Fine line black and grey arrow tattoo with a feather and geometric circles on the inner upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line arrow with feather on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A vertical arrow runs down the arm, with a feathered fletching at the base, small triangles along the shaft and fine dotted circles and arcs around the lower half. The linework is delicate and mostly stippled or hatched, with soft grey shading in the feather. The image is black and grey, set against a pale skin tone and a blurred background, with the design centred in the frame.

Fine line Geometric Upper arm Arrow Feather Triangle Circle Dot Arc

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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

Right, sit down, the lot of you, and stop pretending you remember the bell. Forty years ago the sports master at Aldbury Grammar kept a longbow in the cloakroom cupboard, and nobody was allowed near it but Margaret Ashdown, who had the steadiest hands in the Lower Sixth and no patience for anyone who fidgeted. That winter she made her own arrows from ash dowel and goose quills begged off the butcher's yard. She notched a little triangle into each nock so she would know her own from the rest, and she swore nobody else on the field could tell them apart.

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Then came the autumn fête. Margaret loosed one at the weathervane on the chapel roof, mostly to show off, and it sailed clean over the bunting and dropped into the vicar's marrow bed. Those of you who were there will remember the feather still shivering in the mud, and the ring of rain-filled hollows around it, as though the ground had been trying to count how many times the thing had spun on its way down.

The vicar's wife picked it up, admired the workmanship, and put it in a jam jar on her windowsill. Margaret went to ask for it back every Thursday for a month. On the fourth Thursday, Mrs Pryce made her a deal: one afternoon of ringing the bell for evensong in exchange for the arrow. Margaret rang that bell until her palms bled through her gloves, and she never once asked for the jar again.

I'm told she still has the arrow, though I've never seen it with my own eyes. Ask her about it tonight, if you dare. She'll tell you she was aiming at something else entirely.