Neo-traditional tattoo of a glowing UFO over pine trees and a purple night sky, framed in an oval with the words I WANT TO BELIEVE below, on the thigh.

UFO and pine trees on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A grey and green flying saucer with a glowing beam hangs above a line of pine trees and rolling green hills, set in an oval frame. A purple night sky with a crescent moon, stars and swirling clouds fills the background, and the words I WANT TO BELIEVE sit in black lettering along the bottom edge. Bold dark outlines and smooth colour fills give it a bright, flat, graphic look, with a dotted texture in the beam.

Neo-trad Thigh Ufo Flying saucer Moon Cloud Pine tree Hill Star Night sky Lettering Quote

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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

Mind the step, it's worn smooth by Renwicks, and sit where the draught can't get you. You want the story of the light on Hanging Stone, and you'll get it straight, because my grandmother told it me straight and she never told a lie in her life except the one about the pudding.

Keep reading

It was the winter of sixty-one, the year the lamp kept failing. Alec Renwick had the keeping of it then, a long quiet man who whistled hymns through his teeth. One night the beam sputtered, so he climbed the stair with his paraffin can, and when he came out on the gallery there was a thing hanging over the pines behind the cliff. A grey saucer with a rim of pink and green, bright as a new shilling, and under it a cone of light speckled like salt on a pie crust. The fishermen's wives swore they saw it too, from the harbour, and every one of them went to bed with the shutters closed.

Alec didn't run. He walked down through the heather with the can in one hand and the hymn still going in his mouth, and when he stood at the edge of the meadow the beam came down over him soft as a blanket. A ewe was lifted clean off the grass and set down again as careful as a lady setting a teacup. He wrote it in the log that night in his square black hand: a light came down where our light should have been. He never reported it, and nobody asked him to.

The lamp came back on at midnight, brighter than he had ever made it burn, and it has burned that way ever since. Above the door he scratched four words into the lintel with a nail, so he would see them every time he went out to check the wick. Go on, have a look before your tea goes cold. Reach up. You can still read them.