Chrysanthemum Tattoo Men Novels & Stories

He chuckles as if amused. While trying to avoid his eyes, mine fall to his chest. My mouth falls agape. I remember getting a peek of a tattoo above his t-shirt the other day. Now, it’s unobstructed and free for all to see. It’s a massive Chinese dragon tattoo, spanning from his right bicep, over his shoulder, with the head drawn over his right pec. The dragon appears to be tangled in flower vines. I look back up at him to find him watching me.

tattooed . On each of his fingers literally, if you go up a little, you will find a tattoo in the form of a snake wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. If you go up a little you will find a large tattoo along his arm with incomprehensible Russian letters, many thorns wrapped around it and a long sword piercing words, a man with a huge physique, and looks devoid of emotion because of the wars he faced alone, Pick up one of his vintage French made cigarettes He grabs it and puts it in his mouth to touch his thick lips

His eyes, a startling shade of amber, held a stillness that felt ancient. “I need a cover-up,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He shrugged off his leather jacket and revealed an old, poorly done tattoo on his left pectoral, right over his heart. It was a mess of faded lines, but beneath the jumbled ink, Sloane could see the faint, elegant shape of a Celtic knot. “Something to bind it. To make it permanent.”

All the waiting people have their eyes cast down except for three. A 5’8” man in an olive green shirt – that looks far too tight for his muscular frame – that shows off a colourful and intricate sleeve tattoo on his left arm, and camouflage pants. His black hair is cropped short to his scalp, he has dark brown eyes, a thick muscular neck, round jaw, square chin and just from looking at him I can tell he’s a cruel man. I can see it in his eyes.

He said and grabbed my hand before I could touch a tattoo on his left side of chest. “What is the meaning of your tattoo, it’s beautiful.” I complimented a beautiful and unique design with something written in old language. His lips which were on my mid riff, stopped and those hazy eyes again locked with mine. Did I make a mistake? I promised not to dig into his personal life until he’s ready to share it with me. “It is an ancient Roman symbol of war and victory and the phrase defines a man who never sees the defeat.” He explained the meaning of his tattoo to me. I was surprised, he didn’t shut me out.

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”

The man was covered in blood that oozed out of his neck that he has slit. We all looked silently at his dead body. While I was staring at him I saw a tattoo. This one stood out from all the black ink tattoos this one looked like a scorpion on his right hand, I looked closely at it. I even went forward and wiped the blood from the area to look at it closely. Adam came to see what I was staring at. I looked at him. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?" I asked him

That was when I noticed the tattoos. His back was adorned with an intricate design of large black wings, streaked with delicate gold traces that shimmered faintly in the low light. The wings spanned across his shoulders and down his back, a masterpiece that was both beautiful and intimidating. They exuded a silent warning, a "do not mess with me" aura that fit him perfectly. Yet, despite their commanding presence, I felt no fear. This was Alessandro. The man who had carried me, who had stood by me even when I pushed him away. He wasn’t a threat—he was my protector.

There is no point in doing anything right now so I keep quiet. The whole place is filled with scary-looking tattoed dudes. Bored, I started noticing the scary guy's tattoos. It's a skull, a red skull with wings and a cross. The tattoo is bright and dull at the same time. The cross it clutches seems more like a trophy than a symbol of hope, stained with a history whispered only in faded scars. Bright and dull, a paradox mirroring the struggle between survival and surrender. Art sure is fascinating. Someone walked up to him just then. He looks me up and down, "who is this, chick."

He turned slightly, enough for me to get a view of his front, but not for him to see me standing there. I noticed a tattoo of a heart on the left side of his chest. Instead of an arrow going through it, it was a rose. The heart was empty in the middle, except for the letter "A" at the top of the inside of the heart. An image of a man, who I could only pinpoint as Michelangelo in my head, came to mind and I could see him sculpturing this Adonis to pure, Italian perfection, and my, what a sight he was. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare?" I was brought out of my ogling.