Three traditional-style stickers on a grey surface: a skull with red and blue flowers, a pointing hand with flowers, and a pill bottle, each with text on a banner.

Three traditional flash designs with banner text

Traditional · Mixed · Flash

Three hand-drawn designs sit on a grey textured surface, each cut out like a sticker. The top design shows a skull with red and blue flowers across a banner, the middle one a pointing hand with blue and orange flowers, and the right one a pill bottle with a white cap. Bold black outlines and flat fills give them a traditional flash look, with mostly blue, red, green and flesh tones.

Traditional Skull Flower Banner Hand Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dessie Pike had drummed for the Glenmoor Silver Band for nineteen years and had never once been asked to keep time, only to follow it. So when Mrs Abernethy, who conducted from a folding chair because her hip would not allow the podium, pointed her baton across the rehearsal hall and said, "Together, Dessie, let's breathe," he assumed she meant the flugelhorns were flat again.

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She did not mean that. The band had been at it since Easter, playing the same march over and over for the Whit Friday contest, and the cornets kept rushing the last eight bars like men late for a bus. Mrs Abernethy had a rule about it: nobody stopped until the whole row came in on the same breath. Dessie sat behind his kit with his sticks loose in his fist and counted the room. Twenty-two players, one tin of travel sweets going soft on the piano, a radiator ticking like a clock somebody had forgotten to wind.

Then the kettle in the corner clicked off, and the whole band laughed at the same moment, which Mrs Abernethy said was the first honest sound they had made since January. She took a small brown bottle of cough linctus from her handbag, measured a dose into its cap, and told them the trick to keeping a band alive was not to play faster but to play slower, all of them, into the same gap.

They played the march at half its speed that evening. It sounded like a funeral at first and then, somewhere around the bridge, like a crowd walking home together after a good match. Dessie's sticks found the beat, and for once nobody had to chase it.