Lettering Soul Tattoo Novels & Stories

The tattoo was his art, his design, and also the image of what he carried inside him every day the image he now carried on his back, that moved with him. Nikolai name was inked with intricate, beautiful calligraphy letters, while nico name was bold, broken, and bleeding into the flames. He loved his brother, but hated himself. There was a single crack in the headstone right at the top of the cross. The flames that engulfed the cross from the ground were blood red, angry shades of orange, its only goal to destroy while his name suffered its wrath.

My fingers ached to explore the sculpted lines, the subtle indentations, to trace the hidden contours of his body, to delve into the unspoken depths of his soul. I reached out, my hand drawn as if by an invisible force, my fingertips lightly tracing the intricate tattoo that adorned his right bicep. The inked design, a complex tapestry of swirling lines and ancient symbols, stood out in stark relief against the rich, bronze tone of his skin. He shivered slightly at the delicate touch, a subtle, involuntary response that sent a thrilling jolt of awareness coursing through me, a tangible sign of the power I held over him. I lingered on the intricate pattern, following the sweeping lines and in

Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’ Why would that be the best place to be? “Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process. “They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…” “Were you sad in the past?” He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips. Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’ “You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I note out loud. “See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.”

Mom with her wild auburn hair whipping in the wind, Dad grinning beside her, and me as a gangly teenager, my arms wrapped around a much younger Aofie. They looked so alive, so unbreakable. A perfect family portrait, or so I'd always thought. I stared at the photo under the dim bulb's flickering glow, my breath catching. My eyes lingered on Mom's wrist, where a bracelet of seashells partially obscured her skin. I squinted, tilting the photo closer to the light. There, peeking out from beneath the shells, was a tattoo — a bold, stylized letter V, etched in delicate black ink, the lines curving like a serpent's tail.

V GOD! His chest is a-fucking-mazing! I won't be mad if he never wears another shirt. GASPS! O.M.G! Did he really..? "You got my name tattooed on you?!" I excitedly shriek. He has 'MY KEYA' tattooed on his abs in Old English font. Curved kinda like how Tupac has 'Thug Life' tattooed on his abs! Wow he must be really crazy about me! I am starting to fall for this guy, hard!

He looked at me briefly then back at my hand that was holding onto his. The biggest and clearer of the tattoos was on the back of his palm. It was drawn with dark ink that stood out on his well tanned dark hands. At first it looked like a sun rising in the horizon and glazing over a field with details of how it shines around it in tiny well drawn marks, I soon realized it was the sea the sun was rising on and not heaps in a field. "Solem Orientem Ghe Mari" I called out the foreign words written right under the tattoo of the sun and the sea. It sounded Latin or was it Italian?

Aarya “Wow! It’s exquisite!” I marveled at the stunning neck tattoo that adorned my best friend Lea’s skin. My fingers traced the lines of the intricate design as I asked her, “I want one too, but I’m such a wimp thinking about the pain. Did it hurt?” Nestled at the base of her neck, where the curve of her neck met her shoulder, was a beautifully detailed wolf outline tattoo. Below the tattoo were Steven's initials, symbolizing their connection. It looks amazing.

And then my gaze drops to my chest. There it is. The impulsive decision I made last night when the silence got too loud. A tattoo. Even now, I almost can’t believe I did it. I finally ruined perfection with a needle. I’ve spent my entire life avoiding anything that leaves this sort of mark. But that night, it felt like the only way to breathe again. The letters stretch clean across my chest, inked deep and dark. SAVANNAH. For a long moment, I just stare at it. It’s not art. It’s not rebellion. It’s surrender. It's devotion.

she spoke each word with intensity. "...ott van remény," I finished up the creed. Honestly, I'd heard, or seen it somewhere as a kid. Later, I regurgitated that saying to impress some A****n chicks. "Great, we have the same catch phrase." Alkonyka took off her shirt, revealing her lilac bra. Her tattoo was in Hungarian written in an archaic fashion. 'Where there is Valor' arched over her belly button and 'There is Hope' dipped beneath.

My second favourite is his sleeve tattoo, it is a tribute to his sisters. I love how all his tattoos have meaning, unlike mine. I have two tattoos, the first one I ever got was a matching tattoo with Talitha. We found her Dad's gun and decided to explore with it, we had seen him work a few times so we gave it a go. I was the first to tattoo half a heart on her wrist with "spice" engraved in tiny cursive writing.