Traditional style tattoo on a thigh showing a hand holding a white rose, with banners reading Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris, framed by red berries, green leaves and yellow flames.

Hand and rose banner tattoo on thigh

Traditional · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A hand holding a white rose sits at the centre of the design, with a dark circular detail on the wrist. Two banners curve above and below the hand, reading Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris, and are surrounded by red berries, green leaves and yellow flame shapes. Bold black outlines and solid fills in red, green, yellow and skin tones are set against a striped fabric backdrop.

Traditional Thigh Hand Rose Banner Lettering Berry Leaves Flame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down on that step, Danny, and stop kicking the bannister, it's had enough. The lift's been dead since Tuesday, so you'll get the rest of it between floors. There was a woman called Edie Marr who lived on the top floor of Wren House back when the wind still came whistling up the stairwell. Every morning she bought a single white rose from the stall under the flyover and carried it up fourteen floors in her left hand, because her right was always full of shopping.

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The old men at the bingo hall had a saying, and Edie had it painted on a strip of tin over her cooker: all men must die, all men must serve. They said it for a laugh, the way you'd say pass the salt. Edie never laughed at it. She said it was the only honest thing anybody had ever written on a wall round here, and she kept her roses in a jam jar on the sill so the sun could get at them.

The year the council decided to knock Wren House down, the cranes came up the road with their flags and their yellow lights. Edie walked out to the lead crane with one white rose and held it up to the driver's cab. He wouldn't shift. She stood there until the light went orange and the lads from the flats started shouting for their tea. Then he climbed down, took off his hard hat, and asked her which floor she was on. She said fourteen. He said he'd come up and fix the lift himself, and he did, badly, and it has never worked since.

So that's why it's dead, Danny, not the cranes, the lift. Go on, up you get, and mind the third floor, somebody's pram lives there. The rose is still in the jam jar on the top landing, gone brown and papery, and it's your turn to carry the shopping.