Colour tattoo of a seahorse with a yellow and grey armoured body, pink fin and green eye, set against blue watercolour splashes on a leg.

Colour seahorse with blue splashes on a leg

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A seahorse with a yellow and grey armoured body, a pink dorsal fin and a bright green eye with lashes faces to the right, with a black outline and shaded plating. Soft blue watercolour-style splashes and small white star shapes surround the figure, filling the background. The tattoo fills most of the frame on a leg, shown from a close angle.

Neo-trad Other Seahorse Fin Eye Splash Watercolour Sea creature

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 tide had turned at the Barrier before Nessa finished her coffee, so she pulled on the rebreather without waiting for the others. Pell was already hanging at the lock gate in the green murk, yellow plates scabbed with the rust of old hulls, his pink fin lifting and settling like a held breath. The Authority had bred him in a tank in Chatham to find pressure leaks in the sunken sluices. He had outlived two supervisors and a drone.

Keep reading

The gate hinges were seized with weed and something older. Nessa worked the crank by hand while Pell circled the frame, the current swinging him one way and then the other. Blue motes of plankton drifted past her torch, glowing like spilt ink. Her light found a crack along the lintel, and Pell darted into it, stopped, and turned to look back at her with that bright green eye, its lashes fanned out like a clerk's pen.

"Go on then," she said through the regulator. He went. She followed the thin thread of his light through the cold pipe until the water thinned and she surfaced into a dry chamber stacked with cargo crates. The labels were still legible under the grime: TEA, CHINA, RETURN TO SENDER. Pell bobbed in the bilge at her boots, indignant that she had taken so long.

She cut the first crate open with her knife. The smell that rose out of it was impossible, warm and dry and sweet, and for a moment she forgot the cold. Pell nudged her glove with his snout. She pinched a curled leaf from the top, held it up to the torch, and said the thing she would later put in her report: that the sea had kept something of the old world safe after all, and that the seahorse had known exactly where to look.