[accio-lo-ki]

You can also find me on ao3

MULTI-CHAPTER, SERIES

If you’re looking for a saviour (that’s not me) ; 69.4k | Ten years after the end, Annabeth must find Percy to save the world again–this time, together. Magic AU. 13/13

and all at once you are the one ; 4 works | Popstar!Annabeth and Actor!Percy AU as told through Taylor Swift's discography.

Dancing with our hands tied ; 4.1k | Keeping a secret relationship is hard sometimes.

Gorgeous ; 3.6k | The first meeting.

Gold rush ; 4.1k | @FEARLESSCHASER on twitter says: oh my god i think i just found the loml in an annabeth chase concert???? (Attached: a tiktok video of a guy, brown skin, mid to late 20s, about 6 feet tall, taking off a black NY Yankees baseball cap and ruffling a hand through his hair, nodding along to the music. In the background, King Of My Heart by Annabeth Chase plays live.)

Breakable Heaven ; 2.6k | It’s dangerous. It’s a bad idea. But Annabeth has already hooked an ankle over his, and their fingertips are already dangerously close. He bites the bullet. “Wanna get out of here?”

All's well that ends well (to end up with you) ; 6 works | Percy and Annabeth through the years (slice of life fics)

shake shack ; 597 | “So cheese is definitely a weakness of the children of Athena.”

in the morning ; 926 | Huffing a breath, Annabeth realized that she had forgotten just how hard it had been to wake Percy up, especially when they both haven’t slept as soundly and fully as they did last night since the summer, maybe. But she was the daughter of Athena. She could come up with a few…strategies.

crush crush crush ; 4.9k | Claire is new, and she's crushing on Percy hard. Only, he's "unavailable." Whatever that means.

Mouthful of toothpaste (before I got to know you) ; 1.1k | A glimpse into Percy and Annabeth's mid-twenties featuring drunken karaoke sing offs, pride parades, and morning kisses. Not necessarily in that order.

Love the way (you decorate my heart) ; 970 | “Annabeth, I don’t think this,” he gestures to the space between them. “–can work between us. I can’t be with someone who hates Christmas. We’re simply incompatible.”

Kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor ; 2.6k | With the memory of their first dance playing on his mind, he reaches behind Annabeth to grab his phone. “Let’s do something.” Annabeth narrows her eyes at him for a moment, suspicious. “Something like what?” Percy waits a few seconds, feet tapping impatiently against the tiled floor of their kitchen. Finally, his phone connects with the bluetooth speaker Piper had given him for his last birthday, something expensive that Percy and Annabeth wouldn’t have even thought of buying if it had been up to them. “Something like dancing.”

ONE-SHOTS

All of your street light eyes ; 13k | Percy and Annabeth are mates, and they haven't seen each other for 65 years. Twilight AU.

if i can’t get the things i want (just give me what i need)  ; 8.5k | “Don’t even think about reaching for your gun,” she hisses lowly. “I’ll shoot before you can even blink.” // Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU

All I know is a simple name (and everything has changed) ; 1.9k |  Annabeth has a crush on the new lifeguard and Piper helps...sort of.

Earthshaker ; 726 | a heroes of olympus au based on the prompt, “what if hera had taken annabeth instead of percy?”

Trade your heroes for ghosts ; 819 | He watches her crumple to the ground with a gasp, and Percy wants to tear the whole world apart. She survives, but something in his gut still tells him to do it.

beware of frozen heart ; 2.4k | “You were going to share a single carrot with your reindeer,” she states more than asks, and he opens his mouth to reply but she cuts him off. “And you’re willing to split it into three for me?” // Frozen AU

i can breathe water ; 1.4k | In truth, he never should have drowned.

one ; 341 | The truth was when Percy met Rachel, his heart skipped a beat and proceeded to pound in his chest in a weird, hard-to-ignore way.

we hide our emotions ; 1k | They were broken and being together wasn’t enough to fix them, but their bodies craved each other and there’s nothing they can do about it.

