Small fine line tattoo of a pug face in grey shading with tiny pink, orange and green accents, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pug face with small pink petals on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A pug's head is shown facing forward with its ears folded back and its eyes looking slightly to one side. The face is built from soft grey shading with fine linework, and small pink, orange and green marks are scattered around it like petals and leaves. The design sits centred on a pale forearm against a dark background.

Fine line Forearm Pug Dog Petal Leaves Flower

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 blossom came down off the crab apples all at once, the way it does when the wind changes its mind, and by the time Ada Penhallow reached the stile the lane was pink to the ankle. Nutmeg was nowhere. She called him the length of the Dunmere Road, past the forge, past Mrs Tully's gate where the hens were scattered and cross, and into the wood where the path gives up and becomes a suggestion.

Keep reading

She found him at the bottom of the old quarry, sitting bolt upright with his folded ears flat to his skull and his little black eyes fixed on something just beside his own nose. Ada crouched in the leaf litter and waited for him to look at her. He didn't. Petals drifted down through the hazel and settled on his brow, on his wrinkled muzzle, on the curl of his tail, and each time one landed he held his breath and went cross-eyed trying to watch it.

'You've been out here an hour,' she said. 'The fair opens at noon and Father wants the trestle table carried.' Nutmeg let out a long, put-upon sigh that fogged in the cool air. Then he lifted one paw and very carefully tapped a single pale petal that had snagged on a fern, sending it spinning off down the slope toward the stream, and only then did he look at her, as if she had been the one keeping him.

Ada sat down in the wet leaves beside him. Together they watched the petals come down on the still water, each one a tiny boat nobody had asked to sail, until the last of the blossom had drifted past the bend and the wood went quiet. Nutmeg leaned his heavy head against her knee. 'Five minutes,' she told him, and he agreed with his whole body.