Fine line botanical tattoo of a five-petalled flower with curling vine tendrils on the back of a person's neck, shown in a sepia photograph.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flower and swirls on the nape of the neck

Botanical · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A single five-petalled flower with a dotted centre sits at the top of the image, with curling vine tendrils and small swirls extending downward along the centre of the neck. The linework is thin and even, with no visible shading, and the design is rendered in a dark ink that appears brown in the sepia-toned photo. The tattoo is centred on the frame, with the person's dark hair framing the top of the image.

Botanical Fine line Neck Flower Plumeria Swirl Vine Tendril

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the fire is only warm on this side, and I will not repeat the part about the bees twice. You want the plumeria story, the one your aunties say I make up. I did not make it up. My own grandmother told it to me on the steps of the house in Hilo, with the frangipani dropping white and yellow onto the wet stones, and she had her thumb on my wrist the whole time so I would not run off to the sea.

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There was a girl named Lani who worked the fruit stalls by the harbour, and she had a suitor who sold fish and promised her the moon wrapped in a banana leaf. He ran off with the money from the rice sacks the week before the wedding. Lani did not cry in the market. She walked home past the flowering trees, took a single bloom from the hedge, and pressed it flat in her Bible. Every morning after that she pressed a new one beside it, until the book was thick as a loaf and smelled like her mother's kitchen.

When the rains came down the mountain that spring, she carried the book to the top of the bluff and opened it to the wind. The flowers lifted off the pages one by one and turned in the air, curling around each other like the tendrils on a vine, and they settled on the hedge where the old tree stood. Some say it was the wind. My grandmother said it was Lani, finally choosing where to put her grief, and that the tree has never once bloomed without a little white flower being pressed inside the leaves for whoever needs it. Now hush. Go and see if your mother has put the kettle on.