Close photo of a small black script tattoo reading family with a heart, on the side of a finger, in a Lettering and Fine line style.

Family script with heart on a finger

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand is held up against a white fluffy fabric background, showing a small tattoo of the word family in cursive script on one finger, followed by an outlined heart. The linework is thin and even, in solid black ink with no shading or colour. The tattoo sits centrally on the finger, and the photo is close and well lit, with the fingertips and nails partly visible at the edges.

Lettering Fine line Hand Family Heart Script Word

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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

Put that torch down, our Jack, you'll have the whole hall looking. Aye, it's ink, and no, your nan did not do it with a darning needle and her own blood, whatever your cousin told you.

Keep reading

It was the winter the Coronet ran its lights down to the last bulb. Ada Pilling worked the cloakroom there, and she had a steady hand, so when the lad from the sign shop came in with a bottle of Indian ink and a bent pen nib, she was the one who held still. He'd lettered every fascia in Bolton for twenty years and never once done a finger. Her brother Stan had shipped out on a Liverpool tramp that Michaelmas and never sent a card. Every Saturday she stood by the hatch and watched the couples turn, and every Saturday she counted the empty chairs along the wall. So she asked the sign-writer for one word, small enough to hide in a glove. He wrote it out in joined-up letters, slanting like the wind off the moors, and he finished it with a heart because she asked him to.

The band was packing up the drums when he started. Ada pinned her hand flat on the counter, and the nib went along her finger one stroke at a time while the last waltz drifted out under the door. It stung less than she'd expected. She kept her glove in her pocket all the way home through the frost, so the ink could dry in the cold air.

Stan walked in the door the following March with his kitbag on one shoulder and a cough he'd brought back from the Mersey. The first thing he did was take her hand and laugh at the word on it. Ada never told him she'd put it there for him. She told him it was a dare, and that was the only lie I ever knew her to tell.