Colour tattoo of a dragonfly, a butterfly and clusters of pink, purple and blue five-petalled flowers on a person's skin, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dragonfly, butterfly and flowers on skin

Botanical · Other · Colour · Photo

The design combines a black-outlined dragonfly with translucent wings and a butterfly with blue and pink wings, surrounded by several small five-petalled flowers in pink, purple and blue with yellow centres. The shapes have soft shading and fine outlines, with the flowers blended in gradients across the skin. The flowers are spread across the whole composition, with the insects placed at the upper left and upper right.

Botanical Other Dragonfly Butterfly Flower Forget-me-not Floral

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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

Now, sit closer, because the wind off Gull Rock carries a story out of the room if you let it. Old Tomas kept the light there for thirty-one winters, and all that time a patch of blue flowers grew in a crack in the rock below the gallery, though nobody had ever planted them. His wife Morwenna used to say they were the sea's apology for the ships it had taken.

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The autumn the lamp glass cracked, the fog came down so thick a man could not see his own boots. Tomas lay in the back room with his chest, and their boy Jory, only nine, climbed the iron stairs with the lamp oil in a tin pail, singing the old counting rhyme so he would not lose his place in the steps. Halfway up, a dragonfly came out of the murk, its wings lit like threads of glass, and it flew ahead of him as though it knew the way. Then a butterfly followed, pink and blue as the sky after rain, and settled on the rail to wait for him.

Jory reached the gallery. He trimmed the wick by feel, the way his father had taught him, and the beam swept out over the water. Below, the forget-me-nots shivered in the spray, purple and pink and blue, and he understood then what his mother had meant. The flowers were never an apology. They were a way of saying which way home lay, and every ship that ever read that light had been told the same.

Jory kept the lamp burning until morning. The dragonfly was gone by dawn, but a small blue petal stayed pressed against the glass where the old crack ran, and it is there still, if you care to look.