Collarbone Shoulder Tattoos Quotes

You look different." His words, normally crisp,are now sluggish. "So do you," I say.And he does-he looks more relaxed,younger. "What are you doing?" "Flirting with death," he replies with a laugh. "Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea." "No,it isn't" I'm not sure I like Four this way.There's something unsettling about it. "Didn't know you had a tattoo," he says, looking at my collarbone. He sips the bottle. His breath smells thick and sharp.Like the factionless man's breath. "Right.The crows," he says. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, who are carrying on without him, unlike mine. He adds, "I'd ask you hang out with us, but you're not supposed to see me this way." I am tempted to ask him why he wants to hang out with him,but I suspect the answer has something to do with the bottle in his hand. "What way?" I ask. "Drunk? "Yeah...well,no." His voice softens. "Real,I guess." "I'll pretend I didn't." "Nice of you." He puts his lips next to my ear and says, "You look good, Tris." His words surprise me,and my heart leaps. I wish it didn't,because judging by the way his eyes slide over mine, he has no idea what he's saying. I laugh. "Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm,okay?" "Of course." He winks at me. I can't help it.I smile.Will clears his throat,but I don't want to turn away from Four,even when he walks back to his friends. Then Al rushes at me like a rolling boulder and throws me over his shoulder. I shriek,my face hot. "Come on,little girl," he says, "I'm taking you to dinner." I rest my elbows on Al's back and wave at Four as he carries me away.

Tris!” Four calls out. Will and I exchange a look, half surprise and half apprehension. Four pulls away from the railing and walks up to me. Ahead of us, Al and Christina stop running, and Christina slides to the ground. I don’t blame them for staring. There are four of us, and Four is only talking to me. “You look different.” His words, normally crisp, are now sluggish. “So do you,” I say. And he does—he looks more relaxed, younger. “What are you doing?” “Flirting with death,” he replies with a laugh. “Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea.” “No, it isn’t.” I’m not sure I like Four this way. There’s something unsettling about it. “Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” he says, looking at my collarbone. He sips the bottle. His breath smells thick and sharp. Like the factionless man’s breath. “Right. The crows,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, who are carrying on without him, unlike mine. He adds, “I’d ask you to hang out with us, but you’re not supposed to see me this way.” I am tempted to ask him why he wants me to hang out with him, but I suspect the answer has something to do with the bottle in his hand. “What way?” I ask. “Drunk?” “Yeah...well, no.” His voice softens. “Real, I guess.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t.” “Nice of you.” He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “You look good, Tris.” His words surprise me, and my heart leaps. I wish it didn’t, because judging by the way his eyes slide over mine, he has no idea what he’s saying. I laugh. “Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?” “Of course.” He winks at me.

The first thing I see when I wake, still on the couch in the hotel room, are the birds flying over her collarbone. Her shirt, retrieved from the floor in the middle of the night because of the cold, is pulled down on one side from where she’s lying on it. We have slept close to each other before, but this time feels different. Every other time we were there to comfort each other or to protect each other; this time we’re here just because we want to be--and because we fell asleep before we could go back to the dormitory. I stretch out my hand and touch my fingertips to her tattoos, and she opens her eyes. She wraps an arm around me and pulls herself across the cushions so she’s right up against me, warm and soft and pliable. “Morning,” I say. “Shh,” she says. “If you don’t acknowledge it, maybe it will go away.” I draw her toward me, my hand on her hip. Her eyes are wide, alert, despite just having opened. I kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then her throat, lingering there for a few seconds. Her hands tighten around my waist, and she sighs into my ear. My self-control is about to disappear in five, four, three… “Tobias,” she whispers, “I hate to say this, but…I think we have just a few things to do today.” “They can wait,” I say against her shoulder, and I kiss the first tattoo, slowly. “No, they can’t!” she says.

I blink and look up. And up. Oh good god. The man towering over me … he’s a mountain – all broad shoulders, strong limbs and a firm jaw. And … he’s not wearing a shirt. His chest is toned, muscular and tanned, with streaks of mud over his abs and an eagle tattoo on his left collarbone. Fucking hell! Why the fuck is he walking around bare-chested like some kind of caveman? ‘What happened to your shirt?’ I stammer, then wince at my stupid, embarrassing question. Now he knows I’ve been gawping at his chest.

You look…different,” I say. I mean to say “older,” but I don’t want to suggest that she looked young before. She may not bend in all the places that older women do, but no one could look at her face and see a child. No child has that ferocity. “So do you,” she says. “What are you doing?” Drinking, I think, but she’s probably noticed that. “Flirting with death,” I say, laughing. “Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea.” “No, it isn’t.” She’s not laughing. She looks wary. Wary of what, of me? “Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” I say, scanning her collarbone. There are three black birds there--simple, but they almost look like they’re flying across her skin. “Right. The crows.” I want to ask her why she would get one of her worst fears tattooed on her body, why she would want to wear the mark of her fear forever instead of burying it, ashamed. Maybe she’s not ashamed of her fears the way I’m ashamed of mine. I look back at Zeke and Shauna, who are standing with shoulders touching at the railing. “I’d ask you to hang out with us,” I say, “but you’re not supposed to see me this way.” “What way?” she says. “Drunk?” “Yeah…well, no.” Suddenly it doesn’t seem that funny to me. “Real, I guess.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t.” “Nice of you.