Fine line black tattoo of an arrow running diagonally across the inner forearm, passing through a sun motif with a crescent moon at its centre.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Arrow and sun motif on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A thin black arrow runs diagonally across the inner forearm, with its fletched end at the upper left and its barbed head at the lower right. At the centre sits a sun-like motif with a crescent moon inside a circle, surrounded by straight rays drawn in fine single lines. The linework is clean and even, in black ink with no colour, and the photograph is taken straight on against a dark background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Arrow Sun Crescent moon Ray Line

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 target had been painted in the back of a lorry outside Chesterfield, and Nell had never liked it. A sun sat at the centre, rays spoking out in hard black lines, with a crescent moon tucked inside where the bullseye should have been. Her uncle had insisted. People paid their pound to hit the sun, he said, and nobody paid to hit a circle.

Keep reading

By September the fair was tired. The generator coughed after dark and the candyfloss machine had a dodgy bearing. Nell ran the archery butts from four until the last lights went off, handing back arrows whose barbed heads she had filed blunt, because the council had grumbled. A lad of perhaps nine came every evening with coins in a sweaty fist and missed the sun every time, always high and always to the left.

On the last night she stood behind him and nudged his elbow, the way her father once had to her. 'Lower,' she said. 'Sight the moon, not the sun. The sun will look after itself.' The arrow went where she told it, straight into the crescent's hollow, and the boy stared at the board as though it had opened up for him.

He ran off to show his mother. Nell pulled the shaft free, drew her thumb along the fine line of it, and sheeted the target for the drive north. She never repainted it. Years later the sun still looked out from the back of that lorry, and the moon still sat in the middle, which was the only place a true shot would ever land.