Close-up of a fine line script tattoo reading Dad with a black arrow and red shading, on a area of pale skin.

Dad script with arrow on skin

Fine line · Other · Mixed · Photo

A close-up photograph of a script tattoo spelling the word Dad in black linework, with a thin arrow shape passing through the lettering. Red and pink ink shades the shaft and tip of the arrow, and the lines are fine and even. The tattoo sits centrally in the frame against soft, lightly textured skin with even lighting.

Fine line Lettering Other Dad Arrow Script Loop

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 ewes came down the Gallow Pass on their own that October, which was the first thing Ada didn't like. Her father never let them come down alone. He had a bow he'd carried since he was a boy, and every autumn he loosed one arrow up the pass towards the cairn so the wind would carry the sound of it to the farm, and the ewes knew the sound and followed it home.

Keep reading

The arrow that year did not come home. Ada took the bow from its peg above the hearth, though she could barely draw it, and climbed past the grey thorn trees while her mother shouted from the gate. The cairn was where it always was, stacked with the white stones of a hundred years of shepherds, and in its face, shaft still quivering as if it had only just landed, stood the arrow. Its red feather had faded to the colour of old brick.

She pulled it free. The shaft was warm from the sun, or from the hand that had last held it, and when she turned it so the feather pointed down the slope, a thin wind came up from the valley and pressed the feather flat against her palm. She followed it. Below the overhang at the Lower Scree she found him sitting with his back to the rock, a splint of ash wood strapped to his leg, grinning like a fool.

"You were always going to find me that way," he said, and held out his hand for the arrow. She gave him the bow instead. He laughed and let her keep the arrow. Every autumn since, she has walked the pass with it tucked inside her coat, and when the wind turns she lets the feather tell her which way is down.