Wait, you actually know how to give tattoos are you like... winging it like the treehouse?

[Tate's intrigued, maybe more than he should be. He's never really been that into tattoos but it has been something he's thought about time to time. His mother would've never let him get one, or berated him until he died if he had. He's not interested in sleeves or ink for the sake of ink. But something with meaning? Yeah, he could get behind that. He leans forward a bit, obvious sign of his rapt attention.]

Because no offense, if that thing falls out of the tree? Okay. But shit fucking up when it's on my skin? No so okay.