Black and grey fine line tattoo of a top-down aeroplane on the forearm of a person wearing a white t-shirt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line aeroplane on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, single-needle style outline of an aeroplane seen from above, with a long straight wing span, rounded fuselage and tail, sits on the inner side of a forearm. The linework is thin and even with no shading, and the image is black and white. The tattoo is centred on the forearm with a plain dark studio background behind the arm.

Fine line Forearm Aeroplane Wing

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 king of Mardel had three hundred clockmakers and not one of them could make a thing that stayed up. So when the carpenter's son Oswin came down from the high moor with a frame of ash and a sheet of waxed linen, the guards laughed until they saw him throw it. It did not flap or fall like a stone. It went out over the millpond in a straight line, wings held flat as a tray, and came down in the reeds with a soft sound like a sigh.

Keep reading

Word went round the kingdom faster than weather. Lords sent for him, and he came, and he built each of them a glider with long straight wings and a round body like a pear. Each one flew a little further than the last. The king gave him a cottage and a brass bell to ring when the air was still. Oswin rang it every morning for a year, and nobody came to watch, because everyone was too busy wanting to fly themselves.

Then the king's own daughter asked him to make one that would carry her over the mountains to see the sea she had only heard described. Oswin refused. The wind over the peaks would tear the linen, he said, and the ash would snap like kindling. She said she would ask the apprentice instead, who was younger and did not know any better. So he built it after all, and on the night before she went up he sat in the cold workshop and tightened every wire himself.

She came back eight days later with salt in her hair and a sketch on the back of a tax receipt. From the air, she said, Mardel was nothing but a cupped hand of hills with a small dot of smoke in the middle. Oswin studied the drawing by the lamp for a long time. Then he asked her how the wind had felt on the crossing, and she told him, and he nodded as if she had confirmed something he had always suspected. In the morning he took the bell down from the square and hung it from the wingtip of the nearest glider, where it rang every time the frame moved.