SERIES

Remember ; 2 works | Written for KC Bingo 2020 with prompts: bracelet and wedding

remember all the things we wanted ; 1.9k | He stands his ground, and Caroline flinches at the feel of his fingers tracing the bracelet on her left hand. “You’re still wearing it.”

now all our memories (they're haunted) ; 8k | He inhales sharply at her words, and then sighs heavily. “Where did we go wrong, love?” “We didn’t,” Caroline says with a slight shake of her head. “We just went in different directions, I guess.”

someday (however long it takes) ; 5 works | A series of unrelated works all exploring the possibilities of Klaus' promise of 'however long it takes.' Not canon compliant.

i'll meet you at the divide ; 2k | They have a few odd meetings over the years, helping each other out with minor problems, giving and taking little favors. Sometimes his touch lingers, when their arms brush against each other in the guise of friendly space and when they steal seconds of the eternity that they’re given. He teases her like no time has passed, she pushes back because does time really matter when he’s him and she’s her? She hears about his not-so-little problem, feels the same sharp burning in her scar, feels a painful tugging in her belly, and she goes to New Orleans.

a point where two worlds collide ; 1.8k | He remembers the pain that comes with remembering her. Maybe that is the reason he forgets.

i can feel you (sifting through my hands) ; 658 | He finds karma’s not as sweet as he’d like when it takes the people he loves from his clutched hands.

restless soul, lie down ; 9.9k | When Caroline says his name, it’s with a hardened edge that makes him wince, and he sighs as he presses against the cool tile. There’s no helping him now. He tries to think of what to say, tries to string words that would cover the eventual hurt and the implication of his words, but in the end he settles for the simple truth: “I think I’m dying, love.”

i don’t love you (i always will) ; 3.8k | He hates her so much that he fills all of his sketchbooks with her face, the way her expression crumples up when she comes, the ‘o’ of her pink lips when he takes her breast into his mouth. He burns every single drawing the second he finishes creating them. It doesn’t make him hate her any less.

ONE-SHOTS

i’m not gonna write you a love song (cause you asked for it) ; 848 | Eight years in the business and his seven Grammy’s have finally taken toll on the rock star, making him unable to produce a song that’s not of mediocre quality for the past year. But everybody knows how the entertainment business works, and a decrease in his velocity to the top just might be the reason a new ‘Klaus Mikaelson’ finally takes over the limelight.Nevertheless, he asked for a vacation, not a bloody co-writer in the form of Caroline Forbes.

I won’t say (I’m in love) ; 3.7k | “Here’s the part where we bargain for the life of your dear Caroline,” Klaus declares, flicking his hand and making the blonde woman disappear from the room. Stefan gasps, calls out her name, looks around to no avail. // Hercules AU

summer summer ; 671 | “Do you have any idea who did this so I can report it to Jenna?” Caroline asks instead, and April stops crying long enough to point a finger to the direction of the culprits.On the opposite side of the camp gathered a group of about four boys and three girls all clad in white aprons splattered with paint, and in front of them stood the bane of her existence ever since she was twelve herself and first went to camp: Klaus Mikaelson.

ONE-SHOTS

These ribbons wrap me up ; 18.9k | Jake gets Bradley through little flashes in his life. A scenic picture posted on Instagram. A selfie of a funny face sent to the group chat he keeps with the rest of the daggers, the text chain as active as any of them can manage with their jobs. But that’s the extent of Jake’s relationship with Bradley: flashes and neverfuckingenough. It doesn’t hurt, though. Not necessarily. So some days Jake convinces himself it is. Until he gets the call. OR Bradley gets in a training accident and ends up losing some of his memories, including breaking up with Jake, who he thinks he's still engaged to. Amnesia AU.

