Traditional style tattoo of red lips showing orange vampire fangs and a pink tongue, with black outlines, on the inside of a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Vampire lips with fangs on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A bold red pair of lips bares orange-tipped fangs and a pink tongue, all outlined in thick black linework. The colour is flat and solid with simple highlights, and the design sits centrally on the forearm. Partial tattoos of an anchor and a heart with a banner are visible above and below it.

Traditional Forearm Lip Fangs Tongue Anchor Heart Banner

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You have kept the lamp at Scarrow Point for eleven winters, and in all that time nothing has climbed the rocks that did not arrive by boat. So when the knocking starts on the lantern room door a little after three, you assume it is the Pritchard boy again, sent up with a tin of paraffin he has forgotten to bring. It is not. The woman on the gallery wears a red coat buttoned to the throat and smiles with her mouth only, as if she has been practising in a shop window.

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She says she came off the Heron, the collier that went down in the Sound in October, and asks whether the light still burns for drowned men. You tell her it burns for anyone who can read a chart. She laughs, and the laugh has something in it, long orange-tipped things that catch the lamp. You think of the old keepers' rule your father pinned above the stove: a stranger who asks after the light is let in only after the oil has been counted.

So you count the oil. Eleven gallons, and the Heron was never on the list. You keep your hands busy at the wick trough while she circles the rail, pink tongue flicking at the wind, and you hum the shipping forecast the way your mother did to keep the dark honest. Below, the bell buoy starts up, though there is no swell to rock it.

At dawn the Pritchard boy finds the gallery empty except for a single red glove on the rail and a crust of salt across the glass. Your coat hangs on its hook. The lamp is still burning, turned full on the Sound the way you always left it, and down on the rocks a lifebuoy drifts pale in the shallows, the name Heron painted out.