Realistic colour tattoo of a Star Wars space battle covering a man's back, with the Death Star, Millennium Falcon, X-wings and TIE fighters, plus a roses and skull sleeve on his arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Star Wars space battle across a full back piece

Realism · Back · Mixed · Photo

A man is photographed from behind showing a large back tattoo of a Star Wars space battle. The Death Star, Millennium Falcon, X-wing and TIE fighters are rendered with detailed shading and highlights against a dark nebula of purple, red and orange, with explosions and laser fire. A separate sleeve on the arm shows roses and a skull in greys and reds.

Realism Back Upper arm Forearm Star wars Death star Nebula Spaceship Rose Skull Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost had kept the lane white since Boxing Day, so Uncle Ray and I hauled the grain trailer down to the lower field behind the quad, one tyre flat and the drawbar shrieking. Nobody on the farm called it a trailer. It was the Falcon, after the ship Grandad had sketched on the side of the hopper in 1979 with a biro and a bottle of Tippex, a grey hulk with a cockpit made from an old ammo box.

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Ray meant to scrap it. He'd bought a newer one from a dealer in Ludlow and the cheque was already folded in his coat. I stood on the hopper with a wire brush while he knocked out the hitch pin, and the rust came away in flakes the colour of a fox. Under the grey was Grandad's paint, faded to pink and blue: a row of TIE fighters along the rail, each with two round wings like a pair of eyes, and on the nose a Death Star that had always looked to me like a bruised plum.

Then the cold got into the diesel and nothing would turn over. We sat in the cab with a flask of tea, and I told him what I'd been saving. Grandad had shown me those drawings the night before he died and said the Falcon was the only ship that ever came back for him. Ray laughed until he coughed. He reached under the seat and pulled out a tin of silver gate paint that had been there since the Jubilee.

By dusk the Falcon shone like a new coin, and the Death Star was a proper moon again. Ray left the cheque in his coat. We drove it up to the yard with the lamps lit and one wheel still flat, dragging a long bright scar across the frost behind us.