Fine line black ink lettering reading expecto patronum along the ribs and a small triangle and circle symbol on the forearm.

Script line and geometric symbols on torso and forearm

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The photo shows a torso with a thin, cursive black script reading expecto patronum along the ribs or waist, and a forearm with a triangle followed by the letters IO and a circle in simple outlined shapes. The linework is fine and even, with no shading or colour, and the skin is pale against a black top and bottoms. The composition is a close crop of the torso and arm, with both tattoos sitting near each other at the same height.

Fine line Lettering Geometric Ribs Forearm Script Triangle Circle Letter

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

Mags had the chart spread across the net-loft floor, held flat with a tin of tacks, a cracked lamp and two oyster shells, when the wind finally dropped and the harbour bell stopped knocking. Her brother Ivo had marked it in pencil the night before: a small triangle for the sunken rock off Carrick Point, a ring for the mooring that never moved. "Put the letters in," he said. "So people know whose it is."

Keep reading

She didn't want to. The sea had taken two boats from the Point in their grandfather's time, and nobody in town sang about it any more. But Ivo was leaving on the Tuesday packet for the mainland, and he wanted something that would still be there when the salt got into his sleeves.

So they went up the hill to Oswin Hale, who inked the gulls on the chandler's wall and asked no questions. He worked by the window with the grey water behind him, and when Ivo flinched at the first line he told him the charm their mother had muttered over the nets, the one that turned weather aside. "Say it when the boat goes out," Oswin said, wiping the needle on a rag. "Say it like you mean the boat to come back."

Ivo sailed on the Tuesday. Mags stood on the quay with her hands in her coat and watched the packet slide past the Point, past the triangle that was only pencil on paper now, and she said the words under her breath until the boat was a smudge. When she turned back, the bell had started again, and the harbour was full of other people's boats, all of them coming in.