Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a flying saucer beaming light onto a stepped pyramid, on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

UFO beaming down over a stepped pyramid

Dotwork · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A flying saucer hovers at the top of the design, with a beam of light falling onto a stepped pyramid topped with a small temple structure. The saucer and pyramid are rendered in fine linework combined with stippled dotwork shading that gives the beam and stone steps depth. The composition is centred on the side of the torso, with the pyramid's base placed lower on the skin.

Dotwork Ribs Ufo Flying saucer Pyramid

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 apples have been coming down since the first week of August, and by the third weekend of September your father has stopped pretending he can keep up with the windfalls. You are on the orchard ladder at the far end of Hobb's Field, picking the last of the Discovery trees, when the light comes up from the bottom of the valley rather than down from the sky. Dust hangs in it like flour in a sieve.

Keep reading

The saucer hovers above the old quarry wall for most of an hour, tilting a little as if it is sorting out its weight. Then a column of pale light drops onto the terraces where your grandmother kept the bee skeps, and wasps, moths and loose leaves rise through it in a slow spiral. You should be frightened. Instead you count the steps. Seven of them, neat as the crates stacked in the packing shed, and at the top a small house with a flat roof, the only thing in the valley nobody ever built.

Your father comes out with the torch and stops at the gate. He says nothing for a long time. Then he hands you the basket with the split handle and says, "Fill it, they'll want something to take home." You don't ask who they are. You climb down, fill the basket to the rim with windfalls, and carry it across the wet grass, the light making every bruised apple glow.

At the foot of the steps you set the basket down and wait. A hatch opens on the little roof, and something small and patient climbs out and looks at the fruit the way you look at a bad sky. Then it begins, one step at a time, to stack the apples into a pyramid of its own. By the time the light lifts there are eight steps, and on the top, set down as carefully as a crown, sits the one bruised apple you kept back for yourself.