Coloured drawing of a tattoo design with pink plumeria-style flowers, a blue butterfly and black scrollwork on a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink flowers and butterfly tattoo design

Botanical · Colour · Flash

The drawing shows two clusters of pink five-petalled flowers linked by black scrollwork and dotted swirls. The lower group has a blue and black butterfly with green leaves and orange flower centres, while the upper group is shaded in soft greys and pinks. The design is placed on a plain white background with the elements spread diagonally.

Botanical Flower Plumeria Butterfly Swirl Scroll Leaves Dot

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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

Mind the third step, it's loose, and always has been since the winter the sea came up over the gallery rail. Sit where the lamp can't blind you. Now. You want the one about the pink flowers, and I'll tell it the way my nan told it to me, so don't ask me to make it prettier.

Keep reading

The keeper then was Tomas Quill, and his wife Ailsa had a cutting of a tree that nobody on this coast had ever seen. A ship out of Lisbon left it with her, wrapped in wet sailcloth, and she planted it in a tin bath by the kitchen door. Every evening, just as Tomas lit the lamp, a blue butterfly came up the stairs and settled on the windowsill, wings opening and closing like it was counting something. Ailsa swore it was keeping the tree company. Tomas said it was after the moths. Neither of them was right, as it turned out.

The autumn the fog came in thick for nine days, their boy Davy went down to the rocks after a dog that had no business being there. The tide was turning. Tomas couldn't see his own hand, let alone the boy. But the butterfly came out of the murk ahead of Davy, trailing a line of little blue sparks over the wet stone, and each spark sat in a neat ring like a swirl drawn with a compass. Davy followed the rings home, dog and all.

In the spring the tin bath was carried out to the cliff and emptied. Ailsa found the tree had put out five-petalled blooms the colour of a healed scar, and she pressed one into the logbook between the tide tables and the names of the ships. That page is still there. Go on, you can look. The butterfly never came back, but every calm night since, the lamp throws its light across the rocks, and the dots of blue come up out of the dark where the boy walked home.