Two side by side photos of cartoon tattoos: on the left, two robots with red hearts and a bow; on the right, pizza slices with heart pepperoni on legs.

Matching robot and pizza tattoos

Forearm · Colour · Photo

The left photo shows two cartoon robots in bold black outline, one wearing a red bow and one wearing a red bow tie, with small red heart details on their bodies. The right photo shows two pizza designs, a single slice and a whole pizza cut into pieces, with heart-shaped pepperoni in pink and red and cheese drips in orange. Both pairs use simple outlines with flat colour fills and sit on bare skin against plain backgrounds.

Forearm Calf Robot Pizza Heart Bow Bow tie Cartoon

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The day the old king outlaws cheese in Morrowlea is the day you finally finish the robot, though you have no intention of giving it to anyone. You are the royal tinsmith, which means you own a cupboard of spare cogs, a bad temper and a tin of enamel paint that has been red since your grandmother's time. The palace has no working clocks and the gutters run with soup, but at the bottom of Hanging Street Ida's oven is never cold, and she sends up a whole pizza each noon cut into five ragged wedges, every one speckled with pepperoni hearts, because she says a kingdom ought to have something to fall for.

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Your robot is a cube on stilts with two round eyes and a mouth like a sleepy ferryman. You give it a red bow for its head, because you are foolish, and a bow tie for its chest, because you are more foolish still. On the first morning it walks down the hill without you. It comes back at dusk with a slice wrapped in brown paper, the cheese gone cold and one pepperoni heart sliding off the edge. You eat it at the workbench and tell yourself the robot is to blame for the way you keep taking the long road past the bakery.

By spring the whole street knows. Ida leans out of her window and announces that the robot is paying for its dinner in tin, which is not how money works in Morrowlea, but nobody has the heart to correct her. Then one afternoon the robot does not come back, and you find it standing at the palace gate with one arm held out, balancing a slice still warm on a flat tin plate. Tucked under the cheese is a note in Ida's loopy hand: the other half is yours to carry up the hill.

You lift the plate, the robot and the rest of the pie. The gate swings open on its own, which it has never done before, and somewhere in the tower a clock that has been broken for a hundred years begins, very quietly, to tick.