Two colour tattoos on arms: Ariel the mermaid with a teal tail on the upper arm, and a split-face Aurora and Maleficent with a dragon on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ariel and a split Aurora and Maleficent tattoo

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

This side-by-side image shows two tattoos on arms. The left tattoo is a cartoon-style Ariel from The Little Mermaid with red hair, a purple shell top and a teal tail with scale detail, shaded with soft gradients. The right tattoo is a split-face design with Aurora on one side and Maleficent on the other, a dragon head above and a pink rose below, drawn with bold black outlines and bright colour.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The orchard behind Halsey Cottage has been going to seed since August, and by the last week of the month the windfalls split open on the grass as if someone had cracked them with a thumb. You are the one who has to gather them before the wasps do. Your uncle Dai pays a penny a bucket, and you have filled forty-one by the time the sun drops behind the chapel wall.

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The tree nearest the wall is the old Blenheim that nobody prunes. Its fruit is the colour of a brass doorknob on one side and bruised green on the other, and when you cut one open on the stone step, the halves look like the two faces on the inn sign at the crossroads, one gold-haired and sleeping, one sharp-eyed and green. Dai says the pair grew on the same branch the year the cottage was built, and that nobody has been brave enough to lop it. You eat the gold half. You leave the green for the blackbirds.

On the last evening a girl comes up the lane with a coil of wet rope over her shoulder and asks whether the sea is still in the orchard. Her hair is the red of the windfalls' blush, and there is a scallop shell at her collar that she keeps touching. You tell her the sea is two fields over, past the gate, and that the apples are for sale. She laughs, says she already has the one she came for, a green one, and walks off towards the cliff with seaweed dripping from her hem.

Next morning the Blenheim has dropped its lowest branch, and the bucket holds gold halves only, not a trace of green. Dai shrugs and says the tree has made its choice. You do not tell him the blackbirds have gone quiet, or that a long shallow mark is pressed into the cut grass by the wall, scales and all, running straight down to the water.

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