Black and grey realism tattoo of a crown with a script monogram above dark trousers and studded boots, on the lower leg near the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crown and studded boots on a lower leg

Realism · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows an ornate crown with a looping monogram above a pair of dark trousers and black boots with white stud details and sparkling star highlights. The shading is smooth and realistic, with strong contrast between the dark fabric, the grey metallic studs and the bright white highlights. The design is placed vertically on the lower leg, with the crown at the top and the boots near the bottom.

Realism Calf Crown Monogram Boot Star

Find an artist for this

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

Nobody at the Rotary hall expected Sandra Pike to turn up in boots like that, black and buckled, with silver studs that caught the strip lights each time she shifted her weight by the raffle table. Half our year had come to see who'd gone bald and who'd gone into estate agency. Sandra went straight to the warm white wine and started telling people about the crown.

Keep reading

We were fifteen when Mr Hollis gave the drama club a Christmas show about a boy who wanted to be king. Sandra made the crown in the workshop from a cereal box and a roll of kitchen foil, scoring the points with a compass until her fingers blistered. She painted a looping monogram across the front in gold poster paint that never quite dried. When Mr Hollis said it was far too big for the lead, she put it on anyway and walked the length of the stage without taking it off.

The boots were another matter. She saved six weeks of paper-round money for a pair off a stall in Leicester market, then spent every break behind the science block with Kerry Doyle and a bag of brass press-studs, punching them through the leather with a bradawl nicked from Kerry's dad. The studs were loose by the second rehearsal. Sandra glued them back with superglue and swore she'd never take them off.

Tonight she found me by the coat rail and pulled a carrier bag from under her chair. Inside was the crown, flattened, still smelling of paint, the foil gone grey at the points. 'Loft,' she said, shrugging, as if that covered thirty years. I turned it over. The monogram was still legible, every loop of it. Across the hall the strip lights caught the studs again, and Sandra was already laughing, already holding out her hand for it back.