Black and grey crown tattoo on the ankle of a woman wearing white jeans and blue platform heels.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small crown tattoo on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small crown is tattooed on the ankle and upper foot of a woman whose legs are crossed while she sits. The design is drawn in black ink with grey shading, and the linework is fairly simple. The white jeans and blue heeled shoes sit against a grey carpeted floor, with the tattoo at the centre of the frame.

Ankle Crown

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

Under the carpet of the third-floor records office lived a mouse called Ambrose, who had decided that a kingdom needed a king, and that the king had better be himself. The kingdom was forty feet of skirting board, two filing cabinets and a biscuit tin nobody had opened since the Millennium. What it lacked was a crown.

Keep reading

He found one on a Tuesday, wedged under the castor of a chair that rocked. It was no bigger than a thimble, with five points curled at the tips and a band of fine scratches round its base, as though someone had cut it with more patience than sense. Ambrose hauled it back through the gap by the radiator, rubbed it smooth on a strip of carbon paper, and set it on his head. It fitted as if it had been measured for him.

His subjects were not impressed. The spiders on the window frame said nothing at all, the pigeon in the vents said coo, and the stapler, which had opinions, said crowns were for people who needed to be looked at from a distance. Ambrose ruled them regardless, issuing decrees about crumbs and the correct hour for napping, until the afternoon a pair of blue heels came clicking across the carpet and stopped beside his kingdom. The crown slid off in the draught from the door and rolled, ringing faintly, under the nearest cabinet.

By the time he had found it again, the heels had gone and the office was dark. Ambrose sat on the cold floor for a long while, turning the little crown over in his paws. Then he set it in the corner beside the biscuit tin, where a king could visit it, and went to look for crumbs like any other mouse. Some crowns, he decided, are only worth wearing when nobody is watching you wear them.