Traditional style tattoo of a Darth Vader helmet with blue and purple flowers, green leaves and an orange banner reading YOU WERE RIGHT, on the upper arm.

Darth Vader helmet with banner on upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A grey-shaded Darth Vader helmet sits at the centre of the design, with a curved orange banner across the lower part reading YOU WERE RIGHT in black capitals. Two flowers, one blue and one purple with yellow centres, and green leaves frame the helmet on either side. The bold black outlines and solid colour fills are typical of traditional tattooing, and the photo is taken straight on against a dark sleeve.

Traditional Upper arm Darth vader Helmet Banner Lettering Flower Leaves Star wars

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The helm came down the river in the spring flood and snagged on the eel weir below Harrow Cut. Brannagh Vell fished it out with a gaff, thinking it a cook pot, and found a dome of black metal with a grille for a mouth and two dark eyes that gave back nothing. The valley had no word for it. Her grandmother's grandmother had talked of ships that hung in the sky like hooks, and this, she decided, was something left over from that.

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She set it on the drying pole behind the barn, mostly to stop the children poking at it. By midsummer a blue flower had pushed up through a crack along its brow, and a purple one beside it, both with yellow centres like a cat's eyes. Green leaves came after them and wrapped the sides. Birds would not land on the pole. Bees did. Brannagh took this as a sign the thing was ordinary enough, so long as nobody meddled with it.

In autumn a tinker called Oss stopped for a drink and stood looking at the pole for a long while. He scraped the rust from a strip of orange tin fixed beneath the helm's chin and read out the black letters, the only old writing anyone in the valley had seen. YOU WERE RIGHT, he said. He would not say who had written it. He only said that a man in a helm like that had once told a girl she would be the one who stayed, and she had laughed, and he had gone up into the sky to prove her wrong.

When the tinker had gone, Brannagh walked out to the pole. Her own father had left for the coast the year she turned nine and sent back nothing but a bent spoon. She put her palm flat on the cold dome, and the flowers shook their petals in the wind. Right, she said. Then she went in to bank the fire and left the orchard gate open for the bees.