Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Two hands clasped in black line drawing
Black and grey · Flash
A bold, single-weight black outline drawing of two hands clasped together, with one hand reaching in from the left and the other from the right. The linework is smooth and uniform, with solid black areas along the wrist and fingers suggesting shadow. The design is shown in black on a plain light grey background, centred and filling most of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The stew had caught on the bottom of the pan again, and Mags was scraping at it with the wooden spoon when the trawler rolled and the whole galley tipped toward the port side. Tomas came through the hatch with his oilskins streaming, one hand already out for the rail. She caught it before he fell, the way she had caught a hundred dropped mugs and once a whole sack of onions. His fingers closed over hers, cold and salt-cracked, and for the length of a roll neither of them let go.
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Above them the wireless crackled with the coastguard reading out gales in sea areas nobody aboard had ever fished. Tomas said the wind had backed nor'east, and Mags said she knew, she could hear it in the rigging. He had a split on his thumb from the winch, and she pressed it with her own thumb the way her mother used to press a cut to stop the blood. The pan hissed on the ring. Neither of them looked at it.
When the boat levelled she let go first, as she always did, and reached for the ladle. Tomas stood there a moment longer, flexing his hand as if it had something to remember. Then he climbed the ladder into the dark without a word, and she slid the pan off the heat and tipped the burnt crust into the bin. Someone would want their supper. Someone always did.
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