Realism tattoo of a grinning villain face with bared teeth and wide eyes on a forearm, beside a black and white printed image of the same face.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Grinning villain face on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A large portrait of a grinning character face with bared teeth, deep wrinkles and wide staring eyes covers the forearm. The shading is smooth and detailed, with strong contrast in the hair and brow and softer brown and grey tones across the skin. A black and white printed version of the same face sits to the left, and a dark surface fills the lower right of the frame.

Realism Forearm Face Grin Teeth Portrait Character

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ada, the kettle has been on since five and I still can't get the bread to rise, because Pell has commandeered the stove and insists the damp is in the flour, not the yeast. You'll remember the printed handbill I pinned above the hatch, the one from the Lisbon dock office with the old music hall man on it. Mr Cray, the purser, swears it's a likeness of a comic who once sang in Hull. I told him it looks more like the face a man pulls after swallowing a wasp.

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The new hand came aboard at Falmouth. Tobias Wren, seventeen, and he grins at everything. Not a sweet grin. He shows every tooth he owns, and his eyes stay wide and fixed, like a gull's over a bait tin. The captain says it's nerves. Pell says the sea makes honest men of us all, and this lad is the most honest thing aboard. I've started setting his plate down without looking up.

Last Tuesday, in the heavy weather, a pan of stock went over and scalded the deck. Tobias knelt in it with a rag, still grinning, and said, "Mind your feet, Cook, it's only broth." Then he laughed until he coughed, and I found myself laughing too, which unsettled me more than the grin had.

That night I went to the galley for the lamp and found the handbill had been turned to face the stove, its corners soft from being folded into a breast pocket. Don't tell Mr Cray. I think the lad is trying on faces the way I try on hats in the chandlery, looking for the one that fits. I'll write again when we make port. Your loving brother, Ned