Colourful neo-traditional flower tattoo with purple petals, orange accents, green leaves and black scrollwork across a shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Purple flower and swirls on shoulder

Neo-trad · Shoulder · Mixed · Photo

A large stylised flower with purple petals shaded to lilac, orange petals and layered green leaves sits on the shoulder. Bold black outlines form curling scrolls that extend down from the petals across the skin, and dark shading sits behind the leaves. The close, angled photograph fills the frame with the shoulder and upper arm, with a pink top visible at the edge.

Neo-trad Botanical Shoulder Flower Petal Leaves Swirl Scroll

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Imke knelt on the wet deck of Greenhold Nine with snips in one hand and her mother's logbook in the other. The dahlia bed had gone over in the night, three petals browned at the rim, and the rota board above the hatch already said pulping at the next cycle.

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"Forty years of seed," she said to nobody. The bed ran along the curve of the hull where the irrigation lines dropped from the ceiling in loops, the copper gone soft and green with age. Her mother had trained the climbing stock up those pipes so the whole wall looked like a sea of leaves breaking over metal. Orange petals at the centre, lilac fading to violet at the tips, a colour nobody aboard had seen outside the grow lamps. The council called it ornamental waste. Protein paste did not need beauty, and every litre of water spent on a flower was a litre taken from the beans.

She counted the bulbs under the lamp. Twelve sound ones. She sealed four in nutrient gel, wrote the year on each lid in her mother's careful capitals, and wrapped the jars in a towel. Ronan from the galley found her at the airlock with the bundle held against her chest.

"They'll ask why you kept them," he said.

"Tell them I ate the rest."

In the seed vault she set the jars beside the older ones, grey with dust, and angled the lamp so light passed through the glass. For a moment the petals looked the way they had in the photograph her mother kept taped inside the logbook, a flower opening over the shoulder of a wall, its curls running down into the pipes as though the ship had decided, after all, to grow something for itself.