Hand-drawn black ink sketch on lined paper of a symmetrical looped knot motif with the words The Story of The Wild Ones written around it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

The Story of The Wild Ones design sketch

Black and grey · Flash

A black ink drawing on lined notebook paper shows a symmetrical design of interlocking looped petals arranged around a central point. The phrase The Story of The Wild Ones is handwritten in block and script lettering above and below the motif. The linework is solid and uniform in black ink with no shading or colour, and the design sits centrally with the text framing it.

Knot Loop Floral motif Handwritten text

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

At half past four the ovens at Fenwick's on Mill Lane were already breathing, and Rosa Halloran had flour to her elbows and a paper cone of royal icing going stiff in her fist. Mr Pryce had left her one job before he went home to bed: pipe thirty rosettes for the Saturday tea, each one a ring of six looped petals around a white dot.

Keep reading

She had never got the loops even. Every petal wanted to lean, and the centre sank if she squeezed too hard. She tried again, lifting the tip the way he had shown her, letting the icing fall in a curl and drawing it closed. On the steel table beside the tray lay the notebook the trainees passed between them, its ruled pages full of recipes and doodles. On the cover, in her own careless capitals from the summer, were the words THE STORY OF THE WILD ONES. It was a joke, the name they had given the lads who came round after closing to eat the broken biscuits and tell lies about the football.

The sixth rosette came out clean. She set it on the board and watched the light come up grey over the bins in the yard. Then she picked up a pencil and, without thinking, drew the flower again in the margin, one petal running over another, the middle left open where the lines crossed.

Mr Pryce's van pulled into the yard at ten to six. He came through the back door, looked at the tray, counted the rosettes under his breath, and said nothing, which from him was praise. Then he tapped the margin with one floury finger. "That one's yours," he said, and went to start the bread.