Black line drawing of overlapping Mickey and Minnie Mouse head outlines, with a red polka-dot bow on Minnie's ear and the word LOVE in script beneath, on a cream background.

Mickey and Minnie silhouettes with LOVE

Mixed · Flash

The drawing shows two overlapping Mickey and Minnie Mouse head outlines, drawn in bold black linework. Minnie's ear carries a red bow with white polka dots, which is the only colour in the image. The word LOVE sits in black script below the figures, centred on a plain beige background.

Mickey mouse Minnie mouse Bow Polka dot Love Script Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourself down on that upturned crate, close to the range, and mind the hot pan, because the Marigold never sailed a voyage without some fool burning his wrist on it. I'll tell you about the two mice who lived behind the flour sacks, for they were the only crew aboard who could read the cook's chalk notes, and the only ones who ever wrote back.

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Pearl Tallow wore a red silk bow on one ear, cut from a dead captain's neckerchief and dotted all over with white. The bosun called it vanity. The cook said a mouse who could spell was entitled to a bit of vanity. Across the salt tin sat Ned Cassock, whose ears were two round coins pressed so close they touched, and who was forever stealing biscuits off the officers' table, so his whiskers were always white with flour. Every night they traded little notes folded small enough to fit under the lid of the spice box, and every night the notes got a little braver.

Then came the squall off the Horn. The lamps swung, the pans crashed down from their hooks, and the hold filled with the stink of wet rope. Ned was caught on the lee side of the hatch with a cask rolling toward him, and it was Pearl who ran the length of the galley table and chewed through the lashing that held the flour scoop, so the cook could brace the door. When the sea went quiet, she found Ned under the bench, shaking, one biscuit still clutched in his teeth.

The next morning someone had scratched a word into the flour spilled across the chart table, a word in careful looping letters that the cook never could have written with a finger. The bosun swept it up before breakfast. But I heard tell that the mice still share that table, and that the flour there never quite settles flat.