Realistic black and grey astronaut tattoo on the forearm, with a purple galaxy reflected in the helmet visor and one gloved hand raised.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Astronaut with galaxy visor on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A floating astronaut in a spacesuit is tattooed on the inner forearm, with one gloved hand raised towards the top of the frame. The suit and backpack are rendered in fine, shaded black and grey linework, with soft highlights on the fabric and equipment. The helmet visor is filled with a small patch of purple and pink nebula and stars, which is the only area of colour in the design.

Realism Forearm Astronaut Helmet Galaxy Star Nebula Space

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Halfway up the Gallow Sike pass, the wind had found the gap in Maren's collar and was working at it like a thief. She stopped beside the cairn to shift the mail sack higher on her shoulders and looked back down the valley, where the lamps of Hollin Farm had already gone under the cloud. The telegraph wire hummed overhead. Nothing else did.

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Her grandfather had carried post over this pass for forty winters and never once admitted to being afraid of it. He told her instead about the night the sky came down to sit on the ridge, every star spilled into the snow. He had lifted a hand toward it, and something on the far side of the glitter had lifted its hand back. Maren had taken it for a tale to keep children off the mountain. Now she shaded her eyes and watched the stars thicken over the col, purple at their edges like a bruise going the right way.

The thing on the ridge was not a man at first. It was a figure drifting a few feet above the snow, pale suit creased at the knees, one glove raised as if to halt traffic. Its visor held the whole sky, swirling dust and pinpricks, and when she came close a single streak of light crossed it and vanished. She set down the sack. "You're on the wrong side of the wall," she said, because it was what her grandfather would have said, and her voice came back to her thin and absurd.

The raised hand turned slowly, palm out, then closed and opened toward her. Maren understood it wanted the letter at the top of her sack, the one addressed to a house that had stood empty since 1931. She fished it out and held it up to the glass. The visor flickered, and for an instant she saw her own face bent over the envelope, small and tired and lit from underneath. Then the stars swung back and the figure was gone, the snow began again, and far below a dog barked at the farm as if nothing had happened at all.