Several arms show matching black fine line script tattoos reading Ohana with a small heart flourish, placed on the inner wrist and lower forearm.

Matching Ohana script tattoos on wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Four arms are shown close together, each with the word Ohana written in black script on the inner wrist or lower forearm. The linework is thin and even, with a small heart flourish beside the lettering on some of the tattoos. The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the tight framing shows the tattoos as the main focus against soft, dim surroundings.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Ohana Script Heart Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Thessaly Cove ever agreed on the name of our kingdom, so we called it the Lowlands and let the mapmakers argue. The old king had been dead nine years when the four of us, cousins from four different cliffside houses, decided the autumn ferry tickets were a sign. I was nineteen. Tamsin was sixteen, Oskar was seventeen, and Ruth, who was twenty-two and had the only sensible head among us, made us swear the one rule she cared about: nobody gets left behind on the rocks.

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Old Brannoc ran his inking shed behind the salt warehouse, and he worked by a single brass lamp that smelled of paraffin. My aunt had given us the word years before. Ohana, she said, meant family that you choose when the blood has run out of patience. Brannoc wrote it along our inner wrists in a looping hand, and because we fought over whose heart it should be, he curled a small heart after the word on three of us and left the fourth bare, out of pure stubbornness on Oskar's part.

The crossing turned on us halfway out. The deck lamp died, the spray froze on the rail, and Oskar went down the wet gangway like a dropped sack. Ruth got his wrist first. Then I got hers, and Tamsin got mine, and we hauled him back over the lip with our arms locked in a chain of ink. When the lamps came back on, the only thing any of us could read in the dark was that same word, black on pale skin, holding.

We are scattered now, and the Lowlands has a new king who does not want us back. Still, when a letter comes, I turn my wrist to the window before I open it. Four words, four hearts, one of them late, and no one is left on the rocks.