Two matching cartoon robot tattoos on inner forearms, one with a red bow and heart and the other holding a red heart, in black linework with red accents.

Matching robot tattoos on forearms

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two matching cartoon robots in black outline with grey shading sit on the inner forearms of two people whose hands are clasped. Small red hearts and a red bow add colour to the designs, and the robots face each other across the composition. The image is a clear, well-lit close view of both healed or fresh tattoos against a light background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Halvery Deep had been dead since spring, so Odette climbed the forty flights of the old gantry with a spanner in one hand and a cup of machine oil swinging from her hip. Below her the harbour lay the colour of pewter, and the cranes stood idle, their arms folded like patient clerks. Nobody had asked a repair unit to climb anything in years. Nobody had asked her for much since the fleet was retired, which was why she still wore the red ribbon the dockhands had tied to her antenna, long after the reason for it had rusted off.

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Brask was waiting at the top, exactly where she had left him at dawn. His square head caught the low sun, and the little heart on his chest hatch had been buffed so often the paint had worn to pink. He lifted a grabber arm towards her in the slow, careful way he used when he was nervous, which he never admitted to being. 'You took the stairs,' he said. 'The lift is still broken.' 'I know. I counted the rungs for you. Four hundred and twelve.' 'You did not.' 'Four hundred and twelve,' he said again, and she heard the static in his voice that meant he was pleased.

He opened the hatch. Inside, where a battery should have been, sat a clay pot no bigger than a thimble, and in it a single green leaf pushing up through the grit. He had carried it from the seed store in the cooled bay all week, clamped against his ribs, and had said nothing because he had not been sure it would survive the climb. Odette set her spanner down on the rail. The wind came off the water and turned the leaf gently, and for a long moment neither of them moved, two old machines in the rust, lit like something newly made.

She reached out and took his hand. The joints of their fingers met with two small clicks, one and then the other, the sound of parts built to fit and finally asked to. Far below, a gull landed on a crane arm and folded its wings. Brask's antenna dipped towards her ribbon, and she let it.

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