Close-up of a wrist with gold metallic temporary tattoos: a watch, a bangle and the words be happy and love in script on the forearm.

Gold metallic wrist tattoos with script and watch

Lettering · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A close crop of a hand resting near the chin, showing the wrist and forearm. The wrist carries gold metallic temporary tattoos: a digital watch face, a striped bangle band and the words be happy and love in fine script. The tattoos are rendered in a single metallic gold against a dark, softly lit background.

Lettering Forearm Watch Bangle Script Love Gold

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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

The generator coughs twice behind the candyfloss van and dies, and the whole back row of the fair goes grey. You keep your thumb pressed on the transfer sheet anyway, counting under your breath the way Uncle Dev taught you. Thirty seconds, no more, or the gold lifts and the design comes away crooked. Beyond the rope a crowd of kids is shrieking at the dark, delighted.

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The girl who slides onto the stool wants a digital watch, the red-numbered kind her mum wore in the eighties, and she has sketched it on a napkin with a biro. You own only one stencil of a watch, so you trim the face to match her drawing and leave the strap as fine gold lines. She asks for a bangle too, striped like a barber's pole, and then, in careful capitals, BE HAPPY. Underneath, smaller, as if it were an afterthought, she writes LOVE.

When you lift the sheet the watch comes up clean, gold on her skin, its numbers reading 11:11 because that was the only pattern you had left. She holds her wrist up to the strip light and laughs. Then the power returns across the field, every ride at once, and the whole fair roars into the sky. You are still holding the spent sheet, and the foil has rubbed onto your own thumb in a thin bright smear.

She leaves a pound on the tin and says, "Keep the change, it's a good watch." You wipe the stool, then the counter, and when you look again the smear has caught the coloured light from the Waltzer and turned into a glowing rim of gold. It won't wash off. Tomorrow you'll pack the stall, and the last of the foil will still be shining under your nail when the lorry pulls out of the car park.