Collage of four small fine line tattoos: a black equals sign on a finger, interlocking rainbow hearts with symbols on the hip, a rainbow arc on the ear and a row of rainbow dots on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small rainbow tattoos on finger, hip, ear and forearm

Fine line · Hand · Mixed · Photo

The collage shows four photographs of small tattoos on different parts of the body. A thin black double line sits on a finger, while interlocking rainbow hearts with small symbols below them appear on the hip, and a short rainbow arc sits on the edge of an ear. A row of tiny multicoloured dots runs across the inner forearm against a blue and green background.

Fine line Hand Other Forearm Heart Rainbow Symbol Dot Arc Ear

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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 water butt and mind the slugs, they've had the lettuces again. My grandmother told me this one over the runner beans, and she swore it happened in the walled garden at Hollin End, where the gate had a latch that only lifted for two people at once, however they came up the path.

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Old Mrs Pell kept the glasshouse there, and in her day the rule was chalked on the potting shed door: every bed the same length, every colour the same height as its neighbour. Her neighbour's boy, Tobias, was as red as a fox, and the girl from the almshouse went blue at the knuckles from the cold ground. They had been sent to pull weeds from the same border, and they pulled them badly, quarrelling over who had the better trowel, until a hard frost came down in the night and the whole row turned grey.

Morning found them both on their knees, not speaking, with their hands in the same wet soil. Mrs Pell came out with her shears, looked at the two of them, and said nothing at all. She took a ball of twine from her apron, tied one end to his wrist and the other to hers, then went back indoors to put the kettle on, as if that were the ordinary thing to do. By the time it boiled the frost had lifted and the twine had gone soft with dew.

So the gate still opens for two, and if you look along the top wall in spring you'll see the seedlings that came up where the frost had been: a line of tiny coloured dots, no two quite alike. Mind how you pick them, child. They don't care to be sorted.