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DND_DM_Guide_5E

Savitri

The_Use_and_Abuse_of_History

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT

1.00_-_PREFACE_-_DESCENSUS_AD_INFERNOS

1.01_-_Economy

1.18_-_The_Perils_of_the_Soul

1.35_-_Attis_as_a_God_of_Vegetation

1.67_-_The_External_Soul_in_Folk-Custom

1.anon_-_But_little_better

1f.lovecraft_-_Deaf,_Dumb,_and_Blind

1f.lovecraft_-_The_Loved_Dead

1f.lovecraft_-_Winged_Death

Aeneid

IS_-_Chapter_1

The_Act_of_Creation_text

The_Lottery_in_Babylon

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES

tattoo

TERMS STARTING WITH

tattooed ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Tattoo

tattooing ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Tattoo

tattoo ::: n. --> A beat of drum, or sound of a trumpet or bugle, at night, giving notice to soldiers to retreat, or to repair to their quarters in garrison, or to their tents in camp.
An indelible mark or figure made by puncturing the skin and introducing some pigment into the punctures; -- a mode of ornamentation practiced by various barbarous races, both in ancient and modern times, and also by some among civilized nations, especially by sailors.

tattoos ::: pl. --> of Tattoo


TERMS ANYWHERE

tattooed ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Tattoo

tattooing ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Tattoo

tattoo ::: n. --> A beat of drum, or sound of a trumpet or bugle, at night, giving notice to soldiers to retreat, or to repair to their quarters in garrison, or to their tents in camp.
An indelible mark or figure made by puncturing the skin and introducing some pigment into the punctures; -- a mode of ornamentation practiced by various barbarous races, both in ancient and modern times, and also by some among civilized nations, especially by sailors.

tattoos ::: pl. --> of Tattoo

yantra. (T. 'khrul 'khor; C. tuxiang; J. zuzo; K. tosang 圖像). In Sanskrit, "diagram" or "instrument." Although the term can have many meanings in Sanskrit, within the Buddhist tradition it is most commonly used to refer to a picture made of images and/or geometric shapes, usually triangles, which are repeated in such a way that they form a pattern. Such magical diagrams are used in tantric rituals and meditations to depict in visual form the power of the invoked deities, representing the universe, or certain spiritual or cosmological powers in the universe. A yantra is commonly understood as rendering through lines and colors the sacred sound of a MANTRA. Yantras are used for such purposes as gaining magical protection, worshipping tantric deities, or facilitating meditation. The term is in some cases interchangeable with a MAndALA, although there are some differences: a yantra is typically small in size while a mandala is variously sized and may even be large enough for a practitioner to enter during the rituals; a yantra, except for those under temple statues, is often portable, while a mandala is not; and deity figures rarely appear on a yantra, while they are common on a mandala. A yantra can be two- or three-dimensional and may range from such simple geometric designs as dots or triangles to more elaborate temple structures. Some texts suggest that merely seeing a mandala or drawing or imagining a yantra also brings benefits. Yantra tattooing (Thai, yak sant) is a common practice in Southeast Asia among both monks and laity. It is generally performed by specialist monks using traditional needles.

KEYS (10k)


NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   12 Anonymous
   6 Sherrilyn Kenyon
   6 Rick Riordan
   6 Kelley Armstrong
   6 Jamie McGuire
   5 Samantha Towle
   5 Meghan March
   5 Elizabeth Gilbert
   5 Colleen Hoover
   4 Tillie Cole
   4 Megan Fox
   4 Margaret Cho
   4 Lena Dunham
   4 Katie McGarry
   4 Karina Halle
   4 Jodi Picoult
   4 Debra Anastasia
   4 Chuck Palahniuk
   3 Warren Ellis
   3 Tony Parsons

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:You know, you get that tattoo of barbed wire when you’re 18, but by the time you’re 80, it’s a picket fence. ~ robin-williams, @wisdomtrove

2:Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit. ~ elizabeth-gilbert, @wisdomtrove

3:I feel like if I were to get another tattoo, it would probably be those two words. Just stubborn, stubborn, stubborn gladness. ~ elizabeth-gilbert, @wisdomtrove

4:Not one great country can be named, from the polar regions in the north to New Zealand in the south, in which the aborigines do not tattoo themselves. ~ charles-darwin, @wisdomtrove

5:So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again. ~ virginia-woolf, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo. ~ J K Rowling,

2:Everybody gets the tattoo they deserve. ~ David Duchovny,

3:My tattoo is that I don't have a tattoo. ~ Michael J Fox,

4:No one wants to see a tattoo on a stomach. ~ Lena Dunham,

5:Don't let the tattoo fool you. I'm no angel. ~ Cat Johnson,

6:Memory, all-night's bedside tattoo artist. ~ Charles Simic,

7:A lot of guys in jail tattoo their hands. ~ Daniel Day Lewis,

8:Glory, in the tattoo parlor, with the gun. ~ Dana Marie Bell,

9:Why the War Paint Pix? Why the Tattoo's Austin? ~ Tillie Cole,

10:Giving birth was easier than having a tattoo. ~ Nicole Appleton,

11:the smile of a child is a tattoo: indelible art. ~ Jodi Picoult,

12:life decision is permanent other than a tattoo. ~ Colleen Hoover,

13:A tattoo doesn't make you look like an individual. ~ Tony Parsons,

14:A tattoo is graffiti on the temple of the body. ~ Gordon B Hinckley,

15:my attempt at juvenile humor. “She wants a tattoo, ~ Helena Hunting,

16:And really, only Tom would have a tattoo that says… ~ Samantha Towle,

17:Tattoo on the lower back? Might as well be a bullseye. ~ Vince Vaughn,

18:I got a heart tattooed on my foot. It's my first tattoo. ~ Goldie Hawn,

19:Score a touchdown, kiss your tattoo. Kaepernicking! ~ Colin Kaepernick,

20:be a rebel. read a book. seriously, it's cheaper than a tattoo ~ Anonymous,

21:New Rule: Any tattoo that has more than one line is too long. ~ Bill Maher,

22:I'm a big fan of zombies, and I have a zombie tattoo on my leg. ~ Tyler Posey,

23:I want to get a tattoo of the word irony, only misspelled. ~ Anthony Jeselnik,

24:He said, I'm better off without her, until I showed him my tattoo. ~ Tom Waits,

25:I feel like the last tattoo you got is usually your favorite. ~ Nico Tortorella,

26:A pair of skinny jeans and a tattoo does not make you a leader. ~ Christine Caine,

27:If you Google 'regret and tattoo,' you will get 11.5 million hits. ~ Kathryn Schulz,

28:She gets on you under your skin like a tattoo she'll always be there! ~ Jason Aldean,

29:To whomever swapped my tattoo cream for toothpaste........ well played. ~ R D Ronald,

30:A cool tattoo design is any drawing that would also look good saggy. ~ Demetri Martin,

31:Einstein told me I was smart. Maybe I'd get a tattoo of those words. ~ Kristan Higgins,

32:Everybody knows I have the ratchetest booty tattoo of an ex-boyfriend. ~ Adrienne Bailon,

33:My tattoo was tied to them. Another mystery I needed to figure out. ~ Stacey Marie Brown,

34:Oh, they’ll find him a job. Tattoo it on his paw every morning,” I say. ~ Suzanne Collins,

35:Eddie waited 'til he finished high school, he went to Hollywood, got a tattoo. ~ Tom Petty,

36:Marriage is supposed to be permanent. It's like a tattoo that yells at you. ~ Dov Davidoff,

37:Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past. ~ Jack London,

38:What would it be like to tattoo a living, beating heart? Could it be done? ~ Jeffery Deaver,

39:I want to see this video," I say. "Seriously?" asks Tattoo. "Want popcorn too? ~ Susan Ee,

40:A $50 haircut, cool glasses, skinny jeans and a tattoo does not a prophet make. ~ Paul Washer,

41:Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past. ~ Jack London,

42:Some people pay a thousand dollars for a tattoo. This scar cost me twenty grand. ~ Mat Hoffman,

43:The mark of writing on me is so indelible, a tattoo would be redundant. ~ Marie Helene Bertino,

44:The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo. ~ Markus Zusak,

45:It’ll take more than a tattoo to stop me from getting inside you. Death, maybe. ~ Samantha Towle,

46:My boyfriends going to college so I made him tattoo my name on his foot so I know he's mine ~ IU,

47:She wanted commitment? He's tattoo her fucking name on his forehead if he had to. ~ Joanna Wylde,

48:triad?” “No,” Tao said indignantly. “We noted his tattoo and the ownership of ~ Michael Connelly,

49:Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the LORD. ~ Anonymous,

50:Don't you ever get a tattoo, understand? All is says is that you ain't open to change. ~ Nami Mun,

51:I don't feel that I need a tattoo to represent myself as a Samoan or a Christian. ~ Troy Polamalu,

52:I have a swastika tattoo on my arm, but it's just because I like right-hand turns. ~ Kyle Dunnigan,

53:I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,’ said Ron, looking down at his bare chest. ~ J K Rowling,

54:Of course, the truly fearless don’t need to tattoo the word “brave” on their anatomy. ~ Joel Ohman,

55:The tattoo has a profound meaning: the superficiality of modern man's existence. ~ Anthony Daniels,

56:In life we encounter many people who, in some way or another, try to tattoo our faces. ~ Dan Ariely,

57:Nothing in the world was as beautiful to me as that tattoo, except the man bearing it. ~ S C Stephens,

58:She crushed it, telling herself she was going to add Big in front of her Idiot tattoo. ~ Nalini Singh,

59:The truth is a tattoo on your forehead. You can’t see it yourself. I am your mirror. ~ Hanif Kureishi,

60:When I got the tattoo, I knew I was drawing a crooked line between myself and society. ~ Warren Ellis,

61:The illustration reminded her of student tattoo work—heavy in ambition, light on execution. ~ J D Horn,

62:If a tattoo is supposed to make a statement, that kid’s body is just plain babbling. ~ Vincent H O Neil,

63:I'm such a profound believer that timing is everything; I would tattoo that on my arm. ~ Drew Barrymore,

64:Having the tattoo itself is not really for the end result for me. I like having them done. ~ Lena Headey,

65:The one in the movie is not real, but my Casper tattoo is real, and it is my only one. ~ Casper Van Dien,

66:Being open-minded dramatically reduces one’s chances of getting a permanent tattoo. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,

67:I probably have the crappiest tattoo -- not only in country music -- but maybe the world. ~ Blake Shelton,

68:Ronan, who had spent nine hundred dollars on a tattoo merely to piss off his brother. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

69:28You shall not make any  b cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves: I am the LORD. ~ Anonymous,

70:I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together. I want the memory to hurt. ~ Clementine von Radics,

71:a tattoo says more of a fellow looking at it than it can do of the man who’s got it on his back. ~ Sarah Hall,

72:Beverly pushes down and down and down into the muscles under his tattoo to release the knots. ~ Karen Russell,

73:I’m Clara Lord. I own Bloodline’s Tattoo Parlor, have a filthy mouth, no filter, and a really strong ~ K Larsen,

74:My eyes trail from his hand to the tattoo written in small script across his forearm. Hopeless ~ Colleen Hoover,

75:My number is 174517; we have been baptized, we will carry the tattoo on our left arm until we die. ~ Primo Levi,

76:You have a tattoo, a black eye, and I just saw your bra. You are getting to be very hardcore, Fern. ~ Amy Harmon,

77:Maybe that's what I needed. Another tattoo. Some pain on the outside to ease the pain on the inside. ~ N R Walker,

78:Hell, I’m looking at tattoo skins from dead people that might be my sister’s. How fucked up is that? ~ Bobby Adair,

79:Just saw a woman with a big tattoo of Jesus on her back. I guess it's an ixnay on the oggy style-day. ~ Dana Gould,

80:I was a prefect at school, I never had a tattoo, got a detention or pierced my ears more than once. ~ Amanda Holden,

81:That evening when my destiny changed is a tattoo needled into my soul. I shall never forget it. ~ Tess Uriza Holthe,

82:You’re getting a tattoo? What is going on with you, Abby? Did you breathe toxic fumes in that fire? ~ Jamie McGuire,

83:I got more than a thing for you, tattoo wit a ink for you right over my heart girl, I'll do the unthinkable. ~ Drake,

84:I’m afraid we can’t help you. We have a strict ‘no dumb fucking idea’ tattoo policy for drunk people. ~ Meghan March,

85:We are stuck in a generation where loyalty is just a tattoo, love is a quote and lying is the new truth. ~ Anonymous,

86:from Tattoo- "Push-up Bra Barbie over there wanted to smack you around a little to wake you up ~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes,

87:He had seen her painted sign by the road: Skin Illustration! Illustration instead of tattoo! Artistic! ~ Ray Bradbury,

88:I didn't exactly relish the idea of getting a tattoo, trust me. It was right up there with blue hair. ~ Rachel Hawkins,

89:I was excited about getting my first tattoo, but I was only twelve, so I had to hide it from my mother. ~ Mark Wahlberg,

90:Scottish Play Doe was born at 4:13 a.m. on September 6th. The ink was barely dry on his father's new tattoo. ~ Adam Rex,

91:I'm never getting a tattoo. My secrets are etched safely on the inside and I intend to keep them there. ~ Lisa O Donnell,

92:Connor smiles with mocking warmth at him, and glances at the tattoo on his wrist. "I like your dolphin. ~ Neal Shusterman,

93:She leaves him alone with the arm. His arm. An arm that bears the unmistakable tattoo of a tiger shark. ~ Neal Shusterman,

94:He stood out because he had a slight British accent and an odd tattoo on his neck. A skull and a flower. ~ Janet Evanovich,

95:I'm a tearless clown. If I were to get a tattoo, it would be the two masks, and they would be both smiling. ~ Andy Samberg,

96:I was just a friendly thirty-four-year-old TV actress looking for a boyfriend who didn’t have a neck tattoo. ~ Mindy Kaling,

97:You can bury your pain or avoid it. You can tattoo over it. But you won't be free of it until you feel it. ~ Suanne Laqueur,

98:You can bury your pain or avoid it. You can tattoo over it. But you won’t be free of it until you feel it. ~ Suanne Laqueur,

99:The first tattoo I got was when I was 17, and it's a cross on my bicep with 'Only God Can Judge Me' underneath. ~ Trey Songz,

100:You’re going to be my first tattoo,” Etienne told him. “Do I have a choice?” “No. Not after that kiss.” Etienne’s ~ S E Jakes,

101:You have to have your face in the food. These days people think a tattoo and a bottle of Sriracha equals success. ~ Bobby Flay,

102:You lost your shirt, Sam?” “Anna was looking over the tattoo.” “Yeah.” Nick grunted. “It looked like it. ~ Jennifer Rush,

103:I got to actually tattoo one of the members of The Misfits. The very first tattoo I ever did was this Misfits skull. ~ Kat Von D,

104:Reason #7 For Not Getting a Tattoo: People will know you are running your own life, instead of listening to them! ~ Sailor Jerry,

105:Some hurts can never be mended" he said. "No matter how much time passes. They tattoo themselves on our souls ~ Yasmine Galenorn,

106:If you turn up with a tattoo on your face, telling me you’ve shagged a lady boy, I’m definitely not marrying you. ~ Samantha Towle,

107:I want a tattoo over my heart that reads TRY HARDER YOU LAZY PARAMEDIC SHITBAG OR I WILL HAUNT YOUR BEDROOM FOREVER ~ Warren Ellis,

108:Anyone who's had a tattoo knows once you get your first one, as you're walking out the door, you're planning the next. ~ Chris Evans,

109:I got halfway through 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.' I don't get it at all. What's the big thrill? It's boring. ~ Elmore Leonard,

110:I'm celebrating my love for you With a pint of beer and a new tattoo. - Greetings to the New Brunette ~ Billy Bragg,

111:The tattoo of the History is permanent; once a nation or a man is marked by this tattoo, erasing is impossible. ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,

112:Why not wear a scar of Motherhood? Better than a tattoo or a mark of Honor. Let the world know what you've achieved. ~ Richelle Mead,

113:You must not make cuts in your flesh for a dead person,* and you must not make tattoo markings on yourselves. I am Jehovah. ~ Anonymous,

114:I am a rapist and a sadistic pig,' if you get that tattoo removed I will carve it into your forehead, do you understand? ~ Steig Larsson,

115:I am a rapist and a sadistic pig,' if you get that tattoo removed I will carve it into your forehead, do you understand? ~ Stieg Larsson,

116:I collect Wonder Woman - from comics to paraphernalia, and I even have a tattoo of her on my back. I'm a huge Wonder Woman fan! ~ Lights,

117:Murder was like getting a tattoo. The first one you carefully ask yourself why; each one after you ask yourself why not? ~ Charlie Adhara,

118:My mom actually took me to get my first tattoo when I was 15. She highly regrets that choice now, as I have a lot more. ~ Nico Tortorella,

119:I don't walk around with a cowboy hat. I did get a tattoo that says 'cowboy' that's a bit of an over-compensation, probably. ~ Ronnie Dunn,

120:You can come after me or you can get the one thing you've always wanted. What? A tattoo of your face on my ass? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

121:You know, I'd get a tattoo with your name on it. Only, I want you to have the freedom to change your name if you want to. ~ David Levithan,

122:You need a load of those yellow sticky papers to tattoo no trespassing over his ass, because, seriously, I'm all out. ~ Jack L Pyke,

123:Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

124:Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

125:Probably?” I said, and I really was surprised. Everything pointed to the kid with the neck tattoo, and Deborah was dithering. ~ Jeff Lindsay,

126:Even with his tattoo-covered arms and the double row of hoop earrings in both ears, Isaiah’s definitely one of the good guys. ~ Katie McGarry,

127:I think if you're going to get a tattoo, it should be significant, especially when it's all the way up your arms and your body. ~ Blake Lively,

128:Mrs. Reed grabbed Kayla's wrist. "Good. You haven't gotten that damned tattoo. Whatever you do, don't let them make you get it. ~ Suzanne Weyn,

129:Think for yourself. That's the golden rule. Think for yourself. Make it your mantra. Tattoo it on the inside of your eyelids. ~ Jed McKenna,

130:Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it’s what you want before you commit. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

131:This one was Justin Bieber. Justin’s teeth had been blacked out, and someone had added a Notzi swat-sticker tattoo to one cheek. ~ Stephen King,

132:You got a tattoo?” It’s the third time I’ve asked Holder the same question, but I just don’t believe it. It’s out of character ~ Colleen Hoover,

133:This is for you, for us. I wanted a tattoo of you on my skin, because I can't show you the one you've already left on my heart. ~ Gina L Maxwell,

134:Blue eyes glittered. A shock of golden hair - gone. The dust in the air swirled, coalesced into a thorn-twisted Shaman tattoo. ~ Lilith Saintcrow,

135:Dad's like Superman with this muscles though Superman doesn't have a West Ham tattoo on his arm and Dad doesn't wear a suit and cape. ~ John King,

136:My very first tattoo was for my dog, Zora, who died in my arms in New York. Right where her heart stopped beating I got a "Z". ~ Cheyenne Jackson,

137:she had a tattoo on the inside: the letters SPQR, a crossed sword and torch, and under that, four parallel lines like score marks. ~ Rick Riordan,

138:Ashley burned down the school, smeared in the ashes of her sisters, with a that tattoo on her arm saying, 'I am a pleasure to burn. ~ Cameron Jace,

139:I feel like if I were to get another tattoo, it would probably be those two words. Just stubborn, stubborn, stubborn gladness. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

140:The tattoo is a reminder that choices made out of desperation are almost always bad choices.” Finn paused, hoping Bonnie was thinking ~ Amy Harmon,

141:You can rèmove a tattoo; it's just difficult. And supposedly it's pretty painful. Some things, on the other hand, can't be undone. ~ Lauren Myracle,

142:All those tattoos. A woman could get any tattoo she liked, but they all said the same thing. They were a sign reading AVAILABLE FOR RENT. ~ Joe Hill,

143:I have a maple leaf tattoo over my heart, quite literally, and my two favorite things on Earth are being in Canada and making movies. ~ Jay Baruchel,

144:Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder. ~ Cassandra Clare,

145:The tattoo is there not because I believe there is something wrong with me. It's there to remind me that our flaws are our strengths ~ Cecelia Ahern,

146:I’m only going to say this once,” I say to tattoo guy. “Leave me alone.” “Or what?” he asks. Thought you’d never ask. ~ Christine Fonseca,

147:Tattooing is my social life, too, so most of my time is taken up with that. People like Henry Lewis, Mike Davis at Everlasting Tattoo. ~ Margaret Cho,

148:But for me, to get the tattoo was part of moving into adulthood. Making a choice that is permanent and that I'll have to stick with. ~ Francois Arnaud,

149:When he lifts his arm to wrap around me, "I can finally make out the words of his tattoo:   pain is a reminder you're still alive ~ E K Blair,

150:Every girl wants songs written about her. Even the most hardened tattoo-covered punk rock girl would love a nice ballad written for her. ~ Eef Barzelay,

151:You can do what you want. But I can also do what I want. And what I’ll be doing is telling everyone how fucking stupid your tattoo is. ~ Justin Halpern,

152:Always watch your back - when I was fourteen I got a tattoo of an eye on the back of my neck, so I could say I was always watchin' my back. ~ Gucci Mane,

153:He flashes a lopsided grin. I stroke a random tattoo. I’m so wet, I could fuck a cantaloupe and three bananas without batting an eyelash. ~ Kendall Grey,

154:I got my first tattoo when I was 16 years old and I went with my mom to get it done - she has a bunch too so we're tattoo buddies now. ~ Josh Hutcherson,

155:I needed to stop staring at his bicep...and chest...and tattoo. Never thought the sun could be so...sexy. Wow. This was awkward. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

156:I went to this tattoo parlor in the East Village and I got an outline of a violin on my lower back. They call them tramp stamps now. ~ Katherine Moennig,

157:The tattoo can only exist as part of the skin, as a drawing always is an incision in the material and therefore cannot be parted from it. ~ Antoni Tapies,

158:you should never get a person's name tattooed on you, because then you lose the person. I was too young to know that when I got the tattoo. ~ Donna Tartt,

159:I got a picture [tattoo] of Mohammed Ali on my side with one of his quotes. That's my guy. I look up to him. I'm like his number one fan. ~ Carmelo Anthony,

160:One of the beauties of 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' is the very delicate and strange relationship between the two main characters. ~ Stellan Skarsgard,

161:Ash only had one tattoo on his body--the wizard he'd etched on himself. From whatever angle I looked, it seemed like its throat had been cut. ~ Garrett Leigh,

162:I got a little tattoo on my face, I'll never be able to work another real job so I consider that to be kinda forcing myself to stick to music. ~ Benji Madden,

163:I got my very last tattoo after my father died. I'm not getting anymore; otherwise I'll end up like Mike Tyson with a tattoo on my face. ~ Sean William Scott,

164:That night on TV, I saw the tattoo I wished my life had warranted. If you have not known suffering, love me. A Russian murderer beat me to it. ~ Jenny Offill,

165:every loss, every mistake, was seared into her soul, creating a different kind of tattoo, one made from rage and abandonment, heart break and tears ~ Kami Garcia,

166:Here is the threshold I do not cross: a sliver of light through the doorway finds his tattoo, the anchor on his forearm tangled in its chain. ~ Natasha Trethewey,

167:Right now, all he wanted was to get her to take that first step. "I'm not going to tattoo my name on your ass. I'm asking you to be my girlfriend. ~ Katee Robert,

168:I sometimes want to make a book of every tattoo I wanted to get before I actually got a tattoo, because there were so many awful ideas and concepts. ~ Lena Dunham,

169:Maybe it had to be that way. Maybe she’d had to fight for everything, so the fight in her was permanent—like a scar or an immutable tattoo. ~ Benjamin Alire S enz,

170:Tattoo. What a loaded word it is, rife with associations to goons, goofs, bikers, tribal warriors, carnival artists, drunken sailors and floozies. ~ Jon Anderson,

171:me.  "Ya know, stereotyping be a sign of limited intelligence.  I might have asked ye where yer lower back tattoo be or yer lip piercing, but I didna. ~ Elle Casey,

172:Next to hot chicken soup, a tattoo of an anchor on your chest, and penicillin, I consider a honeymoon one of the most overrated events in the world. ~ Erma Bombeck,

173:Death is a unique opponent, in that death always wins......There's no shame in surrender when it's time to stop fighting. --- Kal (the tattoo artist) ~ Steven Rowley,

174:The longest piece of literature I've read lately was a tattoo on this biker I picked up last night. It said, If you're this close, you've gotta suck it. ~ Eric Arvin,

175:Tattoos, for me, are like a timeline of my life. I could look at a certain tattoo, and it reminds of me of a certain time in my life and why I got that tattoo. ~ Tyga,

176:Not one great country can be named, from the polar regions in the north to New Zealand in the south, in which the aborigines do not tattoo themselves. ~ Charles Darwin,

177:Something awful must’ve happened on the surface, Damy thought. He squeezed his forearm, looking at the animated tattoo there, the mark of the strike teams. ~ Raeden Zen,

178:There is nothing to be done. Just make sure nothing is wasted. Take notes. Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. ~ Janet Finch,

179:I’ve worked out a tattoo – if I had one” says Ryan. I look at what he’s done. He’s got the outline of my hand over his heart and in it he’s written, Her... ~ Kirsty Eagar,

180:She said 'a tattoo is a badge of validation'. But the truth of the matter is far more revealing. It's a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling. ~ Jimmy Buffett,

181:Aramaic has no vowels. So MLK spells Moloch.” “Or milk,” Deborah said. “Really, Debs, if you think our killer would tattoo milk on his neck, you need a nap. ~ Jeff Lindsay,

182:I love the pain, which isn’t excruciating but is incredibly, infuriatingly persistent, accompanied by the endless whine of the tattoo gun, marking me forever. ~ Roxane Gay,

183:I'm not your girl" "You could be." "Yeah and I could also tattoo an anorexic pterodactyl on my navel, but I'm not planning on do that, either ~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes,

184:I removed the window [tattoo] because, while I used to spend all my time looking out through windows wishing to be outside, I now live there all the time. ~ Angelina Jolie,

185:The disc of a record was hardier yet more delicate than plasticky CDs. A record was to be treasured, its circle scratches a mysterious language, a furtive tattoo. ~ Lisa Ko,

186:Emma gasped. "You drank faerie wine? Cristina! That's how you black out and wake up the next day under a bridge with a tattoo that says I LOVE HELICOPTERS. ~ Cassandra Clare,

187:Usually all my tattoos came at good times. A tattoo is something permanent when you've made a self-discovery, or something you've come to a conclusion about. ~ Angelina Jolie,

188:And for the first time, Gus’s tattoo makes sense. Because this … everything I see … everything I hear … everything I feel … it’s epic.  Gus.  Rook.  They do epic. ~ Kim Holden,

189:I'm really glad I did not tattoo on my body 'cause I don't want them. So, permanence is a very scary thing to me, along with things that don't change at all. ~ Stephenie Meyer,

190:My tattoo is a small lighthouse, just an inch tall. It's on my right hip, where Jake always kept his hand when he slept. I put it there to lead him home. ~ Jenn McKinlay,

191:Some say his droppings have been found as far north as York, and that he has a full size tattoo of his face, on his face. All we know is he’s called the Stig. ~ Jeremy Clarkson,

192:The tattoo on her left forearm. Five digits encoding nothing but the unspoken prohibition on my asking her about them. The jaunty 7 with its continental slash. ~ Michael Chabon,

193:With her first Oscar nomination for her portrayal of Lisbeth Salander in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Rooney Mara gave fashion fans a new Gothic-chic muse. ~ Derek Blasberg,

194:they’re probably Tattoo and Alpha. If so, Mom must have impressed the hell out of them during the escape or they wouldn’t be protecting her as she draws on a scorpion. ~ Susan Ee,

195:Being around you puts my life in constant danger. I’ve fought monsters and vampires and I’ve almost died twice, and you think they’d choose to kill you over a tattoo? ~ Derek Landy,

196:Yes. I’ll try to see them tomorrow. Give me one of those sticks. I’d better not give them any excuse to throw me back where I was.’ Leon holds out his tattoo stick ~ Heather Morris,

197:I don't have any tattoos - I live vicariously through my sister, Langley, who has many. If I can't stick to one ensemble, I don't think I could stick to one tattoo. ~ Dree Hemingway,

198:I still loved her. I’d never tried not to love her. No matter what I had done, or how long it had been. She was always there, as permanent as any tattoo on my body. ~ Melanie Harlow,

199:I've always been the type of person - you know, I kind of am extreme. So you know, I'm not, like, oh, let me get one tattoo. It's, like, my old whole arm has to be covered. ~ LeCrae,

200:The addition of knitting needles and twirling yarn made Beckett’s forearm ink the exact replica of the tattoo on Mouse’s chest. “He was my friend and my brother. ~ Debra Anastasia,

201:Her words trailed off and Alex gently touched her arm. His hand settled on the tattoo and he wondered if he should be touching it, but Avigail smiled kindly and continued. ~ Dan Eaton,

202:His other tattoo runs down his side along his ribs, and says, ‘Experience is the hardest kind of teacher. It gives you the test first, and the lesson afterward. ~ Aurora Rose Reynolds,

203:Instead of having a baby, why dont you get a tattoo of a baby first, and see how that works out for six months to a year, and then see if you're ready to have a baby. ~ Chelsea Handler,

204:He tweaks my nose and goes back to his chair. “She cried more for my tattoo than her own,” he tells Carlos. “Aren’t girls weird?” Carlos chuckles. “The weirdest. ~ Rachel Schurig,

205:My friends are coming up - they run this tattoo parlour out there and they're gonna ink me up with the tattoo I've been wanting since I was two, right here, upper arm. ~ Charlie Benante,

206:It took me a second to figure out how to read Wade’s neat handwriting backward, but I eventually read, “I had sex in a death barn, and all I got was this temporary tattoo. ~ Molly Harper,

207:About half of them have spider web tattoos on their elbows, and the other half look mean enough to have killed the tattoo artist before he even loaded the ink in the gun. ~ Nicola Rendell,

208:On the back cargo door, there was an oval magnetic decal with the name of their town written in black, a seemingly perquisite automotive tribal tattoo in suburbia nowadays. ~ Harlan Coben,

209:As soon as Tara looked at the skull-and-barbed-wire tattoo showing beneath the sleeve of Flynn O’Mara’s tight t-shirt, she flashed on a jail cell. Bummer. His Dad’s in jail ~ Sharon Sala,

210:I always look for a woman who has a tattoo. I see a woman with a tattoo, and I'm thinking, okay, here's a gal who's capable of making a decision she'll regret in the future. ~ Richard Jeni,

211:I basically - I don't like tattoos, unless you're a firefighter who has a tattoo that has to do with that or a military guy. That's - those are people who should have tattoos. ~ Denis Leary,

212:Knowing Charlie, she wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo unless it really meant something to her. It had to be something she knew she would never grow tired of. Never stop loving. ~ Colleen Hoover,

213:My only advice is don't tattoo some guy's name on yourself. Ever. I've done it twice. Twice! I'm in the process of getting both removed. It's the most painful thing imaginable. ~ Diora Baird,

214:This wasn't the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful. ~ Ray Bradbury,

215:If you were perfect, I’d tattoo this on my chest. If you were beautiful, I’d carve this into a tree trunk. If you were nice, I’d write this in a letter. But you’re none of those— ~ Bo Burnham,

216:I chose a sunflower because when darkness descends they close up to regenerate. But I really wish I'd never had the tattoo in the first place. Clean, clear skin is always better. ~ Halle Berry,

217:I love Tinkerbell because she's feisty and about it. She's got swag! She's going to do what she wants to do. I even have a Tinkerbell tattoo, and she is wearing Adidas flip-flops! ~ Kidada Jones,

218:They call you Hard-on in school?” Johnny asked, proving that inside, he was more tattoo than polo. “Yes. Yes, they did.” “You punch ‘em? Or did you cry?” “I fucked their girlfriends. ~ C D Reiss,

219:A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition. ~ V Vale,

220:I have a couple of long, funky necklaces I enjoy, some chunky rings, a few big bracelets to cover my wrist tattoo when I'm speaking at First (fill-in-the-denomination) Church, USA. ~ Jen Hatmaker,

221:I have this huge lion tattoo embossed on my arm. I was a little worried as to how we would cover it up. But my makeup man covered the tattoo with makeup. It took close to two hours. ~ Sanjay Dutt,

222:Magic, then?” That was worrisome. Adam was cautious of magic. The tattoo on his back had warmed the moment he got to the house. It was a warning. Magic could be used as a weapon. ~ Sheila English,

223:So I got dressed up kind of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo-y goth. As I head out, I say bye to Mum and Dad, and Mum says, ‘You look cool’, just as Dad says, ‘You look terrifying. ~ Abigail Tarttelin,

224:Anything that didn’t impale itself on the sharp line of this sleeping boy’s cruel mouth would be tangled in the merciless hooks of his tattoo, pulled beneath his skin to drown. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

225:So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again. ~ Virginia Woolf,

226:Here’s the secret: never give up. Get a tortoise tattoo if you need to, but just stick it out, slowly and patiently, because consistency is the greatest kindness a horse will ever know. ~ Anna Blake,

227:My favorite action movie growing up was 'Supergirl.' It wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination, but it was my favorite because I wanted to be her. I have a Supergirl tattoo. ~ Adrianne Palicki,

228:Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to. ~ Janet Fitch,

229:Tattoos are like stories - they're symbolic of the important moments in your life. Sitting down, talking about where you got each tattoo and what it symbolizes, is really beautiful. ~ Pamela Anderson,

230:His red-haired companion wore a similar outfit but without the tattoo and piercings, lacking the courage—or the idiocy—to turn a fashion statement into permanent disfigurement. They ~ Kelley Armstrong,

231:On Entertaining the Notion of Getting a Tattoo “You can do what you want. But I can also do what I want. And what I’ll be doing is telling everyone how fucking stupid your tattoo is.” On ~ Justin Halpern,

232:Logan is going to meet me there at nine to put the tattoo over my heart. Her tattoo. The broken butterfly. My broken butterfly. I’m going to brand myself with something that is all Friday. ~ Tammy Falkner,

233:Teardrop Tattoo locked eyes with me, and I saw my own death reflected there. It was not heroic or meaningful or even particularly interesting, just bloody, painful, awkward, and agonizing. ~ Joe Schreiber,

234:Spooner noticed another, smaller Marine Corps tattoo encircling Marlin's ankle: Semper Fi Forever. Everywhere he went these days, Spponer witnessed America's crying need for more copy editors. ~ Pete Dexter,

235:The eel's pause gave Kim far too long to weigh how incredibly stupid this impulse was-- as if the tattoo covering his wrist weren't reminder enough of how irrevocable some rash ideas could be. ~ K A Mitchell,

236:Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and...no inessential penises, either ~ Laini Taylor,

237:He was gorgeous, he played in a band, he was a freaking frat boy and he had the whole tattoo, piercing thing going on. I was very aware of what he was, without knowing any more than that. ~ A Meredith Walters,

238:I got this Jesus tattoo on my wrist when I was 18 because I know that it's always going to be a part of me. When I'm playing, it's staring right back at me, saying, 'Remember where you came from.' ~ Katy Perry,

239:Sahara traced the ink with a trembling finger before she bent to press her lips to the tattoo, her touch tender, her eyes dark with emotion. "I've branded you". "You did that a long time ago". ~ Nalini Singh,

240:Every tattoo I got with them is a mark of their friendship, and almost every time I have laughed in this dark place was because of them. I don’t want to lose them. But I feel like I have already. ~ Veronica Roth,

241:It wasn't the tattoo that had changed her, had given her repossession of her body. It was her actions, her choices. It was finding the path when it looked like there weren't any paths to be found. ~ Melissa Marr,

242:Commitment is a funny thing, you know? It’s almost like getting a tattoo. You think and you think and you think and you think before you get one. And once you get one, it sticks to you hard and deep. ~ Ika Natassa,

243:I'm not a cop. I'm just a tattoo artist. I'm just a guy who used to be in love with a girl. I'm just a fool who's been fooled too many times before. I'm just a man who's finally getting his revenge. ~ Karina Halle,

244:My new one (tattoo) says 'Never a failure, always a lesson' and is kind of my mantra to life, just a reminder. My life is just a crazy rollercoaster every day and whenever I read that it just reassures me. ~ Rihanna,

245:I haven't had a drink in thirteen years, but occasionally I'm tempted to have one beer. The problem is that if I have that one beer, I wake up in Tijuana four days later with a tattoo and a sore ass. ~ Craig Ferguson,

246:She had a dream about a tattoo. This was a pleasant dream. She was walking away and she had the most beautiful tattoo. It covered her shoulders, her back, the back of her legs. It was unspeakably fine. ~ Joy Williams,

247:Tattoo Man in his fishtop cap and dark glasses and sandy blond goatee. You could see the bird tattoo on his hand because the rawhide gloves had stayed in his back pocket until he and Linda Gray were in ~ Stephen King,

248:Strength is an empty shell. One cannot violate the promptings of one’s nature without having that nature recoil upon itself. Show me a man with a tattoo, and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past. ~ Jack London,

249:My new tattoo is Jesus being carried by three cherubs. Obviously the cherubs are my boys. At some point they are going to need to look after me. That's what they're doing in the picture. It means a lot. ~ David Beckham,

250:One can grow accustomed to carrying unseeable scars, as if the tattoo one wears is inked in flesh tone over flesh tone; but nevertheless one is still covered in secret, painted with secret, stained by it. ~ Lyndsay Faye,

251:I thought about what an intensely human act it was to get a tattoo, taking an image or a slogan, some stray momentary emotion, and cutting it into your body so that it could never heal and never be erased. ~ Jordan Weisman,

252:This is so cool,” I said as Dad walked away. “Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot? “He’s a she,” Mom said. “Is she hot? Cause I’m still young, you know. My sexual identity isn’t fully formed. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

253:In every garden grows one single rose so perfect that once the frost takes it, no other can grow there again. My rose is and will ever be my Edilyn. And I shall never stop mourning her." Illarion's Tattoo ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,

254:It was in that moment that I realized why he’d gotten the tattoo, why he had chosen me, and why I was different. It wasn’t just me, and it wasn’t just him, it was what we were together that was the exception. ~ Jamie McGuire,

255:I'm telling you, the gorgeous of the world can actually look pretty intimidating when they scowl. Imagine a snow-white swan with a scary tattoo holding a chain saw. There's just no way to really prepare for that. ~ Jim Benton,

256:Kyle saw himself as a Christian warrior in a civilizational battle against Islam, adorning himself with a tattoo of the red Crusader’s cross popular among other identitarian Christian fascists like Anders Breivik. ~ Anonymous,

257:The one album I can't live without is called 'Cumbolo' by a band called Culture. Every song on their album is deep, but there's one in particular called 'This Train.' I have a tattoo of the lyrics on my left arm. ~ Idris Elba,

258:Enema of the State song is kind of like a tattoo, like a moment in time, but it aged well. It's not like one that you're looking at like, "Aw, God, I gotta get that s**t removed." It's something we're proud of. ~ Travis Barker,

259:How does it taste?” Carter wondered. Zia smiled. “Stick out your tongue.” To answer Carter’s question, the tattoo tasted like burning car tires. “Ugh.” I spit a blue gob of “order and harmony” into the fountain. ~ Rick Riordan,

260:Know what one of the guys at the drive-through Starbucks has on his forearm?” Bernadette said. “A paper clip! It used to be so daring to get a tattoo. And now people are tattooing office supplies on their bodies. ~ Maria Semple,

261:The tattoo is just setting below his hp bone. H e l l i s e m p t y a n d a l l t h e d e v i l s a r e h e r e I kiss my way across the words. Kissing away the devils. Kissing away the pain. ~ Tahereh Mafi,

262:He recognized this particular act for what it was: a woman’s need to mark her man. The scary part was, he didn’t care. Hell, at this moment, if she wanted to tattoo her name on his ass, he’d go buy the fucking ink. ~ Alannah Lynne,

263:Tattoo Man in his fishtop cap and dark glasses and sandy blond goatee. You could see the bird tattoo on his hand because the rawhide gloves had stayed in his back pocket until he and Linda Gray were in Horror House. ~ Stephen King,

264:When Marion had been a teenager, she wanted a tattoo. As an oldest child who did mostly what was expected of her, she had been fascinated by the abandon tattoos implied, the willing, blind leap into commitment. ~ Erica Bauermeister,

265:Got your text,” he said when I climbed out. “How much did it hurt?” “Not at all,” I said. “Apparently, I can’t get a tattoo because I’m a witch.” “I could have told them-” He stopped. “Oh, you said witch.” “Ha-ha. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

266:Turtles carry their homes on their backs.” Running her finger over the tattoo, she tells him what her dad told her: “They’re exposed and hidden at the same time. They’re a symbol of strength and perseverance. ~ Christina Baker Kline,

267:You had another tattoo done? What does it say?" "Alex. It says, Alex. I guess I just needed something to remind me you were real, because after you left, there was nothing ... nothing to say you'd ever been here. ~ Samantha Towle,

268:...All they were interested in was where she planned to get her tattoo. "You're just going to have to use your imagination," she told them. Cooper snorted. "Becker is screwed then. He doesn't have any imagination. ~ Paige Tyler,

269:How does it taste?” Carter wondered. Zia smiled. “Stick out your tongue.” To answer Carter’s question, the tattoo tasted like burning car tires. “Ugh.” I spit a blue gob of “order and harmony” into the fountain. ~ Rick Riordan,

270:What we've said to the girls is: 'If you guys ever decide that you're going to get a tattoo, then mommy and me will get the exact same tattoo, in the same place.' And we'll go on YouTube and show it off as a family tattoo. ~ Barack Obama,

271:You have a tattoo of a woman's necklace on you back, Silas." She's smiling now. "Very lumberjack-esque." She's enjoying this. "Yeah, well. You have trees on you back. Not much to brag about. You'll probably get termites. ~ Colleen Hoover,

272:ANDY TATTOOED HIS LEFT forearm with Lori's name on a drunken night in his seventeenth year. LORI & ANDY FOREVER AND EVER was the full text, all in capital letters, done by his best friend Susan with her homemade tattoo rig. ~ Anonymous,

273:Got your text,” he said when I climbed out. “How much did it hurt?” “Not at all,” I said. “Apparently, I can’t get a tattoo because I’m a witch.” “I could have told them-” He stopped. “Oh, you said witch.” “Ha-ha. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

274:A very common thing these days is people show up and they ask us in the band to sign with a Sharpie right on their skin and they go get it tattooed the next day. Then they'll show up at another show and they'll have their tattoo. ~ Jared Leto,

275:For a long time the people at my shows were sort of the Pantera-tattoo trucker guys, really cool dudes, but I don't know what happened to them. That's the crowd that I like, the ones that don't get so offended just to be offended. ~ Dave Attell,

276:He and the girl had almost nothing to say to each other. One thing he did say was, 'I ain't got any tattoo on my back.' 'What you got on it?' the girl said. 'My shirt,' Parker said. 'Haw.' 'Haw, haw,' the girl said politely. ~ Flannery O Connor,

277:You do a draft and you get more notes. You start to get the feeling that this either isn't going to happen or it is going to take a really long time to happen, and I never felt that with this [the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo]. ~ Steven Zaillian,

278:I got a random tattoo the other day. It's a red triangle, which makes everyone think I'm arty, which I'm not. I used to draw red triangles all the time. It must mean something - maybe I don't know it yet. But I'll figure it out. ~ Ellie Goulding,

279:I have a lot of tattoos. My first tattoo I had when I was a teenager was just a little heart. I am very friendly with a great artist, Scott Campbell, and I started going to him to get tattoos. I'm very spontaneous about what I get. ~ Marc Jacobs,

280:Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them--made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same. ~ Ryan Graudin,

281:Poverty is much more than a way of life,” Jack later wrote. “It goes much farther than skin-deep. It’s no tattoo that fades with time. Nor a brand that can be put out of mind except when faced. Poverty, if you’ve known it, is you. ~ Gerald Clarke,

282:So, my conservative-looking, suit-wearing boss has a tattoo and has his penis pierced?” I ask with a smile. Nate laughs and takes another pull on his beer. “Yes. You didn’t seem to mind the piercing, if memory serves correctly. ~ Kristen Proby,

283:Wayne,” I said to Cassie, while we were getting him a Sprite and watching him pick his acne in the one-way glass. “Why didn’t his parents just tattoo ‘Nobody in my family has ever finished secondary school’ on his forehead at birth? ~ Tana French,

284:People like to come up to me and tell me that I’ve got nice ink. Except these tattoos aren’t just decorations. They are declarations. Every tattoo I have tells its own story about who I am. Drug-free. Honor. And a war against the system. ~ CM Punk,

285:Wayne,” I said to Cassie, while we were getting him a Sprite and watching him pick his acne in the one-way glass. “Why didn’t his parents just tattoo ‘Nobody in my family has ever finished secondary school’ on his forehead at birth?”) ~ Tana French,

286:Got your text,” he said when I climbed out. “How much did it hurt?” “Not at all,” I said. “Apparently, I can’t get a tattoo because I’m a witch.” “I could have told them--” He stopped. “Oh, you said witch.” “Ha-ha. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

287:He lifts my arm and kisses the tattoo on my inner wrist. I look down at the tat that started it all. He set me free when he unlocked my world. He’s the peace in my soul. He’s the one who opened my shackles, and I’ll love him forever. ~ Tammy Falkner,

288:He had men for hands. It only took a few days all told before the posters came to a man with a throat-cut tattoo and fuck-you-money ambitions. Addresses were compiled. Plans made. Weapons secured. Blood pacts sealed. His will be done. ~ Jordan Harper,

