Two inner forearms with matching black fine line tattoos: an arrow above the words I'm the arrow, and a moustache above the words You're my bow.

Matching arrow and moustache forearm tattoos

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two inner forearms are shown, one above the other, each with a black tattoo. The upper tattoo is a thin line arrow with the words "I'm the arrow" beneath it, and the lower tattoo is a moustache shape with the words "You're my bow" beneath it. The ink is solid black with simple, even linework on a plain skin background, and the photo shows a table and a teal pouch below.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Arrow Moustache Bow Quote Text Matching

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 herring boats of Skerrow Haven went out at four each morning, and the year the wind backed into the north, the Marion came home with her nets empty. Tam Gorrie, who had carved her figurehead himself, climbed onto the quay and found the painted moustache on her prow flaking, its two curled ends cracked like old rope. Ada Kell, who mended nets on the slip, looked up at it and said the boat had lost her bow.

Keep reading

Tam took this as a riddle, because nobody in Skerrow ever said anything plainly if they could say it sideways. A bow bends, Ada said, and an arrow goes where the bending sends it. So he sat three nights in the net shed whittling a shaft from ash, long and true, and fletched it with gull feathers he had picked off the sand. Into the wood he cut the words I'm the arrow, because it was the only thing he could think of to give the Marion's crew.

On the fourth dawn they went out with the arrow lashed along the mast. The sea lay flat and grey as a slate, and at the Long Bank the nets came up so heavy with silver that the men shouted over the gulls. When the boat docked that evening, Tam found Ada waiting with a pot of blue paint. She did not repaint the moustache as it was. She drew a new curl on the end of it, bold and easy, the way a bow takes its shape from the hand that bends it.

The Marion went out every morning after that, and the village said the boat had found her bow again.