Small solid black fleur-de-lis tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist, photographed in black and white.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small fleur-de-lis on the inner wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black fleur-de-lis sits on the inner forearm close to the wrist, with a hand and finger visible in soft focus behind it. The design is a bold silhouette with smooth, filled edges and no fine detail or shading. The black and white photograph is shot at a shallow depth of field, which keeps the tattoo sharp and the background blurred.

Forearm Fleur-de-lis

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

The boundary posts at Hollin's Edge had been painted with a lily every spring since my grandfather's time, and every spring the paint went grey in the rain before the bluebells were out. I went up with the tin of black pitch and a stiff brush the morning after the storm, because Tom Ashby's cart had come down the lane with broken spokes and he swore the old oak post by the holly had gone missing in the night.

Keep reading

It had not gone. It was split down the middle, the top half leaning against the hedge, and someone had cut the lily out of the wood, not hacked but carefully taken, so the shape of it still showed in the pale grain like a stencil. I stood there with the brush dripping and thought of my father, who used to say the forest kept what it was given and gave back nothing it could hide. I found the lily itself lying in the bracken, a small wedge of oak no bigger than my palm, its petals sharp and clean.

I carried it home in my apron pocket and set it on the kitchen table beside the letter from the county surveyor. He wanted the boundary moved back a hundred yards to the river. Mother read it twice and said nothing, only put the kettle on. I took the oak piece and a fine brush and, in the lamplight, painted it again, smaller this time, solid as a coin, the way the old marks had been before anyone thought to make them pretty.

In the morning I nailed the lily to the gatepost itself, at the height a man on a cart could see from the road, and went back up to the holly with the pitch. The surveyor would have to walk the forest to move the line, and the forest, I suspected, would not be moved.