Fine black Greek lettering reading agape on the inner wrist, with the hand raised against a red background and a striped sleeve.

Greek word agape on the inner wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A raised hand shows the inner wrist, where the Greek word ἀγάπη is tattooed in thin, dark black lettering with a classic serif-like typeface. The strokes are clean and even, with no shading, and the letters sit in a single horizontal line across the wrist. The plain skin tone and dark ink are set against a red backdrop and a navy and white striped sleeve.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Lettering

Find an artist for this

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

Dear Ada, the rain has got into the gatehouse again, so I have moved the ink pot twice to keep it dry. Father's ewes have wandered up past the curtain wall, and Tom from the mill went after them with a lantern and came back with nothing but a torn sleeve and a bad temper. You will say I am writing from the wrong end of the earth, but the castle is only three miles from our door, and I think you would like it here. The Norman keep has no roof now, only a ring of grey stone with ferns growing out of the joints.

Keep reading

Yesterday I found a carving low on the chapel wall, half hidden under moss, with a word cut into it in the old letters the monks used. I scraped the green away with my thumbnail and read it twice before I understood. Agape. Mr Hollis at the schoolhouse used to say it meant the sort of love you give without keeping count, the kind that asks nothing back. I laughed at him then. I am not laughing now.

I keep thinking of Mother sitting up with you through the fever that winter while I was sent off to the aunts, and how she never once told me she was tired, not even in her letters. I have been meaning to say that to her for years and have never found the nerve.

I have copied the word onto the back of this page so you can see the shape of it. Come home at Easter. I will meet the coach at the crossroads with the lamp lit, the way Mother used to, and I will not count the miles.