Crown Chakra Tattoo Novels & Stories

Mea Dea, my goddess in Latin, despite wanting to spit at him to address me properly, my heart races. “You can call me Queen Aylin,” I force out in a hiss, although his smirk tells me I don’t sound convincing. I break eye contact with him to look him over. He is truly carved to perfection. He’s wearing a tank top, which shows the entire tattoo on his neck. It’s a black and white piece of a phoenix, midflight with its mouth open in a scream, surrounded by fire. The wings extend onto the front and back of his neck in brilliant detail and the fire down to his collarbone. He also has several different pieces down both arms, none of which I bother to look at since I’ve been looking at him for far

I beg around his smooth lips. He chuckles and pulls me to a full-length mirror. We both stare at my beautiful mark. The crock of my neck has a tattoo of a beautiful crown. Underneath the crown is a capital R. Emmett's mark is very similar. His crown is more masculine, but he also has a capital R. A perfect symbol for our future positions. Emmett runs his fingers over my mark, and I moan. "You are so sexy, Love. Do you realize what you are doing to me," he whispers as he lowers his mouth to my hot skin.

The True Crown: “You passed. Not by conquering the storm. By teaching it how to love. You are not the thunder that refuses to die. You are the thunder that chooses to live. For them. With them. Always.” The rain stops. We’re standing on solid stormglass again. The ziggurat is gone. We’re back on the steps of the drowned capital, air bubble intact, submarine waiting. On each of our left wrists: a new mark (violet lightning shaped like a crown, ringed by coyote tracks, sunbursts, dragon wings, fox tails, book pages, and tiny black holes). Permanent. Shared. The city around us is no longer drowned.

My eyes drifted to the wall clock. ‘6:30?’ I gasped. ‘PM?’ ‘Did we sleep for that long?’ I tried to rush out of bed, but my body felt numb. Damon was completely looming over me. A smile tugged at my lips. I knew what we felt for each other couldn't be termed ‘love’, but I felt an inner joy. I slightly nudged him aside so I could get up, but what I saw on his body made me widen my eyes. Tatoo? Damon has a tattoo at the upper part of his right arm? It was an image of a crown with ‘Her King’ etched beneath it.

Why would I have a memory that didn't include sight or smell? I’m having these thoughts while lying nude on a hard bench as the queen massages Imperial Imperial oil, the same oil Ona used to heal my wounds, into my skin. It is a tradition in royal weddings that we are anointed with this oil, preparing us for joining in body and soul. Primus will be going through a similar ritual with his siblings. From here we will bake in the early morning sun, allowing its light to kiss us from head to toe, after which they will paint our bodies with runes for health, prosperity, and fertility just before they mark us with our marriage tattoos. Primus and I decided on a simple, traditional symbol, a mount

He stood a few feet away in his ceremonial robes—black with silver trimming, a deep V at the chest, his mark pulsing faintly against his skin. He stepped forward, and in his hands was the crown of the Luna. A circlet of fine blackstone and crystal, woven with vines carved in silver. The symbol of shared power. Of union. Of forever. Talon said nothing, but the way he looked at me told every truth he’d never spoken. His hands were steady as he placed the crown gently on my head, his fingers brushing against my temple like he couldn’t help but linger. My chest fluttered. I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. Not when his eyes held me there like that, like I was everything he’d waited his whole life t

"Christie. I won't give it to you. You're going to have to tell me what you want, and then you're going to take it." The expression on her face was priceless. Petulant as a child, she tore her eyes from his and began to hastily unbutton his shirt. Artwork appeared contrasted by his fair skin. A raven tattooed above his navel. An ankh on his upper left arm. A character on his stomach. Some sort of Celtic design on his upper right arm. He was covered in ink, and she wasn't all that surprised to see a ring in his left nipple. He caught her looking, and offered a bashful smile that lightened the tense stillness around them. "A gift from a former lover of mine. She did it herself."

She had reached her goal and was now the Bellator champion. An arm encircled her waist with a familiar hand pulling her into his side. Instinctively, Taz reached down and touched the tattoo on his outer wrist. A small bill of sale declaring that his body, heart and soul had been sold to the Devil herself. Linking her fingers with his, she played with his titanium wedding band. Running through the center was a rainbow in support of his daughter. Beneath the ring, in the style of her trademark rainbow braids, TAZ was tattooed on his ring finger.

When she finally stepped out, droplets sliding down her thighs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips slightly swollen from biting them too hard. Her eyes were glassy with something unspoken. And when she turned, she saw it again — the mark on her left hip. A tattoo - like crest. Etched into her skin like a brand. It shimmered faintly in the light, elegant yet powerful. A circular sigil framed by olive leaves and ancient runes, with an owl perched atop a spear pointed downward, its wings wrapped protectively around the circle.

Marcus said. I lifted my head and looked at the bike again through tears. Now that I could see past the shock, I noticed the rest. The new paint was deep black with a subtle shimmer that only showed when the light hit it just right. Along the side of the tank, worked into the design so delicately I almost missed it, was a dagger. Behind it, a crown. Around both, the fine lines of a compass, woven together in the exact shape of our tattoo. My hand pressed against my chest.