Full-colour tattoo of the comic character Deadpool in a bold neo-traditional style on a lower leg, shown with swords and guns.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deadpool character tattoo on a calf

Neo-trad · Calf · Colour · Photo

A red and black masked comic character is shown in a crouching pose, holding a pistol and carrying a sword strapped to his back. The bold black outlines, smooth colour fills and grey shading give it a graphic, comic-book look, with a blue arc behind the figure. Red, orange and grey dominate the composition, which fills the length of the leg.

Neo-trad Calf Comic character Superhero Mask Sword Pistol Gun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift in Harrow Point had been broken since March, so when the masked bloke came up the stairwell two at a time with a sword strapped across his back, I assumed he was lost. Nobody in Block C climbs eleven floors for fun. He stopped on the landing outside our flat, looked at the bin bags, and said, 'Is this where the one who owes the Dutchman forty quid lives?' I said I didn't know any Dutchman. He said that was the right answer, and that he'd come for the other one.

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The other one was my brother Tomás, who had borrowed a white Transit from a man on Canal Road and sold its catalytic converter to a scrapyard in Enfield. The stranger had a pistol in one hand and a paper bag of chicken shop in the other. He ate a wing while he waited for the van keys, which took four minutes and a lot of shouting through the letterbox. Every time anyone threatened him, he made a noise like a cartoon bird and tapped the side of his head. Nobody laughed except the dog on nine.

Then he did something I still can't explain. He pulled a roll of notes from a pouch on his thigh, counted out forty quid for the Dutchman, and handed the rest to my mum, who had come to the door in her dressing gown with a rolling pin. He said the van was going to the scrapyard anyway, and he'd drive it himself, so Tomás could stop pretending he had somewhere to be.

We watched from the balcony as the van pulled out of the car park with its headlights off. The sky over the flats was going the colour of a bruise, then of a bright blue arc like a blade swung low across the estate. Tomás said it was probably a stunt. My mum said the rolling pin was staying by the door. I just stood there, holding the bag of chicken he'd left behind, and wondered who was going to tell the Dutchman.