Realism tattoo of a one hundred dollar bill with a grey portrait and green-tinted 100 numerals, shown on a forearm in three panels.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hundred dollar bill tattoo on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Three views of a forearm tattoo depicting a US one hundred dollar banknote, including the central portrait, the seal, serial numbers and the corner denominations. The portrait and paper are rendered in soft grey shading with fine detail, and small teal-green accents appear in the 100 numerals. The bill wraps around the arm, filling the frame from edge to edge.

Realism Forearm Dollar bill Banknote Portrait

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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

Dear Nell, the plate is finished at last, and I have hidden it under the loose board beneath the copper kettle, where your mother never thinks to look. Eleven weeks of cross-hatching went into that statesman's face, and still his eyes follow me across the workshop like a clerk checking the till. Mr Pryce from the Commercial Street shop came round on Tuesday with his brass loupe and asked whether the seal had been struck from the real die. I told him it was my own cutting, taken from a photograph I made on the wharf, and he laughed and stood me a pint of mild.

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The serial numbers were the devil. MM 62124205 B2 has to sit just so, the letters pressed in with a needle no thicker than a hair, and the numerals at each corner need that teal-green cast, which I could not get until I ground verdigris into linseed and tried it on the back of an old tide table. Twice I ruined a corner by breathing on it. The third time, the green sat in the figures like light under water, and I sat down on the stool and cried like a boy who had been told he could keep the dog.

Then yesterday a gentleman in a grey overcoat came into the shop asking for paper, and he held my best sheet up to the window the way Pryce does. He did not say a word about the portrait. He turned it over, rubbed the ink with his thumb, and said the trick is never the face, it is the weight of the paper, and that I had been too honest with the edges. Then he bought a quire of stationery and left a card on the counter with a name I will not write down.

So I am burning the plate tonight and keeping only this letter. Do not ask me to explain. Put the kettle on and sit where the window catches the light.