Psychic Tattoo Novels & Stories

are inked between the bird’s wings. “Blackbird,” I say, naming the Beatles song. “Yeah,” she sighs out. “It’s my favorite song. Means a lot to me. The colors all stand for my survivor status. Green for mental health. Purple for domestic abuse. Teal for sexual abuse.” Without knowing what I’m doing, I step forward and my fingers trace down one of the bird’s wings. I feel her take in a shuddering breath and she leans into my touch. I’m lost in the beauty of her tattoo.

I got the tattoo with him on our third anniversary. It had his initials and birthday. After we got the tattoo, Orion held my hands with bright eyes. “Summer, no matter what you look like in the future, I’ll be able to recognize you by this tattoo. You won’t be able to run away from me.” I laughed. “What if I remove the tattoo and become disfigured? Would you be able to recognize me, then?” “Of course. Even if I don’t recognize you on the spot, I eventually will. It’s called ‘lovers’ telepathy.’”

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

He thought again, "sinuous, dangerous and supremely sexual." One tattoo in particular was prominent and drew the eye; it was a bright red "slut stamp" very low on her lower back that was repeated low on her belly, just above the pubic mound. It said, in both locations, "Candy Slut to Paulo Zero." The words of the tattoo were in a pre-Columbian language that Barnes would never have a hint of. In addition, like a Bay area poster from the psychedelic era the tat's lettering was very stylized, even if it was in English it would be near impossible to read. Some English word fragments were visible in the edging and lines of the distorted shapes. Incorporated into the tat were sexual images and tri

“Two long tears. Both eyes.” The tattooist looked up from his tools, his expression grim. “You realize what you’re asking for? This isn’t just any tattoo. It marks you as part of a violent group. Step into River, and you’ll be arrested on sight. Worse, your soul will be bound to hers. If she dies, especially by your hand, your soul shatters into fragments. You’ll be left a husk—a mindless, broken shell. Are you sure about this?” In the corner, Argent leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her silver braids reflecting the dim light as she formed a heart with her hands.

The words echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind those empowering lines. The ink on her skin seemed to carry a profound message, inviting me to embrace my true self without reservations. Then came the third tattoo, just beneath her right breast, a declaration that struck a chord within me – "Always Choose Happiness." The placement seemed intentional, emphasizing the importance of finding joy in life. As she turned towards me to reveal it, a strange sensation enveloped me, a mix of warmth and a fluttering in my chest. The atmosphere became charged with an unspoken connection as her words lingered in the air.

When I pull away I notice a tattoo on his left upper arm. “When did you get a tattoo?” “What are you talking about?” I point at his arm where the tattoo is at. It looks like a tribal tattoo symbol for water that wraps all the way around his arm. “That wasn’t there yesterday. Did you do something?” “What do you mean?” “Well a second ago your eyes glowed blue like you were going to control water but then it disappeared.” “I did? I didn’t mean to do anything.”

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."

“You’re just tired. Too many night shifts.” But when she turned away, something caught her eye. The tattoo on her forearm—the one she’d inked years ago, a crescent moon surrounded by swirling lines—was moving. Subtly. Like ripples beneath the skin. Her breath hitched. “No… no, no, that’s impossible.” She pressed her fingers to the mark. Warm. Alive. For a heartbeat, her vision blurred. A voice—soft, ancient, and female—whispered through her mind:

Sebastian squeezed my hand and answered for me. “Twice she’s had a fever and passed out. When she woke, she had a tattoo.” “May I see the tattoos?” she asked. I turned, lifting my hair to show her my neck and upper back. “Hmm… fire and air,” she mumbled, then asked, “When did you shift last?” “Never. I don’t have my wolf,” I replied, my heart ready to leap out of my chest. The uncertainty was killing me. “Very strange. I know for sure you have a spirit. Maybe not a wolf, and not a regular one for sure. Tattoos of the elements show that you have powers,” the witch said casually.