Kurt Vonnegut Tattoo Novels & Stories

His hands held the railing as he leaned on it, putting some of his weight on his hands and looking at the ocean. I was relieved to find him there. Standing behind, I looked at his back and for the first time, I actually looked at the tattoo on his back, near his torso right in the middle, where his spinal cord was. It was an inverted cross with snakes wrapping around it. It was demonic. He was demonic. I mean who gets an inverted cross tattooed on their body? I walk to him and stand a few feet behind. “Why are we still here?” I ask looking at his broad back, scrunching my eyes due to the bright sun.

You'd be nothing but a tomfool if you underestimate him because he has all of the most hidden information about the underworld in his cryptic brain. Don't judge a book by its cover, right? "Then you tell me." I raise my eyebrow and take a sip from my drink. "The tattoo is a sign of the Bratva and it indicates their loyalty to the mafia family. When they assign as a member of the mafia, they cosign their life to the Devil and get the tattoo. Only exclusive members, who have seen him, get the tattoo on the neck. But the others get it on their wrist." He murmurs and keeps serving the drinks to the people.

He can’t spare me, no matter how compliant I am. He stands from the bed and removes every piece of clothing from his body. The tattoos expand from his chest to his stomach, down to his strong torso. Black ink against his tanned skin. There are so many things written in Russian. But one particular thing catches my eye, it’s on his left torso, big and clear, “ To forgive is to sin.” The words send shivers racing down my spine. Who on earth writes something like that on their body? Not just write, but brand it into their skin permanently.

When we’d gotten back, Justin had gotten a tattoo of a barn owl on his left bicep, and he’d had them weave in the letter S on its wing. Leaning in closer, I slide the sleeve of his t-shirt up so I can see it, making him laugh around his forkful of casserole. Every time I see it, it makes my heart skip a beat. The muscled bicep certainly doesn’t hurt. I trace my finger along the S and feel his body still next to mine.

I hated the music in this place even though my body learned how to dance to it. We cut through the crowd, and I had to wedge myself between two dancing bodies. The Velvet Norte was known for its booze and crowds. “Keep walking,” he murmured. We reached the VIP section eventually. Marcus slowed and lifted his chin, directing my attention without touching me again. “There.” he said quietly, pointing at a figure in a corner. The man sat alone. Wearing a fur coat. He had broad shoulders, with a stillness that did not belong in a place like this. When he turned his head slightly, the tattoo revealed itself. An icy skull carved into the curve of his neck.

AURORA “You cannot be serious.” I was staring at him like he had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world and honestly, he had. Antonio leaned back into the couch like he hadn’t just casually admitted something insane, one arm stretched along the backrest, completely at ease. “I am very serious,” he said. “You drew a tattoo,” I repeated slowly, like maybe saying it again would make it make sense, “on your butt… because you wanted to rebel against your dad?”

I don't know if I would be able to forgive my grandmother if she ever did that to me. "I obtained scars," he continues. "But I covered them up with tattoos. " He shows me his muscular arms, deep with ink and veins popping out. I touch the right arm softly as I observe every tattoo. I have never concentrated on the printed art in his hands but now I am. There's a football tattoo. There's a cross tattoo. There's a flower with thorns on the stem. There's a tattoo of a woman, whom he says is his late girlfriend, Ruby. He must have loved her so much. To the point of tattooing her face on his arm. But then, I spot a disturbing tattoo. A skull with horns.

I was impressed with the artists’ works. “We’re here because my cousin lost a bet, and we need a tattoo artist that won’t mind maybe tying him down and inking him against his will,” Kimi said. I rolled my eyes. Nobody could say my sister wasn’t honest. The woman chuckled. “It depends on what you want on them, and who they are. What was the bet?” “I kicked his ass at pool, so now he needs to get the words ‘Insan Sevenler’ inked across his chest,” she explained.

He was shirtless in both. Val didn’t have to point out the difference, as I could see it clearly. The younger version had a tattoo of two knuckles hanging on the muzzle of a gun, ending right over his heart, followed by a series of smaller tattoos that wound around his arm to his back. I zoomed into the picture. Below the gun were the words written: Con il sangue, veniamo. Con il sangue, andiamo. But the recent picture of him didn’t have that. Instead, the place where the tattoo should’ve been was reddish and wrinkled—a common effect of tattoo removal.

I look at him and he's peeking at me from under his arm and smirking. "What were you doing just now?" He asks intently and I smile. "Your tattoos. I've only ever seen the one on your forearm and wanted to look at the others." He sits up then, placing himself against the headboard. "Comne get a good look then." He pats his lap and I crawl over and straddle him, leaning down to look at the wolf one, my fingers tracing its shape. "That's for my wolf, Kiba." "Is he black like this one?" Nate nods. "That's almost exactly what he looks like. My artist took a few photos when I was shifted and created that for me. "Can I ask why you chose the vines and thorns on your arm?"