SERIES

i would never leave without you ; 2 works | Stiles and Malia, post-break-up

Anchor ; 1.2k | They weren’t together, not anymore, but Stiles was still the only person Malia has ever connected with. He was still the only person she had ever loved truly and deeply. Stiles was still her anchor.

I can’t make you love me (if you don’t) ; 2k | The two days leading up to Stiles’ and Malia’s break up

ONE-SHOTS

I don’t even wanna know ; 298 | “Malia,” the sheriff started. Stiles mentally face-palmed, readying himself for what’s to come. “You do only use those chains so Stiles could tie you up during the full moon, right?”

Vision ; 1.9k | “The vision–“ she blurted out, making him even more confused. “I just need to know. The vision– am I still part of it?”

handcuffs and other stuff ; 907 | My take on the spooning scene

ONE-SHOTS

for the first time, i had something to lose ; 998 | They say that the most painful thing a shadowhunter could feel is losing his parabatai.

just before you lose it all ; 1k | “Your boy is crying, you know? He’s begging me, begging me not to do this.”

put your lips close to mine, as long as they don’t touch ; 3.8k | The three times Jace and Alec almost kissed and the one time they finally did.

all my senses come to life ; 1.8k | Jace didn’t bother to mask his shocked expression, didn’t bother to hide the flood of emotions that seemed to drown him. The concern, the shock, the confusion, and–he realized with great disgust–the relief.

all we know is touch and go ; 2.5k | Alec was pretty sure that if it weren’t for the runes they carefully placed all over Jace’s room, they’d have been caught a long time ago. // FWB AU

MULTI-CHAPTER

Strange Benefits ; 47k | In which Milla Rosamund finds herself stuck in quite a compromising position beneath James Potter. 37/37

ONE-SHOTS

there’s a me without you, but that’s not where i belong ; 2.6k | Hermione Granger had loved magic until it took the one person she was in love with.

ONE-SHOTS

are we going down (or will we fly?) ; 2.3k | Sometimes–when Gaby leans her head onto Illya’s shoulders and instead of tensing up the way he usually reacts to physical contact, the Russian merely leans back–sometimes, Napoleon has to look away.

you’ve got my devotion (but man i can hate you sometimes) ; 1.8k | Despite knowing better, Illya wishes he would not get caught up in the complex and terrifying vortex that is Napoleon Solo.

love is a curse ; 10k | “Do you want to sneak into the kitchens and eat éclairs with me? I know you love those.” Napoleon suggests, and Illya never stood a chance, did he? // Hogwarts AU

I’ll hold you like I do love you ; 4.1k | “Don’t bring her here, Peril,” Napoleon tells him. His voice is quiet and they are ten feet apart, but Illya hears him loud and clear, like a drum beating right next to his ear. Napoleon’s voice is so quiet it deafens him. “Not here.” Illya exhales through his nose, the air hot against the coldness of the area, of the situation. It should not be like this, he thinks. It never should have gotten this far. But Napoleon is Napoleon, and Illya is a weak, weak man. So even if nothing in their situation is okay, he says this instead: “Okay, Cowboy.”

we’ll be a fine line ; 1.2k | Napoleon hates the idea of having to spend forever with someone he did not choose for himself. Illya is engaged. Napoleon and Illya are soulmates.

ONE-SHOTS

The Art of Holding Hands ; 3.1k | They weren’t even official! They were friends at most. They haven’t even kissed, just held hands and that wouldn’t even have happened if Jesse hadn’t made up some shit about not wanting to lose Blaine in a huge crowd.

ONE-SHOTS

Through the eyes of Tony Stark ; 544 | Tony Stark is many things and observant is one of them–or, Tony reveals what he suspects has been going on between Cap and Widow.

your hands are tough but they are where mine belong in ; 3.2k | Five times Peter Parker tries (and fails) to hold Mj's hand

how Mj confessed to the lamest loser in Queens (and how he said it back) ; 1.4k | “Listen up, nerd. I’m not repeating myself.”

