Black line drawing of a geometric tattoo design showing an arrow passing through an outlined diamond, with a single red droplet at the tip, on a grey textured background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Arrow through a diamond with a red drop

Fine line · Mixed · Flash

The design shows a thin black arrow running vertically, with its shaft passing through a faceted outline of a diamond. A small solid red droplet sits below the arrowhead at the bottom. The linework is clean and uniform on a pale grey, mottled background, with the diamond centred and plenty of empty space around the motif.

Fine line Geometric Arrow Diamond Drop Blood drop Line drawing

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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

Hush now, the band's taking a breath, so you'll get the whole of it while the floor's empty. Ask anyone who danced at Hartley's Palais in the summer of thirty-eight about Ada Monk, and they'll tell you she had the quickest feet north of the river and the sharpest tongue. Her father kept a fletcher's shop on Coble Lane, and he taught her to string a bow before she could thread a needle.

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Frank Doyle came to the Palais that August with a bow case on his shoulder and a brooch in his waistcoat pocket. It was a paste diamond, cut in facets and set on a bar of tarnished brass, and he'd won it off a sailor at cards. He held it up under the lights and swore it was real. Ada laughed in his face, so he wagered her a dance that he could put an arrow clean through it at twenty paces, out in the yard where the rain had made the flags shine.

He did it. The shaft passed through the middle of the stone, and the glass split along one facet with a sound like ice cracking on a pond. The head came out the far side and nicked the back of his hand, and a single bead of blood ran down to the wet slabs and sat there, bright as a cherry. Nobody cheered. Ada walked over, drew the arrow free, and turned the brooch in the lamplight until she found the maker's mark, small as a fingernail, stamped on the brass.

Frank was gone within the year, on a beach he never got to, and Ada kept the brooch and that arrow in a biscuit tin under the stairs. Years later a jeweller in Leeds told her the stone was real, cut and clear as spring water, and she laughed until she had to sit down on the kerb. Then she asked me if the band was ready, because she still owed a dance to a man who never once lost a bet.