Realistic colour portrait tattoo of a steampunk woman in a feathered top hat and brass goggles, placed on the side of the ribs.

Steampunk woman portrait on ribs

Realism · Ribs · Colour · Photo

A large portrait of a woman wearing a feathered top hat, brass goggles and a lace glove, with a chain and a brooch-like ornament at her chest. The face and clothing are rendered with smooth, realistic shading and soft gradients, with fine detail in the goggle lenses and hat. Muted browns, greys and black dominate, with warm skin tones and orange-brown metal accents, and the piece wraps around the side of the torso.

Realism Ribs Woman Top hat Goggles Feather Chain Portrait

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

The lenses had clouded over the Tuesday the Wren came in low over Hollin Cross, so Mercy Vane sent her apprentice up the mooring mast with a flask of vinegar, a square of chamois and a strict instruction not to breathe on the glass. Tobias did all three, then came down with soot on his collar from the boiler stack by the north shed and asked why a woman who could grind a lens to a hair's width needed a boy to polish it.

Keep reading

Mercy had been grinding optics for the airship captains since she was fourteen, and she knew the difference between glass that had fogged and glass that had gone wrong. These had gone wrong. Through the brass rims the sky above the moors looked the colour of an old bruise, and a thin silver thread ran along the horizon where no thread should be. She turned the dial on the side of the frame, the one her father had fitted, and the thread grew thicker and brighter until it looked like wire drawn tight.

She sent Tobias running to the harbourmaster with a message scrawled on the back of a timetable: the Wren must not leave its cradle before dusk. The harbourmaster laughed, read it twice, then climbed the signal tower himself. By midnight the wind had come off the moors like a dropped anvil, and the cradles of six ships groaned over in a single long note that rattled the workshop shutters.

Mercy sat alone afterwards, wiping each lens with the chamois while the yard lamps swung outside. Tobias asked her how she had known. She tapped the copper rim twice and said that good glass never lied, it only waited for someone patient enough to look through it properly.