Black and grey thigh tattoo showing a shaded figure with long hair, a cross, roses, a feather and script lettering, photographed on a seated leg.

Thigh sleeve with portrait, roses and script

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A seated leg shows a large black and grey tattoo covering the outer thigh and reaching towards the knee, with a shaded figure with long flowing hair, a small cross and rose and flower motifs. Fine script lettering runs vertically down the thigh, and a feather and a rose sit near the knee. The shading is soft and detailed, and the warm skin tone and dark background make the linework stand out.

Realism Botanical Thigh Woman Hair Cross Rose Flower Feather Script Sleeve

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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

The last stone of the season lay face down on the trestles when Tom Aske came in from the yard with rain in his collar. Someone had left the lettering half done, four lines of verse cut shallow and crooked where the chisel had skipped on a bit of grit. He wiped the dust from the letters with his thumb and sat down to finish it.

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Mrs Hollis had ordered it for her husband, and she had brought a photograph of a carved angel she wanted copied. Long hair falling loose over one shoulder, a sprig of rose tucked under the chin, a small cross worked into the band at the throat, and a feather lifting from the wing as if it had just been let go. Tom had cut a thousand angels. None of them had ever looked as though they might speak.

He worked through the wet afternoon with the radio off. Around the third line the stone began to take the light the way the old chapel glass did, and every stroke of the mallet sent a fine grey breath off the groove. He cut the rose at dusk. For the feather he drew on the back of a receipt, the same shape his father used to sketch on the edge of the wages book, and he did not tell Mrs Hollis that.

On Monday she came to the yard under a black umbrella and read the verse with one finger, letter by letter, the way her husband had once taught her to read the hymn board. When she reached the last line she nodded once and paid in cash without asking for a discount. The rain kept falling. By the time the van pulled away, water had collected in the hollow of the cross, and the whole stone looked as though it had been standing there for years.