Fine line black script tattoo reading live on the side of the ribs, with light wavy hair falling across the frame.

Small script word tattoo on the side ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A small cursive word, live, is tattooed in thin dark ink on bare skin at the side of the torso. The linework is delicate and even, with a slightly looped connected script and no shading. The soft, warm-toned photograph shows the tattoo against pale skin, with blurred hair in the foreground.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Word Script

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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

Shut that shutter, Tam, and leave the wind to its own business. The snow came over the ridge sideways tonight, and it will have the lintel off if we let it in. Sit nearer. You'll want your hands warm for this one, because it's the tale about the letter with a single word in it.

Keep reading

Ada Pennock carried the post over Harrow Fell for her father's cart firm, and she was the only carrier who would cross in February. She had a satchel, a grey dog called Gruff, and one rule: she never opened what she carried. So when a sealed envelope came up from the mine camp at Garside, addressed in her brother Owen's careless hand, she buttoned it inside her coat and didn't look at it until she reached the inn at the summit. She sat by this very hearth, broke the wax with her thumb, and found one page with one word on it, written in that looping script the schoolmaster used to praise.

The word was live. No greeting, no news, no mention of the cough that had put him in the infirmary. Ada read it four times, laughed so loudly that Gruff barked at her, and then wept, which the landlord said was the first honest thing he'd seen a carrier do all winter. She had been ready to bring back a measurement for a coffin, and instead she had been handed an instruction.

Owen walked out of that infirmary in spring, thin as a fence rail and twice as stubborn. He carried that page in his breast pocket until it went soft as cloth, and the word is still there, faint as breath on glass.