Colour realism tattoo of an animated female character with a long side braid and freckles, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Colour portrait of a cartoon character with a braid

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large colour tattoo shows a smiling animated young woman with auburn hair in a long side braid, blue eyes and freckles, wearing a teal top. The rendering uses smooth shading and soft gradients to give the cartoon face a realistic, three-dimensional finish. Blue and green tones sit behind the figure, and the tattoo fills most of the frame against a dark background.

Realism Upper arm Cartoon character Portrait Braid Woman

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The nets are still dripping when you climb aboard, and your father is already swearing at the engine. Mrs Ogden's boy has taken your bunk again, so you sit on a coil of rope in the teal jumper your gran knitted, the one that smells of diesel however often you wash it. Your braid is heavy as a bell rope. You tuck the end down your collar so it stays clear of the winch, and you keep your eyes on the grey line where the harbour wall ends.

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Out past the breakwater the fleet fans across the water like gulls over a shoal. Eleven boats, eleven painted names, and the sun comes up behind the lighthouse so the whole sea turns the colour of a bruised plum. Your father says the freckles on your nose are from the summers you spent hauling pots with no hat, and you tell him that is the only good thing those summers ever gave you.

Mid-morning the trawl snags on something heavy. It takes three men and a great deal of cursing to bring it up, and what comes over the rail is a brass ship's compass, green with age, its glass cracked. Scratched into the lid is the name of the Mary Ellen, the boat that went down the winter you were nine. Your father goes quiet. He takes off his cap and holds it against his chest while the others study the deck.

You slip the compass into your jumper pocket before anyone can tell you to throw it back. That evening you walk the harbour wall alone and hold it up against the last of the light. The needle swings, shudders, and settles, pointing back out to sea.