Close-up of a fine line dotwork tattoo of a dotted line with small star marks running across the collarbone on a light-skinned neck and chest.

Dotted line with star marks across collarbone

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A dotted line with small six-pointed star marks runs across the collarbone, curving gently from the left shoulder towards the right side of the chest. The linework is fine and the dots are evenly spaced, with the stars slightly larger and darker than the dots. The ink is black on pale skin with visible freckles, and the person wears a white tank top against a plain light grey background.

Fine line Dotwork Chest Dotted line Star Asterisk Collarbone

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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

Sit down there, where the windfalls won't reach your boots. No, the fruit's not for you yet; the wasps have had the best of the Discovery, and the Bramleys won't be ready till the frost. Listen, then, because I'll only tell this once before the light goes.

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Old Tom Ashdown planted the rows along Hollow Lane the year the war ended, and he never walked them after dark without a length of string in his coat pocket. Every tree, he said, needs a line back to the gate, or the orchard swallows you. So in August, when the Cox's hung heavy and the swifts shrieked over the barn, he paced the route from the old pump to the far hedge, knotting the string at every fourth tree. Little knots, little stars. His wife called it nonsense. She called him a lost soul in a field of apples.

One August the mist came down thick as wool before he'd finished, and he was stranded beneath the walnut with the lantern guttering. He did what he always did: he looked up. The cloud tore open above the hedge, and there was the line of stars he'd been copying onto his string all those summers, a dotted road laid across the dark. He followed it home, tree by tree, and not one apple bruised.

When he died they found the string folded in his tin of tacks, every knot still tight. The last star was the one nearest the gate. It's still there, if you know where to look, and some nights I'll walk you out to find it.