Fine line black tattoos of a heart, crescent moon, cross and dots on the fingers and hand, with a larger floral design on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line finger tattoos with white marble nails

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands rest on white fur, showing small black tattoos on the fingers including an outlined heart, a crescent moon, a cross and a row of dots. A larger tattoo with floral and ornamental linework extends up the forearm, with shading in grey and black. The palette is entirely black and grey against the pale nails, gold rings and white background.

Fine line Hand Forearm Heart Crescent moon Cross Dot Floral Ornamental Finger tattoo 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

Tuesday, gone midnight. Rain on the shutter of Hallam's Pawn and the till is four pounds ten short, which Mr Okafor says is my fault until proven otherwise. I have been sitting under the strip light with the day's pledges laid across the glass counter like a small, unhappy congregation: a gold band worn thin on one side, a silver chain with a broken clasp, a child's watch that stopped at ten past two.

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The one I cannot stop looking at came in at closing, wrapped in tissue from a chemist's. A brooch, the enamel gone grey, a crescent moon with a tiny heart cut into its curve and a cross set beneath, the sort of thing sold in seaside shops in the nineties. The woman who pledged it wanted twenty pounds and did not look up once. She said it was only for a fortnight. I wrote Ruth Calloway in the ledger, which may or may not be true, and gave her ticket number 4471 pencilled on the back.

Around two the bus shelter opposite started to glow the way it does once the last bus has gone, and I went out to pull the shutter down. Someone had scratched a line of dots into the damp on the window, one for every streetlamp between here and the river, and a chain of paperclips hung from the railing as if someone had been counting the hours in a language nobody teaches. I came back in, took the brooch out of the drawer and held it up to the light until the moon looked almost sharp.

Mr Okafor will want it on the shelf with the others in the morning, and I will put it there. But I have written 4471 on the inside of my own wrist in biro, which is not the done thing, so that when she comes back in a fortnight I will know which of us has been keeping the moon.