Small solid black crown tattoo with three dots above it, sitting on the inner wrist.

Small crown with three dots on the wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small crown outline is filled in solid black, with a hand-drawn, slightly wobbly line quality and three dots arranged above its points. The design sits on the inner wrist, shown from a close, slightly angled view against plain skin. The ink is entirely black with no shading or colour, and the crown fills the centre of the frame with the dots placed above it.

Forearm Crown Dot

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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

Mabel Oakshott had mended the harbour town's regalia for thirty-one years, and in all that time nobody had asked her to make a new crown. The old one lived in a biscuit tin on the top shelf of the vestry, wrapped in a tea towel that smelt of camphor. When the council decided the regatta needed a proper coronation, they sent a schoolboy round with a note and a bag of silver foil, and told her to be quick about it.

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She worked at the kitchen table with a pair of snips and the wireless murmuring the shipping forecast. The crown came together easily enough: a loose, wobbling band with five points, sketched in black ink on the back of a seed catalogue before she cut it from the tin. She pressed each point flat with her thumb. It was the three glass beads that went wrong. She stitched them on with black thread, and one by one they rolled off the table, through the gap by the skirting board, and down into the dark where the cat slept.

The boy came back on Friday with a torch. They lay on the lino and found two beads, one wedged against a sardine tin and one stuck to a wool sock. The third was nowhere. Mabel said it did not matter, that a crown was only ever a shape people agreed to see, and she inked three small dots above its points instead, as neat as sparrows on a wire.

On regatta morning the Harbour Queen wore the tin crown without complaint, and the fishermen cheered with their caps in their hands. Only the boy noticed that the dots were the one part of it that did not pretend to be anything but what it was, three small black stars waiting over a crown that had lost its jewels.