Cthulhu Tattoos Novels & Stories

Relief settles for a heartbeat—my pack is safe. “Rhett,” Laura sighs. “Tell me already, what the hell is going on with you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I glare at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.” I turn and head for my apartment. Inside, I strip off my clothes. I’ve been holding back from checking the stabbing pain in my chest. I turn to the mirror— And freeze. A tattoo runs across my back, down into my chest. A river of blue light twists into a crescent moon. Inside the glow, faint outlines of wolves howl and run, their forms made of mist and stars. The whole thing pulses like a living vein under my skin.

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.

There is no point in doing anything right now so I keep quiet. The whole place is filled with scary-looking tattoed dudes. Bored, I started noticing the scary guy's tattoos. It's a skull, a red skull with wings and a cross. The tattoo is bright and dull at the same time. The cross it clutches seems more like a trophy than a symbol of hope, stained with a history whispered only in faded scars. Bright and dull, a paradox mirroring the struggle between survival and surrender. Art sure is fascinating. Someone walked up to him just then. He looks me up and down, "who is this, chick."

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.

There are pictures of one of her sex dungeons in her home in Paris, New York, London, and in her very own home, Japan. As I look through each picture, feeling my stomach fuzzy from all these disgusting and disturbing photos, that's when my heart drops, and my eyes grow wide in shock. My hands shake as I enlarge the image with my fingertips. I stare at the tribal tattoo that the Wolfe brothers have. It symbolizes their brotherhood and love for one another as a family who will always protect each other. It's the same tattoo I saw on Seth's right arm. "Terry? Are you feeling okay?"

Picking up my glass, I lightly sipped my alcohol, the stinging liquid coursing through my body. “We have, huh?” I said, putting my glass down with an intensity that made some of the stuff spill out. “Look at these pictures. Notice their hands. They all have the same tattoo on their hands… like the head of a cat or lizard. That must mean something. Find out the mafioso faction or any group with these types of tattoos and get back to me.” “Yes, boss,” he said, standing. He bent to pick up the pictures but I stopped him.

Tyr, Dickson, and Connie walked to the last row of the bus and sat down. The driver was a bare-chested man in his fifties with various Shura totem tattoos on his arms. Someone who had such tattoos was definitely not an ordinary person. He must have gone into a tomb when he was young. The purpose of the tattoos on his body was to suppress the evil spirits in tombs. “Cripple, has everyone arrived yet? It’s almost time.” The bus driver had been checking the time on his watch, as he constantly urged the cripple outside.

“Bunch of obnoxious, inhumanly attractive, muscled up cavemen.” Seriously, Knight looked like some kind of Playboy fallen angel with his sculpted ass and body stacked with hard muscle. I scanned his numerous tattoos. There was a pack of hungry wolves on one of his arms, surrounded by trees and vines full of thorns. Across his chest was the night sky and aurora borealis, and wrapping around his stomach were wisps of smoke, or shadow, that trailed upwards until they blended into the darker ink.

“Skulls and bones signify death. Knives and waves signify the medium of death. Waves in the sense that the person died by drowning. Knives in the sense that the person died by stabbing or some other way.” “Sia mentioned that he tried committing suicide at some point.” “There you have it.” “Why am I seeing these things? Is it normal to see these things?” “For hellhounds, yes. The tattoos tell you how many times one has escaped death.” “And this information is needed because?” “If the tattoos have reached a certain number, it means that the individual in question is tired of life. And we, because we’re so merciful, we end their life for good,” he explained.

I was so speechless, I just jumped on him and he winced, the tattoo was still hurting a bit. My fingers traced another ink one on his shoulder, he got this one after his dad died, in memory of him. "Do you always do this when I'm asleep" Bryne's husky voice jolts me back and I quickly remove my hand from his chest. He frowns and sits up, resting his back on the headboard. He yawns and stretches. I gulp, watching his thick muscle extends and flexes. "Come here" I nod and crawl to his arms obediently. He draws circles on my back and hums an inaudible tune.