Two hands with colourful unicorn head tattoos on the fingers, with a small skull tattoo on a third finger.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Unicorn heads on two fingers

Hand · Colour · Photo

Two hands rest together, each with a unicorn head tattooed on a finger, shown in profile with a spiralled horn and flowing mane. The linework is bold and the shading is soft, with pink, red, yellow and blue washes in the mane and face. The close framing keeps the two designs at the centre, with smaller tattoos of a skull and a circular motif visible on other fingers.

Hand Unicorn Horn Mane Skull Circle

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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

Mind the step, the last one's gone soft, and keep your hands out of the rain barrels, the water down here still has salt in it from the old sea. Right. Where was I. Ah, the two horses that were not horses.

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Their names were Pell and Ottoline, and they lived in the drowned market at Carrick Bridge, where the gulls had long ago stopped asking permission. Every morning the tide left a ring of silt on the cobbles and the children drew in it with sticks: a spiral, a mane, a little sharp thing on the brow. Pell drew the horn because he had seen one once, painted on the side of a ferry before the ferry rusted through. Ottoline drew the mane because she said a horse without one was just a cart waiting to happen.

Now, the old people will tell you the unicorn came down to heal, but that's the kind of thing said by folk who've never been bitten. This one came down to argue. It stood in the silt with the sun behind it and told the whole market that the spiral on its head was a clock, and the clock had run out, and they should stop waiting for the tide to bring them something. Pell laughed. Ottoline did not.

They rowed out to the gulls' island that summer with a coil of tar rope and a jar of pigment ground from shell and rust. What they brought back was a promise, painted small on one finger each, so they could hold hands and never let go of it. Hold your hand up to the lamp now, child. See the pink in the mane? That's the last of the pigment. The rest of the story is for next winter, when the tide comes in again and you're big enough to carry the jar.