Black and grey realistic scorpion tattoo with raised tail and detailed shading, on the upper arm of a person.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic scorpion tattoo on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey scorpion with its tail curled up over its body, seen from the side with its pincers and legs spread. The tattoo uses fine linework and smooth shading to give the segments of the body and legs a three-dimensional, realistic look. The skin tone is warm and the background is softly out of focus, with the scorpion filling most of the frame.

Realism Upper arm Scorpion

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

The fleet at Carrick Haven had not sailed in three days when the scorpion came up in Tamsin Roe's creel. Nobody on the quay believed her at first. Scorpions belonged to hot countries, to the stories sailors told about Malta and the salt pans, and this one was as long as a man's hand, black as a wet boot, its tail curled over its back like a question mark.

Keep reading

She carried it up the harbour steps in a bucket with a lid of mesh. Old Ebenezer Quill looked into the bucket and said his grandmother had kept a jar of such creatures for luck, and that luck was a debt, and debts were paid in the end. He told her to take it out to the breakwater and let the tide have it. Tamsin said the tide had given it to her, and she was not in the habit of refusing gifts from the sea.

She kept it in a glass jar on the windowsill of the net loft. Each morning she set a little dried herring beside it, and each morning the herring was gone and the creature stood in the same pose, pincers spread, as if it were waiting for the boats to come round the point. On the fourth day the wind swung north and the fleet came home early with nothing in the holds. The men said the sea had been mean. Tamsin said nothing, but she opened the jar and let the scorpion walk out onto the sill, where it sat in the grey light, watching the water.

When the wind dropped the next morning, the boats went out again and came back full. Quill came up the steps that evening with a basket of mackerel and asked her, not unkindly, whether the creature had a name. She told him it had not needed one. It had only needed to be looked after, and she had looked after it, and the sea had remembered.