Realistic black and grey lion face tattoo with a full mane on a forearm, with a blurred lion picture behind it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic lion portrait on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A front-facing lion's head fills the forearm, with a full mane framing the face and the eyes and nose rendered in fine detail. The shading moves from deep black in the mane and around the eyes to soft grey and warm skin-toned highlights across the muzzle. The blurred background shows a black and white lion picture on a wall, which keeps the tattoo in sharp focus.

Realism Forearm Lion Mane Whiskers Big cat

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down, the lot of you, and mind the nets. You'll want to hear about the lion at Porthlennan, because the old women still won't say his name on a Sunday, and my own mother crossed herself every time the boathouse door came up in conversation.

Keep reading

He came off a travelling fair in the summer of 1931, a big grey-muzzled male bought cheap from a menagerie in Bristol, and he had a mane on him like sea-wrack pulled out on the ebb. A photographer called Samuel Vosper set up his tripod in the yard behind the Ship Inn and took the lion's portrait in the last of the light, the whiskers stiff as rigging lines and the eyes gone amber under the flash. Vosper pinned the print to the boathouse wall, and that was where the trouble started, though nobody knew it yet.

It was the October gale that loosed him. The cage latch gave in the night, and by morning the lion was walking the quay as if he owned the harbour, and every door in the town was shut tight. Nell Penhallow, who kept the boats for her father, was the only one daft enough to go out with a lamp. She found him at the boathouse, sitting square on the flagstones, staring up at his own face on the wall. The lamp smoke had blurred the print to soft grey, and he looked at it the way a man looks at a brother he hasn't seen in years. Nell said his name, and he let her lead him home like a dog.

The print is still on that wall, gone soft at the edges, and the boathouse is locked now, though not because of the lion. If you go down on a still evening you'll see him yet, grey as the mist off the water, keeping watch over the picture that kept him quiet.