289:I have a tattoo on my foot that says 'it's a whale' in Japanese, because Japanese people kill whales. My stuffed whale was like most children's teddy bear. I took it with me everywhere. I slept with it. I couldn't live without my whale. ~ Skylar Grey,

290:I don’t know many rules to live by,” he’d said. “But here’s one. It’s simple. Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… ~ Anonymous,

291:Dev's out to pierce the pierced, tattoo the tattooed, and have his way with the messy punk boys who came to our shows not knowing they'll end up wanting to mess around with the guy challenging How big is your cocker spaniel? into the mic. ~ Rachel Cohn,

292:Jesus, holy fuck,” Rivera murmured, coming to a quick halt and looking up at the tall, hulking, tattoo-sleeved Ryker. “Boy, what’d your Mama feed you growin’ up?” he asked. “Newborn babies,” Ryker answered, scowling down at Rivera. ~ Kristen Ashley,

293:Turtles carry their homes on their backs.” Running her finger over the tattoo, she tells him what her dad told her: “They’re exposed and hidden at the same time. They’re a symbol of strength and perseverance.” “That’s very deep. ~ Christina Baker Kline,

294:It was cheerful inside, without the aggressive Easy Rider feel of some of the other tattoo parlors in the city, where the handle-jawed thugs wielding the tattoo guns looked like ink was just a side job, their main work, contract killings. ~ Marisha Pessl,

295:There is something in the act of having tattoos done that I love. It can be quite addictive. I've got a few on my back because my friend is an artist, and a few on my arms. Every time I pass a tattoo parlour, I think, 'Maybe just a tiny one. ~ Lena Headey,

296:I'm going to photograph every single person to enter and leave this tattoo parlour." Finbar rolled his eyes. "And they'll hate that, because people who get dragons drawn on their backs are normally so shy about other people noticing them. ~ Derek Landy,

297:As soon as I saw tattoos as a way to tell your story, I thought, 'Oh my gosh, I totally get it.' So I got my first tattoo a couple of years ago, and it's the word 'hope' on my left arm. It has a couple of dots at the end for each of my kids. ~ Kristian Bush,

298:At seventeen most people get their ears pierced or get a tattoo or something slightly taboo. That is what I love about Rodrigo Garcia, he's not conventional. He's someone who sees people in extraordinary ways, and forgives them for being such. ~ Naomi Watts,

299:My body is a journal in a way. It's like what sailors used to do, where every tattoo meant something, a specific time in your life when you make a mark on yourself, whether you do it yourself with a knife or with a professional tattoo artist. ~ Johnny Depp,

300:My favorite tattoo right now is the one on my lower stomach that reads "Almost Famous" because as my career grows I'm still humbled every morning when I look at that tattoo, and I'll always remember how much it sucked to ALMOST be famous. ~ Machine Gun Kelly,

301:Cash is wearing a black tank top that perfectly showcases his muscular arms and the interesting tattoo that adorns the left side of his chest. I try not to think of him as mouthwatering, but that’s the word that keeps going through my head. ~ Michelle Leighton,

302:I look at the tattoo inside my left wrist. It's my brother's name, he committed suicide two years ago. Just before the second anniversary of his death, I tattooed his name. I miss him, of course, and I decided I would live for me, and for him. ~ Pom Klementieff,

303:I always say your body is the temple of your spirit, why not decorate it? My kids say, no, no, your body is the temple of your spirit, keep it clean. I'm covered in tattoos and I get a tattoo every time I write a book. I get the tattoo from the book. ~ Bill Ayers,

304:My head felt heavy as I lifted it to look at my hand on his chest, just over his heart. And then the haze of desire clouding my brain gave way to a numbing wave of shock as I watched a tattoo—a black eye with a golden iris—appear under my fingers. ~ Rachel Hawkins,

305:Grabbing my hand he pulls me to him, and grabs my hips, digging his hand in. "I have the perfect spot for your first tattoo." Reaching for the bottom of my dress, he lifts the front so only he can see, and runs his thumb over my hipbone. "Perfect. ~ Victoria Ashley,

306:He and the girl had almost nothing to say to each other. One thing he did say was, 'I ain't got any tattoo on my back.' 'What you got on it?' the girl said. 'My shirt,' Parker said. 'Haw.' 'Haw, haw,' the girl said politely. ~ Flannery O Connor,

307:Becoming a vampire is forever. You don't get to change your mind about it later. For me, I think that's one of the big drawbacks with anything that's permanent. How do you know how you're going to feel in five years or 10 years? Even with a tattoo. ~ Stephenie Meyer,

308:Gilly frowned at me. “Ya know, stereotyping be a sign of limited intelligence. I might have asked ye where yer lower back tattoo be or yer lip piercing, but I didna.” It folded its short little arms and cocked out one funky-shaped hip in a defiant stance. ~ Elle Casey,

309:Cole tilted her chin so he could look deeply into her eyes. “Kyle, you are my heaven. Will you come with me?” “I will.” Kyle snuggled deeper into his chest, gently tracing his Sorry tattoo. Cole’s heart beat like the pounding of an angel’s wings. ~ Debra Anastasia,

310:She’d never been more beautiful—at his mercy, covered in his seed, and marked so that any man who saw her would know she was fucking owned. He wanted to tattoo his name across her ass and keep her tied up like this all day, ready and waiting for his cock. ~ Joanna Wylde,

311:Gilly frowned at me.  "Ya know, stereotyping be a sign of limited intelligence.  I might have asked ye where yer lower back tattoo be or yer lip piercing, but I didna."  It folded its short little arms and cocked out one funky-shaped hip in a defiant stance. ~ Elle Casey,

312:You grabbed my hand and twirled me around, two sidewalk sweethearts. Then, very earnestly, you stopped, leaned over, and whispered, "You know, I'd get a tattoo with your name on it. Only, I want you to have the freedom to change your name if you want to. ~ David Levithan,

313:I know. I’ve got to cover all the bases. I’m going to track down the people Mavis recognized at the victim’s house, get statements. I’ve got to find a table dancer with a big dick and a tattoo.” “The fun never ends.” She nearly smiled. “I need to find people who ~ J D Robb,

314:In my previous life I was a civil attorney. At one point I truly believed that was what I wanted to be- but that was before I'd been handed a fistful of crushed violets from a toddler. Before I understood that the smile of a child is a tattoo: indelible art. ~ Jodi Picoult,

315:We forget how truly fragile we are. Skin. We do so much to it. Burn it. Tattoo it. Rub chemical into its surface. Sometimes we scrape it, pierce it, poke holes through its softness. Skin holds us together. IT keeps the blood inside. Without it, we die. ~ Jeyn Roberts,

316:Tattoos are a right of passage. They're a marker of bravery, of maturity, of cultural acceptance. The tattoo represents not only a willingness to accept pain - to endure it - but a need to actively embrace it. Because life is painful - beautiful but painful. ~ Nicola Barker,

317:Mr. Morrow, IOI owns this network..." "Of course they do!" Morrow shouted gleefully. 'The own practically everything! Including you, pretty boy! I mean did they tattoo a UPC code on your ass when they hired you to sit there and spout their corporate propaganda? ~ Ernest Cline,

318:So I spilled my guts already. Your turn. If you won’t tell me what happened just now, at least tell me what happened at the tattoo place.” I did. I was tempted to joke that his dad was right--apparently I was evil--but he wouldn’t appreciate that. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

319:The thing about Ambrosia—Bro, See-uh, whatever the fuck she wants to be called these days—is that she ain’t scared of shit. Not spiders. Not jail. Not tattoo needles. Not the Easter bunny—don’t think I won’t fucking cut you if you repeat that—and not me or Ares. ~ Pippa Grant,

320:John's tattoo..Goddamn..He'd done it as a memorial to her-putting her name in his skin so she'd be with him always. After all, there was nothing more permanent than that-hell, that was why in the mating ceremony males got their backs carved up: Rings could get lost. ~ J R Ward,

321:After Cannes every year, I end up going to some foreign country I've never been to before and introducing myself to a new religion - I'll go to Bali and research Hinduism, or I'll go to Thailand and get another tattoo from Thai tattoo artist Ajarn Noo Kanpai. ~ Michelle Rodriguez,

322:My tattoo is of a cannon in Vancouver that I got in a fleeting moment of stupidity maybe 14 years ago. A lot of people have really beautiful tattoos, and I get real tattoo envy. But then other people basically just treat them like bumper stickers for their bodies. ~ Ryan Reynolds,

323:Tattoos are a right of passage. They're a marker of bravery, of maturity, of cultural acceptance. The tattoo represents not only a willingness to accept pain - to endure it - but a need to actively embrace it. Because life is painful - beautiful but painful....... ~ Nicola Barker,

324:This is so cool," I said loudly as Dad walked away. "Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?" "He's a she," Mom said. "Is she hot? Cause I'm still young, you know. My sexual identity isnt fully formed." "Your father can't hear you anymore, Maya." Mom sighed. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

325:When you're young, you're stupid. You do silly things. I did it (the O-Z-Z-Y tattoo across his knuckles) when I was 14. I was in jail for something. I could have had it removed, but why? It's my trademark. People stop me and say, 'Let me have a look at your hand.' ~ Ozzy Osbourne,

326:So you’re the music note, Beckett’s obviously the knife, who’s the cross?” She stroked Blake’s tattoo. “You’re about to find out. We’re headed to church.” Blake leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Of course we are. That makes perfect sense.” From hell to heaven. ~ Debra Anastasia,

327:I think husbands are like tattoos -- you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, 'I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. ~ Sloane Crosley,

328:The recruiting office was a small storefront in a nondescript strip mall; there was a state liquor authority store on one side of it and a tattoo parlor on the other. Depending on what order you went into each, you could wake up the next morning in some serious trouble. ~ John Scalzi,

329:My first tattoo is a full-on Sailor Jerry situation on my hip - it's a swallow with big spread wings. When I got it I was 20 on St. Mark's Place in New York; I just walked in in a frenzy. It's still there 17 years later and it's not a terrible thing to look at. ~ Maria Dahvana Headley,

330:One of the first pieces of advice I was ever given, on my first job was, you should always buy something to treat yourself to say well done for getting the job! However I've not followed on that through yet... I've always wanted a tattoo, something to mark my experience. ~ Sam Claflin,

331:I don’t know many rules to live by,” he’d said. “But here’s one. It’s simple. Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… no inessential penises, either. ~ Laini Taylor,

332:No, I like it ... a lot ... but that's a helluva tattoo for a virgin." He popped the pen back in, freeing up his hand to move the mouse. I smirked. "If I'm going to lose it, I want to be broken in right." The pen fell from Trenton's mount to the floor. ~ Jamie McGuire,

333:She wears a Val Surf T-shirt and boys’ boxer shorts and she has a boy’s phone number scrawled on her hand. Part of her wants to spit on it and rub it off, and part of her wishes it was written in huge numbers across her belly, his name in gang letters, like a tattoo. ~ Francesca Lia Block,

334:There was a time when, if you encountered someone with a tattoo, you could pretty much assume he was either a sailor or had, at one time or another, been in prison. There was something, it seemed, about men being cooped up together that made them want to draw on themselves. ~ Cuthbert Soup,

335:I dropped my pants in a tattoo parlor in Amsterdam. I woke up in a waterbed with this funky-looking dragon with a blue tongue on my hip. I realized I made a mistake, so a few months later I got a cross to cover it. When my pants hang low, it looks like I'm wearing a dagger! ~ Angelina Jolie,

336:Uniqueness does not come from external things that people do to themselves or other things like what they wear. All the uniqueness that radiates to the world comes from how you deal with the world, your best inner strengths. It never comes from a tattoo or a designer outfit. ~ Eva Mozes Kor,

337:All the reading she had done had given her a view of life that they had never seen.” “Did you ever read Roald Dahl books in school?” I asked. “Sure, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” “Right. This tattoo’s from Matilda. I loved that book growing up. Her parents sucked too. ~ Nicole Jacquelyn,

338:While he sat on the edge of the bed to retrieve his jeans from the floor, she saw the tattoo on his back for the first time—a large sunburst right between his shoulder blades. Very sexy on that broad, brown back. She’d seen the other one earlier, an armband in the shape of a chain. ~ Robyn Carr,

339:I've come to realize that Barack Obama is the tattoo president. Like a big tattoo, it seemed cool when you were young. But later on, that decision doesn't look so good, and you wonder: what was I thinking? But the worst part is you're still going to have to explain it to your kids. ~ Tim Pawlenty,

340:A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?” Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face? “How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model. ~ J R Ward,

341:THERE ARE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT marriage. I love the familiarity of it,” Nedra said. “It’s like a tattoo. You wanted it at the time, you have it, it’s implanted in your skin, you can’t get rid of it. You’re hardly even aware of it any more. I suppose I’m very conventional,” she decided. ~ James Salter,

342:The tattoo Ty now had on his ring finger was the simple wrapped infinity symbol Zane had drawn, but when he moved his middle finger, it revealed an anchor woven in. A hidden reminder of what Zane was to him. Zane’s was the exact same thing, only with a simplified compass incorporated in. ~ Anonymous,

343:Livia took in the sight of her love. He fought a still, silent battle against death, but he looked pale and helpless. Livia hated that. She knelt next the bed and kissed the mark of his tattoo through her paper mask and around the tubes. An IV chugged liquid straight into his veins. ~ Debra Anastasia,

344:Man, I'm messed up right now. My best friend is my father? The man I idolized as a kid... whose tattoo is on my arm... And he's younger than me. Yeah, I don't think I can handle this. Mindwipe me, somebody... please! Where's that dragon from Sanctuary? Simi, go get Max. I need him. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,

345:She took a deep breath and forgot to exhale. She wondered what it would be like if she licked him up one side and down the other. "What are you thinking?" She suddenly felt kind of hot and dizzy and accidentally let Layla out. "That I want to lick your tattoo," she whispered. ~ Rachel Gibson,

346:Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass, and it translate to beef with broccoli. The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high. ~ Bill Maher,

347:One of my favorite facts about Jason [Benjamin] is that he collects shirts from tattoo parlors. He has a bunch of tattoo parlor T-shirts, but no tattoos. And then he wears, like, vans and jeans. My boyfriend said he looks like a modern Bruce Springsteen, which is a pretty high compliment. ~ Lena Dunham,

348:The tattoo Ty now had on his ring finger was the simple wrapped infinity symbol Zane had drawn, but when he moved his middle finger, it revealed an anchor woven in. A hidden reminder of what Zane was to him. Zane’s was the exact same thing, only with a simplified compass incorporated in. Zane ~ Abigail Roux,

349:Beneath had his arm slung around a woman’s neck. She had a dye job from the planet Bad Bottle and basically looked like the type of woman who might go for a tattoo-infested skinhead—or to say the same thing in a slightly different way, she looked like a regular on the Jerry Springer show. Both ~ Harlan Coben,

350:I know what you are learning to endure. There is nothing to be done. Make sure nothing is wasted. Take notes. Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to. ~ Janet Fitch,

351:The alarm bells shriek again, echoing off the walls. “The hell is that?” asks Tattoo. “And why does it keep going off?” “There’s some crazy lady on the loose,” says Doc. “Keeps propping open emergency exits. Triggers the alarm. Are you going to let me go?” Well, at least my mom must be doing okay. ~ Susan Ee,

352:We see a kind of tattoo and assume a gang member. Or we hear an accent and assume a terrorist. Politicians play off this conclusion-leaping. They use our leaping to manipulate us. Not so with cats. Being predators, they think more simply. If they fail to understand us, it’s probably our fault. ~ Jay Heinrichs,

353:His fingers painted my skin with ruby red patterns of desire. In Keahi’s kiss I could taste the red burn of chili encrusted in the rich sweetness of melted chocolate. I breathed in his scent and it spoke to me of vanilla. The ink of my malu tattoo began to burn, searing markings of fiery joy. ~ Lani Wendt Young,

354:What really takes me back is when I'm walking around the Lower East Side, because we went to so many places [there] - the bakery, a mannequin store, all these factories with mice running around. That also is very visceral and takes me back. Pool halls, tattoo parlors, all kinds of stuff like that. ~ Jancee Dunn,

355:Logan had fixed the tattoo that day, and she’d started working for me. That was four years ago. Four fucking years of looking at her beautiful legs and red lips. Every. Single. Day. Four years of watching her and wanting her. Four years of lusting over Friday. Four years with her busting my chops. ~ Tammy Falkner,

356:It's when I'm around some people that my entire vocabulary goes on vacation. Like now, when Dave's walking next to me wearing an old black singlet and board shorts and the tattoo of a bird on his wrist, every single word in my head except "no" and "huh" is lying somewhere on a beack getting a suntan ~ Cath Crowley,

357:But for all that we had, for all the luxury to which we were accustomed, we were both denied love, and this deficiency would be scorched into our future lives like an ill-considered tattoo inscribed on the buttocks after a drunken night out, leading each of us inevitably towards isolation and disaster. ~ John Boyne,

358:But for all that we had, for all the luxury to which we were accustomed, we were both denied love, and this deficiency would be scorched into our futures lives like an ill-considered tattoo inscribed on the buttocks after a drunken night out, leading each of us inevitably toward isolation and disaster. ~ John Boyne,

359:Your eyes begin in my eyes which no longer see you. Begin in my voice which no longer speaks to you. Die out in my hands which no longer touch you. Your eyes are inscribed in my flesh. No one can bear to see me now. Sinister tattoo. I do the rain, I do the sun. For want of your eyes in my eyes. ~ Alejandra Pizarnik,

360:One of the series I like is D.M. Cornish's 'Monster Blood Tattoo,' in which he creates a whole language. Kids who are reading that are building a language in their heads. There's no real cognitive difference. I think kids are excited by language, and they're not always given credit for that. ~ Matthew Tobin Anderson,

361:My room is cheerfully located between the sixth-floor elevators. The springs of my bed wheeze. The elevator dings. The ice machine right outside my door rumbles forth its icy bounty, a steady tattoo that beats “Stay up! Stay up!” I am in a canvas that Edward Hopper never felt bummed out enough to paint. ~ David Rakoff,

362:She pictured Blake and closed her eyes. He lay under the bright surgery lights, tubes in place, beeping monitors, Sorry tattoo. It was as if she stood in the room with him. She poured her energy around him, surrounded him with sparkling, champagne-colored sunlight. Heal him. Strengthen him. Heal him. ~ Debra Anastasia,

363:The only strange thing about Jackson was the tattoo on the inside of his forearm - a trident as dark as seared wood, with a single line underneath and the letters SPQR. He'd told me the letters stood for Sono Pazzi Quelli Romani - those Romans are crazy. I wasn't sure if he was kidding. ~ Rick Riordan,

364:It's very easy for me to say that I think everybody should just be treated how they're supposed to be treated and tattoos shouldn't come into play. But what if someone has an offensive throat tattoo that might affect someone's business? I am sure there are a lot of opportunities out there for everybody. ~ Nicole Richie,

365:At the head of the table, where the roots of the fallen tree create a high, twisted chair, is a man. His chest is bare. His skin is tan. There’s a tattoo of the sun over his heart. His face is stunning in that symmetrical way, like his maker carved him from stone and wouldn’t stop until it was perfect. ~ Zoraida C rdova,

366:How about we back up?” he said. “What?” “Back up to before we went in the cabin. I was going to tell you what I thought was going on. With you. It starts with that old woman at the tattoo studio. The one who said you were a skin-walker.” “I--” “Not yet. This is my chance to look brilliant. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

367:I was written into that map as a landmark. Before I'd even known it, I'd been a part of this place, and it was increasingly hard to pretend it wasn't a part of me. Something of it lived under my skin, indelible as a tattoo. It was the home that might have been and for the first time I felt the loss of it. ~ Heidi Heilig,

368:Adrian was right that the sun I'd just described wasn't the design that had been the on the sword or brochure. Both of those had used an ancient symbol. The one in my vision was a more modern adaption-and this wasn't the first time I'd seen it. The sun in my vision was an exact match for Trey's tattoo. ~ Richelle Mead,

369:Carry me away. To where I can breathe. To where my soul can thrive again. To where I can be free. To where I can live again. Give me life. The ability to span my wings. And fly. Not fall. I never want to fall again. So help me survive. Allow me to flourish. And then let me forgive. (tattoo inscription) ~ Jessica Sorensen,

370:May I ask a personal question?” She looked at him. He waited until she nodded. “That dragon tattoo … Why did you get it?” “You didn’t see it before?” He smiled all of a sudden. “I mean I’ve glanced at it, but when you were uncovered I was pretty busy stopping the bleeding and extracting bullets and so on. ~ Stieg Larsson,

371:Think a scar (or a tattoo, for that matter) is permanent? It's not. Your body was literally formed from stardust and will eventually return there. The duration of a scar doesn't even register on the big time line. In fact, I heard that God watches jewelry commercials and LOL's when they say that diamonds ~ Johnny B Truant,

372:...from the moment I see her, I know that she's another disappearing girl, that she's desperately trying to disappear. The signs of it tattoo her body - the wear and tear. It is hard for unhealthy people to masquerade as healthy ones, especially once they've stopped caring if other people notice" -Rhiannon ~ David Levithan,

373:Hello, little baby,” I cooed. “I’m Auntie Jane. When your mama says it’s OK, I’m going to take you guys to the library and museums and movies. I’ll feed you food that’ll make you hyper and nauseous, and then I’ll bring you straight home. I’ll help you hide your first tattoo. We’re going to have a great time. ~ Molly Harper,

374:It feels intensely twisted to see reigning industry queen Jenna Jameson chilling out at the Vivid booth in Jordaches and a latex bustier and to know already that she has a tattoo of a sundered valentine with the tagline Heart Breaker on her right buttock and a tiny hairless ole just left of her anus. ~ David Foster Wallace,

375:Most Shadowhunters get their first Marks at twelve. It must have been in your blood.” “Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder.” Jace looked baffled. “You wanted a turtle on your shoulder?” -Jace & Clary, pg. 314- ~ Cassandra Clare,

376:Rumor had it TC was black though it was hard to see any trace of skin through the work of his tattoo artist. The obscure ink images blanketed almost all available somatic sites. Body piercing too appeared to be more of a lifestyle with TC than a hobby. The man looked like a nightmare version of Mr. Clean. Myron ~ Harlan Coben,

377:I think it’s because with sex you’re trusting someone to make you feel good, but an embrace says you’re trusting someone to make you feel safe.” “Safe from what?” Parker traced the scar behind his tattoo. “From whatever: pain, embarrassment, anger, fear … life. Sex says, ‘I want you.’ An embrace says, ‘I’ve got you. ~ Jewel E Ann,

378:Dissatisfaction began to grow so great in Parker that there was no containing it outside of a tattoo. It had to be his back. There was no help for it. A dim half-formed inspiration began to work in his mind. He visualized having a tattoo put there that Sarah Ruth would not be able to resist—a religious subject. ~ Flannery O Connor,

379:Most Shadowhunters get their first Marks at twelve. It must have been in your blood.” “Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder.” Jace looked baffled. “You wanted a turtle on your shoulder?” -Jace & Clary, pg. 314- ~ Cassandra Clare,

380:I love tattoos. And mine symbolise who I really am. I have a Samurai on my left arm. At a subconscious level, I connect to this warrior and model myself on his discipline, skills and honour. There is also a tribal tattoo and a Chinese symbol of faith. I have seen a lot of people getting tattoos just because it's a trend. ~ Virat Kohli,

381:You only need one or two, if the area’s small, but Fairuz never did anything small if she could help it; the tattoo was all over and so were the beetles. They skittered back and forth over her skin, a shirt of rosy sequins, and across their bodies the projected constellations flickered in and out of sight. ~ Genevieve Valentine,

382:I also don’t think of her that way—as property—but I do think of her as belonging to me, because I belong to her. I belong to her, and I am completely screwed, because I want her ownership. I want her to use me. I want to give her everything. I wouldn’t have a problem getting a tattoo that reads Property of Janie Sullivan. ~ Penny Reid,

383:Because right after I realized that at some point Hawke had removed his wedding band and was now wearing it on a chain around his neck, I saw the new tattoo on his chest, right above Revay’s. The tattoo that was a perfect replica of the picture I’d taken so long ago of the two birds I’d hoped to one day follow to freedom. ~ Sloane Kennedy,

384:The sparrow is associated with freedom. At one time, sailors got a tattoo of a sparrow for every five thousand nautical miles they traveled. Sparrows were believed to bring good luck. Sometimes the sailor got his sparrow tattoo even before leaving the docks, hoping it would act as a talisman and help bring him safely home again. ~ L J Shen,

385:Tartana, this is a young deer we found in the forest,” the man with the bird tattoo said seriously. “A young deer?” The Tartana frowned. “Well,” the man said, also frowning, “I am sure she is dear to someone.” Instantly, everyone in the room burst into fits of laughter. Amber saw tears coming out of the Tartana’s eyes. Amber ~ James Maxwell,

386:That's what loce is, Ben. Love is sacrifice. I got this tattoo the day I felt that kind of love for your father. And I chose it because if I had to describe love that day, I would say it felt like my two favourite things, amplified and thrown together. Like my favourite poetic line mixed into the lyrics of my favourite song ~ Colleen Hoover,

387:One day I’ll get a tattoo for you.” Warmth explodes in my chest, in awe that he would mark himself for me. “You don’t have to.” “I will.” His fingers trace my cheek and chills of pleasure run down my spine. “It’s what I do. Each tattoo represents the only happy memories I’ve had. And you, Rachel, you’re the happiest. ~ Katie McGarry,

388:Though I think husbands are like tattoos, - you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, "I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I'll take a thorny rose and a 'MOM' anchor, please. ~ Sloane Crosley,

389:That's what love is, Ben. Love is sacrifice... I got this tattoo the day i felt that kind of love for your father. And I chose it because if I had to describe love that day, I would say it felt like my two favourite things, amplified and thrown together. Like my favourite poetic line mixed into the lyrics of my favourite song. ~ Colleen Hoover,

390:The glistening beauty of the rising moon illuminated Mouse’s bare chest and revealed a familiar tattoo with a music note, a cross, and a knife. But in this case, Chaos’ mark featured an addition. The knitting needles fit perfectly into the montage of brotherhood. Patterns. But this pattern had to come to an end. ~ Debra Anastasia,

391:Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… no inessential penises, either.” “Inessential penises?” Karou had repeated, delighted with the phrase in spite of her grief. “Is there any such thing as an essential one? ~ Laini Taylor,

392:You know, for a long time being a heavily tattooed woman was viewed as something gross, or you're either a criminal or a drug addict. It feels good to be a good representation of the art form versus being the token tattoo girl. I'm just glad that people even consider it to be sexy, because I think I'm just a big nerd so it works out. ~ Kat Von D,

393:You should have asked her first, Trav," America said, shaking her head and covering her mouth with her fingers. "Asked her what? If I could get a tattoo?" he frowned, turning to me. "I love you. I want everyone to know I'm yours. I shifted nervously. "That's permanent, Travis." "So are we," he said, touching my cheek. ~ Jamie McGuire,

394:We have to stop meeting like this." And that was the truest thing ever spoke. I needed to stop staring at his bicep... and chest... and tattoo. Never thought the sun could be so... sexy. Wow. This was awkward. "You running over me, me almost running over you?" Cam elaborated. "It's like we're a catastrophe waiting to happen. ~ J Lynn,

395:What about some kind of an ancient curse?'' Ancient Curse Kills Two. He could see the headlines now. ''Don't be an asshole.'' The reporter snatched the microphone to safety just in time and, smiling pleasantly, asked, '' Can I quote you on that, Detective?'' Celluci's smile was just as sincere. ''You can tattoo it on your chest. ~ Tanya Huff,

396:That’s not true! Turtles mean something very specific in my culture.” “Oh yeah, warrior princess?” he says. “Like what?” “Turtles carry their homes on their backs.” Running her finger over the tattoo, she tells him what her dad told her: “They’re exposed and hidden at the same time. They’re a symbol of strength and perseverance. ~ Christina Baker Kline,

397:I may remember you, Scarlet,” he bellowed, backing up when she grabbed her fork and held it out like a dagger. She’d murdered men with less. Even immortals. “But you haven’t haunted me.” Motions stiff, he raised his shirt. Amid the cuts, above his heart, was a tattoo of eyes. Dark eyes. Like hers. “Don’t you see? You…haven’t…haunted…me. ~ Gena Showalter,

398:Inside, they pretended they would dream, but they did not. They sprawled on the living room sofa and Adam studied the tattoo that covered Ronan's back: all the sharp edges that hooked wondrously and fearfully into each other. 'Unguibus et rostro,' Adam said. Ronan put Adam's fingers to his mouth. He was never sleeping again. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

399:I did a piece where I was talking about torture at Abu Ghraib, and I embroidered my hand with the image of the hooded Abu Ghraib prisoners who'd been tortured using a needle and thread. I know that meeting a Holocaust survivor when I was eight and seeing the tattoo on her arm from her time in the camps influenced my piece about Abu Ghraib. ~ Jill Soloway,

400:I was freaking out when Brooks & Dunn were breaking up. I thought 'We play a ton of rodeos, and I thought this was such a cowboy deal, and I don't wear a hat. They might not think I'm a cowboy. That might sound ridiculous to a lot of people, but apparently, it meant something to me. I wound up with a cowboy tattoo from my elbow to my wrist. ~ Ronnie Dunn,

401:Whenever I'd asked him about that key: "It's nothing, it's not the key to anything, a tattoo is just a tattoo, only as permanent as the body." How I swooned when he spoke to me in that vaguely Buddhist, vaguely nihilist accent. In reality it was a shitty tattoo that was a warning to anyone who looked at them that they were not available. ~ Stephanie Danler,

402:I tried to compete with my ill-fitting Calvin Klein button-up shirts that I got at Ross and my imitation mini-ish skirts I got from the DEB. If you’re not familiar with DEB, it’s like the trashy stepsister of Forever 21 that takes F21 out for her twenty-first birthday, pumps her full of Jell-O shots, and convinces her to get a bald-eagle tattoo. ~ Grace Helbig,

403:I wanted to mark her as mine. Like, really fucking mark her, inside and out. Soon she'd be branded with more than just my seed. Wouldn't be long until I took her as an old lady, and then she'd get the tattoo showing everybody she was my property. Until then, I'd make do by fucking her, coming in her, licking and sucking every inch that belonged to me. ~ Nicole Snow,

404:I am concerned about the environment. I love to wear black. I think government is best when it stays out of people's lives and business as much as possible. I love punk rock. I believe in a strong national defense. I have a tattoo. I believe government should always be efficient and accountable. I have lots of gay friends. And yes, I am a Republican. ~ Meghan McCain,

405:The Tattoo. You wouldn't say "charming" -- that was hardly the adjective, but something, there was something to him. If you were deep in self-hate but stained with ego enough that you needed your death-drive diluted, eager for muteness and quiet, your object-envy strong but not untouched by angst, you might succumb to the Tattoo's brutal enticement. ~ China Mi ville,

406:The lesson here is that a giant cupcake tattoo is typically an indication of two things: (1) Sister go her hands on some crystal meth, and (2) Sister smoked that crystal meth and kept smoking it until she had been awake for seven days and then stumbled into a tattoo parlor with a really bad idea that she had quickly sketched on a napkin from Carl's Jr. ~ Laurie Notaro,

407:What do you think it means if someone has a tattoo of Thanatos’s symbol?” “Nothing probably, since a lot of us have tattoos of various symbols.” “You don’t.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. His eyes turned from gray to silver in a heartbeat. I imagined he was remembering how I would know if he had a tattoo hidden somewhere. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

408:But why is it still there? Why is it there at all?" I flipped my palm over several times, shook it, but the faint blue tattoo was still there. "You can see it, right? Like right now, you can see it?" "Yes. It hasn't faded." Seth leaned forward, catching my hand. "Stop shaking it like it's a damn Etch-A-Sketch. That doesn't make them disappear. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

409:I really think if you have a tattoo you have to wonder about what kind of future you have ahead of you. As an employer, I wouldn't employ someone with tattoos as I would wonder what customers would think about them. For me, tattoos are just a way for people to find attention who haven't found another way in their life to achieve it by conventional means. ~ Katie Hopkins,

410:It's hard to say conversation has become a minimal thing, because look at the rise of mobile communications in the last 10 years. It used to be only the President had a mobile phone. Now everyone on earth, even if they have nothing else, they have a cell phone. It's a larger anthropological shift in my mind than even the tattoo age in the United States. ~ Padgett Powell,

411:One of the most recent things we did [in Perceval Press] is a reissue of a fantastic documentary about Russian prison tattoo culture by Alix Lambert called The Mark of Cain. We've done books from Twilight of Empire, that actually has forewords by Howard Zinn and Dennis Kucinich and others, to books of poetry, photography, painting - all kinds of books. ~ Viggo Mortensen,

412:Let us not neglect the forbidden. Let us not sophisticate ourselves out of the cheap thrill and chill of it: the story told for perversity's sake, and all the better for that; the image created because an artist gets tired of reasons sometimes, and wants to dredge up some picture he's been haunted by, and parade it like a new tattoo. I go with it, readily. ~ Clive Barker,

413:Myron put the phone back in his pocket and crossed the path. Dog Collar had his hands jammed into his pants pockets as though he was searching for something that had pissed him off. His shoulders were hunched. He had a tattoo on his neck—Myron couldn’t tell what it was—and he was pulling on his cigarette as though he meant to finish it with one inhale. “Hey, ~ Harlan Coben,

414:he says, “You know, you better put Buttercup on your list of demands, too. I don’t think the concept of useless pets is well known here.” “Oh, they’ll find him a job. Tattoo it on his paw every morning,” I say. But I make a mental note to include him for Prim’s sake. By the time we get to Command, Coin, Plutarch, and all their people have already assembled. ~ Suzanne Collins,

415:Take a company like GM. For years, people were warning its execs that the company was too dependent on big SUVs and trucks, that it was falling behind other companies in innovation. A lack of knowledge wasn't the problem. And mothers and fathers everywhere try to warn their kids that maybe a giant tattoo isn't such a good idea. Good luck in that fight, Knowledge. ~ Dan Heath,

416:It wasn't until Kiffney-Brown, when I met Jason Talbot, that I really thought I might actually have one of those boyfriend kind of stories to tell the next time I got together with my old friends. Jason was smart, good-looking, and seriously on the rebound after his girlfriend at Jackson dumped him for, in his words, 'a juvenile delinquent welder with a tattoo'. ~ Sarah Dessen,

417:I felt bad about myself because certain people were relentlessly attacking me and my reputation. My mom kept saying 'Let it go, Lauren, It doesn't matter' ... [I] realized I had to stop worrying about what other people think. The next day I got a tattoo on my lower back that says 'sticks and stones', because they may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. ~ Lauren Conrad,

418:As for music and my place in it, maybe things are changing a little bit. I know this: a good song is deeper than a tattoo. It'll remind you of the car you're driving and the girl you're going around with and the streets you're cruising. It's better than a photo album. A song is a tattoo that you never lose. 'Ice, Ice Baby,' man, you'll remember that when you're 90. ~ Vanilla Ice,

419:It hurts, right? It's messy and complicated and it's like a tattoo that never ends. A million needles inking something on your heart that isn't even beautiful." "The feeling you have in that moment right as you wake up, before your brain mucks it all up with thoughts and words? That very first feeling is where the truth lives." "Because love always wins. Always. ~ Emma Scott,

420:I love and admire everyone who is different. I love that. The 'jet set' is banal. 'Good taste' is banal. Eccentricity is chic. Good taste paralyzes. But punk or street fashion or a tattoo-covered body, that is interesting to me, and that I love. I didn't go to fashion school. I learned from watching couture shows on TV and reading magazines. That made me dream. ~ Jean Paul Gaultier,

421:I've been locked in my own world for a really long time," he says. I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo..." I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. "And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out. ~ Tammy Falkner,

422:I see a kind of thirst in her expression, the same one I saw when she told me about her brother in the back room of the tattoo parlor. Before the attack simulation I might have called it a thirst for justice, or even revenge, but now I am able to identify it as a thirst for blood. And even as it frightens me, I understand it. Which should probably frighten me even more. ~ Veronica Roth,

423:I believe everything you say," Tessa said with a smile, her hands creeping down from his waist to his weapons belt. Her fingers closed on the hilt of a dagger, and she yanked it from the belt, smiling as he looked down at her in surprise. She kissed his cheek and stepped back. "After all," she said, "you weren't lying about that tattoo of the dragon of Wales, were you? ~ Cassandra Clare,

424:That night, Ronan dreamt of his tattoo. He had gotten the spreading, intricate tattoo only months before, a little to irritate Declan, a little to see if it was really as bad as everyone said, and definitely so everyone who glimpsed the hooks of it had fair warning. It was full of things from his head, beaks and claws and flowers and vines stuffed into screaming mouths. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

425:I smiled and rolled onto my side, bringing my arms around her. She wiggled against me, letting me spoon her, and I swept some sweaty hair away from her neck to kiss beneath her ear. “How do you like your new tattoo?” “I love it. It makes me want to be a bird.” “You already are a bird.” “I don’t get to fly.” “You fly all the time. Haven’t you noticed? ~ Rachael Wade,

426:Mattia was right: the days had slipped over her skin like a solvent, one after the other, each removing a very thin layer of pigment from her tattoo, and from both of their memories. The outlines, like the circumstances, were still there, black and well delineated, but the colors had merged together until they faded into a dull, uniform tonality, a neutral absence of meaning. ~ Paolo Giordano,

427:He ran his hand over his chest and stopped above his heart where a black tattoo of an ornate skeleton key was inked on his skin.She had its other half-a lock in the shape of a heart with a keyhole in the center-tattooed on her lower stomach beside her right hip bone. Laying on top of her, he'd slide down to kiss her breasts and their two tattoos would come together. Lock and key. ~ Kelli Maine,

428:She was debating calling the lab and pushing for her tattoo when Peabody poked her head in. “We got—Hey, doughnuts.” “You’ll get yours. What have we got?” “Marc Tuluz. Want him in here or the lounge?” “Here’s a puzzler,” Eve began. “If we’re in the lounge interviewing him, how many doughnuts will be in this box upon our return?” “I’ll bring him in here. ~ J D Robb,

429:I watched her index finger trace the barbed wire tattoo that wrapped around my bicep. "Was this to signify anything?" "Not really." Even a gentle touch from her made my pulse jump. "I got it after I graduated high school. I was so pissed that my parents were gone. Thought I was badass." She smiled and kissed my chest. "You just made love to me on a Harley. You are totally badass. ~ Lisa Kessler,

430:But he stood there, his eyes riveted on that tattoo. She looked over her shoulder again. “It’s called a tramp stamp,” she said. “I got it when I was fifteen, to be cool.” “I know what it’s called. I just can’t make out what it is.” “It’s vines in the shape of my name, and I’m not showing you any more of it. Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” “Right,” he said, going off to his toolbox. ~ Robyn Carr,

431:But I understand now what Tori said about her tattoo representing a fear she overcame-a reminder of where she was, as well as a reminder of who she is now. Maybe there is a way to honor my old life as I embrace my new one. "yes," I say. "Three of these flying birds." I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight-toward my heart. One for each member of the family I left behind. ~ Veronica Roth,

432:Images cluttered the pages, but one tattoo set her nerves on edge; inky black eyes surrounded by wings likes shadows coalescing. Mine. The thought, the need, the reaction was overpowering. Leslie looked up. "This one." she said. "I need this one. But the image is more than just tempting art, and it draws her into a world of shadows and desire- into the world of Faerie. ~ Melissa Marr,

433:I blew it.” “How’d you do that?” she asked. I gave her a quick rundown of all my most memorable moments, including the mascara fiasco. “Like he noticed,” Bird said when I was finished. “Oh, he noticed. I’ve never had a guy look at me that hard before. He was probably trying to figure out if it was a birthmark, a tattoo, or if I was preparing for Halloween a few months early. ~ Rachel Hawthorne,

434:I don’t care what color your hair is, if you’re pale or tan, if you have makeup on or just woke up all I care about is that when I look at you, you always look back and see me.  You’re beautiful inside and out and if you wanted to tattoo all that pretty white skin from head to toe I would be honored to put it there for you but if not I’ll take you all smooth and milky white any chance I get. ~ Jay Crownover,

435:I love tattoos on women,” said Henry. “Although the last one I saw was on Sally Mae, a friend of mine at the nursing home. Her tattoo was supposed to be a clover-leaf, but damn if it didn’t look more like a beanstalk. Course, the thing must have grown over fifty years.” Tiny laughed and started the engine. Paige rubbed her forehead. “God, I’m not going to even ask where that was located. ~ Kristen Middleton,

436:I had never seen her this way before, and I wondered why until I realized it was the tattoo; I saw, finally, there was magic at work here that was darker and deeper than I had imagined, that the tattoo was like putting a pair of spectacles on a child with poor vision. I stared up at the camp hill, my heart in my throat, and wondered what everything would look like, now that I could see. ~ Genevieve Valentine,

437:I think of her smile, her raven hair, her violet eyes. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her slender limbs wrapped around my body. Her tattoo. Her laughter. Her courage. Her words. We’re soul mates, Thomas. You’re like my favorite song. You have to talk. You can’t live like this. You’re holding on too tight. You remind me of some kind of fire-breather. Layla Robinson, the fire-breather. My fire-breather. ~ Saffron A Kent,

438:This is so cool,” I said loudly as Dad walked away. “Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?” “He’s a she,” Mom said. “Is she hot? Cause I’m still young, you know. My sexual identity isn’t fully formed.” “Your father can’t hear you anymore, Maya.” Mom sighed. “Poor guy. Why can’t you be a normal teenage daughter who’d sooner die than say the words ‘sexual identity’ in front of him? ~ Kelley Armstrong,

439:With my hair in a low ponytail that did a decent job of hiding the healing tattoo, I almost looked like a respectable girlfriend— which only went to show how deceptive appearances were, seeing as I was part of a crazy scheme to bring my last boyfriend back from the dead. Mead, Richelle (2010-05-18). Spirit Bound: A Vampire Academy Novel (p. 68). Penguin Young Readers Group. Kindle Edition. ~ Richelle Mead,

440:I do want to get married. It's a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos--you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, 'I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I'll take a thorny rose and a "MOM" anchor, please. No, not that one--the big one. ~ Sloane Crosley,

441:But the pain of a tattoo is something to which you have to surrender because once you’ve started, you cannot really go back or you’ll be left with something not only permanent but unfinished. I enjoy the irrevocability of that circumstance. You have to allow yourself this pain. You have chosen this suffering, and at the end of it, your body will be different. Maybe your body will feel more like yours. ~ Roxane Gay,

442:He takes my right hand and places it palm down on his chest. Then he traces around it with the pen, craning his neck to see, giving himself double chins. 'What are you doing?' He shifts my hand away and starts scratching out letters on his skin. 'I worked out a tattoo - if I had one.' I look at what he's done. He's got the outline of my hand over his heart and in it he's written, Her. ~ Kirsty Eagar,

443:Beck closes his eyes. Forgets. Zones out so far he reaches the place deep inside where his own music lies. Little notes clamouring to be free. His own notes. His own creations. His fingers tap a tattoo against his other clammy palm. If people cut him open, they'd never accuse him of being empty. He's not a shell of a pianist - he's a composer. Cut his chest and see his heart beat with a song all his own. ~ C G Drews,

444:I need to know you believe me when I say I love you. That is all." "I believe everything you say," Tessa said with a smile, her hands creeping doen from his waist to his weapons belt. Her fingers closed on the hilt of the dagger, and she yanked it from the belt, smiling as he looked down at her in surprise. "After all," she said, "you weren't lying about the tattoo of the dragon of Wales, were you? ~ Cassandra Clare,

445:I know California isn't a real destination. You can't get there from New Jersey, not simply by following a line drawn on a map. The process of arrival is more subtle and complex. It involves acts of contrition. You must appease the gods. You must find novel forms of penance. You must tattoo your children and look at the wonder. It's about conjuring and awakening and intuitions you wish you never had. ~ Kate Braverman,

446:Yes you're getting your tattoo." I threw my arms around Dad's neck. "Thank you!" "Hey," Mom said. "I'm the one who had to persuade him it wasn't turning his little girl into a streetwalker." "I never said that," Dad said. "No?" I said. "Cool. Cause I've decided to skip the paw print. I'm thinking of a tramp stamp with flames that says 'Hot in Here.' No wait. Arrows. For directionally challenged guys ~ Kelley Armstrong,

447:I need to know you believe me when I say I love you. That is all." "I believe everything you say," Tessa said with a smile, her hands creeping doen from his waist to his weapons belt. Her fingers closed on the hilt of the dagger, and she yanked it from the belt, smiling as he looked down at her in surprise. "After all," she said, "you weren't lying about the tattoo of the dragon of Wales, were you? ~ Cassandra Clare,

448:The bed was swathed in black cotton; turning her head, Danika saw that she was draped by a half-clothed man. He possessed skin of chocolate and honey, taut muscle and ripped sinew. No hair marred his chest, but there was a menacing butterfly tattoo that stretched from one shoulder to the other and up his neck. Menacing butterfly—two words that could be used together to describe only one man. Reyes. “Oh, ~ Gena Showalter,

449:There's never the right last moment. Even if you get to say good-bye, even if you get to say "I love you", even if you jump off a plane and get a tattoo and hug everyone you've ever met right before you drift off with a smile, it is never the right last moment. There is always more to say, somewhere to go, something to remember. Another discussion, another fight. There is always supposed to be another day. ~ Pamela Ribon,

