Two matching foot tattoos in neo-traditional style, a llama with beads and a cow in a scarf, with the words FRIENDS and NOT FOOD on banners.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Llama and cow tattoos on a pair of feet

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A pair of feet, each with a tattoo of an animal head in a neo-traditional style. The left foot shows a llama wearing a beaded necklace and pendant, with a pale moon and small birds behind it, and the word FRIENDS on a banner. The right foot shows a cow in a purple scarf and hat with a gold hoop earring and a small flower, with the words NOT FOOD on a banner. Both designs use soft shading and bold colour, with the cow's head mostly in black and white.

Neo-trad Other Moon Bird Bead Earring Flower Scarf

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

Rain has got into the cheese stall again, and the man beside it is shouting at a pigeon as if the pigeon owes him rent. You stand at the mouth of the Saltergate covered market with a bucket of wet carrots and a llama who has decided, out of pure pride, to wear every bead she owns. Her name is Perpetua. Yours is Doreen, and she has never once let you forget it.

Keep reading

"Don't look at the cow," Perpetua says. The cow, Hazel, stands across the aisle under the fishmonger's overhang, her purple scarf knotted at the throat and a daisy tucked into it as though she has come to a wedding rather than a market. She has been eyeing the sausage van for an hour. "Friends," Perpetua says, and she means it as a warning. "Not food," Hazel replies, and the two words land on the wet cobbles between them like a treaty neither of them intends to break.

At four the shutters come down and the drizzle thins to something you can nearly see through. Behind the fishmonger's roof a pale moon hangs over the car park, and a pair of small birds lift off the gutter and go wheeling away. Hazel wanders over, nudges your bucket with her gold-hooped ear, and takes a carrot without asking. Perpetua unhooks her beads, sighs the sigh of a llama who has been right all along, and drapes them over the cow's hat.

"Fine," she says. "Friends." Hazel chews. Somewhere behind you the cheese man finally gives up on the pigeon, and the three of you walk out into the wet street with the bucket swinging between you, the sausage van locked up for the night and nobody, for once, anybody's dinner.