Lung Cancer Ribbon Tattoo Ideas Novels & Stories

Either way, unfortunately, a small little organ can be such a bitch to its host. The thyroid is in the shape of a butterfly. It's represented this way by various tattoos. On I*******m, a young lady sported her cancer survival with a blue thyroid tattoo. A cancer ribbon was wrapped around the butterfly. That's a scar I could live with. Anytime my mom would get the surgery she would get a tattoo to go with it. Maybe I should follow in her footsteps and carry on the tattoo post-surgery tradition. The door knocks. I haven't left the house in days. Preparing for surgery is a mental gymnastics I have been surviving by watching Bridgerton and eating lots of popcorn.

“Yeah? Maybe once my ass is healed you can turn the puncture wound into one of them cool, fake bullet holes you see on motorcycles and pickup tailgates.” “Please. I’m an artiste. I have something way better in mind. Something hip-fun-sexy-cool.” Suspicion clouded Colt’s face. “I already told you. You ain’t tattooing the area around my nipples. Ever.” “But this new pattern is so awesome. Turquoise and orange outlined in black and red, that looks like flames—” “No way, no how.” “Just hear me out.” “Dammit, Indy, I said no. Why are you so dang fired up about doin’ this?”

My gorgeous yum-yum was dealing with so much by himself… Liam moved across to grab the salt and his shirt moved slightly, showing off some of his tattoos. He had some sort of symbols drawn across one side of his chest, but what intrigued me was the small picture of a bird sitting right above the symbols. A raven? Interesting tattoo for a wolf. I didn’t ask about it, it was clear Liam was a man of few to no words and with a very broody attitude. When we had finished eating, he ordered some more drinks and I realised he was trying to delay us leaving.

At least they will get to share something special together. My red dress clings tightly to my figure and frames my cleavage, the slit up the side making my family tattoo visible. The tattoo is of a fighting wolf and snake, their bodies entwining around my thigh. It’s our mark of honor as alpha daughters, usually appearing when we come of age. Mine made its debut on the night my mother died.

I give him a friendly smile before starting to remove the lid from the small box. As soon as I open it, I notice that it contains a charm bracelet that already has two charms attached to it. "It has a stunning appearance." I remove it from its place and examine the charms with a greater degree of focus. A paintbrush is shaped like a cancer ribbon, and the ribbon itself is a paintbrush. "I love it." I can't help but crack a grin before turning my attention to Mark. "You may now remove the letter from its envelope." He says handing me it again.

I admire the tattoo taking up most of his back, it's similar to Storms. It's a pair of evil snake eyes in red, with a green and yellow snake wrapped around the pistol facing the red eyes of the evil snake. The words The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club are written under the pistol. But what has me at a standstill is the shading that's done around the entire picture, it's a light shading but unmistakable. It's wings, Angel wings. I don't say anything. I want to but I'm tongue tied. I scan his back and stop at the blue bruises around his sides.

Smooth tan skin that looked like it had never seen a flaw. There was a tattoo on his left side. Dark lines that wrapped around his ribs in some intricate design I couldn't make out in the dim light. "See something you like?" His voice was smug. I snapped my eyes up to his face. "No." "Liar." He moved back to his chair and sat down, completely unbothered by being shirtless. "Your pupils are so dilated I can barely see the green." "That's from the coughing." "Sure it is."

It was a testament to his unwavering dedication to all aspects of his physical fitness. One of the most striking features on Logan's left arm was the anchor tattoo, a symbol known to represent strength and stability, perhaps even serving as a connection to his time in the marine. Yet, what made this tattoo particularly intriguing was an unexpected addition. Just below the anchor, a smaller, seemingly incongruous tattoo came into view. This tattoo was a depiction of a little girl holding a toy, a charming but puzzling image etched onto his skin. It seemed to tell a story of its own, one that didn't readily align with the symbolism of the anchor.

are inked between the bird’s wings. “Blackbird,” I say, naming the Beatles song. “Yeah,” she sighs out. “It’s my favorite song. Means a lot to me. The colors all stand for my survivor status. Green for mental health. Purple for domestic abuse. Teal for sexual abuse.” Without knowing what I’m doing, I step forward and my fingers trace down one of the bird’s wings. I feel her take in a shuddering breath and she leans into my touch. I’m lost in the beauty of her tattoo.

The only word that came to mind was drool worthy. My eyes were drawn to the tattoos that littered his body. The ones that lined his chest and ribs caught my attention and I badly wanted to know what they were. My fingers twitched at my sides wanting to go over there and run them across the tattoos. He threw his shirt off to the side and turned fully towards me. I couldn't stop myself from asking. "What are your tattoos of?" "Oh these." He glanced down at the ones on his chest. "This one," He pointed to the symbol on his left peck. "is the Marine's symbol. And this says 'Move mountains or die trying'." He touched the quote that was on his ribs.