Two matching teal winged heart tattoos with pink hearts, one on each inner wrist, with the wrists pressed together.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching winged heart tattoos on wrists

Forearm · Colour · Photo

Two near-identical tattoos of a pink heart with teal, feathered wings sit on the inner wrists of two arms pressed side by side. The wings are outlined in dark ink with teal shading, and the hearts are filled in solid pink. The background shows a beige wall and an older monitor, with the tattoos centred in the frame.

Forearm Wing Heart Matching tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The needle gun on Halvard Dock ran off a car battery that whined whenever the cargo lifts passed overhead, so Oona learned to tattoo in the gaps. Pell held still for her, wrist flat on the sterile foil, and counted the lifts out loud. The teal was the only ink the chandler still stocked after the reactor scare, so the wings came out the colour of shallow water. The heart was rose dye she had boiled down from a bag of hip petals, and it bled a little at the edges, which Pell said made it look honest.

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Three winters later Pell took a survey contract out past the Kettering belt, eleven months of mapping dead rock with a crew of two. Oona stayed on the station and ran the reclaim bay, where the water came back from the scrubbers tasting faintly of copper. On the last evening they stood in the lock with their arms side by side, inner wrists up, and neither of them made a joke about it. He said the wings would keep him steady. She said the heart would bring him back, and he laughed so hard he had to lean on the hatch.

The survey beacon went quiet in the ninth month. Oona logged every hour of it anyway, because the reclaim bay gave her nothing else to do with her hands. On the eleventh morning a salvage tug limped into dock with a bent prow and a manifest signed by a dead man's thumb. Wedged under a crate of sealed ration tins in its hold was a flight recorder, and scratched into its casing in Pell's careful capitals was a single line: OONA, THE WINGS HELD.

She carried the recorder to the lock, pressed her wrist against the cold glass of the viewport, and watched two faint teal shapes sit over the stars beyond. Somewhere behind her the battery whined as a lift went past. For once she did not count it.