Fine line black star tattoos scattered along a forearm, with a small crescent moon tattoo on a finger of the raised hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Star and crescent moon tattoos on forearm and finger

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A raised arm and hand photographed from above against grey concrete, with a person wearing black sandals and a black skirt. Several small black fine line stars and scattered dots sit on the forearm, with one larger eight-pointed star near the wrist-side of the lower arm. A small crescent moon is inked on a finger, and the nails are painted pale yellow.

Fine line Forearm Hand Star Crescent moon Moon 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

Mae had been posted to Holcombe Junction for eleven nights before the stars came through properly, because the fog off the moors kept the sky the colour of wet slate. Tonight it had cleared. She stood on platform four with a tin of cold tea, waiting for the 00:14 to Carlisle, which never arrived before one.

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Old Dennis in the signal box had taught her the sky the way other men taught knots. The drovers' star, he called one of them, a small bright point with eight rays if you looked long enough. He drew it for her on the back of a cancelled engineering notice with a carpenter's pencil: a dot, four long strokes, four short ones. Mae kept the sheet folded in her ticket pouch. Each night she added a dot wherever a star showed through, and a tiny hook for the moon when it thinned to a paring.

Dennis retired in March. His last evening, he gave her the signal box key and a cup of stewed tea and told her the lines were optional. The dots were the useful part, he said. Anyone could join them up to suit themselves.

The train came at ten past two, nearly empty, a single carriage light falling across the wet concrete. Mae waved it through and watched its tail lamp shrink toward the viaduct. Then she climbed to the signal box, pinned the chart to the wall beside the lever frame, and held the torch over it. Out past the chimney, the eight-pointed one was already rising, and she made a dot for it, very small, where the ink would last.