450:Everybody in America is a part of this big herd of cattle being led to the marketplace, not to be sold, which is usual with cattle, but to do the buying. And everyone is branded. You see the brands - Nike, Puma, Coke - all over their bodies. Pretty soon you'll go to a family and say, "$100,000 if we can tattoo Pepsi on your child's forehead, and we'll have it removed when he's twenty-one. A hundred grand." ~ George Carlin,

451:Kaldar almost never stops and thinks about the consequences of his actions. Something is fun or not fun, and my brother’s fun often lands him in interesting places such as jails or castles belonging to California robber barons. Where other people see certain death, my brother sees an opportunity for a hilarious, thrilling adventure. But when I got the tattoo, Kaldar warned me that marrying her was a bad idea. ~ Ilona Andrews,

452:One of my Instructors at the Covenant has a tattoo of it on his arm.” His lips pursed. “Minister Telly has one on his arm, too.” “How in the world do you know that?” We cut across the frost- covered lawn to one of the covered walkways connecting smaller buildings to the main one. “Have you been sneaking into his room and cuddling with him, too?” “Don’t be jealous. You’re my only cuddle bunny. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

453:Every one of those old songs like "What's My Age Again?" and "All the Small Things" is like a tattoo or a scrapbook or an old photograph. There are just songs that define certain moments in your life. Everyone has a song that got them through a bad breakup or they put on and it made them feel like they wanted to go out and kick the world's ass with their friends on a weekend. Those songs still feel like that to me. ~ Mark Hoppus,

454:Pain transcends through an invisible crack in your body and slithers inside you. It travels in your vessels, befriends every organ and leaves a great impression as a souvenir. A shaped scar, a burning bruise or a deep wound. This souvenir is a constant reminder of the excruciating past. The brutal wound throbs and it reminds you that the pain has not yet set you free. The tattoo still burns. The tattoo always burns. ~ Kanza Javed,

455:Prophet reached out and touched the bracelet. Smiled. Then moved it aside to rub the tattoo. “You know Dean gave this to me, right?” “He made a vague reference to it.” “The guy who gave it to Dean told him to pass it along. And the guy before that too. It’s supposed to stop when it gets to the right person.” Tom raised a brow. “So that’s me?” “I don’t think anyone else got a tattoo of it, so I’m thinking you win.” Tom ~ S E Jakes,

456:With how you were reacting to that glamour, I'll have to keep an eye on you. Otherwise the next time I see you, you'll probably have a Doctor Who tramp stamp. For one awkward second, I realized that the only way Suzume could possibly look hotter to me was if she had a tattoo of the TARDIS on the middle of her lower back. I was profoundly grateful in that moment that the kitsune were unable to read minds. ~ M L Brennan,

457:Thoughts of moonlight and silken hair evaporated in a black bolt of fury. Kaz saw Inej tug on the sleeve of her left forearm, where the Menagerie tattoo had once been. He had the barest inkling of what she'd endured there, but he knew what it was to feel helpless, and Van Eck had managed to make her feel that way again. Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch. ~ Leigh Bardugo,

458:Who is Aaron?” “He and I own a tattoo place,” Cooper said, wrapping me in his arms. “I shelled out the cash and he’s the artist. Known him since middle school. Solid guy and he’ll make sure you’re safe.” I wasn’t sure what my face did, but a smiling Cooper caressed my cheek. “He’s not scary. Yes, he’s sporting a snake up his neck and a shaved head, but the guy’s the real sensitive type. Probably writes poetry. ~ Bijou Hunter,

459:If you guys want to get a MOM tattoo and save a little money, just get two letters done. Get about a one-inch capital M tattooed on each cheek of your ass in pink and brown ink. Then when you bend over, it says "Mom." Also, later on if you're havin' sex with your girlfriend, and her parents are in the next room, when you finish up you can just lie on your back, draw your legs up to your chest and silently say, 'Wow! ~ George Carlin,

460:What did you put on her?” I ask. He scowls at me and says, “Shut up.” He points to a sign on the wall that says, Tattoos are as individual as the people who get them. Then he points to another that says, One man’s ink is another man’s purpose in life. Then he points to a third: We do not tattoo drunk clients. Then he points to a roll of duct tape below a sign that says, Keep whining and I’ll use it. “You are not amusing,” I say. ~ Tammy Falkner,

461:The brand-new tattoo on his ring finger was still red around the edges. Ty couldn’t take his eyes off it. Zane had worn a gold one in the past, and they’d both had silver even if it had been fake. Ty had also lost or utterly destroyed two engagement rings, so Zane had refused to buy him a wedding ring, knowing it would just get crushed, cut off, or cost Ty his finger. The only solution, Zane had decided, was to tattoo it on. Right ~ Abigail Roux,

462:A tattoo does that, it makes you think about your body like it's this special suit that you can put on or take off whenever you want and a new name if it's cool enough does the same thing. To have both at once is power. It's the kind of power as all those superheroes who have secret identities get from being able to change back and forth from one person into another. No matter who you think he is, man, the dude is always somebody else. ~ Russell Banks,

463:It occurred to me that my cheek was probably right over his tattoo. Without thinking, I lifted my face and tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt. This time, the stark black-and-gold mark wasn't hidden. No need for that spell anymore, I guess. Still, I covered it with my palm. Archer's hands clutched reflexively on my waist. Our eyes met. "It doesn't burn this time," I whispered. His breathing was ragged. "Beg to differ, Mercer. ~ Rachel Hawkins,

464:Why do you have Pete’s name tattooed on your neck?” I ask. He grins widely. “When we were twelve, our dad still couldn’t tell us apart. So, he decided to tattoo our names on our necks.” He smiles even more broadly. “When he sat us down in the chair, he asked which one I was, and I said Pete. And then he put my name on Pete’s neck. Our mom was so angry. You have no idea.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I kind of like it.” “I do, too. ~ Tammy Falkner,

465:I have never pictured my own wedding. I do not want to get married. It's a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos--you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into at tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, "I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I'll take a thorny rose and a 'MOM' anchor, please. No, not that one--the big one. ~ Sloane Crosley,

466:He trains hard, I can tell. That is not a body that you get from just diet and good genes. That’s a body you lift heavy iron for. Dark sweatpants hang off his slim waist, a perfectly dipped V dancing down his pelvis. There’s a tattoo going over that area too though, in big Old English font. My eyes dart to his left rib cage where a paragraph is inked in cursive. He also has two full sleeves of tattoos—no color, just grey and white—and what looks ~ Amo Jones,

467:The thralls went to work, cutting through the wheat like it was wrapping paper. In a matter of minutes, they had reaped the entire field. "Amazing!" said Red. "Hooray!" said Tattoo. The other thralls cheered and hooted. "We can finally have water!" said one. "I can eat lunch!" said another. "I have needed to pee for five hundred years!" said a third. "We can kill these trespassers now!" said a fourth. I hated that guy. ~ Rick Riordan,

468:He wore an old T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, and his lean muscles moved under coppery skin. He had a tattoo on the inside of his forearm--a small one that looked like raven wings. When he turned around, I caught the faint edge of another tattoo on his shoulder peeking from under his shirt. He glanced over, like he’d sensed me looking. When I didn’t turn away, he grinned and mouthed something I didn’t catch, probably didn’t want to. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

469:I don't think there are any songs that I've written in the past that I now disagree. It's kind of like tattoos; I would never regret a tattoo, because it was how I felt at that time in my life. I don't think I've ever said anything that I would take back. So far, so good! I would probably change the music, or change how I sing it, maybe do it a little bit cooler, or a bit more grown-up. But I don't think that there are any lyrics that I regret. ~ Emeli Sande,

470:Snagging the ball from Pietr, Derek leaned in and snapped, “What? You think you’re a bad-ass because you’ve got a tattoo?” Derek body-checked Pietr with a force that would have sent anybody else onto the floor. Pietr wobbled but didn’t even move his feet to compensate. A minute later Derek skidded across the gym floor. Pietr was methodically dribbled and passed the ball between them. I saw him mouth the phrase “That’s why I’m a bad-ass! ~ Shannon Delany,

471:Tattoos are time stamps. That's why I don't believe in regrettable tattoos. I mean, shit, I've seen some pretty ugly ones and I'm glad I don't have any of those. But, really, as long as your tattoo looks nice and it aesthetically pleasing, then why regret it? It symbolizes a moment in your life in a world where everything passes us by in the blink of an eye. I think it's good to have these reminders to bring you back. Make you remember, reflect. ~ Karina Halle,

472:I don’t typically read books that appeal to women who saw The Notebook, wear things from the Victoria’s Secret PINK collection, or happen to be my mother-in-law. I like depressed German authors who write stories about people whose lives start out bad and then get worse. The most pop I’ve ever delved into was that whole Dragon Tattoo book, and even then, I had to chew off the cover for fear that people in book clubs would start trying to recruit me. ~ Jenny Mollen,

473:The photos showed a light-complexioned black man with cornrows, a prison tattoo around his neck—ragged dashes and a caption that said, “Fill to dotted line”—and three or four facial scars, along with a nasty jagged scar on his scalp. A photo taken from his right side demonstrated the effects of being shot in the ear with a handgun with no medical insurance. Some intern had sewn him up and sent him on his way, and now his ear looked like a pork rind. ~ John Sandford,

474:He felt a chill on the back of his neck. It was self-doubt, the black beetle that had pursued him all his life, pinching at him, poisoning his every success, whispering in his ear about his flaws and his failures and his unworthiness. He hadn't felt it in months, but the pinprick of its claws was instantly familiar. They informed him with their tiny tattoo that he had almost certainly done something immensely, irrevocably, and unforgivably stupid. ~ Megan Whalen Turner,

475:Here is the first guest, a young woman in a short blue dress. Her face is a trifle on the vacant side but she’s got a knockout bod. Somewhere inside that dress, Hodges knows, there will be the sort of tattoo now referred to as a tramp-stamp. Maybe two or three. The men in the audience whistle and stomp their feet. The women in the audience applaud more gently. Some roll their eyes. This is the kind of woman you don’t like to catch your husband staring at. ~ Stephen King,

476:Jesus, you think that was once human?" Cal questions in disbelief. Luke kicks the arm that had fallen to the side earlier and points to the piece of human looking skin still attached to the otherwise gray flesh. The skin is tattered and stretched, the obvious remains of a blue ribbon tattoo with the name 'Marty' still clearly visible. "Unless 'Marty' stopped for a tat on his way from butt fuck nowhere in the universe, then yeah, I tend to agree with Bix. ~ Michelle Bryan,

477:She curled her fingers into his chest instead of complying. “You’re an incredibly handsome male,” she said. “Perfect bone structure, pure blond hair, eyes so blue they should be impossible. Your only ‘flaw’ is this tattoo.” She traced the three jagged lines on his right biceps. “It’s an echo of the markings on your alpha’s face.” He gave a short nod. “A symbol of absolute loyalty.” Her lips parted. “Knowing that just makes you even more dangerously beautiful. ~ Nalini Singh,

478:That's what love is, Ben. Love is sacrifice. I got this tattoo the day I felt that kind of love for your father. And I chose it because if I had to describe love that day, I would say it felt like my two favourite things, amplified and thrown together. Like my favourite poetic line mixed into the lyrics of my favourite song. You'll know, Ben. When you're willing to give up the things that mean the most to you just to see someone else happy, that's real love ~ Colleen Hoover,

479:As though to fortify me she took the letter out and placed it on the table between us. Its pages were folded, yellowed like old skin, the faint tattoo of aged ink that had seeped onto the blank side visible to me. Just like me, I thought, looking at the letter. The life I had lived was folded, only a blank page exposed to the world, emptiness wrapped round the days of my life; faint traces of it could be discerned, but only if you looked closely, very closely. ~ Tan Twan Eng,

480:Despite the cold outside, she was wearing a cropped white shirt and tight dark blue jeans that sat low, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart on her hip. Her hair was bleached white-blond with about an inch of silver-sprinkled dark roots showing. Her mascara had run and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked drip-dried, like she'd been walking in the rain, though there hadn't been rain for days. She smelled like cigarette smoke and river water. ~ Sarah Addison Allen,

481:It is going to be too easy for things to start feeling normal—especially if you are someone who is not directly impacted by his actions. So keep reminding yourself: This is not normal. Write it on a Post-It note and stick it on your refrigerator, hire a skywriter once a month, tattoo it on your ass. Because a Klan-backed misogynist internet troll is going to be delivering the next State of the Union address. And that is not normal. It is fucked up. ~ John Oliver,

482:What is that?” I asked, squinting at the vertical symbols. “It’s Hebrew,” Travis smiled. “What does it mean?” “It says, ‘I belong to my beloved, and my beloved is mine.” My eyes darted to his. “You weren’t happy with just one tattoo, you had to get two?” “It’s something I always said I would do when I met The One. I met you…I went and got the tats.” His smile faded when he saw my expression. “You’re pissed, aren’t you?” he said, pulling his shirt down. ~ Jamie McGuire,

483:As quickly as they had advanced, the Comanches retreated. Loretta, buffeted by the wind, stood alone on the flats until they rode from sight. When she could no longer hear the tattoo of their horses’ hooves, she held up her hands and stared at the smears of crimson that stained her skin. Hunter’s blood. The ultimate sacrifice. And he had made it without a second’s hesitation, out of love for her. The pain that knowledge caused her ran too deep for tears. ~ Catherine Anderson,

484:I don't know many rules to live by,' he'd said. 'But here's one. It's simple. Don't put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles--drug or tattoo--and...no inessential penises either.' 'Inessential penises?' Karou had repeated, delighted with the phrase in spite of her grief. 'Is there any such thing as an essential one?' 'When an essential one comes along, you'll know,' he'd replied. ~ Laini Taylor,

485:... how easy conversation can be when no-one is in their right mind. In the olden days, when people only had alcohol to fall back on, talking to a girl would involve all kinds of eye-contact, the buying of drinks, hours of formal questioning about books and films, parents and siblings. But these days it’s possible to segue almost immediately from ‘what’s your name?’ to ‘show me your tattoo’, say, or ‘what underwear are you wearing?’ and surely this has got to be progress. ~ David Nicholls,

486:You're my lifeline," he whispers and kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his. With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart- in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens, his heart is beating a frantic pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; his jaw tense, his teeth clenched. I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He's letting me touch him. And it's like all the air in my lungs has vaporized- gone. ~ E L James,

487:Royce turned to Hadrian. “It’s supposed to make them look tough, but all it really does is make it easy to identify them as thieves for the rest of their lives. Painting a red hand on everyone is pretty stupid when you think about it.” “That tattoo is supposed to be a hand?” Hadrian asked. “I thought it was a little red chicken. But now that you mention it, a hand does make more sense.” Royce looked back at Will and tilted his head to one side. “Does kinda look like a chicken. ~ Michael J Sullivan,

488:Will it fade? The tattoo?” “No.” “Why would you want it on your shoulder like that, something that will forever be there?” “As I recall, I was quite drunk at the time and thought it a good idea.” “Why a dragon?” “Symbolic. We all face dragons in one way or another, at one time or another.” “So it’s not a good thing.” “Depends whether or not we slay them. It all made perfect sense when I was drunk.” “Did you slay yours?” “I thought so at the time. ~ Lorraine Heath,

489:If you start thinking about who's going to read it [you're writing], or what grade will you get, or is it going to win that award, or are you going to get into this graduate program, you're blocking the light, and the light is that guidance and love we get when we open up our hearts and are guided by our higher selves, or God, or the Buddha Lupe [Buddha and the Virgin of Guadalupe fused together, as they are in the tattoo on Sandra's right arm], or whatever you believe in, or love. ~ Sandra Cisneros,

490:I don't know many rules to live by,' he'd said. 'But here's one. It's simple. Don't put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles--drug or tattoo--and...no inessential penises either.' 'Inessential penises?' Karou had repeated, delighted with the phrase in spite of her grief. 'Is there any such thing as an essential one?' 'When an essential one comes along, you'll know,' he'd replied. ~ Laini Taylor,

491:Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know. He shakes his head. “Tell me,” I prompt. “I’ve been locked in my own world for a really long time,” he says. “I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo…” I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. “And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were each locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out. ~ Tammy Falkner,

492:Royce turned to Hadrian. “It’s supposed to make them look tough, but all it really does is make it easy to identify them as thieves for the rest of their lives. Painting a red hand on everyone is pretty stupid when you think about it.” “That tattoo is supposed to be a hand?” Hadrian asked. “I thought it was a little red chicken. But now that you mention it, a hand does make more sense.” Royce looked back at Will and tilted his head to one side. “Does kinda look like a chicken. ~ Michael J Sullivan,

493:Amber emerged from behind the screen. But it was not Amber who stood before her. Instead, it was a smudge-faced slave girl. A tattoo sprawled across one wind-reddened cheek. A crusty sore encompassed half her upper lip and her left nostril. Her dirty hair was pulling free from a scruffy braid. Her shirt was rough cotton and her bare feet peeked out from under her patched skirts. A dirty bandage bound one of her ankles. Rough canvas work gloves had replaced the lacy ones Amber habitually wore. ~ Robin Hobb,

494:Having nothing left to fidget with, i rested against the counter and tried not to stare at Noah. But i wanted to. He had his jacket off and his black t-shirt fit him perfectly. Today, during lunch, Grace had tunred her nose up when she spotted the bottom of his tattoo on his right bicep. I'd silently agreed with Lila's comment-yum. My inides had melted when Noah produced his wicked grinand gazed at me like i was naked. Luke used to give me butterflies. Noah spawned mutant pterodactyls. ~ Katie McGarry,

495:How can I be sure? Tell me something only you would know.” There went his hands to his hair again. And when that frustrated him, he did the fist thing. So far,he was very convincing. “You want trivia right now?” “Yes!” Why did he always make things so difficult? Add another check to the “He’s probably Gabe” list. “Like what?” I had to stop looking at his head. “I don’t know.What tattoo do I have on my left boob?” “I thought you said to tel you something only I would know. ~ Gwen Hayes,

496:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made life wonderful, it’s made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,

497:To tattoo was to understand that people in all their confusing mystery wanted only to claim their bodies as their own site, on which to build a beacon, or raise a rafter, or nail up a manifesto, warning, celebrating, telling of themselves. It was to understand that in order for a body to be reborn and re-yoked, first it needed to be destroyed and freed. It was emancipation and it was slavery, the ashes and the phoenix. It was beauty and destruction, it was that old trick. That was the contract. ~ Sarah Hall,

498:You may be right. I think it was round about Christmas when I got my Welsh dragon tattoo.” At that, Tessa had to try very hard not to blush. “How did that happen?” Will made an airy gesture with his hand. “I was drunk…” “Nonsense. You were never really drunk.” “On the contrary—in order to learn how to pretend to be inebriated, once must become inebriated at least once, as a reference point. Six-Fingered Nigel had been at the mulled cider—“ “You can’t mean there’s truly a Six-Fingered Nigel? ~ Cassandra Clare,

499:He wasn’t sure who moved first, her or him. There was the thunk of her bag sliding down her arm to hit the floor, followed by the muted clank of her keys a split-second later, then he was pulling her into his arms and she was lifting her face to kiss him. She tasted of salt and fresh air and life and he spread his hands across the small of her back and pulled her closer, need an urgent tattoo drumming through his blood. She felt so good, so strong and supple, and they fit together perfectly. ~ Sarah Mayberry,

500:Come on, baby. You don’t remember me? You should. Your work is right here.” The girl turned around and sat up on her elbows, spreading her legs, she revealed tattooed butterfly wings on both sides of her inner thighs. “I remember the work. I don’t remember you,” King said stiffly. “Do you want me to finish this fucking tattoo or not?” “Yes, but I want your big cock first,” she cooed. “That’s not gonna fucking happen.” “Is it because of that ugly skinny bitch? She doesn’t even have any fucking tits! ~ T M Frazier,

501:Blake and Beckett touched tattoos in greeting. Beckett turned his other arm over to show Blake his bandage. Blake lifted one eyebrow, and Beckett peeled the tape back to reveal his new Sorry tattoo, a perfect replica of his brother’s. “Cole got one too,” Beckett said. Blake looked off in the distance as his eyes filled with emotion. Beckett pulled Blake’s face back to look at him and held it in his hand. “Never alone, bro. You’re never alone as long as I live.” Blake nodded. “Thanks. ~ Debra Anastasia,

502:From all we have said about plotting in general it should be evident that even in those modern plots in which events happen by laws not immediately visible, as when, for instance, the tattooed man in the circus reveals in the course of a whimsical conversation that he has on his chest a tattoo of the little girl now looking at him, a child he has never before seen, or as when, in Isak Dinesen, a decorous old nun turns abruptly into a monkey--there must be some rational or poetically persuasive basis. ~ John Gardner,

503:Yes. I kept the magnet Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes. I kept the journals. No, I didn’t tell you about my tattoo. Yes, I probably should have. And yes, I still love him. And I’ll love him until I die, because he was a huge part of my life. And yes, I’m sure that hurts you. But none of that gave you the right to do what you did to me. Even if you would have walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would not have the right to lay a hand on me, you goddamn son of a bitch! ~ Colleen Hoover,

504:over his body. The skin of the thorax that had been removed was draped over his legs. On it was a large tattoo of a Viking. A small Nazi swastika was tattooed in the center of his forehead. “Why a Viking?” Jack asked. “Hello, Jack, dear,” Laurie said brightly. “Have you finished your first case already? Have you met Agent Gordon Tyrrell? How was your ride in this morning?” “Just fine,” Jack said. Since the questions had come so quickly he only responded to the last. “Jack insists on riding a bike around the ~ Robin Cook,

505:You may be right. I think it was round about Christmas when I got my Welsh dragon tattoo.” At that, Tessa had to try very hard not to blush. “How did that happen?” Will made an airy gesture with his hand. “I was drunk…” “Nonsense. You were never really drunk.” “On the contrary—in order to learn how to pretend to be inebriated, once must become inebriated at least once, as a reference point. Six-Fingered Nigel had been at the mulled cider—“ “You can’t mean there’s truly a Six-Fingered Nigel? ~ Cassandra Clare,

506:Jackson turned his left hand up and gazed down at the simple black tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He was silent for a long time, then looked up and met my eyes. He said, "You're an avid reader. You know the meaning of semicolon." I frowned. "It's when the author could have ended a sentence but chose not to." "Exactly." "I don't understand." Jackson looked deep into my eyes. His smile might have been the saddest thing I'd ever seen. He said softly, "I'm the author, and the sentence is my life. ~ J T Geissinger,

507:Sometimes entire families participate unconsciously in a culture of self-dramatization. The kids fuel the tanks, the grown-ups arm the phasers, the whole starship lurches from one spine-tingling episode to another. And the crew knows how to keep it going. If the level of drama drops below a certain threshold, someone jumps in to amp it up. Dad gets drunk, Mom gets sick, Janie shows up for church with an Oakland Raiders tattoo. It's more fun than a movie. And it works: Nobody gets a damn thing done. Sometimes ~ Steven Pressfield,

508:Her voice wobbled, and he knew tears were a moment away. "I want it to be so amazing that no one even tries to figure out what the scars are." Trent reached over the counter and grabbed a tissue box, putting it next to her. A full-back piece, his favorite kind of tattoo. Nothing too concrete from the client, meaning he could just let his creative juices flow. That was the sweet spot where he did his best work. "It just so happens that amazing tattoos are my specialty, so no worries there." -Trent & Harper ~ Scarlett Cole,

509:Right," I scoffed, "Alpha Yam Ergo." Adrian nodded solemnly. "A very old and prestigious society." "I've never heard of them," said the girl who'd claimed the first shirt. "They don't let many people in," he said. In white paint, he wrote his fake fraternity's initials: AYE. "Isn't that what pirates say?" asked one of the girls. "Well, the Alpha Yams have nautical origins," he explained. To my horror he began painting a pirate skeleton riding a motorcycle. "Oh, no," I groaned. "Not the tattoo." "It's our logo," he said. ~ Richelle Mead,

510:Where did you get your tat?” “Aaron’s shop. You want to get a tat?” he asked, grinning as if this was hilarious. “I have one,” I said, rolling the ball into the gutter. “It’s not finished though.” “How come?” “My brother interrupted the tattoo and I never had the money to get it done again.” “No, I meant how come you’re such a bad bowler? Is it genetic?” he asked. “Like do you come from a long line of people who can’t make a ball roll in a straight line?” “You’re hilarious.” “I try, Pixie Dust. ~ Bijou Hunter,

511:This outfit makes me want to get my nose pierced and spend some time at the tattoo parlor,” I said, frowning at the clothing. “Hey, we can make that happen,” Nessa, joked. “That’s very funny, Nessa,” I said as I pulled out the knee high black combat boots and black fishnet stockings to match. “It is better than the plaid cowboy shirt and Wranglers they got me,” Noah said, as he held up the outfit complete with worn leather cowboy boots. “Oh, Nessa, we will pay you back dearly for this,” I said sarcastically. ~ Andrea Heltsley,

512:I loved county fairs in the South. It was hard to believe that anything could be so consistently cheap and showy and vulgar year after year. each year I thought that at least one class act would force its way into a booth or sideshow, but I was always mistaken. The lure of the fair was the perfect harmony of its joyous decadence, its burned-out dishonored vulgarity, its riot of colors and smells, its jangling, tawdry music, and its wicked glimpse into the outlaw life of hucksters, tattoo parlors, monstrous freaks, and strippers. ~ Pat Conroy,

513:I don’t know many rules to live by,” he’d said. “But here’s one. It’s simple. Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… no inessential penises, either.” “Inessential penises?” Karou had repeated, delighted with the phrase in spite of her grief. “Is there any such thing as an essential one?” “When an essential one comes along, you’ll know,” he’d replied. “Stop squandering yourself, child. Wait for love.” “Love. ~ Laini Taylor,

514:I force my eyes upward and look at Mia for the first time. She's still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Bryn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that's always been devastating to me. Her hair, long and dark, is down now, swimming damply against her bare shoulders, which are still milky white and covered with the constellation of freckles that I used to kiss. The scar on her left shoulder, the one that used to be an angry red weld is silvery pink now. Almost like the latest rage in tattoo accessories. Almost pretty. ~ Gayle Forman,

515:I want you more than I want air,” he says. My heart starts to beat a tattoo rhythm in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up that damn finger. “But I can’t act on my feelings. Not while I don’t even know your name.” He takes a deep breath and waits for me. I can’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to say even if I could. “I want to take you to bed and make love to you all night long.” He cocks a grin at me. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers. Teeth.” He makes a circle motion with his hands. “Should I go on? Or do you understand? ~ Tammy Falkner,

516:I’m not Jet so I can’t write you a song that makes you understand how important you are to me.  I’m not Nash so I can’t find a building and paint you a mural that makes see that it all starts and ends with you for me. I’m a tattoo artist, I’ll probably always be a tattoo artist (...) Here’s my heart Shaw.  You have it in your hands and I promise you’re the first and last person to ever touch it.  You need to be careful with it because it’s far more fragile than I ever thought and if you try and give it back I’m not taking it. ~ Jay Crownover,

517:I want a tattoo that looks like this butterfly.” I show him the picture, and he grins. “Damn, she’s good,” he says. He keeps smiling. “Where do you want it?” “That spot on my chest.” I rub the place over my heart, which I know is bare. He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “The one you’ve been saving?” “Yeah.” I scratch my head and wish he’d stop prying. “Sure. I’ll draw it up tonight.” He sends the picture to himself. “Can you ink it tomorrow?” He nods. “You’re sure, aren’t you?” He grins. A smile tips the corners of my lips. “Yes. ~ Tammy Falkner,

518:He peeled out the banknotes from inside a billfold held on a chain and paid her. Andy Jackson’s eyes were X’d out. For an edgy instant she wondered if his money was counterfeit. She also noted his missing middle finger, and a skull tattoo decorated his sinewy wrist. She put down the card key. “You’re in Seven, straight down the courtyard.” He slid the card key off, but it fell to the floor. "Oops. I haven’t gotten used to this high gravity.” “I beg your pardon?” “Nothing. I’m just punchy from all the driving. ~ Ed Lynskey,

519:He's wearing black jeans and an amazingly hot black biker jacket over a white T-shirt.His normally casual bedhead is not perfectly styled bedhead. He also has light blue skin, but his tattoo are understated, just dots in a straight line that go ear from ear, crossing the bridge of his nose. He props himself against the doorway, and my head goes blank. "I like the viney things you have going on there." I clear my throat because it has suddenly gone dry. "Thanks. You look very..." I trail off because i almost said elf-a-licious ~ Leah Rae Miller,

520:As the two held stares, it was hard not to feel part of a unique club that no one would ever volunteer to be associated with. Membership wasn’t sought or desirable or something to crow about . . . but it was real and it was powerful: Survivors of similar wrecks could see the horrors of those jagged shoals in the eyes of others. It was like recognizing like. It was two people with the same tattoo on their insides, the divide of a trauma that separated them from the rest of the planet unexpectedly bringing a pair of weary souls closer together. ~ J R Ward,

521:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made life wonderful, it’s made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,

522:As the two held stares, it was hard not to feel part of a unique club that no one would ever volunteer to be associated with. Membership wasn’t sought or desirable or something to crow about . . . but it was real and it was powerful: Survivors of similar wrecks could see the horrors of those jagged shoals in the eyes of others. It was like recognizing like. It was two people with the same tattoo on their insides, the divide of a trauma that separated them from the rest of the planet unexpectedly bringing a pair of weary souls closer together. Or ~ J R Ward,

523:Right,' I scoffed, 'Alpha Yam Ergo.' Adrian nodded solemnly. 'A very old and prestigious society.' 'I've never heard of them,' said the girl who'd claimed the first shirt. 'They don't let many people in,' he said. In white paint, he wrote his fake fraternity's initials: AYE. 'Isn't that what pirates say?' asked one of the girls. 'Well, the Alpha Yams have nautical origins,' he explained. To my horror he began painting a pirate skeleton riding a motorcycle. 'Oh, no,' I groaned. 'Not the tattoo.' 'It's our logo,' he said. ~ Richelle Mead,

524:Wait a minute," said Gabriel. "Someone knows what the secret tattoo says?" Hunter gave him a look. "It´s not a secret. It´s on my arm." "Enough with the suspense already. What does it say?" "Nothing important," said Hunter. The nurse smiled and released the pressure in the cuff. "It says , The first day you meet, you are friends. The next day, you are brothers." Gabriel lost the smile. Then he clapped Hunter on the shoulder. Hunter frowned at him. "What was that for?" "Brotherhood," he said. "Welcome to the family. ~ Brigid Kemmerer,

525:Adam was in the dream, too; he traced the tangled pattern of ink with his finger. He said, "Scio quid hoc est." As he traced it further and further down on the bare skin of Ronan's back, Ronan himself disappeared entirely, and the tattoo got smaller and smaller. It was a Celtic knot the size of a wafer, and then Adam, who had become Kavinsky, said "Scio quid estis vos." He put the tattoo in his mouth and swallowed it. Ronan woke with a start, ashamed and euphoric. The euphoria wore off long before the shame did. He was never sleeping again. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

526:Time to cut the cake, newlyweds." Caroline ushers us over to the sweet little two-tier cake, round and covered in white fondant with what appear to be traditional henna tattoo patterns drawn on it in pale gold. We take the mother-of-pearl-handled knife, apparently the one Caroline and Carl used at their wedding, and, his hand on mine, cut a small slice. We feed each other a generous bite, marveling at the tender almond cake with the poached apricots and white chocolate mousse, light-as-air buttercream scented with vanilla and orange blossom water. ~ Stacey Ballis,

527:What I’m saying is that it’s self-preservation. We didn’t choose this, we just have talents that makes us the equivalent of that new guy in the cell block who has a slim, hairless body and kind of looks like a woman from behind, and has an incredibly realistic tattoo of boobs on his back. He may have no desire at all to ever even touch a penis, but it’s going to happen, even if it’s just in the process of frantically slapping them away. Jesus, am I still talking about this? [John—please delete the above paragraph before it goes off to the publisher]. ~ David Wong,

528:Tyche's beauty is interestingly kinetic; it comes and goes and comes back again. Or maybe it's more that you observe it in the first second of seeing her and then she makes you shelve that exquisite first expression for a while so she can get on with things. Then in some moment when she's not talking or when she suddenly turns her head it hits you all over again. There's a four-star constellation on her wrist that isn't always there either. When it is, its appearance goes through various degrees of permanence, from drawn on the kohl to full tattoo. ~ Helen Oyeyemi,

529:As he looked,she did the same.So far she'd always seen him partially clothed,but now...The top part of one arm was a complete sleeve of interwoven Celtic designs that were so beautiful and intricate she could only imagine how long it had taken the artist to tattoo them.On his lower forearm was a Celtic cross with a circle around it and what looked like names scripted parallel to the circle.She'd noticed part of it before but hadn't wanted to stare at him.Now she was looking her fill.On his other upper arm he had the Marine Corps eagle,globe and anchor. ~ Katie Reus,

530:Adam was in the dream, too; he traced the tangled pattern of ink with his finger. He said, "Scio quid hoc est." As he traced it further and further down on the bare skin of Ronan's back, Ronan himself disappeared entirely, and the tattoo got smaller and smaller. It was a Celtic knot the size of a wafer, and then Adam, who had become Kavinsky, said "Scio quid estis vos." He put the tattoo in his mouth and swallowed it. Ronan woke with a start, ashamed and euphoric. The euphoria wore off long before the shame did. He was never sleeping again. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

531:You got a tattoo?” It’s the third time I’ve asked Holder the same question, but I just don’t believe it. It’s out of character for him. Especially since I’m not the one who encouraged it. “Jesus, Daniel,” he groans on the other end of the line. “Stop. And stop asking me why.” “It’s just a weird thing to tattoo on yourself. Hopeless. It’s a very depressing term. But still, I’m impressed.” “I gotta go. I’ll call you later this week.” I sigh into the phone. “God, this sucks, man. The only good thing about this entire school since you moved is fifth period. ~ Colleen Hoover,

532:The shock of his hand on her bare back brought her to her senses. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. She tried to arch away from him and succeeded only in accommodating his mouth when her head fell back. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. His callused palm slid slowly but inexorably to her side, his thumb feathering against the underside of her breast. Horrified, she groped for his wrist, her fingers finding feeble purchase through the leather. “Ah, nei mah-tao-yo,” he whispered. “You tremble. ~ Catherine Anderson,

533:Steady, Legs, I'm not going to bite," he teased. "Well, not unless you ask me to." Despite herself, she snorted. "Stop calling me Legs." It was insulting...and made her want to dissolve into a puddle at his feet. Damn the man. "I like the look of your legs, so I;m going to keep doing it. Now, how big are we thinking?" Big. Thick and long. Wait, that wasn't what he was asking. Austin have a deep chuckle. "I can see from your face where your mind went, and yes, big is a good word for it. However, I was talking about your tattoo. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan,

534:Seriously though. This female attraction to the alpha-male throws me off a little bit, because I’m not anything like the guys you read about.” Yeah. You’re better. “I could never drive a motorcycle, or fight another man just for fun. And as much as I’ve fantasized about having sex with you this year, I don’t think I could ever say, ‘I own you’, with a straight face. And I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but probably just a small one, because no way in hell I could endure the pain. Overall, the books were interesting but they also made me feel highly inadequate. ~ Colleen Hoover,

535:Tattoo of life decisions?” “Yes. Tattoo. Marriage is the forever and permanent branding of one person to another. Sure, you can get it removed—but it’s expensive, it’s a process, and you’re never the same after. You’re scarred. It’s always a part of you, visible or not. You get a tattoo with the intention of a life-long commitment. You have to defend its existence and take ownership of it in front of others for the rest of your life regardless of how it sags or droops or changes shape and color—because it will! It will change and fade, and not in an aesthetically pleasing way.” The ~ Penny Reid,

536:You’re getting your tattoo.” I threw my arms around Dad’s neck. “Thank you!” “Hey,” Mom said. “I’m the one who had to persuade him it wasn’t going to turn his little girl into a streetwalker.” “I never said that,” Dad said. “No?” I said. “Cool. Cause I’ve decided to skip the paw print. I’m thinking of a tramp stamp with flames that says ‘Hot in Here.’ No, wait. Arrows. For directionally challenged guys.” Mom grabbed Dad’s shoulders and steered him away from me. “She’ll get exactly what we agreed on. Now go hang out in a guy store and we’ll call when we’re done. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

537:Josey?” She heard her mother’s voice in the hall, then the thud of her cane as she came closer. “Please don’t tell her I’m here,” the woman in the closet said, with a strange sort of desperation. Despite the cold outside, she was wearing a cropped white shirt and tight dark blue jeans that sat low, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart on her hip. Her hair was bleached white-blond with about an inch of silver-sprinkled dark roots showing. Her mascara had run and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked drip-dried, like she’d been walking in the rain, though there hadn’t... ~ Sarah Addison Allen,

538:She grabbed his arm and traced the tattoo with her finger. “This Sorry is gone now. This is a new Sorry, and it’s from me to you.” Livia rolled onto her belly so she could see him lying in the sun. “I’m sorry I didn’t say hello sooner. I’ll never get those days I missed back. But I won’t miss any more.” Livia kissed his sunny face. Blake held one fist in the air. Even after they dressed, Livia and Blake stayed in the clearing. They left reluctantly when they grew too hungry. Livia wanted to stay forever. She knew this victory was one they’d have to fight for again in the real world. ~ Debra Anastasia,

539:By the way, Dallas?" "What, Peabody?" "That's a lovely tattoo. New?" Eve clamped her teeth together, strode toward the door with as much dignity as she could manage. "See?" She jabbed a finger into Roarke's chest as they walked down the corridor. "I told you I'd be humiliated by that stupid rosebud." "You've been drugged, slapped, tied up naked, and nearly killed, but a rose on your butt humiliates you?" "All that other stuff's the job. The rosebud's personal." Laughing, he swung his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. "Christ, Lieutenant, I love you. ~ J D Robb,

540:flanked by two incredibly bulky nurses who dwarfed her. One nurse had a black eye, and ‘LOVE’ and ‘HATE’ tattooed on her knuckles. The other had a tattoo of a spider’s web on her neck and what looked like stubble on her chin. Both scowled at the boy. They were the ugliest nurses you could ever hope to meet. Jack’s eyes darted to their name badges – ‘Nurse Rose’ and ‘Nurse Blossom’. Miss Swine was twirling what at first glance looked like a baton. Holding it in one hand, she then rhythmically tapped the palm of her other. The effect was one of quiet menace. At one end of the baton were two little ~ David Walliams,

541:the violence and fear, it’s still always worth it to love God and to love people. And always, always, it is worth it to sing alleluia in defiance of the devil, who surely hates the sound of it. On the Sunday after the massacre, I stood before our congregation, grasping the music stand, which holds my sermon notes, and I looked at my now slightly faded tattoo of Mary Magdalene. In the image, she stands tall with one hand in a gesture of openness and the other with a raised finger as if to say, Shut up, because I have to tell you something. For not the first time nor the last, I borrowed her voice. ~ Nadia Bolz Weber,

542:When I got home, I took a bat and examined my back in detail in the bathroom mirror. This tattoo would be for myself and no-one else. It wasn’t just because I was about to end my relationship with Iro, it was because I wanted to make some serious changes deep down inside me… My torso - my back and front – and my shoulders, breasts, and upper arms were decorated with a vibrantly coloured work of art. I knew it had been the right thing to do… When I looked at that beautifully crafted tattoo, I was filled with a sense of total contentment I had never experienced before. I felt as though I had been set free. ~ Sh ko Tend,

543:No hay problema," Orlando agreed. "But you haven't said where?" His eyes grazed over the rumpled tux, Aiden not having thought about where the tattoo might go. Isabel had an answer. "His neck." "My neck?" "Tiene cojones," Orlando said slyly grinning. "Yes, your neck. It'll be your thing, you know, when you're famous--like an insigna. It's sexy and dangerous. Aidan's going to be a famous rock star, Orlando." Aidan admired her confidence. "From her lips ..." "I surely hope, mis amigos, because putting that thing on your neck does not say nine-to-five employment. ~ Laura Spinella,

544:The first time someone asked about Riko's and Kevin's tattoos, Riko hadn't beat around the bush. He was the best striker in the game, he said, and he wanted everyone to know it. The story changed a little when Jean made his first public appearance with a "3" on his face. Riko was supposedly handpicking the future US National Team. He called it the "perfect Court", and even though it was unofficial and unbelievably arrogant, his talent and upbringing gave some credibility to the idea. "Oh," Neil said. "You mean this." He peeled the bandage off his face and let the reporters get a good look at his tattoo. ~ Nora Sakavic,

545:Some people may think that it is a dangerous attitude to take toward the Bible, to pick and choose what you want to accept and throw everything else out. My view is that everyone already picks and chooses what they want to accept in the Bible...I have a young friend who whose evangelical parents were upset because she wanted to get a tattoo, since the Bible, after all, condemns tattoos. In the same book, Leviticus, the Bible also condemns wearing clothing made of two different kinds of fabric and eating pork...Why insist on the biblical teaching about tattoos but not about dress shirts, pork chops, and stoning? ~ Bart D Ehrman,

546:The nurses told me what you did, Livia. You made my heart beat in the woods.” He looked at her lips and continued, “You gave me breath. Were you scared, love? I’m sorry.” “You’re apologizing because you stopped breathing?” Livia wrinkled her nose. He nodded reverently. “I left you in the clearing again.” “You took the bullet that had my name on it and let it lodge in your back,” Livia responded. “You never left me in those woods. You gave me strength when I needed it. You don’t need to apologize, but it’s perfectly acceptable for you to never, ever stop breathing again.” She touched his Sorry tattoo. ~ Debra Anastasia,

547:After the season, I applied for a position with the North Cascades smoke jumpers in Washington State and got a new tattoo on my left forearm, a tattoo of my life, with the motto “Mundis Ex Igne Factus Est,” which means “The World Is Made of Fire” in Latin, a quote from a Helprin book (A Soldier in the Great War) that I had read maybe five years earlier. It captured the idea that life is born of struggle and striving, that true joy and understanding do not come from comfort and safety; they come from epiphany born in exhaustion (and not exhaustion for its own sake). Safety and comfort are mortal danger to the soul. ~ Sam Sheridan,

548:Don‘t do it. I let you push me pretty far sometimes, but not this time. I will not have you put your"—it took me a moment to find the right words—"sorcerer‘s brand on me, so you can hunt me down whenever and wherever you please. And that, Jericho Barrons, is non-negotiable." Well done, Ms. Lane. Just when I think you‘re all useless fluff and nails, you show me some teeth." You win. This time. I won‘t tattoo you. Not today. But in lieu of that, you will do something for me. Refuse and I tattoo you. And, Ms. Lane, if I chain you up one more time tonight, there‘ll be no more talking. I‘ll gag you. ~ Karen Marie Moning,

549:Well, let me see. He’s got a tattoo on his forearm, I saw it when he was drinking my orange juice straight out of the box. It was a crown, like a king’s crown and some letters, CRR or CMM, something like that. And what else? Some numbers. Nineteen hundred?” “The crown is for Prince Street,” Isaiah said, “and it’s seventeen hundred. That’s the block number. The letters are CHH. For Crip Headhunters.” “I just remembered,” Tudor said. “There were some initials too. BK. Yes, I’m sure about that. BK. That should narrow it down some, don’t you think?” “BK means Blood killer,” Isaiah said. “Crips and Bloods are enemies.” “Good ~ Joe Ide,

550:You were right, you know,” Ty whispered. “About what?” Ty swallowed hard. “I sold my soul a long time ago.” Ty gripped Zane’s shoulder and pressed him down, laying him out again, then stretched out over Zane, his hand dragging down Zane’s body to push at his boxers. “Ty,” Zane gasped. Ty kissed him. Zane trailed the tips of his fingers down Ty’s arm, sliding over the tattoo and the scars and the muscles. “Do you really believe that?” Zane asked. “I know it. I will never be the man you think I am.” Zane’s breaths came harder. “We’ve both been trying so hard to be worthy of each other. ~ Abigail Roux,

551:Tomorrow she’d look up tattoo removal. They were doing big things with lasers now. When Cal was just a little more stable, she’d break up with him, gently, and then she’d begin her project of helping everybody she could help, and after that she’d head out on a great long journey to absolutely nowhere and write a gorgeous poem cycle steeped in heavenly lavender-scented closure and also utter despair, a poem cycle you could also actually ride for its aerobic benefits, and she’d pedal that fucker straight across the face of the earth until at some point she’d coast right off the edge, whereupon she’d giggle and say, “Oh, shit. ~ Sam Lipsyte,

552:No hay problema," Orlando agreed. "But you haven't said where?" His eyes grazed over the rumpled tux, Aiden not having thought about where the tattoo might go. Isabel had an answer. "His neck." "My neck?" "Tiene cojones," Orlando said slyly grinning. "Yes, your neck. It'll be your thing, you know, when you're famous--like an insigna. It's sexy and dangerous. Aidan's going to be a famous rock star, Orlando." Aidan admired her confidence. "From her lips ..." "I surely hope, mis amigos, because putting that thing on your neck does not say nine-to-fice employment. ~ Laura Spinella,

553:I can’t leave him here. Not with them. Not in the fucking dirt.” Beckett grabbed his flashlight with every intention of handing it to Eve so he could carry his friend—no matter how fucking big he was—to someplace better, when the light landed on Mouse’s bare chest. “What the hell?” Beckett touched Mouse’s chest again, and Eve took the light and centered it on the tattoo in question. Beckett traced it for a moment, his finger lingering on the knitting needles that set it apart from his own, and bowed his head. “Now that’s too fucking much,” he said softly. “That hurts too fucking much. Eve, not Mouse. He can’t be gone. ~ Debra Anastasia,

