Neo-traditional tattoo of a stormtrooper helmet decorated with sugar skull patterns and blue flowers, framed by outlined roses and swirls, on a thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Stormtrooper helmet with roses on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Mixed · Photo

A stormtrooper helmet is decorated with lace-like sugar skull patterns, including a web motif across the top and blue flowers over the eye areas. Outlined roses, leaves and scrolling swirls surround the helmet on the skin. The helmet is shaded in grey with black linework, while the flowers and small accents are in blue, red, orange and yellow.

Neo-trad Thigh Stormtrooper Helmet Sugar skull Rose Flower Swirl Leaves Lace pattern

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The helmet came up the valley in the last week of August, wrapped in oilcloth and strapped to the back of a carrier's mule. Hesta Coombe, who kept the bees above the top orchard, was the one who cut the cords, and she stood a long while looking at it. The shell was grey and plain as a pail, with a snout for breathing and two slots for seeing, and somebody had since gone over it with a fine brush and a great deal of patience.

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The painting was Ines's work, Hesta knew at once. Ines from the hill farms had lost three sons to the soldiers in the white armour and had taken up the brush afterwards, to keep her hands from shaking. She had laid a lace of spiders' webbing across the crown and set blue flowers over the eye slots, the same blue chicory that grew along the orchard walls, with orange and yellow scrolls trailing down the cheeks like pollen on a sleeve. Nobody in the valley asked where the mule had come from. Nobody asked after the man who had worn it.

Hesta hung it from the old medlar at the end of the top row, where the wind could get at it. Through August the children dared each other to climb the trunk and look through the eye slots at the orchard turned upside down. Wasps went in and out of the snout all day, and when the windfalls began to thud onto the grass, she filled the crown with them, hard green cookers and sweet russets, until the helmet sat in the branches like a bowl of fruit.

By October the webs on the lace were heavy with dew and the seams had begun to split, but the apples kept coming. Nobody came up the valley road to claim it. The children said the flowers had grown over the eye slots, and in a way they had, because every autumn Hesta painted them fresh, blue as the chicory, so the thing could look out at the orchard for once and find nothing in it worth taking.