A couple words, a great divide ; 3.2k | “Is that how you greet an old friend?” The voice comes from right beside him, making Loki stop in his tracks. “You’ve grown quite rude since the last time I saw you.”

jonerys

fear is the weight we carry ; 2k | Jon and Dany have a follow-up conversation about Jon's true parentage and how it will affect their relationship.

polaroids ; 2.6k | Jon and Dany take polaroids and get tattoos basically.

jonerys RPF

take a break ; 4.8k | based on the prompt: “you sat next to me at the movie theatre and i really hated your movie but i didn’t realise you were in it”

Steve Harrington

And at once I knew (I was not magnificent) ; 5.5k | So he lost Nancy, and he lost college, and he lost the chance of ever amounting to anything beyond this small-town life, spending away his trust fund and waiting to get old; but he’ll be damned if Dustin and Lucas and Max and Will and Mike and El do too. OR Steve knows that he’s not, like, the smartest person in the party. 

[loveridden1999]

adult grief by louise glück

[stuckinapril]

I’ve had tumblr for 4 years but some of you bitches have had it for a decade. It’s time to seek penance

[stuckinapril]

wait I’m curious now . Reblog this with how long u’ve been on tumblr for. Dating back to ur oldest blog ever !!!

[accio-lo-ki]

my current garrett graham wips 😭 really into writing pro!garrett atm but the plot i wanna do is kind of tricky to do with x reader so i’m trying to figure out if i’ll just make it x ofc (i havent seen many garrett x ofc so idk if that’s something ppl are into)

[guccifloralsuits]

everyone immediately needs to get more anti-AI

[guccifloralsuits]

I’m against I AI but I ran my photo throu—BOOOOOOO 👎🍅 wrong answer. You’re still a loser for that and I will not be letting that fly under the radar if brought up in irl conversation!

[hppjmxrgosg]

proud victim of the tumblr accent. it's fading out of public consciousness as the tik tok accent takes precedence; a linguistic evolution that makes the tumblr accent 85% funnier to unsuspecting civilians. it's like releasing a disease on a non-inoculated population. coughing baby versus hydrogen bomb.

[hairspraywhore]

>no idea what a tumblr accent even is

>”oozes off of me like a thick miasma”

[psych-is-the-name]

im angry at myself for walking into that so perfectly

[000l]

[shrewreadings]

like to charge, reblog to cast.

[winter-wise]

Some of the 2010s-era Loki stans were annoying but some of them were very justified. They put Tom Hiddleston in handcuffs and a muzzle. Then they put him in chains and a collar. Then they had him look waifishly sad in a prison cell. Then they put him in handcuffs again. Then they chained him up again. Where else were teenage girls going to see that.

[qiyuskiss]

seeing genuine writers getting accused of using AI because there is a em dash (—) in their work is so freaking insane. i've been using (—) since i was 12, basically since i took up creative writing. then i see the same people who make these baseless accusations eating up AI content in the form of quick ai wattpad stories. really you don't want me to talk about how wattpad went from a fun place for amateur writers to develop their skill and share their work, to a platform that's full of ai and readers (and some writers too!) who fully tolerate it and shame the ones who call it out.

you're going on sites like wattpad, ao3, fanfiction.net and even quotev — and you expect me to support and respect your ‘work’ when the writing is not authentic? when it's done by a machine? in a writers community space?

“it's for fun” yes i'm writing for fun now. other write for fun too. i also write to develop my skills. other do too. you [ai user] just steal someone else's hard work... i'm really so done with everyone.

damned if you call out ai, damned if you don't. damned if you use dashes. damned if you care FOR writing in WRITING community spaces. god FORBID people use some vocabulary of english literature and use dashes and descriptions instead of sounding like a damn unfeeling robot.

