Fine line constellation tattoo of dark dots and small star shapes on the hip, shown in a close up and in a photo of a bare midriff wearing a black thong.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Constellation tattoo on the hip

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a constellation made of small dark dots joined by fine dotted lines, with several star shapes of varying size. It sits on the side of the hip and upper thigh, and the two photos show it from a close angle and from the side of a bare torso. The ink is black and grey, with the stars appearing slightly lighter than the dots against plain skin tones.

Fine line Other Constellation Star Dot

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 chart had been soaked through on the Tuesday, when spray came over the gallery rail and turned the ink to blue ghosts, and Nell spent the whole evening trying to remember where the dots went. Her father could have drawn them blindfold. He had charted the sky for the St Loy boats for thirty-one years, and now he lay in the back bedroom with a cough like a loose shutter, asking every hour whether the wind had backed round to the west yet.

Keep reading

She climbed to the gallery after midnight with a stub of pencil and the back of a tide table. Through the salt-clouded glass the bright stars sat like brass studs on black cloth, and the dotted line ran over the headland in the shape of a fishhook. Her father had always said the hook pointed to the crab grounds, not the lamp, and that a fisherman who trusted the hook would never need the light. She copied it dot by dot, counting twice, then a third time when the beam swept round and bleached the paper white.

A lamp answered from the bay a little after one, low and wavering, and she knew it for the Mary Jane even before she saw her shape. Danny Roskilly had his own boy aboard that night and no compass he trusted. Nell stood at the rail and flashed her father's old signal, the three short and the long one, then laid the pencilled hook across the water so that Danny could find the sand bar on the other side of the stars.

At first light she pinned the tide table to the kitchen wall and went up the stairs two at a time. Her father was awake, eyes on the ceiling. She told him the boats were in and the hook had held. He turned his face to the window, where the sea was grey and quiet, and said, "Then you've been counting properly," and she saw that the pencil marks had smudged into the pale skin of her own palm.