Geometric blue, teal and purple snowflake tattoo with black accents on the upper arm, next to a white top with red anchor print.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue snowflake on upper arm

Geometric · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A symmetrical six-pointed snowflake fills the upper arm, with a black centre and radiating black, blue and purple arms. Layered teal and blue panels form an inner star, with purple and green highlights in the petals. The design is centred on the arm against a plain skin background, with a white top patterned with red anchors at the right edge.

Geometric Upper arm Snowflake Star Geometric pattern

Find an artist for this

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 ferry was already an hour late when Ingrid Tulloch pinned the first flake to the harbour office window, cut from a page of the tide tables with the good scissors her father had left her. Outside, the gulls had gone quiet in the way that meant ice was coming off the firth, and the anchor chain on the Maid of Skerra rang against the bollard like someone knocking to be let in.

Keep reading

She had folded the paper six times, the way he had shown her the winter she was nine, and opened it into six arms, each cut with a notch and a tongue of blue ink where the tide times had run out. It looked nothing like the frost on the wheelhouse glass. It looked like something a child would make for a school window. Still, the men who came in off the boats stopped beneath it and read it the way they read the sky.

Her brother's boat was due back before the snow. Callum had gone south in October for a job on a rig, and the only letter he sent said that the water was black and the coffee was worse. She had cut a flake for every week since and pinned them in a row along the sill, each one a little different, none of them quite right.

On the Thursday the ferry finally came round the point, low in the water and grey as slate. Ingrid lifted the last flake from the glass, pressed it flat in her coat pocket, and walked down the slipway to meet the lines. Callum stepped off first, thinner, the hood of his jacket already white at the edges. She held out the paper without a word. He unfolded it, looked at the six points, and laughed until he had to sit on the bollard.

"You made me a snowflake," he said.

"I made you a map," she said. "It's the way home."