Black and white photo of two clasped hands with a small fine line planet tattoo on one finger and a rocket tattoo on another.

Planet and rocket finger tattoos

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two clasped hands show small tattoos on the fingers. A ringed planet in simple black outline sits on one finger, and a rocket with a round porthole and pointed fins sits on another, with a fragment of small lettering partly visible on a third finger. The linework is thin and uniform with minimal shading, and the photograph is in black and white.

Fine line Hand Planet Saturn Rocket Spaceship Hand Finger Lettering

Find an artist for this

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

Mind the kettle, boy, it's been grumbling since the last watch, same as my knees. Pass the ladle and sit where I can see you. You want the story of the Tallow Wren, the little rocket that tried to reach the ringed world? Everyone on the Halloran Reach knows those rings are no place for a ship to stand. Still, Ada Pennock believed otherwise.

Keep reading

She was a rigger's daughter from Dunmere Dock, all elbows and questions, and she painted a round porthole on the nose of her skiff so it would look like it was keeping watch. Its fins swept back like a moth's feelers. She carried a stub of pencil and a list of names inked on the inside of her wrist, and every night she'd climb the gantry, lean out over the black water and talk to that pale planet as though it owed her a bread roll. The galley cook who fed her said she never once ate before she'd finished her sums.

The turn came in the third winter. The rocket was too heavy for its fins, and the engine coughed on the launch pad like an old man at a funeral. Ada sat down on the cold steel and wept, and the foreman, a man with one good eye and a grudge against weather, dragged over a tin of boiled sweets and told her a thing can be wrong for its own journey and still be right for the next. So she stripped the fins, painted the porthole a shade bluer, and aimed the nose not at the rings but at the harbour lamp of the ship she'd grown up on.

Ada never reached the planet. But she came home years later with a crate of salt pork and a cough that wouldn't leave her. I hear she's still on the Reach, trimming wicks in the lighthouse. Pass the bowl. The ringed world's still up there, and it's the only thing in the sky that doesn't mind waiting.