Black and white photo of two clasped hands, each with a black script tattoo reading 'til death across the finger, placed on the hand.

'til death tattoos on two clasped fingers

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are clasped together in a black and white photograph, with the fingers held side by side. Each visible finger carries a black script tattoo reading 'til death, with fine, even linework and solid ink. The background is a white tiled wall with grout lines, and the left hand shows further tattoos on its back and fingers.

Lettering Hand Script Lettering Finger Hand Couple

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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

You spot Danny Ashworth beside the tombola at the Hollins Park reunion by the way he stands, weight on his left foot, as if the hall floor might tilt. His name badge says DANNY in felt-tip with a gold star stuck beside it, which tells you his mum still does the paperwork. Twenty-two years since the last bell, and the two of you are the only ones who ever planned to be here.

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The pact was made behind the bike sheds in Year Ten, with a cheap biro and a tattooist in Barnsley who charged twenty quid and a bag of Haribo. He did yours crooked, the apostrophe leaning towards the knuckle as if it was trying to escape. Danny never once complained about his, though he did ask for a sharper k, and you've spent two decades telling people the spelling was on purpose.

Mrs Pell, who taught PE and now runs a Polaroid stall beside the raffle, waves you both over. "Hold still, you two, I've not got all night." Danny takes your hand without asking, the way he always did, fingers laced so the two lines of ink sit side by side like a pair of bookends. The flash goes off. You both blink.

The picture comes out grey and slow, the edges creeping up through the white. Your faces take shape first, then the hands. Under the flash the letters come up darker than the skin around them, every stroke still exactly where you put it. "Still holding," Danny says. "Mostly," you say, and neither of you lets go until the photo's dry.