Two matching fine line outline tattoos of a giraffe and an elephant with a small heart, one on each ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching giraffe and elephant ankle tattoos

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

Two people's ankles show matching tattoos of a giraffe and an elephant facing each other, with a small heart between them. The linework is thin, single-weight outline with no shading, and the ink appears as a dark, slightly faded blue-grey. The feet are shown side by side against a patterned blanket, with the tattoos centred on the outer ankles.

Fine line Ankle Giraffe Elephant Heart Matching Animal

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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 drawers in the reclamation hall at Halden Reach were sorted by weight, not by subject, so I found the animals by accident. Forty years of salvage had taught me that a thing gets kept for the strangest reasons. This one was a sheet of thin polymer, the colour of a bruise going off, with two outlines on it: a giraffe with its neck bent low, and an elephant with its trunk curled up. Between them sat a heart no bigger than a grain of rice.

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The label was in a hand I knew from the cargo manifests. Ysolde Marr had signed every deck plate in the Tern for nineteen years before she stepped off at the lower locks. Her note said the pair had been copied from an older picture, that the animals were called giraffe and elephant, and that they had once walked on land that was not ours. I read it twice. Nobody aboard had ever seen either beast, yet here were two of them, drawn with a single steady line that never once lifted from the page.

The replicator could print any part a hull needed, but it would not print the heart. Its tolerances rejected anything under a millimetre, and the heart was half that. So I took a stylus, a magnifier and the last clean blank from the stores, and spent three nights copying the pair by hand. My line wobbled. My giraffe came out with a longer neck than Ysolde's. The elephant's trunk nearly reached the heart, then on the fourth attempt, it did not.

On the morning the Tern docked at Kessa, I went down to the hatch and pressed the sheet to the cold steel beside the airlock, where the crew scratched their names. Ysolde's pair and mine sat side by side. The heart hung between them, a little crooked, and I left it that way.