[ferrantte]

akindofhome 🪿

[accio-lo-ki]

dilemma of the week: wanting to write the pro!garrett fic idea i have but not having the drive to research about hockey/the nhl

[tweeterwilbury]

I dont care about matt damon and ben affleck but they gave us Which could mean nothing so they are like rpf patron saints in a way

[perseannabeth]

Imagine hating the movie adaptation of your books so much and having the fandom hate it too. And then over a decade later you have a second chance of adaptation where you have a lot of control over it. But then this new adaptation of the story that your promise was going to be the most faithful adaptation to exist not only has the same issues as the movie but it also feels soulless and lacks the heart of what made the books so good, so the fandom starts looking at the bad adaptation that you hate so much with new eyes and being “maybe we were too harsh on the movie”.

Couldn’t be me, Rick Riordan on the other hand…

[perseannabeth]

[sunshinemoon3341]

[accio-lo-ki]

thumbs - garrett graham

pairing: garrett graham x reader

tags: tattoo artist reader, first time tattoos, meet cute, POV third person, no use of y/n for reader-insert, fluff, mention of domestic abuse and past trauma

word count: 3.6k

summary: Garrett’s just been made captain, and he wants to celebrate by getting something a little permanent. He’s unprepared by how beautiful his tattoo artist is. (or the story behind garrett's iconic tattoo)

notes: cross-posted on ao3 ; title from lucy dacus’ “thumbs,” which is very garrett coded if anyone wants to listen; tysm for the love on habit lines ! i’m currently working on part two of it, but it’s been evading me a little. this one came to me and i just couldn’t not write it. already have ideas for other parts. let me know if you guys are interested !! i'm also open for requests!! ; banner by @pixopix

p.s i don’t go into too much details of how the reader looks, but i definitely have simone ashley specifically in this picture in mind when i wrote this (just bc i have a huge crush on her lmao)

Garrett gets the tattoo the summer after his sophomore year at Briar. 

They had just dominated the frozen four and he just became the highest scorer of the season. He’s been made captain. The name stretched on the back of his jersey felt as insignificant as the DNA running through his veins. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had accomplished something that his father couldn’t touch. Because Phil Graham might be this hockey legend everyone keeps comparing him with. He might pretend to be a father. He might be the man haunting his worst memories. But he wasn’t the one skating suicides every single day. He wasn’t the one training until he bled. He wasn’t the one who won Briar their last game of the season. He’s just a name. Garrett worked hard for what he’d done and not even Phil can take that away from him. 

So he decides to commemorate the occasion. Something permanent, because he needs a little permanence in his life. Something to ground him whenever his dad’s voice gets too loud in his head. To remind him that he earned his place. 

He sees the phrase randomly while looking up designs on his phone during his Lit lecture, thumb bitten raw and foot tapping on the floor. 

Nullum Gratuitum Prandium.

He pauses in his seat, foot hovering the air mid-tap. 

There is no free lunch. 

Fighting back a grin, Garrett saves the phrase on his notes app and switches his phone off, finally paying attention to his professor drone on about Hamlet.

The tattoo shop is just a ten-minute drive from campus. It’s owned by three Briar U Fine Arts alumni, and the artists are mostly students from the same department looking for extra cash. Garrett spends a whole week stalking their Instagram, repeatedly going to the story highlights they have on their page dedicated to each of their artists. He fixates on one in particular; the tattoo artist’s designs are mostly florals and classical figures, intricate fine lines, shadings, and delicate designs that make his eyebrows raise, impressed at the skill level evident through the pieces. 

But there’s one highlight that catches his eye: it’s a back piece with a handwritten script covering the client’s entire back. Underneath the tattoo are scars; some light and faded, some ugly and dark and raised on the skin. The text is a diary entry complete with the date on the upper right portion, a confession of being a victim of domestic abuse and a promise to oneself that they’re going to make it out. 

Reading it makes a lump appear in Garrett’s throat. 

