Black and white photo of a fine line script tattoo running vertically from the nape down the upper back, above a white open-back top.

Vertical script tattoo down the upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A person is photographed from behind, showing a vertical line of small, thin script lettering running from the nape of the neck down the upper spine. The linework is fine and black, and the lettering is too small and fragile to read clearly at this resolution. The photograph is black and white, with the subject centred and the tattoo placed against smooth skin and a white open-back top.

Fine line Lettering Back Script Lettering Spine Back

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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 ink had thickened in the cold, so Ruth warmed the nib against the kettle lid before she dared touch the page. Outside, the yard at Low Thwaite lay under a crust of frost that cracked whenever the dog crossed it. Her father wanted the lambing book up to date before the bank man came on Thursday, and she had been putting it off for three days.

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Each lamb got a line and each line got a name, written small down the margin so the columns would fit. Her father liked the old way: ewe number, date, weight, then whatever name the children had given it. Most were plain, Bess and Mildred and Dot, but she wrote Tansy for the lamb born in the sleet, the one that lived only a night. Her pen moved down the page in a narrow, straight line, the letters leaning like fence posts in a wind.

Halfway down the third page she stopped. Someone had already written there in pencil, faint, the rain having nearly lifted it. The names ran the same way, top to bottom, in her mother's careful hand, and the last one she did not recognise. She turned back to the first page and found it again in the margin of the spring before Ruth was born.

She did not finish the page. She left the book open on the windowsill so the cold could hold the ink a little longer, and went out to fork hay while the light was still hard and white over the frozen field.