Two matching black script tattoos on a forearm reading I heart him and I heart her, each with a shaded heart, in black and grey ink.

I heart him and I heart her forearm script

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two forearms show black script lettering: the upper one reads "I" followed by a shaded heart and "him", and the lower one reads "I" followed by a shaded heart and "her". The letters have smooth, bold strokes with soft grey shading inside the hearts and slight fading at the edges. The pale skin and soft background keep the focus on the two tattoos, which run diagonally across the frame.

Lettering Forearm Heart Script Lettering Text

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 stencil stuck to the hull plate for the third time that morning, so I scraped it off with my thumbnail and started again. Hallam Ring had no good paint left, only the black resin the mining crews brought back from the Kuiper drift, and it smudged if you breathed on it. Still, the orders came in from every berth on the wheel, because a name painted over a hatch was the only thing that told a stranger which door was home.

Keep reading

Ilse came down the spoke on a Tuesday with a sealed tube and two cards, each folded twice. "Both of them," she said. "Same hand, same size. And make the second one look like it was written by someone who had just stopped crying." I laughed, and she didn't. Inside the first card was a single line in her own cramped capitals: I HEART HIM. The second said I HEART HER, and the heart on it was smaller, as if whoever drew it had been afraid of taking up too much room.

I spent the night on the bench under the work lamp, copying the loops of a copperplate I'd learnt from a dead man's manual, shading each heart with a wet brush so the grey sat inside the black like weather over a valley. By dawn I had two sheets that matched the way twins match, and I was proud of them until I saw what I had missed. The heart on the second card had been drawn with a left hand. Ilse wrote with her right. Someone else had shaped that heart, and I had copied it without asking.

I didn't ask now either. I rolled the cards, sealed them, and handed her the tube. She read the second one again at the airlock, then slid it into her sleeve. "Good," she said. "She'll know it's mine." The door cycled shut, and I was left with the cold smell of resin and a bench full of brushes, a trade that gave me every letter and never the reason behind them.