Two forearms with colourful temporary lettering and motif designs, including LOVE YOU, lips, a ring and Maid of Honor, placed on the inner forearms.

Bridal party temporary tattoos on forearms

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two forearms are shown side by side, each carrying a set of temporary transfer designs. The left arm has a teal LOVE YOU banner with an arrow, a ring and the words With This, and red lips, while the right arm shows a red bra and knickers, Maid of Honor script and a teal speech-bubble motif. The designs are flat, outlined illustrations in red, teal and black, photographed on a plain light background with a black top and gold watch in view.

Lettering Forearm Ring Lip Arrow Speech bubble Heart Temporary tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are the Maid of Honour to Queen Ysolde of Carrowmere, and the wedding bells ring in nine hours. The transfer sheets have arrived from the Vale of Pellings, and the ink has come out pale teal where it should be deep red. The seal-keeper insists the bridal emblems must be pressed on before the bells, or the kingdom's luck will travel to the village over the hill.

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You lay the sheet across the laundry's cutting table: a ribbon reading LOVE YOU, an arrow, a ring for the words With This, a pair of lips, a red brassiere, a pair of underthings, and a looping hand spelling Maid of Honour. Mother Abigail Fenn, who has ironed every royal bedsheet since before you were born, says you are pressing them crooked. You tell her the crooked one is meant for the left wrist, where the heart sits closest. She laughs until she has to sit down on a coil of rope.

The speech bubble is the last to go on. It reads you and me, and you realise too late that it was meant for the bride, while the bride's sister has been carrying the other half of the sheet all morning. You run down the east stairs with the damp transfers on your forearms, past the guards who pretend not to see you, and find Ysolde waiting at the chapel door in her grey travelling cloak.

She holds out her arm without a word. You press the bubble against her skin, count to thirty the way Abigail taught you, and peel back the paper. The words stay put. "Hold still," you tell her, "or it will come out looking like a bishop." She does not hold still, and neither do you.