Black and grey realism peacock tattoo with the head on the side of the ribs and feather eyes shaded down the hip and thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Peacock tattoo across hip and thigh

Realism · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A large peacock tattoo with the bird's head and upper neck on the side of the ribs, curving down to a tail of feather eyes that spread over the hip and outer thigh. The linework is fine and the shading is soft and detailed, with smooth grey gradients in the feathers and darker accents around the eye shapes. The subject is shown from the side in a close crop, with a lime green tie-side bikini bottom and a plain background.

Realism Ribs Thigh Peacock Feather Bird

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 peacock arrived in Tilbury in a tea chest that smelt of camphor, and the woman who owned it paid me a shilling a week to keep it out of the galley stores. I was nineteen and cook's mate, sick of peeling potatoes in the stifling heat below decks. Mrs Ivy Hallam had a cabin on the upper deck and a temper to match the bird's. She wanted it fed rice water and ship's biscuit crumbled by hand, and she wanted it fed before the first bell, when the corridors were empty.

Keep reading

Off Aden the bird went wild. It dragged its tail across the wet floor of the pantry and shrieked at the cook, a big Glaswegian called Duncan Reid who swore it was the devil in a dress. I would crouch by the bulkhead with my palm full of grain and wait. Every morning it took the seed from my fingers and let me stroke the sheen of its neck, and every morning the feathers looked more like a pattern than a bird, a hundred dark eyes staring out of the bronze.

We docked in Colombo with the bird still in its cage and Mrs Hallam still behind her door. The steward came down with a wooden box and a note in violet ink: keep the feather, the rest goes to the sea. I never learned what she meant. Perhaps she had lost a husband to the monsoon, or a daughter to fever on the Malabar coast. What I did find, folded inside the lid, was a single eyed feather, dark at the tip and cool as a coin.

I still have it in my kitbag. Whenever the sea gets rough, I take it out and count the eyes, and the galley goes quiet around me the way the ship does before a storm.