Colour tattoo of the comic character Deadpool with arms crossed and crossed swords behind him, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deadpool character on forearm

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A full-colour tattoo shows the Deadpool comic character standing with arms folded, wearing his red suit, black mask with white eye patches, and a brown belt with a black and orange buckle. Two crossed swords rise above his shoulders, and the figure is outlined in dark, bold lines with flat red and black shading. The tattoo fills most of the forearm against a plain background of a wooden floor and a grey padded surface.

Neo-trad Forearm Superhero Mask Sword Comic character

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Harrow Wick House stops between the ninth and tenth floors with a shudder that rattles the bag of chips you bought from the chippy on Dorset Road. The light flickers, then holds. Someone has scratched a figure into the steel panel beside the buttons: a grinning mercenary in a red suit, black mask with white eye patches, two swords crossed over his shoulders. You end up talking to him, because the emergency button has been broken since March and he is the only one in here with a face.

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The intercom gives a wet cough. Mrs Pryce from flat 9C wants to know if that banging is you. You tell her it's the building. The scratched figure seems to be listening. 'Nobody gets out of a lift in under an hour in this place,' you say to him, and you swear his painted eyes narrow. You have always been the sort who breaks the fourth wall, so you break it now, telling him about the depot job you lost on Friday and the envelope in your coat pocket that you haven't had the nerve to open.

Eventually the doors grind apart, but not on the tenth floor. They open on a corridor you have never seen, lit amber, its walls covered in the same red figure, dozens of him, arms folded, waiting. Your chips have gone cold in your hand. Somewhere a radio is playing cricket. You take one step out, the doors sigh shut behind you, and when you turn back the lift is gone and only the scratched mercenary remains, grinning, as if he always knew the way down was up.