Gloved hands press a blue and purple transfer stencil of a dome and rain-like design onto a forearm ahead of tattooing.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Transfer stencil being applied to a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Flash

A gloved practitioner presses a translucent transfer stencil onto a person's forearm. The stencil shows a dome-like outline with curved grid lines and blue drop shapes beneath it, and some purple and red marker lines are visible on the skin. The background includes a paper towel, a dark cushion and a wristwatch on the practitioner's wrist.

Forearm Stencil Raindrop Glove

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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

Now, you'll want to know why a dome sat on the roof of Harrowgate House like a cracked egg, and I'll tell you, though my knees are against the telling. Sit close and mind the draught off the stairwell, for it always has a grievance.

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The council put it up the year the lifts went out for good. Mr Ostler from the surveyor's office wanted every drop that fell on the estate counted, so he bolted a wire grid over a steel frame and hung a glass bowl beneath to catch the rain. Fourteen floors of people below, and not one of them had asked him to. Edith Corrigan on the eleventh floor did the counting, though. Each morning she climbed up with a biscuit tin of marker pens and drew what the rain had done in the night on a sheet of tracing paper: little blue drops falling under the wires, one for every inch that had gone into the bowl.

Then came the November the wind got under the dome. It lifted it clean off the frame and set it down on the car park like a tin hat, and all the rain that had been counted for years came down on the washing lines at once. Nobody cried about the dome. Edith cried about the tracing paper, because the last ledger was still in the bowl, and the bowl was in the gutter.

She kept the final sheet anyway. You can still see it pinned in the lobby, its blue drops gone soft at the edges, and beneath them, in her careful hand, the one figure she was proud of: the night the whole estate got wet together. Ask the caretaker for the key. He'll show you, and he'll tell you it's the only honest weather report this building ever had.