Black handwritten script on a white background reading never let your fear decide your fate, a lettering design with no body placement shown.

Handwritten quote lettering design

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows three lines of black handwritten script on a plain white background, reading never let your fear decide your fate. The letters have a loose, brush-like marker stroke with varied thickness and some connected joins. The design is entirely black ink with no colour and no body or skin visible.

Lettering Quote Handwriting Script Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marnie had written the sentence in pencil at half past two in the morning, on the back of a spare seating plan, and now the card sat pinned to the cork board beside the cake table where her brother could see it. Dev kept touching one corner of it, as if it might lift off in the draught from the marquee flaps. The tent smelled of cut grass and hot fat from the sausage rolls, and somebody's little nephew was running circles around the bouncy castle that nobody had asked for.

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Their father had never been a man for speeches. He had driven a bread van for thirty-one years and once told Marnie that the van had taught him only two things: how to reverse without looking and how to keep your mouth shut until the ovens were cool. So when he stood at the top table with his tie already loosened and a folded square of paper trembling in his hand, the room went quiet in the way it does for people who are not used to being listened to.

He read the line off the paper, then looked up over his glasses. "Your mum wrote that on the back of a bus ticket when she was nineteen and frightened of most things. She kept it in her purse until the day she died." He cleared his throat twice. "I didn't think she'd have wanted me to say it. But she'd have said it to you this morning, Dev, if you'd asked her." Anaïs reached across the tablecloth and held his hand, and for a moment nobody reached for a drink.

Later, when the band had started on the old Motown numbers and the bouncy castle had finally been deflated, Marnie found Dev by the car park with the seating card in his fingers. He turned it over. On the blank side, beneath her pencil, he had written the route number of the bus, the 17 to Harrow, in his own careful capitals. "She always got off one stop early," he said. "Said the walk was good for thinking." He folded the card twice and slid it into his breast pocket, right over his heart, and went back in to dance.