Art Cutie Marks Novels & Stories

Noah asks, looking closely at Tony’s chest. Luca pulls down his shirt to show Noah the crescent moon they all carved into their flesh. “This is our Deltas mark. We carved it into our flesh to show her what she means to us.” Noah nods and then goes into the kitchen without saying a word. He comes back a moment later with a blade, and he rips his shirt and carves the same mark into his skin as well. “You’re definitely stuck with me now, kiddo,” he says with a big, genuine smile.

Together, they stood amidst the fragrant garden, a testament to the beauty of love and the transformative power of embracing life's vibrant hues. In that moment, surrounded by nature's palette, Rose and Liam reveled in the symphony of colors, their love blooming like the flowers around them. Rose sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers delicately tracing the scar that marred Liam's otherwise perfect abdomen. The deep cut, an intricate pattern of healed tissue, spoke of a past filled with danger and battles fought. Just above his ribcage, a prominent claw mark caught her attention, its jagged lines standing out against the smoothness of his skin. Her brows furrowed as she pondered the stories

Odessa says from behind me, and there's definitely something off about her tone. I try to gently pry Aria's fingers loose but they just tighten. That's when I notice it. Her sleeve has rolled up from the movement, exposing her wrist. And there, carved into her skin like a brand, is a symbol I recognize immediately. Three claw marks forming a triangle with a moon in the center. The mark of the Silverfang pack, it’s the one they give to their prisoners.

“I’m afraid of becoming a stranger in your eyes. Of losing myself in this fight, and forgetting you.” Her words hit me like a storm. I knew the fear she was carrying, the weight of what was to come. She was about to sacrifice everything—us—to stop the Prime Wolf. I couldn't promise her it would be okay, but I could promise her this: I pulled a blade from my belt, feeling the cold metal against my skin as I carved a mark into my arm. It wasn’t a symbol of power or victory—it was a bond, something between us that would never fade, even if everything else did. I carved the crescent and the rose, the mark that had always belonged to us.

or something like that. Then there's The Marking. Not like biting or stuff like that. This one is for the entire pack. Special paint made by witches, from moon dust, sun dust, first snow water, dew drops and white roses. Weird, right? Anyway, this one is mostly like drawing tattoos, but with the feather from a white owl.