Small black fine line tattoo of two downward arrows, an upward arrow and an arc on the inner wrist of a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Arrows and arc on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a small row of simple black linework showing two downward arrows, an upward arrow and a curved arc between them. The lines are thin and even, and the ink is solid black with no shading. It sits on the inner wrist, with a clenched hand and a grey top at the edge of the frame against a dark background.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Arc Symbol Linework

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 bar at Porthgarrow let a boat through for twenty minutes a tide, no more, and Nell Harker had never once been late for it. Her father had taught her to read the tide table pinned in the wheelhouse the way other girls read comics: arrows for the ebb and the flood, and a curve of ink for the slack, when the water stopped deciding anything. "The arc's the one that matters," he said, tapping the page with a nicotine-yellow thumb. "Everything else is just leaving or arriving."

Keep reading

The Marigold had been out since four with the nets half empty, and by half six the wind had come round onto the nose. Nell stood at the wheel with the engine ticking over and watched the breakwater lamps. Her mother would be ashore counting the lights in the chandlery window, the way she always did when the boat was late. Behind them the sea broke white over the sandbar in long, impatient ridges, and the gull that had followed them since the Mouse Rock finally gave up and peeled away toward the town.

Then the sound changed. The bar went quiet in a way that felt like a held breath. Nell eased the throttle back, and the boat slid forward on nothing but its own momentum, the water flattening under the bow as if someone had drawn a hand across a slate. Her father let go of the rope he had been coiling for an hour and said nothing at all.

They crossed in the slack with a boat's width to spare. When they tied up, her father took the pencil from behind his ear and drew one more small curve beside the date on the tide table, the way he always did, so that whoever read it next would know exactly where the water had stopped.