Dotwork and geometric tattoo of a stylised fox with clouds and lightning on the inner forearm, shaded in orange, black and grey.

Stylised fox on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A stylised fox head with pointed ears sits atop a geometric, columnar figure that fills the forearm. Behind it, dotted and hatched clouds, rain lines and small lightning bolts add texture, with a rounded shape and feather-like form to the lower right. The piece mixes fine dotwork and hatching with flat ochre and orange fills, set against bare skin.

Dotwork Geometric Neo-trad Forearm Fox Cloud Lightning Rain Feather Geometric shape

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 rain came over the ridge before the second tune was done, and the fiddler played on because nobody had told him to stop. Ada saw the fox first. It stood in the doorway of Carrow Hall with its ears laid flat and rain running off its narrow head, and it watched the dancers the way a bailiff watches a gate he means to shut.

Keep reading

Nobody else paid it mind. The flagstones were slick with mud, the boots were loud, and lightning flickered in the high windows so that every face jumped white and then went dark. Ada took a jug of cider in each hand and went to the door. The fox did not move. It lifted one paw and tapped the frame twice, the way her grandmother used to knock on a barrel to hear whether it was full.

"You want in, you come in," Ada said. "Mind the step." The fox came as far as the mat and sat, and it stayed there through three reels, dry as a stone, while the thunder rolled down the valley like a cart with no driver. The dancers stopped looking at it after a while. Ada did not. She counted the flashes and saw that each time the light came, the fox's shadow stood up taller on the whitewash behind it, longer than any fox could make.

When the storm broke, grey light came over the hills and the mat was empty. Only a single feather lay there, rust and ochre, curled at the tip. Ada kept it in the tin with her mother's ring, and every year on the night of the first hard rain she set a jug of cider by the Carrow Hall door and left it there until morning.