Fine line drawing of a hand making the horns gesture above a purple banner reading I DON'T CARE, shown as a tattoo design.

Horns hand gesture with banner

Fine line · Mixed · Flash

A black line drawing of a hand making the rock horns gesture, with the index and little fingers raised and the thumb and middle finger folded down. Thin, even outlines with small dark shaded areas on the folded fingers and no fill shading on the palm. A flat lilac banner sits across the bottom of the wrist and carries the words I DON'T CARE in dark capitals on a white background.

Fine line Hand Banner Lettering

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

Your mum has been ringing the Majestic Ballroom since eight, so Maureen on the cloakroom hatch hands you the phone with her eyebrows already up. "Your mother wants to know if you've eaten," she says. "Tell her you don't care." You take the receiver anyway. Mum says the last bus to Herne Bay goes at eleven and you'll be stranded, and you say you'll walk, and she says a girl doesn't walk the front at midnight, and you hold the receiver away from your ear until the line clicks dead.

Keep reading

Back on the sprung floor the Sump Brothers are murdering a song you used to love. The lead singer has a quiff like a breaking wave and a guitar with a crack down its body, and every time he glances your way you raise two fingers, first and little, and fold the others under your thumb. Horns. The crowd roars it back. Stan, the bouncer with a neck like a fence post, marches over to say the Majestic frowns on theatrics. You tell him you don't care. He doesn't write anything down. He just looks at you the way the sea looks at the groyne, patient and unimpressed.

At half eleven the lights come up and the floor smells of hair oil and spilt sweet sherry. You walk out past the cloakroom, Maureen calling after you that the last bus has gone. Outside, the wind off the sea tears the lilac streamers from the railings and slaps them against the glass. You stand in the middle of the empty road with your hand up, horns out, and let the cold have the rest of the night.