Colour realism tattoo of a fox, blackberries, white flowers and a pink rose across a forearm and onto the back of the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fox, blackberries and rose on forearm and hand

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

Three panels show a forearm sleeve with a realistic fox face, blackberry sprigs, green leaves and white flowers. On the back of the hand, a pink rose with water droplets is drawn in detailed shading. Soft gradients and vivid greens, reds and pinks dominate the composition.

Realism Botanical Forearm Hand Fox Blackberry Rose Flower Leaves Water droplet

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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

Michaelmas had come and gone, and the brambles along Coldharbour Lane were still black and swollen, which Nan Pryor said was the devil's doing. He had spat on them the night of the feast, she said, and nobody who knew better would pick one now. Her grandson Tom didn't believe in the devil, only in the jam jar he meant to fill before the rain.

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The fox came out of the bank at the far end of the lane while Tom was reaching into the thicket. It sat on its haunches among white bindweed and looked at him the way the vicar looked at latecomers. Its coat was the colour of rust on the gate. Behind it, half hidden in the leaves, a single pink rose had opened in the wrong season, its petals beaded with rain as if it had been crying over something it had lost.

Tom said he would leave the last of the berries if the fox would tell him who had been raiding the old well cottage. The fox said nothing, which was how he knew it had been awake all along. He reached for the thorniest cane. The rose at the edge of the hedge was lighter than he expected, its stem green and cold, and when he pulled his hand back there was a drop of water on his knuckle that tasted of iron and sugar.

Nan found him at dusk with the jar half full and his palm pricked red. She did not scold him. She tipped the berries into the bin, stoppered the jar, and said the fox would want its share next year. Tom never saw it again, but every September after, the blackberries on Coldharbour Lane came in early and sweet, and nobody could say who had left them there.