Two matching wrist tattoos of a shaded coffee cup on a saucer and a teapot with a small red heart, each with wisps of steam rising above.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching coffee cup and teapot tattoos

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two people's wrists sit side by side, each with a small tattoo. The left shows a shaded coffee cup on a saucer with steam curling above, and the right shows a teapot with steam and a red heart on its body. The black and grey shading is soft and the red heart is the only colour, set against plain skin on a simple background.

Forearm Coffee cup Teapot Heart Steam Saucer Matching tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Snow had sealed the Hollin Pass by four o'clock, and the only light left in the valley was the lamp over the door of the Cross Keys inn. Marta stamped the slush off her boots and counted the lorries parked nose to tail in the yard. Seven. Her sister Ines had gone out an hour ago to see whether the bridge at the far side was still standing, and the kettle in the back kitchen had been left on the hob since, muttering to itself.

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Marta made the tea the way their mother had, leaves in the brown pot, the water just off the boil. The pot had a chip on its spout and, under the glaze on one side, a red heart somebody had painted years back, faded now to the colour of a cherry stone. She poured a cup for herself and another for the man from the Dutch freight firm, who had cursed the cold like a schoolboy. For the drivers who wanted something harder she spooned instant coffee into a tin mug and left the lot to steep. Ines was not back by six. At half past, a gust rattled the window and the door banged open.

Ines came in white to the eyebrows, shaking ice off a scarf. "The bridge is gone," she said. "Entirely. Only the rail left, like someone pulled a plug." Marta set the pot down hard. Then she saw the dented steel flask hooked on her sister's wrist and understood the joke. Ines had walked two miles down to the petrol station for proper coffee and come back with only a machine that dripped brown water.

They sat at the table nearest the stove with both drinks between them, and neither spoke for a while. Outside, the lorries ticked as they cooled. Marta poured tea into her sister's cup, and Ines poured coffee into hers, and they swapped without a word. Somewhere behind the bar the kettle gave one last thin whistle, and nobody got up to stop it.