Close photo of a small black fine line anchor tattoo on the inner wrist, with a blurred bare foot in sandals in the background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small anchor tattoo on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small anchor is tattooed on the inner wrist, drawn in black ink with a simple, thin outline and a straight shank. The photo is taken from the palm side at a slight angle, with the skin lit warmly and the tattoo sitting near the centre of the frame. Blurred legs and sandals on a grey floor fill the background.

Fine line Forearm Anchor

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

Brother Osric had rowed the supply boat out to the tidal monastery for thirty winters, and he knew the sea did not care for promises. The abbot had sent him to fetch the new bell rope from the mainland, a coil of tarred hemp as thick as a man's forearm, and the crossing was slow on the ebb with the sun already low over Carrick Head.

Keep reading

On the return the wind backed round to the north and the boat began to drift toward the reef the brothers called the Teeth. His palms were raw from the oars. He thought of the great iron anchor rusting in the chapel porch, a relic nobody had lifted since old Abbot Gilles died, and knew it was too heavy for one man to drop from a leaking hull. Instead he unlashed the little grapnel he used at the slipway, threw it over the stern, and felt it catch in the sand below.

He waited out the night in the boat. Across the water the bell in the tower tolled the hours, each stroke arriving a moment after the light in the window, and he counted them the way his mother had once counted rosary beads. At matins the tide turned. He hauled the line hand over hand until the rope sang, and the boat swung gently free of the Teeth as if it had only been resting.

At the landing, Brother Anselm asked why he had not come in before dark. Osric showed him the rope burn on his wrist, a thin dark line where the hemp had run through his grip, and said only that he had held fast. Anselm wrote it in the register that evening, between the tally of candles and the price of salt: Brought the rope. Kept the boat. Held fast.