I mean, if you only have tats of inanimate objects, like an eight ball or the ace of spaces playing card…let’s see, it would come to life and promptly fall onto the floor, doing nothing.
But if you have, say, a dragon…
Well, you might be a bit more up shits creek.
My wife would be bitten on the shoulder from a cute little dragon. Not sure if could even break the skin. Then my dog would chase it under the couch. Eventually giving up and forgetting about it until the next day when my cats will have mauled it to death.
It’s just a tiny black heart, how much harm could it cause?
Not having any tattoos, all I can say is, “Idle Thoughts, your thoughts are extra idle today for some reason.”
I guess I should have clarified…your tats come to life and become the actual size they usually are. So a dragon wouldn’t be small, it would be dragon sized. I think both of you would be screwed, sorry.
Actual dragon sized? So it would disappear in a puff of logic?
The bear on my shoulder would rip off my left arm, the gecko on my forearm may well munch on my right. Yup, I’d be rendered completely armless.
If all this happens after I have the planned (believed extinct) Thylacine added to my skin my estate will make a frigging fortune. I really should make that appointment.
I have a cursive letter E. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.
Been reading DC comics about Tattooed Man lately?
I’ve got a little gray spot on the heel of my right hand where a kid stabbed me with a pencil in middle school. What counts as “full sized” for one of those?
Anyway, I’m pretty sure that I’ll be OK. Worst case, I get a free pencil. Those are always useful.
All of my tattoos are dragons, eastern style and western. A couple are breathing fire, so those that don’t like raw meat get to join the festivities.
So yeah, I’m well and truly cooked.
I have a rampant lion on my right shoulder, but I’m not too worried about how badly he’d maul me.
The full moon on my left shoulder would crush us both PDQ. 
Mom? No!
If the star on my arm turned into an actual star, we’re all fucked.
Well I think I’d be safe. When I had radiation treatment, the tattooed three tiny dots on my abdomen for aiming purposes. They were so tiny they were/are hard to see. In fact the radiation technicians covered them with those little circular bandages so they could see where to aim.
I think I’d be safe.
I asked if i ever needed an MRI again should I answer yes to the question, “Do you have any tattoos?” They couldn’t tell me.
I have 2 tattoos of my alter ego Yosemite Sam. One of them has him holding 2 six-shooters. I think if he came alive the only one screwed would be that rabbit!
My three-and-a-half-year-old niece might have a dead fish “tattoo” her daddy periodically draws on with marker come to… well, “life” is the wrong word here, but a rather more fragrant form of existence.
My only tattoo is the Sigil of the Gateway, through which Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones shall pass to walk amongst us…
Sorry everybody!
I’m good; I never got round to getting any tats, and I’m pretty happy with that. Back in the day, though, I wanted a slightly tougher-looking Sailor Mercury perched on a barrel with a Popeye corncob pipe. I figure we would have been pretty matched at the time, although I lacked Moon Prism Power…
Well, should worst come to worst, get close to Jack Batty, maybe his star can incinerate the Great Old ones as they come through the portal.
It doesn’t do us much good, but I live under the assumption that we’re not alone, and that the other denizens of this galaxy would probably appreciate us “taking out the trash” in our searing hot death throes.
On behalf of our possible interstellar neighbors: Thank you, Jack!