Traditional style colour tattoo of a skull-topped cupcake with a red bow and the words Cut cake not wrists, with a small pink flower beside it, on a forearm.

Skull cupcake with lettering on forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo of a cupcake with purple frosting, a grey skull with a red bow on top, and a green and yellow striped wrapper. The words CUT CAKE above and NOT WRISTS below are set in bold black lettering, and a partly visible red rose and pink flower with green leaves sit to the right. Bold black outlines, flat fills and a soft orange background behind the cupcake give it a classic, graphic look.

Traditional Forearm Cupcake Skull Bow Frosting Lettering Rose Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody aboard the Constance Mary ate a cupcake before Ruth came out of Grimsby, and by the third week they were squabbling over the last one on the tray. I had been cook on her for eleven years, mostly boiled spuds and tinned peaches, so when Ruth climbed the galley ladder with a biscuit tin under one arm I assumed she was there to take the mick.

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She set the tin on the steel table and lifted the lid. Each little cake had purple frosting swirled high, piped with a tip she'd bought in Hull, and on top of every one sat a sugar skull with a scrap of red ribbon tied in a bow. The wrappers were green shading to yellow, pleated into points, because she said the sea had no business being the only thing on this boat with any colour.

Skipper Alf Dunn turned one over with a fork as if it might bite him. "It's a death's head, girl." "It's a Tuesday," said Ruth, "and you'll eat it." He ate it in two bites and went very quiet, then asked for another, which was the first thing I had ever heard him ask for that wasn't fuel or a fresh bucket.

The weather came in off the Dogger on the Thursday and we lost the net twice, and the men were grey and sick and cursing. Ruth kept the kettle going every four hours and carried a tray up to the wheelhouse. On the last night of the trip I found the empty tin wedged under the chart table, one ribbon still tied to its lid, and Alf asleep in his chair with a crumb of purple caught in his beard.