Black and grey fine line tattoo of mountain peaks above the script word matthew and 17:20, placed on a shoulder blade.

Mountain peaks with script on the shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo of two mountain peaks sits above the script word matthew and the numbers 17:20, on the upper back near the shoulder blade. The mountains are drawn with a clean outline and solid black fills, while the lettering uses a thin, flowing hand-written line. The photograph is in black and white, with the subject's shoulder and tank top filling most of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Shoulder Mountain Script

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 rockfall came down the north face of the Sallow Pass on the third morning of the thaw, and by noon the road was a grey ribbon of boulders the size of kitchen tables. You stood at the bottom with a shovel you had not yet learned to hold properly, watching the men from the district office shake their heads. Matthew did not shake his head. He was a short, bow-legged road-mender with a pencil behind one ear, and he walked up to the slope as if it owed him money.

Keep reading

'It won't shift for shouting,' the foreman said. 'Nor for prayers.' Matthew took a flat grey stone from his coat, one with a quartz vein running through it, and set it on the first boulder. 'Seventeen twenty,' he said, to nobody in particular. 'Faith like a grain of mustard seed. Tell this hill to go and it goes, my grandmother said. She never said how long it would take.' He laughed at that, and so did you, though you were not sure why.

It took eleven days. You carried water up the switchbacks and learned the difference between a wedge and a lever, and each evening Matthew sat on the parapet and sketched the mountain in a notebook: the two peaks with their jagged shoulders, the saddle between them where the old drovers used to camp. On the twelfth morning the slope gave a low groan like a cart axle and slid, slowly and then all at once, into the gully below. The road was clear by dusk.

Matthew had gone down to the valley that afternoon to fetch the engineer, and he had left you the notebook. On the last page, in a looping hand, he had written the road is open, and beneath it the same numbers again. You closed the book and looked up. Both peaks stood where they had always stood, but the pass beneath them ran clear, and the walls you had been so sure of looked, for once, like a way through.