Black and grey realism rose on the back of a hand beside a geometric triangle design on the other hand, with mandala and butterfly tattoos on the forearms and hands.

Rose and geometric hand tattoos with butterfly wrist

Realism · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two tattooed hands are shown palms down towards the camera, with a realistic rose on one hand and a fine-lined geometric star and triangle lattice on the other. Mandala and butterfly designs continue up the wrists and forearms, and short words appear in script on the wrist and as lettering across the knuckles. The tattoos are in black and grey with soft shading on the rose, and the blurred background keeps the focus on the hands.

Realism Geometric Hand Forearm Rose Triangle Mandala Butterfly Script Hand

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 river had shifted again in the night. Mira knew it before the lamps were lit, because the carved rose on the boundary stone sat a finger's width further onto the Vessa side than it had the evening before. She walked the bank with her tally book and her brother's old theodolite, counting paces the way their grandfather had taught her, muttering the numbers until the sum came out right.

Keep reading

Across the water the customs hut was still dark. Its clerk, Ilse Brandt, arrived at six with a flask and a crossword and no interest in rivers. 'The water is not my department,' she said, when Mira showed her the book. 'Stamps are.' She tapped the ledger, where every crossing since 1958 had been recorded in tidy blue ink, each traveller a small triangle in a grid. Mira had drawn that grid herself in her first winter there, a lattice of six-pointed stars, because her grandfather used to say a border ought to look like something that had been planned.

By noon the mist had lifted and a line of carts waited on the bridge, their drivers smoking, their papers damp at the corners. Mira worked the theodolite from the bank while Ilse stamped, and between them they fixed the boundary at its new place, marking it with a fresh rose cut into a larger stone. The old stone they left on the Vessa side as a gift, which made Ilse laugh for the first time that week.

At dusk Mira redrew the grid. Where the river had gone, she left one triangle open and wrote beside it the date and the word 'moved'. Ilse leaned over her shoulder, read it, said nothing, and then took her seal from the drawer and pressed it into the empty space, the ink bleeding just a little into the blue lines: admitted.