Black and grey realism tattoo of a snarling bear's head with bared teeth and a detailed nose, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Snarling bear head on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a bear's head with its mouth wide open, showing upper and lower fangs and teeth. The fur is built up with fine, layered shading that gives the nose, eyes and muzzle depth and texture. The design is in black and grey only and fills most of the frame against plain skin.

Realism Upper arm Bear Snarl Teeth Fangs Fur Animal

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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 crate came off the ferry on the Tuesday tide, and by the time Dougie Mackay had the ramp chained, something inside was already snarling through the slats. Nobody on Carrick had ever seen a bear. We had a fox once, drowned in a lobster pot, and a grey seal that sang like a drunk outside the chip shop, but a bear was another matter entirely.

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The man who owned it was thin and wore a coat too heavy for June. He said the animal was called Tam, that it had been raised on dog biscuit and a splash of whisky, and that he needed the old kelp shed for a fortnight while he waited on a boat that never came. Mrs Gilchrist gave him the key in exchange for a promise not to mention the rent to the minister. He was gone on the evening boat, and nobody saw him again.

I took the bear its fish because I was the only one brave enough to carry a bucket past the shed door. The first night it roared at my lamp and showed me every tooth it owned, long yellow fangs above and a row of small grey ones below, and I backed away with my heart knocking in my ears. The second night I sat on an upturned creel and hummed the psalm my grandmother used to sing over the nets. The bear stopped mid-snarl, its great wet nose working at the air, and it let its jaw fall shut as if it had only been yawning.

In October the crate went out on the same ferry, empty, with a tuft of brown fur caught on a nail. Tam had made his own way to the mainland, I told everyone, though I think of the bear on the slipway that last morning, mouth open to the wind, and how the sound it made was no louder than the gulls.