554:I wonder at the certainty of these women. How did they acquire beliefs so definite that they needed to share them with others in print? The message I like best, the message I write hugely over seven pages in my notebook, the message I want to tattoo, no etch, no brand onto my left arm is next to Louise Loves Conor. It says it's a quote by Francois Rabelais by a John Green. “I go to seek a Great Perhaps." I would like to write this quote all over the city myself, but then I would be ripping off Rabelais, Green, and the toilet scrawler. I close my notebook and open the cubicle door. I could do worse than live by toilet wisdom. ~ Caitriona Lally,

555:Originally, the anchor symbol was not used by those on the water, but by people on land. During the early years of Christianity, Christians were under heavy persecution by the Romans. To show their religion to other practicing Christians under the watchful eye of the ruling people, they would wear anchor jewelry or even tattoo anchors on themselves. The anchor was seen as a symbol of strength as anchors hold down ships even in the stormiest of weather. It was also a popular symbol because of its close resemblance to the cross. Anchors were also used to mark safe houses for those seeking refuge from persecution.   MyNameNecklace.com ~ L J Shen,

556:Was he curious about her? That was putting it mildly. He was curious about the noises she might make if he kissed her properly and the colour of her nipples and what she tasted like between her legs and the extent of her tattoo and how she’d sounded as she came. He was curious about where she liked to be touched and whether she’d let him take charge and if she liked giving head. He was curious about the long curve of her spine and the dip of her hip and how she’d looked straddled atop of him, her hair loose, her breasts bouncing as he pushed her over the edge. Or curled up beside him in bed, naked, her body branded by his. ~ Amy Andrews,

557:Why do you haunt me? You, like a tattoo on my tongue, like the bay leaf at the bottom of every pan. You who sprawled out beside me and sang my horoscope to a Schubert symphony, something about travel and money again, and we lay there, both of our breaths bad, both of our underwear dangling elastic, and then you turned toward me with a gaze like two matches, putting the horoscope aside, you traced my buried ribs with your index finger, lingered at my collarbone, admiring it as one might a flying buttress, murmuring: Nice clavicle. And me, too new at it and scared, not knowing what to say, whispering: You should see my ten-speed. ~ Lorrie Moore,

558:If the pupil proves to be of so perverse a disposition that he would rather listen to some idle tale than to the account of a glorious voyage or to a wise conversation, when he hears one; if he turns away from the drum-beat that awakens young ardour in his comrades, to listen to another tattoo that summons him to a display of juggling; if he does not fervently feel it to be pleasanter and sweeter to return from a wrestling-match, dusty but victorious, with the prize in his hand, than from a game of tennis or a ball, I can see no other remedy that for his tutor to strangle him before it is too late, if there are no witnesses. ~ Michel de Montaigne,

559:One last mystery: on one of the little ponds, this morning, I saw wind riffling the first of the waterlily leaves. They haven’t all emerged yet, but new circles tattoo the water, here and there, a coppery red. When the wind lifted their edges, each would reveal a little shadowy spot, a dot of black which seemed to flash on the water, and so across the whole surface of the pond there was what could only be described as the inverse of sparkling; a scintillant blackness. Shining blackly, black but rippling, lyrical: the sheen and radiance of death-in-life. Is that my work, to point to the world and say, See how darkly it sparkles? ~ Mark Doty,

560:He pulls free before we make contact. “A moment, please. Allow me to bask in your devotion.” He’s referring to my ankle tattoo. I blush. “I’ve told you a hundred times. It’s only a set of wings.” “Nonsense.” Morpheus grins. “I know a moth when I see one.” I groan in frustration, and he surrenders, letting me press our markings together. A spark rushes between them, expanding to a firestorm through my veins. His gaze locks on mine, and the bottomless depths flicker—like black clouds alive with lightning. For that instant, I’m bared to the bone. He looks inside my heart; I look inside his. And the similarities there terrify me. ~ A G Howard,

561:I wonder at the certainty of these women. How did they acquire beliefs so definite that they needed to share them with others in print? The message I like best, the message I write hugely over seven pages in my notebook, the message I want to tattoo, no etch, no brand onto my left arm is next to Louise Loves Conor. It says it's a quote by Francois Rabelais by a John Green. “I go to seek a Great Perhaps." I would like to write this quote all over the city myself, but then I would be ripping off Rabelais, Green, and the toilet scrawler. I close my notebook and open the cubicle door. I could do worse than live by toilet door wisdom. ~ Caitriona Lally,

562:This is the tattoo of life decisions." "Tattoo of life decisions?" "Yes. Tattoo. Marriage is the forever and permanent branding of one person to another. Sure, you can get it removed - but it's expensive, it's a process, and you're never the same after. You're scarred. It's always a part of you, visible or not. You get a tattoo with the intention of a life-long commitment. You have to defend its existence and take ownership of it in front of others for the rest of your life regardless of how it sags or droops or changes shape and color - because it will! It will change and fade, and not in an aesthetically pleasing way. ~ Penny Reid,

563:The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for his privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly much more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been with their own. “I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare chest. “Harry, your eyesight really is awful,” said Hermione, as she put on glasses. ~ J K Rowling,

564:Dear Fiona, When’s the last time you got laid? You don’t remember, do you? Same here. Being sick will really put a damper on your love life, if you know what I mean. I really miss having fun with a hot guy. I’m sure you do too, right? Well, it’s about time to get back on the saddle. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to go on Tinder or Craigslist or anything like that. I already have someone picked out for you. Remember that hot guy who works at the tattoo shop across from the bar? Yeah, that guy. I’m not asking you to fall in love with him, but get laid for fuck’s sake. Next to it is a smiley face emoji. Have fun and be safe! Love always, Kia ~ Penny Wylder,

565:He gazed at her without answering, and his fingers drummed a light tattoo on the table. "I need my sketch pad," he said. "You should do that more often, Camille." "Do what?" She could feel her cheeks grow warm at the intentness of his gaze. "Smile," he said. "With a certain degree of mischief in your eyes. The expression transforms you. Or perhaps it is just another facet of your character I have not seen before. I left my sketchbook at the orphanage, alas, though I do have others in the studio." "Mischief?" "Of course you are not doing it any longer," he said. "I ought not to have drawn your attention to it. ~ Mary Balogh,

566:What we need,” said Regina, as if sensing the threat of incoming cheerfulness, “is a neck-tattoo statistic.” They all turned toward her. “They want to send us data like, This many black students passed a test in some other teacher’s class, and this many are passing in your class. And that’s not even the point. I mean, I’m black. Breyonna and Candace are black. We can pass a test.” “Yeah, exactly,” added Lena. “I can pass a test.” “How ’bout you tell me how many thirteen-year-olds with neck tattoos are passing a test in another teacher’s class. Then compare my neck-tattoo kids with their neck-tattoo kids. Then tell me what kind of teacher I am. ~ Roxanna Elden,

567:We can't do something that might make us look ridiculous, because first impressions last forever. We can't try and fail, because then we'll be ruined forever. Think a scar (or a tattoo, for that matter) is permanent? It's not. Your body was literally formed from stardust and will eventually return there. The duration of a scar doesn't even register on the big time line. In fact, I heard that God watches jewelry commercials and LOL's when they say that diamonds are forever. It's all a big joke up there. There's a drinking game in Heaven, where angels do a shot every time humans invest "for the long term." What are you so fucking worried about? ~ Johnny B Truant,

568:The men toasted their bottles, as they did when Mouse was mentioned. The part of their tattoo that no longer existed. The man had died on the job, protecting Blake because he was loyal to Beckett. “And…” Cole shot Beckett a look. “You’re unofficially known as Sparkles and Jesus.” Beckett squinted as Cole pretended to be offended. “I think it’s only fair if we give you a nickname, Blake?” Cole asked. Blake stood and added a log to the fire. It’d been burning steady since right after dinner. Being with his brothers like this was Beckett’s favorite. It his wildest dreams he never pictured getting to sit with them in a Blake’s backyard. ~ Debra Anastasia,

569:The other arm, Wormtail.” “Master, please . . . please . . .” Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail’s left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail’s robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail’s uncontrollable weeping. “It is back,” he said softly, “they will all have noticed it . . . and now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . .” He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. The ~ J K Rowling,

570:[D]espite her alternative leanings, it turned out Crystal was not particularly psyco-babbly or airy-fairy or tree-huggy, as one might have expected. In fact, the first thing she did was write a list. She said writing lists helped calm her down when she was stressed about anything because it put problems in order. You can look at a list of things and see how you can tackle each one separately without feeling sick about it, she said. Whereas if they all just stayed jumbled in your mind in one great bit sticky ball you never got to consider them individually. She actually spoke a lot of sense for someone with toe rings and a Chinese tattoo. ~ Sarah Kate Lynch,

571:He reached down to the exposed line of her throat, drawing the backs of his fingers over her skin with a sensitive lightness that caused her breath to quicken. His fingertips rested on the rapid tattoo of her pulse, and caressed softly. Watching a delicate tide of pink rise in her face, he said in a low voice, “Put the book aside.” Poppy’s toes curled beneath the bed linens. “But I’ve reached a very interesting part,” she said demurely, teasing him. “Not half so interesting as what’s about to happen to you.” Drawing the covers back with a deliberate sweep that left her gasping, Harry lowered his body over hers … and the book dropped to the floor, forgotten. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

572:In these other civilized countries they produce hot water tanks that have enough fittings, that is, enough inlets and outlets, to connect the tank to a solar collector on the roof of your house, garage, or tattoo parlor. The tank contains a gas-fired or electric-coil heater. When the Sun is not enough, the gas burner or the electric coil boost the heat going into the system. The water gets to the desired temperature one way or the other. This is a wonderfully logical way to do this job: Get as much insolation (sun heat) as you can. If it’s not enough, give the water a jolt of heat—a boost. Unfortunately, these sorts of tanks are not approved for use in the U.S., ~ Bill Nye,

573:Hey, Hayley,” I say as I sit down and pick up one of her action figures. She has Barbies, too, but she would rather play with her Legos and building blocks. Maybe she’ll be an engineer one day. Or maybe she’ll be an amazing tattoo artist like her dad. I make her action figure kiss her Barbie, and she giggles. “I think they’re in love,” I whisper. “Like you and my daddy,” she says back quietly. I nod. And emotion clogs my throat again. I turn my head and cough, and then I dump a box of Legos on the floor. “I think Barbie needs a fortress,” I say. She nods, and we start to build a plastic fortress together, because sometimes a girl just needs a fucking fortress. ~ Tammy Falkner,

574:...She froze in the doorway of her kitchen. And nearly swallowed her tongue. Ivan leaned against the counter, wearing nothing but dark jogging pants and holding a cup of coffee. His blond hair was spiked adorably, as if he hadn't combed it yet. the sculpted muscles of his chest and shoulders stood out as he raised the cup to his mouth, a bright tattoo of intricate artwork wrapping around one shoulder and over one pec. What she'd imagined he might look like was nothing compared to the reality of the Viking god in her kitchen. Her gaze trained on that ridiculously muscular chest and it was like she'd lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Or, you know, think. ~ Katie Reus,

575:During a tattoo, pain is constant and sometimes it lasts hours, but it doesn’t necessarily register the same way pain normally does. I am not to be trusted on this. I do not register pain as most people do, which is to say, my tolerance is high. It is probably too high. But the pain of a tattoo is something to which you have to surrender because once you’ve started, you cannot really go back or you’ll be left with something not only permanent but unfinished. I enjoy the irrevocability of that circumstance. You have to allow yourself this pain. You have chosen this suffering, and at the end of it, your body will be different. Maybe your body will feel more like yours. ~ Roxane Gay,

576:Adam's gaze quickly shifted from the full tattoo on my face, to the V-neck of my T-shirt and the glimpse of tattooing across my collarbone, down to my palm, which was also covered in the same filigree tattoo. "I didn't know vampyres were getting additional tattooing done. Is your artist here in Tulsa?" I grinned. "Yeah, sometimes. But mostly she's in the Otherworld." I could see he was trying to process what I'd said, so I took the opportunity to blurt, "Hey, you said you don't have a girlfriend, but how about a boyfriend?" "Um, no, I don't have a boyfriend, either. At least not currently." Adam glanced at Damien, who met his gaze. /Success!/ was what I was thinking. ~ P C Cast,

577:It wasn't beautiful people like Celeste who were drawing Jane's eyes, but ordinary people and the beautiful ordinariness of their bodies. A tanned forearm with a tattoo of the sun reaching out across the counter at the service station. The back of an older's man neck in a queue at the supermarket. Calf muscles and collarbones. It was the strangest thing. She was reminder of her father, who years ago had an operation on his sinuses that returned the sense of smell he hadn't realized he'd lost. The simplest smells sent him into rhapsodies of delight. He kept sniffing Jane's mother's neck and saying dreamily, "I'd forgotten your mother's smell! I didn't know I'd forgotten it! ~ Liane Moriarty,

578:The dads in those tv shows spend a great deal of time talking to their kids in their living rooms. Steven Keaton - the dad of my dreams - seems to do nothing but sit on his couch or at his kitchen table talking to his children about their myriad teenage calamities. He listens and listens to his kids and he pours glasses of orange juice and hands them to his kids as he listens some more. He tells his kids he loves them by telling his kids he loves them. Dad tells me he loves me when he forms a pistol out of this forefinger and thumb and points it at me as he farts. He tells us he loves us by showing us the tattoo we never knew he had on the inside of his bottom lip: Fuck you. ~ Trent Dalton,

579:By the midpoint, he’d shot up to my waist, but his muttered curses told me he’d underestimated how good I was--or overestimated how good he was--and it was clear he wasn’t going to catch up in time. So I stopped. Daniel leaned over and mouthed, “What are you doing?” Below, the others yelled, a cacophony of shouts and cheers and jeers. Rafe reached up, his bracelet hitting the rock with a ping. I glanced at it. A worn rawhide band with a cat’s-eye stone. I could see his tattoo better, too, as he pulled himself up, and I recognized the symbol. A crow mother kachina. Hopi. As he drew up alongside me, he cocked one brow. “You really want that kiss don’t you?” he said. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

580:I shake out a new cigarette and light it, and I watch her walk away. She doesn’t look back. Her black bag is bouncing against her leg, and her guitar case is in her other hand. She hunches down against the wind. Does she own a coat? I wish I’d given her mine. I follow her. I can’t help it. I need to see where she’s going, or I won’t be able to find her again. Not to mention that her being alone in the night in the city scares the shit out of me. She’s not hard enough for this place or for these people. Yeah, she punched me in the face when she met me, but I have this overwhelming need to protect her. If I let her get away from me, I might not ever find out what that tattoo means to her, either. ~ Tammy Falkner,

581:Unscripted, unedited, and wholly authentic people are almost universally admired, especially if they have flaws, are not afraid to make live, red-blooded mistakes, and rather than trying are busy simply being. Which is something you should consider hiring a tattoo artist to script across the palm of your hand: Be, Don’t Try. “Oh my God, I can’t do that. I would totally mess up.” You better pray to the corn god that you do. Messing up is how you tell other people, “It’s okay to like me, because I’m just like you.” Everybody feels a bit like a dented can inside. Even the slickest, most polished person you can think of is more aware of their shortcomings and flaws than their talents and gifts. ~ Augusten Burroughs,

582:Signs of Hokkaido's muscular dairy industry tattoo the terrain everywhere: packs of Holsteins chew cud unblinkingly in the sunlight, ice cream shops proffer hyperseason flavors to hungry leaf gazers, and giant silos offer advice to the calcium deficient: "Drink Hokkaido Milk!" Even better than drinking the island's milk is drinking its yogurt, which you can do at Milk Kobo, a converted red barn with cows and tractors and generous views of Mount Yotei, which locals call Ezo Fuji. Kobo sells all manner of dairy products, but you're here for the drinkable yogurt, which has a light current of sweetness and a deep lactic tang, a product so good that the second it hits my lips, I give up water for the week. ~ Matt Goulding,

583:You do know, right, that between the no- longer & the still- to-come you are being continually tattooed, inked with the skulls of everyone you’ve ever loved—the you & the you & the you & the you—you don’t sit in a chair, thumb through a binder, pick a design, it simply happens each time you bring your fingers to your face to inhale him back into you . . . tiny skulls, some of us are covered. You, love, could simply tattoo an open door, light pouring in from somewhere outside, you could make your body a door so it appears you (let her fill you) are made of light. ~ Nick Flynn,

584:He leaned closer and she swallowed the rest of her words as he pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. She stared back at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly. She pressed her body against his, her skin on fire, desire beating a tattoo through her veins. His tongue stroked hers gently, provocatively, and she reached out and gripped his shoulders with both hands. After a long, long moment he drew back. “Come home with me?” he asked very quietly, his voice a low husk. Dear God, I thought you’d never ask. ~ Sarah Mayberry,

585:Going To School In Bed If it is impossible to promise absolute fidelity, this is because we learn so much geography from the shifting of one body on another. If it is impossible to promise absolute fidelity, this is because we learn so much history from the lying of one body on another. If it is impossible to promise absolute fidelity, this is because we learn so much psychology from the dreaming of one body of another. Life writes so many letters on the naked bodies of lovers. What a tattoo artist! What an ingenious teacher! Is it any wonder we appear like schoolchildren dreaming: naked & anxious to learn? ~ Erica Jong,

586:The newcomer stood well over six feet, as tall as any Warden. His hair was dark, the color of obsidian, and it reflected blue in the dim light. Lazy locks slipped over his forehead and curled just below his ears. Brows arched over golden eyes and his cheekbones were broad and high. He was attractive. Very attractive. Mind-bendingly beautiful, actually, but the sardonic twist to his full lips chilled his beauty. The black T-shirt stretched across his chest and flat stomach. A huge tattoo of a snake curled around his forearm, the tail disappearing under his sleeve and the diamond-shaped head rested on the top of his hand. He looked my age. Total crush material—if it wasn’t for the fact that he had no soul. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

587:She grabbed her shorts off the floor and stomped past me. “Fucking ugly bitch. Fucking asshole,” she muttered as she practically tripped in her rush to get to the stairs. King stood in the doorway. “And if I hear you ever talk shit about her again, I’ll find you and take that butterfly tattoo back.” “Oh yeah?” she shouted, stopping on the landing. “How the fuck are you going to do that?” King was in the doorway one second and an inch from her face the next. “I’ll tell you how,” he seethed. “I’m going to find you, and then I’m going to take my time carving those fucking butterfly wings from that nasty pussy of yours with my knife. Sleep on that before you decide to open that good for nothing dick-sucker of yours again. ~ T M Frazier,

588:John and I have made this stuff our hobby, in the way that an especially attractive prisoner makes a hobby out of not getting raped. Jesus, that’s a terrible analogy. I apologize. What I’m saying is that it’s self-preservation. We didn’t choose this, we just have talents that makes us the equivalent of that new guy in the cell block who has a slim, hairless body and kind of looks like a woman from behind, and has an incredibly realistic tattoo of boobs on his back. He may have no desire at all to ever even touch a penis, but it’s going to happen, even if it’s just in the process of frantically slapping them away. Jesus, am I still talking about this? [John—please delete the above paragraph before it goes off to the publisher]. ~ David Wong,

589:I was sitting at the dressing table, brushing out my hair, when a loud, abrupt tattoo was pounded on my door. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and rose from the low stool. My bowl of pot-pourri was to hand: I was ready. “Who is it?” I called out. “Dinner is ready,” said Lord Pecus’ voice. It sounded as though he were speaking through clenched teeth. “You have five minutes.” “I’m not coming down,” I retorted. “Go away!” “Lady Farrah, if you’re not out of your room in the next few minutes, I’ll fetch you out.” I winced, but it had to be said. “You wouldn’t dare!” The puerility of it was embarrassing. Fortunately, Lord Pecus was too annoyed to notice. “Two minutes, Lady Farrah!” “I absolutely refuse to come out! ~ W R Gingell,

590:On the way out, Etienne pointed to the tattoo gun and the piercing tools. “If you’ve got time after all this shit’s over. I always did like virgins. Take your pick.” From anyone else, that line would’ve sounded cheesy. From Etienne, it sounded hot. If you were mine, I’d make you pierce it. Tom’s voice, after he’d bit Prophet’s nipple the first time they’d had sex. It tingled every fucking time Prophet thought about those words. He thought about how Tommy had sketched the dreamcatcher on his cast. How he’d fucked Prophet to sleep. How Doc told him Tommy had been upset when the dreamcatcher cast had been cut off. Prophet was in so far over his head. And for someone who knew how to swim, that shouldn’t’ve been nearly as terrifying as it was. ~ S E Jakes,

591:Oh hell. "Sounds good to me," Ren said. Oh—oh hell to the no. I took a step back, because I was really afraid I might turn into a rabid squirrel. "No can do." Ren looked at me sharply. "You don't have a say in this, Ivy. Let that sink in for a second before you continue with whatever you're about to say," David replied calmly. My hands curled into fists. "Are you letting that sink in?" he asked. Man, it was so sinking in. David was giving me a direct command, which meant if I refused it, I was in breach of the Order. And that meant I'd get a formal write-up. You only got three before you were kicked out, stripped of your tattoo, and even your wards. They were hardcore like that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

592:But the problem with battling yourself is that even if you win, you lose. At some point – scarred and exhausted – you either accept that you must become a woman – that you are a woman – or you die. This is the brutal, root truth of adolescence – that it is often a long, painful campaign of attrition. Those self-harming girls, with the latticework of razor cuts on their arms and thighs, are just reminding themselves that their body is a battlefield. If you don’t have the stomach for razors, a tattoo will do, or even just the lightning snap of the earring gun in Claire’s Accessories. There. There you are. You have just dropped a marker pin on your body, to reclaim yourself, to remind you where you are: inside yourself. Somewhere. Somewhere in there. ~ Caitlin Moran,

593:I want you to tattoo me." "Tattoo? I don't know how." "You draw," Jimena explained. "That's all you need to know to do a jailhouse tattoo. I'll tell you the rest." An hour later the tattoo of a crescent moon and star was bleeding on Jimena's arm. "It looks good," Catty said with pride. "Yeah." Jimena stood in front of the mirror and admired Catty's work. Excitement ran through her when she looked at herself. She glanced at Catty and knew she was feeling the same. They stared at each other's reflections. "You look... like a goddess," Catty said, smiling. Jimena remembered she no longer had her gift. Could she even call herself a goddess now? With rising self-assurance, she knew it was her rightful title. The power was inside her. ~ Lynne Ewing,

594:Potential boyfriends could not smoke Merit cigarettes, own or wear a pair of cowboy boots, or eat anything labeled either lite or heart smart. Speech was important, and disqualifying phrases included “I can’t find my nipple ring” and “This one here was my first tattoo.” All street names had to be said in full, meaning no “Fifty-ninth and Lex,” and definitely no “Mad Ave.” They couldn’t drink more than I did, couldn’t write poetry in notebooks and read it out loud to an audience of strangers, and couldn’t use the words flick, freebie, cyberspace, progressive, or zeitgeist. . . . Age, race, weight were unimportant. In terms of mutual interests, I figured we could spend the rest of our lives discussing how much we hated the aforementioned characteristics. ~ David Sedaris,

595:Twenty kilometers is indeed “too far” when you’re ready to drop already. “I should have listened to Corey,” Daniel said. “I was so sure I could convince that guy. It’s worked until now.” “Not on Moreno,” I said. “Sure it did.” “At the store, yes, but we couldn’t get him talking earlier. Obviously it’s not going to be a foolproof power or you’d have the ability to make anyone do anything. My guess is that they have to want to already. The woman at the tattoo studio wanted to get rid of us. Moreno wanted to skip searching a filthy crawlspace. That old guy really didn’t want to help us.” “In other words, don’t rely on special powers.” “Same way I’m not going to let you run in front of a moving van even if I have healing abilities. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

596:He strode, nude, to his desk, and, bending over it, afforded her a quite scandalous view of his muscular bottom. He seemed to have a dark mark of some kind on the left cheek. Good God, it looked like a tattoo. What-? "I have the most lamentable taste sometimes. It probably would be better if a few of my things disappeared. Why, Mrs. Crumb," he drawled, and she snapped her gaze belatedly up to find that he'd turned back to her- damn it! "Were you ogling my arse?" She opened her mouth and then wasn't sure, exactly, what to say. Was he about to dismiss her or not? "I... I-" "Ye-es?" He took one long stride toward her. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of what she'd until now successfully ignored: He. Was. Nude. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt,

597:Why would you want to leave?’ ‘I’ve just made up my mind. It’s the best thing to do. Lots of people move to London.’ ‘Lots of people living in London wish they could move to Cornwall.’ Tears were now rolling down Millie’s cheeks. Silently, they dripped on to the starched cotton sheets pulled up over her knees. When she was confident she could sound normal - and not as if she was blubbing like a big baby - she said, ‘I just think I need a change. Nothing wrong with that. Oh, and there’s something else I’ve decided.’ There was a long pause. ‘What?’ ‘The next time we bump into each other, I’m going to show you something. My tattoo.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because it doesn’t matter any more. I’ll be moving away, won’t I?’ Draining the last dregs from the bottle into her tooth mug, Millie wiped her ~ Jill Mansell,

598:Texts between Dr. Stayner & Livie(with a little help from Kacey) Dr. Stayner: Tell me you did one out-of-character thing last night Livie: I drank enough Jell-O shots to fill a small pool, and then proceeded to break out every terrible dance move known to mankind. I am now the proud owner of a tattoo and if I didn’t have a video to prove otherwise, I’d believe I had it done in a back alley with hepatitis-laced needles. Satisfied? Dr. Stayner: That’s a good start. Did you talk to a guy? Kacey(answering for Livie): Not only did I talk to a guy but I’ve now seen two penises, including the one attached to the naked man in my room this morning when I woke up. I have pictures. Would you like to see one? Dr. Stayner: Glad you’re making friends. Talk to you on Saturday ~ K A Tucker,

599:Often, when I have been feeling lonely, when a book as been thrust aside in boredom [...] I have lain back and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering what life is all about [...] and then, suddenly, there is the echo of the swinging door, and across the carpet, walking with the utmost delicacy and precision, stalks Four or Five or Oscar. He sits down on the floor beside me, regarding my long legs, my old jumper, and my floppy arms, with a purely practical interest. Which part of this large male body will form the most appropriate lap? Usually he settles for the chest. Whereupon he springs up and there is a feeling of cold fur [...] and the tip of an icy nose, thrust against my wrist and a positive tattoo of purrs. And I no longer wonder what life is all about. ~ Beverley Nichols,

600:His hand was on my throat, and he was crushing me back with his body into the cold steel beam behind me. "Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it‘s none of your business, I have lost. Many things. And no, I am not like any other player in this game and I will never be like V‘lane, and I get a hard-on a great deal more often than occasionally." He leaned fully against me and I gasped. "Sometimes it‘s over a spoiled little girl, not a woman at all. And yes, I trashed the bookstore when I couldn‘t find you. You‘ll have to choose a new bedroom, too. And I‘m sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody‘s does, and you go on. It‘s how you go on that defines you." His hand relaxed on my throat. "And I am going to tattoo you, Ms. Lane, however and wherever I please. ~ Karen Marie Moning,

601:I did love Ben, in a sense. Because he cooked for me. Because he told me that my body was beautiful, like a Renaissance painting, something I badly needed to hear. Because his stepmother was the same age as him, and that is really sad. But I also didn’t: Because his vanity drove him to wear vintage shoes that gave him blisters. Because he gave me HPV. He called me terrible names when I broke up with him for a Puerto Rican named Joe with a tattoo that said mom in Comic Sans. Admittedly, I didn’t handle it too well either when, several months later, he moved in with a girl who taught special-needs preschool. I didn’t utter the words “I love you” again in a romantic context for more than two years. Joe turned out to consider blow jobs misogynistic and pretended his house had caught fire just to get out of plans. ~ Lena Dunham,

602:So I spilled my guts already. Your turn. If you won’t tell me what happened just now, at least tell me what happened at the tattoo place.” I did. I was tempted to joke that his dad was right--apparently I was evil--but he wouldn’t appreciate that. When I was done, he stood there, his broad face screwed up in disbelief. “So this old lady, who’s never met you before, sees your birthmark and says you’re a witch?” “Sounds like something from a TV movie, doesn’t it?” I hummed a few bars of suitably sinister music. “Should have been a fortune-teller, though. The teenage girl goes to the fortune-teller, whose gypsy grandmother says she’s cursed.” “Maybe that was it. Like one of those reality TV shows. You got pranked.” “In Nanaimo? Must be a low-budget Canadian production.” “Is there any other kind? ~ Kelley Armstrong,

603:She didn’t freak. Maybe I’ll be okay. I walked around him and said, “Hi, Mom . . . what did you do this afternoon?” Mom gaped in stunned silence. Brooks and I busted up laughing, hoping that making light of it would go over better with Mom. She stammered a bit. Because she always liked being a cool mom, I figured she was struggling between that and being really ticked at me. “Well, at least you didn’t get a tattoo,” she said under her breath. “You can’t get rid of a tattoo.” She scowled, took a deep breath and put her hands on my shoulders so that she could look me directly in the eye. “Kirk, it’s not that you got your ear pierced—it doesn’t look bad. I even sort of like it. It’s that you went off and deliberately did it without asking.” She turned around and went into the other room. I felt horrible. She didn’t talk to me for two days. ~ Kirk Cameron,

604:He let out a breath. "How old are you?" he asked, fearful of the answer. "Twenty-five." She gave him a wry smile. "And since you yelled it at Heather, I know you're 'forty fucking years old'." He would have laughed, but he couldn't breathe. Jesus, he'd known she was young, but hearing her actual age..."That's fifteen years." "I can do the math, but you know what else? I'm legal. I can drink. I have decent car insurance since I hit the quarter century mark, and I own this house." she paused. "Well the bank owns most of it, but I qualified for a loan and everything since I have decent credit." Her nose wrinkled. "I'm getting off subject. If the age difference truly bothers you, then I will see you at the shop to finish your tattoo. No hard feelings." He growled softly. Well, something was hard, and it wasn't his feelings. ~ Carrie Ann Ryan,

605:At the corner of K street and Fourth Avenue, I slowed down to let a pedestrian cross, a boy around my age. Maybe because he was so tall or maybe because of the way he walked-with a determined leaving into the cold-I couldn't take my eyes off him. His face was angled away from the car, and I got this strange urge to make him turn around so I could see it. I pressed my hand to the horn, but no sound came out, which was a relief. What was I thinking, anyway, doing something weird and embarrassing like honking at a stranger? Just then my cell phone rang from the pocket of my jacket. I pulled the car over, saw it was Ethan, and answered. "Hi," I said, still watching the figure go down the street. "Guess what?" "What? You got all your trig homework done?" "No. Think more within the realm of possibility." "You got a tattoo?" "Ha. A car. I got a car. ~ Sara Zarr,

606:Boobook Owl If they had been Roman, then someone would have Died every night for months on end as the Boobook Owl’s chime coursed through the evening like a late Night telephone call’s bad news. Metronome regular, The beat of its hoot shelled them relentlessly, enfilading Their ears from the patch of remnant blue gums across Waghorn Street. The book book of its mournful cry, as if It was a trapped sailor in an air pocket of a capsized ship, Beating a morse code tattoo with a leaden wrench. Inside Its tree’s iron hull, the school ruler long bird received the Suburb’s dying souls nightly, like an apprehensive mother Drawing up her child’s medicine in a feather light syringe. When he heard it, fear suckled their young son who forbade The repetition of its summons & shrieked if he heard its call. ~ B. R. Dionysius,

607:<…>….That's how he made his living. He gave me a pen and ink. This," he lifted his left arm then dropped it back to the bed. "After he died, I had it inked on me. Took what he gave me to a tattoo parlor right after the funeral and got it started." Her voice held a tone of light dawning as she whispered, "So he was your Ella." Her light dawned clear for her and for Walker because she was right. "Yeah, he was my Ella." "So it was Tuku who brought out my Ty." My Ty. My Ty. Christ. Fuck. Christ. Two words. Just two words. Walker had no clue until that moment that two words could mean so fucking much. He'd never belonged to anyone. He'd never belonged anywhere. Never thought he wanted to. Until he heard those two words. He couldn't keep the thick out of his voice when he confirmed, "Yeah, it was him."<…> ~ Kristen Ashley,

608:Oh. Wow.' 'What?' He held my hand up between us. 'Look.' I squinted at my hands. 'I don't see anything.' Sighing, he flipped my hand over, and my jaw hit the ground. A faint blue line marked the center of my palm with a smaller line through it. It would've looked like a cross, except the horizontal line was slanted. 'Oh. My. Gods.' I jerked my hand away, scrambling back. 'I have a rune on my hand. It's an Apollyon rune, isn't it.' Seth rested his hands on his knees. 'I think so. I have one like that.' 'But why is it still there? Why is it there at all?' I flipped my palm over several times, shook it, but the faint blue tattoo was still there. 'You can see it, right? Like right now, you can see it?' 'Yes. It hasn't faded.' Seth leaned forward, catching my hand. 'Stop shaking it like it's a damn Etch-A-Sketch. That doesn't make them disappear. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

609:Jeremy’s T-Shirts by book: Hard As It Gets “ROUTE 69” “This guy loves BACON” with two hands with their thumbs pointing back at him “Orgasm Donor” with a red cross Big Johnson’s Tattoo Parlor, “You’re going to feel more than a Little Prick” “I’m not Santa but you can still sit on my lap” Hard As You Can Log-holding beaver that says, “Are you looking at my wood?” “I put the long in schlong” Hard to Hold On To "Blink if you're horny" Hard to Come By Hand pointing downward and the words, "May I suggest the sausage?" Charlie (who starts borrowing Jeremy's t-shirts): A smiling fire extinguished that says, "I put out" Charlie: Schnauzer wearing a saddle that says, "Weiner Rides, 25 cents" "HEAD Foundation. Please give generously" Charlie: Mr. T with the words "Mr. T Shirt" There's a party in my pants. You're invited. ~ Laura Kaye,

610:The way he straddled that chair, Tizzy thought Bob looked trapped in a bad harness.  His black hair was greasy, long, and swept back.  He looked unnatural for such a natural man.  In fact, Tizzy began to see that even his tattoos were unnatural tattoos.  As her eyes warmed to the light, she began to see how his tattoos were butchered.  They were more like tattoo scraps.  The leftover illustrations danced in the light: bleached, wrinkly red and blue-green.  His skin etchings which had been almost removed.  They had been altered until they were a twisting, scarred mess of old cuts and hairy remnants of color.  Yes, those tattoos had died torturous deaths.  Tizzy chewed, trying not to stare.  Bob did not seem to care.  But she tried not stare.  She was pretty sure there was a snip of dragon's tail she could still see, blue and curling up from scar tissue below his left elbow. “Sure ~ Randy Thornhorn,

611:Some researchers have reported that high levels of stress are associated with improved memory in the laboratory (Goodman et al. 1991b; Warren & Swartwood, 1992), some have reported that high levels of stress are associated with poorer memory (Bugental et al., 1992; Merritt, Ornstein, & Spicker, 1994). For example, Howe, Courage, & Peterson (1994) found no relationship between the amount of stress (reported by the parents) and the amount of information recalled by their children either 3-5 days or 6 months after an emergency room procedure. By contrast, Goodman et al. (1991b) found that children who showed higher levels of arousal during a medical procedure reported the incident more accurately than children who simply had a washable tattoo applied. ~ Teti D.M. (2005). Handbook of research methods in developmental science: New developments in the study of infant memory. San Francisco: Blackwell Publishing., p.500,

612:I’m lying on Cash’s chest, tracing his tattoo. “What does this mean?” I whisper. “It’s the Chinese symbol for awesome,” he teases lightly. I giggle. “If it’s not, which I imagine it isn’t, then it should be.” “Are you paying me a compliment? I just want to be sure, so I don’t miss it.” I slap his ribs. “You make it sound like I’m mean and horrible because I don’t throw myself at your feet.” “You don’t have to throw yourself at my feet. Although if you want to, I’m sure I can think of something for you to do while you’re down there.” I look up at him and he’s waggling his eyebrows again. “I’m sure you could.” Shaking my head, I settle back onto his chest and resume tracing the ink shapes. “Seriously, what do they mean?” Cash is quiet for so long I begin to think he’s not going to answer me. But then he finally speaks. “It’s a collage of things that remind me of my family. ~ Michelle Leighton,

613:There was a time with his wife on this river or a river just like it, it can't be this river, but in his memory it is this one. A time on a wash just like this where he lay shirtless with her shivering in the August night, jeans pasted dark and wet to his knocking legs, his torso white to glowing in the moonlight. Her hair tendriled and framed about her face like an outlandish black tattoo. Her wet dress like a sleeve of molting skin, which of a sort it had been that whole night in their dancing. Her heart in its red and white cage knocking just inches from his own, like two young prisoners tapping out simpleton Morse I am here I am here I am here. Here I am for your pleasure for you forever. On a river like this where he impregnated her. A river promise too, he said I love you I love you. Seventeen years old. A pleasure so total that even then he knew he had mortgaged years to her and he did not care. ~ Smith Henderson,

614:You want that water, boy?” The boy nodded. It would do no good, but he nodded anyway as he always did. Maybe this would be the one time when they felt sorry enough for him to give him the water. “I’ll give you the water if you cry, boy,” Tattoo said, his eyes glowing beneath his black mask. “Go ahead. Cry for it. Cry like the little pansy you are.” The boy was all cried out. There probably wasn’t enough water in his body to make tears. But that water—that tall, clear glass of water—pulsed like a heartbeat. It was laughing too, ridiculing him, jabbing at him. “You can’t have me. They’ll never let you have me…” The boy closed his eyes, squeezing them together, desperately trying to conjure just one tear, even knowing that he still wouldn’t get the water if he cried. He bore down, clenched all his muscles, trying, trying… “Come on, boy. Just cry for me. Cry one tear, and I’ll let you have the water.” The boy didn’t cry. ~ Helen Hardt,

615:Go to dinner with me?” His voice whispers against my ear. I start to shake my head when his fingertip lightly traces the birdcage tattoo on my arm. My eyes shut at the sensation. His touch. “I dream about you almost every night.” Join the club, buddy, I want to tell him. I dream about me every night, too… well, until I met him. Now I dream too damn much about him. “Just one date and I will leave you alone if you never want to see me again. Deal?” I open my eyes to gaze into his. There are too many things happening at once. Everything within me says to tell him no. Nothing good can come of this. I know what I have to tell him. “Dinner, not a date,” I say, looking him square in the eyes. Holy hell! What did you just do, Keller? Really? Seriously? He grins, not hiding his happiness at my words. I step away, allowing him time to button his shirt up. “Dinner then dessert, and, Keller, it will definitely be a date,” he says, ~ Nicole Reed,

616:Kiss me!” I pleaded. “Please, Pigeon! I told him no!” Abby shoved me away. “Leave me alone, Travis!” She shouldered passed me, but I grabbed her wrist. She kept her arm straight, outstretched behind her, but she didn’t turn around. “I am begging you.” I fell to my knees, her hand still in mine. My breath puffed out in white steam as I spoke, reminding me of the cold. “I’m begging you, Abby. Don’t do this.” Abby glanced back, and then her eyes drifted down her arm to mine, seeing the tattoo on my wrist. The tattoo that bared her name. She looked away, toward the cafeteria. “Let me go, Travis.” The air knocked out of me, and with all hope obliterated, I relaxed my hand, and let her slip out of my fingers. Abby didn’t look back as she walked away from me, and my palms fell flat on the sidewalk. She wasn’t coming back. She didn’t want me anymore, and there was nothing I could do or say to change it. ~ Jamie McGuire,

617:I thought this kissing thing would make him step up. But I guess he just doesn’t care as much as I thought he did.” “He cares,” Emily says. I shake my head. “He doesn’t.” “He does. He told Logan. Logan told me.” My belly flutters. “Logan must be hearing things.” Emily snorts again. “I mean…” “I know what you meant,” Emily says, smiling. “Logan can be pretty intuitive about some things. And he feels certain that Sean wants you. Bad. And Sean said as much.” Friday bites her lip, then adds, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but…” “What?” I ask. “You know how he got a new tattoo last week?” she asks. I didn’t know so I don’t answer. “What did he get?” I ask instead. She inhales, weighing her decision to tell me. Then she blurts out, “It’s a honeybee.” “Oh shit,” I say. “What?” Emily asks. “What did I miss?” “He calls me honey when he’s being all sweet.” Friday nods. “I blew it when I told him I just want to be friends.” “Logan ~ Tammy Falkner,

618:When he was finished, she started to get off the bed. She didn’t get far. With a great lurch, he pitched over onto his side and put his head in her lap, throwing one muscular arm around behind her. He was seeking comfort. Beth didn’t know what she could really do for him, but she put the glass aside and stroked his back, running her hand over his fearsome tattoo. She murmured things she wished someone had whispered to her when she felt ill. Hummed a little for him. After a while, the tension left his skin and bones. He began breathing deeply. When she was sure he was out cold, she carefully extracted herself from his grasp. As she turned to meet Wrath’s gaze, she braced herself. Surely he’d know there was nothing— Shock stilled her. Wrath wasn’t mad. Far from it. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. The bow of his head was almost humble. “Thank you for caring for my brother.” He took his sunglasses off. And looked at her with total adoration. ~ J R Ward,

619:I slowly came to recognize individual monks within the crowds of interchangeable orange robes and shaved heads. There were flirtatious and daring monks who stood on each other's shoulders to peek over the temple at you and call out "Hello, Mrs. Lady!" as you walked by. There were novices who snuck cigarettes at night outside the temple walls, the embers of their smokes glowing as orange as their robes. I saw a buff teenage monk doing push-ups, and I spotted another one with an unexpectdely gangsterish tattoo of a knife emblazoned on one golden shoulder. One night I'd eavesdropped while a handful of monks sang Bob Marley songs to each other underneath a tree in a temple garden, long after they should have been asleep. I'd even seen a knot of barely adolescent novices kickboxing each other - a display of good-natured competition, that like boys' games all over the world, carried the threat of turning truly violent at a moment's notice. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

620:She had twisted and turned from the fever, until one side of her nightgown was rolled up above her waist and the covers were off. He couldn’t help but notice the length of her legs and the slender curve of her hip. And, while he wasn’t going to mess with her gown and take the chance of waking her up, he could pull the covers back over her. It wasn’t until he bent down to grab the blankets that he saw the small tattoo on her hip. His eyes widened. He looked at her profile. Even asleep, she appeared daunting. But this little tattoo was proof that there might be a softer side to Catherine Dupree. The tattoo was a butterfly—and it was pink. Who would ever have believed that Cat Dupree would be the kind of woman to have a girly thing like that? Barbed wire? Yes. A skull and crossbones? Sure. A snake with fangs exposed? Plausible. But a tattoo of a small pink butterfly on her butt? Priceless. ~ Sharon Sala,

621:You get a tattoo like this and a ’do like this, and wear a shirt where the tattoo shows, and you walk into a room of people and feel the animosity, the disapproval, the how-dare-you. You can feel it coming off them like heat off a stove. And the thing I want to ask them is, how have I deserved this, what have I done that so offends you? I have not asked you to cut your hair this way. I have not asked you what you thought of it, or to approve it. So why do you feel this way towards me? If you can’t get past my 'too—my tattoo—and my 'do—the way I got my hair cut—it’s only because you have decided there are certain things that can be done with hair and certain things that cannot be done with hair. And certain of them are right and proper and decent, and the rest indicate a warped, degenerate nature; therefore I am warped and degenerate. 'Cause I got my hair cut a different way, man? You gonna really live your life like that? What’s wrong with you? ~ Harry Crews,

622:At one point, Tom came back with another tattoo hidden under the bracelet he’d worn since his and Prophet’s first mission together. A tattoo that was almost an exact replica of the bracelet. “So no one can take it off me again,” he’d said in response to Prophet’s unasked question. Because when Tom had been jailed in New Orleans, he’d been forced to take it off, and he’d then waited until Prophet could put it back on him. The superstitious voodoo bastard. But Prophet had to admit it made him smile when Tom wasn’t looking. And once he’d discovered it, he’d taken the time to trace it with his tongue and nip it with his teeth, marking Tom hard, wanting to give tangible proof to his feelings. When Tom found out about the other shit—his eyes, everything else he was hiding—he might run, but Prophet resigned himself to the fact that his heart could get ripped out. Again. And it would be worse this time. Way worse, because Prophet knew more, felt more, loved harder. ~ S E Jakes,

623:What are we talking about?” Tawny asked as Judd rolled a ball, knocked over a few pins, then frowned like he might knock the others over with his angry glare. “Aaron’s going to fix her tat,” Bailey explained while Cooper and Farah wandered off. “He’s an artist,” Tawny cooed. “He made this angel on Judd.” After Tawny showed me Judd’s arm, she put her hand back to where she had a gorgeous tattoo of a fallen angel. “He’s very talented,” she added. “I’m excited to get my butterfly finished.” “He’ll do a great job,” Bailey reassured, taking a ball from Vaughn and rolling it into the wrong alley. “Oops.” “Idiot.” “Be nice or I won’t be nice,” Bailey warned, glaring up at him. “I love feisty women,” he said, smirking down at her. “Not interested. Blond men are usually stupid. Just look at my brothers. Anyway, I don’t want a dumbass loser. I want a smartass winner.” “You deserve nothing less,” I said and Bailey smiled at me like I was amazing. ~ Bijou Hunter,

