Do Not Go Gentle Tattoo Novels & Stories

His keen eyes scrutinized the body, tracing the intricate patterns of tattoos etched into the attacker's skin. "This is no ordinary assailant," Elder Broja began, his voice low and gravely. "These tattoos, they speak of allegiance to a specific pack. Each mark represents a vow, a bond, a commitment to their cause." I exchanged a troubled glance with Lyra, sensing the gravity of the situation deepen with each passing moment. "What do these tattoos signify?" I inquired, my voice tinged with apprehension. Elder Broja's gaze bore into mine, his expression grim. "These symbols are ancient, passed down through generations. They denote allegiance to the Eclipse Pack, a ruthless faction known for th

“Not Ferrero’s crest. Not the family I was born into. Yours.” Her lips trembled. “That’s permanent.” “Exactly,” he said, his grin erratic, hungry. “So every time I bleed, every time I fight, it’s your name the world will see.” The tattooist looked nervous, his hands trembling as he approached. Alessio stood behind him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Don’t shake. If you falter, you won’t have hands left to work with.” The man swallowed, steadied, and began.

“What’s up, Aussie?” I curled into a ball and blocked whatever he said to the man down under. A few moments later, he came back and kissed me on my exposed shoulder. “Did you make a plan?” “They will brief us on the plan. What does that tattoo mean?” Shit. I thought he didn’t notice it. “It’s in Arabic. It means, every sun has to set.” “That sounds deep yet sad.” I turned and faced him. He looked so menacingly handsome and relaxed, not the brutal, ruthless mafia that people feared. “It means everything has an end. We should enjoy life and live to the fullest because tomorrow is not guaranteed.”

“So what you’re saying is I need to go to a shop and ask them to tattoo my ass. Great.” Knox’s eyes widen like saucers. “Tattoo your ass?” I nod, dead serious. “Want it to say Property of Little Birdie. Do. Not. Touch.” Glitch throws his head back and howls. “Holy fucking shit, you’re serious. You’re done. Hooked under her finger already.” “Got Ink here, he can do it,” King calls from the corner booth, and I spin to see the Cursed Kings still camped out like they own the lease.

Before bed, he strips down to his boxers and slips beneath my sheets without hesitation. Not because we’re lovers. Not because we’re teammates. Because we’re both. And because sleep doesn’t come easy when your heart’s still on high alert. I lay against his chest, fingers drawing circles over one of his tattoos. The one that says: not made for mercy. “I still don’t know what this one means,” I whisper. He shifts. “It’s for the people who thought I wouldn’t survive.” “And now?” “Now I keep it as a reminder.” “That they were wrong?”

“Two long tears. Both eyes.” The tattooist looked up from his tools, his expression grim. “You realize what you’re asking for? This isn’t just any tattoo. It marks you as part of a violent group. Step into River, and you’ll be arrested on sight. Worse, your soul will be bound to hers. If she dies, especially by your hand, your soul shatters into fragments. You’ll be left a husk—a mindless, broken shell. Are you sure about this?” In the corner, Argent leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her silver braids reflecting the dim light as she formed a heart with her hands.

“The tattoo you already have. The rose and dagger. My sister had the same one. Like, exactly the same, except hers was larger than yours. I was wondering how you ended up with that design?” “A-all of us have one. I mean, all of the Sentinel do.” Ayrelles puts her hand over her collarbone and looks confused. “It, um, represents our spirits’ journeys.” “The beauty of the journey is worth the danger.” Bronx and Les say at the same time. “That’s the Sentinel motto.” Les squints her eyes. “How did you know that?” Bronx rubs his hands together and looks past Les at a photo of Lenora, Ashley, and me on the shelf behind her. “Because that is what Lenora told me when I asked her if she was sure she w

But we would have got what we wanted" he said. "Speak about grounding! Dammit! What if they take our phones"? She asked him. "We do the worst! 😂 we don't come back home... where will they call us? Nowhere? But you know what? Let's cross the bridge once we get there honey" he said. They went to Yazan's room, sat down and checked out tattoo designs. "What type do you wanna make? Tribal, Realism, New school, biomechanical, American Traditional.. Which one"?

“And I want that one" I pointed to the fire tattoo design hanging on the wall among others. The flames were so vivid, so delicate, there were even tendrils of smile rising from them. Fuck that butterfly, I was going to be fire, and I would burn them all.