Close photo of a hand making a peace sign in a car, with a small black fine line crown tattoo on one finger and a tiny diamond tattoo on the finger beside it.

Small crown and diamond tattoos on two fingers

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand held up in a peace sign shows a small outlined crown on the upper finger and a tiny outlined diamond on the finger next to it. The linework is thin, dark and even, with no shading, and the ink is black against the skin. The background is a car interior with a dashboard gauge and grey seat, and the fingers fill most of the frame.

Fine line Hand Crown Diamond

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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

Sit closer, the lot of you, the fire only warms the front row. You know the Wold begins where the last hedge gives up, and nobody goes past the third oak unless they mean to come home different. Tom Ferrier did, the spring he was twelve, with his father's charcoal rake over one shoulder and a mouthful of bread he never finished.

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He found the diamond first, a hard little thing the size of a sloe, lying in the leaf-mould as if someone had dropped it on purpose. Beside it, half sunk in the roots, was a crown no bigger than a thimble, cut from black iron and worn so thin you could see the light through its points. Tom carried both down to the reeve's barn. The reeve held the diamond up to the door, looked at it a long while, and offered a sack of barley for it. Then he laughed at the crown and told the boy to keep his baubles.

That night the crown would not lie still on the windowsill. It rang against the wood like a little bell, and Tom's mother, who had buried two husbands and knew a thing or two about rings, said a crown always wants a head to sit on. So Tom went back to the third oak in the dark, set the iron crown on the root where he'd found it, and walked home without the diamond, because he had sold that to a passing tinker for a horse and a ride to the coast.

The horse died and the coast never sent for him, and Tom came back to the village an old man with nothing. But on the morning he returned, the sun came up over the Wold and struck the chapel wall with a small white spark, exactly where the diamond used to fall. Nobody has ever found the crown since. The children say it is still on the root, waiting for someone with a head bold enough to wear it.