Colour full sleeve tattoo on an upper arm and forearm showing the Joker, Batman, a bat symbol and a suited figure in a comic book style, shown from three angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Joker and Batman full arm sleeve

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The photograph shows three views of a full arm sleeve tattoo worn by a man in a grey vest. The Joker, with green hair and a wide grin, sits at the top of the upper arm beside a Batman figure and a bat symbol, while a suited figure with a split face is shown lower on the forearm. The linework is bold and the shading is smooth, with saturated blues, purples, greens and reds set against the skin tones and a plain pale wall in the background.

Neo-trad Upper arm Forearm Joker Batman

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marrow Street had been dark for three nights when Dolan Pike climbed the fire ladder of the Halvorsen Bank with a pot of gloss and a brush he had bought for a shilling. The city below was all wet slate and gaslight, and the billboards along the canal still advertised a circus that had left in March. He was not a painter by trade. He sold tickets at the Mercy Pier and owed money to men who kept their gloves on in July.

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The grinning man had come into the box office that Tuesday with his hair the colour of pond weed and a coat lined with purple silk, asking for one thing: a clean wall facing the water, and nobody standing on it. He paid in ten-pound notes folded into little swans. Dolan had said no. The grinning man had laughed for a long while, the way a gull laughs, then mentioned Dolan's sister's address, and Dolan had stopped saying no.

Up top the wind came off the river carrying coal smoke and the smell of frying onions from the chip shop. Dolan painted a bat, wings wide, the size of a cart. He kept his hand steady on the curve, the way his father had taught him to haul a net, slowly and without looking down at the water.

When the sign lit at dawn, the whole district could read it. On the pier below, the grinning man stood with a silver cane and a fistful of paper swans, looking up. He did not clap. He only tipped his hat towards the black shape against the sky, and Dolan understood that the bat had never been meant as a warning to the city. It was a warning to him, and he was the one who now had to stay on the roof.