Blacklight Temporary Tattoos Novels & Stories

Andrius explained, “It’s because the tattoo uses special ink and a more advanced tattoo needle. The ink is a combination of pigeon blood, red sand, and other stuff. That’s why it doesn’t show at first. “You want to get one?” Andrius teased Halle. Halle shook her head and hands, “N-no, thanks! Too much for me. But I want to know, the wolf…” Andrius rolled his eyes at her and stopped her. “If you are not getting one, why are you asking? Stop asking, or I will throw you out.”

“Yeah? Maybe once my ass is healed you can turn the puncture wound into one of them cool, fake bullet holes you see on motorcycles and pickup tailgates.” “Please. I’m an artiste. I have something way better in mind. Something hip-fun-sexy-cool.” Suspicion clouded Colt’s face. “I already told you. You ain’t tattooing the area around my nipples. Ever.” “But this new pattern is so awesome. Turquoise and orange outlined in black and red, that looks like flames—” “No way, no how.” “Just hear me out.” “Dammit, Indy, I said no. Why are you so dang fired up about doin’ this?”

“Oh my God, Emilia, look!” I tensed, immediately on high alert. “What? What is it?” She pointed dramatically toward a small wooden stand. “They’re doing henna tattoos!” I sighed in relief. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She ignored me, already dragging me toward the stand. “We have to get matching ones.” Francesca ran back to us. “What’s a henna tattoo?” “It’s like a temporary drawing on your skin,” I explained. “It goes away after a few weeks.”

So when my best friend told me her tattoo shop was running a discount, I jumped at it. Lena: Girl, 40% off today only. My boss is running it. Come get that ass ink you’ve been talking about. Private room and everything. I was already out the door before I could talk myself out of it. Ink & Sin was tucked into a dimly lit corner of the city, the kind of place that screamed trouble in the best way. Blacked-out windows, blood-red neon sign, and the low thump of heavy music vibrating through the walls. My heart hammered as I pushed open the door. The scent of antiseptic, leather, and something darker, maybe testosterone, hit me instantly.

The neon violet sign in the corner cast a soft, ambient glow across the concrete floor, catching the edges of the blank canvases stacked neatly against the wall. Adrian sat on the adjustable leather tattooing table, his back straight, though his shoulders were completely relaxed. His shirt was off, draped over a nearby stool, leaving his torso bare to the cool air. For twenty-four years, his skin had been completely unmarked—a pristine, flawless canvas that reflected his obsession with absolute, unblemished control. But tonight, he was willingly giving up that last piece of his old fortress.

A woman in a green polo shirt for the greenhouse with a giant rose tattoo on her left arm. “Thank you.” Shiloh smiled as she folded the shirts. “How is it going outside?” “Really good. We’ve already sold everything that we brought.” She offered her hand. “Rose Lowery. My husband and his crew are doing the temporary tattoos.” “Shiloh Montgomery.” She shook her hand. “Dino, Rocky and Gremlin. Right?” “Yeah. I’m married to Dino. Ink and Tats are out there too.” “Your husband has done several of my tattoos.” Placing the shirts in the bag, all black with silver writing and handles, Shiloh gave her the total.

Leaving the house, he told me to lift the dress and sit directly on the leather seat of his car. A few minutes later he told me to masturbate while he drove. There was no chance of being seen, but it still felt kinky. When we pulled into the parking lot of a tattoo parlor, I got nervous. Neither of us had any tattoos and I was afraid he wanted me to get a tramp stamp. As it turned out, they also did piercings. There were two scruffy looking (think motorcycle stereotype) gentlemen who did the tattoos and a woman who did the piercings. She looked like she rode too. My Master brought me over to a display case and consulted with the woman on what would be best for my nipples. The woman suggested

God, it makes me hard just thinking about it! I paint the scene in my mind as I layer browns and oranges and fleshtones in artful strokes, using black and blue and white and gray for the leather and shadows. I take swigs of the whisky and drags of my cigarette as the figures take form and my round, fleshy ass pops out of the canvas as if you could grab it. It could be anyone. Only I know who the image depicts and that is why I work on the tattoos, adding the element that makes it most telling who is the bottom in this scene.

Instead, he subtly shook his head, the way you do when you're trying not to set something off. “But you know this place,” his voice was quieter now, “...and I know what you are, Rapha,” his pupils dilated just briefly before he reined it in. “Vantablack is neutral ground. We haven’t had smoke here in years. Not even a goddamn whiff. And now, in just one week… ambushes, threats, panic and…that. You bring heat, Rapha. Even if you don’t mean to, you drag it behind you like a fucking stormcloud.” “You manage a lounge, not a monastery,” Rapha murmured flatly.

I’m impressed that she managed that in a mirror. She turns to me and combs my hair back before spraying it lime green and then puts on a lot of black eyeliner, super dark red lipstick and writes the word “Damaged” in cursive on my forehead. We don’t bother with the chest tattoos since I already have other ones there. She does however take out a temporary tattoo of a mouth laughing and places it on the back of my left hand. I throw on the purple leather jacket and we head downstairs. Jameson, who is dressed as deadshot, looks over to us and says, “Oh shit, you guys look awesome! Great job Six.”