Two matching fine line tattoos of paper aeroplanes with dashed flight paths, one on each inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching paper aeroplanes on forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two forearms sit side by side, each showing a paper aeroplane in black outline with a dashed line looping away from it. The aeroplanes are drawn with simple folded planes and the dashed trails curl into small loops. The ink is black on pale skin and the plain white background keeps the focus on the linework.

Fine line Forearm Dashed line Loop Matching tattoo

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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

Right, sit down, the ones at the back, I can see you pretending you were never in this room. Thirty-one of you signed the register in 1987 and I can still name every one of you. Now, the planes. Everybody remembers the planes, so let me tell it properly.

Keep reading

Margaret Oakes and Lorraine Stott sat either side of the coat pegs in Room Nine, and they were not allowed to speak to each other after the Easter business with the glue stick. So they wrote. Every maths lesson, Mr Hebden turned to the board to chalk up long division, and a sheet of exercise paper went sailing from one desk to the other, folded into a plane with a nose sharp enough to cut a finger. Most of them landed under a chair. Once, one came down on Mr Hebden's bald patch like a dart in a pub.

Now here is the part that matters, the trails. Lorraine swore she could make a plane loop back over the radiator and come down in Margaret's hand, and she practised all Lent, drawing the path in pencil first, a little dashed line curling round on itself like a dog settling. Margaret always said it was showing off. It was. It was also the only way either of them had of saying sorry.

The last plane, the summer we left, was never thrown. It sat on the windowsill of Room Nine with two dashed lines drawn out from it, and nobody knew whose was whose. Lorraine's came back to Margaret's table at the reunion last spring, folded from a programme, and I will tell you now that it landed exactly where it was meant to.