Small black starburst with three tiny stars tattooed on the upper back near the shoulder blade, photographed from behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Starburst and three stars on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A small black starburst sits on the upper back, with three smaller stars arranged around it in a loose triangle. The linework is solid and uniform, with no shading, and the design is set against warm, even skin tones. The photograph is taken from behind, with the subject's dark hair and an earring visible and the face not shown.

Back Starburst Star Sun

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 frost was forecast for four, so Nell Corrigan went out in her husband's coat with a torch in her teeth and a bucket hooked over one arm. The dahlias along the south wall had been her mother's, and she was not going to lose them to a single cold night in October, not after the year they'd had.

Keep reading

She cut them by feel more than sight, stems snapping clean, heads going into the bucket heavy and cold. At the far end of the walled garden the old sundial stood where it always had, its face green with lichen, its gnomon bent a little toward the glasshouse as if it had been listening. Her father used to say the dial was cast in a works in Sheffield with a sunburst on its rim, and that every star around it marked where the shadow would fall at a certain hour. Nobody had told her the lichen was hiding anything until she scraped it with her thumbnail and found the points: three small ones in a loose triangle around the great starburst, the way he had drawn them on the back of every birthday card.

She stood there longer than the cold justified. The torch made a yellow circle on the iron, and in it the shadow of the gnomon lay across the three stars like a hand laid flat on a table. Three o'clock, she thought, and the frost would not come down until long after that, and she would be out here with a bucket, knowing exactly where the light had been.

She left the torch propped on the dial, its beam pointing up into the dark, and carried the dahlias in through the kitchen door.