Hood Hand Tattoos Novels & Stories

The red scales unlike anything I had seen before, hints of gold looked as if they were painted fresh daily. As I turned my arm over, I could see where it looked as if two tail ends were touching. Resting in the middle was a circle, clearly it was made in the image of the moon. Plopping myself down on the couch to stop my pacing, I traced my tattoo gently with my fingertips. Tadeas had a matching tattoo also on his left wrist. They were simple, elegant, and powerful, I thought. It was hard to explain, having this on my wrist allowed me to feel as if he was always with me.

he chimed. He reached back and yanked his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The sight hit me hard. Every ridge of muscle stood out under the soft lights, and my eyes drifted to the serpent tattoo curling from his left hand all the way up his arm and onto his neck. It looked alive against his skin. My fists clenched again, hungry.

I went to take a shower after dinner. It was then that I suddenly saw a weird palm print on the glass window. Someone must have left that palm print behind with their soapy hand while taking a shower. The print was quite faint and white against the shiny glass on the window. It was obviously a woman's handprint, and it wasn't mine. My hand was a little bigger than this. So I couldn't have been the one who put it there. It couldn't have been my daughter, Bella Quinton, either. She had tiny hands and wasn't even tall enough to reach that spot yet. Also, it definitely did not belong to my husband, Rory Quinton.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Janet noticed the ink on his wrist, which stretched upward and vanished behind his shirt as he raised his hands in surrender. Her eyes traced the intricate details of his tattoo, starting with a black rose blooming from his wrist. As her gaze moved along, she noticed the date 19.08.16 etched underneath. Her focus then shifted to the clock above the rose, frozen at eight, before finally resting on the compass.

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

I’m about to close the diary and put the picture back into the envelope, feeling a crushing weight of unanswered questions settle heavy in my chest, when something catches my eye. His hand. His left hand, resting on my mother’s waist, is partially visible. And there, on the back of his hand, near his thumb, is a small, dark tattoo. It’s not clear in the faded picture, but I can make out the distinct shape: a stylized, almost tribal-looking symbol, a sharp, angular design that looks like… My breath hitches. My entire body freezes. The blood drains from my face, leaving me cold, clammy. I know that tattoo.

It's only after a deep velvety voice caresses my ear canals, that I open my eyes I comprehend that I haven’t hit the ground. I become increasingly aware of the warmth of huge muscular hands around my waist just below my breast. The smooth velvety warm caramel skin clung to seductive massive curves of muscle, trailing up to broad full shoulders Outlined in what appeared to be intricate golden tattoo ink in hieroglyphic patterns some I recognized like the Ankh the Egyptian representation of life on his rose gold armored gauntlets, others were completely unrecognizable to me with their intricate curves.

She finally gained her wit after a couple of cars passed by the road. “Oh, that…” She suddenly let out a chuckle. “You can say that I have uhm, picked strange people as my servants. But…” She pulled out her right hand, showcasing a beautiful henna that was drawn with dark red ink and has the length between the back of her hand until the lower ¼ of her forearm. The mesmerizing design was completed with a simple jewelry to make the hand less crowded.

Grabbing the hem of my hoodie, I threw it over her head and let my eyes feast on her beautiful body, her slightly tanned skin glistening in the moonlight and decorated with black ink similar to mine. Eight tattoos, she had told me. The first one I had already seen before was on her right upper arm, a wolf standing over a half moon, howling. I knew there was an infinity made of flowers on the inside of her right wrist. I found the next on her sternum, another half moon but with a sword piercing through it. But what took my breath away was the intricate flowers and branches beneath her left breast that stretched up all the way to her back. There were two birds sitting amidst those bloomed flow

Every curve and line is perfect and accentuated by the glowing energy pulsating beneath my skin as if it were carved from marble by the Goddesses themselves. My right arm has a strange tattoo swirling up it with an odd energy fused into it. The black claws on my hands glisten in the brilliant light of the portal, their sharp points glinting like obsidian knives. As I concentrate, they slowly retract into my fingertips, disappearing from view. With another thought, they shoot out again like deadly daggers, ready for action.