Traditional style colour tattoo of a peacock with a crescent moon and clouds on the upper arm, with part of a red rose visible at the edge.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Traditional peacock on an upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A peacock with a crested head and a curved neck sits in front of a crescent moon, with small asterisk shapes on a cloud above. The body uses bold black outlines, white scale patterning and red accents, while the tail feathers are black with orange eyes and red tips. Strong colour fills include red, orange, yellow and teal against healed-looking skin, with a partial red rose at the top left edge.

Traditional Upper arm Peacock Bird Feather Crescent moon Cloud Asterisk Rose Crown

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pull that stool up and mind the flour sack, because the oven won't be warm for another hour and you'll have to listen instead. There was a peacock who lived on the roof above Pemberton's bakery in Hull, and she wore a crown of little red beads and was prouder of it than anyone had a right to be. Every night she watched the crescent moon sink behind the chimney stacks, and every night she begged it to stay a while longer, because she could not bear to be the only thing in the street that was looking up.

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Old Mrs Pemberton, who baked from three each morning with her sleeves rolled to the elbow, heard her complaining through the vent. "Your tail is full of eyes," she called up one night, "and not one of them has ever looked at the bread." The peacock took offence. She fanned all her orange eyes at once and sulked until the steam from the proving drawer rolled up over the slates and wrapped her feathers, and the frost formed in little asterisks along the gutter like stars somebody had dropped.

So the peacock did something she had never done. She came down the drainpipe, perched on the cooling rack, and watched the dough turn gold under the lamp. She watched for an hour without preening once. When the first grey came up over the gasworks, she looked at the moon, which was thin as a fingernail now, and said, quite plainly, that she was ready to let it go.

In the morning there was a crescent loaf on the front step, scored with a row of tiny marks, and nobody in Hull ever found out who had left it there.