Black and grey hammer tattoo with glowing blue lightning bolts on a forearm, photographed under ultraviolet light.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lightning hammer on forearm under UV light

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A hammer with a rounded head and a long handle is tattooed on the inner forearm, with jagged lightning bolts radiating from the head and down the shaft. The hammer body is shaded in black and grey with fine linework, while the lightning appears to be UV-reactive ink that glows bright blue under a blacklight. The composition is close and cropped at the arm, with a blue-lit background showing part of a person's torso in a teal top and jeans.

Forearm Hammer Lightning Uv ink

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

The power went at the second hour past dark, and the inn at Harrowgate Pass fell into the kind of quiet only snow can make. You lit the lamps one by one, then the candles, then gave up and went down to the cellar for the last of the paraffin. Your uncle was already halfway up the stairs with the lantern, grumbling that the blizzard had torn the wire off the pole again.

Keep reading

Behind the bar, nailed above the cask shelf, hung the smith's hammer a traveller had left in payment for a bed in the winter of the great drought. Nobody had ever taken it down. Its head was black iron, its handle wrapped in tarred cord, and when the room went dark it began to hum. You stood with the paraffin can in your hand and watched the cracks in its head fill with a cold blue light, branching down the haft like frost spreading over a window.

Your uncle stopped on the third step. "Don't touch it," he said, though you had no intention of touching it. The light climbed the wall toward the beams, the snow went on hammering at the shutters, and somewhere out on the pass a horn answered, long and thin, from a road nobody should have been on.

You unhooked the hammer anyway, because the horn was getting closer and the bar was thick with dark. It was warm as bread. You carried it to the door, lifted it high, and brought its head down on the threshold stone. The crack rolled out over the valley like a second thunderclap, every candle in the inn sprang back to life, and the bolts in the iron dimmed to a faint blue seam, waiting for the next storm.