Black and grey fine line tattoo of the words I am love with an arrow and feather on the ankle, with a coin beside it for scale.

I am love script, arrow and feather on ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo on the side of an ankle reads I am love in serif lettering, with a thin arrow running beneath the words and a feather at its left end. The linework is fine and even, with light shading in the feather. A coin sits beside the design for scale against the pale skin and dark background.

Fine line Lettering Ankle Arrow Feather Script

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 ship had been nine weeks out of Bristol when the cook found the arrow wedged inside the lid of the flour barrel. It was a plain ash shaft with one grey goose feather bound at the tail, and someone had cut three words into the wood with a penknife, not neatly. The cook could not read. He carried it to the mate, who could, and the mate read the words aloud to the whole watch, which was a mistake, because by supper every man aboard knew them and none of them knew whose hand had carved them.

Keep reading

Nobody would claim it. The carpenter swore it was not his wood and the bosun swore it was not his knife. Through the long calms that followed, men took turns holding it up to the lantern and turning it over, as if the answer might be written on the other side. Only the cook kept quiet. His wife, Ada, had packed that flour herself on the quay at Bristol, singing under her breath the way she always did when she was afraid of something.

In the fourteenth week a squall split the foresail and the ship lay over so far that the barrel rolled free and burst its lid. The cook went down the wet deck after it. Beneath the spilled flour he found a second arrow, shorter, with the same grey feather, and beneath that a folded square of paper gone soft with sea damp. It said the bread would be mouldy by the Line but she had sent it anyway, so he would have something that tasted of home. He laughed until the mate came to see what was wrong.

He kept both arrows. When the Scillies rose grey on the horizon he lashed the longer one to the rail with the feather to the wind, its point aimed back the way they had come, which was the only direction any of them wanted to look.