624:Aaron sketched up a tattoo design for me. We’ll start on it soon, but he thinks I can’t handle all the pain in one sitting, so he’s breaking it into parts.” “What’s the tattoo of and where will it be?” he asked, glancing over my breasts. “A fallen angel and it won’t be on my boobs, Judd.” Laughing at my tone, he didn’t seem to hear the first part. I saw when the words registered. “Why fallen?” he asked, his gaze harder now. Holding his gaze, I refused to back down. “You know.” “Fuck you for thinking that makes you fallen.” “Fuck you for thinking you know what I am.” Judd suddenly laughed. “What?” Grudgingly, I smiled. “Whatever. You’re irritating me.” “Where’s the tat going to be? Something around your heart shaped ass maybe?” “Heart shaped?” Judd wiggled his eyebrows at me. “I love that damn ass of yours. Shit, this morning when you walked over to get your clothes, I about jizzed myself.” “Yummy. Best breakfast conversation ever. ~ Bijou Hunter,

625:The tattoo artist inflicts pain and I take it. With each breath I count to one again. Each inhale, each exhale, time passes in the smallest of pieces, and pieces still smaller than those. This is how you count a life. This is how you go through it. Each second of hurt is a second that's already passed, one you never have to go through again. I have counted in pieces that small, when walking from the bed to the fridge seemed an insurmountable goal. I have counted my breaths, my steps, my eye-blinks, my hiccups, the tiny pulse in my thumb. And when I started getting tattooed, two of the things I used to need were gone: to write on myself, and to find irrelevant things to count. A second of intense pain is the most profound thing you can live through. And another, and another, and another, and then you know what it is to feel, and to struggle through that feeling one small agonizing increment at a time, and if you know that, you know what it is to live with mental illness. ~ Stacy Pershall,

626:For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers, green roses, chrysanthemums, lilies: retrophilia, philocaly, philomath, sarcophilous—all this love, of the past, of beauty, of knowledge, of flesh; this is catalogue & counter: philalethist, negrophile, neophile. A negro man walks down the street, taps Newport out against a brick wall & stares at you. Love that: lygophilia, lithophilous. Be amongst stones, amongst darkness. We are glass house. Philopornist, philotechnical. Why not worship the demimonde? Love that—a corner room, whatever is not there, all the clutter you keep secret. Palaeophile, ornithophilous: you, antiquarian, pollinated by birds. All this a way to dream green rose petals on the bed you love; petrophilous, stigmatophilia: live near rocks, tattoo hurt; for you topophilia: what place do you love? All these words for love (for you), all these ways to say believe in symphily, to say let us live near each other. ~ Reginald Dwayne Betts,

627:What is the use of the colon? What is a colon? Generally it opens onto an explanation, but it is always done with the help of an interruption. It can be said that the colon is not the period, it is the period of the period, the canceling of the period. It is a moment mute and marked; it is the most delicate tattoo of the text. It is also in place of, instead of, everything that would be causal. For example, when we read: "It's simply that: secret." "Secret," is a sentence, it is the shortest sentence perhaps. But it is a sentence in one word. It is a sentence that is secret and that at the same time says its name. One could invert and say: "Secret: it is simply that." This is secret, the secret is the secret of this, it is a word which makes infinite sense all by itself, it is a sentence which performs the secret itself [Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life, trans Elizabeth Lowe & Earl Fitz, Foreword by Hélène Cixous trans Verena Conley, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989] ~ H l ne Cixous,

628:Luc scored forty and slapped the darts in her palm. “The light sucks in here.” “No.” She smiles and took great pleasure in announcing, “You suck.” His gaze narrowed. Weeks of anger and hurt poured out of her and she said, louder than she’d intended, “And worse – you’re a whiner.” A collective intake of breath caught their attention and she and Luc turned and looked at the guys watching a few feet away. “Lucky’s gonna kill Sharky,” Sutter predicted from the sidelines. By taut agreement they both went to their respective corners. Jane shot and scored sixty-five. Luc scored thirty-four. “Now remind me. Why do they call you Lucky?” she asked as she reached for the darts. He pulled them back out of her reach as a slow, purely licentious smile curved his mouth. A smile that told her he was remembering her on her knees kissing his tattoo. “I’m sure if you think long and hard, you’ll remember the answer to that.” “No.” She shook her head. “Some things just aren’t that memorable. ~ Rachel Gibson,

629:So, Mr. Digence, home to visit the family?" "That's right. My mother's folks are from Killarney." "Oh, really?" "O'Reilly, actually. But what's a vowel between friends?" "Very good. You should be on the stage." "It's funny you should mention that." The passport officer groaned. Ten more minutes and his shift would have been over. "I was being sarcastic, actually. . ." "Because my friend, Mr. McGuire, and I are also doing a stint in the Christmas pantomime. It's Snow White. I'm Doc, and he's Dopey." The passport officer forced a smile. "Very good. Next." Mulch spoke for the entire line to hear. "Of course, Mr. McGuire there was born to play Dopey, if you catch my drift." Loafers lost it right there in the terminal. "You little freak!" he screamed. "I'll kill you! You'll be my next tattoo! You'll be my next tattoo!" Much tutted as Loafers disappeared beneath half a dozen security guards. "Actors," he said. "Highly strung. ~ Eoin Colfer,

630:A Marvel Five months after being mauled by his illusionist, Bernard J. Ebber reported the scheme he’d devised. “I can gaze out my window and see 10 people who look like stars: they build a great part of my remote personality and make life bearable on Mars for example – the last resort of our cosmopolitan lifestyle. Successful applicants, they play a key role, utilising the latest scenes, mismanaging the lost, solo.” A few grey hairs sprouted casually through a tattoo as he spoke and beamed at them from billboards over the weeks that followed. How words beat against the pane was his subject – and how, when sidling up to the bar, he’d hitch his briefs, screen his soliloquies and pass the legal tender where they’d kicked him. But the show he put on, though true, was convincing. People marvelled at the way he insisted on flickering on and off he’d go, developing black hole technology, keeping in touch with old friends. ~ Chris Edwards,

631:her all the way to the crossroads, and I think it more than adequate.” Everyone gaped at her like she was mad. “Our goal,” she continued, “was to distract the king, was it not? To distract the king and those who serve him, to send them on a merry chase. It would have been nice to meet the lady, and to use her captivity to our advantage, but our first intention was to empty the tombs of its guards, yes?” Immerez calmed and nodded, and Sarge let out a breath of relief. Karigan’s own thoughts were awhirl. They kidnapped Estora just to distract the king? To empty the tombs? What were they up to? “Who are you?” she asked the woman. The woman did not answer, but withdrew a pendant from beneath her chemise. It was crudely made of iron, but shaped into a design Karigan knew well: a dead tree. “Second Empire,” she whispered. She glanced at the onlookers. “You’re all Second Empire?” Some drew out pendants like the woman’s, and others raised their hands, palms outward, to show the tattoo of the dead tree. The old woman smiled kindly ~ Kristen Britain,

632:You’re getting your tattoo.” I threw my arms around Dad’s neck. “Thank you!” “Hey,” Mom said. “I’m the one who had to persuade him it wasn’t going to turn his little girl into a streetwalker.” “I never said that,” Dad said. “No?” I said. “Cool. Cause I’ve decided to skip the paw print. I’m thinking of a tramp stamp with flames that says ‘Hot in Here.’ No, wait. Arrows. For directionally challenged guys.” Mom grabbed Dad’s shoulders and steered him away from me. “She’ll get exactly what we agreed on. Now go hang out in a guy store and we’ll call when we’re done.” “This is so cool,” I said loudly as Dad walked away. “Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?” “He’s a she,” Mom said. “Is she hot? Cause I’m still young, you know. My sexual identity isn’t fully formed.” “Your father can’t hear you anymore, Maya.” Mom sighed. “Poor guy. Why can’t you be a normal teenage daughter who’d sooner die than say the words ‘sexual identity’ in front of him?” “You guys raised me right. You should be proud. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

633:Pinkle Purr Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, A little black nothing of feet and fur; And by-and-by, when his eyes came through, He saw his mother, the big Tattoo. And all that he learned he learned from her. 'I'll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr. Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, A ridiculous kitten with silky fur. And little black Pinkle grew and grew Till he got as big as the big Tattoo. And all that he did he did with her. 'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr. Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, An adventurous cat in a coat of fur. And whenever he thought of a thing to do, He didn't much bother about Tattoo, For he knows it's nothing to do with her, So 'See you later,' says Pinkle Purr. Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr, An enormous leopard with coal-black fur. A little brown kitten that's nearly new Is now playing games with its big Tattoo… And Pink looks lazily down at her: 'Dear little Tat,' says Pinkle Purr. ~ Alan Alexander Milne,

634:He had a warrior’s body, all lean muscles and strength. Her hands tingled even though she carefully skirted his bicep. When he realized what she was doing, he caught her hand, brought it back up, and placed it directly over his tattoo. “I can protect you from that, now that I know you’re sensitive to it.” After a few seconds, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “I am sorry that happened, Lena. That darkness is my burden to carry. You shouldn’t have to share it.” She twined her hands behind his neck and leaned into him, pleasing them both with the press of her breasts against his chest. “We all have darkness that haunts us, Sandor. Yours may be worse than most, but I have a few nightmares of my own.” He sat back on his haunches and lifted her to straddle his lap. “Then share them with me. Maybe I can ease them for you.” She shot him an incredulous look and gave his erection a long, low stroke. “You want to trade bad memories right now?” “Actually, no.” His chuckle was low and rough. “Remind me later. ~ Alexis Morgan,

635:The religious leaders of the day had written the script for the Messiah. When Jesus announced he was the Messiah, the Pharisees and others screamed at him, "There is no Jesus in the Messiah script. Messiahs do not hang out with losers. Our Messiah does not break all the rules, Our Messiah does not question our leadership or threaten our religion or act so irresponsibly. Our Messiah does not disregard his reputation, befriend riffraff, or frequent the haunts of questionable people." Jesus' reply? "This Messiah does"! Do you see why Christianity is called "good news"? Christianity proclaims that it is an equal-opportunity faith, open to all, in spite of the abundance of playwrights in the church who are more than anxious to announce, "There is no place for you in Christianity if you [wear an earring/have a tattoo/drink wine/have too many questions/look weird/smoke/dance/haven't been filled with the Spirit/aren't baptized/swear/have pink hair/are in the wrong ethnic group/have a nose ring/have had an abortion/are gay or lesbian/are too conservative or too liberal]. ~ Mike Yaconelli,

636:Cooper waited for me to shut the door then he cupped the back of my head and leaned down to give me a soft kiss. His tongue explored my mouth for a second then he pulled back and smiled. “You look sexy. Awake too.” “You look sexy too,” I said like a dork. Cooper laughed then stepped back and raised his arms. “What specifically do you like?” My face had to be bright red because it was on fire as I lowered my gaze and smiled grudgingly. “I like your shoes,” I said, laughing. “That’s what makes you stand out.” Laughing harder, Cooper rolled back on his heels and checked out his black boots. “Yeah, I can see that,” he muttered, grinning at me. “Anything else?” “Uh, that tattoo right there,” I said, pointing to his forearm. “The ‘I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die’ tattoo? Are you a big Cash fan or do you like murder?” “Cash fan.” Cooper touched my chin then lifted my gaze to meet his. “You had no idea what it said, did you?” “No, I just thought it was cute.” “Cute?” he said, kissing me quickly before sighing dramatically. “It’s like pulling teeth with you. ~ Bijou Hunter,

637:After deliberating my options for a split second, I rolled my chair over to watch him tattoo the guy he had hunched over, working on an old pirate ship right smack on the middle of the man’s brawny shoulder. I didn’t say a word as I watched him, not wanting to distract him from the man who had been all too excited to request Slim’s work an hour before. But my friend Slim had other thoughts. His green eyes flashed up at me. “What was that about?” "Huh?" I played stupid. Slim pulled the gun off the customer’s skin, dabbing at the beaded blood before continuing with a shake of his head. "Since when are you guys BFFs?" I’d learned over the last month how chatty all the guys were, well, specifically Slim and Blake. If I answered his question just remotely weird, I’d bet my first born Slim would jump to some kind of crazy conclusion that I wanted no part of. So I went with the truth. “I heard him fart last night. It kind of broke the ice.” The little whistle he let out told me that was good enough. He snorted and raised an eyebrow before getting back to work. “That’ll do it. ~ Mariana Zapata,

638:Shh! She said. The waiter. He's about to take their order. She leaned back and to her left, closer,closer,closer,her body like a giraffe's neck, until her chair shot out from under her and she landed on the floor. The whole restaurant turned to look. I jumped up to help. She stood up, righted the chair, and started in again. Did you see the tattoo one of them has on the inside of his arm? It looked like a roll of tape. I took a gulp of margarita and settled into my fallback option, which was to wait her out. Know what one of the guys at the drive-through Starbucks has on his forearm? Bernadette said. A paper clip! It used to be so daring to get a tattoo. And now people are tattooing office supplies on their bodies. You know what I say? Of course this was rhetorical. I say, dare not to get a tattoo. She turned around again, and gasped. Oh My God. It's not just any roll of tape. It's literally Scotch tape, with the green-and-black plaid. This is too hilarious. If you're going to tattoo tape on your arm, at least make it a generic old-fashioned tape dispenser! What do you think happened? Did the Staples catalogue get delivered to the tattoo parlor that day? ~ Maria Semple,

639:And what do you know, John's hands flew through the positions of ASL in various l-got-this combinations. "Is he deaf" the guy behind the cash register asked in a stage whisper. As if someone using American Sign Language was some kind of freak. "No. Blind." "Oh." As the man kept staring, Qhuinn wanted to pop him. "You going to help us out here or what?" "Oh ... yeah. Hey, you got a tattoo on your face." Mr. Observant moved slowly, like the bar codes on those bags were creating some kind of wind resistance under his laser reader. "Did you know that?" Really. "I wouldn't know." ''Are you blind, too?" No filter on this guy. None. "Yeah, I am." "Oh, so that's why your eyes are all weird." "Yeah. That's right." Qhuinn took out a twenty and didn't wait for change-murder was just a liiiiiittle too tempting. Nodding to John, who was also measuring the dear boy for a shroud, Qhuinn went to walk off. "What about your change ?" the man called out. "I'm deaf, too. I can't hear you." The guy yelled more loudly, "I'll just keep it then, yeah?" "Sounds good," Qhuinn shouted over his shoulder. Idiot was stage-five stupid. Straight up. ~ J R Ward,

640:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made my life wonderful, its made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book" by peeling open my hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,

641:I walked in without knocking. The screen door banged to a close behind me announcing my presence. I followed my nose to the kitchen and found Kaleb standing by the stove. He stirred something that smelled absolutely delicious a wooden spoon in one hand and a huge chef’s knife in the other. “Are you sober?” I asked from the doorway. He turned and leveled a smile at me that made me a little wobbly. “I am." “Good. Because if not I was going to take the deadly kitchen utensil away from you.” I crossed the room and pulled myself up to sit on the counter beside the stove. A cutting board full of green peppers and two uncut stalks of celery waited for attention from the knife. Melted butter and diced onions bubbled in a sauté pan on the stove. “You cook." Kaleb was so pretty I was jealous. Pretty with ripped muscles and a tattoo of a red dragon covering most of his upper body. “Yes,” he said. “I cook.” “Do you usually wear a wife beater and,” I pushed him back a little by his shoulder “an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ while you’re doing it? ” He leaned so close to me my heart skipped a couple of beats. “I’ll wear it all the time if you’ll consider it. ~ Myra McEntire,

642:Like that breeder-woman sitting at the bar, who thinks it's a buzz to go into a gay joint and has no doubt heard somewhere that this is one. Her lurid get-up's a joke, ludicrous. She's the type who dons the camouflage-green combat trousers, wraps a bandanna around her head and paints herself with black lipstick, imagining all the lesbians in the joint'll have the hots for her. Not so much imagining as secretly hoping. Naturally, no one goes and sits with her. She's been here before, and everyone gives the ice-cold shoulder, yet she still turns up again and again. Someone might argue we're zoo animals for her. But I've another theory. For her, we're noble savages, a kind of grey area outside the respectable, minutely organized community, an untamed wilderness it takes a lot of guts to step into. But if you do dare, there's a glorious smell of freedom floating around your trousers and giving the finger to society, making whoever an instant anarchist. Certainly, for her, coming here is like putting a washable tattoo on your shoulder : there's the thrill of deviance with none of the dull commitment - and she'll never have to wonder whether she's too weird to be seen out before dark. ~ Johanna Sinisalo,

643:I look at the marks of my past family every day, the visible ones, the ones that live on my skin. They’ve long since healed over; they no longer open me to anything. But they’re a part of me, of my experience, as much a record of what has come before as any of the others and in some ways more so since I took them on purposefully. They’re choices I made. Even if it is true that we’re counselled to pack away our love letters and our old photos of our lost loves if we want to truly heal from breakups or divorce, my wearing the tokens I couldn’t just pack away ensured that I have struggled and mourned until I healed. That’s worth something. It’s also worth something to remember that even if things ended (and not even all that well), I loved and was loved, risked and was safely caught. In the end, I don’t want to cover that or erase it—I want to celebrate it and carry it forward. The tattoo of Stanley’s left foot on my right thigh is a centimetre at most from the constellation on the same thigh. Like an old tree, I wear every year that I’ve lived inside me, drought or flood, long winter or warm fall, all of them legible in my rings and—like on any old tree—once they become part of the whole, they’re beautiful. ~ S Bear Bergman,

644:A good hard fuck later, she stared at me in a sleepy way. Raven needed more rest after all our fun. I know I sure as hell did. “My dick needs a nap,” I told her while brushing hair away from her face. “I should go.” Resting on my back, I sighed. “I need a nap too.” “After we sleep, you’ll drive me to my car, so I can go home?” she muttered with her eyes half closed. “No, we’ll get something to eat then I’ll take you to Jodi’s for your car.” “Getting something to eat sounds like a date and I’m not dating anyone,” she said, forcing her eyes open. “It’s not a date, crabapple. We’re friends with benefits. We’ve done the benefits. Now, let’s do the friend crap.” “I don’t want to be your friend,” she said, cuddling up against my arm. Smirking, I pulled a sheet over us. “Of course, you do. I’m awesome.” “I don’t want to eat with you.” “You need to keep your strength up, Raven, because I’m really looking forward to fucking you at your place. Doing a chick in more than one location is my thing.” A grinning Raven nuzzled the “Hungry Like a Wolf” tattoo on my shoulder. “You’re an idiot.” “Fuck you, darling. I’m the Einstein of the Reapers. Now, shut up and go to sleep. ~ Bijou Hunter,

645:I sit by his bed and pull the covers over him. In doing so, I accidently brush against his thigh. And that’s when I feel it. That same electrical sensation I got the first time I touched the spot—in my room, when I begged him to stay the night. The feeling radiates up my spine and gnaws at my nerves. It’s like something’s there, marked on his leg. I run my fingers over the spot—through the blanket—almost tempted to have a look. I close my eyes, trying to sense things the way he does—to get a mental picture from merely touching the area. But I can’t. And I don’t. Still, I have to know if I’m right. I peer over my shoulder toward the door, checking to see that no one’s looking in. And then I roll the covers down. Ben’s wearing a hospital gown. With trembling fingers, I pull the hem and see it right away: the image of a chameleon, tattooed on his upper thigh. It’s about four inches long, with green and yellow stripes. And its tail curls into the letter C. I feel my face furrow, wondering when he got the tattoo, and why he never told me. It wasn’t so long ago that I told him the story of my name—how my mother named me after a chameleon, because chameleons have keen survival instincts. ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz,

646:I’m a tattoo artist, I’ll probably always be a tattoo artist and I don’t know how that plays into your future or the future you have planned after school and frankly I don’t care. This is what I have to offer you Shaw and just like you let me be your first, I’m letting you be mine,” I covered her entire palm with a detailed drawing of a sacred heart, it matched the one I had inked on the center of my chest. It had flames dancing up the back, a crown of thorns on top of it, a spray of roses along the bottom and in the center I drew a scrolling banner with my name in the center. “Here’s my heart Shaw. You have it in your hands and I promise you’re the first and last person to ever touch it. You need to be careful with it because it’s far more fragile than I ever thought and if you try and give it back I’m not taking it. I don’t know enough about love to know for sure that’s what this between us is, but I know that for me it’s you and only you from here on out and I can only promise to be careful and not push you away again. Life without you in it is doable, but if I have a choice I want to do it with you by my side and I’m telling you I’m not running away from the work it takes to make that happen. Shaw I’m not scared of us anymore. ~ Jay Crownover,

647:Her father doesn’t like me.” “He doesn’t know you yet.” “He knows I’m deaf and that I’m all tatted up.” I look down at my arms. Every single tattoo means something to me. I wouldn’t erase them if I could. Paul shrugs. “And neither of those things makes you bad for his daughter.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Getting her pregnant, on the other hand…” He lets his thoughts trail off. “He brought her ex-boyfriend to New York to live with her. That’s why she’s here at our apartment.” Paul purses his lips like he’s whistling. “Sorry,” he says, when he remembers I can’t hear whatever noise he’s making. “That’s shit.” “She refused to stay there.” “Good girl,” he says with a smile. “I knew I liked her.” “Her father is going to be a problem.” “Win him over, dumbass,” he says. “You’re smart. You want to succeed. You’re talented as hell. And you love his daughter. He’ll get over the tats and you not being able to hear.” He motions absently toward his ears. I’ve been deaf so long that my family doesn’t see it as a handicap. Neither do I. I push to my feet. “I’m going to bed.” Paul arches his brow at me. “None of your fucking business,” I grouse. But I rub his head as I walk by, and he shoves my hip to get me away from him. “Love you, dumbass,” I say. “Love you better,” he replies. ~ Tammy Falkner,

648:Logan shoulders his way past me and glares at her. “I’m not leaving again,” he says to her. She nods. “I know.” “No matter what you say,” he goes on. “I just needed to do something. I wanted it to be a surprise.” She holds her hand out to him. “I meant to do it later, but time got away from me, and then I realized that I hadn’t done it yet, and I was almost out of time. And so Friday helped me with it.” She motions for him to take her hand again. “But first we had to wash that stupid basketball off.” A grin tugs at the corners of my lips when she lifts her hospital gown and I see that the ball is gone. She’s wearing a pair of Logan’s boxer shorts for now, but her belly is huge and she looks like the timer on her chicken has popped. Across her belly are the words, “My name is Catherine. And I’m my daddy’s girl.” “You finally picked a name?” Logan asks. He puts his hand on her belly and draws out the letters. It’s made like his tattoo that says, “My name is Emily.” It’s the one he got when he found out her real name. “That name was your favorite, right?” she asks. I know it’s more than just his favorite. Catherine was our mom’s name. He nods, and I see him swallow really hard. “Kit,” he says. “Kit,” she repeats. Her voice cracks. There’s so much history between them with regard to that nickname. ~ Tammy Falkner,

649:Pixie was still looking a little shell-shocked when they walked over to the desk. “This is Pixie, our studio manager. She’ll take your details when you’re ready.” “Hey, Pixie, pleased to meet you.” Trent had never seen Pixie so inanimate. She didn’t move to take the hand Dred had offered. “Pix?” Trent smirked as she quickly collected herself with a shake of her head, reaching her hand out. “Sorry. Miles away. Welcome to Second Circle.” “Nice tattoo you got there, Pixie. What are those?” “Flowers,” she mumbled. What the hell was up with Pixie? They’d had famous people in the studio before. Dred laughed. “I can see that. I was curious what kind.” The phone rang and Pixie jumped all over it, effectively cutting Dred off. “Sorry,” Trent apologized. “Fortunately, we’re generally pretty busy here. Want to take a seat and we can figure out what you’re looking for?” Trent started to walk to one of the beds toward the back of the studio. “We have a setup in the room back here if you want a bit more privacy.” Realizing Dred was no longer with him, he turned to see him still staring at Pixie’s back. “Hey dude,” he whispered, “we charge extra for checking out the staff’s asses.” “What? Oh … right, yeah. How much? I’d definitely pay extra for a closer view. ~ Scarlett Cole,

650:That life and this. This life. That life. The one beneath is drawn in solid lines and bold strokes; it is a picture drawn in permanence with ink. It’s a tattoo. Indelible. The one on top of it is sketched on vellum in soft brushes of charcoal, easily smudged. It covers the one beneath, but can’t hide it. That life. This life. It looks as if you can have both. I mean, they’re both right there, one on top of the other, and it looks as if they’ll blend. But they never will. So, you take this thing. You take this thing you want, and you put it in a box and you close the lid. You can let your fingers trace the cracks, the places where the light gets in, the dark gets out, but the lid stays on. You don’t look inside. You don’t look at this thing you want so much, because you can. Not. Have. It. So there’s this box, you know, with the thing inside, and you could throw it away or bury it or shoot it into space; you could set it on fire and watch it burn to ashes, but really, none of that would make a difference, because you cannot destroy what you want. It only makes you want it more. So. You take this thing you want and you put it in a box and you close the lid. And you hold the box close to your heart, which is where it wants to go, and you pretend it doesn’t kill you every time you feel yourself breathe. ~ Megan Hart,

651:She grabs my arm and lifts it toward her face, studying my tattoo, running her fingers over it. “It’s not scratch and sniff, sweetheart.” “What is it?” I lean close to her and whisper, “It’s a tattoo.” She scoffs. “I know that. But what does it mean?” “I got that one when my grandmother died. I was sixteen.” She points at another one. “And this one.” “When I was emancipated by the state. It turned out no foster families wanted a sixteen-year-old with a bad attitude.” “You didn’t have any other family?” “No.” “What’s this one?” She points to the side of my neck, and her finger tickles the sensitive skin. I suddenly wish she would press her lips there. “When I got out of jail and got into college.” I rub my nose, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable. “How did you turn it all around?” A smile tugs at my lips. “I had this really great parole officer who took me under his wing. He made it all work out. I owe him a lot.” I’ll never pay him back everything I owe. “He’s the one who put me on the path I’m on.” “What path is that?” She watches me closely and I have all of her attention. And I love that feeling. This girl is intoxicating in the best sort of way. “Law. I want to help boys like me. I want to give boys who have nothing and no one on their sides a second chance. Or a third chance. Or any chance. ~ Tammy Falkner,

652:What did those people teach you?" he asked me one night, mystified. "What exactly do Catholics believe?" I'd been preparing my whole life for this question. "First of all, blood. BLOOD. Second of all, thorns. Third of all, put dirt on your forehead. Do it right now. Fourth of all, Martin Luther was a pig in a cloak. Fifth of all, Jesus is alive, but he's also dead, and he's also immortal, but he's also made of clouds, and his face is a picture of infinite peace, but he also always looks like one of those men in a headache commercial, because you'rec causing him so much suffering whenever you cuss. He is so gentle that sheep seem like demented murderers in his presence, but also rays of sunlight shoot out of his face so hard they can kill people. In fact, they do kill people, and one day they will kill you. He has a tattoo of a daisy on his lower back and he gets his hair permed every eight weeks. He's wearing a flowing white dress, but only because people didn't know about jeans back then. He's holding up two fingers because his dad won't let him have a gun. If he lived on earth, he would have a white truck, plastered with bumper stickers of Calvin peeing on a smaller Calvin who is not a Catholic." Jason was aghast. "Thorns?" he whispered. "But that's the most dangerous part of the rose. ~ Patricia Lockwood,

653:I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll to Sky’s number. It’s late, but I want to hear her voice. It’s stupid, I know. But it is what it is. “Hello,” she says, her voice hesitant. I lean against the building because my knees wobble when I talk to her. It makes me giddy. “Hi,” I say quietly. “Hi,” she breathes back. “Were you asleep?” “No, I was just thinking.” “About what?” “You,” she admits. My heart starts to beat harder. “Good thoughts?” I ask. I can almost hear her smile through the phone. “Very good.” “I just wanted to say good night.” It sounds stupid aloud. “I’m glad you called,” she replies. “Really glad.” “Can I call you tomorrow?” She laughs. “You better.” “Good night, Sky,” I say. “’Night, Matt.” I disconnect the call and put my phone in my pocket. No one is up when I get home. I’m not even sure if Paul is home. I go into my bedroom and get ready for bed. Just as I slide between the sheets, my phone rings. I see that it’s her number. “Sky?” “Yeah,” she admits. “You okay?” “I just wanted to tell you good night,” she says quietly. “I think you already did that.” But inside, my heart is beating like a tattoo gun. “Oh,” she says quietly. She laughs. “Sorry.” “You tired?” I ask. “Not at all.” So we talk late into the night. We talk until my eyes are droopy, and I still don’t want to hang up the phone. ~ Tammy Falkner,

654:The only things you feel are greed, mockery, and occasionally you probably get a hard-on, but I bet it’s not over a woman, it’s over money or an artifact or a book. You’re no different than any other player in this game. You’re no different than V’lane. You’re just a cold, mercenary—” His hand was on my throat, and he was crushing my back with his body into the cold steel beam behind me. “Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it’s none of your business, I have lost. Many things. And no, I am not like any other player in this game and I will never be like V’lane, and I get a hard-on a great deal more often than occasionally.” He leaned fully against me and I gasped. “Sometimes it’s over a spoiled little girl, not a woman at all. And yes, I trashed the bookstore when I couldn’t find you. You’ll have to choose a new bedroom, too. And I’m sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but that defines you.” His hand relaxed on my throat. “And I am going to tattoo you, Ms. Lane, however and wherever I please.” His gaze dropped down over my sun-kissed, lightly oiled, very bare skin. The delicately strung together hot pink triangles covered very little, and while I’d not minded so much on the beach, being nearly naked around Barrons felt a lot like going to a shark convention lightly basted in blood. ~ Karen Marie Moning,

655:If you die, I’m dating your corpse.” “I’m being cremated.” “I’ll date your urn.” “My urn already has a boyfriend. They’re really serious too.” Cooper laughed against my neck then wrapped himself around my waist, swallowing me up with his warm embrace. “My pop has my mom’s name on his wrist,” Cooper whispered against my cheek. “Underneath, he has my name along with the lesser crap kids he got stuck with.” “I’m in college,” I blurted out. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning that.” “Tattoos. Kids. Dating my corpse. Seems serious.” Leaning back, Cooper adjusted me so I rested against his chest. “I always planned to settle down when I was an old fart like my pop. Meet some cute piece of jailbait and make a few bad seeds plus one decent kid I could trust with the family business. Instead, here I am not even done with college with a tattoo of my girl’s name on my wrist.” “You could change your mind.” “I won’t. You’re a keeper.” “I could change my mind,” I said, wiggling my brows at him. “Who would you replace me with? Seriously, look around and see what shit pickings you have to choose from. I’m the best you’ll ever do, baby.” “You are pretty sexy. Tall too. Yeah, I can see keeping you around.” A grinning Cooper glanced at Aaron. “I’m so whipped.” “It’s pretty nauseating, yeah. ~ Bijou Hunter,

656:Ironically, the tattoo represents the opposite for me today. It reminds me that it's important to let yourself be vulnerable, to lose control and make a mistake. It reminds me that, as Whitman would say, I contain multitudes and I always will. I'm a level-one introvert who headlined Madison Square Garden—and was the first woman comic to do so. I'm the ‘overnight success’ who's worked her ass off every single waking moment for more than a decade. I used to shoplift the kind of clothing that people now request I wear to give them free publicity. I'm the SLUT or SKANK who's only had one one-night stand. I'm a ‘plus-size’ 6 on a good day, and a medium-size 10 on an even better day. I've suffered the identical indignities of slinging rib eyes for a living and hustling laughs for cash. I'm a strong, grown-ass woman who's been physically, sexually, and emotionally abused by men and women I trusted and cared about. I've broken hearts and had mine broken, too. Beautiful, ugly, funny, boring, smart or not, my vulnerability is my ultimate strength. There's nothing anyone can say about me that's more permanent, damaging, or hideous than the statement I have forever tattooed upon myself. I'm proud of this ability to laugh at myself—even if everyone can see my tears, just like they can see my dumb, senseless, whack, lame lower back tattoo. ~ Amy Schumer,

657:I won't meet his glare. "I guess I didn't care." Telling him I meant to murder his sister probably wouldn't go over very well. It would definitely cancel out the Hallmark vote. "Unacceptable. Don't ever risk your life like that again, do you understand?" I snort, sending little air bubbles dancing upward. "Hey, you know what else I don't care about? You giving me orders. I acted stupid, but-" "Actually, this is a good time to point out that I'm a Royal," he says, pointing to the small tattoo of a fork on his stomach, just above the border where his abs turn into fish. "And since you're obviously Syrena, you do have to obey me." "I'm what?" I say, trying to figure out how an eating utensil could possibly validate his claim of seniority. "Syrena. That's what we-including you-are called." "Syrena? Not mermaids?" Galen clears his throat. "Uh, mermaid?" "Really? You're gonna go there now? Fine, merman-wait, I wouldn't be a merman." Really though, what do I know about fish gender? Except that Galen is definitely male, no matter what species he is. "Just for the record, we hate that word. And by we, I mean you also." I roll my eyes. "Fine. But I'm not Syrena. Did I mention I don't have a big fin-" "You're not trying hard enough." "Trying hard enough? To grow a fin? ~ Anna Banks,

658:Elegy The page opens to snow on a field: boot-holed month, black hour the bottle in your coat half voda half winter light. To what and to whom does one say yes? If God were the uncertain, would you cling to him? Beneath a tattoo of stars the gate open, so silent so like a tomb. This is the city you most loved, an empty stairwell where the next rain lifts invisibly from the Seine. With solitude, your coat open, you walk steadily as if the railings were there and your hands weren't passing through them. "When things were ready, they poured on fuel and touched off the fire. They waited for a high wind. It was very fine, that powdered bone. It was put into sacks, and when there was enough we went to a bridge on the Narew River." And even less explicit phrases survived: "To make charcoal. For laundry irons." And so we revolt against silence with a bit of speaking. The page is a charred field where the dead would have written We went on. And it was like living through something again one could not live through again. The soul behind you no longer inhabits your life: the unlit house with its breathless windows and a chimney of ruined wings where wind becomes an aria, your name, voices from a field, And you, smoke, dissonance, a psalm, a stairwell. Anonymous submission. ~ Carolyn Forché,

659:They drifted back to reality slowly, limbs entwined, heartbeats erratic, bodies shimmering with sweat. Hunter drew her head onto his shoulder, unwilling to let her go. A half smile settled on his mouth. He knew this first coupling had fallen far short of what it could have been, what it would be the second time. He had been tense, and so had she, not to mention the pain he had inflicted. His smile broadened. This small woman filled the empty places inside him, made him feel whole again. Gazing sightlessly across the lodge at the evening shadows, Loretta listened to the rapid tattoo of Hunter’s pulse. She felt boneless and completely exhausted. Her cheeks flamed when she thought of the things he had done to her and the shameless way she had responded. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. As if he sensed her anguish, he slid his hand over her hip and upward to her ribs. “My heart is filled with great love for you,” he whispered. Tears sprang to Loretta’s eyes. She couldn’t name the emotion that caused them, didn’t want to. Then, like projectiles from a cannon, the words shot from her mouth. “Oh, Hunter, I love you, too.” The moment she said it, she knew it was true. She loved him as she had never loved anyone, with an intensity that made her ache. Hunter, the fierce warrior, the culmination of all her nightmares, had become the most important person in her world. ~ Catherine Anderson,

660:But that’s the thing. It isn’t a joke. The potato. I mean, yes, I know what you mean. Lots of tattoo artists and folks who are heavily inked don’t care so specifically about each individual piece. It stops being about each tattoo as a work of art and starts being about an approach to life where you carry your history with you. You wear it. It’s visible for the world to see, but more importantly so you can’t forget any of it. So yeah, you might get a tattoo from a friend to commemorate an event and not care so much what it looks like as you do that every time you see it you’ll remember the moment you shared. And the more you have, the more possible that is because they blend together into just…you. Your past made present on your body.” Christopher’s eyes scanned my visible ink like he was trying to read that past. My arms, my hands. When he lingered on my neck, my breath hitched. “It…confronts you with yourself. With the things you’ve thought, felt, done. You can’t pretend something didn’t happen if it’s on your skin. You can’t forget. And they’re also a way to retell the story, I guess. You know, like, if something bad happens, a lot of people get a tattoo. Not because they want to remember the bad thing, but because once they’ve lived through it, or figured it out, then every time they look at the tattoo they remember that process. Tattoos are the scars you can choose.” He was staring at me ~ Roan Parrish,

661:Can one of you do a piercing?” Friday calls. Friday is really pretty in a Katy Perry kind of way. She has tattoos on her shoulders and across her back and up her legs. I know about the ones on her legs because I put them there. She has skulls and cross bones and turtles and some really weird shit. And she dresses all retro, like a pinup girl from the sixties. “What kind of piercing?” I ask. Every gaze in the place turns to the woman, and she flushes. “One of those piercings!” Friday yells dramatically. “Pete can do it,” Paul says. Reagan’s mouth falls open. She walks over close to me. “You are not doing a private piercing,” she hisses. I do them all the time, but I don’t even want to do them anymore. She cups her hand around my ear. “The only private places you’re touching are mine.” My heart swells. I like this. I like it a lot. “Sorry,” I say. “The little lady has spoken.” I lift my face, and she bends down to kiss me. Paul looks at Logan, but Emily signs something to him really quickly and he grins. He shakes his head. “Can’t do it,” he says. “Why not?” Paul blows out a heavy breath. “Because I want to have sex tonight,” Logan says. “And tomorrow night. And the night after.” Sam’s not here. He’s probably baking a cake somewhere. And we all know where Matt is. Paul throws down the pencil on the table where he was drawing a tattoo. “You guys are worthless,” he complains. “And pussy whipped. ~ Tammy Falkner,

662:We usually bring her helmet with us, but we left it back in the hotel room this time." I gasp. I also try to decide what kind of flowers I'll bring to her funeral after I strangle the life from her body. I should have stayed in Jersey, like Mom said. Shouldn't have come here with Chloe and her parents. What business do I have in Florida? We live on the Jersey Shore. If you've seen one beach, you've seen them all, right? But noooooooo. I had to come and spend the last of my summer with Chloe, because this would be our last summer together before college, blah-blah-blah. And now she's taking revenge on me for not letting her use my ID to get a tattoo last night. But what did she expect? I'm white and she's black. I'm not even tan-white. I'm Canadian-tourist white. If the guy could mistake her for me, then he shouldn't be giving anyone a tattoo, right? I was just protecting her. Only, she doesn't realize that. I can tell by that look in her eyes-the same look she wore when she replaced my hand sanitizer with personal lubricant-that she's about to take what's left of my pride and kick it like a donkey. "Uh, we didn't get your name. Did you get his name, Emma?" she asks, as if on cue. "I tried, Chloe. But he wouldn't tell me, so I tackled him," I say, rolling my eyes. The guy smirks. This almost-smile hints at how breathtaking a real one would be. The tingling flares up again, and I rub my arms. ~ Anna Banks,

663:It was like staring into the face of a familiar stranger. You know, that person you see in a crowd and swear you know, but you really don't? Now she was me - the familiar stranger. She had my eyes. They were the same hazel color that could never decide whether it wanted to be green or brown, but my eyes had never been that big and round. Or had they? She had my hair - long and straight and almost as dark as my grandma’s had been before hers had begun to turn silver. The stranger had my high cheekbones, long, strong nose, and wide mouth - more features from my grandma and her Cherokee ancestors. But my face had never been that pale. I’d always been olive-ish, much darker skinned than anyone else in my family. But maybe it wasn’t that my skin was suddenly so white ... maybe it just looked pale in comparison to the dark blue outline of the crescent moon that was perfectly positioned in the middle of my forehead. Or maybe it was the horrid fluorescent lighting. I hoped it was the lighting. I stared at the exotic-looking tattoo. Mixed with my strong Cherokee features it seemed to brand me with a mark of wildness ... as if I belonged to ancient times when the world was bigger ... more barbaric. From this day on my life would never be the same. And for a moment — just an instant—I forgot about the horror of not belonging and felt a shocking burst of pleasure, while deep inside of me the blood of my grandmother’s people rejoiced. ~ P C Cast,

664:Throwing a frightened glance at the wagons, she threw herself across his body. “Don’t shoot!” Her scream pierced the air. “Don’t shoot, damn you! Don’t shoot!” A hush fell over the flats. The whites had already ceased firing, afraid of killing one of their own. The Comanches, even those who had never seen Hunter’s golden-haired wife, had been told about her and lowered their rifles. Swift Antelope leaped off his horse and ran out. Warrior, at the far right in the front line, rode forward as well. The two men didn’t waste a second. With gentle hands they pulled Loretta away from her husband. Lifting Hunter’s limp body between them, they slung him across his horse. Loretta pushed to her feet, watching in helpless misery as Swift Antelope led Hunter’s stallion in among the others and Warrior ran back to his pinto. “Warrior! Don’t leave me here! Please don’t leave me!” Before he rode off, Warrior turned to look at her, his dark eyes piercing, his face stricken. Then he disappeared into the ranks. As quickly as they had advanced, the Comanches retreated. Loretta, buffeted by the wind, stood alone on the flats until they rode from sight. When she could no longer hear the tattoo of their horses’ hooves, she held up her hands and stared at the smears of crimson that stained her skin. Hunter’s blood. The ultimate sacrifice. And he had made it without a second’s hesitation, out of love for her. The pain that knowledge caused her ran too deep for tears. ~ Catherine Anderson,

665:How about we up the stakes? I win, you talk to me.” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “I’m afraid to ask what you mean by talk…” “Exactly that. I win, I get thirty minutes of your time tonight.” “To charm me and lie to me and pretend to be whoever you think I want?” “Nope. Tonight it’s me, in case you haven’t noticed. The real Rafe Martinez. A special one-night appearance.” “And if I win?” He grinned. “Then you get to spend thirty minutes with me, lucky birthday girl.” I laughed and motioned for Daniel to start the countdown. Rafe still pulled the “I don’t know what I’m doing” routine, starting slow and cautious, hoping I’d second-guess my assessment and take it easy. I didn’t. He realized that when my foot reached his shoulder level. By the midpoint, he’d shot up to my waist, but his muttered curses told me he’d underestimated how good I was--or overestimated how good he was--and it was clear he wasn’t going to catch up in time. So I stopped. Daniel leaned over and mouthed, “What are you doing?” Below, the others yelled, a cacophony of shouts and cheers and jeers. Rafe reached up, his bracelet hitting the rock with a ping. I glanced at it. A worn rawhide band with a cat’s-eye stone. I could see his tattoo better, too, as he pulled himself up, and I recognized the symbol. A crow mother kachina. Hopi. As he drew up alongside me, he cocked one brow. “You really want that kiss don’t you?” he said. “No, I just want to see what you can really do. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

666:He lives with his brothers. Shoot. I’m not going to an apartment filled with men I don’t know. “I can’t,” I say, but he rolls his eyes at me. Then he bends at the waist and drives his shoulder very gently into my midsection. He hefts me over his back like I’m a sack of potatoes. I’m still holding on to my guitar, and I knock him against the backs of his legs with it. I could be screaming at him right now, and he would have no idea. I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him to put me down. He carries me like that up four flights of stairs, and he’s huffing a little when we get to the fourth floor. I expect him to keep climbing, but he doesn’t. He stops and opens a door, and we’re suddenly in a hallway. My struggling has ceased because it’s no good. He can’t hear me. He can’t respond. So, I brush my hair out of my face with one hand and try not to drop my guitar with the other. He opens a door and steps inside, closing it behind him. Four men turn to look at me, flopped there over his shoulder. I’m turned to face them as he closes the door, so I wave. What else can I do? The one I met at the tattoo parlor gets to his feet. “Who’s that?” the biggest one asks. The tattoo guy bends over to look in my face. “Shit, Logan, that’s the girl who clocked you.” The other men get up and walk over, too. One of them says, “Dude, she’s got Betty Boop on her panties.” I can’t even reach back to cover my ass. Logan lowers me to my feet. I stumble as he sets me upright, when all the blood rushes back from my head. He reaches out to steady me, and he smiles. ~ Tammy Falkner,

667:So did I hear right?” he said. “Race to the top? Winner gets a kiss?” “Maya’s done seven climbs in a row,” Daniel said. “You can race me.” “But I don’t want to kiss you.” The others laughed. Rafe didn’t even look at Daniel when he answered, just kept watching me with a smile that now held a hint of challenge. “If she says no, she forfeits the new grips,” Corey said. “She had to defeat all comers. That was the deal.” “I’m the one who offered,” Daniel said. “So it stands as is. He’s late.” “I am. So it’s up to Maya. She’s already won. I’m just the bonus round.” He grinned then, but it was a different kind of grin, a mock arrogance that made me laugh and shake my head. I looked into his eyes and saw the challenge sparkling there, and I hadn’t even decided what to do when I heard myself saying, “You’re on.” As Rafe walked over to the dangling harness, he stripped off his jacket, earning him giggles and whispers from the girls and grunts from the guys, who weren’t nearly as impressed. Rafe skipped gym whenever he could, so I’d assumed he wasn’t the athletic type. I was wrong. He wore an old T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, and his lean muscles moved under coppery skin. He had a tattoo on the inside of his forearm--a small one that looked like raven wings. When he turned around, I caught the faint edge of another tattoo on his shoulder peeking from under his shirt. He glanced over, like he’d sensed me looking. When I didn’t turn away, he grinned and mouthed something I didn’t catch, probably didn’t want to. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

