Back of a person in a white bikini bottom showing a large Japanese style peacock and orange chrysanthemum tattoo across the lower back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Peacock and chrysanthemum on lower back

Japanese · Back · Mixed · Photo

A large tattoo of a peacock with green and teal feathers and eye markings covers the upper back and sides, with an orange and red chrysanthemum bloom beside it. The linework is bold and the shading is smooth, with rich layered colour in the feathers and petals. The photograph is shot from behind at an angle, with the bikini bottoms cropping the lower part of the design and a bright, speckled background.

Japanese Back Peacock Chrysanthemum Feather Flower Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The peacock arrived with the fair the summer the rain stopped. Mr Harrow kept it in a wicker crate behind the coconut shy, and the children of Little Mallow paid a penny each to look at it through the slats. It never opened its tail for them. It sat with its head tucked down like a bad debt, and the showman swore it would unfurl for the right person at the right hour.

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Tom Pell swept the dodgems and slept in the cart that smelt of grease. He saw the bird open itself only once, after the last lamp went out, when the field was quiet and the moon sat low over the helter-skelter. Every eye on its feathers caught the light at once, green and bronze, and the whole crate seemed to hum. Tom had a paper twist of chrysanthemum seed from his grandmother, bronze and rust, the kind she grew along the cottage wall before the cottage was sold.

He took the seed to Harrow in his fist. Harrow laughed and said a bird needed nothing but a cage door left open, so Tom opened it himself. The peacock walked out past the tents without hurrying, stepped over the guy ropes and into the long grass by the hedge, and was gone before the dogs woke. Harrow shouted until the sky went grey. Tom knelt by the hedge and pressed the seed into the wet ground with his thumb.

By August the bank behind the hedge was a blaze of rust and gold, and a single green feather lay on the soil like a note someone had left for him. Nobody in Little Mallow saw the bird again, but on still evenings the flowers turned their heads towards the empty fairground, as if they were waiting for it to come back and be looked at properly.