Fine line black tattoo of a ringed planet, a rocket on a dashed trail, small stars and the words 'See you never' on the inner upper arm.

Ringed planet and rocket with 'See you never' on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a ringed planet with shaded stripes, a small rocket travelling along a dashed curved trail, and two four-pointed stars. The words 'SEE YOU NEVER' sit in small capitals beside the rocket. The linework is thin and even, done in black ink with no shading or colour, against lightly toned skin and a plain pale background.

Fine line Upper arm Planet Rocket Star Space Lettering Text

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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

Nobody tells you that leaving a planet is mostly paperwork. I spent three weeks at the Ledger Hill launch desk in Bristol being stamped by a clerk called Mrs Okafor, who kept calling me Captain even though I was the only passenger. She had a biscuit tin full of pressed clover on her desk and a rule that nobody filed without a cup of tea first. I drank four cups a day for a month, mostly to keep her talking about her grandson in Leeds.

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The ringed planet was in the window of the night ferry the whole time we waited for clearance. Everyone called it Saturn, which annoyed Dev, who said it was just a bigger pale thing with ideas. He was the one who had painted the stars on my hull, two of them, crooked, because he'd run out of patience. He said if I was going to go somewhere that nobody could reach me, I should at least be on a map.

The dashes were the last thing I saw from the platform. They were the trail I'd leave, a line of little breaks where the fuel had stuttered and the engineers had patched it with tape. Mrs Okafor watched the launch from her doorway with the tin under her arm. When the light went up I could hear her laughing, or maybe crying, through the gantry speakers, and the last thing she said before the link dropped was that I'd better send a postcard. I've been out past the belt for eleven years now, and I still haven't worked out how to tell her the postcard would take four hundred years to arrive.