Colour tattoo on the back of a witch hat, black script reading Defy Gravity, and a wand ending in a yellow star, with scattered black stars.

Defy Gravity script with witch hat and wand

Lettering · Back · Mixed · Photo

The design shows a green witch hat at the upper left, black cursive lettering reading Defy Gravity across the centre, and a thin golden wand ending in an orange-yellow star at the lower right. Black five-pointed stars and small red dots trail from the hat towards the right, suggesting sparkle. The linework is bold and clean, with the hat shaded in green and yellow and the star given a soft gradient, set against a close, slightly out-of-focus view of skin.

Lettering Back Wand Star Script Lettering

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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

You find the hat at the bottom of the feed store, wedged behind a sack of mineral lick, its green felt gone soft at the brim. Your grandmother wore it to shift the ewes in the wind, and nobody has touched it since the year the bottom barn roof came down. Frost still silvers the yard at half past six, and the kitchen smells of burnt toast and wet wool.

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Dad says the back field will flood by Thursday unless someone clears the culvert under the ice, and the job is yours because you are the only one small enough to crawl in. You pull the hat on anyway. A few star-shaped sequins from some village panto still cling to the lining, and when you tap it against the gate post, a little frost drops off like dust from a stage curtain.

The culvert is black water and rust. You lie on your front with a crowbar, breath smoking, and the ice gives with a crack like a rifle shot. Something shifts beneath you. The water hisses through, and for one long second the whole field seems to tip towards the sky, the way it does when you run downhill in boots that are too big. You grip the stone lip and hold on.

When you climb out, your fingers are numb and the hat is gone, snagged on the wire and bobbing in the ditch like a green boat. You wade out after it anyway. Above the ridge the cloud has broken into a hard pale blue, and a handful of stars are already showing, sharp as pinpricks. Dad watches from the gate with his arms folded. He says nothing, but he lifts the hat from the water, shakes it out, and sets it back on your head, crooked, as if that settles the matter.