Dandelion Tattoo Birds Meaning Novels & Stories

, I keep running after all. I ran to a tattoo shop, and said to a tattoo artist, “I want this one.” The tattoo artist glanced at my wrist. “A broken-wing bird?” “Yes.” “Are you sure? It’s… kind of symbolic.” “I know what it means.” He studied for a moment then said, “Alright.” The needle pressed into my skin, it hurt, but I didn’t move.

My blush deepened, burying half my face into the duvet as if that would hide it. My mind drifted back to his tattoo. “What inspired your bird tattoo? Been staring at it all morning.” I asked softly. His eyes softened. “The need to be free,” he answered. “To break out. To stop feeling chained.” I smiled. “I’d never been a fan of tattoos… but I love them on you.” He studied my face for a long second, then said quietly, “And I love you with me.” My heart fluttered violently. I didn’t dare speak. I simply curled closer to him, resting my head against his shoulder, letting his warmth soak into me.

He just stared. His eyes lingered on her face and then it worked its way through her body. He found an image, more like a tattoo which was on her arm. It looked more like a bird published with blue colour, which had a horn in the middle of its head and a tail of many feathers. Its beak was indescribable and would not really be seen due to the way the colours were outlined. This tattoo reminded him of a story his mother told him. An all too familiar story.

Darius shot his brother a scathing look, but Draven didn't flinch. “What tattoo?” Darius pressed, his voice cold. I wiped off the tears hastily and cleared my throat as I forced myself to speak. I needed to save him. “They normally have a red bird tattoo. The man I saw had it, if he's one of them he would have the tattoo behind his ears,” I answered. Darius frowned and stared at his guards, giving them a curt nod. I watched as they searched my father, yanking his head to the side and pulling at his collar for any sign of a tattoo but there was nothing.

She had a tattoo of a little blue bird on her ribs that I hadn’t noticed before. Tracing the delicate wing with my fingertip, I asked, “What does this represent?” “It’s an Australian Fairy Wren. My parents were big into ornithology, hence mine and my brother’s names.” She looked down at the tattoo. “It reminds me of them.” I leaned forward to kiss it. She shivered, her hands coming to rest in my hair. I drifted my mouth lower down her stomach, kissing her hip bones and the top of her mound. Her hips flexed into my mouth when I did that, and I smiled.

If I saw him, I’m sure I would have remembered. I walk over to the two paintings bordering on either side of the fireplace. These two I made while I was working in Paris. Twin paintings of yellow dandelions in full bloom on the one on the right, and on the left is one of a dandelion seed head with the seeds being blown in the wind. Seeing the paintings again makes me smile. Dandelions have always had a special place in my heart. Often seen as a weed, people normally don’t pay attention to these beautiful flowers, but they symbolize hope and a free spirit.

“And what did you plant, Mr. Gardner?” Somehow, his skull smirked. The brightest seed of rebellion. The act of life is war. But I showed you that this morning. Mourning my impossible dreams. “So angels dream, Samael?” I do. Perhaps it's sin. He whistled with his bare teeth. Two birds darted from the canopy: one lush red with black wings; the other a crow. I scrutinized the first. “That's a Scarlet Tanager.”

I kept staring at it for a while then I looked at Mei. "The wolf is a symbol of my father's favourite animal. He passed away a few years ago due to an accident. The owl symbolizes my mother's wisdom and the dove is a symbol of my late sister Mabel. The flowers I tattooed around them are a symbol of my love for them all." She walked towards me and touched my chest with her finger moving it around the outline of each tattoo. She looked up at me with a concerned face. "You love deeply and you have lost so much."

Althea remains by my side throughout the whole process, alternating between chatting with both Bailey and I, and touching me either by running her fingers through my hair or just whispering her words of encouragement into my ears, the pride and certainty obvious in her voice steadying me even more. By the time it’s done, they both help me to sit up then Bailey wheels a kind of mirror towards me— one that brings my nape into view. I catch the reflection of my tattoo, and my breath hitches. The phoenix is perfect—every feather, every line meticulously inked into my skin with the bold yet subtle touches of reds and oranges to depict the flames clinging to the wings of the legendary creature. A