Black Panther Party Tattoo Novels & Stories

She is part of the organization, that's why she bears the wolf brand, a mark belonging to us, on her hand and neck. Only those closest to us wear the wolf symbol on their neck, signifying their loyalty. Not to mention the tattoo on her chest, the Ace of Hearts, which is our brand - the Black brothers' mark. She is our missing Ace, forever ours. But one of the girls was outraged. "What kind of absurd joke is this? You can't talk to us like that! Who do you think you are?" Penny introduced herself, her last name is Black, leaving the girls pale.

I asked. He nodded. “Yes, baby. I had almost finished.” I smiled. “Can I see?” “Sure.” I leaned off him, adjusting myself on the table. As he went to the sketch board, my gaze followed him. I noticed his tattoos again. The most outstanding was a knife seated in the middle of his back, surrounded by thorns. They were really different from Black’s. So much different. Black didn’t have a single tattoo on him. And maybe that was the rule—for him as an Alpha? To show discipline? Or what?

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig

“I plan to tattoo a Koru on you. It’s a sort of spiral that’s part of Māori culture, and in New Zealand, it means new life, growth, strength, and peace. They made bone sculptures with this symbol that were used as pendants for necklaces. The bone, when worn, changes color. And for the Māori, it meant that a part of a person's spirit entered the pendant. Sometimes it was given to another person, as if to transmit a part of one's happiness.” James takes off his shirt and shows me his right shoulder. “I had it done by Sky last week. Mine is a way to transmit my happiness and love to you.” He puts his shirt back on—what a shame—and turns back to me. “And also a bit of bad luck, since you manage

He bent his head and tongued the tattoo on her right butt cheek. India sucked in a quick breath. Then he turned his head and tongued the tattoo on her left butt cheek. Another hissing intake of air. Colt flattened his tongue and dragged it up and down her spine, over the infinity symbol—two long, twisted black lines—a tattoo that started above her butt and ended at the gigantic butterfly spread between her shoulder blades. No traditional tramp stamp for his India. Her skin was a canvas; every marking on her was a work of art.

“This is completely new territory for me.” My eyes betray me. They drag over his bare chest, his abs, the way his pants sit low on his hips. And I feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his tattoos — ink and meaning and temptation. A yin-yang with hearts instead of dots and the number thirteen at its center, about the size of a big coin, is on his left side underneath his arm. Curling above it is the Peter Pan lettering — Sniff pixie dust and soar — in a cursive font. And on his bicep — the Reaper logo stamped on like a warning label.