Colour tattoo of a cupcake with pink frosting, star sprinkles and a trail of small stars rising above it, on a limb of skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cupcake with star sprinkles tattoo

Other · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo of a cupcake with a tan paper case and swirled pink frosting topped with orange, green and yellow sprinkles and stars. A trail of small multicoloured stars drifts upwards from the top, and the cupcake is shown centred on the skin with the surrounding area left plain. The linework is bold and outlined, with soft shading on the case and frosting.

Other Cupcake Frosting Sprinkles Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Brother Oswin was the only one at the monastery of Saint Hild who could bake, so when the bishop's letter arrived to say he would dine there on the feast of the Translation, the abbot sent for him and said nothing at all, only pointed at the empty flour bin.

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There was flour enough for one cake, a pat of butter the size of a thumbnail, and four eggs from the hens that had stopped laying in the frost. Oswin mixed what he had, set the batter into little cases of tan paper he folded from the spoiled leaves of an old psalter, and baked them in the cold oven until the kitchen smelled of something nobody in the valley could remember. He whipped the frosting pink with beetroot juice and a spoon of honey, and last of all he took out the sugar. A pedlar passing through in autumn had left a twist of coloured sugar stars in exchange for a night's bed, and Oswin had kept it in the drawer beside his knife.

When the cakes were ready he carried them into the refectory on a board. The bishop lifted one, and as steam rose from the swirl of frosting, a trail of tiny stars rose with it, drifting past the candles toward the rafters and out through the high window. The monks stopped chewing. Nobody spoke. The bishop ate his cake in a single bite and wiped his fingers on his robe.

Then he went to the window, looked up for a long time, and said the sky over Saint Hild had never been so crowded. For a week afterwards the brothers swore they could see a faint sprinkle of stars low over the kitchen roof each morning, and Oswin never once told them it was only sugar.