668:My mother, Woman with Many Robes, asks if you want to eat?” Loretta gave an emphatic shake of her head, pressing closer to his chest. In a toss-up, she chose to stay with Hunter. He leaned forward so he could look into her eyes. “You will not be afraid. My mother will crack heads. Your good friend, eh? You will trust.” Loretta scanned the wall of leather-clad bodies and, for the first time, hugged her captor’s arm more closely around her. The dark depths of his eyes shifted, warming on hers. A ghost of a smile flitted across his harsh mouth, and his fingertips tightened their hold on her ribs. Looking up, he said something in Comanche. The woman nodded and turned to shoo the onlookers out of the way, her spoon tapping a hollow tattoo on slow-moving heads. Hunter chuckled, his chest vibrating against Loretta’s shoulder blades as he steered the mare along the path his mother cleared. The crowd formed walls on each side of them, hanging back only when Hunter drew up before a lodge. When he began to dismount, Loretta clutched his wrist, terrified he might abandon her. “Yo-oh-hobt pa-pi! Yo-oh-hobt pa-pi!” a small girl cried, dancing around the mare’s legs, her button eyes gleaming, her plump brown bottom jiggling so hard that she was about to lose her breechcloth. “Ein mah-heepicut?” Hunter pried Loretta’s frantic fingers from his arm and slid off the horse. Smiling at the child, he leaned over and retied her breechcloth thong. “Huh, yes.” Glancing up at Loretta, he said, “She is a yellow-hair, and she is mine. ~ Catherine Anderson,

669:Is that him?” Matt asks from right beside my shoulder. His chin is almost resting on my shirt, and I don’t try to move him away. “You know?” I ask. He nods. “I’ve always known.” “What?” The breath that I was holding escapes me in a rush. “Friday and I used to spend a lot of time alone together in the shop.” He shrugs. “We talked.” “About that?” I can’t believe she told him. “When Pete did her tattoo,” he says. He looks at me sheepishly. “We both knew. We didn’t and still don’t know details, but we knew she had a kid.” “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I’m irked. I can’t help it. He shrugs. “Wasn’t my story to tell.” I wish someone had fucking told me. “You were so busy trying to get into her pants that you didn’t really get to know her. Not the real her.” “That’s not true,” I sputter. “Yes, it is.” “No, it’s not.” “Yes. It. Is.” He glares at me. “You saw the glam girl that everyone else sees.” “There’s so much more to her than just that.” “You were fucking Kelly, so you didn’t really have room for anyone else.” He’s right. I scrub a hand down my face. He’s so right. “Okay,” I say. “He’s cute,” Matt says. He nods toward the audience. “Her son. He looks like her.” “He’s a lot like her. In a lot of ways.” “Is he the reason she stopped talking to you?” Matt asks. “Sort of.” I scratch my head. “You think she’ll talk to you today?” “I’m not going to give her a choice.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Good.” He looks at me for a minute, blinking those blue eyes at me. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for.” I fake a punch to his shoulder. “I’m coming out swinging,” I say. ~ Tammy Falkner,

670:How did you two meet?” she asks. She tilts her head to the side. Something tells me that she already knows the story, but her husband has set aside his Blackberry and is listening now. Emily looks up at me and blinks her pretty brown eyes. “I went into his tattoo shop to get a tattoo.” She grins. “And he put the moves on me.” She nudges me in the side. “Can I tell them what happened next?” I can feel her laughter against my side. “She punched me in the face, Mrs. Madison.” I reach up and absently stroke across my nose. “He tried to put the moves on me, and I was angry.” She shrugs, but she’s still laughing. “I’ll never forget the look on his face.” “One minute I think I’m going to get to spend some time with a pretty girl,” I say. Emily squeezes my hand when I say “spend some time” because we both know I tried to lay her, just like I used to do with every woman I met. “And the next, she breaks my nose.” Emily laughs. She tugs my sleeve until I look down at her. “You never tried that move on anyone else, did you? After that?” “You cured me of that particular move,” I say. I laugh because it’s funny now. It wasn’t nearly as funny then. It fucking hurt. “Was it love at first sight?” her mom asks. I look down into Emily’s eyes. I was intrigued by her the moment I saw that tattoo she wanted. There was so much in that drawing that made me want to get to know her. But she wouldn’t let me. “It was almost instantaneous for me,” I admit. Trip jabs a finger toward his throat like he wants to make himself throw up, but I think I’m the only one who sees it. “It took me a little longer,” she says. ~ Tammy Falkner,

671:She glanced around the room, her attention settling on the door. “I should go back to bed.” “Stay.” His hand tightened on her leg. “Please.” She pressed her lips together, propriety and desire warring inside her. “To sleep,” he added quickly, as he ran his hand up her thigh. “I like the way you feel next to me.” A shiver ran through her. The bed had plush, down pillows, a rich, velvety comforter, and Mitch. He’d be strong and warm. Wrong and right collided and merged into one insurmountable temptation. Their eyes met and that delicious hint of sexual tension spiked between them. She gave up the virtuous fight. “All right.” He swung back the covers and she climbed in. The tribal tattoo rippled as he leaned over to flick off the Tiffany light on the bedside table. He scooted down, his solid body sliding against hers. He turned toward her, smiling in the pale moonlight cast through the window. “Maybe you’d better face away or I’ll risk getting carried away.” She rushed to turn over, the ache he evoked warming her belly. His arm slid over her waist, and he pulled her close. Out of nowhere, the urge to weep swept over her. In the darkness, emotion swelled to the surface, and she blinked back fresh tears. Behind her, his breath was slow and steady. She placed her arm on top of his and automatically their fingers tangled. His leg slid against hers. The tickle of his hair against the smoothness of her skin was delicious. He kissed her temple, and the covers rustled as he put his head on a pillow. She was in bed with another man, and it didn’t feel wrong the way it should. It felt all too right. She ~ Jennifer Dawson,

672:Can one of you do a piercing?” Friday calls. Friday is really pretty in a Katy Perry kind of way. She has tattoos on her shoulders and across her back and up her legs. I know about the ones on her legs because I put them there. She has skulls and cross bones and turtles and some really weird shit. And she dresses all retro, like a pinup girl from the sixties. “What kind of piercing?” I ask. Every gaze in the place turns to the woman, and she flushes. “One of those piercings!” Friday yells dramatically. “Pete can do it,” Paul says. Reagan’s mouth falls open. She walks over close to me. “You are not doing a private piercing,” she hisses. I do them all the time, but I don’t even want to do them anymore. She cups her hand around my ear. “The only private places you’re touching are mine.” My heart swells. I like this. I like it a lot. “Sorry,” I say. “The little lady has spoken.” I lift my face, and she bends down to kiss me. Paul looks at Logan, but Emily signs something to him really quickly and he grins. He shakes his head. “Can’t do it,” he says. “Why not?” Paul blows out a heavy breath. “Because I want to have sex tonight,” Logan says. “And tomorrow night. And the night after.” Sam’s not here. He’s probably baking a cake somewhere. And we all know where Matt is. Paul throws down the pencil on the table where he was drawing a tattoo. “You guys are worthless,” he complains. “And pussy whipped.” I’m happy to be pussy whipped. Logan walks over and high-fives me, and Emily grins at Reagan. “Thanks for taking one for the team,” I say to Paul. It won’t be hard on him. The girl is gorgeous. “The things I have to do so you guys can have sex. ~ Tammy Falkner,

673:Without warning, he fingered the small, black tattoo on her lower back. “What does this script mean?” She did gasp then, as much from the shock of his touch as from her visceral reaction to it. She wanted to arch up to his hand and couldn’t understand why. She snapped, “Are you done groping me?” “Canna say. Tell me what the marking means.” Mari had no idea. She’d had it ever since she could remember. All she knew was that her mother used to write out that mysterious lettering in all of her correspondence. Or, at least her mother had before she’d abandoned Mari in New Orleans to go on her two-hundred-year-long druid sabbatical— He tapped her there, impatiently awaiting an answer. “It means ‘drunk and lost a bet.’ Now keep your hands to yourself unless you want to be an amphibian.” When the opening emerged ahead, she crawled heedlessly for it and scrambled out with her lantern swinging wildly. She’d taken only three steps into the new chamber before he’d caught her wrist, spinning her around. As his gaze raked over her, he reached forward and pulled a lock of her long hair over her shoulder. He seemed unaware that he was languidly rubbing his thumb over the curl. “Why hide this face behind a cloak?” he murmured, cocking his head to the side as he studied her. “No’ a damn thing’s wrong with you that I can tell. But you look fey. Explains the name.” “How can I resist these suave compliments?” He was right about the name though. Many of the fey had names beginning in Mari or Kari. She gave his light hold on her hair a pointed look, and he dropped it like it was hot, then scowled at her as if she were to blame. ~ Kresley Cole,

674:I have real feelings for you, Reagan,” I say quietly. “I can’t explain them. And I don’t want to. But don’t try to push what happened between us tonight off as common. Because it wasn’t. It was big. And I want to keep doing it. I want to learn all about you and have you learn all about me. I want you to meet my family. I want to go on a date with you.” I look around. “This place is nice, but…seriously?” She laughs. “You want me to meet your family?” she asks. “If you think you can stand it. There are five of us. All men.” “I’m not afraid of men in general,” she explains. “Just the ones that touch you.” I run my crooked finger along her cheekbone, and she turns into my hand to kiss my palm. “Your brothers look like you,” she says. “How do you know that?” I ask. “I saw them when you got out of prison,” she says quietly. “You were there?” She nods. “My dad made me sit in the truck while he talked to you about camp.” She draws her lower lip between her teeth and bites down like she’s anxious about my response. “Sorry. I should have told you sooner.” She groans. “I kind of asked for you to be here. So I could see you.” “I’m glad you did.” Never been happier about anything. “Your brothers all have tattoos, too,” she says. She looks at the tattoo on my arm that’s for my mom. She picks up my hand and traces the tats that go up my forearm to my sleeve. “I want to look at all of them so I can find out what makes you tick.” She draws a circle around the American flag. “That one’s for my buddy who died in Afghanistan.” Her silky fingertips slide up the dragon on my inner arm. “And this one?” she asks softly. “That one was a little too much courage one night,” I say with a laugh. ~ Tammy Falkner,

675:How many drinks have you had today, Livia?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. This is not about me being a tiny, miniscule amount of tipsy.” Her normally precise voice stumbles over the word miniscule. “This is about you lying about your super sperm!” Well. Everyone is certainly staring at us now. I take Liv’s elbow and guide her into a corner of the room, deciding that sober Liv probably wouldn’t want to rant about sperm in front of a room of strangers. Once we get into the corner, Liv yanks her elbow out of my grasp with the unflappable dignity of the drunk. “You said you had super sperm,” she continues in a whispered hiss. “And you don’t. You have the opposite of super sperm! You have unsuper sperm, you have microsperm, you have…” Her eyes glance around as she tries to think of something especially cutting. They land on my arm, where my tattoo peeks out from under my sleeve. “You have Hydra sperm. Captain America would hate your sperm.” Whoa. “Now, let’s not say things we’re going to regret in the heat of the moment.” She growls again. “And baby, you barely know my body at all if you think my sperm is unsuper, micro, Hydra sperm.” “I do know your body, and I know about your giant, awesome cock—” “Okay, well maybe you know my body a little bit—” “—and you were supposed to get me pregnant and you didn’t.” Her eyes get glossy and her chin has the faintest tremble in it. And for some reason, seeing her chin quiver is like being punched in the chest. I can’t stand it. I’m already pulling her into my arms when she manages in a teary whisper, “I got my period this morning. I’m not pregnant. ~ Laurelin Paige,

676:I have to go," I said, resting my head against Archer's chest. It occurred to me that my cheek was probably right over his tattoo. Without thinking, I lifted my face and tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt. This time, the stark black-and-gold mark wasn't hidden. No need for that spell anymore, I guess. Still, I covered it with my palm. Archer's hands clutched reflexively on my waist. Our eyes met. "It doesn't burn this time," I whispered. His breathing was ragged. "Beg to differ, Mercer." Magic was rushing through me, and when Archer covered my hand with his own, there was a little blue spark. Slowly, he moved my hand off his chest, then gripped both my shoulders. I thought he was going to kiss me again-and with the way we were feeling, there was a chance we might set the whole mill on fire-but instead, he gingerly pushed me away. "Okay," he said, closing his eyes. "If you don't go now, we're...You should go now." Once we were several feet apart, he lust-fog cleared a little. "We still have no idea what we're going to go." Archer opened his eyes and took a couple of steps backward. "Right now, you're going to go back to Thorne and check in with your dad. I'm going to go back to my people and do the same. Then tomorrow night, we'll meet here. You'll stand over there"-he pointed at a corner-"and I'll stand over there"-the complete opposite corner-"and there will be no physical contact until we've figured something out. Deal?" I smiled,even as I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing him again. "Deal.Midnight?" "Perfect.So." That grin again. "See ya, Mercer." Happiness flooded through me as warm and bright as sunlight. "See ya, Cross. ~ Rachel Hawkins,

677:I would have you beside me,” he told her huskily. “But you promised to take me home.” The stallion nickered and sidestepped, pulling both of them off balance. Hunter released the horse to catch her, his arm encircling her waist. Loretta snapped taut when his hard thighs pressed intimately against hers. He bent his head and nuzzled her hair, his breath sifting through the strands to her scalp. A shiver ran through her. For a moment she struggled against him, but then she felt as if an invisible web were entwining itself around her, the silken threads binding her so she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She closed her eyes, wildly afraid, of him and what he was making her feel. She tried desperately to conjure an image of her mother, anything to break the spell. Perhaps he knew how to be gently persuasive after all. She knew she should pull away, yet an unnameable something held her transfixed. His mouth trailed to the slope of her neck, sending tingles down her spine. A treacherous languor stole into her limbs. Heat spread through her belly. For an instant she wanted to lean against him, to let his wonderfully strong arms mold her to his length. The shock of his hand on her bare back brought her to her senses. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. She tried to arch away from him and succeeded only in accommodating his mouth when her head fell back. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. His callused palm slid slowly but inexorably to her side, his thumb feathering against the underside of her breast. Horrified, she groped for his wrist, her fingers finding feeble purchase through the leather. “Ah, nei mah-tao-yo,” he whispered. “You tremble. ~ Catherine Anderson,

678:That night, Ronan didn’t dream. After Gansey and Blue had left the Barns, he leaned against one of the front porch pillars and looked out at his fireflies winking in the chilly darkness. He was so raw and electric that it was hard to believe that he was awake. Normally it took sleep to strip him to this naked energy. But this was not a dream. This was his life, his home, his night. After a few moments, he heard the door ease open behind him and Adam joined him. Silently they looked over the dancing lights in the fields. It was not difficult to see that Adam was working intensely with his own thoughts. Words kept rising up inside Ronan and bursting before they ever escaped. He felt he’d already asked the question; he couldn’t also give the answer. Three deer appeared at the tree line, just at the edge of the porch light’s reach. One of them was the beautiful pale buck, his antlers like branches or roots. He watched them, and they watched him, and then Ronan could not stand it. “Adam?” When Adam kissed him, it was every mile per hour Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every window-down, goose-bumps-on-skin, teeth-chattering-cold night drive. It was Adam’s ribs under Ronan’s hands and Adam’s mouth on his mouth, again and again and again. It was stubble on lips and Ronan having to stop, to get his breath, to restart his heart. They were both hungry animals, but Adam had been starving for longer. Inside, they pretended they would dream, but they did not. They sprawled on the living room sofa and Adam studied the tattoo that covered Ronan’s back: all the sharp edges that hooked wondrously and fearfully into each other. “Unguibus et rostro,” Adam said. Ronan put Adam’s fingers to his mouth. He was never sleeping again. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

679:The blackguard had probably shot Victor, or worse, Dom! And he was getting away! Not on her watch, he wasn’t. She didn’t stop to think. As he came abreast of the carriage, she swung the door of the carriage open, directly into his path. It knocked him right off his feet. As he lay there, stunned, she leaped out and marched over to him. A red haze filled her vision at the thought of everything he’d done, and she dug the heel of her half boot into the wrist of the hand holding the gun. As Samuel let out a howl, she wrenched the pistol from his hand. Then she backed up and aimed it at him, praying she could pull the trigger if she had to. Not that she was likely to hit anything if she did; she’d never shot a firearm in her life. But he was not escaping, drat it. Samuel stumbled to his feet, then blanched. “Jane!” “Yes, it’s Jane, you…you…vile…horrible…arse!” “Give me the gun, Jane,” he said hoarsely, fixing his gaze on it. “You don’t want to be playing with that.” With her blood beating a fearful tattoo through her veins, she steadied the pistol in the general direction of his heart. Though she could think of better places to shoot him, frankly. “I’m not playing. And you’re not going anywhere.” Samuel lunged at her, and the pistol went off. Which was odd, because she couldn’t remember pulling the trigger. But she must have, because smoke came out of the end of the pistol and he cried out and dropped to the ground at her feet, grabbing his thigh. As Samuel rolled there, clutching at his leg and howling, Victor skidded to a halt beside him. “Good shot, Jane!” The grin he flashed her reminded her instantly of Max. “I saw you hit him with the carriage door, too. Excellent work. We’ll have to make you an honorary Duke’s Man.” “Over my dead body,” Dom growled as he ran up beside her. ~ Sabrina Jeffries,

680:I shake my head, knowing that if it hadn’t been for me, Ben wouldn’t have been there in the first place. I try to tell him that, but he swats my words away with his hand and says he wants to show me something. “Sure,” I say, wondering if he’s really as nervous as he seems. He clenches his teeth and hesitates a couple of moments; the angles of his face seem to grow sharper. Finally, he motions to the pant leg of his jeans. There’s a tear right over his thigh. “I know you saw it in the hospital,” he says, exposing the chameleon tattoo through the torn fabric. “I felt you . . . looking at it. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did this back home, before I ever came to Freetown. Before I ever met you.” “So it’s a coincidence?” His dark gray eyes swallow mine whole. “Do you honestly believe that?” “No,” I say, listening as he proceeds to tell me that a few months before he got to town, he touched his mother’s wedding band—something that reminded him of soul mates—and the image of a chameleon stuck inside his head. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind,” he explains. “It was almost like the image was welded to my brain, behind my eyes, haunting me even when I tried to sleep.” “And you got the tattoo because of that?” “Because I hoped its permanence might help me understand it more—might help me understand what it had to do with my own soul mate.” “And do you understand now?” I ask, swallowing hard. “Yeah.” He smiles. “I suppose I do.” I take a deep breath, trying to hold myself together, desperate to know what he’s truly trying to say here, and what I should say to him as well. I close my eyes, picturing that moment in the hospital when I held his hand and wondering if he would’ve recovered as quickly as if it hadn’t been for the connection between us—the electricity he must have sensed from my touch. ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz,

681:What about you?” he asks. His gaze is intense. My heart is so light that I can barely follow what we were talking about. “What about me?” I ask. “You asked me if I was faithful to you,” he reminds me. “I wasn’t really asking. I was just telling you that I could understand it if you weren’t. You didn’t even know if I was coming back.” “I knew. But I would have done the same thing even if I hadn’t known.” His eyes narrow. “Are you avoiding my question?” “What question?” “Dammit, Emily.” He slaps his hand on the table again. “Did you or did you not fuck someone else?” People in the nearby booths look in our direction, and I place a finger over my lips. “Turn your voice down,” I say. He says it more quietly. “Did you?” I lay a hand on my chest. “Oh, God, no,” I breathe. How could he even think that? “I’ve seen your picture in the tabloids with the old boyfriend. A lot.” His gaze is intense again. “My father’s publicity people set that up. They want the world to think we’re still happily engaged.” I wasn’t even aware it was happening when I attended the first event and Trip approached me. The photogs went mad taking shots of us. “I’m sorry you had to see that and wonder about it.” “You’re not engaged to him, are you?” Worry furrows his brow, and I feel bad for all I’ve put him through. “No. Not since before I left California the first time.” “And he’s well aware of this?” Logan asks. “Very well aware.” He knows. I’m not sure he cares, but he knows. “He knows I’m in love with you.” Logan smiles innocently. “He knows about me?” “He knows all about you.” I take his hand. “I love you, Logan.” “Good. Because I plan to put a ring on this as soon as you’ll let me.” He draws my ring finger to his lips and kisses it gently. My heart thuds. “A ring?” He nods. “A ring.” “Can you tattoo one on me?” I ask impulsively. “Because I don’t plan to ever take it off.” He smiles. “I’ll think about it. ~ Tammy Falkner,

682:She and her brother got their usual table, right in front of the grimy, bulletproof window covered with steel bars. Nothing but the best seat in the house when visiting Kyle Rhodes. He laid into her the moment he sat down. “Who’s Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?” Jordan’s mouth dropped open. “Shut up. You’ve been reading Scene and Heard?” Kyle gestured to the bars. “What else am I supposed to do in this place?” “Repent. Reflect on your wrongdoings. Rehabilitate your criminal mind.” “You’re avoiding the question.” Yes, she was. Because her brother was number two on the list of people she really, really didn’t want to lie to, right after her father. “It’s no big deal. He’s just a guy I brought to Xander’s party.” Who, yes, happened to be tall, dark, and smoldering. Allegedly. And who occasionally made her smile, when he wasn’t busy getting under her skin. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. Or a tick. “For five thousand dollars a head, I doubt he’s ‘just a guy,’ ” Kyle said. Suddenly, their friend Puchalski, the inmate with the black snake tattoo, was at their table. “So who’s this tall, dark, and smoldering jerk?” he asked Jordan, seemingly affronted. Jordan held out her hands. “Seriously, does everyone read Scene and Heard in this place?” Puchalski gestured to Kyle. “I snagged it from Sawyer here while he was reading the financial section. I’ve got to keep up with current events.” He winked. “I won’t be in this place forever, you know.” “You will be if you don’t shut your yap and start following the rules, Puchalski,” a guard warned as he passed by. The inmate scuttled off. Kyle picked up where they’d left off. “So now the big secret’s out.” Jordan glared at her brother, who apparently had decided to be more annoying than usual on this particular subject. “Yes, it’s true—I had a date. Ooh, shocking. ~ Julie James,

683:If you don’t make a move on Lark, I’m going to hook you two up. Don’t make me stoop to that shit, man. Bad enough I’m helping Tucker find a decent fuck for Bailey. I really don’t need to play matchmaker with you too.” “I’ve got it handled.” Cooper smirked. “Lark’s coming to your shop to get a tat fixed. You’re welcome for that.” “What?” I muttered, frowning even if this idea interested me. “She’s got a lame worm tat and needs it fixed. She works at that Denny’s and can’t afford it, so I said I would pay. I like paying for chicks to get nice tats. Makes me feel charitable.” “It’s a worm?” I asked, wondering why Lark would have a fucking worm tattoo. “Looks like one. I think it was supposed to be a butterfly. I can’t remember. Farah got all territorial and I about jizzed my pants.” “Too much fucking info, man,” I said, emphasizing each word. “Whatever. Just make sure you look your best when she shows up. I don’t want you scaring her away. She’s cute and available and I don’t want Vaughn messing with Lark. He’s trouble and will eat her alive.” Even though I said nothing, Cooper started laughing. “You’re jealous.” Exhaling hard, I flipped him off again, but he just kept laughing. “Yeah, well, you better get that girl or I might set her up with someone from the club. Judd still gets weird around Mac. Need to get him a woman so Judd won’t kill him on accident one day,” Cooper said, air quoting “accident.” Leaning back, I doodled on my napkin until I realized I was drawing Lark again. Cooper didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy frowning at his phone. “Problem?” “More shit from the Devils. They’re pushing and we’ll need to push back. Might need to call someone in to go to Tucson to handle the problem at the top.” “Someone?” “Don’t you worry. Business shit.” “Now, you’re secretive. Where was this when you were talking about jazzing your pants. ~ Bijou Hunter,

684:So it’s up to Maya. She’s already won. I’m just the bonus round.” He grinned then, but it was a different kind of grin, a mock arrogance that made me laugh and shake my head. I looked into his eyes and saw the challenge sparkling there, and I hadn’t even decided what to do when I heard myself saying, “You’re on.” As Rafe walked over to the dangling harness, he stripped off his jacket, earning him giggles and whispers from the girls and grunts from the guys, who weren’t nearly as impressed. Rafe skipped gym whenever he could, so I’d assumed he wasn’t the athletic type. I was wrong. He wore an old T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, and his lean muscles moved under coppery skin. He had a tattoo on the inside of his forearm--a small one that looked like raven wings. When he turned around, I caught the faint edge of another tattoo on his shoulder peeking from under his shirt. He glanced over, like he’d sensed me looking. When I didn’t turn away, he grinned and mouthed something I didn’t catch, probably didn’t want to. Brendan helped Rafe into the harness. It took a while, the process punctuated by Rafe’s questions. Then he stood at the base of the rock face, saying, “You put your toes here, right? And you grab those things that stick out?” The others laughed and yelled, “Quit while you’re ahead!” Daniel relaxed and rolled his eyes at me. I rolled mine back, but not for the same reason. When we were finally in position, the others pulling away, I whispered, “Poseur.” Rafe glanced over, brows arching. “Keep calling me that and I might get insulted.” “Stop earning it and I’ll stop saying it.” I faced forward as I tested my rope and waited for Daniel to get to the top. “Are you implying that I know how to climb?” “Are you implying that I’m stupid enough to think you’d challenge me if you didn’t? Of course, you can’t be that good if you need to slow me down by pretending you don’t know what you’re doing. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

685:By the midpoint, he’d shot up to my waist, but his muttered curses told me he’d underestimated how good I was--or overestimated how good he was--and it was clear he wasn’t going to catch up in time. So I stopped. Daniel leaned over and mouthed, “What are you doing?” Below, the others yelled, a cacophony of shouts and cheers and jeers. Rafe reached up, his bracelet hitting the rock with a ping. I glanced at it. A worn rawhide band with a cat’s-eye stone. I could see his tattoo better, too, as he pulled himself up, and I recognized the symbol. A crow mother kachina. Hopi. As he drew up alongside me, he cocked one brow. “You really want that kiss don’t you?” he said. “No, I just want to see what you can really do.” He smiled then, a blaze of a grin that made me forget I was hanging twenty feet above the ground. “All right then,” he said. “No holds barred. On my count?” I nodded. “One, two, three…” We took off. I kept my face to the wall, throwing everything I had into the climb, certain I’d pull away to victory. But he stayed alongside me, his grunts and labored breathing telling me he was trying just as hard. I struggled to concentrate, but all I could hear was his breathing. It was weirdly relaxing, like the ticking of a metronome, and I found myself moving faster, smoother, the rock seeming to glide under me, hands and feet finding the notches and grips automatically, like climbing a tree, that blissful feeling of going higher and higher, the earth and everything earthly vanishing below me, the air getting thinner, the world quieter as I pulled away until-- My hand hit the top ledge and I jolted out of it, and looked over to see Rafe beside me, sweat dripping down his face, eyes glowing, face glowing, his gaze locked on mine again, lips parting to say something-- A jerk on my harness made me look up sharply as Daniel adjusted the rope, preparing to let me belay down. The look on his face told me who’d won. ~ Kelley Armstrong,

686:Eh? How 'bout that?" Bill nudged her. "Did I promise to show you love or did I promise to show you love?" "Sure,they seem like they're in love." Luce shrugged. "But-" "But what?Do you have any idea how painful that is? Look at that guy. He makes getting inked look like being caressed by a soft breeze." Luce squirmed on the branch. "Is that the lesson here? Pain equals love?" "You tell me," Bill said. "It may surprise you to hear this,but the ladies aren't exactly banging down Bill's door." "I mean,if I tattooed Daniel's same on my body would that mean I loved him more than I already do?" "It's a symbol,Luce." Bill let out a raspy sigh. "You're being too literal. Think about it this way: Daniel is the first good-looking boy LuLu has ever seen. Until he washed ashore a few months ago, this girl's whole world was her father and a few fat natives." "She's Miranda," Luce said, remembering the love story from The Tempest, which she'd read in her tenth-grade Shakespeare seminar. "How very civilized of you!" Bill pursed his lips with approval. "They are liek Ferdinand and Miranda: The handsome foreigner shipwrecks on her shores-" "So,of course it was love at first sight for LuLu," Luce murmured. This was what she was afraid of: the same thoughtless,automatic love that had bothered her in Helston. "Right," Bill said. "She didn't have a choice but to fall for him.But what's interesting here is Daniel. You see, he didn't have to teach her to craft a woven sail, or gain her father's trust by producing a season's worth of fish to cure,or exhibit C"-Bill pointed at the lovers on the beach-"agree to tattoo his whole body according to her local custom.It would have been enough if Daniel had just shown up.LuLu would have loved him anyway." "He's doing it because-" Luce thought aloud. "Because he wants to earn her love.Because otherwise,he would just be taking advantage of their curse. Because no matter what kind of cycle they're bound to,his love for her is...true. ~ Lauren Kate,

687:So you talked to that boyfriend of yours since he’s been gone, or are you having you some fun times with another fella while he’s away?” I spewed the tea in my mouth and shook my head as I began to cough. How was it she always knew what was going on when no one else did? “Well, who is he? He’s made you spit tea all over my lap. I at least want a name and a few details.” Shaking my head, I turned so I could look her in the eyes. “There is no one. I got strangled on my tea because you asked me such an insane question. Why would I cheat on Sawyer? He’s perfect, Grana.” She made a hmph sound and reached over to pat my leg. “Ain’t no man perfect, baby girl. Not a one. Not even your daddy. Although he thinks he is.” She always joked about Daddy being a pastor. He’d been a “hell-raiser” growing up, according to her. When she told me stories about him as a kid, her eyes would light up. Sometimes I could swear that she missed the person he used to be. “Sawyer’s as perfect as it gets.” “Well, I don’t know about that. I drove by the Lowry’s this morning, and his cousin Beau was out cutting their grass.” She paused and shook her head, a big grin on her face. “Girl, there ain’t a boy in this town who can hold a candle to Beau Vincent with his shirt off.” “Grana!” I swatted her hand, horrified that my grandmother had admired Beau shirtless. She chuckled. “What? I’m old, Ashton baby, not blind.” I could only imagine how Beau looked shirtless and sweaty. I’d almost had a wreck last week when I’d passed the Green’s and he’d been cutting their grass shirtless. It was hard not to look at him. I’d told myself I had just been examining the tattoo on his ribs, but of course I knew the truth. His well-defined abs were really hard to ignore. It just wasn’t possible. Then something about the ink on them made his abs even sexier. “I ain’t the only old woman looking. I’m just the only one honest enough to admit it. The others just hire the boy to cut their grass so they can sit at the window and drool. ~ Abbi Glines,

688:The remaining chain swung down, he wrenched the door out and he was free. The last thing he heard behind him was the oncoming stomp of running feet. Now began flight, that excruciating accompaniment to both the sleep-dream and the drug-dream as well. Down endless flights of stairs that seemed to have increased decimally since he had come up them so many days before. Four, fourteen, forty - there seemed no end to them, no bottom. Round and round he went, hand slapping at the worn guard-rail only at the turns to keep from bulleting head-on into the wall each time. The clamor had come out onto a landing high above him now, endless miles above him; a thin voice came shouting down the stair-well, "There he is! See him down there?" raising the hue and cry to the rest of the pack. Footsteps started cannonading down after him, like avenging thunder from on high. They only added wings to his effortless, almost cascading waterlike flight. Like a drunk, he was incapable of hurting himself. At one turning he went off his feet and rippled down the whole succeeding flight of stair-ribs like a wriggling snake. Then he got up again and plunged ahead, without consciousness of pain or smart. The whole staircase-structure seemed to hitch crazily from side to side with the velocity of his descent, but it was really he that was hitching. But behind him the oncoming thunder kept gaining. Then suddenly, after they'd kept on for hours, the stairs suddenly ended, he'd reached bottom at last. He tore out through a square of blackness at the end of the entrance-hall, and the kindly night received him, took him to itself - along with countless other things that stalk and kill and are dangerous if crossed. He had no knowledge of where he was; if he'd ever had, he'd lost it long ago. The drums of pursuit were still beating a rolling tattoo inside the tenement. He chose a direction at random, fled down the deserted street, the wand of light from a wan street-lamp flicking him in passing, so fast did he scurry by beneath it. ~ Cornell Woolrich,

689:Let’s say you have an ax. Just a cheap one, from Home Depot. On one bitter winter day, you use said ax to behead a man. Don’t worry, the man was already dead. Or maybe you should worry, because you’re the one who shot him. He had been a big, twitchy guy with veiny skin stretched over swollen biceps, a tattoo of a swastika on his tongue. Teeth filed into razor-sharp fangs-you know the type. And you’re chopping off his head because, even with eight bullet holes in him, you’re pretty sure he’s about to spring back to his feet and eat the look of terror right off your face. On the follow-through of the last swing, though, the handle of the ax snaps in a spray of splinters. You now have a broken ax. So, after a long night of looking for a place to dump the man and his head, you take a trip into town with your ax. You go to the hardware store, explaining away the dark reddish stains on the broken handle as barbecue sauce. You walk out with a brand-new handle for your ax. The repaired ax sits undisturbed in your garage until the spring when, on one rainy morning, you find in your kitchen a creature that appears to be a foot-long slug with a bulging egg sac on its tail. Its jaws bite one of your forks in half with what seems like very little effort. You grab your trusty ax and chop the thing into several pieces. On the last blow, however, the ax strikes a metal leg of the overturned kitchen table and chips out a notch right in the middle of the blade. Of course, a chipped head means yet another trip to the hardware store. They sell you a brand-new head for your ax. As soon as you get home, you meet the reanimated body of the guy you beheaded earlier. He’s also got a new head, stitched on with what looks like plastic weed-trimmer line, and it’s wearing that unique expression of “you’re the man who killed me last winter” resentment that one so rarely encounters in everyday life. You brandish your ax. The guy takes a long look at the weapon with his squishy, rotting eyes and in a gargly voice he screams, “That’s the same ax that beheaded me!” IS HE RIGHT? ~ David Wong,

690:She looks up at me, a soft smile on her lips as she sees me in the mirror. I walk up behind her and put my arms around her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” I say. She shakes her head and talks to me in the mirror. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before,” she says. Her eyes fill up with tears again, and I’m sorry that I came out of the stall. I’ll go back in there if she’ll stop crying, but I’m not leaving her. I can see that now. I’m not leaving her, no matter what. “The lock?” I ask. She’s leaning back against me, and she wraps her arms over mine. She nods. She wipes her eyes with a paper towel, swiping the black makeup from under her eyes. Her face is splotchy, but she’s never looked more beautiful. For that one split-second, she isn’t hiding anything from me. “The minute I saw the tattoo I knew it needed to be changed. I’m sorry if I defiled your art.” She could take exception to my change, but I have a feeling she doesn’t. “It’s perfect,” she says. She lifts my arm from around her waist and looks down at it. “It’s perfect,” she repeats, sniffling. “I don’t know how to tell you what I’m feeling.” I’m the one with the hearing impairment, and she can’t tell me something? I laugh and lift her hair from her neck and press my lips there. “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her. She turns around and cups my face in her palm, her hand stroking across my five-o’clock shadow. I take her hands in mine and lift them to my lips, kissing them one by one. Then I look into her eyes and open my mouth to ask her the one question I need to know the answer to. “What’s your name?” I ask. She freezes. It’s like there’s suddenly a wall between us, and I haven’t even let her go. “No,” she says. I feel like she’s kicked me in the gut. I let her go and take a step back. “Why not?” I ask. “I just can’t,” she says. I nod and let myself out of the bathroom. My legs are shaking. The waitress shoots me a glance as I walk back to the table. I sit down. Kit’s still in the bathroom, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever going to come out. Her guitar is still under the table. So, she has to come back, right? ~ Tammy Falkner,

691:His expression was perturbed, as if he’d been reminded of something he had wanted to forget. But as his gaze slid over her bewildered face, his mouth curved a little, and he settled into the cradle of her body with an insolent familiarity that temporarily robbed her of breath. “Mr. Rohan … how … why … what are you doing here?” He replied without moving, as if he were planning to lie there and converse all day. His infinitely polite tone was an unsettling contrast to the intimacy of their position. “Miss Hathaway. What a pleasant surprise. As it happens, I’m visiting friends. And you?” “I live here.” “I don’t think so. This is Lord Westcliff’s estate.” Her heart thundered in her breast as her body absorbed the details of him. “I didn’t mean precisely here, I meant over there, on the other side of the woods. The Ramsay estate. We’ve just taken up residence.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from chattering in the aftermath of nerves and fright. “What was that noise? What were you doing? Why do you have that tattoo on your arm? It’s a pooka—an Irish creature—isn’t it?” That last question earned her an arrested stare. Before Rohan could reply, the other two men approached. From her prone position, Amelia had an upside-down view of them. Like Rohan, they were in their shirtsleeves, with waistcoats left unbuttoned. One of them was a portly old gentleman with a shock of silver hair. He held a small wood-and-metal sextant, which had been strung around his neck on a lanyard. The other, black-haired man looked to be in his late thirties. He wasn’t as tall as Rohan, but he had an air of authority tempered with aristocratic arrogance. Amelia made a helpless movement, and Rohan lifted away from her with fluid ease. He helped her stand, his arm steadying her. “How far did it go?” he asked the men. “Devil take the rocket,” came a gravelly reply. “What is the woman’s condition?” “Unharmed.” The silver-haired gentleman remarked, “Impressive, Rohan. You covered a distance of fifty yards in no more than five or six seconds.” “I would hardly miss a chance to leap on a beautiful woman,” Rohan said, causing the older man to chuckle. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

692:I see how it is,” I snapped. “You were all in favor of me breaking the tattoo and thinking on my own—but that’s only okay if it’s convenient for you, huh? Just like your ‘loving from afar’ only works if you don’t have an opportunity to get your hands all over me. And your lips. And . . . stuff.” Adrian rarely got mad, and I wouldn’t quite say he was now. But he was definitely exasperated. “Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you don’t feel anything? Especially after what’s been happening between us?” “Nothing’s happening between us,” I said automatically. “Physical attraction isn’t the same as love. You of all people should know that.” “Ouch,” he said. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw hurt in his eyes. I’d wounded him. “Is that what bothers you? My past? That maybe I’m an expert in an area you aren’t?” “One I’m sure you’d just love to educate me in. One more girl to add to your list of conquests.” He was speechless for a few moments and then held up one finger. “First, I don’t have a list.” Another finger, “Second, if I did have a list, I could find someone a hell of lot less frustrating to add to it.” For the third finger, he leaned toward me. “And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.” “I already feel that way,” I said quietly. Adrian moved back and leaned into his seat, looking tired. “Well, that’s the most accurate thing you’ve said so far.” I grabbed the basket and jerked open the car door. Without another word, I stormed off, refusing to look back in case he saw the tears that had inexplicably appeared in my eyes. Only, I wasn’t sure exactly which part of our conversation I was most upset about. ~ Richelle Mead,

693:After a moment to regain his composure, he propped himself up on his elbow to look down at me, desire still lurking in his mesmerizing eyes. “Alera? Are you…all right?” “Narian, we can’t do this.” I was more than a little shocked at the both of us. His brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He took a breath and opened his mouth, then stopped, apparently unable to decide exactly what he wanted to say. “Why not?” “Because,” I said, pushing myself upright. “We’re not married!” He sat up as well and lit the lantern on my bedside table. I pulled my chemise back onto my shoulders and wrapped my arms around my legs while I waited for his reaction. “And marriage, that’s…important to you…for this,” he surmised, trying to work out the basis for my objection. “Yes,” I told him fervently. “Isn’t it to you?” He glanced at the bedclothes, as though he anticipated an unpleasant reaction to what he would say. “Well, no. We don’t have marriage in Cokyri.” My eyebrows shot upward. “You don’t have…marriage? Well then, how do you…I mean, where…where do your children come from?” “We just choose a partner,” he said, ignoring the absurdity of my question. “A woman chooses a man, and if he accepts, he is marked with a tattoo around his forearm. The tattoo is a great honor--men in Cokyri are proud to bear it.” “What about the church?” He shrugged, no longer worrying about how I might react. “Cokyri has no official religion. Some people seek the High Priestess’s approval to be bound, but they come to her of their own accord. Again, it is a choice.” “So…in order to be with me, all you would need is a tattoo?” I spoke tentatively, trying to absorb and understand his words. “Only to signify that I am yours and no one else’s. If that is what we both want.” His closing statement, though subtle, sough confirmation, his steel-blue eyes filled with love and longing. “I choose you,” I said, leaning toward him, and his mouth met mine with such ardor that my senses reeled all over again. He lay down with me on top of him, and it took all my strength of will to pull away. “But we have to be married.” He studied me, concluding that I truly believed in what I said. “Then let’s go get married.” “Now?” I blurted, eyes wide. “Is now a problem? ~ Cayla Kluver,

694:In chem, Peter sits a row in front of me. I write him a note. Why would you tell Josh that we’re-- I hesitate and then finish with a thing? I kick the back of his chair, and he turns around and I hand him the note. He slouches in his seat to read it; then I watch as he scribbles something. He tips back in his chair and drops the note on my desk without looking at me. A thing? Haha. I press down so hard my pencil tip chips off. Please answer the question. We’ll talk later. I let out a frustrated sigh and Matt, my lab partner, gives me a funny look. After class Peter is swept away with all his friends; they leave in a big group. I’m packing up my backpack when he returns, alone. He hops up on the table. “So let’s talk,” he says, super casual. I clear my throat and try to gather my bearings. “Why did you tell Josh we were--” I almost say “a thing” again, but then change it to “together?” “I don’t get what you’re so upset about. I did you a favor. I could have just as easily blown up your spot.” I pause. He’s right. He could have. “So why didn’t you?” “You’ve sure got a funny way of saying thank you. You’re welcome, by the way.” Automatically I say, “Thank you.” Wait. Why am I thanking him? “I appreciate you letting me kiss you, but--” “You’re welcome,” he says again. Ugh! He’s so insufferable. Just for that I’m going to toss a little dig his way. “That was…really generous of you. To let me do that. But I’ve already explained to Josh that it’s not going to work out with us because Genevieve has you whipped, so it’s all good. You can stop pretending now.” Peter glares at me. “I’m not whipped.” “But aren’t you, though? I mean, you guys have been together since the seventh grade. You’re basically her property.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter scoffs. “There was a rumor last year that she made you get a tattoo of her initials on your butt for her birthday.” I pause. “So did you?” I reach around him and fake try to lift up the back of his shirt. He yelps and jumps away from me, and I collapse in a fit of giggles. “So you do have a tattoo!” “I don’t have a tattoo!” he yells. “And we’re not even together anymore, so can you stop with this shit? We broke up. We’re over. I’m done with her.” “Wait, didn’t she break up with you?” I ask. Peter shoots me a dirty look. “It was mutual. ~ Jenny Han,

695:We stopped talking about Zampanô then. She paged her friend Christina who took less than twenty minutes to come over. There were no introductions. We just sat down on the floor and snorted lines of coke off a CD case, gulped down a bottle of wine and then used it to play spin the bottle. They kissed each other first, then they both kissed me, and then we forgot about the bottle, and I even managed to forget about Zampanô, about this, and about how much that attack in the tattoo shop had put me on edge. Two kisses in one kiss was all it took, a comfort, a warmth, perhaps temporary, perhaps false, but reassuring nonetheless, and mine, and theirs, ours, all three of us giggling, insane giggles and laughter with still more kisses on the way, and I remember a brief instant then, out of the blue, when I suddenly glimpsed my own father, a rare but oddly peaceful recollection, as if he actually approved of my play in the way he himself had always laughed and played, always laughing, surrendering to its ease, especially when he soared in great updrafts of light, burning off distant plateaus of bistre & sage, throwing him up like an angel, high above the red earth, deep into the sparkling blank, the tender sky that never once let him down, preserving his attachment to youth, propriety and kindness, his plane almost, but never quite, outracing his whoops of joy, trailing him in his sudden turn to the wind, followed then by a near vertical climb up to the angles of the sun, and I was barely eight and still with him and yes, that the thought that flickered madly through me, a brief instant of communion, possessing me with warmth and ageless ease, causing me to smile again and relax as if memory alone could lift the heart like the wind lifts a wing, and so I renewed my kisses with even greater enthusiasm, caressing and in turn devouring their dark lips, dark with wine and fleeting love, an ancient memory love had promised but finally never gave, until there were too many kisses to count or remember, and the memory of love proved not love at all and needed a replacement, which our bodies found, and then the giggles subsided, and the laughter dimmed, and darkness enfolded all of us and we gave away our childhood for nothing and we died and condoms littered the floor and Christina threw up in the sink and Amber chuckled a little and kissed me a little more, but in a way that told me it was time to leave. ~ Mark Z Danielewski,

696:What can I get for you, Princess?” a low, deep voice rumbled. Maddie’s head shot up and a man blinked into focus. Her mouth dropped open. In front of her stood the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Was she hallucinating? Was he a mirage? She blinked again. Nope. Still there. Unusual amber eyes, glimmering with amusement, stared at her from among strong, chiseled features. She swallowed. Teeth snapping together, she tried to speak. She managed a little squeak before words failed her. A hot flush spread over her chest. Men like this should be illegal. Unable to resist the temptation pulling her gaze lower, she let it fall. Just when she’d thought nothing could rival that face. Shoulders, a mile wide, stretched the gray T-shirt clinging to his broad chest. The muscles in his arms flexed as he rested his hands on the counter. A tribal tattoo in black ink rippled across his left bicep. Oh, she liked those. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace the intricate scroll as moisture slid over her tongue. For the love of God, she was salivating. Stop staring. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not now. Not after today. It was so, so wrong. But she couldn’t look away. Stop. She tried again, but it was impossible. He was a work of art. “You okay there?” The smile curving his full mouth was pure sin. That low, rumbling voice snapped her out of her stupor, and she squared her shoulders. “Yes, thank you.” His gaze did some roaming of its own and stopped at her dress. One golden brow rose. Before he could ask any questions, she said, “I’ll have three shots of whiskey and a glass of water.” His lips quirked. “Three?” “Yes, please.” With a sharp nod, she ran a finger along the dull, black surface of the bar. “You can line them up right here.” When he continued to stare at her as if she might be an escaped mental patient, she reached into her small bag and pulled out her only cash. She waved the fifty in front of his face. “I assume this will cover it.” “If I give you the shots, are you going to get sick all over that pretty dress?” He leaned over the counter, and his scent wafted in her direction. She sucked in a breath. He smelled good, like spice, soap, and danger. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She was so going to hell. She pushed the money toward him. “I’ll be fine. I’m Irish. We can handle our liquor.” “All right, then.” The bartender chuckled, and Maddie’s stomach did a strange little dip. He ~ Jennifer Dawson,

