Fine line black tattoo of two wavy lines on the back of a neck, with dark hair and a white collar visible around it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two wavy lines on the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of two parallel wavy lines sits on the back of the neck, drawn as thin, single-weight black linework. The lines are crisp and evenly spaced, with the upper line sitting slightly higher on the left. The skin is light and the image is cropped closely, with dark hair above and a white textured collar below the tattoo.

Fine line Neck Wave Wavy line Line

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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

The brass stamp had been Mr Cardew's before it was Nell's, and he had never once let anyone ink it without watching. Every quarter the harbour office printed the tide tables for Porthgwidden, and every quarter the same two wavy lines went at the foot of the page, the upper one a hair higher on the left, because the first engraver had cut it that way and nobody since had dared to correct him.

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Nell was fifteen the winter the press jammed. She spent three evenings with a loupe and a tin of paraffin, scraping grit from the type bed, and on the third night she noticed the stamp had worn. The upper line had softened where a thumb had rested on it for decades. She could have filed it true. Instead she took the old proof sheets from the bottom drawer, the ones going back to 1889, and laid them side by side under the lamp.

Every sheet had the lines a little different. Some were tight as piano wire, others slack as washing on a line. The engravers had been retouching by hand for sixty years, each leaving a small piece of his own hand in the curve. She sat with ink on her fingers until the tide turned outside and the sound of the slipway changed under the window.

In the morning she pressed the stamp exactly as it was, worn edge and all, and carried the warm sheets down to the quay. The fishermen took their copies without looking up, folding them into oilskin pockets. She had expected to feel like a thief. Instead she watched the lines on the paper settle, uneven and faintly out of step, and thought that they rode the water just as they always had.