Black and white photo of two hands resting together, each with a tiny fine line outline tattoo on the back of the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching tiny outline tattoos on hands

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands rest side by side with fingers touching, each with one small tattoo on the back of the hand near the wrist. The tattoos are simple single-line outlines with no shading, and the shapes are too small to identify with certainty. The photograph is monochrome against a grey, textured surface, so the ink appears black.

Fine line Hand

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

Dennis was halfway up the lock ladder when the paddle stuck, and he shouted down that the spindle had sheared again. Ruth stood on the towpath with a flask in one hand and the spare key in the other, the brass one with the notched bit, and she laughed the way she did when she had already decided she was right. She said he would never get it turning with a bent wrench, and he came down dripping and knelt beside her on the wet stone where the gate met the wall. The key slid into the square hole, caught, and turned over with a grind that sent the ducks scattering from the reeds. Through the hedge a ewe from Pritchard's field watched them, chewing, as if she had a view on the matter.

Keep reading

That evening they sat in the lock cottage with the stove ticking and argued about the marks they had talked over since March. He wanted the key. She wanted the lamb, the first one born on the cut that spring, the one that had butted its way under the fence to find its mother. He said both, and she said that was cheating, and he said that was marriage and she should get used to it. They drew the shapes on paper first, then on the backs of their hands in biro, and by morning the lines had the stubborn look of things meant to stay.

The key was simple, a loop and a single notch. The lamb was smaller, drawn in one unbroken line that never lifted from the skin. When they laid their hands flat on the kitchen table the two marks sat side by side, a little apart, as if one had been pressed from the other. Ruth turned her hand over, studied the lamb for a long while, and said the gate would open for Dennis now whatever the weather did. He said it had always been the other way round.