Sun Sternum Tattoo Novels & Stories

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."

And apparently, he knew how to do a tattoo with ashes in the ink. Like the other veterans from his pack that had gone, he was a little surprised to find out that ashes from Duke and Rory were in their tattoos. And now she was getting Marley done the same way. Celeste was wearing a halter top that showed off her back piece. The Silver Lake Pack Crest was on her right shoulder blade, the Marine Corps Pack Crest in the center and she had already talked to the artist about putting his Crest on the left. Beneath that were Angel wings with a silver and black wolf between them. He assumed this was in tribute to Angel.

He nudged the unconscious man, pushing him to his stomach and just as expected, a black moon tattoo was carved onto the skin of his neck. A Darkmooner “Blow the horn”

Hatch, who came every Tuesday with three garbage bags of laundry and always fell asleep in the plastic chair had one eye open. "Fine," Sera said. "Muscle cramp." He closed his eye again. She waited until his breathing went slow and even. Then she pulled the collar of her long-sleeve shirt aside and looked. The mark was already there. Fully formed, like it had always been under her skin and the burning had just been it waking up. A rune … angular at the edges but curved at the center, like all the others. It sat directly below her collarbone and glowed faintly silver in the bad fluorescent light.

I bite my lip as I take in his bare chest, the tattoos on him look like they were inked by a god. Each of his existing tattoos are flawless, the one that catches my attention every time is the crown tattoo, I have never seen any like it. The crown has a flame where the biggest stone on it should be placed and it burns brightly in my vision everytime I see it, as if it were a 4D tattoo. I always feel like I have seen it somewhere before, like I know what it represents and I have the clean sheet to the history of the tattoo on my fingertips but it slips away everytime. My second favourite is his sleeve tattoo, it is a tribute to his sisters.

Not only did I want to get a belly ring but also wanted to get a tattoo, but I know either of those my father would never agree too. “I was wondering if we could go to Aart Accent Tattoos & Piercings.” “Why would you want to go there, baby girl?” “Well, I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but my father would never agree for me to do something like that.” “And what type of tattoo does my baby girl wants?” I brought out my phone to pull up the picture a drew to show Asmodeus the moon that I want as my tattoo. It’s a blue crescent moon, with blue roses, and white leaves around the roses. He takes my phone and smiles as he hands it back to me.

"What the fu-" "The tattoos." I push the mass of doctors away from her and turn my gaze to her ribcage. There are several small tattoos, but each one is easily distinguishable from the others. The first in the line is a wolf's head with a number eight between the eyes. Next is an arrow, a dagger, two crossed arrows, a gun, and a target symbol.

My breath hitched as I caught sight of it in the mirror he pulled out of my bag—a faint yet intricate design swirling across my collar bone, glowing faintly silver before settling into a deep, ink-like black. The tattoo was mesmerizing, an elegant crescent moon at its core, its curves etched with delicate runes that seemed ancient and alive. Surrounding the crescent, fine lines branched out like veins, forming patterns resembling intertwining vines and stars, as though the night sky itself had been imprinted onto my skin. The vines wrapped gently outward, framing the crescent in an intricate lattice of beauty and mystery, their edges tapering off just shy of my collarbone. At the crescent’s

The light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen disappeared into the towel and the only thing marring the beauty of his skin was the angry red mark on his chest, just a few inches away from his heart where he had been shot yesterday. Now that he was finally unclothed, I was able to see the tattoo on his left arm. It was a picture of a phoenix in flight and it was magnificent. The artist had focused on every tiny detail down to the red eye of the phoenix and somehow, it suited him. He was just as majestic as the bird.

A searing pain flared on my shoulder. I gasped, gripping the spot with trembling fingers. It burned—like fire licking beneath my skin, like being branded from the inside out. I tore off my sleeve in a panic. And stared. There, etched into my skin, was a tattoo I had never received. A moon—full and luminous, its edges swirling in a storm of blue ink that shimmered in the light. Beneath it, foreign script curved in delicate strokes, and on each side of the moon were two strange, symbolic markings I didn’t recognize.