Purple octopus tattoo with engraved-style hatching and dotted tentacles, placed across the upper chest.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Purple octopus tattoo on chest

Chest · Colour · Photo

A large octopus with a rounded head and curling tentacles is tattooed in purple ink with dense hatching that gives it an engraved, etched look. The tentacles wrap across the skin and extend beyond the main body, with darker dotted detail along the undersides. The tattoo sits on a pale, lightly shaded area of skin and fills most of the frame.

Chest Octopus Tentacle

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

No, you'll not have the lamp turned down yet, Tom, not while the snow's at the shutters. Pass me the poker first, the grate's dying, and then hush. You'll not sleep anyway with that wind going round the chimney like a drowned man looking for his boots. The Maud Carrow lay three weeks off Gallows Point with her hold full of salt cod, and nobody aboard would say who had bought the jar of brine from the Lisbon chandler.

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The jar sat on the galley shelf between the pepper and the rum, and in it lived a thing the size of a man's fist when it was resting. Old Hesketh, who cooked for the crew, swore it watched him. He'd stand at the stove and feel small dark eyes on his back, and when he turned round the arms were moving, always a little further up the glass than before. Eight of them, curling, spotted along the undersides like a row of coins pressed into wet clay.

On the ninth night the jar was empty. Hesketh found the lid tight and the cork still wet, and a trail of salt on the planks leading up the companion ladder, out through the hatch, and over the rail. Nobody saw the thing go. But the watch on the forecastle swore that when the moon broke through the cloud, something pale and many-armed was hauling itself hand over hand along the hull, and it was not making for the sea.

So you'll understand why I keep a jar of brine on my own shelf, and why I never let anyone serve fish before I've counted the eggs. Off with you now. Listen to the wind. If it stops, that's when you should worry, because that's when something outside has gone quiet to listen back.