Black and grey rose tattoos on a man's upper arm and forearm, shown with a white graphic tee and black suspenders.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rose tattoos on arms with graphic tee

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A man in a white t-shirt printed with the words DRINK MOSCHINO, black suspender straps and black trousers, cropped below the neck. Tattoos cover his upper arm and forearm, with rose designs shaded in black and grey. The plain concrete wall behind him and even daylight keep the focus on the arms.

Upper arm Forearm Rose Sleeve Arm tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fish had stopped coming in by the second week of October, and by the third the crews at Carrick Ness were playing cards on upturned crates instead of mending nets. Nell Haddow sat on the quay wall with a flask and watched the Silver Rose ease past the breakwater, her hull low in the water and her wheelhouse lamp still burning though it was past noon.

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Her skipper, Ewan, had painted the rose on the wheelhouse door himself the spring their mother died, black petals shaded grey so it looked carved rather than painted. Nell had told him it was a poor emblem for a boat that worked the Dogger Bank, and he had said roses were the only thing in the harbour that never got hauled up in a net and thrown back. She had not understood him then. She thought she might now.

The gulls came in low behind the trawler, screaming over a dark slick of nothing. Nell pulled the cork from her flask and waited, counting the seconds the way she used to count the boats in, until the Silver Rose's horn sounded once, short and hoarse. Then a second blast came, and a third, and by the fourth she was on her feet with the whole quay turning to look.

Ewan stepped onto the wet concrete with a wooden crate under one arm and a sack over his shoulder. When he set them down the sack shifted and something silver spilled across the stones, catching the thin autumn light. Cod, a dozen of them, fat and bright and far too late in the season. 'Found them under the Hatch Bank,' he said. 'Right where the old charts said there'd be nothing.' Nell knelt, lifted one by the gill, and laughed until she had to sit down on the wall again.