His dad never left scars. Not physical ones, anyways. They’re harder to explain than the bruises, because those can be excused away by hockey. 

His thumb presses on his phone screen, holding down so the image of the tattoo doesn’t go away. He’d never be as brave as the guy who got the back piece. But Garrett books an appointment with that artist, anyway, because sometimes pretending is enough. 

He goes to the shop on a weeknight after practice, freshly showered and wearing his Briar U Hockey hoodie and sweats. The place is so small upon entrance, he could probably spread his arms and touch both ends of the walls. There’s the counter facing the glass door, walls littered with drawings, neon light-up signs, other artworks, and stairs leading to the second floor. 

He gives his name and tries not to show his nerves too much, but the lady at the counter sees right through him. “First time?”

He considers lying for a second, but that would make him feel more pathetic, so instead he mumbles out a “yes,” with the tips of his ears burning.

The lady chuckles. Tattoos cover both her arm sleeves, multicolored and intentional. She’s probably in her late 30s, but the bleached hair and eyebrow piercings make her more youthful. She double checks his booking and hums at what she sees on the computer. “Well, you’re in good hands. You picked one of our best artists.”

“Really?” Garrett asks, trying not to feel too proud of himself yet. 

“Yup,” she confirms, handing him a slip of paper. “You can go on up. She’s ready for you.”

The stairs are concrete and steep, covered in graffiti and stickers. Garrett rarely finds himself in situations where he feels uncool, but inside the shop with all the art and the cool music playing on the speakers, clad in his Briar U get up, he’s aware of how out of place he looks. 

The second floor is more spacious. It’s open-plan, with tattoo beds spread out across the floor organically. Only two clients occupy the space, one getting a piece on his thigh and the other getting one on her rib. They chat among themselves, quiet and familiar, giving him the impression that they’re regulars.

“Garrett?” A voice calls his name, causing him to turn around. What he sees makes his throat dry up. 

She’s tall. Probably only a couple inches shorter than his 6’2 frame. Long black hair, strong jaw, dark glowing skin. She’s wearing a black tank top that shows off an intricate dragon tattoo running from the top of her shoulder down to the back of her upper arm. She’s the most beautiful woman Garrett has ever seen. 

“Uh–what?” He says unintelligently. 

Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’re Garrett, right?”

He has enough sense to nod, swallowing thickly. “Yes.”

“Cool,” she says, lips still doing that twitchy thing that makes it a hundred times difficult for him not to look down at it. “I’m the artist you booked. You wanna pick a bed?”

The words almost short-circuit his brain, but he manages to maintain his cool with a clear of his throat. He points to the one nearest to the both of them. “Here’s fine.” 

She gestures for him to sit down, which he does diligently. She goes over to one side of the room to get a metal cart of what he assumes are her tattoo stuff, pushing it until it’s right in front of the leather stool beside the tattoo bed. “So what do you have in mind for tonight?”

He clears his throat again, only because it still feels dry enough that if he tries to speak, he’s afraid his voice will crack. He takes out his phone from his pocket and opens up his notes app. “I don’t have, like, a final design yet but I have the phrase I want.”

Garrett tilts the phone towards her to let her look. She walks closer until she’s slightly behind him, then crouches over his shoulder to take a look at his phone. In the back of his mind, he registers her scent; something woodsy and floral that sends heat down his stomach. 

“Is that Latin?” She asks, voice quiet now with their proximity. Garrett makes the mistake of looking up at her. Her eyes are slightly narrowed, lips pursed as if she’s already picturing a design in her head that she can’t wait to put on his skin. Her eyes dart towards him. “What does it mean?”

He gulps. “Well, the direct translation is ‘there is no free lunch,’ which to me basically means—you know. Everything in life is earned.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up at that. He doesn’t miss the way she looks down at his hockey shirt, the car keys peeking out from the pocket of his sweats. He’s used to that; the quick write off as a rich, entitled, nepo baby. It’s a look he’s been getting his entire life. So he’s not sure why getting the same perusal from her, a random tattoo artist he didn’t know, bothers him enough that he feels untethered in his skin. 

