Close-up of a small black fine line outline heart tattoo on a person's shoulder, with a black bra strap visible.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small outline heart on a shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A small, simple heart outline is tattooed on bare skin near the top of the shoulder and upper back. The linework is thin and even, in solid black ink with no shading. The soft-focus photograph is framed tightly on the shoulder, with a black bra strap running diagonally beside the tattoo against a plain light background.

Fine line Shoulder Heart

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 Bramley ladder has been leaning against the same tree since Tuesday, and by Friday you know every rung by its voice. The third one from the top gives a dull knock when you stand on it, and the fifth ticks like a cooling engine. Below you the wasps are drunk on the windfalls, and the grass between the rows is speckled with brown sugar where the fruit has split.

Keep reading

Your aunt Irene walks the rows with a tin bucket and a pencil stub behind her ear. She does not hurry. At the end of each row she stops at the gatepost and makes a small mark on the tally board, a tick for every full crate, and when she thinks nobody is looking she draws a heart beside the tick, no bigger than a thumbprint. Nobody asked her to. The pickers laugh about it, then start doing it too, and by the end of the week the board is covered in them, each one drawn with the same careful hand that never presses hard.

On the last afternoon the lorry is late. You sit on the tailgate with your back against the cold bars of a crate and watch her take the pencil from her ear. She licks the point, then draws one more heart, and beneath it she writes the name of the tree you climbed, the one she swore would not bear again after the frost. It has given three hundred pounds this year. Your hands are sticky to the wrist, and you cannot bring yourself to tell her that you never believed her.

The lorry arrives with its horn going. Irene caps the pencil, slides it back into her hair and walks off down the row, and you hear the crates bang shut one after another all the way to the gate.