Tattoos Are Cliche Novels & Stories

she muttered, spinning. And there he was. A guy. He was a walking cliché, but the kind that still managed to punch you in the gut. Barely-there boxers rode low on his hips like they had something to prove, peeking out beneath a half-buttoned shirt that clung to a chest sculpted with just enough arrogance. Tattoos curled down his arms, visible hints of whatever mythology he’d decided to live by. The kind of ink that screamed, I make my own rules, but probably had a backstory involving tequila and ego.

A task she had neglected this past week, until today. She’d been at the library for a few hours searching for anything remotely about “self-appearing tattoos” and “burning tattoos.” The worst article stated that a person who had a tattoo suddenly appear was marked by the devil and was an instrument of evil. She discounted it, even though it still bothered her. She had never been one to think mean or evil thoughts, nor she had never done anything evil or mean to another person in her life. So, she reasoned, the description didn’t fit her situation.

Pull it over my head in one swift motion. Expose all of it. For a beat, I just stand there. Her eyes widen, dragging slowly over the tattoos carved across my chest, my ribs, my arms. Her mouth parts. “That’s a lot of tattoos.” “Do you hate them?” “No. I just… wish I could touch them. No. She can’t. The tattoos—they look good. That’s the point. Years of careful planning, hours under the needle, making sure they were beautifully arranged, each one flowing into the next. I spent a fortune making them look like art.

His hands automatically came to rest on my thighs, caressing them up and down. "I thought of a matching tattoo we could get," I told him and his eyes lit up. He had suggested that we get matching tattoos and if I didn't want any, he wanted to get one of my name on his chest. I said that I was open to getting a tattoo but not names - I found it too cringy. But ever since, we had been trying to find a good tattoo idea that wasn't cringy or cliche. Something that was just for us.

“Or are you practicing for when the kids bring home headlice?” “Oh my gawd,” Aislen gaped at him. “Headlice.” “Yeah, it’s totally a thing,” he told her. “I get a lot of mummies in for tattoos, and they tend to do it in pairs or small groups. It’s like a bonding thing. They sit, I tattoo them, they talk to each other. Stuff like little Jenny Junior brought home headlice for the fifth time this year and now the mummy-getting-Jenny’s name tattooed with a rose has to treat the whole family for headlice, and wash all the bedding, again,” he put stress on the again as he opened the vanity and retrieved a face cloth. “I don’t listen to a lot of what they’re saying unless I think they’re talking to

Sage traced the V of the tall, thin trees and then touched the eclipsed moon, holding their hand before looking at me. “You dreamed of this scene and decided to get it as a tattoo in 1920? Did they even do tattoos like this back then? It looks… pristine.” Sage asked. “It wasn’t the usual asked, that’s for sure. Back then, it was usually sailors and the like who got tattoos. And then they were things like anchors or lady faces.” I admitted. “So, going to a shop on the sketchy side of town to ask for this got me a few weird looks. But, as they say, money talks. Brice Rimbaut didn’t have strong convictions about anything and liked the challenge of something not his usual.” I shrugged.

Marco’s POV Her eyes seemed to sparkle with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. "Ah, the tattoos," she mused. "They've been a subject of intrigue for many years. Passed down through generations, their meaning has always been shrouded in mystery. Some say they hold a connection to our ancestors, a symbol of our heritage. Others believe they are a mark of great significance, tied to a prophecy yet to be unveiled." Her words sent a surge of excitement through me. It was a glimmer of information, a thread to follow in unraveling the secrets behind the tattoos. "Have you ever heard of anyone who could shed more light on their significance? Perhaps an elder or a storyteller?"

“Look. We have the same smile. Wait. Our eyes too.” I shook my head before she could start dissecting it. “I don’t see it.” It was as if fate had decided she should take note of everything right now. Her eyes fell on my exposed torso. “Those are lovely tattoos.” “Thanks.” I tried not to smile. “Do they have any meaning? I don’t know…people with tattoos always seem to have special meanings behind them.” I should have blown her off with some excuse about liking the look of hyacinths on my skin but I dug myself deeper into the hell hole I had accidentally created

He demanded. A bad omen? I had totally forgotten and well, that is because I did not believe that. I mean, humans have always had tattoos and it was really cool. In fact, the most successful ones among them were ones with a lot of tattoos and it made them famous. I have always admired it and there is no telling me otherwise. Besides, I had literally thought it was a case of cursing what you cannot have. It is no secret that we werewolves could not get tattoos. It was impossible because we always healed and once the needle pierces through the skin, well, that would definitely mean healing. But now, someone as smart as Maddox had finally found out a way to get the tattoo done and here we were

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.