Fine line black script tattoo running vertically on the back of a person's neck, photographed from behind with purple hair and a white top.

Fine script tattoo on the back of the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A person is photographed from behind, showing a small vertical script tattoo on the back of the neck. The lettering is drawn in thin, dark black linework with no shading, and the letterforms are slanted and joined. The neutral grey wall and white top keep the focus on the tattoo, with a chain necklace resting across the shoulders.

Fine line Lettering Neck Script Word Lettering

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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

Come in under the awning, the lot of you, before the wet takes the last of my voice. Aye, the stalls have been drowned since Tuesday, but a story keeps dry if you tuck it inside your coat. Now, you want the one about the glass-blower's daughter and the word she sold at Ashgrove market?

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She had no money that spring, only a tin of spent nibs and a pen-case her father left her. Every Saturday she stood by the fishmonger with a card that read WORDS WRITTEN WHILE YOU WAIT, and folk laughed, because who pays for a word? But the rain came down so thin and grey that people stopped to shelter, and they asked her for words to carry home. A word for a lost dog. A word for a mother who never wrote back. She shaped them slantways, every letter joined to the next, in ink so fine it barely sat on the paper.

Then one morning a man in a wet green coat asked for a word he could wear, not one he could fold into a pocket. She refused, of course. Paper can burn, but a word on skin stays put. He smiled and said he'd pay in the one coin she had never spent, which was the promise she'd made her father: keep one word for herself. So she wrote it small, down the nape of her own neck where no mirror at the stall could show it, and she never once read it aloud.

And that's why she never sold another word after that. Folk came asking, and she'd only tip her head and say the rain had taken her ink. Mind you, I've heard that some mornings, when the drizzle is just right, she stands by the fishmonger and lets the drops run down her collar, and the word there gets a little easier to read. Mind your own coat now, and go on home.