Black tribal dragon tattoo on an upper arm, with flame-like spikes and wing shapes reaching toward the shoulder.

Black tribal dragon on upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A large solid black tribal design shows a dragon-like creature with a curled head at the centre, flared wing shapes above and flame-like spikes trailing down the arm. The bold, heavy linework is filled in solid black with smooth edges and no shading. The photo is taken close up from the side, with the tattoo filling most of the upper arm and shoulder against a dark top.

Upper arm Shoulder Dragon Flame Wing

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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

The show had been dying since the spring the elephants were sold, and by the time the canvas went grey with rain, Mrs Tolliver had stopped counting the empty benches. Only the dragon kept faith. It lived in the cold boiler of the generator wagon, black as a stove lid, its wings folded like cut paper. Every night at nine it climbed out through the trapdoor and sat in the dark behind the ring to watch the last act, the way a dog waits by a door.

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The last act was young Ned Parrish, who swallowed flame for a shilling a night and had nothing to show for it but blistered lips. One wet Thursday he sat on the sawdust with his head in his hands and said the dragon could keep its fire if it liked, because nobody came to see fire any more. The dragon considered this. Then it breathed out slowly, and the whole tent filled with a light the colour of marmalade, and the flames ran up its spines and along the guy ropes like something alive.

Word went round the town faster than any poster. By Saturday the field was full of cars with their lamps lit and farmers' children pressed against the rope, and the flames rose and bent and spread their wings above the crowd. Ned bowed until his back cracked. Mrs Tolliver counted the takings twice and then a third time, because she could not believe the sum.

On the Monday the dragon came up through the trapdoor for the last time. Ned found it in the empty ring, its fire gone out, its wings spread against the grey morning. It had given the show everything it had, and it had given it gladly. Mrs Tolliver painted a new name on the wagon, and beneath it, small, a black dragon curled round the letters, so that anyone passing on the road would know who had kept the lights on.