✯☾✯
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 at the sheet of paper and then back at three mischievous looking teens, "Boy, it's a good thing you drew me a picture..."
Scott glanced down sheepishly at the reminder of his scrappy drawing of two block lines.
"Hey, Scott!" Stiles called over to where Scott was sat from the table covered in examples of past work and sketches, "Sure you don't want something like this?"
Stiles, with a flickering glint in his eye, held up a drawling of a lizard looking creature that resembled a particular supernatural beast no one ever wanted to see again.
When Scott narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, Stiles deflated, pouting, "Too soon? Yeah?"
Stiles placed the slightly crinkled peace of paper in its original place and picked up a binder instead, flicking through all the designs, "I don't know, man. Are you sure about this? I mean, these things are pretty permanent, you know?"
"I'm not changing my mind," Scott repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. He'd grown tired of Stiles' constant attempts to put him off the idea of getting a tattoo. He'd mostly ignored his warnings and spitting of facts about the risks because Stiles Stilinski was both a wuss and an over thinker.
"Okay, but why two bands?" Stiles pressed in a judgemental tone.
Scott shrugged, "I just like it."
The tattooist began to prep Scott's toned bicep with antiseptic wipes. Whether it was a wolf thing or the fact Scott had spent most of his summer in the gym, the boy had grown some serious muscles on him.
And, he wasn't the only one who's changed as junior year Stiles was looking a lot different to sophomore Stiles. His hair was no longer buzzed and had grown out nicely into dark messy mop. His cheek bones had become more prominent, changing his face shape slightly. He definitely looked older.
"But don't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning? You know, or something?" Stiles commented, still not fully convinced.
The dim lighting in the parlour did nothing to hide Scott's eye roll, "Getting a tattoo means something."
"I don't think that's-" Stiles started to argue.
"He's right," The tattooist cut him off, barely looking up from the needles and ink. "Tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word tatua means "to leave a mark," like a rite of passage- oh my god."
The sound of drilling came from the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows. Through the darkness, a small figure could just be made out.
The figure stepped into light and Lizzie smiled at them all before looking back at the drill in her hand, confused.
