Black and grey forearm tattoo sleeve with a crystal, peace sign, heart, pentagram and crescent moon, worn below a black t-shirt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black and grey symbol sleeve on a forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A forearm covered in black and grey tattoos of separate symbols and motifs, including a crystal, a peace sign, a heart, a triangle, a pentagram in a circle and a crescent moon. The linework is fine and the shading is mostly solid with some stippled texture. The arm is photographed against a dark grey slatted background, with the subject's face not shown.

Forearm Crystal Peace sign Heart Triangle Pentagram Crescent moon Circle Chain

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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

The crate came off the lorry at ten past four, and Ruth Ansell had already decided it would be a long afternoon. Declared as glassware, it rattled when the handler lifted it, a sound like someone shaking a jar of loose change. She signed the sheet and asked for the bench by the window, where the light fell flat and grey across the steel.

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Inside, everything was wrapped in yesterday's newspaper. A black glass heart the size of a plum. A tin pressed with a pentagram inside a ring, its edges worn soft by thumbs. A brass chain with a crescent moon hanging from it, and a row of small pewter triangles, each one stamped with an eye that wasn't quite an eye. A quartz point the length of her finger, clear as cold water. The courier waited on the other side of the glass with his papers in a plastic sleeve, and when she asked what all of it was for, he said his aunt made them in a kitchen in Lisbon and sold them at Sunday markets. For keeping the weather off, he said, and then looked embarrassed, as if he had been caught saying something a child would say.

She found the note in the last wrap, folded into a square no bigger than a stamp. The handwriting was careful and round, the letters leaning slightly forward, as if they were in a hurry to get somewhere. It said only: for when you cross. Ruth read it twice, then checked the manifest against the contents, ticked every line, and stamped the sheet cleared. The rules did not mention notes, and nothing in the box was dangerous.

She slipped the note into her own breast pocket, then took it out again and tucked it back under the quartz, where it would be found by whoever opened the crate next. It was not hers to keep, and the crate was going somewhere she would never see.