Collage of six colour cartoon tattoos from The Simpsons, with lettering in banners and speech bubbles, shown on skin in traditional style.

Six Simpsons character tattoos in a collage

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A six-panel collage of colour tattoos based on characters from The Simpsons, including a bald man in a suit, a cartoon man with a wide smile, and a figure lying down. Each piece has bold black outlines, flat colour fills and a caption or speech bubble set in a banner or cartoon frame. The panels are arranged in a grid with a plain background, and the photos show the tattoos on skin.

Traditional Other Cartoon character Lettering Banner Speech bubble Collage

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lights came up over the Denmark Strait the night Ruth Pilling lost her bet, and the whole watch crowded onto the foc'sle in their oilskins to watch her pay it. She had wagered two tins of peaches that the sky would stay grey until we raised Reykjavik. Nobody had seen the green sheets so low on the water in nine years at sea, and when they came Ruth stood with her hands in her pockets and said nothing at all, which was how we knew she had been waiting for them too.

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In the galley I kept a slate by the stove where the crew wrote whatever they had been saying that week. I started it after a fortnight of arguments about who had said what first. Ruth wrote Aurora Borealis across the top, and under it Lars, the youngest deckhand, from Bergen, added his line about not crying for him because he was already dead. He had said it the day the ship's doctor told him his cough was only a cough. Someone drew a wide grin in the corner, and someone else put a small fish wearing a crown beside it, and nobody would own up to either.

The bosun came into the galley on the morning of the port inspection with a bucket and a face like a closed hatch. He wanted the slate wiped. Ruth argued, Lars argued, and I stood at the stove with the kettle going cold. Then Dobrowski read the last line, which was in my own hand: now you don't get any candy, written after I caught him in the stores with his fist in the biscuit tin. He looked at it for a long moment and laughed once, like a cough.

He left the slate up. The inspectors came and went, and the ship was sold to a firm in Piraeus two summers later, so I have no idea who cleans it now.