Romans & histoires Oblivion Tattoos

"Not everyone looking for me is as careless as Julian Vane. There are people out there who don't understand the concept of 'surrender.'" He approached me, and even though he walked with a slight limp, his presence was still overwhelming. He stopped in front of the stove, and the light from the fire illuminated the tattoos on his back once more. I was mesmerized by one in particular on his left shoulder blade: an ancient shield intertwined with thorns and an iron crown. It didn't look like the design of a common tattoo parlor; it had the symmetry of an official seal, of a coat of arms that demanded respect.

“Master Blair, see if she’s the person you’ve been looking for all along.” Blair was emotionless as he studied the tattoo on the woman’s back. He finally spoke after a long moment of silence. “No.” The tattoo on the woman’s back was the same as Liv’s, but the color was different. Blair remembered distinctly that the peach blossoms on Liv’s tattoo were pink and lifelike. He had never seen a tattoo that exquisite and perfect. Dick looked at Blair in shock. “Are you sure?” Blair nodded. Other than the tattoo being the wrong color, although Liv was blindfolded that night, he knew she was not blonde.

Now that we were shorter than an arm, I was sure that the tattoo that represented his capital sin was not the only drawing on his beautiful and contemplative olive skin. There were also more of those curved thorns descending to his strong abdomen, and I swore to have seen the tail of a snake drawn so that it went up through the gummies of his belly, before he noticed my look and I had to disguise it with the first thing that came in my head "maybe at that moment I forgot that he probably already knew what was going "You make it seem like there are parts in hell that are not fire and blood, Vraxlon.”

“Bunch of obnoxious, inhumanly attractive, muscled up cavemen.” Seriously, Knight looked like some kind of Playboy fallen angel with his sculpted ass and body stacked with hard muscle. I scanned his numerous tattoos. There was a pack of hungry wolves on one of his arms, surrounded by trees and vines full of thorns. Across his chest was the night sky and aurora borealis, and wrapping around his stomach were wisps of smoke, or shadow, that trailed upwards until they blended into the darker ink.

She reveals, telling him to stop being so childish and to just open his eyes. Tino’s jaw was on the floor before he so much as saw his sister’s new ink, his hand hitting his desk with a thud and his eyes wide as they immediately attach to the blue on her hip. “A tattoo?!” He couldn’t help but shout. “Seriously?!” “Yes, seriously.” Liviana smiles, running her hand over the plastic. “What do you think?” “Uh,” Tino drawls, drawing a blank as he stares at the marking. “What? Do you not like it?” She couldn’t help but worry at his stretch of silence.

I tell her, “ My husband and I are greatly appreciative. I was just wondering about the tattoos on these men. Do you have any idea what they mean?” “I was wondering that too,” Robin answers, “I was trying not to be obvious about staring at them. It looked to me like a half moon in a circle, with a line drawn through it. I’m so sorry, but I have no idea what it means.” As she says this, there is a gasp from somewhere in the crowd. Levi and I look at each other, and he shrugs. A male shifter with shoulder length auburn hair, who appears to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, raises his hand, and Levi beckons him forward.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Destiny stared at the lines on her body. Her mother's tattoo had been more like a maze, lines ran apart from each other, but always running parallel. Hers were more floral. It looked like vines had grown all over her body. It gracefully followed the curve of her hips and breast. Likewise, it ran double helices down the sides of her legs and her spine. It flowered up at the base of her neck and was embedded with lotus blossoms. Normally, she wasn't into flowery designs, but this tattoo was fascinating, there was something powerful, mystical about it. They looked more like tribal flowers rather than Hawaiian shirt flowers. That would have been very un

His tattoos glow brighter than any measly light in the hall, and I have to squint against him to properly watch what is happening. The pale-haired man roars, throwing another bolt of shadow, but the same thing happens: a rip in Axel’s shirt, and then it bounces back. “Holy shit,” Liana mutters. Now in tatters, the shirt slides off Axel’s shoulders. His toned chest and back glow with golden tattoos. Pale-faced Olivia presses her hands to his chest. I can’t determine if the look on her face is stunned, terrified, or a secret third thing—some sort of awe and affection for Axel.

His breath came in short, fevered bursts, each one dragged up from the deepest pit of him like he had to tear it loose. The knife was obsidian. The edge not forged, but broken. Sharp in the way curses are—shaped by hatred and handed down. He didn’t flinch as he carved the sigil into his chest. A spiral of fang and claw. The Hollowborn mark, mutated with his own—lines interwoven, twisted like mating snakes. A mating brand. His fingers trembled at the final curve, but not from fear. It was joy. When he was done, he dropped the blade. It clattered against the stone, echoing too loud in the chapel's silence.

Then the black tee. Elena watched, mesmerized. Without the suit or the hoodie, the full extent of his ink was visible. A massive vulture was tattooed across his back, its wings stretching to his shoulders. Scars—some from blades, some from bullets—marred his bronze skin like a map of a violent life. "You're staring again, sweetheart," Julian said, stepping toward her. He looked like a pagan god of war. "I've never seen so much of you," she whispered.