Two photographs: black script reading I solemnly swear that I am up to no good on the side of a torso, and black lettering reading Mischief Managed with flourishes on a forearm.

Script quote and lettering tattoos on skin

Lettering · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The left panel shows a fine script quote in dark ink across the side of a torso, following the curve of the ribs. The right panel shows bold black lettering with flourished capitals and shaded outlines on an arm, with a studio sign partly visible in the background. Both images use only black ink and grey tones, with the text as the main composition.

Lettering Ribs Forearm Script Quote Lettering Phrase

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The map was the third thing Mrs Pargeter confiscated that Tuesday, and easily the best drawn. It was done in soft pencil on the back of a seed catalogue, every corridor of Brackenmoor Grammar traced to the inch, with the boiler room marked in careful capitals and a small ink skull where the headmaster's study stood. Two boys sat across from her with their hands folded like hymn books. Their names were Tobias Quill and Elliot Fenn, and neither of them looked the least bit sorry.

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"Whose handwriting is this?"

"Ours, Mrs Pargeter."

"It's very good."

"We practised." She turned the catalogue over. Along the bottom, in a looping hand, someone had written I solemnly swear that we are up to no good, and beneath it, boxed twice, Mischief managed, the way a sensible person ticks off a list.

Mrs Pargeter had been caretaker at Brackenmoor for thirty-one years and she knew a plan when she saw one. The boiler room was locked on Fridays. The skull marked the one door that stuck in wet weather. She could have walked them straight to the head's office and been home for her tea. Instead she sat with the catalogue a long minute, then slid it into the pocket of her cardigan.

"Go on," she said. "Before I change my mind. And Tobias, the boiler room is Thursdays now." Tobias opened his mouth, shut it again, and nodded. Down the corridor the lights clicked off one by one, as if the building itself had decided to look the other way.