Sad Clown Tattoo Meaning Novels & Stories

“What’s up, Aussie?” I curled into a ball and blocked whatever he said to the man down under. A few moments later, he came back and kissed me on my exposed shoulder. “Did you make a plan?” “They will brief us on the plan. What does that tattoo mean?” Shit. I thought he didn’t notice it. “It’s in Arabic. It means, every sun has to set.” “That sounds deep yet sad.” I turned and faced him. He looked so menacingly handsome and relaxed, not the brutal, ruthless mafia that people feared. “It means everything has an end. We should enjoy life and live to the fullest because tomorrow is not guaranteed.”

Octnavin calmed the fears in Sloan's mind. "I wish I had your confidence." Octnavin tilted his head down and tried to catch Sloan's eyes. Once again, he used the tip of his tentacle to trace Sloan's tattoo. "Do you know what this says?" Octnavin asked after a few minutes slipped by. "It doesn't say anything." Sloan eyed the black design around his bicep. "When I was eighteen, I wanted a tattoo because I thought I would be a bad-ass or something. I picked a dumb tribal design from the board in the waiting area. It's nothing."

Royals were forbidden to have them back when his kingdom stood tall. "Tell me more about the Fahara. " Sao asks eyes glued to it interrupting the tattooist speech about another tattoo. "...it uh... It ... Look kid, I've already said the... " "Tattoo is cursed or whatever. Why and how? " Sao pushes. The man looks at the others as if asking them to help him out but is only met by curious stares. He sighs then dramatically sits back where he was seated before the four walked in. And the four realize it may be a long story. They make themselves comfortable around him.

"There's not one that doesn't have a memory to go along with it. I sure as fuck don't go to a tattoo artist with some trendy ass Chinese lettering that I don't even understand." He seems offended by the notion, almost as if it's personal. "Someone you know has done that?" "You could say that. Some dumbass kid who doesn't know how the world is yet, and now he's got some symbols on his arm that probably mean eat shit and die." I can't help it, I laugh. He's so thoroughly disgusted.

I consider killing him but I know a better way. “Anyone else have that tattoo?” I look to Marc and D. “Anyone else close to where you found him?” I hear a man scream and Marc dragging him to me. I watch as he ties him down. “Name?” I look at him, watching as he stutters Cain, and I smile. “Okay, Cain, and his little friend, here's the deal. Every time your friend refuses to answer Cain, or is rude, or speaks dirty shit, I cut off a part of you. It ends when you die, when he speaks or when you speak.”

"Yeah, have it?" Skoteinó chuckled and removed his white smiley mask that revealed the tattoos on his face. The tattoo that attracts Raverine the most is the official insignia of Die Dark — a smiling skull with a bloody fang. The tattoos were all over his dark-toned face. He also had piercings on his nose and lip — a typical look of an outlaw.

Behind the desk sat a massive man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and sunglasses. “Chance?” Matteo asked. “Alpha Matteo!” the man said, grinning. “Take a seat.” “We’ll stand,” Nickie said, his eyes locking on the man’s hand. On the back of the man’s hand was the tattoo. The serpent and the moon. “What’s the ink mean?” Nickie asked, his voice lethal. “It’s about renewal,” Chance said calmly. “The snake sheds its skin. The moon turns. Life through death. It’s the mark of the Velvet Syndicate.”

she whispered, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Now tell me about this," Camden said with a smile, lifting Clayton's arm on the opposite side to expose a tattoo on his ribcage. Due to its position, she hadn't gotten a chance to look at it properly until now, though she had seen glimpses of it now and again. Her smile faded as she studied the tattoo. "What?" Clayton asked, sensing her change in demeanour. "What is this?" Camden inquired, her voice serious and urgent. "It's just a date," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. "I figured as much," Camden responded, her eyes lingering on the marking. "But why is it significant to you?" Clayton let out a sigh, his

I didn’t know how it was. Caleb had always been careful. Methodical. The guy who researched every tattoo artist for six months before committing to a tiny line on his wrist. A full-neck serpent didn’t fit the man I’d known. And the way he covered it so fast, the way his shoulders tensed… it felt like more than impulse. “Looks like it has meaning,” I let out quietly. His smile stayed plastered on, but his eyes went flat. “It doesn’t. Really. Just art.”

Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’ Why would that be the best place to be? “Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process. “They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…” “Were you sad in the past?” He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips. Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’ “You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I note out loud. “See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.”