Colour tattoo of a green retro spaceship with a red trim and round portholes, set against a starry purple and blue galaxy on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Green retro spaceship in a galaxy on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a green, streamlined retro spaceship with a red stripe, round portholes and a small circular emblem on its nose, drawn with soft shading that gives it volume. It sits in a field of blue and purple space with scattered white stars and glowing red and pink planet-like forms behind it. The arm rests on a maroon leather surface, and the image is framed to show the whole design across the forearm.

Realism Forearm Spaceship Galaxy Star Planet Rocket

Find an artist for this

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

The stamp was already inked when the thing came down on the salt flat, which is the only reason I kept my hands steady. Ferris had gone for tea and I had the ledger open at a page for unregistered vehicles, a page I had never once needed. The hull settled into the crust with a sigh of cooling metal. It was green, the bright green of a sweet shop bottle, with a red stripe running its length and five round portholes that blinked at me like patient eyes.

Keep reading

A hatch slid open. A man climbed out in a leather jacket, a fishbowl helmet pushed back on his head, and held up a card printed with a wheel. The small round badge on the nose had once said something proud; I could make out only the word SONS. He asked, through a grille that buzzed like a fly against glass, whether this was the crossing to Lesser Maddow. I said it was the only crossing, that the Republic did not admit visitors from the sky without a form, and that I had no form for sky.

He laughed, and the planets behind him brightened, red and pink and bruised violet, as if the stars had leaned in to listen. He said his grandmother had drawn this ship on the back of a ration card and he had come to deliver the drawing to whoever had kept it. I asked for the name. He gave me one, my mother's maiden name, spelled wrongly in the way only she ever spelled it.

I stamped the page. ADMITTED, the stamp read, and beneath it, because the box was there, RETURN NOT REQUIRED. The ship rose without fuss, its red stripe catching the light, and it left a faint green print of dust on the ledger where my thumb had been. Ferris came back with the tea and asked what the fuss was. I told him nothing. I told him it was only the sky, passing through.