Fine line crescent moon tattoo with mandala detailing and pink and teal watercolour splashes on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon with mandala and watercolour splashes

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A crescent moon filled with ornate, lace-like mandala patterns is drawn in dark, fine outline on the forearm. Pink and teal watercolour-style splashes run around and through the moon's edges, with small dots scattered near the curve. The composition is centred on the arm, with the splashes creating a soft, loose contrast to the precise linework.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Crescent moon Moon Mandala Lace pattern Watercolour splash Dot Petal

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

Pell the baker's daughter had been up since the bells of the far hill, and the moon was still hanging over the mill when she found the flour sack split on the step. Her mother said the moon had come down the chimney again to steal salt. Pell did not believe that, but she did not say so either.

Keep reading

The moon in that village was a thin, lace-cutting thing. Old women said it was made of a hundred little petals stitched together by a spider who owed the sky a favour, and that every dawn it lost a few stitches and every night it found them again in the ponds. Pell thought this was nonsense, but she liked the story, and she liked to watch the light go pink and blue over the cold stone of the oven house while the dough rose.

So on the morning the moon came down low over the bakehouse roof, she did not go to bed. She climbed the ladder with a tray of sweet buns still warm from the oven and set them on the ridge. Then she waited. The moon looked at the buns, and the buns smelled of cinnamon and burnt honey, and the moon, being old and hungry in the way of old things, leaned down and took one bite from the edge.

The bite left a crescent, and it was the most beautiful thing Pell had ever seen. Where the moon had nibbled, the sky spilled pink and teal like watercolour running down a wet page. The village woke, and the old women came out and swore the spider had been paid. Pell ate the rest of the buns herself, sitting on the roof, and left the moon the thin curve it had bitten clean.