Blue watercolour-style tattoo of a TARDIS police box on the inner forearm, with ink splashes running down towards the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

TARDIS tattoo with blue ink splashes on a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A close photo of a forearm showing a TARDIS police box drawn in dark blue and black with soft shading on its panels and windows. Blue ink bleeds and fades downwards from the base of the box into loose splashes, giving a watercolour effect. The tattoo sits centrally on the forearm against a blurred background of a dark patterned bag and a black chair.

Forearm Tardis Police box Splash Ink splatter

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 lorry was logged at 04:12 with a manifest for eight flatpack garden sheds, and the weigh-bridge agreed with the paperwork, which was the first thing that worried me. I was on nights at the Esk crossing when the driver climbed down and asked, very politely, whether we had a stamp for things that were bigger inside than out. I told him the stamp was for lorries. He said that seemed fair.

Keep reading

The box was parked behind the barrier, blue as a healing bruise, its panels scuffed and the little lamp on its roof still warm when I touched the glass. PUBLIC CALL BOX, the sign said, though the telephone had been pulled out before I was born, and someone had painted POLICE above the door in a hand that tried hard to look official. Where the paint met the wet tarmac it had run and bled downward, like ink dropped into a jar of water, and I stood there with my torch on it for far longer than the procedure allowed.

Inside, a clipboard hung from a hook beside a single form. Destination: wherever it's needed. Purpose: to be returned. Declared contents: one wardrobe, one cup of tea gone cold, one thing that hummed in a key I could feel in my teeth. The signature in the corner was green, and it kept changing shape while I read it.

I stamped it. I still don't know why. The driver thanked me and the box made a sound like a cello dragged across a kitchen floor, and when the light folded in on itself I was holding a receipt dated tomorrow, in my own handwriting, with a question underneath that I hadn't written yet.