Colour tattoo of a lightsaber on a finger, with a grey and orange hilt and a long blue blade running along the finger.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lightsaber tattoo on a finger

Hand · Mixed · Photo

A lightsaber is tattooed along the side of a finger, with a small grey hilt showing orange and dark detailing at the left end. The blue blade runs the length of the finger with a lighter centre and soft shading, and the outlines are clean. The background is out of focus, showing a person in a yellow and grey plaid shirt.

Hand Lightsaber Blade Hilt Sword Finger

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

In the winter the river freezes solid below Harrowmere, your father sends you down the wynd with a sack of ash-coal and a warning about the ice. The smith at the bottom does not look up when you come in. She is busy with a hilt of grey iron, bored through with a ring of copper the colour of a fox, and she tells you to hold the crucible steady or she will give your hands to the bellows.

Keep reading

What she is making is not a sword. The old queen of Vell ordered a blade that would cut without edge, a line of cold blue fire that could be lifted out of its hilt and folded back in again. Nobody in Harrowmere has seen one. The smith has seen two, she says, and both of their makers are dead. She sets the hilt on the anvil, speaks a word you do not catch, and the blue spills out along the air like milk poured the wrong way, stopping just short of your fingertip.

You reach out anyway. The light is warm, and it hums in the bones of your hand like a struck bell. The smith slaps your wrist and says the blade is for the queen's guard, not for children with itching fingers. But she is smiling when she says it, and she lets you carry the hilt up the wynd in the snow, cupped in both hands, while the river groans beneath the ice.

At the palace gate the guard takes it from you and thumbs the copper ring. The blue leaps out and draws a bright line across the falling snow, and for one moment the whole yard turns to look at the girl who made it. You never tell the smith that you kept a splinter of that light. It stayed on your finger for the rest of the winter, a thin cold brightness no one else could see, and you held it up to the window each morning to be sure it was still there.