Black and grey geometric lion face inside a circle with triangles, tattooed centrally on the stomach below a navel piercing.

Geometric lion in a circle on the stomach

Geometric · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a geometric lion face built from straight lines and facet-like panels, with a star motif across the forehead and a mane drawn as angular shapes. It sits inside a thin circle with two triangles at the lower corners and a third triangle above. The ink is outlined in dark lines with soft grey shading, and the composition is centred and symmetrical across the abdomen.

Geometric Other Lion Face Star Circle Triangle

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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

Sit down by the flour sacks, the oven isn't ready and neither are you. Forty winters ago this bakery on Tanner Row belonged to a woman named Hester Dunmore, and every morning before the bell she drew a lion on the marble slab with the heel of her hand. She never drew it round. She drew a circle, then three triangles, then the lion built from straight lines, because a curved lion is a lion that's lying to you about its teeth.

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Across its brow she set an eight-pointed star, the baker's star, which the old men said could tell the hour from the sky even under cloud. The lamplighter came every dawn at four to ask the lion if the street was safe. Hester would answer for it, low and gravelly, the way you'd speak to a dog you respected.

One March a boy called Tobias came in shivering to steal a heel of bread. He stood inside the circle, where the lion's nose was, and the star pulled at him like a hook. Hester didn't shout. She handed him the first loaf out of the oven, still too hot to hold, and said the lion keeps a tally, so pay it back at four. He ran off with it burning his hands, and came back every morning for thirty years, and never once late.

When Hester died, the lamplighter found the circle scratched into the slab, the star shaded in soot, grey as the hour before light. Nobody wiped it off. Listen, the oven's ticking now. That's the bread telling us it's nearly four.