697:The stainless-steel mold gives the cheese its disc shape, about ten inches thick and two feet in diameter. But the mold serves another increasingly important function, as an anticounterfeiting measure. The molds are specially produced by the Consorzio Parmigiano-Reggiano, an independent and self-regulating industry group funded by fees levied on cheese producers. Carefully tracked and numbered, molds are supplied only to licensed and inspected dairies, and each is lined with Braille-like needles that crate a pinpoint pattern instantly recognizable to foodies, spelling out the name of the cheese over and over again in a pattern forever imprinted on its rind. A similar raised-pin mold made of plastic is slipped between the steel and the cheese to permanently number the rind of every lot so that any wheel can be traced back to a particular dairy and day of origin. Like a tattoo, these numbers and the words Parmigiano-Reggiano become part of the skin. Later in its life, because counterfeiting the King of Cheeses has become a global pastime, this will be augmented with security holograms... One night, friends came to town and invited Alice out to dinner at celebrity chef Mario Batali's vaunted flagship Italian eatery, Babbo. As Alice told me this story, at one point during their meal, the waiter displayed a grater and a large wedge of cheese with great flourish, asking her if she wanted Parmigiano-Reggiano on her pasta. She did not say yes. She did not say no. Instead Alice looked at the cheese and asked, "Are you sure that's Parmigiano-Reggiano?" Her replied with certainty, "Yes." "You're sure?" "Yes." She then asked to see the cheese. The waiter panicked, mumbled some excuse, and fled into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a different and much smaller chunk of cheese, which he handed over for examination. The new speck was old, dry, and long past its useful shelf-life, but it was real Parmigiano-Reggiano, evidenced by the pin-dot pattern. "The first one was Grana Padano," she explained. "I could clearly read the rind. They must have gone searching through all the drawers in the kitchen in a panic until they found this forgotten crumb of Parmigiano-Reggiano." Alice Fixx was the wrong person to try this kind of bait and switch on, but she is the exception, and I wonder how many other expense-account diners swallowed a cheaper substitute. This occurred at one of the most famous and expensive Italian eateries in the country. What do you think happens at other restaurants? ~ Larry Olmsted,

698:The night following the reading, Gansey woke up to a completely unfamiliar sound and fumbled for his glasses. It sounded a little like one of his roommates was being killed by a possum, or possibly the final moments of a fatal cat fight. He wasn’t certain of the specifics, but he was sure death was involved. Noah stood in the doorway to his room, his face pathetic and long-suffering. “Make it stop,” he said. Ronan’s room was sacred, and yet here Gansey was, twice in the same weak, pushing the door open. He found the lamp on and Ronan hunched on the bed, wearing only boxers. Six months before, Ronan had gotten the intricate black tattoo that covered most of his back and snaked up his neck, and now the monochromatic lines of it were stark in the claustrophobic lamplight, more real than anything else in the room. It was a peculiar tattoo, both vicious and lovely, and every time Gansey saw it, he saw something different in the pattern. Tonight, nestled in an inked glen of wicked, beautiful flowers, was a beak where before he’d seen a scythe. The ragged sound cut through the apartment again. “What fresh hell is this?” Gansey asked pleasantly. Ronan was wearing headphones as usual, so Gansey stretched forward far enough to tug them down around his neck. Music wailed faintly into the air. Ronan lifted his head. As he did, the wicked flowers on his back shifted and hid behind his sharp shoulder blades. In his lap was the half-formed raven, its head tilted back, beak agape. “I thought we were clear on what a closed door meant,” Ronan said. He held a pair of tweezers in one hand. “I thought we were clear that night was for sleeping.” Ronan shrugged. “Perhaps for you.” “Not tonight. Your pterodactyl woke me. Why is it making that sound?” In response, Ronan dipped the tweezers into a plastic baggy on the blanket in front of him. Gansey wasn’t certain he wanted to know what the gray substance was in the tweezers’ grasp. As soon as the raven heard the rustle of the bag, it made the ghastly sound again—a rasping squeal that became a gurgle as it slurped down the offering. At once, it inspired both Gansey’s compassion and his gag reflex. “Well, this is not going to do,” he said. “You’re going to have to make it stop.” “She has to be fed,” Ronan replied. The ravel gargled down another bite. This time it sounded a lot like vacuuming potato salad. “It’s only every two hours for the first six weeks.” “Can’t you keep her downstairs?” In reply, Ronan half-lifted the little bird toward him. “You tell me. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

699:Harper walked over to her reception desk. “What’s with the Tyson look-alikes out there? I almost couldn’t get in here.” Pixie frowned. “Better go ask your boy-o. Famous rock star in the house.” Pixie accentuated her comment with the poke of her pen. Jeez, he was huge. And built. And shirtless. Okay, enough staring. Well, maybe just for another second. Trent was leaning over the guy, and she could tell from the wide-reaching spread of purple transfer lines that he was just beginning a sleeve on the other man’s lower arm. The guy in the chair might well be a rock star— although Harper would never admit she had no clue who he was— but he was wincing. Harper could totally feel for him. Trent was in his usual position— hat on backward, gloves on, and perched on a stool. Harper approached them nervously. The big guy’s size and presence were a little intimidating. “I don’t bite.” Oh God. He was talking to her. “Excuse me?” He sucked air in between clenched teeth. “I said I don’t bite. You can come closer.” His blue eyes were sparkling as he studied her closely. Trent looked up. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, putting the tattoo machine down and reaching for her hand. “Dred, this is my girl, Harper. Harper, this is Dred Zander from the band Preload. He’s one of the other judges I told you about.” Wow. Not that she knew much about the kind of music that Trent listened to, but even she had heard of Preload. That certainly explained the security outside. Dred reached out his hand and shook hers. “Nice to meet you, Harper. And a pity. For a minute, I thought you were coming over to see me.” “No,” Harper exclaimed quickly, looking over at Trent, who was grinning at her. “I mean, no, I was just bringing Trent some cookies.” Holy shit. Was she really that lame? It was like that moment in Dirty Dancing when Baby told Johnny she carried a watermelon. Dred turned and smiled enigmatically at Trent. “I see what you mean, man.” “Give.” Smiling, Trent held out his hand. Reaching inside her bag, she pulled out the cookies and handed the container to him. “Seriously, dude, she’s the best fucking cook on the planet.” Trent paused to take a giant bite. “You got to try one,” he mumbled, offering the container over. Harper watched, mortified, as a modern-day rock legend bit into one of her cookies. Dred chewed and groaned. “These are almost as good as sex.” Harper laughed. “Not quite,” Trent responded, giving her a look that made her burn. “You should try her pot roast. Could bring a grown man to his knees. ~ Scarlett Cole,

700:He tips his glass and drinks. So does Matt. And everyone in the crowd. Except me. “What’s wrong?” Matt asks. “Nothing,” I say. I motion my mother forward, and she puts a box in my hands. It’s small, but it’s weighty at the same time. “I have a present for you.” “I thought our honeymoon was our present to each other,” he reminds me with a scowl. We’re leaving for the Carolina coast for a week with the kids tonight. I can’t wait. I motion for him to take my package. “The vacation is our gift. This is just extra.” I blink back the tears that are already forming in my eyes. He makes a face and opens up the box. He looks inside and then gets confused. He pulls the tiny little item out of the box. It’s a onesie that has tattoo designs all over it, and on the back, it has the name Reed. “What’s this?” he asks, confused. Then his eyes grow wide. Friday gasps when she realizes what’s going on, and the rest of the crowd rumbles and fidgets. “Is this…?” he asks. He stops, because he’s choked with emotion. “Yes,” I say. Tears roll down my face, and I don’t care. I lean close to him. “You knocked me up.” He takes me in his arms and pulls me close, and a sob rolls through him. “Are you serious?” “Completely serious, Matt,” I say. “But wait.” I look down and shake the onesie out. A second one falls out, and Matt catches it in the air. “Two?” he asks. I nod, so broken by his reaction that I can’t speak. “Two tiny little heartbeats,” I say as soon as I can. “Holy fuck,” he breathes into my ear. He squeezes me so tightly that I chirp. “I love you so fucking much,” he says to me. He takes a second to breathe me in and compose himself, then he drops to his knees and lays his forehead on my belly. He says something quietly to his unborn children, and I’m not even sure what it was, but I do know it was between him and them. Or him and God. I’m not sure which. Then he stands and looks up at the crowd. Half of them are as teary-eyed as we are. “Do you know what this means?” he asks our friends and family. They rumble, but he can’t hear one voice over another. He points to Logan. “This means my sperm are better swimmers than yours, little brother!” he says. He signs while he talks, and Logan flips him off. But he’s laughing. He wraps his arms around Emily and lays his hands on the small swell of her belly. I slap his shoulder. “What if it’s my eggs that are amazing and not your sperm?” “What if it’s just us?” he asks quietly, and he kisses me. “Us together.” “I told you I believe in miracles, Matt,” I say when I can finally lift my head. “You’re my miracle,” he says. “You. Just you. ~ Tammy Falkner,

701:Haze KEEP a red heart of memories Under the great gray rain sheds of the sky, Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers. Remember all paydays of lilacs and songbirds; All starlights of cool memories on storm paths. Out of this prairie rise the faces of dead men. They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say. Other faces rise on the prairie. They are the unborn. The future. Yesterday and to-morrow cross and mix on the skyline The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets. One waits. In the yellow dust of sunsets, in the meadows of vermilion eight o'clock June nights ... the dead men and the unborn children speak to me ... I can not tell you what they say ... you listen and you know. I don't care who you are, man: I know a woman is looking for you and her soul is a corn-tassel kissing a south-west wind. (The farm-boy whose face is the color of brick-dust, is calling the cows; he will form the letter X with crossed streams of milk from the teats; he will beat a tattoo on the bottom of a tin pail with X's of milk.) I don't care who you are, man: I know sons and daughters looking for you And they are gray dust working toward star paths And you see them from a garret window when you laugh At your luck and murmur, 'I don't care.' I don't care who you are, woman: I know a man is looking for you And his soul is a south-west wind kissing a corn-tassel. (The kitchen girl on the farm is throwing oats to the chickens and the buff of their feathers says hello to the sunset's late maroon.) 179 I don't care who you are, woman: I know sons and daughters looking for you And they are next year's wheat or the year after hidden in the dark and loam. My love is a yellow hammer spinning circles in Ohio, Indiana. My love is a redbird shooting flights in straight lines in Kentucky and Tennessee. My love is an early robin flaming an ember of copper on her shoulders in March and April. My love is a graybird living in the eaves of a Michigan house all winter. Why is my love always a crying thing of wings? On the Indiana dunes, in the Mississippi marshes, I have asked: Is it only a fishbone on the beach? Is it only a dog's jaw or a horse's skull whitening in the sun? Is the red heart of man only ashes? Is the flame of it all a white light switched off and the power house wires cut? Why do the prairie roses answer every summer? Why do the changing repeating rains come back out of the salt sea wind-blown? Why do the stars keep their tracks? Why do the cradles of the sky rock new babies? ~ Carl Sandburg,

702:Reaching the brow of a stunted hill, Amelia paused in bewilderment at the sight of a towering contraption made of metal. It appeared to be a chute propped up on legs, tilted at a steep angle. Her attention was caught by a minor commotion farther afield … two men emerging from behind a small wooden shelter … they were shouting and waving their arms at her. Amelia instantly realized she had stumbled into danger, even before she saw the smoldering trail of sparks move, snakelike, along the ground toward the metal chute. A fuse? Although she didn’t know much about explosive devices, she was aware that once a fuse had been lit, nothing could be done to stop it. Dropping to the sun-warmed grass, Amelia covered her head with her arms, having every expectation of being blown to bits. A few heartbeats passed, and she let out a startled cry as she felt a large, heavy body fall on hers … no, not fall, pounce. He covered her completely, his knees digging into the ground on either side of her as he made a shelter of his body. At the same moment, a deafening explosion pierced the air, and there was a violent whoosh over their heads, and a shock went through the ground beneath them. Too stunned to move, Amelia tried to gather her wits. Her ears were filled with a high-pitched buzz. Her companion remained motionless over her, breathing heavily in her hair. The air was sharp with smoke, but even so, Amelia was aware of a pleasant masculine scent, skin-salt and soap and an intimate spice she couldn’t quite identify. The noise in her ears faded. Raising up on her elbows, feeling the solid wall of his chest against her back, she saw shirtsleeves rolled up over forearms cabled with muscle … and there was something else … Her eyes widened at the sight of a small, stylized design inked on his arm. A tattoo of a black winged horse with eyes the color of brimstone. It was an Irish design, of a nightmare horse called a pooka: a malevolent mythical creature that spoke in a human voice and carried people away at midnight. Her heart stopped as she saw the heavy rounded band of a thumb ring. Wriggling beneath him, Amelia tried to turn over. The strong hand curved around her shoulder, helping her. His voice was low and familiar. “Are you hurt? I’m sorry. You were in the way of—” He stopped as Amelia rolled to her back. The front of her hair had come loose, pulled free of a strategically anchored pin. The lock fanned over her face, obscuring her vision. Before she could reach up to push it away, he did it for her, and the brush of his fingertips sent ripples of liquid fire along intimate pathways of her body. “You,” he said softly. Cam Rohan. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

703:Wylan—and the obliging Kuwei—will get the weevil working,” Kaz continued. “Once we have Inej, we can move on Van Eck’s silos.” Nina rolled her eyes. “Good thing this is all about getting our money and not about saving Inej. Definitely not about that.” “If you don’t care about money, Nina dear, call it by its other names.” “Kruge? Scrub? Kaz’s one true love?” “Freedom, security, retribution.” “You can’t put a price on those things.” “No? I bet Jesper can. It’s the price of the lien on his father’s farm.” The sharpshooter looked at the toes of his boots. “What about you, Wylan? Can you put a price on the chance to walk away from Ketterdam and live your own life? And Nina, I suspect you and your Fjerdan may want something more to subsist on than patriotism and longing glances. Inej might have a number in mind too. It’s the price of a future, and it’s Van Eck’s turn to pay.” Matthias was not fooled. Kaz always spoke logic, but that didn’t mean he always told truth. “The Wraith’s life is worth more than that,” said Matthias. “To all of us.” “We get Inej. We get our money. It’s as simple as that.” “Simple as that,” said Nina. “Did you know I’m next in line for the Fjerdan throne? They call me Princess Ilse of Engelsberg.” “There is no princess of Engelsberg,” said Matthias. “It’s a fishing town.” Nina shrugged. “If we’re going to lie to ourselves, we might as well be grand about it.” Kaz ignored her, spreading a map of the city over the table, and Matthias heard Wylan murmur to Jesper, “Why won’t he just say he wants her back?” “You’ve met Kaz, right?” “But she’s one of us.” Jesper’s brows rose again. “One of us? Does that mean she knows the secret handshake? Does that mean you’re ready to get a tattoo?” He ran a finger up Wylan’s forearm, and Wylan flushed a vibrant pink. Matthias couldn’t help but sympathize with the boy. He knew what it was to be out of your depth, and he sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz’s planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission. Wylan pulled his sleeve down self-consciously. “Inej is part of the crew.” “Just don’t push it.” “Why not?” “Because the practical thing would be for Kaz to auction Kuwei to the highest bidder and forget about Inej entirely.” “He wouldn’t—” Wylan broke off abruptly, doubt creeping over his features. None of them really knew what Kaz would or wouldn’t do. Sometimes Matthias wondered if even Kaz was sure. “Okay, Kaz,” said Nina, slipping off her shoes and wiggling her toes. “Since this is about the almighty plan, how about you stop meditating over that map and tell us just what we’re in for. ~ Leigh Bardugo,

704:Well, forgive the fuck out of me for being shocked senseless when I realized he wasn’t dead. Why didn’t you tell me he was the beast, Ryodan? Why did we have to kill him? I know it’s not because he can’t control himself when he’s the beast. He controlled himself last night when he rescued me from the Book. He can change at will, can’t he? What happened in the Silvers? Does the place have some kind of effect on you, make you uncontrollable?” I almost slapped myself in the forehead. Barrons had told me that the reason he tattooed himself with black and red protection runes was because using dark magic called a price due, unless you took measures to protect yourself against the backlash. Did using IYD require the blackest kind of magic to make it work? Would it grant his demand to magically transport him to me no matter where I was but devolve him into the darkest, most savage version of himself as the price? “It was because of how he got there, wasn’t it?” I said. “The spell you two worked sent him to me like was it was supposed to, but the cost was that it turned him into the lowest common denominator of himself. An insane killing machine. Which he figured was all right, because if I was dying, I’d probably need a killing machine around. A champion to show up and decimate all my enemies. That was it, wasn’t it?” Ryodan had gone completely still. Not a muscle twitched. I wasn’t sure he was breathing. “He knew what would happen if I pressed IYD, and he made plans with you to handle it.” That was Barrons, always thinking, always managing risks where I was concerned. “He tattooed me so he would sense his mark on me and not kill me. And you were supposed to track him—that’s why you both wear those cuffs, so you can find each other—and kill him so he’d come back as the man form of himself, and I’d never be any wiser. I’d get rescues and have no clue it was Barrons who’d done it or that he sometimes turns into a beast. But you screwed up. And that’s what he was mad at you about this morning on the phone. It was your failure to kill him that let the cat out of the bag.” A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. He was pissed. I was definitely right. “He can always circumvent the price of black magic,” I marveled. “When you kill him, he comes back exactly the same as before, doesn’t he? He could tattoo his whole body with protection runes and, when he ran out of skin, kill himself so he could come back with a clean slate, to start all over.” That was why his tattoos weren’t always the same. “Talk about your ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card! And if you hadn’t botched the plan, I would never have known. It’s your fault I know, Ryodan. I think that means it’s not me you should kill, it’s yourself. Oh, gee, wait,” I said sarcastically, “that wouldn’t work, would it? ~ Karen Marie Moning,

705:Farah looked freaked out until Tawny hugged her and the tension faded from her face. A minute later, the table cloth lifted and Bailey appeared with beer bottles in her hands. “I figured you’d need booze to deal with the boredom of hiding.” “I can’t drink,” Farah said. “I’m off the pill and trying to get knocked up.” “I am knocked up. I also don’t like that brand of beer.” Handing the beers to Tawny, Bailey nodded. “Be back in a sec.” A minute later, Bailey returned with two cans of Coke for Farah and me. “So what are we talking about?” Bailey asked. “Men needing to protect their women,” I explained. “Lame. Talk about something I can join in on. What’s your sister like? Is she hotter than me?” “Yes.” “I hate her and you should tell her to watch out. If I see her, that pretty face is dead meat.” Grinning, I cuddled up with her as the table shook from fighting bodies knocking against it. “You’re having a baby?” she asked, wrapping her arms around me. “Everyone is getting married or having babies.” “Raven isn’t,” I said as Farah peeked out from under the table cloth to check on Cooper. She smiled and returned to her spot. “Judd and Aaron have stripped Mac down and are shoving him out the door.” Tawny laughed. “Judd finally got to punish Mac for letting me touch his arm months ago. Good for him.” Laughing, I leaned my head against Bailey. “Raven has bad taste in men. Going out with her will be great for you. If Raven likes someone, you’ll know he’s a loser. So she’ll distract all the shitty guys from you.” “Huh. And she’s hot, so she’ll draw guys to us. I think she might be my new best friend,” Bailey said, taking a swig. ‘Don’t be jealous. I just need a man because all of the kissing and fucking and marrying and baby making you guys keep doing. I can’t be the only one alone and Vaughn doesn’t count because he’ll be dead in a few months and shouldn’t be dating anyway.” We all frowned at Bailey who shrugged. “Those Devils fuck are going to kill him or he’ll try to kill them and get killed. Why do you think they call him Dead Man Walking?” “You’re bumming me out,” I told her while finishing my soda. “I wish Aaron was here.” “As you wish,” Aaron said, leaning down. “Look at you pretty girls hiding under here.” “We’re not hiding,” I said, crawling out. “We’re planning our attack. You know, just in case you couldn’t handle things.” When Aaron grinned, I noticed blood on his lip. “You’re hurt.” “You should see the other guys.” Glancing around, I noticed Mac’s friend was propped up on the pool table and the other guys were throwing pretzels and peanuts at him. In the corner, Kirk and Jodi sat as if on their porch drinking lemonade and admiring the sunset. “My hero,” I said, caressing the cobra. “Are you talking to me or the tattoo?” “Both, baby. Always both. ~ Bijou Hunter,

706:I remained cheery, too, as if the universe had slipped into a kind of dream existence. I was by now far beyond mere tiredness, so that nothing seemed real. In fact, until I topped a rise and saw the twenty wagons stretched out in a formidable line directly below me, the worst reaction I had to rain, to stumbles, to my burning eyes, was a tendency to snicker. The wagons sobered me. I stayed where I was, squarely in the center of the muddy road, and waited for them to ascend my hill. I had plenty of time to count them, all twenty, as they rumbled slowly toward me, pulled by teams of draught horses. When I caught the quick gleam of metal on the hill beyond them--the glint of an errant ray of sun on helms and shields--my heart started a rapid tattoo inside my chest. But I stayed where I was. Twenty wagons. If the unknown riders were reinforcements to the enemy, I couldn’t be in worse trouble than I already was. But if they weren’t… “Halt,” I said, when the first wagon driver was in earshot. He’d already begun to pull up the horses, but I felt it sounded good to begin on an aggressive note. “Out of the way,” the man sitting next to the driver bawled. Despite their both being clad in the rough clothing of wagoneers, their bearing betrayed the fact that they were warriors. That and the long swords lying between them on the bench. “But your way lies back to the south.” I pointed. The second driver in line, a female, even bigger and tougher looking than the leader, had dismounted. She stood next to the first wagon, squinting up at me in a decidedly unfriendly manner. She and the leader exchanged looks, then she said, “We have a delivery to make in yon town.” “The road to the town lies that way,” I said, pointing behind me. “You’re heading straight for the mountains. There’s nothing up here.” They both grinned. “That’s a matter for us and not for you. Be about your business, citizen, or we’ll have to send you on your way.” “And you won’t like the way we do the sending,” the woman added. They both laughed nastily. I crossed my arms. “You can drop the paving stones here if you wish, but you’ll have to take the kinthus back to Denlieff.” Their smiles disappeared. I glanced up--to see that the road behind the last wagon was empty. The mysterious helmed riders had disappeared. What did that mean? No time to find out. “Now, how did you know about that?” the man said, and this time there was no mistaking the threat in his voice. He laid his hand significantly on his sword hilt. “It’s my business, as you said.” I tried my best to sound assured, waving my sodden arm airily in my best Court mode. The woman bowed with exaggerated politeness. “And who might you be, Your Royal Highness?” she asked loudly. The leader, and the third and fourth drivers who had just joined the merry group, guffawed. “I am Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth,” I said. ~ Sherwood Smith,

707:Finishing her cigarette, Raven put it out in the ashtray then sighed. “I never really bought into the God thing. Religion felt like a lie men told to make people listen to them. Mostly, it seemed dumb to think a magic man in the sky cared about us. Like if I was a magic man and could make the earth or whatever, I wouldn’t waste time on helping out losers.” Raven set the ashtray on the ground and crossed her arms as if cold. “I see what Lark has now with you, this house, the ugly dogs, her friends, and now the baby. It makes me think God might exist. While losers run in our family, Lark could be more if she let herself. Now she has more and I think God might have helped her out. I prayed someone would. Even not believing, I prayed and told God if He was real and wanted me to believe that He needed to help Lark. I guess He heard me because she’s happy like I’ve never seen her happy before. Not even when Phoenix was alive and we were the best we ever were as a family.” “I’m glad you’re here and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but, Raven, my dogs aren’t ugly.” She laughed and tapped her foot against mine. “You’re a good guy. I know I said that before, but I didn’t think you would be. I’ve been around and good guys are rare.” “They exist though.” Raven nodded. “I need to quit men the way I need to quit smoking. Just go cold turkey. If I try to be rational about it, I’ll fool myself into falling for another creep. No, just say enough is enough all that shit. Focus on other stuff like a job and roller derby and family.” “If you ever get sick of living here, the Johanssons have an apartment that Cooper used to live in.” “There are plenty of apartments in Ellsberg.” “Yeah, but if you want to avoid loser men, those apartments won’t help. They’re full of assholes. College shitheads and lowlife fuckers. If you stay out there with the Johanssons, no man will bother you. You might even like Bailey. She’s an acquired taste, but a good friend if you can deal with her mouth.” “Bossy bitches are my favorite,” Raven said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “No hurry moving out though. Lark is feeling unsure about stuff and having you here makes her feel more centered. Like she’s combining her old life with her new one and it fits.” “I just have one question, bud,” Raven said, standing up and ready to leave the cold evening. “Are you planning to fix her damn worm?” “I don’t normally tattoo pregnant women.” “You really going to have your kid born to a chick with a worm tattoo?” Smiling at Raven, I nodded. “I don’t want to do anything to jinx the pregnancy. Since we’ve been together, Lark was hurt by Larry, got into a fight with my ex, and had to hide under the table during a bar brawl. I want the rest of her pregnancy to be as pain free as possible.” “Sissy,” she said, grinning. “I’m really glad you aren’t an asshole. It was a pleasant surprise.” “Glad you approve, but don’t mock my dogs again and stop barking at Pollack.” “Fuck off,” she said over her shoulder while walking inside. ~ Bijou Hunter,

708:Melinda, what are you doing?” he asked, unzipping his jeans to take them off and take a shower of his own. “Nothing,” she said, averting her eyes. He frowned and stepped toward her. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Were you covering up? In front of me?” he asked, astonished. “Jack, I’m going to pot,” she said, cinching the towel tighter. “What?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “What are you talking about?” She took a deep breath. “My boobs are drooping, my butt fell into my thighs, I have a potbelly, and if that’s not bad enough, I’m so covered with stretch marks, I look like a deflated balloon.” She put a hand against his rock-hard chest. “You’re eight years older than I am and you’re in perfect shape.” He started to laugh. “I thought you were trying to cover a tattoo or something. Mel, I didn’t have two children, a year apart. Emma’s only a few months old. Give yourself a little time, huh?” “I can’t help it. I miss my old body.” “Oh-oh,” he said, putting his arms around her. “If you’re thinking like that, I’m not doing my job.” “But it’s true,” she said, laying her head against the soft mat of hair on his chest. “Mel, you are more beautiful every day. I love your body.” “It’s not what it was…” “Hmm. But it’s better,” he said. He tugged at the towel and she hung on. “Come on,” he said. She let go and he pulled it away. “Ah,” he said, smiling down at her. “This body is amazing to me—incredible. More lush and irresistible every day.” “You can’t mean that,” she said. “But I do.” He leaned down and touched her lips with his, one hand on her breast, the other moving smoothly down her back and over her bottom. “This body has given me so much—I worship this body.” He lifted her breast slightly. “Look,” he said. “I can’t bear it,” she complained. “Look, Mel. Look in the mirror. Sometimes when I see you like this, uncovered, I can’t breathe. Every small change just makes you better, more delicious to me. You can’t think I’d have anything but complete admiration for the body that gave me my children. You give me so much pleasure, sometimes I think I might be losing my mind. Baby, you’re perfect.” “I’m twenty pounds heavier than when you met me,” she said. He laughed at her. “What are you now? A size four?” “You don’t know anything. It’s much more than a four. We’re headed for double digits…” “God above,” he said. “Twenty more pounds for me to gobble up.” “What if I just keep getting fatter and fatter?” “Will you still be in there? Because it’s you I love. I love your body, Mel, because it’s you. You understand that, right?” “But…” “If I had an accident that blew my legs off, would you stop loving me, wanting me?” “Of course not! That’s not the same thing!” “We’re not our bodies. We’ve been lucky with our bodies, but we’re more than that.” “It was my butt in a pair of jeans that got your attention….” “My love for you is a lot deeper than that, and you know it. However—” he grinned “—you still knock me out in those jeans. If you’ve gained twenty pounds, it went to all the right places.” “I’m thinking—tummy tuck,” she said. “What nonsense,” he said, leaning down to cover her mouth in a bold and serious kiss. ~ Robyn Carr,

709:I’ve always said I didn’t want an ordinary life. Nothing average or mundane for me. But as I stared at the rather ample naked derriere wiggling two inches from my face today, I realized I should have been more specific with my goals. Definitely not ordinary, but not exactly what I had in mind. The Texas-flag tattoo emblazoned across the left cheek waved at me as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The flag was distorted and stretched, as was the large yellow rose on the right cheek, both tattoos dotted with dimples and pock marks. An uneven script scrawled out “The Yellow Rose of Texas” across the top of her rump. Her entire bridal party—her closest friends and relatives, mind you—had left her high and dry. They’d stormed off the elevator as I tried to enter it, a flurry of daffodil-yellow silk, spouting and sputtering about their dear loved one, Tonya the bride. “That’s it! We’re done!” They sounded off in a chorus of clucking hens. “We ain’t goin’ back in there. She can get ready on her own!” “Yeah, she can get ready on her own!” “Known her since third grade and she’s gonna talk to me like that?” “Third grade? She’s my first cousin. I’ve known her since the day she was born. She’s always been that way. I don’t know why y’all acting all surprised.” I felt more than a little uneasy about what all this meant for our schedule. The ceremony was supposed to start in fifteen minutes. The bride should have already been downstairs and loaded in the carriage to make her way to the hotel’s beach. My unease grew to panic when I knocked on Tonya’s door and she opened it clad only in a skimpy little satin robe. “Honey, you’re supposed to be dressed and downstairs already.” I tried to say it as sweetly as possible, but I’m sure my panic came through. My Southern accent kicked in thick, which usually only happens when I’m panicked or frustrated. Or pissed. Or drunk. “Do you think I don’t know that?” she asked, arching a perfectly drawn-on eyebrow. “Do you think somehow when I booked this wedding and had invitations printed and planned the entire damned event, I somehow didn’t realize what time the ceremony started? And just who the hell are you anyway?” Well, alrighty then. Obviously this was going to be a fun day. “Um, I’m Tyler Warren. I’m assisting Lillian with your wedding today.” “Fine. Those bitches left me with my nails wet.” She held up both hands to show me the glossy, fresh manicure. “How the hell am I supposed to get dressed with wet nails?” she asked, arching both eyebrows now and glaring at me like I was somehow responsible for this. “Oh.” My mind spun with the limited time frame I had available, the amount of clothing she still needed to put on, and the amount of time it would take to get her in the carriage and to the ceremony. “Give me just a second to let Lillian know we’ll be down shortly.” I smiled what I hoped was my sweetest smile and stepped backward into the hallway. She slammed the door as I frantically dialed Lillian’s cell. “You’d better be calling to tell me she is in the carriage and on her way,” Lillian said. “It is hotter than Hades out here. I have several people looking like they’re about to faint, and I may possibly dunk a cranky, tuxedoed five-year-old ~ Violet Howe,

710:Ms. Lane.”Barrons’ voice is deep, touched with that strange Old World accent and mildly pissed off. Jericho Barrons is often mildly pissed off. I think he crawled from the swamp that way, chafed either by some condition in it, out of it, or maybe just the general mass incompetence he encountered in both places. He’s the most controlled, capable man I’ve ever known. After all we’ve been through together, he still calls me Ms. Lane, with one exception: When I’m in his bed. Or on the floor, or some other place where I’ve temporarily lost my mind and become convinced I can’t breathe without him inside me this very instant. Then the things he calls me are varied and nobody’s business but mine. I reply: “Barrons,” without inflection. I’ve learned a few things in our time together. Distance is frequently the only intimacy he’ll tolerate. Suits me. I’ve got my own demons. Besides I don’t believe good relationships come from living inside each other’s pockets. I believe divorce comes from that. I admire the animal grace with which he enters the room and moves toward me. He prefers dark colors, the better to slide in and out of the night, or a room, unnoticed except for whatever he’s left behind that you may or may not discover for some time, like, say a tattoo on the back of one’s skull. “What are you doing?” “Reading,” I say nonchalantly, rubbing the tattoo on the back of my skull. I angle the volume so he can’t see the cover. If he sees what I’m reading, he’ll know I’m looking for something. If he realizes how bad it’s gotten, and what I’m thinking about doing, he’ll try to stop me. He circles behind me, looks over my shoulder at the thick vellum of the ancient manuscript. “In the first tongue?” “Is that what it is?” I feign innocence. He knows precisely which cells in my body are innocent and which are thoroughly corrupted. He’s responsible for most of the corrupted ones. One corner of his mouth ticks up and I see the glint of beast behind his eyes, a feral crimson backlight, bloodstaining the whites. It turns me on. Barrons makes me feel violently, electrically sexual and alive. I’d march into hell beside him. But I will not let him march into hell beside me. And there’s no doubt that’s where I’m going. I thought I was strong, a heroine. I thought I was the victor. The enemy got inside my head and tried to seduce me with lies. It’s easy to walk away from lies. Power is another thing. Temptation isn’t a sin that you triumph over once, completely and then you’re free. Temptation slips into bed with you each night and helps you say your prayers. It wakes you in the morning with a friendly cup of coffee, and knows exactly how you take it. He skirts the Chesterfield sofa and stands over me. “Looking for something, Ms. Lane?” I’m eye level with his belt but that’s not where my gaze gets stuck and suddenly my mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow and I know I’m going to want to. I’m Pri-ya for this man. I hate it. I love it. I can’t escape it. I reach for his belt buckle. The manuscript slides from my lap, forgotten. Along with everything else but this moment, this man. “I just found it,” I tell him. ~ Karen Marie Moning,

711:Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Matt?” I ask. And I really want to know, because it’s unfathomable to me that he’s single. He’s handsome, and he’s so kind. He shakes a finger at me. “There’s a story there,” he says. I settle into the sofa a little deeper and turn so that my feet are pointed toward him, my legs extended. My toes almost touch his thigh. But then he lifts my feet and slides under them, scooting closer to me. “I was in love with a girl. For a long time.” “What happened to her?” I ask. He starts to tickle across my toes, and then his fingertips drag down the top of my foot. It’s a gentle sweep, and it feels so good that I don’t want him to stop. His fingers play absently as he starts to talk. “When I got the diagnosis,” he says, “she couldn’t deal with it.” “Cancer?” I ask. He nods. His fingers drag up and down my shin, and he slides around to stroke the back of my knee. I don’t stop him when his hand slides beneath my skirt, although I do tense up. He smiles when he finds the top of my thigh-highs, and he unclips the little fastener that attaches them to my garters. He repeats the action on the other side, his hands teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh as he frees the stocking and rolls it down. He pulls it all the way over my foot, and does the same with the other side. I am suddenly really glad I shaved my legs this morning. I wiggle my toes at him, and he starts to stroke me again. I don’t ever want him to stop. “This okay?” he asks. But he’s not looking at my face. He’s looking at my legs. “Yeah,” I breathe. “Keep talking. You got diagnosed…” “I got diagnosed, and the prognosis wasn’t good. I went through chemo and got a little better. But then I needed a second round. Things didn’t look good, and we were flat broke. I couldn’t work at the tattoo parlor anymore because my immune system was too weak, so I had no money coming in. I was poor and sick, and she didn’t love me enough to walk the path with me.” He shrugs, but I can tell he’s serious. “She cheated with my best friend.” He shrugs again. “And that’s the end of that sad story.” “You still love her?” I ask. I don’t breathe, waiting for his answer. He shakes his head and looks up. “I did love her for a long time. And I haven’t been looking for a relationship. I haven’t dated anyone since her. But I’m not in love with her anymore. I know that now.” “Why now?” I ask. He looks directly into my eyes and says, “Because I met you, and I feel really hopeful that you’ll want to go after something real with me. I know we just met and all, but I was serious about making you fall in love with me.” He laughs. “Then you hit me in the nose tonight, and I knew it was meant to be.” “What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. “When my brother Logan met Emily, she punched him in the face. And when Pete and Reagan first started dating, she hit him in the nose.” He reaches up and touches his nose gently. “So, when you hit me tonight, I just knew it was meant to be.” He grins. “I hope you feel the same way, because I really want to see where this thing is going to go.” “So the women your brothers fell in love with, they committed bodily harm to them and that’s how you guys knew it was real?” “We kind of have a rule. If a woman punches you in the face, you have to marry her.” He laughs. “I didn’t punch you.” “Same difference,” he says. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. ~ Tammy Falkner,

712:I understand. I’ll call my brother and he’ll come get me.” Gracie’s hand flew up and her eyes went wide. “Wait, what?” “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” After thirteen years, she was used to giving up her desires to do the right thing; she only wished it wasn’t so hard. “You’re right, it’s best if I go home.” “No!” Gracie shouted. She straightened and stepped closer to Maddie. “No! That’s not what I meant. I was only trying to say, ‘be careful.’” The men chose that moment to burst in the door like a bunch of rambunctious puppies, filling the room with chaos and testosterone. Gracie placed her hand over her forehead. “Oh, shit, he’s going to kill me.” Mitch stopped on a dime, his attention going first to Maddie and then to Gracie. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What did you do?” All three men turned to Gracie. They advanced on her, gleaming with sweat. Alarm stirred. Maddie didn’t need to see their faces. The aggression was clear in their stance. The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest, and the muscles in his back rippled with the movement. Like Mitch, he also had a tribal-looking tattoo, although it was on his left shoulder instead of wrapping around his bicep. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” Gracie seemed to regain some of her composure, and her chin tilted. “I was only . . .” She cleared her throat. “Being friendly. And helpful.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?” “Yes, but . . .” Gracie glanced at Maddie. “I was worried, and—” Mitch sliced a hand through the air. “What happened?” The men reminded Maddie so much of her brothers and their tactics lit her temper. “That’s enough!” They all swung around. The men’s eyes were sharp, hard with leftover adrenaline. It gave her a moment of pause, before she brushed their daunting presence aside and vaulted off her position by the sink. They tracked her as she stomped around them to stand in front of Gracie. “Stop intimidating her.” Charlie laughed, a wry, amused sound. “Honey, we couldn’t intimidate her if we tried.” His gaze slid over Gracie in a familiar, intimate way. “Although I do think she’s angling for a spanking.” “Ha! You wish.” Gracie placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Thanks for trying to rescue me. You’re a doll.” She sniffed. “It’s nice to have another female here. I never have anyone on my side.” Sam shook his head. “What did I tell you?” Maddie planted her hands on her hips. “She didn’t do anything, so stop it.” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say, Maddie?” “I was just—” Gracie said. “Nothing.” Maddie cut her off as a sudden loyalty toward the woman behind her swelled in her chest. “It has nothing to do with any of you. Now back off.” Charlie’s lips curled into a smile. “Aren’t you a feisty little thing?” “I might be little,” Maddie said, in a righteous tone. “But I’m used to dealing with my brothers, who are all bigger and scarier than you.” Charlie laughed and elbowed Mitch in the ribs. “That sounds like a challenge.” Maddie risked a glance at Mitch to find his expression still hard, not amused at all. He crossed his arms. “I want to talk to Maddie. Alone.” Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Let’s go.” Gracie squeezed Maddie’s shoulders. “Thanks for sticking up for me. And remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.” “She won’t,” Mitch said, his tone matching the dark expression he wore. Strangely, ~ Jennifer Dawson,

713:I want to show you something,” I say. “But I’m afraid you’re going to be angry at me.” She’s suddenly on guard. “Why? What is it?” I turn my wrist over and point to her tattoo on my inner wrist. It’s a bare spot I’d been saving for something special. She leans toward it, and all of her breath rushes from her body. I can feel it across my hand when she exhales. “That’s my tat,” she says. She takes my hand in hers and lifts it toward her face. “Are you angry?” I ask. She looks up at me briefly and then back down at the tattoo. She’s taking in every facet of it. Her hand trembles as she holds tightly to mine. “You changed it.” “I felt like you needed a way out.” I put it on my wrist because I was intrigued by the secrets inside. It’s art, and I appreciate art in all its forms. She swallows. Hard. Then her eyes start to fill with tears. She blinks them back for as long as she can. And then she gets up and runs toward the bathroom. Shit. Now I fucked up. I made her cry. She runs by the waitress, who startles. The waitress starts in my direction, a sway in her hips, but I get up and follow Kit. I stop outside the door to the ladies’ room and press my hand against it. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. She’s in there crying, and I obviously can’t hear her to be sure she’s all right. Fuck it. I’m not leaving her in there upset. I push through the door, and I don’t see any feet in the stalls when I bend over. Where the fuck did she go? I push doors open, but the last one is locked. I stand up on my tiptoes and look over the top. She’s standing there with her forearms pressed against the wall, her head down between her arms, and her back is shaking. She’s crying. I knock on the stall door and say, “Let me in, Kit.” The door doesn’t open. I step back onto my tiptoes and look over. She’s still crying. “Let me in,” I repeat. She doesn’t move, so I walk into the stall next to hers and stand up on the toilet. I rock the partition between the stalls gently. It might hold my weight. There’s only one way to find out. I hoist myself up and over the wall, bringing my legs over the top slowly and carefully, and then I hop down. Before I can reach for her, she’s in my arms, her hands sliding around my neck. She’s still sobbing, and her body shakes against mine. I tilt her face up because I can’t see her lips to tell if she’s saying anything to me or not. I need to apologize. I didn’t expect her to get so upset. I’ll have it covered up with something else if it bothers her this much. My heart twists inside my chest. I really fucked up. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, looking down into her face. Her cheeks are soaked with tears, and she freezes, looking up at me. I can feel her like a heartbeat in my chest. She steps on the toes of my boots and then rocks onto her tiptoes. She pulls my head down with a hand at the back of my neck. Her brown eyes are smoldering, and black shit is running down her cheeks again, but I don’t care. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. I hold her face in my hands and wipe beneath her eyes with my thumbs. Her breath tickles my lips, and she leans even closer. She’s standing on my fucking boots, and I don’t care. She can do whatever it takes to get closer to me. “Why did you do it?” she asks, moving back enough that I can see her lips. I already told her: I thought she needed a way out. All I added to the tattoo was a keyhole right in the center of the guitar. It’s a simple design really. “I don’t know,” I say. I want to explain it to her, but I can’t. Not right now. ~ Tammy Falkner,

714:Will you let me move into your fortress with you?” I blurt out. Her brow furrows, and she looks so damn cute that I want to kiss her, but I know I can’t. “What?” she breathes out. I get up and walk to her. “That fortress where you reside? Will you let me live there with you?” “What the fuck are you talking about?” she asks. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “I don’t want to blow all your walls to bits,” I say. She has a piece of hair stuck to her lips, so I pull it away and tuck it behind her ear. “I just want to live inside them with you. Fuck,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I fucking love your walls. Every single brick. But let me move in. Let me be there with you. Then you can find out if you love me, and you can invite me to stay if you find out that you do. Just let me inside.” I take a deep breath and watch her. “Did you hit your fucking head on the way to work?” she asks. I laugh and rub my forehead. “No, but Logan just slapped some sense into me.” “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” “I’m in fucking love with you, Friday!” I cry. “I fucking love you, you irritating, obnoxious, sexy-ass woman that I can’t get out of my fucking head.” I hit myself in the head with my fists like I’m knocking. “I’m in love with you.” I drop down onto my knees in front of her, and she steps back, so I inch forward until I can pull her belly to touch my forehead. “I’m in love with you.” I look up at her. “I’m on my knees, and I’m not going to try to get you to marry me or make you do anything you don’t want to do. Just let me in, and I’ll be happy with it.” “So, you don’t want to talk me into marrying you?” I shake my head, staring up at her like a puppy. “You’re not going to hold it over my head and refuse intimacy until I cave to what you want?” “No.” “You’re not going to keep asking me again and again?” “No.” “You’re going to stop being stupid?” I grin. “I don’t know about that one.” “You have testicles,” she says, and she shrugs. “I can’t have it all, can I?” She sinks down onto her knees in front of me. She bites her lower lip and stares at me. “Say it,” I coax. She goes back to glaring at me. “Say what?” “Whatever you’re thinking.” “I’m thinking that my knees are uncomfortable on this fucking floor, and I’m wondering how long you’re going to fucking make me stay down here.” I laugh. God, she’s so contrary! She takes my face in her hands. “Tonight, can I make you dinner?” she asks. My heart does that pitter-patter thing again. “Like a date?” She rocks her head back and forth like she’s weighing her words. “I guess you could call it a date.” “Then yes, I’d love that.” Then I remember. “But I have Hayley tonight.” She brightens. “Good.” She kisses me quickly and grins. “Because that’s about as close to a threesome as you’ll ever get with me.” She points to the floor. “Can I get up now?” she asks. “Get the fuck up,” I growl. I get to my feet, too. She falls against me and wraps her arms around my waist. “So does this mean that you don’t want to marry me?” she asks, her voice muffled against my chest. Her words touch the tattoo I just got, and it stings a little. But I don’t pull back. I don’t want her to see it yet. “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t say the opposite.” I set her back a little and look down into her upturned face. “Are you telling me you do want to marry me?” She shakes her head and jabs a finger at me. “But I want to leave the door open.” Oh, holy hell. She’s opening a fucking door and I didn’t even have to threaten her or withhold anything or torment her in any way. I might pass out. “Okay,” I say. ~ Tammy Falkner,

