Narcissist Survivor Tattoo Novels & Stories

I tried to look away but there was something that made my eyes go back to Nate's body, on his back he had a tattoo that covered all his skin, it was a tattoo of a wolf opening its jaws, it looked scary showing its fangs. -Ready-putting on a loose shirt. -I thought I saw a tattoo," I said, "I thought businessmen didn't like that kind of thing. What does it mean? -Well, the fact that I'm an entrepreneur doesn't mean that my young spirit died, on the contrary, I'm someone like anyone else, just a millionaire," he said. Once again I was not amused by his little jokes. -The meaning is that I identify myself with the wolf, for his tenacity, his power," he sat back in his chair.

he choked out while his chest rattled. A few more gasps of air and his pupils dilated then fixed. I broke down in ugly sobs as I pulled him to my chest. He had been my unmarked mate and now he was no more. My brow furrowed at Jasper shrugging off his shirt and my eyes landed on the tattoo upon his tawny chest. It was the same as what Malrik had on his. Nathan inhaled sharply from behind me upon seeing it. “You are brothers?” He asked, causing me to choke in disbelief.

The tattoo was his art, his design, and also the image of what he carried inside him every day the image he now carried on his back, that moved with him. Nikolai name was inked with intricate, beautiful calligraphy letters, while nico name was bold, broken, and bleeding into the flames. He loved his brother, but hated himself. There was a single crack in the headstone right at the top of the cross. The flames that engulfed the cross from the ground were blood red, angry shades of orange, its only goal to destroy while his name suffered its wrath.

Other than some burns on my back and arms, I made it out alive,' he says, letting go of Hope. He turns his back and lifts his shirt, ‘They’ll probably leave some nasty scars,' he shrugs. 'No, wait!' Hope says as he drops his shirt. Hope gently places her hands on his back, emitting a glow and her eyes have a silver glimmer. A few moments later, all the burns have been healed. 'You healed it all. That feels so much better!' Nathan smiles. Hope admires the tattoos on his back and arms. Nathan has a massive tattoo of a wolf and moon on his back. On his left arm tribal tattoos.

I looked closer and just like in my dream, it was my birthday! I furrowed my eyebrows at what I had seen. What the hell? I couldn’t help but be infuriated at the secrets he kept from me and now my birthday is permanently on his skin? “Nate, why do you have my birthday tattooed on you?” I raised my eyebrows. Nate looked down at his wrist and covered his wrist back up. “Don’t concern yourself with that” he told me whilst returning to his desk. “Are you out of your mind?!” I yelled. “Why do you have my birthday on your wrist?!”

What she said was still ringing in my head. He had a tattoo of a crest on his back and another of three spades on the skin at his lower back directly above his left butt cheek. I was never into bad boys. I didn't like their vibe or the energy around them. I could live with a bike or a small tattoo but not the ones Jane described or the piercing in his left nipple. I mean, who in their right mind pierces their nipple? I couldn't fathom how someone as sweet, good, and adorable as Nancy could have a grandkid like that.

All I knew was that she looked brilliant. "The tattoo is a symbol of the people under north's successful conquest." Adler covered his wrist again and began pacing the length of his cell. He hesitated, clearly weighing how much he would tell today and think of how long he could drag this out. I noticed the tattoo immediately—the same symbol burned into memory from the lab. My blood ran cold. "I don't see why you've waited this long to ask." "I didn't want to kill you," Nyx said. That stopped him.

Before bed, he strips down to his boxers and slips beneath my sheets without hesitation. Not because we’re lovers. Not because we’re teammates. Because we’re both. And because sleep doesn’t come easy when your heart’s still on high alert. I lay against his chest, fingers drawing circles over one of his tattoos. The one that says: not made for mercy. “I still don’t know what this one means,” I whisper. He shifts. “It’s for the people who thought I wouldn’t survive.” “And now?” “Now I keep it as a reminder.” “That they were wrong?”

There is no point in doing anything right now so I keep quiet. The whole place is filled with scary-looking tattoed dudes. Bored, I started noticing the scary guy's tattoos. It's a skull, a red skull with wings and a cross. The tattoo is bright and dull at the same time. The cross it clutches seems more like a trophy than a symbol of hope, stained with a history whispered only in faded scars. Bright and dull, a paradox mirroring the struggle between survival and surrender. Art sure is fascinating. Someone walked up to him just then. He looks me up and down, "who is this, chick."

The natural waist dropped into a sheer fabric with flowers stitched into it. The scars have relaxed and really created a pretty chain-link pattern. Although our wolves really worked on healing me, they are just now calming down and looking like regular scars. I have grown accustom to them to the point that I want to get them tattooed. As a symbol of my strength and determination to not let evil win. Soft music was playing as I paced around this tent. The only thing I knew about this event was the smell of lilacs. “Ready?” Colt lifted the side and stepped in.