Gold and silver metallic geometric temporary tattoos of triangles and a chain link on a woman's forearm and wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Metallic triangle and chain designs on a wrist

Geometric · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A close view of a wrist and forearm with metallic gold and silver foil designs. A large triangle pattern sits on the wrist, with a row of spiked triangles and a chain-like band below, and a line of smaller silver triangles runs down the forearm. The shiny foil sits on bare skin against a light grey top and dark hair, with soft lighting and a shallow focus.

Geometric Forearm Triangle Chain Geometric pattern Wrist Forearm

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 rain had been coming down on the Chapel Street market since six, and Wren had given up trying to keep the foil dry. She cut the triangles in stacks of twelve on a trestle covered in card, the blade sliding through gold and then silver with a small sound like a shop bell heard from another room. Mrs Okafor from the florist's next door had bought forty sheets on Tuesday and asked, twice, whether they came off in the bath.

Keep reading

Her grandfather had sold ribbon from this pitch, and before him a man who sold brass buttons, and there was still a groove worn into the boards where a barrow used to rest. Wren liked the precision of the work: every triangle the same height, every point sharp enough to catch the lamps when they came on at four. People assumed the designs were for summer and festival wrists. She knew better. The chain band she had drawn at her kitchen table one night, a loop that never quite closed, because she had wanted something that looked like it could be undone and was not.

A boy came to the stall with a coin in each fist and asked for the silver only. She cut him a strip of small triangles running down the sheet and told him to press it firmly with a damp cloth, thirty seconds, no rubbing. He asked if it would last. "Until the rain stops," she said, which was not true, and he laughed and ran off towards the bus stop with the strip held out in front of him like a receipt.

After he had gone she looked at the offcut on the trestle, a single silver triangle with its point turned down, and watched the water run off its edge. She peeled the backing from the next sheet, pressed it to the inside of her own wrist, counted to thirty, and felt the cold metal settle against her skin as if it had always been meant to stay there.