Loose pink sketched line drawing of a pair of wings with a vertical ribbon-like stroke, shown as a tattoo design on a pale background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink winged ribbon line drawing

Colour · Flash

A pink line drawing shows a pair of stylised wings spreading outwards from a single vertical stroke that curves down the centre. The linework is loose and slightly scratchy, with feathered edges and no shading. The design is drawn in one flat pink ink on a pale grey background, with no skin visible.

Wing Ribbon Angel Feather

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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

You have been standing under the fish stall's awning for twenty minutes because the rain has found the gap between the canvas and the gutter, and the woman beside you keeps tutting at her pushchair. Your hands are cold. The ribbon of pink wool you bought at the haberdasher's on Lark Lane is damp in your pocket, and it has already bled a faint stain onto the lining.

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Across the lane, Mrs Okonedo's stall sells loose feathers by the bag: pheasant, goose, and one grey gull's wing that nobody has asked about in three years. She keeps the good ones in biscuit tins with the lids taped shut. Yesterday you asked her how a feather could be made to lie flat on paper, and she said you didn't make it lie. You let it argue with the ink until it gave up.

The rain thickens. You walk the stalls with your collar up, past the man selling secondhand clocks, every one of them stopped at a different hour, and you keep thinking about the drawing folded inside your coat. One stroke running down the middle, the wings spreading out from it like something that has only just decided to leave the ground.

When you reach the corner the tins are gone and the awning has been pulled down. Mrs Okonedo is standing in the road with a single goose feather held upright in the wet, letting the rain flatten it. She waves you over. You hand her the drawing, and she slides it into the tin beside the gull's wing, and for once neither of you says a word about the weather.