Colourful neo-traditional sleeve tattoo on an upper arm showing a blue TARDIS police box, a Dalek and stormy sky with lightning.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

TARDIS and Dalek full sleeve

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A full sleeve tattoo runs from the shoulder down the upper arm, centred on a blue TARDIS police box with its 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX' sign. A grey Dalek sits beside it, with lightning, storm clouds and a bright burst of light above, and green and pink organic shapes fill the lower part of the sleeve. The bold outlines and saturated colours dominate, with soft shading on the clouds and the box, against a plain white vest and pale background.

Neo-trad Upper arm Shoulder Tardis Police box Dalek Lightning Sleeve

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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

Mr Holroyd had been dead for eleven years, but his handwriting still headed the sign-in sheet at the Ashby Grange reunion, Class of 1986, all welcome, in the careful capitals he used on every mark sheet. Jean Pargeter ran a biro through the blank space beside her name and went looking for a chair that wasn't sticky. The caterers had given up on the sausage rolls. Outside, the sky over the car park had gone the colour of a bruised plum.

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Forks of lightning kept stitching down into the hedge. Jean had brought a carrier bag holding a hardback copy of The Chrysalids, borrowed from the sixth form library in 1986 and never returned. She went out to the bins to find a cigarette she had given up in 1994, and there was a blue box standing among the wheelie bins with its lamp burning on the roof. Its panels still read POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX, faded at the corners. Beside it, a grey dome-headed thing sat in the rain, its plunger arm lifting slowly to point at her.

The door opened and a man in a velvet jacket stepped out, holding a mug of tea that steamed in the storm. He had a face like a worried heron and the look of someone who had been waiting a long time. 'Overdue,' he said, nodding at the bag. 'Forty years, Jean. The fine is considerable.' The grey thing clicked its agreement. Jean opened her mouth to argue, then remembered Holroyd telling the class that a book kept too long was a book somebody had been afraid to finish.

She handed it over. He flicked to the back, where the date card still held the ink of a stamp, wrote something beneath it, and gave it back with a slip of paper tucked inside the cover. The lightning went off like a camera flash, and when Jean could see again the box was humming quietly and the car park held nothing but two wet tyre tracks. Back in the function room she found the slip in her handbag. It said, in those same capitals: KEEP IT. BRING IT BACK WHEN YOU HAVE FINISHED READING PROPERLY.