Colour peacock feather tattoo on a forearm, with the hand resting on a beige leather steering wheel in a car interior.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Peacock feather tattoo on a forearm at the wheel

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A hand with white painted nails rests on the wood-rimmed steering wheel of a car, with the forearm visible in the foreground. The forearm carries a colour tattoo of a peacock feather in green, teal and orange, with further red and orange shapes lower down the arm. The background shows the instrument cluster and beige leather interior, with the photograph lit warmly from the front.

Forearm Peacock feather Floral Hand Ring

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

The lamp-man, Eli Stott, found the feather on the cage floor the morning after the water came up in the Ninth Level. Nobody in Hollin Bank kept peacocks. The last one had been bought off a travelling fair in 1911 and pecked to death by the Wrigleys' bantams before the summer was out, and the village still talked about it the way it talked about the flood.

Keep reading

Eli turned the feather against the lamp glass. Green at the eye, then a teal that ran into a bronze the colour of oil on the rail, and at the root a fleck of orange like an ember that has decided to stay alight. He thought of his wife's sister, who had gone to Blackpool with a man in a straw boater and sent back one postcard saying the sea was too big to look at. He pocketed the feather without telling anyone, which was the first lie he had told the Coal Board in twenty years.

Down the pit that afternoon the men argued over whether the water would drop by Friday. Eli said nothing. He kept his thumb on the feather in his waistcoat pocket, rubbing the eye of it, and when the pump finally caught on the third try he felt the thing stir against his ribs as if a bird had lifted its head.

On Friday he walked it up to the chapel and laid it on the sill of the vestry window, where the light came through green and gold. Mrs Wrigley looked at it and said nothing. By Sunday the sill was bare, and no one in Hollin Bank ever said who had taken it, though the children swore they saw a flash of colour going up the valley road like a train of sparks.