Ignorant Style Tattoo Flash Novels & Stories

Lacey said shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit, a tattoo just doesn’t appear,” Minet said with a scowl. “It is not a tattoo, not in a conventional sense” a voice wafted in from the darkness, Azulthaël appearing shortly after, one of his eyebrows raised, “I have never heard of two appearing at the same time.” “If it isn’t a tattoo, what the f**k is it then?” Minet asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Such a vulgar mouth, do you wish to be hung again?” Azulthaël said, scowling in disgust.

She waved the tattoo gun at the camera, ink still dripping from the nozzle, her eyes full of provocation. "Guess what I gave her? An inverted 'Angel's Eye'! In the Corleone family, that is the brand of a rat." "You guys didn't see it. She's pushing thirty, still acting like some untouchable heiress. I drove that ink deep into her dermis. She’ll have to carry that shame for the rest of her life." The encrypted comment section was a carnival for her little lackeys: "Long live the Principessa!" "Nice work!"

“Who knows?” “What did you say?” “Close your eyes!” he stated, as he stopped me. I did it and then he helped me go somewhere. “Where are we?” I asked, chary. “You can open your eyes!” I took away my hands and saw a tattoo salon. The man was making a tattoo to some girl on the arm. “Are you out of your mind?” I screamed. “You know, you have a lot of synonyms. I am not nuts, and I’m not out of my mind!” he stated sarcastically.

What in the world? I see a small crowd of angry faces egging them on. Why isn’t anyone stopping this? A girl yells, “Kick the crap out of him, Gaston! Show the royal punk werewolves aren’t to be messed with!” The wind ruffles Sapphire Eyes’s short, glossy brown hair, making it look like he's doing one of those shampoo commercials that make you wish you had better hair. I notice a tattoo on his back: large, black tribal markings that zigzag across his shoulders and go down to the middle of his back in a complicated pattern. When he throws another hard blow, I whistle to get their attention. Andddd it’s ignored. I sigh and make my way toward them.

"There's not one that doesn't have a memory to go along with it. I sure as fuck don't go to a tattoo artist with some trendy ass Chinese lettering that I don't even understand." He seems offended by the notion, almost as if it's personal. "Someone you know has done that?" "You could say that. Some dumbass kid who doesn't know how the world is yet, and now he's got some symbols on his arm that probably mean eat shit and die." I can't help it, I laugh. He's so thoroughly disgusted.

"A reminder of what I am." The artist snorted, shaking his head. "Dramatic much? Let me guess, early twenties? Everyone your age thinks they're carrying the weight of the world." I didn't respond. Let him think what he wanted. The cramped tattoo parlor smelled of antiseptic and cigarettes. The buzzing needle provided the only consistent sound, occasionally interrupted by muffled voices from the street outside. Perfect anonymity in a place where nobody asked real questions. The artist—a middle-aged man with more ink than bare skin—studied my face as he worked. "You're that omega from the Northern Territory, aren't you? The one who ran from her faction."

In black, grey and blue ink, beautiful, intricate patterns of floral and wing designs mar my skin, but at its centre, Zefiro name sits majestically in stunning calligraphy. The bastard tattooed his name into my skin.

She could never have imagined that the brushes in front of her had been intended for guests. When the fog faded from the mirror, she opened her eyes and swore at her reflection. She could see the red and purple marks of the hickeys he had given her on her chest and neck. Then she put a trembling hand at the base of her neck. A kind of black tattoo had taken shape there. Three parts stood out. At the top stands the head of a black wolf baring its fangs. Then, behind the head of the animal, a crescent moon was drawn. And finally, just under the wolf's mouth, two elegantly intertwined letters: M.B.

Igor looks at me like I’m crazy for a few beats. I repeat my words. “Let my brother go and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” “You say that now, after you stabbed me?” I gulp, unsure of what to say to that. He keeps the ball of tissues on his chest and then he turns around to discard them before pulling new ones. His whole back is covered in the not detailed tattoo of a skull I’ve ever seen before. There’s a cross right on its forehead, and I can’t help but wonder what it means.

Stamp ejaculated as soon as he viewed what Mahiriko just got to drawn on his skin. Mahiriko frown and punched Stamp's hand when he touches his chest. "D*mn you, Stamp. It's not a f*cking pussy, it's a tarantula, you sh*tty sh*t." He corrected and study the tattoo at his reflection at the mirror. Stamp laughed his ass out and shows his Betty Boop tattoo on his back. "You see this, man? This is the real tattoo." He even let out his laugh like a wheezing animal.