Black and grey fine line script tattoo reading Hello Sweetie with a small heart, across the forearm.

Hello Sweetie script on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey photograph of a forearm showing the words Hello Sweetie in flowing cursive script, with a small outlined heart after the final letter. The linework is thin and even, with the strokes varying slightly in weight where the letters join. The background is softly blurred, and the lettering runs diagonally across the frame.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Heart

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 bread had risen too fast again, so I was knocking it back on the galley table when Rennick came in off the middle watch, shaking rain from his cap like a spaniel. He didn't speak to me. He went straight to the board by the wireless hatch where the day's messages were pinned, and ran a finger down the column the way a man checks a bill he already knows is wrong.

Keep reading

Thirty-one years at sea and I know the sound a bad message makes. The operator goes quiet, the chair scrapes, somebody swears in the passageway. There was none of that. The night before, a message had come in from Shields addressed to the ship, and young Peel, who had the key that watch, had copied it out in his careful capitals: HELLO SWEETIE. Under it he'd drawn a small heart in pencil, because he reckoned that was the sort of thing a sweetheart would want kept.

Rennick read it twice, then a third time, and I watched his shoulders come down an inch at a time. 'Her mother's name was Ada,' he said, to nobody. 'She's never once called me that in front of anyone.' He asked if I still had the tin of golden syrup. I did, I always do. I scraped the last of it into a enamel mug, poured in hot water from the urn, and set it on the table between us.

Outside the porthole the Humber was going grey as slate. The bread had given up rising and sat in its tin like a sulking child. Rennick drank his tea standing up, lifted the pencilled heart from the board, and folded it into his breast pocket without a word, the way you'd keep a ticket you meant to use.