Ignorant Style Tattoo Flash Novels & Stories

"Yeah, have it?" Skoteinó chuckled and removed his white smiley mask that revealed the tattoos on his face. The tattoo that attracts Raverine the most is the official insignia of Die Dark — a smiling skull with a bloody fang. The tattoos were all over his dark-toned face. He also had piercings on his nose and lip — a typical look of an outlaw.

"She does the designs, I handle the tattooing." The blonde huffs and approaches me. She shows me a photo of a guy I immediately recognize. It's Harry Styles. "I want to get a tattoo of my boyfriend's picture." She looks me in the eyes, daring me to contradict what she just said. Which, of course, I do. I smile defiantly. "Are you aware that he's a singer?" "Of course I know that my boyfriend is a singer. Are you jealous or something?" Oh God, besides her breasts, she also has neurons made of silicone.

Kade had been checking his watch again. “It’s after flash tattoos, I think. Flash tattoos are fast, predrawn tattoos that can be applied really quickly. Tattooing was illegal for a long time, so an artist would set up in the backroom of a bar or something with all his tools in a suitcase. If there was a raid, he could slam the suitcase shut and be out the back door—in a flash. Get it?” She waved the flash drive briefly between her fingers. “In a flash.” Kade raised an eyebrow at her. “If the last thing I ever hear from you is a random history factoid about tattoos, I will be very displeased.”

"Don't forget, in the title, 'come' has to be the three-letter version so it's classy, 'real' has to be in all caps for emphasis and of course it needs to end with the all-important 'with feelings' in parentheses." "Serious question, Gray, how much p**n do you watch?" I inquired and she shrugged, grinning. "Fine, be all secretive about watching p**n with someone who makes it..." My fingertips traveled from the butterfly on her chest to the wolf on her tummy. "Moving on then, which tattoo is your favorite?" "I'm pretty sure tattoos are like kids... I don't think I'm even allowed to have a favorite. How about you?" "The flowers on your neck. But I also really like your right sleeve and the one

So, naturally, I did what any woman with a bruised ego and too much free time on a Saturday would do, I opened my maps app and searched for tattoo shops near me. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a butterfly on my wrist or something simple on my ribs. I just wanted something that screamed a new era. Soon enough, I found myself standing outside a place called Ink Therapy, where the “I” in Ink had been replaced with a lightning bolt. The logo looked cocky. So did the man behind the counter.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

“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?”

He can’t spare me, no matter how compliant I am. He stands from the bed and removes every piece of clothing from his body. The tattoos expand from his chest to his stomach, down to his strong torso. Black ink against his tanned skin. There are so many things written in Russian. But one particular thing catches my eye, it’s on his left torso, big and clear, “ To forgive is to sin.” The words send shivers racing down my spine. Who on earth writes something like that on their body? Not just write, but brand it into their skin permanently.

She kissed me on the neck and looked over my shoulder at what I was doing. "Whatcha doing," she yawned. "I've given up on the idea Master will allow me to be branded, plus you don't want one. So I'm thinking about tattoos and what we should get to signify our slavery. I was thinking matching tattoos, something pretty we could wear proudly which announced we were Master's slaves, but didn't scream it to the world. It's why I have a problem with something like 'I'm Scott's Slave' or 'Property of Scott'. It says what we are but let's face it; it is just tacky. It's like a tramp stamp or something. I want something with more flair, which hints at our status, but leaves room for denial or is pret

The guy keeps yelling and his yelling is getting louder and louder, but everyone keeps ignoring him. That guy has bushy hair and a thin beard and he only wears brown pants, brown leather shoes and a black cowboy hat. 2 ammo chain tattoos are crossing from his right shoulder and left shoulder to his waist drawing X on his front and back. No wonder everyone considers him like trash. You must think so by just a glimpse of his look. Alfi and Kartika run towards him. “Hey, did you mean Waku-waku? A group of polka dot cloaked folks who are about to invade this town?” Alfi asked agitatedly.