Watercolour-style superhero figure in blue and red with splashed edges, tattooed on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour superhero figure on forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A standing superhero figure in a loose, painterly silhouette is tattooed on the outer forearm, with the head and shoulders in dark blue and the torso and legs fading into red. The edges have soft drips and splatter marks rather than defined outlines, and the shading blends smoothly between the two colours. The figure sits centrally on the arm against a plain background of skin and a pink sleeve.

Forearm Superhero Figure Watercolour Splatter

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Gareth Lowe is pouring squash from an urn that hums like a fridge, and you are halfway through a sausage roll when someone says your surname the way only one person from Ashgrove Comprehensive ever did. You turn. Priya Bains is taller than you remember and grey at the temples, holding a paper plate with the same care she once gave her pencil case. "You still owe me a hero," she says.

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It was a Tuesday in the spring of 1996, the back page of your maths book, a caped man drawn in biro because the good pens were banned in double period. You promised to colour him in. You never did. Now she unzips a battered cosmetics bag and takes out the book itself, soft as cloth, and opens it on the tablecloth between the trifle and the raffle tickets. The figure is still there. The head is inked dark and certain, but where she had washed the page with water from the cloakroom tap, the colour ran down his body in red streaks and dripped off the bottom margin like the paper had been crying.

"I kept trying to fix him," she says. "Every time I went near him, I made it worse."

You tell her the head was the only part you got right, and she laughs, the same short bark that used to get you both sent out of Mrs Harrington's room. You ask for a biro from the table by the door. It skips, as it always did. On the back of your name badge you draw a head and shoulders, then press your thumb into the red you pull down from them, and the ink spreads into a smear that looks almost like movement.

"Still skipping," Priya says, and she folds the badge into her purse as though it is worth keeping.