Black and white photo of two matching fine line looped flourish tattoos on the inner wrists, one on each arm.

Matching fine line flourish on two wrists

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two wrists are shown side by side, each with a small matching tattoo of a looping, flowing script-like flourish with a closed loop at its base. The linework is thin and mostly solid black, with no shading, and the soft focus and monochrome tones keep the focus on the marks against the skin.

Fine line Other Flourish Swirl Loop Script Matching

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hand me the peel, lad, and mind the oven door, it sulks when the cold gets in. Aye, that's the one. Now listen, because I'll not tell this twice before the first tray comes out. Back in the year the Calder flooded the cellar at Pell Street, old Mr Hollis had two girls on the bench, Ida Marr and Nell Corrigan, and they disliked each other with the sweet thoroughness only seventeen-year-olds can manage.

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The flood took the flour and the starter both. Hollis swore the harvest orders would go out by Saturday regardless, so the pair of them sat up in the proving room with one lamp, a jar of grey paste between them and a box of pins from the haberdasher. Ida wanted to walk out. Nell wanted to stay. Neither would say so. At three in the morning Ida dipped a pin in the ink Hollis used to stamp his initials and drew a small looping flourish on the inside of Nell's wrist, the same curl he piped onto every loaf he was proud of. Nell did the same back. Neither of them thought it sensible.

By dawn the starter had woken, sweet and sharp, and the loaves rose true. Hollis came down the stairs, saw the two of them with their sleeves rolled up and their wrists stained blue, and said nothing at all, which from him was a blessing. The rule of the bread was simple: a loop must close, or it isn't finished. So they closed theirs the same way, and for fifty years after, nobody could say whose hand had been the steadier.