Realistic coloured tattoo of a cicada with a green and blue body, red eyes and translucent wings, sitting on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cicada tattoo on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A large cicada is tattooed on the forearm, viewed from above with its wings folded over its back and its legs and antennae extended. The insect is rendered in realistic detail, with fine shading on the dark blue-black abdomen, textured thorax and veined, amber-tinted wings. Green and blue tones dominate the body, with small touches of red on the eyes against a pale, plain background.

Realism Forearm Insect

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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

No, don't reach for the ladder yet, the windfalls will keep. Sit where the shade is. I'll tell you about the summer the ground opened in Pell's orchard, because your great-uncle swore to it and he never once lied about fruit.

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Seventeen years that bug had been down in the clay under the Bramley row, feeding on root sap in the dark, and nobody thought about it at all. Then one July morning the trunk of the old Blenheim was crawling with husks, pale as lamp glass and split down the back where something had walked out of them. Green-eyed, blue-black in the body, with its wings folded flat like a letter nobody had opened yet. Edith Pell stood beneath it with a colander and forgot what she'd come out for.

It sang. Not like a bird. More like a saw drawn slowly through wet wood, then a wire humming in the wind, rising until the whole orchard rang with it and the pickers came out of the rows to listen. Edith said it was asking the trees a question. Her husband said it was asking for a wife, which was a lie, because he'd been waiting on the same answer himself for forty years.

By the time the leaves turned the song had stopped and the cicada was gone, and nobody saw it leave. But the apples that year were the sweetest anyone remembered, and Edith kept one husk pinned to the shed door. When you ask me why, I'll tell you that's a different story, and it's nearly teatime.