Two forearms with small coloured tattoos: a column of moon phases on the left arm and a row of solar system planets, including a ringed Saturn, on the right arm, both on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Planet tattoos along both forearms

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A person holds their hands up near their head, showing two forearms, each with a vertical column of small circular tattoos. The left arm has seven moon-like discs in soft pinks, reds and blues, while the right arm shows planets of varying sizes, with a ringed Saturn near the middle and a larger red and orange planet at the base. The shading is soft and watercolour-like, with the colour blending across each circle against the pale skin and light pink top.

Forearm Planet Moon Saturn Solar system Space Circle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and mind the gull, he's after your crusts. You want to know how Oonagh Rule came to have the sky on her arms? Well, it was the autumn of the great herring year, and the fog came in thick as wet wool. The Maud Tierney was three miles out past Carrick Point with no lamp lit and her crew shouting at shadows.

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Oonagh had the moons down her left arm, seven of them, from new to new, each one painted in its own soft blush and bruise-blue. She counted the tide by those moons, because the sea follows the moon the way a dog follows a boot. Down her right arm went the wanderers. The little ones came first, then a ringed one that thought itself very grand, and at the bottom sat the big red planet, burning like a coal left in the grate.

With the fog pressed against the wheelhouse glass, she held her arms up to the lantern and read them like a ledger. The moon showed a half face, so the tide was making. The ringed one sat over her knuckle, which meant the bar lay to starboard. She turned the wheel by inches, and the red one at the bottom kept sliding back towards her wrist, never once letting her drift from it.

They came in at dawn with the gulls going mad overhead. Oonagh rolled her sleeves down, poured the men a tot of rum, and said nothing about any of it. The red one is still down there, mind you, under the cuff. That's the one you steer for, my loves, the one that sits lowest and never goes out.