Reaper Neck Tattoo Novels & Stories

“This is completely new territory for me.” My eyes betray me. They drag over his bare chest, his abs, the way his pants sit low on his hips. And I feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his tattoos — ink and meaning and temptation. A yin-yang with hearts instead of dots and the number thirteen at its center, about the size of a big coin, is on his left side underneath his arm. Curling above it is the Peter Pan lettering — Sniff pixie dust and soar — in a cursive font. And on his bicep — the Reaper logo stamped on like a warning label.

Reaper My knuckles crashed with bone. The man beneath me gagged, choking on a mouthful of his own blood. I didn't give him a second to breathe. I grabbed him by the collar of his soaked leather jacket, dragging his dead weight up just enough to slam my right fist into his jaw a second time. His head snapped back. Rain slicked my hair to my forehead, dripping down the leather of the Midnight Reapers cut. The patch I loved with my heart. I was wearing it again for the last seven days.

He knew who he was referring to. Khenealm was a land of people who believed in the Shore, the life of the planet. Khenealm was a place where contracts of two or more souls were possible. "What's the name of that girl again? The one with narrow eyes and pale skin?" "Raeya." "Right, Raeya. Pretty girl. That's her sigil on your left hand, right? A crooked sword. Flashy for a lady." Ryder flexed his left palm and studied the white tattoo of a dagger with a jagged blade burned on it. Ryder felt uncomfortable talking about Raeya with another guy, especially their former enemy.

The spell of real estate fell on the walker, fettered her arms and legs, squeezed her throat, making it difficult to growl. It was very easy to cut off her head - to grab her braids, and wave a knife a couple of times. And again, Tamir did not have to cut his hand in order to carry out the rite of repose - blood poured from a bitten forearm, at least draw handfuls. Donatos, entering the cold cell smelling of blood and sweat in the morning, kicked the decapitated corpse and said to the student: - I’ll wash my face and go to the whipping post - you’ll get it for not distinguishing a simple dead man from a reborn one. After that, you will go to Rusta, you will say - I asked to heal my hand.

He put the boxers back in his closest. He walked back. His all tattoos were visible. The first time his upper half was revealing the one tattoo that was stretched along his neck. The ink on his neck was a snake circling his neck like a permanent choker, the pattern looked like a compressed font of Devil with its scary fangs looking like they are permanently feeding on his blood. He also has many tattoos on his arm making a sleeve like an illusion on his right arm and also covering a little part of his chest.

As my eyes follow his neck I find our mark sitting there like the most beautiful tattoo with its simplicity. The triple moon sits on our neck, the outlines clean and crisp. Inside the full moon sits two paw darkened paw prints. Three stars connected by thin lines rest above the full moon and waning crescent. Tracing the image I enjoy watching Damon shiver while I whisper, "it's beautiful."

There are rumors of them carving an hourglass into the flesh of their enemies and I want to believe its just a myth. There was also a skull with little flies buzzing around it between the reaper's hands. Didn’t have to guess what that meant. Some Flyers get their logo tattooed on their chest and others on their back. My dad’s was on his back but I knew Missile’s for example was on his chest. I had no clue if one had a different significance than the other but I was curious. For whatever reason I felt like it was a very personal question, one I would have to wait to find out. I damn sure wasn’t going to ask where Punch got his. “Here,” he shouts, holding out the paper and stopping abruptly, I

Like unsticking tape to your skin with a certain amount of moist to it. “Mother fucker!” I said through clenched teeth. The world swam around me. “Here. Keep drinking.” Reese handed me the flask again. “Do you need a break?” “No, just keep going. Don’t stop.” Taking a long swig, I watched as he cleaned the three large gashes. “This would make for a cool tattoo.” “I don’t know.” I said through clenched teeth. Reese started putting something on them that burned worse. “If I pass out, just remember to keep your eyes closed.”

As in steaming-mounth-watering-panty dropping eyes popping out of my head-hot. Ryder's tattoos are on display. The viper wrapping itself around his right forearm is detailed and absolutely stunning. I can't see the word I know is tattooed above his right knee. Nor do I see the same word under Jem's collar bone when his back is too me. I absently trace the word on the left side of my ribcage the "A" starting right where my breast ends. My fingers pass over the cursive and four stars spread out around the letters. I was the only one who got the stars the others complaining it was too feminine for them. Huffing out a breath I take the last steps and head to the kitchen isle slipping onto a bars

"How many tattoos do I have in total?" "Four." And he goes on to explain what they are. “The Crow tattoo on the back of your left shoulder, the tribal tattoo on your spine, the lotus flower on the back of your neck, and my mark, right here.” He gently caressed his mark on my left collarbone, and immediately, I felt the pull and comfort towards him. I nodded. “Okay, you're Ryan, okay.” He glared at me and I laughed. “Say my name again.”