Woman in a white shirt wearing gold and silver metallic geometric flash tattoos, including a silver palm tree on her upper arm and bands on her wrist and forearm.

Gold and silver metallic temporary tattoos on arms and legs

Geometric · Hand · Mixed · Photo

A woman sits outdoors in a white shirt and denim shorts, with her face cropped out of frame. She wears many metallic flash tattoos in gold and silver, including a silver palm tree on the upper arm, an eye on the hand, feather shapes on the leg, and geometric bands of chevrons, diamonds and scrolls on the wrists, forearm and lower leg. The bright sunlight and light stone ground give the metallic designs a reflective, high-contrast look.

Geometric Hand Forearm Upper arm Thigh Calf Palm tree Eye Feather Geometric pattern Chevron Diamond Band Scroll Metallic Temporary tattoo Arm Leg

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 tide has taken the lower courtyard again, so you wade the last stretch of the causeway with your boots knotted around your neck and the sun flaring off the wet stones as if someone spilled coins across the bay. Lord Asher's palms still lean over the curtain wall where he ordered them planted. Three winters of salt have cracked their trunks, and each one carries a silver flake where the leaf meets the bark, a trick of the light you have learned not to trust.

Keep reading

Inside the gatehouse the carved eye above the arch still watches the sea. Someone has tucked gull feathers into the cracks beneath it, their tips gone gold in the glare. The old steward kept a ledger of every ship that passed under that eye. You find his last entry scratched into a chevron of tile: one word, Return, and beneath it a sketch of a bird folding its wings.

You came for the ledger and nothing else, because the dealers in Calder will pay for anything that glitters. You pry the tiles loose with a bent spoon. The scrolls crumble in your palm like pressed foil, and gold rubs off on your fingers while the silver holds its shine. By the time the light turns low you have three bands of geometric tile wrapped in sacking, and a ledger whose final page is blank.

On the walk back the tide comes faster than you expected, and the causeway vanishes behind you in one breath of foam. You stand on the last dry stone with the sack against your chest and read the steward's word again. Then you set the tiles back into the wall, feathers and all, and let the sea decide whether you were ever meant to leave.