Black and grey realistic octopus tattoo with tentacles curling around the outer thigh and hip, in a black and white photograph.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Octopus tattoo wrapping around a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A large octopus with long, curling tentacles covers the outer thigh and hip, with its head near the upper hip. The linework is fine and the body is built up with soft grey shading and dark accents on the tentacles. The black and white photograph is taken close up, with a hand resting on the leg and a light bedsheet in the background.

Realism Thigh Octopus Tentacle

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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

Mind the step, it has waited three hundred years for a boot. Sit where the wall still keeps a bit of sun. You'll want the cistern tale, not the ghost one, though everybody asks for the ghost.

Keep reading

Under Scarrow Keep there was a cistern fed by the sea through a tide-door, and in it lived an octopus grey as wet slate. Maud, the cook's girl, fed it crab shells and sour milk from a tin cup, and it never once took her wrist. Then Lord Harald Veyle wanted the cellar dry for his brother's casks of Bordeaux, so he sent six men down with buckets and a sluice key.

The octopus met them at the sluice. Its arms ran over every stair rail and iron bolt, and the water went black with ink. Each man who laid a hand on the wheel felt a tentacle close round his wrist, gentle as a nurse checking a pulse, and then they went back up the stairs wet and quiet. The lord went down himself and came up with a ring of blue bruises, swearing he would have the beast out by Lammas.

Maud had been counting the spring tides on a knotted cord. On the night before the wedding she loosed the octopus through the old tide-door, and the sea came up through the cellars and floated every cask out to the rocks, where the gulls drank themselves stupid. The lord was married that week in a borrowed rowing boat. If you go down to the cistern now, you'll find the sluice wheel rusted solid and one ink-dark sucker mark on the stone, the size of a girl's palm. Go on, touch it. It's cold, and it's still counting.