Two pencil-style tattoo flash drawings on paper, one showing a sun with a face and rays, the other a crescent moon with a face, both with dotted chain and drop details; no body placement is shown.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sun and crescent moon tattoo designs

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows two side-by-side tattoo design drawings on a pale background. The left panel depicts a sun with a face, pointed rays and small teardrops, while the right panel shows a crescent moon with a face, swirling ornament and a small heart. Both designs have fine outlines, dotted chains and hanging drops below, and the work is entirely in black and grey.

Dotwork Sun Moon Crescent Celestial Face Dotted line Teardrop Heart

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ruth Halloran had been painting the same sun for nine days, and the shopkeeper on Mill Street had stopped asking when it would be finished. She worked from a ladder beside the old Regal dance hall, a tin of gold size at her elbow, chalking dots along the cornice where the hanging chain would go. Her brother Frank held the pots and complained about the wind off the canal.

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The sun had been her idea, a face with heavy-lidded eyes and three drops falling from its brow. The council wanted a moon for the other end of the building, something to match the Coronation bunting that had hung limp since June. Ruth said she would paint the moon if Frank stopped sulking about the ladder. He went to fetch tea from the Copper Kettle and came back with two cups and the news that a moon was already up, on the back wall of the coal yard, signed with a single initial, E.

She walked round to look. The crescent was drawn in black and grey, with swirls curling at its horns and a heart hanging beside its face. Its cheeks were speckled with dots like sugar, and the drops below it fell in neat, even rows. Ruth stood there so long the tea went cold in her hands. Those dots were spaced exactly the way her mother had taught her in Lincoln, before the war, when they painted shop fronts for a living and her mother said a line was only as good as its gaps.

That evening she climbed the ladder and hung the last teardrop from the sun's chin. When the lamps came on along Mill Street, she looked across the roofs to where the coal yard moon hung above the chimneys, its eyes turned down as if it knew a secret. She left the initial alone and picked up her brush.