Colourful ornate seahorse tattoo with a curled tail on the side of a woman's neck, beside three seahorse designs on a tan background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ornate seahorse tattoo on the neck

Neck · Colour · Photo

A close photograph of a multicoloured seahorse tattoo on the side of a woman's neck, with a curled tail and dense decorative linework in pink, green, yellow and blue. The right half of the image shows three seahorse designs on a plain tan background: one blue, one green and blue, and one red, orange and green with a dark brown tail. The tattoo is shown in a soft, evenly lit photograph with the subject's face not visible.

Neck Seahorse Tail Swirl Ornament Fish

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 sea-kingdom of Morrowmere had no harbour master, so when the tide brought a seahorse to the shallows below the salt-mill, the miller's daughter, Ysolde, was the one who waded out to fetch it. It was no bigger than her palm, its body stitched all over with tiny rings and curls, as if someone had patiently embroidered it with threads of pink and green and yellow. It did not struggle. It only looked at her with one bright eye and then turned its curled tail towards the deep water, as though asking her to follow.

Keep reading

She carried it home in a bucket of brine. Her father said the sea had sent it as payment for the grain they had lost to the storm, and that a debt of the sea was not a thing to argue with. So she kept it in the cistern behind the mill, and each morning she brought it a shell of fresh water and a pinch of crushed mussel, and each morning it had changed a little. A new spiral had grown along its flank. A fin had unfolded like a painted fan. Once she found a blue ribbon of colour running from its crown down to its tail, as though the sea had been drawing on it while she slept.

In the autumn the mill wheel stopped, and the village came to ask why. Ysolde took the seahorse to the old stone steps at the harbour's edge and set it in the water. It hung there a long moment, shimmering, then swam out past the breakwater with its tail uncurling behind it like a question finally answered.

That winter the mill wheel turned again, though no one had oiled it, and the cistern was always full of salt water that tasted of rain.