Colour tattoo of a black leopard print pattern with a purple crown, diamonds and a pink gem on a woman's upper arm and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Leopard print and crown on an upper arm

Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo covers the upper arm and shoulder with a black leopard print pattern made of bold, solid spots. Among the spots sit a purple and blue crown with shaded highlights, several small diamonds and a pink gem, all with simple outlines. The woman wears a pink leopard print top and a white lace camisole, and the photograph is cropped below the chin with the background a pale door.

Upper arm Shoulder Leopard print Crown Diamond Gem Spots

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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

The crown was Gussie's idea, and Gussie was a tortoise, so nobody took her seriously until the rain had washed the paint off the greenhouse sign for the third time. Peony the leopard watched her from the top of the potting shed, tail hanging over the gutter like a wet rope, and thought about the treasure the gardener's wife kept in a biscuit tin behind the sundial. Diamonds, Gussie insisted. Pink ones, the size of a thumbnail, if you knew which tin to lift.

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Peony went after dark, when the roses were thick with moths and the lawn smelled of cut grass. She crossed the terrace in silence, slid a paw under the tin lid and found buttons, a broken clock key, three marbles and a glass stopper from some long-gone decanter, rose-pink where the lamplight caught it. Gussie had not lied about everything. The stopper glittered. At the bottom sat a brass pudding mould shaped like a crown, dull with age and smelling faintly of custard.

She carried the mould up the drainpipe in her teeth, which was undignified, and set it on her head while the tortoise laboured up after her to see what had happened. The mould was too big and kept slipping over one ear. Peony rolled her shoulders and let the moths settle on her spots, and it struck her that a black rosette was only a jewel waiting for someone to say so. By morning every beetle in the border had heard that the queen of the potting shed had a crown, and not one of them thought to ask where it had come from.