Black and grey tattoo of the character Yoda standing on a cloud with a staff, shaded with brown tones on the robe, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Yoda on a cloud on a thigh

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a small-eyed, large-eared character in a hooded robe, leaning on a staff and standing on a stylised cloud at the base of the design. The linework is dark and fairly bold, with grey shading across the head, face and robe folds. Reddish-brown wash on the robe adds a second colour to an otherwise grey composition, which is centred on the figure and framed by the cloud.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fog came off the Dogger in one piece that April, and the Mary Ellen Rose went out into it with eleven boats around her and nobody able to see the next bow. Old Tobias Quay stood at the rail with his gimer stick hooked over one arm, his brown oilskin hanging to his shins like a friar's habit. He was the smallest man aboard and the only one nobody argued with.

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"Hold her steady," he said, without looking at me. "The cloud's thicker to the north. You'll hear the Scarborough bell before you see it, and then you'll wish you'd listened sooner." I had a radar set that cost more than the engine and a lad on the wheel who swore by it. But the screen showed only grey, and when the bell came it was off the starboard quarter, exactly where he'd said.

We hauled nets through the night with the fog pressing on the lamps like wet wool. At first light it lifted in one long sheet, and there low on the water was the Hull fleet, strung out in a line, drifting with their engines dead. We had found every one of them. Quay had already gone below. When I went down to his bunk he sat with the stick across his knees, watching the lamp swing.

"Next time, you'll listen the first time," he said. Then he tapped the stick twice on the deck boards, the way you'd settle a dog, and the last of the fog slid off the hatch like it had been waiting for his permission.

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