Novel & Cerita Voltron Tattoos

he chuckled,”You’re a good asset to my gang. “What’s the last part of my training?” I asked, remembering the conversation from earlier. “You have to get a tattoo,” he stated. “A tattoo?” I gaped, “Why?” “It’s the trademark,” he smiled,”It’s kind of like a brand. Everyone in my gang has the tattoo.” “What’s the tattoo of?” I wondered. “A Devil's,” he smiled, “Or serpents.” “Why a Devil?” I questioned. “My gang name is The Devil's Brotherhood,” he smirked. I chuckled, and looked at him.

There, stark against his skin, was a tattoo. A complex, intricate design of two family crests intertwined—the Moretti lion and the Castellano eagle, forever wrapped around each other. He got it on our wedding day. He said it represented the eternal alliance of our families, and our eternal vows to each other. “Aurora,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Do you remember this tattoo?” The cold night wind blew past, whipping a strand of hair across my face. I looked at the tattoo in silence. After a long moment, I reached out.

Leon is a man who is the head of an organization specializing in assassination and "Boss! Calm down, I have a tattoo on my arm. This is the symbol of the BT organization and we are allies, we are not enemies, please listen to me." Finn raised his tattooed arm in front of Leon. This tattoo is the design of their organization. Only people from the same organization have tattoos like this. This is also the symbol of the BT organization. The tattoo on Finn's arm is very intricately designed, it is a dragon head. This is the identity of the organization. Leon saw the tattoo on Finn's arm, his head hurt again, and the pain suddenly came so that Leon could not do anything. He staggered for a hold.

My eyes widened when I saw the wolf head tattoo on his chest, and the several marks like claws and scars on his chest. Seeing my eyes glued on his chest, the man smiled and said, "Admiring my tattoos, right?" "Yeah. Are you a warrior? Doesn't this big tattoo hurt?" I asked him, knowing that it was wrong to pry into a stranger's life. We were only having a night together, and I did not need to ask him who the fụck he was. "Yeah. It's a tribal tattoo. I am from the Dark Mountain Pack," he said, and I saw his eyes glow, and I didn't know if I was hallucinating at that moment.

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

For the most part, the packs got along but there was still always a sense of authority that was tested. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look good. Can’t be representing our pack badly.” Jacob was getting our Crest tattooed on his chest. It was the head of a wolf with its teeth showing and blue blood dripping from the fangs. Kind of spot on for whoever designed it but whatever.

Because if I looked—if I saw—I’d fall harder than I could ever afford to. But right now? I’m looking. And I fucking hate that I can’t look away. His body is a masterpiece of power. Carved abs. Broad shoulders. Veins on his arms like he’s always halfway to bursting. And his chest—God help me—his chest glistens like he walked out of some ad for sin itself. And then— Then I see it. That fucking tattoo. A lion’s head, snarling right in the center of his chest. Its mouth open like it’s about to roar. Eagle wings stretch from both sides, curling around his collarbones like a crown of chaos.

Then the black tee. Elena watched, mesmerized. Without the suit or the hoodie, the full extent of his ink was visible. A massive vulture was tattooed across his back, its wings stretching to his shoulders. Scars—some from blades, some from bullets—marred his bronze skin like a map of a violent life. "You're staring again, sweetheart," Julian said, stepping toward her. He looked like a pagan god of war. "I've never seen so much of you," she whispered.

Belenus grabs my hand pulling me past him, he lets some of his royal aura trickle out. “Fuck off, Travis!” he says to the guy who looks ready to attack my cousin. He doesn't let go of my wrist until we are in his locker room. “Stay away from the fighters, stay beside me until the others arrive” he says in a low voice, I just nod. The scent has gone when we leave the other room, or maybe I have just imagined it. Belenus pulls his shirt over his head, the minute he turns I notice the new tattoos on his back I am about to turn away when I realise they aren’t normal tattoos, they are runes tattooed into the design. He turns back, and frowns at me.

I crumpled onto the leather couch and gave myself a moment to take in Talon’s imposing form. His arms and hands were covered with intricate tattoos, each one telling its own story. Another design snaked up the side of his neck. A dark gray V-neck shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders. The Warriors patch on the back of his vest gleamed white in the dim lamplight.