Colour tattoo of a pink unicorn with a rainbow mane carrying a helmeted rider who holds a blaster, on the lower leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Helmeted rider on a pink unicorn

Calf · Colour · Photo

A pink unicorn with a rainbow mane and horn gallops across the leg, carrying a rider in grey armour and a green helmet who raises a blaster. The rider's helmet, armour and a small blaster are shown with bold dark outlines, and the flat fills of pink, rainbow, green and grey give a cartoon look. The design fills the frame diagonally against plain skin, with the unicorn's legs extending to the lower edge.

Calf Unicorn Helmet Armour Horn

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Margaret Rose was two days out of Peterhead when the net came up heavy and kicking, and Dougie swore it was a whale until the thing put its head over the gunwale. Pink as a boiled sweet, with a rainbow mane that tumbled down its neck like a cheap raffle prize, and a horn that caught the wheelhouse lamp. On its back sat a rider in scuffed grey armour and a green helmet, one hand knotted in the mane and the other pointing a blaster the size of a kipper at the gulls.

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'Mind the rigging,' the rider said, in the flat patient voice of someone who had been told to mind things before. 'Put us down somewhere dry and I'll square it.' Skipper Agnes Gow looked at the blaster, then at the three hundredweight of mackerel the unicorn had apparently been herding into the net for the past hour, and decided a deal could be struck with anything that worked like a sheepdog. 'Dry is a rock off Fraserburgh,' she said. 'Wet is the harbour.'

They ran for port with the unicorn standing on the foredeck, hooves splayed against the roll, and the rider counting the catch into crates with the blaster tucked under one arm like a clipboard. Nobody on the quay asked questions. Dougie wrote the weight in the logbook, crossed it out, and wrote 'pony' instead.

At first light the unicorn stepped off the pier onto wet stone, each hoof leaving a small violet smudge on the slabs, and went trotting up the road toward the moor with its mane streaming behind it. The rider lifted the blaster in salute. Agnes, who had not believed in much since her husband's boat went down in 1987, found she was waving back.