Two small matching tattoos on the inner wrists, a grey broom with a green wash on the left and a wand with sparkles and bubbles on the right, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Broom and wand tattoos on two wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two small tattoos sit on the inner wrists, with a broom on the left wrist and a wand on the right, both trailed by small dots. The broom has grey bristles and a brown handle with a soft green wash behind it, while the wand has a dark outlined star tip and small circles. The linework is thin and dark with light grey shading, and the photo is taken straight on against a plain white background.

Fine line Forearm Wand Sparkle Bubble Dot Star

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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

The thing you must understand about the Dunmere sisters is that they never agreed on anything except the weather, and even that they argued about by the second bell. So when the old witch Agathe Frell died and left them one broom between them, the village expected blood on the cobbles. Instead the sisters took it to the fen at dusk, stood on either bank of the black water, and tried to see who could make it fly first.

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The broom would not rise for either of them. It sulked in the reeds, bristles drooping like a wet dog, while Mab shouted that the handle was hers by right of age and Ottilie shouted back that the bristles were hers by right of patience. Neither noticed the frogs gathering along the bank, or the thin green mist that crept up off the water and wound itself round the broom's shaft like a ribbon.

It was the youngest, little Pell, who solved it. She walked out onto the reeds with a pocketful of soap bubbles her mother had given her for the fair, blew one, and watched it drift up past the broom. The broom shivered. Mab and Ottilie both reached for it at once, their hands meeting over the handle, and the bubbles came spilling out of Pell's fist, a dozen silver globes rising into the dusk. The broom lifted clean out of the mud, carrying the three of them in a tangle of skirts and laughter, and went spinning off over the fen with the stars sprinkling down behind it like dust from a wand nobody had quite learned to hold yet.