Black and grey dotwork tattoo of two stylised figures embracing, with a large flower and leafy sprigs, on the upper thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two figures embracing with flowers on a thigh

Traditional · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows two stylised figures with short dark hair, one leaning into the other in an embrace, with a large five-petalled flower with a dotted centre below them. Leaves and a small bloom sit to the right, and dark leaf shapes fill the lower left. The linework is bold and the shading is built from stippled dots, giving a solid black and grey finish against pale skin.

Traditional Dotwork Thigh Figure Embrace Couple Flower Leaves Portrait Woman Bloom

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The anemones had come up purple along the wall of Mrs Pell's garden, and Marjorie cut the best of them with the kitchen scissors before the frost could take them. She wrapped the stems in the Hull Daily Mail and carried them the length of Spring Bank in the rain, because Ivy had said on Tuesday that she would not be in the office on Thursday, and Marjorie had decided that a thing said on a Tuesday needed answering by Thursday.

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Ivy answered the door in her slip with a cardigan thrown over, her hair still pinned flat from the night shift at the exchange. She looked at the flowers and then at Marjorie's wet shoes, and said that anemones were for funerals. 'They're for the ones who leave,' Marjorie said. 'My mother used to say you put them in the window so the ones going out can see them from the street and know someone stayed.' It was a lie her mother had never told, and Ivy knew it, and let her in anyway.

They sat on the bed with the newspaper spread between them and the stems dripping onto the lino. Ivy pressed a flower flat inside the atlas, the dark dotted centre facing up, and said London had trams that ran under the streets like veins. Marjorie said she could see that. She said she could see a great many things from a window with the curtains open, and then she stopped, because Ivy had put her hand over hers on the page and left it there.

The train went on the Saturday. Marjorie did not go to the station. Three weeks later a letter came with a London postmark, and inside it, pressed so thin the petals were nearly paper, was a single anemone, its centre still dark as ink.