Quetzal Bird Tattoo Novels & Stories

"This ritual involves the binding of your spirit to the pack. It’s a sacred tradition that signifies your commitment and connection to everyone here. You will receive a mark, a tattoo that symbolizes your bond with us." She produced a small vial of ink and a delicate, ornate needle. "This tattoo will be placed on your left wrist. It’s a representation of our pack’s symbol—a crescent moon intertwined with a wolf’s head. The ink is mixed with the essence of our ancestors, binding you to our lineage. But it won't be visible to anyone who is not a part of our pack." I held out my wrist, feeling a mixture of anticipation and reverence. As Sophia began to work, I winced slightly at the sting of th

Eye catching and it didn't have his name signed at the tip of the photograph rather, a different kind of name that didn't feel like hers. 𝒀𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎. 𝑻𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒂. "You like it?" His voice was thicker. He pulled her closer, his hands circling on her waist. She could feel his warm breath on her neck. His scent— an infiltrating mix of fresh scent of flowers and bubble showers.

She was shy away and hid her in my chest. I placed her in a hot shower, pressing her back to me and kissed her neck. I was stunned when I opened my eyes. There was an old Italian tribal tattoo on her neck. What is it doing here? It was an arrow design with a crown holding double letter A. It was a symbol of the deity of death.

And, soon, my eyes start to close, my lips parted as I let the tingles seep deep into my bones. “The butterfly means beauty and freedom, the smoky bird represents freedom and hope, the thorns stands for resilience, while the black rose…” Zeath suddenly pauses before blurting out, “death?” “I think it’s mystery,” I shrug, “at least that’s what the tats artist told me, and bloody hell you guys look way deeper into shii than necessary.” Zeath looks at me through the mirror, and my heart skips a beat. “It depends. Were you really a caged bird?” he asks while letting his hands slide to the front—to my collarbones, I mean.

She pressed herself against the wall, peeking through the gap. Father Zerus stood with his back to her, his cassock already on the floor, his broad shoulders bare. He was reaching for a clean shirt when she saw it—the tattoo that covered his left shoulder blade. It is a serpent, coiled around a dagger, its scales , its eyes burning with an inner fire. The dagger was stained with drops of blood, and beneath it, a single word was etched in elegant script: Sosa. Krystal's blood turned to ice. The club. The night she had been so drunk she could barely stand. The man she had walked into, the man whose hand she had grabbed, dragging him through the crowd. The man she had kissed before he had pushe

He said and she swallowed hard. “What are these?” The tattoos were of several animals, some of them lunging, some snarling, some roaring and some resting. The tattoos were entrancing, something about them compelling. She felt like those eyes were alive, following her every movement. She touched a hand to the tattoo that was directly over his heart and he sucked in a breath at the touch of her fingers, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “I know this one.” She whispered. It was the same eagle that had saved her in Bare bones realm.

Andrius explained, “It’s because the tattoo uses special ink and a more advanced tattoo needle. The ink is a combination of pigeon blood, red sand, and other stuff. That’s why it doesn’t show at first. “You want to get one?” Andrius teased Halle. Halle shook her head and hands, “N-no, thanks! Too much for me. But I want to know, the wolf…” Andrius rolled his eyes at her and stopped her. “If you are not getting one, why are you asking? Stop asking, or I will throw you out.”

Her eyes were blue colored and she had full kissable lips she painted over with some clear lip gloss. She had a large watercolor tattoo of a Phoenix on her left side in red orange and many other colors. On her thigh was a watercolor tattoo of a wolf howling to the moon. What bothered her the most was the three most personal tattoos she had. One was on her right forearm it was a watercolor tattoo of a Celtic Love knot the read “Love is real”, Rhys has the same one that read “Real is Love”. Another one was the was of their fingerprints that came together and formed the shape of an heart, Rhys also had the same thing. And the last was the obvious one, It was and eternal love tattoo right above

“When did you get that tattoo?” From the few undone buttons, I could see dark blue ink marks spread across his chest. It looked like the tail of an animal, but it was faint, and the rest of the drawing was covered by his shirt. I was so sure it was a tattoo, and that was an unusual development. He smirked and slowly pulled out his shirt so I could see the tattoo. Slowly, my eyes ran up his chest, and the drawing began to make sense. The tail I had seen was that of a snake, but its head was in the mouth of an eagle.

Tattoos are usually an expression of oneself. She hesitates for a moment; I can see the turmoil in her eyes but eventually she nods. CJ comes closer to me and turns around. I grab the back of the tank top and lift it over her head while her arms are crossed in her front. The realistic tattoo is a full-colored piece with an intricate golden bird cage in the center with a wolf’s head howling at the moon, an owl with its wings open, and portraits of a bear, fox and mouse intermingled with beautiful wildflowers. I run my fingers over the tattoo. Tingles touch my fingertips sending pleasure through me, but what gets me more are the scars I feel and not just a few but many scars. Now that I think