Black outline and blue tattoo of two skeletons facing each other and holding hands, placed on the thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two skeletons holding hands on a thigh

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows two skeletons facing each other, joined at the hands and with their legs interlocking below. The black outlines are crisp and even, and blue tones fill the bones and create an offset, ghosted shadow behind each figure. The composition is centred on the thigh with plenty of clear skin around the design.

Thigh Skeleton Holding hands Bone Skull

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

Dear Ada, The frost has held the yard for nine days now, and the pond has a skin on it thick enough for the boys to slide across. You will not believe what the Pryce boys found in the peat cutting on Tuesday. Two of them, sat up in the black water as though someone had propped them there for a photograph, and then when the men pulled them out the bones came apart in their hands like wet kindling. Mr Pryce swears they were the Hollis brothers, who went through the ice in 1871 and were never found. I say the Hollis brothers would have been too sensible to go walking on a frozen bog at night.

Keep reading

Here is the odd part. Since Wednesday there are two sets of footprints in the frost each morning, starting at the bog gate and running down the lane, long-legged and careful, the way two men walk when they have their arms linked. Last night I stood at the window with the lamp out and watched them come. They were holding hands, the pair of them, and every few steps one would stop and the other would tug him on, and they went at it like a reel at the Michaelmas hall, knees going up and down. I could see the moon through their ribs.

I have decided not to tell the constable. I took the bread knife and went out in my nightdress as far as the gate and said, Go on then, you have a long way to dance. They did not look back. The footprints stop at the old boundary stone now, and this morning there was only the one line of tracks heading out, very faint, and a single blue thread of wool caught on the gatepost, the exact colour of the milk-bottle glass we used to keep on the sill at home. Burn my letter if you like. I am keeping the wool.