Neo-traditional colour tattoo of a grey unicorn with a purple mane, pink roses, red ribbons and a crescent moon on the thigh.

Unicorn with roses and crescent moon on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A rearing unicorn with a purple mane and horn dominates the design, framed by pink roses, a gold sceptre topped with a crescent moon, and red ribbons threaded with pearls. The unicorn is shaded in soft greys with bold black outlines, while the flowers, ribbons and gold details add saturated colour. The design fills the thigh in a diagonal composition, with the leg photographed against a plain background.

Neo-trad Botanical Thigh Unicorn Rose Crescent moon Ribbon Pearl Horse Flower

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

By the time the fair reached Hollin Mere, the carousel unicorn had lost most of its shine, and you were the only one who bothered with it. Every Sunday, before the Ansell brothers woke with their sore heads, you climbed onto the platform with a tin of Brasso and a rag that smelled of paraffin, working the grey flanks until the pink on its bridle came up bright. Mr Ansell called it the Queen's horse because the sceptre on its saddle bore a crescent moon, though nobody in Hollin Mere had ever seen a queen.

Keep reading

The trouble came in August, when a man from the council said the field would be ploughed after the harvest fair. The brothers argued in the van all afternoon. You heard the word sold through the tarpaulin and walked down to the mere alone, where the reeds hissed and the moon lay flat on the black water like a dropped coin. You sat on the wet step of the boathouse and told the horse about the draper's daughter who lent you her library books, and about the wages hidden in an Oxo tin under your bed, as if it might answer.

On the last night the brothers loaded the carousel piece by piece, and the unicorn was the final thing left standing in the stubble. You didn't ask. You climbed on, pressed your heels against its ribs, and rode it round once in the dark while the generator coughed and the bulbs came on one at a time. At the top of the turn you saw Mr Ansell in the van doorway, arms folded, not stopping you.

He said nothing when you slid down. He just handed you a pair of pliers. 'Take the ribbons off before the flatbed,' he said, 'they'll fray.' So you unpicked the pearls one by one, pocketed the last of them, and watched the unicorn go north with its horn up and its ribbons gone, bright as the day it was painted.