Fine line black script tattoo reading live fearless on the inner forearm.

Live fearless script on an arm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo reads live fearless in a flowing, joined cursive script, with the word live above and fearless below and running into a looped tail. The linework is thin and even in single-needle black ink, with no shading. It sits centred on a pale, smooth forearm against a soft pink patterned fabric in the background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Lettering

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 ferry to Lerwick had been cancelled again, so Mags sat on the harbour wall with the letter open on her knee, reading the same line over until the ink seemed to shift. Her brother had written it in pencil, pressing hard, the way he did when he was frightened and wanted to look brave. He said the new mill foreman had taken a dislike to him, that the wages were late, and that he had nearly gone out on the Mary Ellen in a sea he should have waited out. At the bottom he had scratched a single line in capitals that ran off the edge of the paper: LIVE FEARLESS, ISN'T THAT WHAT MA USED TO SAY?

Keep reading

Ma had said it, though not in capitals. She said it the way she tied a bootlace, quick and without ceremony, while she was already looking at something else. Mags remembered her at the kitchen table with a length of blue wool, joining one stitch to the next so that the pattern never broke, and saying that a fearless thing was only a careful thing that had stopped making a fuss about it.

She wrote back that night by the stove. She told him about the gulls fighting over the fish boxes, the price of paraffin, and the lamp at Skerryvore that had flickered for three nights before someone climbed up and fixed it with a spoon. Then she wrote the thing she had been holding back. Come home for the Lammas fair. Bring the pencil. She would show him how Ma joined her letters, one into the next, so you never lifted the pen to start again.

The ferry ran on Thursday. Mags was on the quay before it docked, letter folded into her coat, and when he came down the gangway with his bag over his shoulder she saw his hand lift to his arm, resting on it the way a man does over a sore place.