Black fine line script reading Allons-y across the upper chest, above the neckline of a black V-neck top.

Allons-y script on the upper chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of the word Allons-y written in a thin, cursive black script across the upper chest. The linework is even and fine, with no shading, and the lettering slopes gently upwards from left to right. The tattoo is shown in black ink on pale skin, against a black top with a V-neckline, and fills the upper part of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Chest Script Word

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The brush was the wrong size, Nadia decided, but Callum had already mixed the gold and the ladder was leaning where she had told him not to put it. She stood on the pavement in Hessle Road with her hand flat against the cold glass of the bakery door and read the word backwards through the window, the way she had taught every apprentice to check a sign before committing to it.

Keep reading

Ines had ordered the lettering three weeks before she died, a few words scrawled on the back of a flour delivery note. Allons-y, it said, and underneath, in a smaller hand, don't let him make it look like a pub. Ines had run the bakery with her husband for thirty years and had never once been further than Bridlington, but she liked the sound of a thing that began by moving forward. Nadia had laughed when she read it, then had not laughed at the funeral.

Her first attempt sloped too steeply, the tail of the A dragging like a sled runner. She scraped the gold off with a rag and tried again, slower, letting the line climb gently from left to right the way Ines used to climb the hill with her shopping bags, never hurrying but never stopping. Callum held the ladder without being asked. When the last stroke of the y was done, a fine hairline she had to go over twice, he said it looked finished.

Nadia climbed down, wiped her fingers on her jeans, and looked at the word until the traffic noise faded. Then she picked up her kit and said it aloud, the French clumsy in her mouth. Callum asked what it meant. Let's go, she told him. He stood there a moment, then hoisted the ladder onto his shoulder and went ahead of her down the street.