Colour tattoo of the Punisher skull emblem with a comic-style figure in blue and black inside it, on the upper thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Punisher skull with comic figure on thigh

Other · Mixed · Photo

A large tattoo on the upper thigh shows a white skull emblem with a black outline, with a comic-book style figure in a dark blue and black suit and holding weapons set within the skull's round top. The skull's teeth are drawn as three bars with a red detail beneath, and the bold outlines and shading give it a graphic, illustrative look. The tattoo fills most of the frame against a light skin tone, with a fabric edge visible at the top.

Other Skull Comic character Figure Gun

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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

The rain has been falling on Cardigan Street since nine, and by half one the gutters are running like they have somewhere better to be. You are up the stepladder with a tin of enamel in one hand and a brush in the other, painting a skull onto the roller shutter of a closed bakery because Mrs Okafor's nephew owes you forty quid and this was the only job he could find. The skull is nearly done. Its round top is white as bleached bone, its teeth drawn as three heavy bars.

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Inside the skull's dome sits the figure you copied from a comic Dessie left on the counter, its pages yellowed and thumbed soft. A man in a blue suit, crouched low and ready to drop, a cut of white across his chest and a weapon braced against his shoulder. You have spent an hour getting his jaw right. Every line has to sit where it sat on the page, or the whole thing looks like a guess.

A van turns in at the top of the street, its headlights sweeping the wet brick. Two lads come out of the chip shop with their hoods up. One of them stops, reads the shutter, and laughs. "That's a bit keen for a bakery, mate." You don't look down. "Bread's serious business," you say. He doesn't laugh the second time, and they walk off towards the bus shelter, shoulders hunched against the weather.

When they've gone you dip the brush, add the thin red smear beneath the last bar, and step back into the spill of the streetlamp. In the wet light the figure seems to lean out of the metal, blue on white, waiting for the next panel to turn. You sign nothing. Tomorrow someone will tag it, and that will be the right kind of attention.