Handmaid's Tale Tattoo Novels & Stories

I don’t miss the way her eyes flicker to my father, as if this brings back memories of her own ceremony. She then says something in an unknown tongue and I feel a brief burning sensation on the fourth finger of my left hand. My eyes widen in shock when I see an intricate, woven tattoo with the letter V in the center - Vega and Volkova. “We all understand the gesture that you are now making. Taking the hand of the one who loves you is the symbol of the unspoken bond you two share; a bond you made when you were both five years old, and a bond that still persists.”

She ran down the stairs, straight to the kitchen where she bummed into the older lady cooking “Sorry about that” she quickly said, bending down and helping pack some of the veggies that had fallen to the floor when she ran into the lady. The tattoo on the woman’s hand made her freeze to her, a double infinity that sat on the back of her wrist with the initials “ N.I.E.A” “mama” she fainted right after that.

Her voice reverberated through me, it sounded familiar and drew me to her. I turned my head to see the woman we had been hunting. She was hanging from a hook on the ceiling, her clothes ripped, and her back gashed beyond recognition, her shirt hanging in strands. I cringed her back looked painful. Her piercing green eyes were glaring at the man and her beautiful long black hair was a tangled mess around her elvish face, falling over her shoulder. Her slim body is toned and curvy where it counts. Tattoos lined her neck and spine consisting of ancient Celtic symbols, with vines weaving around them, connecting to the tree of life tattooed on her right rib cage. The symbol of the maiden, mother

When they’d drafted the terms in ink, never once mentioning what it really meant. This wasn’t about affection. It wasn’t even about heirs. It was about obedience. Breeding. Binding. Blood. She stared, frozen. The girl on screen sagged, losing consciousness. And then—the man turned toward the camera. For one moment, light caught his jaw just right. And Leora saw it. A tattoo. Small. Black. Etched into the skin just below his ear. A serpent devouring its own tail. Ouroboros. She’d seen it before.

She flexes her hand, giving us a glimpse of the tattoo on her ring finger. “What is it?” I ask, more than curious about the strange symbol she’ll wear on her skin in place of a wedding ring. “A hammer and a knitting needle,” she says proudly. “For his forge, and my skills with textiles, of course.” I glance at Aviva. “Do we get to choose?” Aviva shakes her head with a sly smile and motions to the absolutely ancient woman currently torturing my friend. “She’s a seer. She decides on the tattoo.”

“No way. I can take it. This tattoo is important to me, Alex.” I grin at her response. That’s my Stella—stubborn and determined to the core. She bites her lip, and her grip on my hand tightens as the needle continues its work. I stroke her knuckles with my thumb, hoping to ease some of her discomfort. “Just think about how amazing it’ll look once it’s done.” She grins at me. “I can’t wait.” Minutes later, the artist finishes, and the designs are perfect. On my wrist, the heart has the letter ‘S’ inscribed inside, and on hers, an elegant A.

On the other side, keeping her hand, become a man she didn't recognize. however within the heritage, barely seen, became an image carved into the wall at the back of them. Same symbol she'd seen in the Sovereign Hand documents. Same symbol that was tattooed on the back of Damien's neck. Was this real? Or was someone screwing with her head?

“Still sharp. Good. You’ll need that.” I bare my teeth. “What do you want?” She doesn’t answer at first. Instead, she unwraps a strip of black cloth from her wrist. Reveals a brand burned into her flesh— A circle of broken thorns. “The Oath,” she says softly, almost reverent. “The vow that cost us everything.” “Congratulations,” I snarl. “You and your cult have matching tattoos. Let me go.” Her hand whips out and cracks across my face so hard I taste blood again.

We burst into the dim light of our bedroom. He rips his shirt over his head, the sound of tearing fabric loud in the silence. And I freeze. My hands, which were reaching for him, stop. There. Coiling over his ribs, wrapping around his side, crawling up toward his heart, is an identical replica of Madilyn’s tattoo. The same swirling, coiling knot of living shadow. It pulses in a slow, rhythmic beat, like a second, parasitic heart. "Kaleb...?" I whisper.

Hayden grinned at me, like it was all effortless. “Let’s get out of here,” he smiled. 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 By the time we walked into the tattoo parlor, my hands were shaking. The artist nodded at Hayden, clearly aware of who he was, and then glanced at me. “You two getting matching tats?” I nodded, heart racing. “Yeah, we are.” “You have anything in mind,” he asked. I reached for Hayden’s wrist and traced a line. “Half a raven. The wings. He gets one, I get the other. When we’re together… it’s complete.”