Fine line black tattoo of a dotted chain bracelet with a diamond pendant and two crescent moons across a person's wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line chain bracelet with moons on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo across the wrist shows a thin continuous line with a row of dots forming a chain-like bracelet. A small diamond shape hangs from the chain at the centre, with a crescent moon on either side. The image is black and grey, with a patterned checked shirt sleeve and a ring on the hand in the background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Chain Bracelet Dot Diamond Crescent moon Wrist

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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 cook had been counting the dots again, the way she counted rivets on the bulkhead when the sea was too rough to sleep. Forty-one of them, pricked into the chart by the old second mate, who had plotted their position every four hours with a sharpened pencil and a pair of brass dividers. The clock above the hotplate read ten to three, and through the porthole the moon hung low over the Dogger Bank, a paring of silver the colour of skimmed milk.

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She had only come into the chart room for the tin of ginger biscuits, which had gone the way of everything else aboard that was worth hiding. Instead she found the chart pinned face up under a coil of spare lanyard. Ferrier had marked each fix with a dot and every turn of the tide with a small diamond, and where the moon rose on a slack water he drew a crescent, tiny as a fingernail clipping. The dots ran in a loose curve from Lerwick to somewhere south of the Humber, like a string of beads someone had dropped and never bothered to gather.

She traced the line with her thumb, the galley light warm on the paper. Each dot was a night the ship had been somewhere, a night Ferrier had stood at the wheelhouse door with his coffee going cold, deciding where they were. The last one was not a dot at all but a short dash, the pencil lifted mid-stroke, as though he had been called away to the bridge and never come back to finish it.

The oven timer went off behind her. She fetched the sharpest pencil from the jar, licked the point, and made one more mark beside the dash, small and round. Then she folded the chart back under its lanyard, took out the bread and left the rest of the line for whoever came on watch next.