Japanese Tattoo Designs Novels & Stories

And there it had been. The tattoo. An inverted triangle. A snake curling through it. It had only taken a glance for Jaden to recognize it. People outside the underworld believed tattoos were decoration. Style. Art. But in the circles Jaden moved in, tattoos were language. Symbols. Declarations. When he joined the Yakuza, the ink had not come all at once. No one earned that privilege so easily. Every mark had been given over time, added slowly like ranks stitched onto a uniform. Each piece carried meaning, history, proof of loyalty and danger.

After I shower, I opt for a wife beater and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. My right forearm is still scabbed over from my latest tattoo. Every time I look at it, I am proud that I now have my pack displayed on my body. It had taken me a while to draw out the design just the way I wanted it to look. It depicts a full moon coming up over a hazy horizon. A wolf's head with bright red eyes is baring its teeth as it emerges forth from the moons' surface.

"Not everyone looking for me is as careless as Julian Vane. There are people out there who don't understand the concept of 'surrender.'" He approached me, and even though he walked with a slight limp, his presence was still overwhelming. He stopped in front of the stove, and the light from the fire illuminated the tattoos on his back once more. I was mesmerized by one in particular on his left shoulder blade: an ancient shield intertwined with thorns and an iron crown. It didn't look like the design of a common tattoo parlor; it had the symmetry of an official seal, of a coat of arms that demanded respect.

I point at a symbol on his left pec, giggling at him; off center, near the middle of his chest, trying to get him back to the previous topic. I don’t think I have ever asked about that one before, nestled there as though the other art came after. It stands out because its encircled with borders and tribal patterns yet seems out of place, a different style entirely. It looks like Japanese symbols, maybe. Arrick looks down and points to the one I am gesturing, seeing me nod, he frowns and suddenly seems to lose all his joking chill.

“You need to learn how to touch a Dominant with reverence. And you need to learn how to handle authority without trying to fight it or question it. Take it off.” My hands tremble slightly as I raise them, my fingers brushing against the first button of his shirt. The fabric is cold, but beneath it, I can feel the iron-hard contours of his chest muscles. My knuckles brush against his warm skin, and a jolt of pure, electric awareness shoots straight up my arms, settling deep in my lower belly. I undo the buttons one by one, my breathing hitching as the fabric parts to reveal his heavily muscled torso. As the shirt falls away from his shoulders, my eyes fixate on his right collarbone, tracking

I had a folder with all the entries for the tattoo ideas in it. "My favorites are these three." I mind-linked. She took out the top three and looked at them. The first one was a crescent moon with a swirling cloud thing behind it. The description was that we were called shadow pack, so it would make sense that we had a shadow of the moon to represent us. She then looked at the next one. It was two hands that looked to be made from shadows reaching for one another. Then she came to the last one.

He asks me. I looked closely at the bodies laid down on the ground. At the nape of one of the dead men was a tattoo I very well knew. The tattoo of a scorpion was the well known signature look of the small gang group that owned a few part of creshore, Japan. I didn't know what business they would have with me but I'm going to find out. "The feds will be pulling up soon," I said as I put back my gun where it belonged "you should go."

on his chest beckoned me, its tiny letters igniting a spark within. My mind's eye roamed to his hands, where a skull sat regally at the back of his long fingers, and a wolf's head gazed fiercely from the right hand's backdrop. An eagle soared on his left, wings spread wide. On his upper arms, colorful flowers bloomed, their petals unfolding like tiny works of art. As I committed each design to memory, I marveled at the tapestry of his tattoos, I was too far gone in my head that I totally forgotten I should be thinking of a way to leave this place, not thinking about his tattoos.

His chest was tattooed with a Hanuman. Thai people were fond believers of Buddhism. At the same time, tattoos were quite popular in this country. So they named the art of tattooing mana torn. When one received a tattoo with the help of senior monks, tattooing your body with different patterns could bring various effects. For example, the Eight Directionals Wheel could change the receiver’s luck, while Hanuman represented power. Next to the big bald man was a beautiful woman with a somewhat pale face. That woman was Lorissa. Earlier, she was beaten up by Don Quijote to the point where her clothes were torn. Even her face was severely battered. At this time, she had obviously changed her cloth

I mused, popping a piece of bread in my mouth. “You, a tattoo? Good girl Sophia with permanent ink, I can’t picture it..” He teased me and I couldn’t help but smile. “I resent that statement.” I scoffed, throwing a hand over my heart in mock offence. Jasper’s smile widened, “What would you get?” He leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. “The elements; air, fire, earth and water and a crescent moon with a shadow.” The image had been playing in my head for a while.