Small black and grey fine line rose tattoo with a leaf on the inner upper arm.

Small rose on the inner upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small rose in black and grey is tattooed on the inner upper arm, with its petals layered around a tight centre and a shaded leaf angled down to the lower right. The linework is fine and the shading is soft, building depth in the petals and leaf. The photograph is taken in close framing against a dark background, with the tattoo as the clear focus.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Rose Leaf Flower

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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

Now you'll want to know how a rose came to be sleeping in the bilge of the Thessaly Bell, and I'll tell you, though my sister says I always make a tale longer than the voyage. Mrs Oakes gave my father the cutting from her garden wall in Deptford, wrapped in wet flannel and a tin of sour soil, and she made him swear on his mother's Bible it would be kept cool. The captain said a rose was no cargo and had no business on deck, so down into the dark it went, under the ballast, where the damp got in and the leaves went the colour of wet slate.

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We lost two weeks to the weather off the Horn. Every man aboard had a word for that sea, and none of them were kind. The cook grumbled that the flannel was wanted for bandages. Young Renn, who could not be trusted with a knot, took it upon himself to bring the tin up each dawn, tip it to the grey light and say nothing at all. By the time we raised the coast of Chile the cutting was a bare stick with two green buds stubborn at the top, and I swear the second mate was prouder of them than of his own children.

They went into a pot on the rail outside the captain's cabin, where the wind couldn't reach and the ship's dog slept. Weeks later, with the Thames back in sight and the whole crew too tired to cheer, one bud opened. It was small and pale, a little bruised at the edges, and it smelt of Deptford mud and salt. The captain pinned it to his coat and wore it ashore like a medal. So when you ask me why a man would carry a rose across the world, I tell you to ask the bilge. It kept its secret better than any of us.