Tattoos For Lost Friends Novels & Stories

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.

she smirked. I scrunched up my nose. "No, girl. On my side, right above my ribs, close to my breast." "Ooooh, spicy," she grinned. "I should get one too!" I shot her a look. "Girl, don't you already have like fifty tattoos?" "Relax, it's just twelve," she huffed. "We should totally get a friendship tattoo!" I shook my head. "Nope. What happens if we stop being friends and start hating each other?"

“What’s the tattoo for?” She looked away for a second and when she looked back I could see the tremendous sadness in her eyes. “Actually it’s my older sister’s name. She died before I turned 15 and I got the tattoo to keep her with me. We were really close, closer than Andre and I are. Andre loved her too but I like to think I loved her more,” she laughed. Then she looked at me and saw the sympathy in my eyes and laughed. “It’s been years now though so there’s no pain anymore.”

A paint-stained t-shirt covers the wide expanse of his chest while colorful tattoos cover his arms and up his neck. Weston Chancler is the polar opposite with olive skin, ebony hair, and chocolate eyes. The edge of a black and grey tattoo peeks out from underneath the v of his black long-sleeve shirt on his broad chest. Weston notices where my eyes have and with a smirk, he whispers, "You disappeared. It's for you anyway, baby girl. I have been missing you." A blush scarlet's my cheeks. He got a permanent memorial from me inked on his skin. 'Why did he do that?' Weren't we just friends? I could not have been that important to him.

this was one of our BFF goal tattoos, with Canary, when she was still alive. The red wine glass with a little spill out of tossing. There should be an illusion of two wine glasses being genuinely beautiful and happy when you place them side by side. Unfortunately, only one survived. Canary lost it. She wasn't able to get her tattoo and celebrate her independence with me. "Still sober?" Rhyme uttered.

she called out and I hummed titling my head to look at her. "What does the tattoo on your back mean?" She asked as my hands moved around her waist, laying in her lap. "The names are the people close to me I lost, the crown above the names represents the value they held in my life and the wings symbolizes prayers for peace and happiness," I replied "When did you get it?" "I started it when I was 17 and lost my bestfriend in a drive by and the names gradually increased as life went on," "I'm sorry about that,"

The tattoo artist asked Julie Williams what design she wanted. Julie turned to me with a faint smile on her face. “What did Annie choose? Maybe I’ll borrow some inspiration from her.” I remained silent. Zach Cross answered for me. “Give her the rose.” The tattoo artist froze for a moment. The tattoo pen in his hand hovered over the stencil. “Mr. Zach, that design was custom-made for Miss Annie. By tradition, the Godmother’s tattoo can only be placed on—”

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

He perked up, “You love tattoos, don't you? So, what do you think of mine?” I sighed. The truth is this, I don't like tattoos. Well, aside from the one on the body of a particular man. But there is no way to tell him that. Mark has been my friend since we were in our nappy age. His father was my uncle's professor back when he attended college. And they ended up in one neighbourhood. That was why I became friends with his last son. And we have been friends for 19 years. He knows most things about me.

Beautiful tattoos. Then she remembered what went with those muscles and tattoos. Selfishness. Bad choices. Alcohol. Drugs. Danger. “Ryanne.” Chance said softly and she looked at him. Her guard was not in place. He saw her vulnerability, pain and fear. “I wish you could trust me. You need a friend.” “I haven’t had a friend in a really long time.” She admitted quietly. “I’m not good at being a friend.” “I’m sure you’re a great friend.” He told her as he started rocking again.