715:You have an accent I do not recognize," he was saying. 'Tis certainly not local…." "Really, Lord Gareth — you should rest, not try to talk. Save your strength." "My dear angel, I can assure you I'd much rather talk to you, than lie here in silence and wonder if I shall live to see the next sunrise. I ... do not wish to be alone with my thoughts at the moment. Pray, amuse me, would you?" She sighed. "Very well, then. I'm from Boston." "County of Lincolnshire?" "Colony of Massachusetts." His smile faded. "Ah, yes ... Boston."  The town's name fell wearily from his lips and he let his eyes drift shut, as though that single word had drained him of his remaining strength. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?" "Farther, perhaps, than I should be," she said, cryptically. He seemed not to hear her. "I had a brother who died over there last year, fighting the rebels.... He was a captain in the Fourth. I miss him dreadfully." Juliet leaned the side of her face against the squab and took a deep, bracing breath. If this man died, he would never know just who the little girl playing so contentedly with his cravat was. He would never know that the stranger who was caring for him during his final moments was the woman his brother had loved, would never know just why she — a long way from home, indeed — had come to England. It was now or never. "Yes," she whispered, tracing a thin crack in the squab near her face. "So do I." "Sorry?" "I said, yes. I miss him too." "Forgive me, but I don't quite understand...."  And then he blanched and stiffened as the truth hit him with debilitating force. His eyes widened, their lazy dreaminess fading. His head rose halfway out of her lap. He stared at her and blinked, and in the sudden, charged silence that filled the coach, Juliet heard the pounding tattoo of her own heart, felt his gaze boring into the underside of her chin as his mind, dulled by pain and shock, quickly put the pieces together. Boston. Juliet. I miss him, too. He gave an incredulous little laugh. "No," he said, slowly shaking his head, as though he suspected he was the butt of some horrible joke or worse, knew she was telling the truth and could not find a way to accept it. He scrutinized her features, his gaze moving over every aspect of her face. "We all thought ... I mean, Lucien said he tried to locate you ... No, I am hallucinating, I must be!  You cannot be the same Juliet. Not his Juliet —" "I am," she said quietly. "His Juliet. And now I've come to England to throw myself on the mercy of his family, as he bade me to do should anything happen to him." "But this is just too extraordinary, I cannot believe —" Juliet was gazing out the window into the darkness again. "He told you about me, then?" "Told us? His letters home were filled with nothing but declarations of love for his 'colonial maiden,' his 'fair Juliet' — he said he was going to marry you. I ... you ... dear God, you have shocked my poor brain into speechlessness, Miss Paige. I do not believe you are here, in the flesh!" "Believe it," she said, miserably. "If Charles had lived, you and I would have been brother and sister. Don't die, Lord Gareth. I have no wish to see yet another de Montforte brother into an early grave." He settled back against her arm and flung one bloodstained wrist across his eyes, his body shaking. For a moment she thought the shock of her revelation had killed him. But no. Beneath the lace of his sleeve she could see his gleaming grin, and Juliet realized that he was not dying but convulsing with giddy, helpless mirth. For the life of her, she did not see what was so funny. "Then this baby —" he managed, sliding his wrist up his brow to peer up at her with gleaming eyes — "this baby —" "Is your niece. ~ Danelle Harmon,

716:Staring at her with impenetrable blue-black eyes, the warrior on the black nudged the animal a pace forward. With that relentless eye-to-eye contact, he held her pinioned where she stood. For what seemed a lifetime, he studied her, not moving, not speaking, his lance still held aloft. Loretta’s courage disintegrated, and a violent tremor swept the length of her. He noted the shudder, and his observant gaze trailed up her body in its wake. His attention fell to her hips, lingered there with an insulting contempt, then traveled upward to her breasts. Humiliation scorched her cheeks. “Keemah.” He hissed the word at her, but it seemed sharp as a rifle shot rending the air. Loretta jumped, confusion and mindless terror contorting her features. She understood no Comanche and hadn’t any perception of what he wanted. She only knew he would kill her if she angered him. Her shaking knees beat a tremulous tattoo against each other. His lips twisted in a sneer. “Come forward, so this Comanche can see you.” Too frightened to feel her feet, Loretta stumbled on the steps, nearly falling before she regained her balance. Her skin prickled from the two hundred eyes that watched her. As she drew near the Comanche, he wheeled his mount to one side. Cone-shaped brass bells sparkled against the stripped leather of his moccasin. His stare was a tangible thing, reaching to touch her. “Lift your face, woman.” She titled her head back, keeping her expression carefully blank. He seemed to tower atop the stallion, his bare shoulders broad, his arms well muscled. The breeze swept his dark hair from his cheek, revealing a thin scar that angled from his right eyebrow to his chin. Brilliant white teeth flashed as he spoke. “What do you call yourself?” Loretta parted her lips, and the prolonged silence pulsated. “Answer, woman, or die.” Lifting his lance tip, he caught her braid, tugging it loose from its coronet. Slowly uncoiling, it snaked to her shoulder. “Loretta!” Rachel screamed from a front window. “Her name is Loretta. Oh, please, don’t hurt her, please.” A horrible, gut-wrenching sob punctuated the plea. The Indian pressed the tip of his lance against Loretta’s throat. “Have you no tongue, herbi?” “No-oo-o,” Rachel wailed. “She can’t talk! It’s the truth! Oh, please. She’s a good, sweet girl. Don’t hurt her.” To Loretta’s left, an Indian on a pinto began to babble in excitement and pointed a finger at her. The lead Comanche’s arm went taut, causing the lance to prick her skin. He leaned forward, the thick, veined muscles bulging in his upper arm as he tensed to drive the lance forward. “Ka!” roared the Indian on the pinto. Then he let loose with another garbled string of words. Loretta closed her eyes and braced herself. Whatever it was the other Indian was saying, he was clearly arguing in her behalf. There hovered in the air a charged expectancy, turbulent, tingling along her nerve endings to the core of her, so that, for a suspended moment, she felt a peculiar sense of oneness with the man above her, perceiving his tumultuous emotions, his indecision, as if she were an integral part of him. He wanted to spill her blood with a primal ferocity, but something, perhaps the Almighty Himself, stayed his hand. Sensing reprieve, grasping for it with eager disbelief, she lifted her lashes in confusion to see the same emotion reflected in his cobalt eyes. He began to tremble, as if the lance weighed a thousand pounds. And suddenly she knew that as much as he longed to murder her, a part of him couldn’t, wouldn’t throw the lance. It made no sense. She could see nothing but hatred written on his chiseled face. He had surely killed hundreds of times and would kill again. Slowly he lowered his arm and stared at her as if she had bested him in some way. ~ Catherine Anderson,

717:Narian was walking restlessly around his parlor when I entered, and my worry increased tenfold. Was he moving about because he was in pain? I glanced around the room, noticing an empty wineglass and a half-eaten bowl of soup. “You’re out of breath, Alera,” he said with a smile. “I hope that means your conversation with Nantilam went well.” I hesitated, unsure how to begin, unsure how to tell him what she was demanding, what she had done to him. Unsure how to tell him she had meted out one last betrayal. “How are you feeling?” I blurted, and he laughed. “I’m fine, but you don’t seem to be. Come and talk to me.” He took my hand and led me to the sofa, pulling me down to sit beside him. He winced as he did so, an indication he was experiencing some discomfort. I brushed his hair off his forehead, subtly checking for a fever, then told him of the High Priestess’s desires. “The terms of the actual treaty are not a problem, Narian, but Nantilam won’t enter into it unless you agree to make Cokyri your home. She wants to control your power, now and in the future, even to the point of progeny.” “Alera,” he calmly said, taking both my hands in his. “Those decisions are not hers to make. Besides, she’s a little late.” “I don’t understand.” He looked at me, bemused, then rolled up his right shirtsleeve, revealing an intricate tattoo encircling his forearm just below the elbow--the Cokyrian symbol that a man was voluntarily bound to a woman. I stared at it; I stared at him; and I burst into tears. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nonetheless took me into his arms. “That’s not the reaction I expected,” he drolly commented, “but it’s convinced me something is wrong.” “How….are…you…feeling?” I managed between sobs. “You’ve already asked me that, and I’m fine.” When I finally had my weeping under control, words tumbled from my mouth. “Even if the revolt has been successful, the High Priestess won’t enter into a treaty unless you stay in Cokyri. Otherwise, she’ll attack Hytanica again, and this time she will kill all of our military leaders and enslave my people. And she wants you to bind yourself to a woman of her choosing because if your powers pass to a child, she wants the child to be Cokyrian.” “That’s all well and good, but this time, she won’t be able to have things her way. There’s no need for you to worry about this. We are strong enough to take her on, Alera.” “But we’re not.” I glanced once more toward the food he had been given, and a flicker of understanding appeared in his eyes. “We have no choice, Narian, because she’s poisoned your food and drink and only she can heal you. And I don’t know what to do, only that I cannot let you die!” “Shhh,” he soothed, holding me close, and I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm. Not when panic rose higher inside me with each passing moment. When I had quieted, resting with my head cradled against his chest, he tried to sort through the things I had said. “So Nantilam, in her wisdom, has linked Hytanican’s freedom to my willingness to stay in Cokyri, and she has effectively taken me out of the fighting by poisoning my food?” I shudder, then nodded. “If I stay here, she is willing to sign a treaty, but if I’m not, she will never relinquish Hytanica and I won’t be around to prevent it.” “Yes,” I murmured. “So she is tearing us apart, dictating the rest of my life and we have to go along with it or she will destroy Hytanica?” “Yes. And we’re running out of time.” He shook his head in awe. “I have to hand it to her, Alera. She’s ruthless in pursuing what she wants.” “This is serious, Narian.” I found his attitude almost irritating. He obviously understood the direness of his situation, yet was acting like it was only a game. “I know it’s serious, but there is only one choice as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to live without you, Alera. I won’t live without you. ~ Cayla Kluver,

718:The Mu'Allaqat 'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa? And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist? 'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place. 'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile. 'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool. 'And when I recognized the encampment I said to its site, 'Now good morning, oh spot; may you be safe from dangers.' 'Look, oh my friend! do you see any women traveling on camels, going over the high ground above the stream of Jurthum? 'They have covered their howdahs with coverlets of high value, and with a thin screen, the fringes of which are red, resembling blood. 'And they inclined toward the valley of Sooban, ascending the center of it, and in their faces were the fascinating looks of a soft-bodied person brought up in easy circumstances. 'They arose early in the morning and got up at dawn, and they went straight to the valley of Rass as the hand goes unswervingly to the mouth, when eating. 'And amongst them is a place of amusement for the farsighted one, and a pleasant sight for the eye of the looker who looks attentively. 'As if the pieces of dyed wool which they left in every place in which they halted, were the seeds of night-shade which have not been crushed. 'When they arrived at the water, the mass of which was blue from intense purity, they laid down their walking sticks, like the dweller who has pitched his tents. 'They kept the hill of Qanan and the rough ground about it on their hand; while there are many, dwelling in Qanan, the shedding of whose blood is lawful and unlawful. 'They came out from the valley of Sooban, then they crossed it, riding in every Qainian howdah new and widened. 'Then I swear by the temple, round which walk the men who built it from the tribes of Quraysh and Turhum. 'An oath, that you are verily two excellent chiefs, who are found worthy of honor in every condition, between ease and distress. 'The two endeavorers from the tribe of Ghaiz bin Murrah strove in making peace after the connection between the tribes had become broken, on account of the shedding of blood. 'You repaired with peace the condition of the tribes of 'Abs and Zubyan, after they had fought with one another, and ground up the perfume of Manshim between them. 'And indeed you said, 'if we bring about peace perfectly by the spending of money and the conferring of benefits, and by good words, we shall be safe from the danger of the two tribes, destroying each other.' 'You occupied by reason of this the best of positions, and became far from the reproach of being undutiful and sinful. 'And you became great in the high nobility of Ma'add; may you be guided in the right way; and he who spends his treasure of glory will become great. 'The memory of the wounds is obliterated by the hundreds of camels, and he, who commenced paying off the blood money by instalments, was not guilty of it (i.e., of making war) . 'One tribe pays it to another tribe as an indemnity, while they who gave the indemnity did not shed blood sufficient for the filling of a cupping glass. 'Then there was being driven to them from the property you inherited, a booty of various sorts from young camels with slit ears. 'Now, convey from me to the tribe of Zubyan and their allies a message,- 'verily you have sworn by every sort of oath to keep the peace.' 'Do not conceal from God what is in your breast that it may be hidden; whatever is concealed, God knows all about it. 'Either it will be put off and placed recorded in a book, and preserved there until the judgment day; or the punishment be hastened and so he will take revenge. 'And war is not but what you have learnt it to be, and what you have experienced, and what is said concerning it, is not a story based on suppositions. 'When you stir it up, you will stir it up as an accursed thing, and it will become greedy when you excite its greed and it will rage fiercely. 'Then it will grind you as the grinding of the upper millstone against the lower, and it will conceive immediately after one birth and it will produce twins. 'By my life I swear, how good a tribe it is upon whom Husain Bin Zamzam brought an injury by committing a crime which did not please them. 'And he had concealed his hatred, and did not display it, and did not proceed to carry out his intention until he got a good opportunity. 'And he said, 'I will perform my object of avenging myself, and I will guard myself from my enemy with a thousand bridled horses behind me.' 'Then he attacked his victim from 'Abs, but did not cause fear to the people of the many houses, near which death had thrown down his baggage. 'They allowed their animals to graze until when the interval between the hours of drinking was finished, they took them to the deep pool, which is divided by weapons and by shedding of blood. 'They accomplished their object amongst themselves, then they led the animals back to the pasture of unwholesome indigestible grass. 'I have grown weary of the troubles of life; and he, who lives eighty years will, may you have no father if you doubt grow weary. 'And I know what has happened to-day and yesterday, before it, but verily, of the knowledge of what will happen tomorrow; I am ignorant. 'I see death is like the blundering of a blind camel; -him whom he meets he kills, and he whom he misses lives and will become old. 'And he who does not act with kindness in many affairs will be torn by teeth and trampled under foot. 'And he, who makes benevolent acts intervene before honor, increases his honor; and he, who does not avoid abuse, will be abused. 'He, who is possessed of plenty, and is miserly with his great wealth toward his people, will be dispensed with, and abused. 'He who keeps his word, will not be reviled; and he whose heart is guided to self-satisfying benevolence will not stammer. 'And he who dreads the causes of death, they will reach him, even if he ascends the tracts of the heavens with a ladder. 'And he, who shows kindness to one not deserving it, his praise will be a reproach against him, and he will repent of having shown kindness. 'And he who rebels against the butt ends of the spears, then verily he will have to obey the spear points joined to every long spear shaft. 'And he who does not repulse with his weapons from his tank, will have it broken; and he who does not oppress the people will be oppressed. 'And he who travels should consider his friend an enemy; and he who does not respect himself will not be respected. 'And he, who is always seeking to bear the burdens of other people, and does not excuse himself from it, will one day by reason of his abasement, repent. 'And whatever of character there is in a man, even though he thinks it concealed from people, it is known. 'He, who does not cease asking people to carry him, and does not make himself independent of them even for one day of the time, will be regarded with disgust. 'Many silent ones you see, pleasing to you, but their excess in wisdom or deficiency will appear at the time of talking. 'The tongue of a man is one half, and the other half is his mind, and here is nothing besides these two, except the shape of the blood and the flesh. 'And verily, as to the folly of an old man there is no wisdom after it, but the young man after his folly may become wise. ~ Baha ad-Din Zuhayr,

719:But little better than the vivid dream I dreamt   was our encounter in reality's darkness, black as leopard-flower seeds. Like (0) 0 This very keepsake This very keepsake is now a source of misery,   for were it not here there might be fleeting moments when I would not think of you. Like (0) 0 The Poem of Zuhair "Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa? "And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist? "The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are spring- ing up from every lying-down place. "I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile. "I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool. "And when I recognized the encampment I said to its site, 'Now good morning, oh spot; may you be safe from dangers.' "Look, oh my friend! do you see any women traveling on camels, going over the high ground above the stream of Jurthum? "They have covered their howdahs with coverlets of high value, and with a thin screen, the fringes of which are red, resembling blood. "And they inclined toward the valley of Sooban, ascending the center of it, and in their faces were the fascinating looks of a soft-bodied person brought up in easy circumstances. "They arose early in the morning and got up at dawn, and they went straight to the valley of Rass as the hand goes unswervingly to the mouth, when eating. "And amongst them is a place of amusement for the farsighted one, and a pleasant sight for the eye of the looker who looks attentively. "As if the pieces of dyed wool which they left in every place in which they halted, were the seeds of night-shade which have not been crushed. "When they arrived at the water, the mass of which was blue from intense purity, they laid down their walking sticks, like the dweller who has pitched his tents. "They kept the hill of Qanan and the rough ground about it on their hand; while there are many, dwelling in Qanan, the shedding of whose blood is lawful and unlawful. "They came out from the valley of Sooban, then they crossed it, riding in every Qainian howdah new and widened. "Then I swear by the temple, round which walk the men who built it from the tribes of Quraysh and Turhum. "An oath, that you are verily two excellent chiefs, who are found worthy of honor in every condition, between ease and distress. "The two endeavorers from the tribe of Ghaiz bin Murrah strove in making peace after the connection between the tribes had become broken, on account of the shedding of blood. "You repaired with peace the condition of the tribes of 'Abs and Zubyan, after they had fought with one another, and ground up the perfume of Manshim between them. "And indeed you said, 'if we bring about peace perfectly by the spending of money and the conferring of benefits, and by good words, we shall be safe from the danger of the two tribes, destroying each other.' "You occupied by reason of this the best of positions, and became far from the reproach of being undutiful and sinful. "And you became great in the high nobility of Ma'add; may you be guided in the right way; and he who spends his treasure of glory will become great. "The memory of the wounds is obliterated by the hundreds of camels, and he, who commenced paying off the blood money by instalments, was not guilty of it (i.e., of making war). "One tribe pays it to another tribe as an indemnity, while they who gave the indemnity did not shed blood sufficient for the filling of a cupping glass. "Then there was being driven to them from the property you inherited, a booty of various sorts from young camels with slit ears. "Now, convey from me to the tribe of Zubyan and their allies a message,--- 'verily you have sworn by every sort of oath to keep the peace.' "Do not conceal from God what is in your breast that it may be hidden; whatever is concealed, God knows all about it. "Either it will be put off and placed recorded in a book, and preserved there until the judgment day; or the punishment be hastened and so he will take revenge. "And war is not but what you have learnt it to be, and what you have experienced, and what is said concerning it, is not a story based on suppositions. "When you stir it up, you will stir it up as an accursed thing, and it will become greedy when you excite its greed and it will rage fiercely. "Then it will grind you as the grinding of the upper millstone against the lower, and it will conceive immediately after one birth and it will produce twins. "By my life I swear, how good a tribe it is upon whom Husain Bin Zamzam brought an injury by committing a crime which did not please them. "And he had concealed his hatred, and did not display it, and did not proceed to carry out his intention until he got a good opportunity. "And he said, 'I will perform my object of avenging myself, and I will guard myself from my enemy with a thousand bridled horses behind me.' "Then he attacked his victim from 'Abs, but did not cause fear to the people of the many houses, near which death had thrown down his baggage. "They allowed their animals to graze until when the interval between the hours of drinking was finished, they took them to the deep pool, which is divided by weapons and by shedding of blood. "They accomplished their object amongst themselves, then they led the animals back to the pasture of unwholesome indigestible grass. "I have grown weary of the troubles of life; and he, who lives eighty years will, may you have no father if you doubt grow weary. "And I know what has happened to-day and yesterday, before it, but verily, of the knowledge of what will happen tomorrow; I am ignorant. "I see death is like the blundering of a blind camel;---him whom he meets he kills, and he whom he misses lives and will become old. "And he who does not act with kindness in many affairs will be torn by teeth and trampled under foot. "And he, who makes benevolent acts intervene before honor, increases his honor; and he, who does not avoid abuse, will be abused. "He, who is possessed of plenty, and is miserly with his great wealth toward his people, will be dispensed with, and abused. "He who keeps his word, will not be reviled; and he whose heart is guided to self-satisfying benevolence will not stammer. "And he who dreads the causes of death, they will reach him, even if he ascends the tracts of the heavens with a ladder. "And he, who shows kindness to one not deserving it, his praise will be a reproach against him, and he will repent of having shown kindness. "And he who rebels against the butt ends of the spears, then verily he will have to obey the spear points joined to every long spear shaft. "And he who does not repulse with his weapons from his tank, will have it broken; and he who does not oppress the people will be oppressed. "And he who travels should consider his friend an enemy; and he who does not respect himself will not be respected. "And he, who is always seeking to bear the burdens of other people, and does not excuse himself from it, will one day by reason of his abasement, repent. "And whatever of character there is in a man, even though he thinks it concealed from people, it is known. "He, who does not cease asking people to carry him, and does not make himself independent of them even for one day of the time, will be regarded with disgust. "Many silent ones you see, pleasing to you, but their excess in wisdom or deficiency will appear at the time of talking. "The tongue of a man is one half, and the other half is his mind, and here is nothing besides these two, except the shape of the blood and the flesh. "And verily, as to the folly of an old man there is no wisdom after it, but the young man after his folly may become wise. "We asked of you, and you gave, and we returned to the asking and you returned to the giving, and he who increases the asking, will one day be disappointed." ~ Anonymous, But little better ,

   3 Fiction
   2 Occultism
   1 Psychology
   1 Poetry


   3 H P Lovecraft
   2 James George Frazer


   3 Lovecraft - Poems
   2 The Golden Bough

1.00 - PREFACE - DESCENSUS AD INFERNOS, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology   stands out in my memory. He was exceptionally muscular, and tattooed over his bare chest. He had a   vicious scar running down the middle of his body, from his collarbone to his midsection. Maybe he had

1.01 - Economy, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy   The manufacturers have learned that this taste is merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a few threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable. Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which it is called. It is not barbarous merely because the printing is skin-deep and unalterable.   I cannot believe that our factory system is the best mode by which men may get clothing. The condition of the operatives is becoming every day more like that of the English; and it cannot be wondered at, since, as far as I have heard or observed, the principal object is, not that mankind may be well and honestly clad, but, unquestionably, that corporations may be enriched. In the long run men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, though they should fail immediately, they had better aim at something high.

1.18 - The Perils of the Soul, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism   only a little child." People in the Punjaub who tattoo themselves   believe that at death the soul, "the little entire man or woman"

1.35 - Attis as a God of Vegetation, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism   Attis; at all events, we read that his eunuch priests were tattooed   with a pattern of ivy leaves. Another reason for the sanctity of the

1.anon - But little better, #Anonymous - Poems, #unset, #Zen   as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews   of the wrist?

1f.lovecraft - Deaf, Dumb, and Blind, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen    is not Dobbs. As I anticipated, the tattoo upon my ears has ceased and    a low whisper has caught my attention . . . the overwhelming

1f.lovecraft - The Loved Dead, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen    Nightsticks beat a lusty tattoo upon the door. I crashed the window    with a chair, thanking Fate I had chosen one of the cheaper tenement

1f.lovecraft - Winged Death, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen    as good as tattooing for permanence. By elimination, that would seem to    be the only rational explanation for this thing; though it is very   --    beating the same tattoo on the stiff cardboard shade. I felt a vague    desperation, and proceeded to shut all the doors as well as the window   --    another tattoo, it will be its last!    Rest of the day in peace. Can I weather this experience without

Aeneid, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction   Agathyr'si a people of Scythia who practiced tattooing, iv, 194.   Age'nor an ancient king of Phoenicia, i, 478.

IS - Chapter 1, #Invisible Cities, #Italo Calvino, #Fiction   level; streets of shops where tattoos are drawn on   sailors' skin; underground trains crammed with obese   --   one tattoo artist arranging needles and inks and   pierced patterns on his bench, only one fat woman

The Act of Creation text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology   were impersonated with the aid of masks, costumes, tattooings and   make-up. The shaman who danced the part of the rain-god was the

The Lottery in Babylon, #Labyrinths, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry   Like all men of Babylon, I have been proconsul; like them all, a slave; I have also known omnipotence, opprobrium, incarceration. Look: on my right hand is missing my index finger. Look: through this rent cape can be seen on my stomach a ruddy tattoo - it is the second symbol, Beth. On nights when the moon is full, this symbol confers unto me power over the men whose mark is Ghimel while rendering me subject to the men of Aleph, who on moonless nights must obey the men of Ghimel. In a cellar in the half-light of dawn, I have slit before a black altar the throats of sacred bulls. For an entire lunar year, I have been declared invisible: I would cry out and no one would respond, I would steal bread and I was not beheaded. I have known what the Greeks knew not: uncertainty. In a brass chamber, before the strangler's silencing scarf, hope has remained faithful; in the river of delights, panic stood steadfast. Heraclides Ponticus relates with admiration that Pythagoras recalled having been Pyrrhus, before him Euphorbus, and before him some other mortal; to recall analogous vicissitudes I need not find recourse in death, nor even imposture.   I owe this almost monstrous variety to an institution that other republics do not know, or which works imperfectly or secretly in them: the lottery. Into its history I have not delved; I know that the sages cannot manage to agree; I know of its powerful aims what a man not versed in astrology can know of the moon. I am of a vertiginous country where the lottery is a principal part of reality: until this very day, I have thought as little of it as I have the conduct of the inscrutable gods or of my own heart. Now, far from Babylon and its beloved customs, I think with some bewilderment of the lottery and of the blasphemous conjectures that the shrouded men murmur at twilight.

Wikipedia - Amalgam tattoo -- A common discoloration of tissue in the mouth

Wikipedia - Bang Bang (tattoo artist) -- American celebrity makeup artist

Wikipedia - Bondi Ink Tattoo -- Australian television series

Wikipedia - Canadian Armed Forces Tattoo 1967 -- Traveling military exhibition in Canada in 1967

Wikipedia - Criminal tattoo -- Tattoos associated with criminal activity and gang membership

Wikipedia - Daniel Snoeks -- Australian-born South Korea-based model, television personality, and tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Dragon Tattoo Stories (film series) -- American film series

Wikipedia - Finger moustache tattoo -- Tattoo of a stylized moustache on the index finger

Wikipedia - Grace Neutral -- British television presenter, model, and tattoo artist (born 1989)

Wikipedia - Hannah Aitchison -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - How Far Is Tattoo Far? -- reality television show

Wikipedia - Irezumi -- Several forms of traditional Japanese tattooing

Wikipedia - Jagua tattoo -- Temporary form of skin decoration

Wikipedia - Jesse Hernandez (artist) -- American tattoo artist and graphic designer

Wikipedia - Jim Hall (body artist) -- American body artist with whole-body tattoo

Wikipedia - Killer Tattoo -- 2001 film by Yuthlert Sippapak

Wikipedia - List of Taboo Tattoo episodes -- Wikipedia list article

Wikipedia - List of tattoo artists -- Wikipedia list article

Wikipedia - List of Tattoo Fixers episodes -- Wikipedia list article

Wikipedia - List of tattoo TV shows -- Wikipedia list article

Wikipedia - Lokesh Verma -- Indian tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Lower-back tattoo -- Tattoo style that became popular in the late 1990s

Wikipedia - Lydia the Tattooed Lady -- 1939 song written by Yip Harburg and Harold Arlen

Wikipedia - Mark Mahoney -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Martin Hildebrandt -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Microblading -- Tattooing technique

Wikipedia - Myra Brodsky -- German tattoo artist and illustrator

Wikipedia - Prison tattooing

Wikipedia - Rose Tattoo -- Australian band

Wikipedia - Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo -- Annual series of military tattoos

Wikipedia - Ryan Ashley Malarkey -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Samuel O'Reilly -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Scott Campbell (tattoo artist) -- American tattoo artist

Wikipedia - Scott Tattoo -- Bugle call

Wikipedia - Soundwave tattoos -- Type of tattoo design

Wikipedia - Taboo Tattoo -- Japanese manga series

Wikipedia - Tattoo (1967 film) -- 1967 film

Wikipedia - Tattoo artist -- Individual who applies permanent decorative tattoos

Wikipedia - Tattoo (bugle call) -- Signal played at dusk and ceremonies

Wikipedia - Tattooed Serpent -- Natchez war chief

Wikipedia - Tattooing

Wikipedia - Tattoo (Jordin Sparks song) -- 2007 single by Jordin Sparks

Wikipedia - Tattoo (poem) -- Poem from Wallace Stevens's first book of poetry, Harmonium

Wikipedia - Tattoo removal -- Dermatologic procedure to remove tattoo pigments

Wikipedia - Tattoo the Earth -- 2000-2002 concert tour by Slipknot

Wikipedia - Tattoo Titans -- American reality TV show

Wikipedia - Tattoo (Van Halen song) -- Song by Van Halen

Wikipedia - Tattoo -- Skin modification using ink to create designs

Wikipedia - Teardrop tattoo -- Type of tattoo

Wikipedia - Teresa's Tattoo -- 1994 American film by Julie Cypher

Wikipedia - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009 film) -- 2009 crime thriller film by Niels Arden Oplev

Wikipedia - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011 film) -- 2011 film by David Fincher

Wikipedia - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo -- 2005 book by Stieg Larsson

Wikipedia - The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo -- Book by Amy Schumer

Wikipedia - The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes: The Case of the Rose Tattoo

Wikipedia - The Man with the Red Tattoo -- Novel by Raymond Benson

Wikipedia - The Tattooist of Auschwitz -- Novel by Heather Morris

Wikipedia - Ta moko -- Maori facial marking which looks like a tattoo

Kat Von D ::: Born: March 8, 1982; Occupation: Tattoo artist;

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https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Category:Tattooing

https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/File:Yant-tattoo.jpg

https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Talk:Yantra_tattooing

https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Yantra_tattooing

https://Tabootattoo.wikia.com/api.php

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https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Tattoo

https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/The_Girl_with_the_Dragon_Tattoo_(2011_film)

Tattooed Teenage Alien Fighters From Beverly Hills (1994 - 1995) - This show focused on four "teenagers", Laurie, Gordon, Drew, and Swinton being recruited by an blob-like alien called Nimbar. To fight off the monsters sent by Emperor Gorganus, and his talking bird friend, Lechner.

Taboo Tattoo (2016 - Current) - a Japanese action seinen manga series written and illustrated by Shinjir.[3] It was serialized by Media Factory in its Monthly Comic Alive magazine between November 2009 and June 2017.[4] The series was compiled into thirteen volumes between 2010 and 2017. The series is published in French by Bambo...

For the love of Benji(1977) - second film featuring Benji the dog. In this film, he scampers through Athens with secret agents in pursuit, who are trying to get the formula tattooed on his paw.

Tattoo(1981) - A mentally unstable tattoo artist(Bruce Dern)kidnaps a model(Maud Adams)with the intention of tattooing her entire body.

The Illustrated Man(1969) - A man, whose body is almost completely covered in tattoos, is looking for the woman who drew all the intricate designs on him. Each tattoo hides a futuristic story, which you experience when you stare at it. Written

The Tattooist(2007) - A young artist unknowingly plays a role in releasing a deadly spirit as he attempts to learn tatau, the Samoan tradition of tattooing.

https://myanimelist.net/anime/2102/Tattoon_Master --

https://myanimelist.net/anime/29758/Taboo_Tattoo -- Action, Mystery, Comedy, Super Power, Supernatural, Martial Arts, Seinen

Blindspot ::: TV-14 | 42min | Action, Crime, Drama | TV Series (20152020) -- Jane Doe is found in Times Square with no memory and mysterious tattoos on her body. Creator: Martin Gero

Ink Master ::: TV-14 | 1h | Reality-TV | TV Series (2012 ) -- Ten of the country's most creative and skilled tattoo artists are judged by icons of the tattoo world. They compete for a hundred thousand dollars and the title of "INK MASTER". Stars:

Taboo-Tattoo ::: TV-MA | 24min | Animation, Action, Comedy | TV Series (2016- ) Episode Guide 12 episodes Taboo-Tattoo Poster "Tattoos" - ancient weapons that drastically enhance the physical abilities of their users, known as the "Sealed," allowing them to bring forth supernatural phenomena when activated through... S Stars: Justin Briner, Monica Rial, Christopher Bevins

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009) ::: 7.8/10 -- Mn som hatar kvinnor (original title) -- The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Poster -- A journalist is aided by a young female hacker in his search for the killer of a woman who has been dead for forty years. Director: Niels Arden Oplev Writers:

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) ::: 7.8/10 -- R | 2h 38min | Crime, Drama, Mystery | 21 December 2011 (USA) -- Journalist Mikael Blomkvist is aided in his search for a woman who has been missing for forty years by Lisbeth Salander, a young computer hacker. Director: David Fincher Writers:

The King of Staten Island (2020) ::: 7.1/10 -- R | 2h 16min | Comedy, Drama | 12 June 2020 (USA) -- Scott has been a case of arrested development since his firefighter dad died. He spends his days smoking weed and dreaming of being a tattoo artist until events force him to grapple with his grief and take his first steps forward in life. Director: Judd Apatow Writers:

The Rose Tattoo (1955) ::: 7.0/10 -- Unrated | 1h 57min | Comedy, Drama, Romance | 13 December 1955 (USA) -- A Sicilian seamstress who idolizes her husband must deal with several family crises upon his sudden death. Director: Daniel Mann Writers: Tennessee Williams (screenplay), Hal Kanter (adaptation) | 1 more

https://animanga.fandom.com/wiki/Taboo_Tattoo

https://animanga.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoon_Master

https://batman.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Strongman

https://blindspot.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoos

https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Man

https://dnd4.fandom.com/wiki/Distracting_Tattoo

https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Aldmeri_Dominion_Tattoos

https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Climbing_Briar_Face_Tattoo

https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Daggerfall_Covenant_Tattoos

https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Ebonheart_Pact_Tattoos

https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Shorn_Camel

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https://fads.fandom.com/wiki/Body_Tattoos

https://fatalframe.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Priestess

https://jamesbond.fandom.com/wiki/The_Man_with_the_Red_Tattoo

https://legendofthecryptids.fandom.com/wiki/(Living_Ink)_Tattooed_Warrior_Tonya

https://legendofthecryptids.fandom.com/wiki/(Skincanvas)_Tattooed_Warrior_Tonya

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Glossary:Tattoo

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Man_(Earth-616)

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Tattooed_Terror

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo_(episode)

https://memory-beta.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo

https://memory-beta.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo_(episode)

https://midnight-texas.fandom.com/wiki/Strong_Angel_Tattoo

https://nomoreheroes.fandom.com/wiki/"Death_Metal"_Tattoos

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https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo/Legends

https://superpower-list.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo-Based_Abilities

https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Harry_(The_Coach_with_the_Dragon_Tattoo)

https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Sophie_(The_Coach_with_the_Dragon_Tattoo)

https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Tattoo

https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Coach_with_the_Dragon_Tattoo_(TV_story)

https://tattoos.fandom.com/wiki/

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Golden Kamuy 2nd Season -- -- Geno Studio -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Adventure Historical Seinen -- Golden Kamuy 2nd Season Golden Kamuy 2nd Season -- In Hokkaido, it is rumored that there is a stash of hidden gold. This gold was supposedly stolen by a man who killed the original Ainu owners; and before being captured and imprisoned by the police, he hid it in a secret location. In order to relay the gold's location to his comrades on the outside, he tattooed the map on the bodies of his cellmates and promised them a share of the gold—provided they managed to escape and find it. -- -- In Golden Kamuy 2nd Season, First Lieutenant Tokushirou Tsurumi plans to give the 7th Division an advantage in the war for the tattoos by getting a taxidermist to create skins that only he can distinguish as fake. Meanwhile, Saichi "The Immortal" Sugimoto, Asirpa, and their companions continue their hunt for the skins by following a strange rumor: a thief who broke into a home in Yubari found taxidermied human corpses, among which was a torso with strange tattoos. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 122,433 8.21

Golden Kamuy -- -- Geno Studio -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Adventure Historical Seinen -- Golden Kamuy Golden Kamuy -- In early 1900s Hokkaido after the Russo-Japanese war, Saichi Sugimoto tirelessly pans for gold. Nicknamed "Sugimoto the Immortal" for his death-defying acts in battle, the ex-soldier seeks fortune in order to fulfill a promise made to his best friend before he was killed in action: to support his family, especially his widow who needs treatment overseas for her deteriorating eyesight. One day, a drunken companion tells Sugimoto the tale of a man who murdered a group of Ainu and stole a fortune in gold. Before his arrest by the police, he hid the gold somewhere in Hokkaido. The only clue to its location is the coded map he tattooed on the bodies of his cellmates in exchange for a share of the treasure, should they manage to escape and find it. -- -- Sugimoto does not think much of the tale until he discovers the drunken man’s corpse bearing the same tattoos described in the story. But before he can collect his thoughts, a grizzly bear—the cause of the man's demise—approaches Sugimoto, intent on finishing her meal. He is saved by a young Ainu girl named Asirpa, whose father happened to be one of the murdered Ainu. With Asirpa's hunting skills and Sugimoto's survival instincts, the pair agree to join forces and find the hidden treasure—one to get back what was rightfully her people's, and the other to fulfill his friend's dying wish. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 235,656 7.83

Golden Kamuy OVA -- -- Geno Studio -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Adventure Historical Seinen -- Golden Kamuy OVA Golden Kamuy OVA -- The 7th Division's Private Hyakunosuke Ogata and former Shinsengumi Vice Commander Toshizou Hijikata find themselves on opposite sides of a gang war in Barato after hearing rumors of the Hidoro gang possessing an escaped prisoner's tattooed skin. With a lead to the hidden Ainu gold close at hand, the two gladly take up arms but a betrayal will force both sides to think twice before carelessly jumping the gun. -- -- OVA - Sep 19, 2018 -- 17,338 7.19

Horimiya -- -- CloverWorks -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Romance School Shounen -- Horimiya Horimiya -- On the surface, the thought of Kyouko Hori and Izumi Miyamura getting along would be the last thing in people's minds. After all, Hori has a perfect combination of beauty and brains, while Miyamura appears meek and distant to his fellow classmates. However, a fateful meeting between the two lays both of their hidden selves bare. Even though she is popular at school, Hori has little time to socialize with her friends due to housework. On the other hand, Miyamura lives under the noses of his peers, his body bearing secret tattoos and piercings that make him look like a gentle delinquent. -- -- Having opposite personalities yet sharing odd similarities, the two quickly become friends and often spend time together in Hori's home. As they both emerge from their shells, they share with each other a side of themselves concealed from the outside world. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 573,127 8.29

Hori-san to Miyamura-kun -- -- Gonzo, Hoods Entertainment -- 6 eps -- Web manga -- Comedy Romance School Shounen -- Hori-san to Miyamura-kun Hori-san to Miyamura-kun -- Within everyone there exists a side preferably kept hidden, even from close friends. For the smart and popular Kyouko Hori, it's the fact that she has to do all the housework and care for her little brother, Souta, because of her parents' busy work schedules. For the gentle Izumi Miyamura, whom everybody sees as an otaku, it's his nine hidden piercings and large body tattoo. -- -- So what happens when they accidentally discover each other's hidden sides? Sharing parts of themselves that they couldn't with anyone else, strong bonds of friendship soon begin to form between Miyamura and Hori, as well as those around them. As their hidden personas start to dissipate, they slowly learn how to open up to others. -- -- OVA - Sep 26, 2012 -- 79,025 7.36

Oni-Tensei -- -- - -- 4 eps -- Original -- Hentai Horror Supernatural -- Oni-Tensei Oni-Tensei -- There is an ancient legend that says if a tattoo is drawn to perfection, it will come to life. Reiko Kure is a female detective with a strange massacre on her hands. Some kind of huge animal savagely murdered thirteen members of the mafia, and only the quiet Ema Nozomi was left at the scene. Ema is taken into protective custody. However, every man left with her is killed, and every woman left with her is raped. There are no clues, except the innocent Ema's strange tattoo, perfectly depicting a demon. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Media Blasters -- OVA - Mar 25, 2000 -- 2,482 6.16

Project Scard: Praeter no Kizu -- -- GoHands -- 13 eps -- Other -- Action Super Power -- Project Scard: Praeter no Kizu Project Scard: Praeter no Kizu -- Project Scard depicts the encounters and battles of those who have tattoos which possess the sealed powers of divine beasts and gods. The story is set in the Akatsuki Special Zone, a lawless zone in Tokyo. -- -- "Helios" are those who use the ability of the tattoos to protect the city, "Artemis" are committed to maintain security and control, whilst having a strong commercial motive, and the "Public Security Special Service" are Scard Staff of the metropolitan police department. They live through the turbulent days to keep on going. -- -- (Source: MAL News) -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 22,414 5.78

Taboo Tattoo -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Mystery Comedy Super Power Supernatural Martial Arts Seinen -- Taboo Tattoo Taboo Tattoo -- Seigi, a martial arts trained middle schooler, often feels driven to protect the weaker people around him. One day, he defends a homeless man against some punks, and the man gives him a strange tattoo on his palm in return. The tattoo is a secret weapon produced in the arms race between America and the Serinistan Kingdom. -- -- Seigi finds himself in over his head when a powerful girl, using the same secret weapon, violently pursues him in order to retrieve it. His skill at martial arts may not be enough to keep him alive, but will he be able to learn how to trigger the power of his tattoo in time? -- -- (Source: MU) -- 224,356 5.78

Taboo Tattoo -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Mystery Comedy Super Power Supernatural Martial Arts Seinen -- Taboo Tattoo Taboo Tattoo -- Seigi, a martial arts trained middle schooler, often feels driven to protect the weaker people around him. One day, he defends a homeless man against some punks, and the man gives him a strange tattoo on his palm in return. The tattoo is a secret weapon produced in the arms race between America and the Serinistan Kingdom. -- -- Seigi finds himself in over his head when a powerful girl, using the same secret weapon, violently pursues him in order to retrieve it. His skill at martial arts may not be enough to keep him alive, but will he be able to learn how to trigger the power of his tattoo in time? -- -- (Source: MU) -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll, Funimation -- 224,356 5.78

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ambigram_tattoo_No_religion_(forearm).jpg

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ambigram_tattoo_No_religion.jpg

30 Nights of Paranormal Activity with the Devil Inside the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Alan Dean (tattoo artist)

Alex Binnie (tattoo artist)

Amalgam tattoo

Bang Bang (tattoo artist)

Basel Tattoo

Beat the Devil's Tattoo

Berlin Military Tattoo

Blue Tattoo (album)

Body suit (tattoo)

Bondi Ink Tattoo

Bornean traditional tattooing

Chinese calligraphy tattoos

Christian tattooing in Bosnia and Herzegovina

Comic Book Tattoo

Corneal tattooing

Cover-up (tattoo)

Criminal tattoo

Curse of the Blue Tattoo

Dance of the Black Tattoo

Daniel Silva (tattooist)

Draft:The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (TV series)

Face tattoo

Five dots tattoo

Flash (tattoo)

Genital tattooing

Hair tattoo

Health effects of tattoos

History of tattooing

HMAS Tattoo

HMS Tattoo (J374)

HTC Tattoo

Jagua tattoo

Jonathan Shaw (tattoo artist)

Legal status of tattooing in European countries

List of Taboo Tattoo episodes

Love Tattoo (musician)

Lower-back tattoo

Lydia the Tattooed Lady

Medical tattoo

Military tattoo

Monster Blood Tattoo: Foundling

Monster Blood Tattoo Series

Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

New Tattoo

Nipple tattoo

Prison tattooing

Process of tattooing

Rapa Nui tattooing

Rose Tattoo

Rose Tattoo (disambiguation)

Rose Tattoo (song)

Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo

Royal International Air Tattoo

Royal Nova Scotia International Tattoo

Russian criminal tattoos

Sailor tattoos

Scarred for Life (Rose Tattoo album)

Scleral tattooing

Scott Campbell (tattoo artist)

Shanghai Cooperation Organization Military Tattoo

Sleeve tattoo

Soot tattoo

Spasskaya Tower Military Music Festival and Tattoo

SS blood group tattoo

Star Tattooed

Stattoo

Swallow tattoo

Taboo Tattoo

Tattoo

Tattoo (1967 film)

Tattoo artist

Tattoo (Big Mother Thruster song)

Tattoo Colour

Tattoo (David Allan Coe album)

Tattoo (disambiguation)

Tattooed Arm

Tattooed Beat Messiah

Tattooed Flower Vase

Tattooed Heart

Tattooed Heart (disambiguation)

Tattooed in Reverse

Tattooed lady

Tattooed Life

Tattooed Man

Tattooed Millionaire

Tattooed on My Brain

Tattooed Teenage Alien Fighters from Beverly Hills

Tattoo Eine Familie sticht zu

Tattooing in Myanmar

Tattoo ink

Tattoo machine

Tattoo (Mike Oldfield instrumental)

Tattoo (poem)

Tattoo removal

Tattoos (album)

Tattoos & Tequila

Tattoo (Star Trek: Voyager)

Tattoo the Earth

Tattoo (Van Halen song)

Tattoo You

Teardrop tattoo

The Black Tattoo

The Exclusive: Beat the Devil's Tattoo

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009 film)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011 film)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (disambiguation)

The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes: The Case of the Rose Tattoo

The Man with the Red Tattoo

The Rose Tattoo (album)

The Tattooed Lady

The Tattooed Potato and Other Clues

The Tattooed Widow

The Tattooist of Auschwitz

Tokyo Tattoo Girls

Tom Riley (tattoo artist)

UV tattoo

Windsor Castle Royal Tattoo

Yantra tattooing