Black floral lace-style tattoo running from the collarbone over the shoulder, drawn in fine linework and dotwork on bare skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Floral lace tattoo across collarbone and shoulder

Botanical · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A dense band of flowers and leaves runs diagonally from the upper chest, over the collarbone, and onto the top of the shoulder. The design uses fine black linework with stippled dot shading to suggest lace, and the blooms vary in size to create depth. The skin tone is warm against a dark background, with the tattoo as the clear focal point.

Botanical Dotwork Shoulder Chest Flower Floral Lace Leaves Vine

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Wren's net came up the slipway on the third morning of the blow, slack and torn from headrope to lead line. Ada Lennie knelt beside it on the wet concrete and worked her fingers into the rent, feeling for sound mesh the way her mother had taught her, by the give of the cord rather than the look of it. Behind her the fleet sat low in the harbour, six boats knocking their fenders together, and nobody had yet asked how long the repair would take.

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Skipper Dunne had carried the net up himself, which was not like him. He stood with his hands in his oilskin pockets and watched her split a fresh length of tarred twine. "Make it quick, Ada. Tide's turning at four." She did not look up. She had her mother's bobbin lace in her head, the campion and bramble sprays that had hung in the cottage window for forty years, and she began knotting the first bloom into the corner where the mesh was thinnest.

It took her until the light went. Every hole she closed became a petal, every knot a small hard seed. Dunne came back at dusk expecting a bodge and found instead a border of flowers running along the hem, tight enough to hold a herring yet worked so evenly it looked fit for a wall. He turned it over in his hands, frowning. "That's not on the price list."

"No," Ada said, packing her needles into the tin. "It's on the house." The Wren went out at four with the flowers trailing astern. When she came back six days later with a full hold, the bramble was still whole at the hem, sea-darkened and unbroken, and Dunne lifted the net up into the cold light and did not say a word about the price.