Black fine line feather tattoo with small script on the side of the ribs, with a woman in a white sports bra holding a black mug of tea.

Feather tattoo on the side ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop of a torso in a white sports bra and black leggings, with a woman holding a black mug with a green tea bag tag. A small black feather with fine script lettering sits on the side of the ribs, drawn in thin linework. The colour is black ink on skin with a plain tiled background.

Fine line Ribs Feather Script Mug Abdomen

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 gull feather was still tucked in the back of my logbook when the Marigold cleared the Needles, and by the second week out I had stopped pretending I would give it back to the bird. Mrs Okonedo had pressed it into my hand on the quay at Falmouth, saying a feather was the only honest letter a man could carry, because it was never asked to say anything and so never got the words wrong.

Keep reading

Mostly I wrote to my sister. Dear Ada, the weather holds, the cook burns the bread on Thursdays, Mr Pryce still thinks the sextant is a sort of compass. Each letter went inside the logbook beside the feather, and every night I read them over by the lamp, the way you'd check a knot. Somewhere south of the Azores the pages began to smell of tar and salt, and I stopped posting them in my head, because there was no post, only the ship, the swell and the long grey line where the sky met the water.

On the thirty-first day the cabin boy found me on the forecastle with the feather in one hand and a pencil in the other. He asked what I was drawing. I said only a line I hadn't finished, and turned the page so he could see the small, careful script running along the quill: one word, the one I had never managed to say to Ada before I left.

When we raised Recife in the spring, I posted the whole bundle at once, feather and all, and kept only the pencil, worn down to a stub and no use to anyone but me.