Romans & histoires Doom Slayer Tattoo

Octnavin calmed the fears in Sloan's mind. "I wish I had your confidence." Octnavin tilted his head down and tried to catch Sloan's eyes. Once again, he used the tip of his tentacle to trace Sloan's tattoo. "Do you know what this says?" Octnavin asked after a few minutes slipped by. "It doesn't say anything." Sloan eyed the black design around his bicep. "When I was eighteen, I wanted a tattoo because I thought I would be a bad-ass or something. I picked a dumb tribal design from the board in the waiting area. It's nothing."

The hair was a dark brown color but seemed to blend into his skin, making it nearly impossible to see from afar. "Fascinating," I thought to myself as I poked at one strand. My eyes went to the tattoo on his chest. It was the tattoo of an angel holding a sword and standing under what seemed to be a tree. I didn't understand how the tattoo artist managed to capture it, but it looked amazing. My hand slowly traced around the beams of light that were tattooed with gold and the sword that was the same color as the being. Just as my finger was about to trace the wings, I heard Damon mumble, "It's ticklish," he said with a deep voice.

I hesitantly accepted and dropped it after one hurried shake of our arms. He immediately turned his back to me and began heading to the center of the sparring ring. When he pivoted around I momentarily caught a glimpse of the back of his neck. I was taken aback when I spotted not one, but a plethora of Molnija marks, small tattoos shaped like lightning bolts coming together in an X. Each tattoo signified a Strigoi kill and was usually accompanied by our Guardian insignia upon entry of service. Many Guardians kept their hair shorter or pulled back to show them proudly. I supposed I had only seen him with his hair down up until that point, but for a moment I couldn't believe my eyes. I started

“What the fuck! Did he ingest a can of rotten spray?” Looking at the others, I ask, “Do you smell him?” Declan frowns, and Clifton looks at him thoughtfully before saying, “He ingested something forbidden.” When the hunter’s shirt comes off, I stare at the tattoo on his chest. “You’re truly with the Sect,” I murmur. “How vogue and unique it is to have their symbol. Not that it will serve as any sort of protection for you.” Grabbing one of the knives from the hunter’s bag, I slash it twice across his chest. Blood weeps instantly from his wounds, and I’m instantly enveloped with Carmen’s very essence, mingled with his.

Nal screamed in excitement. "Shut it Nal, Katherine is married," I told him. "Ewwww, that's so sad." Nal expressed his sadness over Katherine. "This is Katherine's work and it's a painting of......." Penelope's voice turned into a whisper as I saw a painting of a wolf. It's wasn't just a wolf, it's was a Lycan. My hand shook terribly as I couldn't believe what I saw. I touched the painting and stared in awe.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

the girl hurried to offer her a hand, “Come on. Let me help you.” The girl’s gaze fixed on Chloe’s forehead. The look on her face changed abruptly. “M—Miss Chloe, what is that on your face?” she asked reluctantly. Aurora followed the girl’s gaze. She almost burst into laughter. The concealer that Chloe wore every day to cover her tattoo was worn out in the water. The tattoo was now clear as day—SLAVE. “Why do you have the word ‘slave’ tattooed to your forehead?” the girls demanded, “I thought you were a lady back in Silver Blade Pack.”

A body made for war. "Let’s start from the back," he said, turning. I dragged my gaze over the designs. He started with the skull, the first tattoo he ever got—at eleven—after his first kill. It was massive, covering most of his upper back, though other ink had been added over time. "The woman’s face over the skull, to the left," he pointed, "that’s my mother. And the dove beneath it signifies her demise." His voice was detached, but I felt the weight of it.

I admire the tattoo taking up most of his back, it's similar to Storms. It's a pair of evil snake eyes in red, with a green and yellow snake wrapped around the pistol facing the red eyes of the evil snake. The words The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club are written under the pistol. But what has me at a standstill is the shading that's done around the entire picture, it's a light shading but unmistakable. It's wings, Angel wings. I don't say anything. I want to but I'm tongue tied. I scan his back and stop at the blue bruises around his sides.

I asked, surprised. He nearly choked on his drink and set it down, clearing his throat. "How did you know?” “Your shirt rose up.” I tilted my head, eyes catching his. “What kind of tattoo? Let me see clearly.” Doman hesitated. His discomfort was obvious, but after a while he lifted the fabric to reveal the ink. It was a gun and skull sprawled across his stomach."I got this for fun. Nothing serious,” he said quickly. I shrugged, though inside my pulse quickened. Tattoos didn’t scare me, i worked for a mafia lord for three years. But Doman’s tattoo wasn’t just a mark, it was a warning. And yet, instead of fear, I felt a strange pull toward him.