Person seated in a car at night, showing a tattoo sleeve of roses and dark shading on the upper arm and forearm, with a small tattoo on the hand raised in front of the steering wheel.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rose sleeve on an arm, seen from inside a car

Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A person with long dark hair, turned away from the camera, sits in the driver's seat of a car at night. Their upper arm and forearm are covered in a tattoo sleeve that includes roses and darker shaded foliage or linework, and a smaller design sits on the back of the hand. The background shows blurred city street lights and the dashboard in the foreground.

Upper arm Forearm Hand Rose Sleeve Foliage

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 roses had gone limp by the time the lights on Clement Road turned amber, and Nell Brannigan blamed herself for buying them from a lorry at the back of the wholesale yard instead of waiting for the market. Forty dark red stems, bundled for a funeral that had been cancelled by phone at nine. Nobody had told the flowers.

Keep reading

She drove with the window down and let the cold in, thinking about Mr Adeyemi, who had ordered a single red rose every Friday for thirty years to lay on his wife's grave. He had died on Tuesday. The shop had kept his standing order out of respect, and now the order was a bucket sliding about on the passenger seat, wet paper crackling every time she braked.

At the corner of Ferrin Street she pulled in under a sodium lamp and rang the bell above the chippy. Pia Lund came down in a dressing gown, took one look at the bucket and laughed until she had to hold the door frame. They spent the rest of the night at her kitchen sink, trimming stems on the slant, stripping thorns with a butter knife, and rewrapping the bunches in brown paper that smelled of vinegar from the shop below.

By first light the roses were tight and bright again. Nell drove back past the cemetery gate, where frost still lay along the railings, and propped one stem against the iron with a card tucked into its paper. In her careful capitals it read: FRIDAY. STILL PAID FOR.