Close-up of a black blackletter-style AC/DC lettering tattoo with a lightning bolt between the letters, sitting on the inner wrist of a person's arm.

AC/DC lettering logo on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The image shows a black AC/DC logo with a lightning bolt replacing the slash, set on the inner wrist and forearm of a light-skinned hand. The lettering is bold, solid black with sharp, angular blackletter-style edges and clean fills. The glossy finish and slightly raised edges suggest the design may be a temporary tattoo rather than ink, and the plain, neutral background keeps the focus on the design.

Lettering Forearm Lightning bolt Text

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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

...and that's why you don't whistle in a barn in January, not with Old Harrow's cattle shifting in the stalls. Now sit closer, the fire's eating the good wood tonight.

Keep reading

Ruth Pennock had two boys and one bad-tempered mare, and the winter the big storm came over the Cheviots, she put the three of them in the lower byre because the house roof was leaking into the bread bin. Thunder came rolling down the valley like a dropped cart. The mare would not settle. The older boy, Cal, swore the bolt that split the ash tree by the gate was the same colour as the gate's iron latch, and he went out in his shirt to prove it.

He came back with his hand held out flat, and across the inside of his wrist was a mark, black and sharp-cornered, like letters a monk might have cut into a psalter. Two letters, and between them a lightning bolt, straight as a tally stick. His mother looked at it a long time. Then she took down the old ledger where the farm's dead were written, turned to the page with her husband's name on it, and found the same two letters beside it, in her own hand, from the year before he drowned at the ford.

Cal did not believe in signs. He believed in the ash tree, which lay in two halves across the lane, and in the mare, which had stopped stamping and would not stop staring at him. Hold out your arm, lad, his mother said. Let's see if it comes off with soap.

It did not come off. It never does, my grandmother used to say, though she was a liar about most things, and the bolt on that wrist is still there in the old photograph on the dresser, if you care to look.