Ignorant Style Tattoo Flash Novels & Stories

Many of them were just lying down at the back so they would not participate and so we won't notice them when they walk away to their homes and begun their daily activities without a prayer of guidance to Selene which was said while everyone was down in their knees facing the sunrise and in the evenings, we say it facing the sunset. “Done!” Shane said getting up and taking off his shirt showing properly tanned skin layered with his abs and the muscles on his arms were designed with tattoos that meant many things. There was a tattoo of his mate whom he had just gotten a back view of her when he first met her, she was Hispanic so he'd told the tattoo artist to draw a girl's head - the backview

I hear him curse at me as I'm knocked on my ass. "Watch where you're walking," His voice is a growl and so not appreciated after the time I've had. I look up to see a face I don't recognize. Someone completely unknown to me. I open my mouth to tell him exactly what's on my mind-none of it is nice mind you-and I abruptly stop when I catch sight of the tattoo on his inner forearm. A tattoo I've seen many times on many different people. It's an oddly shaped star of sorts with what looks like two scythes circling it. A very specific type of tattoo. A specific gang tattoo. A tattoo I'm all too familiar with.

They told me to take all the time I need. " You. You don't belong here." I look to my left and see one of the club bunnies looking at me. I can tell she is a club bunny by her serious lack of clothes and way too much makeup. I have seen clowns wear less makeup than she is. She is wearing a tank top that barely covers her boobs and a pair of daisy duke shorts that leaves nothing to the imagination. And four-inch heels. I mean really. I’m so glad my boys aren’t here to see this. I ignore her and continue to work on my design. I want to finish it soon for my client because I have an idea for a memorial tattoo of Raider I want to get started on. “ Hey, bitch. I’m talking to you. I said you don’t

But I don't think she believed her own words, the slight scrunch in her brows, betrayed the uncertainty behind her statement. She was judging me now. "What… is a tattoo?" she asked, frowning slightly as her eyes traced the black lines curving over my abdomen. "An ink needle that draws patterns in your body," I said in simple words for her to understand. "Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, my voice low and probing. "Or has a boy ever liked you?" "No. I never had one because they said I’m boring. Or not fun." She puffed her cheeks slightly before flashing a playful grin. "What they don’t know is that I’m a secret assassin. Phew. Phew."

chest rising in a calm rhythm like he was meditating, not surrounded by criminals. Speaking of his tattoos, he's got the weirdest tats I have seen on any guy. His back bore the most outrageous tattoos in the history of tattoos. His back looked like someone had lost a wrestling match with a possessed octopus holding a tattoo gun. From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.”

The boys quickly formed a defense stance behind each other giving me the chance to look at the source of such a strong voice. The tattooed stranger! “And who are you to tell us that?” The leading guy asked, his voice hard unlike that of a teenager he is. “Someone who can break your bones and dumb them in a police cell if you don’t leave this minute” he threatened It’s highly unhealthy how his strong command makes my painties wet in the face of danger. I must be going crazy.. The boys ran away in a matter of seconds leaving just the two of us in the area. “Uhhhm…. Thanks” I managed to say

Me staring at a naked guy for the second time in my damn life. My breath caught in my throat, trapped. I was trapped. My eyes completely rebelled against my brain's frantic commands to look the fuck away. Instead, they traced the dark, heavy ink of a tattoo etched across his upper shoulder blades. Three words, bold and unyielding: "Built Through Pain." The script wasn't flashy or arrogant. It felt heavy. It looked like a scar turned into art—a quiet testament to something survival-driven. A strange, unbidden ache blossomed in my chest just looking at it.

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.

We sprinted across the street, the bell above the door of INK jangled aggressively as we walked in. The place was exactly what you’d expect, loud rock music, neon signs, and a guy with more piercings than teeth cleaning a needle gun behind the counter. He glanced up, taking in the sight of two women, "What can I get for you ladies?" the artist asked, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. "We do not do flash art here, and no, we won't tattoo your dog." "It's for a friend," Claire announced brightly, pointing to me. "She needs a small, single-letter tattoo. Very personal. Very delicate. Immediate appointment preferred. We're on a tight schedule."

“ Shanía said, winking at him. Shanía took Charles by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Igor showed a mischievous smile winking at Charles. Igor sat at the table for a few minutes, while he waited for Charles, dispensing with the company of the other women, he was concentrating on his topaz ring, a protective stone that those who knew said gave strength to what he wore. He tried to remember the night he got his tattoo of... which meant eternal. Incredible as it may seem, Igor didn't remember the night he spent, he just knew that it was on one of the islands he visited, he remembered a black woman, black skin and white hair, who many claimed was a witch. Whoever says that it was a macumba