Gone But Never Forgotten Tattoos Novels & Stories

There was beauty, but loneliness, and this was like a work of a famous painter whose name is too dispensable for me to remember. My bath was long. I needed to remove any mark that man had left; clean my skin of his shame. I rubbed the sponge hard, reddening my flesh even more. I paid special attention to my tattoos under the groin, one on each side of the hip. My symbols that indicated love and harmony, even if I didn't believe in any of them. The butterflies and mushrooms on my right ankle were more faithful to my image, although I made them at the age of eighteen.

“I’ve never really looked at you this way. But now, it’s all starting to make sense. The date on your forearm…” I let my gaze drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his torso. There were other tattoos scattered across his skin—fragments of a story only he knew. A Latin phrase curved along his collarbone, the ink bold and deliberate, “Memento Mori”—remember you must die. “Hayden?” He whimpered in his sleep. And groaned. I lifted my gaze to his face. Hayden whimpered softly, tossing in his sleep. Tears ran down his temples. Pain was written all over his face, frozen somewhere beneath a nightmare and a cursed reality he couldn’t escape from.

“I’m going to put something on now!” “Nice tattoo, Aldo!” Adia teases. Yeah I have a tattoo on my ribcage, no one really sees it unless they see me shirtless. Nova hasn’t said anything, but I doubt my tattoo is the first thing on their mind. It’s a flaming phoenix . Knowing I was the only survivor of the crash that killed my parents and maternal grandparents makes me feel a bit like a phoenix. I’ll need a purple butterfly over my heart, for Nova.

Alexa I have to say, it's a damn good tattoo. The artist did a great job and if the circumstances were different I'd be thanking him. Since they aren't all I do is scowl. He wraps my arm and goes on about how to take care of the tattoo. Since this isn't my first rodeo I zone out. I feel like a cow who's ears been marked so people can know who to return them too if they run away. They've branded me as theirs. Looking down at the ink, my urge to find the treasure and leave grows stronger. This tattoo will serve as a reminder for what they did and have now done to me. Each time my heart softens toward them, this will harden it once more. I will get my revenge, but first I have to survive long e

I needed to feel him fill me. I looked down at his V-line. The old tattoo was still there. My name. Moana. In italics, just like the little flower. He had gotten it years ago, before everything fell apart, when we were young and stupid and burning. He had marked himself with my name and he had never removed it. It was still there, still dark, still permanent. "You still have it," I said.

She fills these shoes with an iron fist, vocal cords that bring the roof down, and more love then most of the club has ever experienced. Before Savannah died, I was having artwork tattooed on my back to show my love for my wife and son. It remained unfinished and I had the tat put on my chest to honor my wife and son when I got out of prison. After Sofia married me, I had the club’s emblem tattooed over the work on my back. Sofia, my babies, and the Crows are my family. It’s a beautiful morning. The wind is at our backs and sun on our faces. Desert Crows forever, forever Desert Crows.

Noah said. Daniel enlarged the image. Beneath the man’s sleeve was a faded tattoo. Five narrow vertical lines crossed by a single horizontal slash. Noah stared at it. His heartbeat quickened. A memory surfaced without warning. Five young men sitting around a fire after training. One of them rolled up his sleeve and laughed. “Five of us. One mark. So none of us ever forget.” The memory vanished almost as quickly as it came. Noah closed his eyes. “I’ve seen that tattoo.”

His top button was undone and paired with black jeans that fit his legs perfectly. God damnit! Even after what he did, he still seemed perfect and I hate that. He was just him and no matter what I won’t be with him and I need to hate him to protect myself anyway. His fingers were curled around his gun and as he swiftly placed it down. His wrists had a new tattoo, right above his vein. It read Nem. He had me on his body as a way to remember me.

It was exactly 1:15 p.m. I didn’t know how many times I looked at the time. I touched my watch. My dad gave this to me as present. He told me that it will always remind me it’s time to go home. It was the same watch I had in my wrist this morning. It stopped ticking twenty years ago, but I still wore it.

My mouth began going down from kissing his neck to that strong broad chest, my eyes were closed but then I looked up to catch his expression after he held back a groan in his throat, but my eyes landed on his chest who welcome me with a new tattoo, I brushed my fingers on the ink, This tattoo was a combination of words which I knew was Spanish, those words were completing a circle and huge deadly snake was printed between them, starting from Amor (Love), Escapar (Escape), Desamor (Heartbreak), Venganza (Revenge), Misión (Mission), I could few words of it. “What is this, Armando,” I examined the details of that horrific tattoo, my eyes couldn’t move from it, It was obvious from some words tha