Traditional flash design of a Stormtrooper helmet framed by red roses, green leaves, crossed bones and black dots, drawn on paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Stormtrooper helmet with roses and bones

Traditional · Colour · Flash

A coloured drawing of a Stormtrooper helmet centred on the page, with two red roses, dark green leaves and bones crossing behind it. The helmet is shaded in tan and brown tones, while the roses and leaves use bold black outlines. Scattered black dots fill the space around the motif, which is arranged in a symmetrical composition.

Traditional Neo-trad Stormtrooper Helmet Rose Bone Leaf Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain came sideways across the car park at Haddow Street before the first shutter was up, and by eleven your tarpaulin was sagging like a wet sail. You had set out what sold in weather like this: cracked belts, a tin of bakelite buttons, a box of reels from a shop that closed in 1987. The white helmet sat at the end of the table on a folded towel, its visor painted with two red roses and a pair of crossed bones at the chin, the paint gone soft where your thumb had rubbed it for three weeks.

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A girl in a yellow mac stopped there and turned the helmet over. "Is it real?" "Real enough for twenty quid," you said, which was a lie, because you had paid a man in Leeds twelve for it and he had sworn it had been in a film. She rapped the dome with a fingernail and it rang flat, like a bin lid. "My gran's got a rose like that on her arm," she said. "She says roses are for the ones who stay." She put it back on the towel without buying it and walked off into the grey, and you were glad, because you had been thinking of keeping it.

By two the rain had thinned to a mist that hung in the stall lights, and the men were packing their vans. You kept sitting. Someone had left a paper cup of tea beside the helmet, still steaming, which had not been there before, and you never saw who. You picked up the helmet, pulled your sleeve over your knuckles, and wiped the visor clean where the rain had streaked the roses. Then you set it on the wet kerb by the bus stop, bones facing the road, so whoever came for the number 42 would have to look at it.