Colour realism floral sleeve on a woman's upper arm, with a pink rose at the shoulder, orange and pink blooms, and a lotus flower below.

Full floral sleeve with roses and lotus on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A full sleeve of flowers covers the upper arm and runs down towards the elbow, dominated by a large pink and orange rose near the shoulder. Below it are paler pink and white blossoms, a yellow-orange bloom, and a lotus with purple-tinged petals. The shading is soft and smooth, with blended gradients in the petals and green leaf details, and the arm is framed against a plain white top.

Realism Botanical Upper arm Shoulder Rose Lotus Flower Blossom Leaves Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pull that stool nearer the range, because the wind has got under the back door again and I'll not tell this twice in one cold. You want to know how Nell Abbot kept the glasshouse going in the hard winter of fifty-one? Well, she didn't. The glass was cracked, the boiler was dead, and every bloom on Sallow Farm had been frozen to a black stalk by Boxing Day.

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But there was a tin bath under the potting bench, full of rainwater, and in it sat the lily her grandmother had brought home from a Hull dock sailor who swore it came from further east than he'd ever been. Nobody else in Northumberland had got one to flower. Nell went out every morning in her father's boots and broke the skin of ice with her fist, talking to that water the way you'd talk to a horse you didn't trust. She tucked phlox from the lane hedge into the bath, rose cuttings wrapped in sacking, and a marigold saved from the kitchen sill, and left the lot to sulk.

Then came the night the frost went white on every pane and the ewes were bawling in the top field. Nell sat up with a hurricane lamp and waited, because her mother had told her a flower only opens once somebody has stopped expecting it to. Near four o'clock the lily loosened, petal by petal, purple at the edges and orange at the heart, and the rose beside it turned as pink as a cheek.

Her father came in at dawn and found her asleep on the sacks, the lamp burnt dry. He never said a word about the glasshouse. He just scraped the frost off the window with his thumbnail and let the light in. And that's the whole tale, so mind the step on your way out, the stove's gone low.