Three matching fine line black tattoos of a heart joined to a heartbeat line and the word Sisters, placed on the ankles of three pairs of feet.

Matching sisters heartbeat tattoos on three ankles

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

Three pairs of feet and ankles are shown, each with the same tattoo: an outlined heart leading into a heartbeat line that runs into the word Sisters in a thin script. The linework is fine and dark, with little or no shading, and the tattoos are set side by side on a warm-toned background. The photograph is close and well framed, so each design is clearly visible.

Fine line Lettering Ankle Heart Heartbeat Script Sister

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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

Tuesday, half past four, and the kettle has given up on me again. Outside the Humber is slapping the sea wall in the dark. I have the drum turning and the ink needle is writing the ground's pulse in long thin peaks, the way Ada used to draw a heart on the steamed window of our back bedroom at Cleethorpes.

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Ada went across to the telegraph office in Grimsby in March, and she has not once written a letter that did not end in a little scribbled heart with a line running off the edge of the page. Yesterday's wire said only: Bread late, heart fine, tell Pell the door sticks. I knew she meant our old door, and I knew she meant me to come.

At six the trace jumped. Pell swore and rang the bell, and for ten minutes the needle went wild, a sharp tremor rising from somewhere under the North Sea. Nothing fell. Pell took his notebook home, muttering about Dutch mines. I sat with the sheet still warm from the drum and traced the biggest spike with my finger, the way Ada traced hearts on glass.

I tore off the length of paper, folded it twice and slid it into an envelope addressed to Grimsby. On the back I wrote one word, Sisters, and underlined it. I licked the flap, pressed it down with my thumb, and went to find my coat before the bakers' boys came clattering past the observatory gate with the morning loaves.