Fine line black tattoo of the word faith in script on the inner wrist, with a small cross replacing the letter t and a tiny heart above the i.

Faith script with cross on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo spells the word faith in a delicate, flowing script, with a small heart dot over the i. A solid black cross sits where the letter t would be, and its vertical stroke extends slightly above and below the word. The linework is thin and even, and the image is in black and grey against a pale, softly lit area of skin with dark background at the edges.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Faith Cross Script Heart 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

At the end of August the apples at Coldharbour Farm were so heavy the limbs propped themselves on forked sticks, and Ada Penrose walked the rows with a basket on her hip, counting what the wasps had left. Her father had planted the orchard the year she was born. He had grafted every tree himself, cutting scion wood from one crooked stock his own mother had carried over the water in a wet sack.

Keep reading

The story her grandmother told was that the first apple from that stock had a small dark seed-heart at its core, and that whoever ate from it and kept a true word would never lose the road home. Ada did not believe it. She believed in the ledger and the rent. But on the last Saturday of the month, when blight came up the lane and took the Bramley row in one night, she went to the old stock and cut a shoot from the fork of its trunk, shaped like a cross where two thin limbs crossed. She bound it onto the stump of the dead tree with string and wax.

Her brother Sam laughed at her for a fortnight. Then the September rain came, cold and steady, and the grafted branch was the only green thing on the hill. It held fruit when nothing else would. When the pickers came up from the town they found it hung with small round apples, and when they split them open each one had a dark mark at the heart, shaped like a heart, as if someone had pressed a thumb there before the skin set.

Sam asked her what the tree was called. Ada wiped the wax from her fingers and looked down the valley at the dead rows gone brown. She said it had no name yet, and she went back up the hill each morning to see whether the bind had held.