Black and white photo of a woman wearing a stormtrooper helmet, showing black and grey tattoos on her forearm, upper arm, hands, abdomen and legs, including a script lettering piece on the stomach.

Script and rose tattoos with stormtrooper helmet

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A studio photograph of a woman in a stormtrooper helmet, black bra and striped briefs, with tattoos across her arms, hands, abdomen and legs. The visible designs include script lettering on the lower abdomen, roses on the hand and thigh, and larger figurative pieces on the upper arm and calf, with bold outlines and shaded fills. The image is monochrome with a plain grey backdrop and the subject centred in the frame.

Lettering Forearm Upper arm Hand Thigh Calf Other Script Rose Lettering Figure

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

Mo Garside had run the lost property hatch at Hexham for nineteen years and had never once been handed a helmet. Yet at ten to nine on a wet Thursday, a courier in a yellow jacket slid a cardboard box across the counter and said the guard on the 8.52 had found it under seat fourteen. Inside was a white plastic helmet with a black visor, the paint scuffed grey at the brow, and tucked into its chin strap was a folded betting slip.

Keep reading

On the back, in biro, someone had written Vegas, Platform 2, 11.15, and beneath that a single rose drawn in careful, looping lines. Mo turned the slip over twice. The timetable said nothing ran from Platform 2 to anywhere called Vegas. Still, at eleven fifteen she found herself standing on the cold concrete with the helmet under her arm, watching the late train slide in with its doors hissing.

Nobody got off except a boy with a skateboard and an old man carrying carnations wrapped in newspaper. He stopped in front of her, looked at the helmet, and said, "Lost that at a fancy-dress do in Carlisle. Thought it had gone for good." He took the helmet, then pressed the carnations into her hands. "Those are for whoever kept it safe."

She watched the tail lights shrink along the line, the wet stems cold in her grip, and realised she had never asked what the card meant. Perhaps she didn't want to know. Back in the office she filed the betting slip in the drawer marked unclaimed, under V, and went back to her crossword.