Traditional style colour tattoo on a lower leg showing Darth Vader and a stormtrooper helmet, framed by red roses and green leaves, with a blue Galactic Empire emblem below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Darth Vader and stormtrooper with roses on a calf

Traditional · Calf · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows Darth Vader's helmet above a stormtrooper helmet, with a blue Imperial emblem at the base. Two red roses with green leaves frame the helmets on either side. Bold black outlines define the forms, with grey and white shading on the helmets and flat colour in the roses, leaves and emblem.

Traditional Calf Darth vader Stormtrooper Rose Star wars Helmet Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dad sold the last of the lions in March, and by June the only thing left in the costume trunk that anybody still wanted was the helmet. Mr Oduya, who ran the fire-eaters, had borrowed it for a birthday in Shrewsbury and never brought it back, so when I finally unpacked the trunk in Carlisle I found the black dome sitting on top of a pile of sequinned leotards as if it were waiting for me to notice it.

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The troupe had painted the caravans years ago, back when there were eleven of them. Roses on the panels, leaves in the corners, and on the back of the lead wagon a blue cog that Grandad Pell swore he had copied from a gas board sign. Nobody remembered whose idea the costumes were. We had a grey trooper suit that fit my brother and a tin of white paint gone hard as chalk. That winter I made the helmets from whatever was lying around: papier mâché, a colander, a bicycle lamp housing, half of an old dustbin lid.

The last show was in a field outside Penrith, with twelve people in the stands and a dog that kept wandering off to sniff the cog. My brother walked out in the white armour, a little too short in the leg, and stood where the ringmaster used to stand. I had the black helmet on, the one made from the lid and the leftover paint, and when the lights came up I breathed through the grille slow and loud, the way we had practised in the caravan, so the children in the front row would believe the ceiling was about to come down.

Afterwards Dad asked where I'd learned to make a voice sound like weather. I told him the truth, that I had only ever wanted to be the one who frightened people. He laughed, lifted the helmet off my head, and hung it on the nail beside the blue cog, next to the roses nobody had repainted since 1987. It is still there. The field is a car park now, and the roses have faded to the colour of old plums.