Colourful patterned dragonfly tattoo in fine line and neo-traditional style on a person's upper back near the shoulder blade, with small stars and a pink curve below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Patterned dragonfly on a shoulder blade

Fine line · Back · Colour · Photo

A dragonfly with teal, purple, red and orange patterned wings and a blue body sits on the upper back near the shoulder blade. Below it, a pink curved line and fine dotted trails with small star shapes curl down across the skin. The wing patterns are filled in with solid colour and the stars and dotted lines are in fine linework, on freckled skin against a blurred background.

Fine line Neo-trad Back Shoulder Dragonfly Star Dotted line Swirl Wing Curve

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

Mags had the lead came wrapped round her wrist like a bracelet when the van pulled up outside the kiln shed, and she was still swearing at it when Tomasz came out to help unload. The window was a dragonfly, four feet across, and nobody in Hebden Bridge had ordered anything so frivolous in a decade. Tomasz said it was for a funeral, which was not what the widow had said, so Mags stopped asking.

Keep reading

She cut the glass by lamplight for three nights. Teal for the tail, violet and blush for the wing panels, and a red that came out of the furnace looking like a cut lip and cooled to the colour of rowan berries. Every piece she soldered into the copper with a small dot of pink at the joint, because the widow had asked for pink and had paid in cash, and Mags did not argue with cash.

On the fourth morning the sun came through the north pane and threw the dragonfly across the workshop floor, and the star-dots scattered over the boards as if someone had flicked a brush. Tomasz stood in them with his mouth open. Mags pretended she had planned it. She had not, but she had left a gap in the leading for one curl of pink glass, and when the light found it the line swept out across the planks and up the wall toward the door, as though the thing had somewhere to be and had only paused to be admired.

They hung it that afternoon. The widow never came to see it, and in the years after, Mags would swear the dragonfly flew out of its frame the night the valley flooded, though nobody who knew her believed a word.