Black line tattoo of a blossom branch with leaves on the side of the ribs, in a fine line botanical style.

Blossom branch on the side ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A single-needle style line drawing of a branch with several five-petalled blossoms and small pointed leaves, sweeping diagonally across the skin. The linework is even and dark, with the petals outlined and left unshaded, so the design reads as a clean outline rather than a filled image. Only black ink is visible against a light, warm skin tone, and the tattoo sits centrally in the frame with lace underwear at the top edge.

Fine line Botanical Ribs Blossom Branch Flower Leaves

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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

The old steward at Harrowmere would not let anyone cut the branch that grew through the broken east wall, though it had been pushing between the stones for longer than anyone could say. Every spring the bare grey twigs burst white, five petals to a flower, and every autumn the petals fell into the moat and the carp ate them. Mabel Corran, who kept the castle's bees, said the tree was waiting for someone, and the steward told her to mind her hives.

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The lord who had lost the castle to fire had left a daughter behind, a girl called Isolde Vane, who lived in the gatehouse and was given the work of sweeping the courtyard. She swept around the roots. In the winter of the great frost she found a small iron key tangled in the branch, its bow shaped like a leaf, and she carried it to the chapel where nobody had prayed since the roof fell in.

The key fitted nothing she could find until the spring, when the blossom opened and the wall beneath it cracked along a seam no one had noticed. Behind the stone was a stair going down, dry and clean, and at the bottom a chest of letters tied with thread the colour of new leaves. They were from her grandmother to a man who had planted the tree, promising to come back before the petals fell. She had never come back.

Isolde read every letter by the light of the blossom, then climbed into the sunshine and asked the steward to leave the branch alone. It grew on for another forty springs, and the castle never again found a reason to cut it. She swept the courtyard with the gate left open, so the petals could blow out across the bridge and down the valley road.