Neo-traditional style illustration of a dark-haired pin-up woman with a red rose in her hair, with blue line roses shown across her shoulder as a tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pin-up portrait with rose and shoulder roses

Neo-trad · Shoulder · Colour · Flash

A stylised illustration of a dark-haired woman with red lips, a red rose tucked behind one ear and a large gold hoop earring, set within an oval cameo frame on a black background. Blue line-drawn roses and leaves cover her upper chest and shoulder, shown in a simple outline style. The palette is warm skin tones, deep reds and black, with a soft cream vignette behind the figure.

Neo-trad Shoulder Pin-up Woman Rose Leaves Portrait Earring

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

The briar has taken the east wall of Harrowgate keep the way ivy takes a fence, but you have been told to clear a path to the chapel before the surveyors arrive on Monday. Your gloves are split at the knuckle. Mrs Pryce from the village says the old roses were planted by the lady who ran the place before the fire, and that none of them have bloomed red since.

Keep reading

Under the third arch you find a cracked oval of plaster set into the stone, the size of a dinner plate, its rim painted the colour of weak tea. Someone has drawn a face there in pencil, faded almost to nothing, a rose pinned at the temple. Blue lines of other roses crawl out from beneath it, sketched in the same careless hand, climbing toward a shoulder the mortar has swallowed.

You kneel and scrape the lichen away with your thumbnail. Beneath it lies a single red petal, pressed flat for a century, still holding a little colour. You tuck it into your breast pocket without thinking, the way you would keep a ticket stub from a train you never took.

On Monday the surveyors stand where you were kneeling and pronounce the wall sound. You cut the last briar yourself. The path runs straight to the chapel door, and when you look back the oval catches the low sun. Your pocket is empty, but your thumb still smells of crushed green stems and rain.