Realistic colour tattoo of a rooster with a red comb and teal tail feathers, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic rooster on a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A detailed rooster stands side on in a farmyard setting, with a red comb and wattle, orange-brown body feathers and a teal-green tail. The shading and feather texture give the bird a strong sense of volume, and small patches of straw sit beneath its yellow feet. The design fills the thigh vertically, with the bird's head near the top of the frame and the tail curving toward the outer edge of the leg.

Realism Thigh Rooster Feather

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

Brother Oswin had kept the henhouse at Saint Aldred's for nineteen winters, and in all that time the red cockerel had never once crowed after the bell. He crowed before it. He crowed in the dark while the monks were still stiff in their cells, and Oswin, who was supposed to be asleep on his pallet by the hen run, would lie listening to the bird's yell carry over the wet fields toward the abbey walls.

Keep reading

The abbot did not approve. He said a bird that sang out of turn was a bird with pride, and pride was a thing the brothers were asked to lay down at the gate. So in the first week of Lent he sent word that the cockerel was to go to the market at Thornwick, where a farmer had offered two shillings and a sack of barley.

Oswin walked him there himself. The bird rode in a wicker basket on the cart, its comb bright as a coal against the grey morning, its green-black tail feathers bent over the basket's lip like a banner nobody had asked for. At the crossroads it stood up in the straw and crowed at the sun, which was only just clearing the hedges, and two carters stopped to stare.

The farmer's wife had no use for pride either. But she looked at the bird for a long time before she counted out the coins, and then she said, to nobody in particular, that her husband had been sleeping through the dawn for a year.

Oswin walked home with the empty basket and the barley sack over his shoulder. When he reached the gate the bell was already ringing for Matins, and somewhere behind him, faint and furious, a rooster that was not his began to crow.