Black and white line drawing of octopus tentacles with suckers, framed by solid vertical bands and triangular tribal patterns, shown as a design for an armband.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Octopus tentacles with tribal armband bands

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A black line drawing of octopus tentacles curling across the page, with circular suckers drawn along each arm and a few curled tips. Solid vertical bars and rows of black triangles run alongside the tentacles, forming tribal-style borders. The image uses only black outline and solid black fills on a white background, with the design arranged horizontally across the frame.

Geometric Octopus Tentacle Sucker Triangle Armband Line drawing

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fishermen of Skerrow had a rule about the octopus in the cove: you did not take a pot from the rocks where she kept her den, and you did not count her arms when she was watching. Hamish Dunlop broke both rules the October his boat was late in, and the gale that followed held him ashore for nine days with nothing but tinned peaches and his sister's bad temper. When the wind dropped he went down to the shingle to look at the damage, and found the pot smashed open and a ring of wet black marks on the stones, each one as wide as a saucer.

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He did not see her that morning. He saw only the trail, which ran from the cove up the slipway and stopped at the foot of the old net shed, where someone had laid out a row of rope coils like a fence. Between each coil stood a bundle of driftwood chalked with arrow marks, all pointing back to the water. Hamish stood there a long while, feeling the way a man does when he has been noticed by something that does not blink.

The next day a crate of crab appeared on his step, every claw still moving. He took it inside and boiled it, and ate with the door open, and wondered whether he was being thanked or warned. On the tenth morning he woke to find a single curled tendril tied around the handle of his boat's tiller, its suckers pressed flat against the wood like a row of small grey coins. He untied it and returned it to the sea, and never again lifted a pot from the north rocks, which is why, the old men say, the north rocks now hold more lobster than anywhere on the coast.