“I like it,” she finally says, shooting him a small, knowing smile. She straightens up, dusting her hands on her jeans. “So what are we thinking? Bicep? Chest?”

Garrett scratches the back of his neck. “I was thinking my back, actually.”

“Oh?” Her tone is enough to get the tips of his ears red again. “Is this not your first time?”

He rolls his eyes at that, finally feeling somewhat back in his body. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”

She smiles bigger, which does nothing to tame the zoo forming inside his stomach. “Nothing, just—bold choice. I’m liking it even more now.” She pulls up her ipad from the cart and starts messing around with it. “I already have a few ideas if you’re willing to hear me out. Nothing too artsy. Something a little utilitarian, yeah? Since the phrase is essentially a sports mantra. Are you thinking lower back or upper?”

Garrett thinks about it for a second. “I don’t really know. Depends on the design, maybe.”

“Got you,” she tells him with a nod, still busy with her ipad. “So why get a tattoo now, if you don’t mind me being nosy?”

He leans back against the leather tattoo bed, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. Even the light fixtures are funky and ununiform, adding to the overall chaotic yet artistic vibe of the shop. Something about the low buzzing of the tattoo guns, the artwork, and how removed from his normal life the place is makes it easy for the truth to slide from his lips. “As a reward, mostly. I’ve busted my ass off the past two years training and winning games and for the first time, I finally feel like I’m worth more than the name on the back of my jersey.”

The words feel too honest and raw, especially spoken to a stranger. But there’s that feeling of weight being lifted from his chest, too, for being able to say them out loud without being scathed. 

“You just gave me an idea,” she tells him, voice going up in barely contained excitement. She takes a few minutes, and then she’s tapping his shoulder and handing the ipad over to him. 

He sits up straight and takes it from her hands. The design is simple—utilitarian lettering, like she said, curved in a semi arch. 

“I was thinking if we put it right here—“ her fingers reach out to trace over his upper back, making Garrett jolt in place. “—and curved like that, it could be placed right underneath where your name on your jersey usually is. That way, you’d know that behind the name, your mantra’s always going to be there, reminding you that you’ve earned your keep.”

Garrett sits there in silence for a few seconds, lips slightly parted and staring up at her in surprise. This beautiful stranger who weirdly understood him completely. 

“So?” She asks, waiting for him to speak.

He feels another tug at his stomach. “Let’s do it.”

“Cool,” she grins down at him. Her eyes flicker to his shirt again. “You can fold your shirt and place it on the bottom tray of the cart while I get the stencil ready. Surface is clean, I promise.”

Right. A back tattoo meant he had to be shirtless. Which is fine. He’s shirtless more hours of the day than he’s not. Garrett’s never been self-conscious about his body–growing up being forced to work out and go to practice and chug down protein shakes does that to a person. He knows he looks good; better than the average college student who goes to the gym occasionally, anyway. His abs are well-defined, his chest and shoulders broad, his arms even bigger. Muscular in a meaty way, because lean gets you thrown easily to the boards of the rink. Still, when he hoists his shirt up and over his head and hears his tattoo artist suck in a breath at the sight of him, a warm feeling begins to bloom in his chest. Warmth and proud and smug and a little shy, too. 

He looks at her with his eyebrows slightly raised, a smile threatening to tug his lips up. She meets his eyes defiantly, like she doesn’t care that he caught her looking. The stubbornness makes another animal kick inside his belly. 

“On your stomach, please,” she gestures at him with a finger. “I’m going to wash the area with green soap first just to make sure your skin’s clean. I might have to shave it, too, but from the looks of it your hairs are thin on your back, anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Garrett stays quiet, his cheek resting on his folded arms. The second her gloved hands touch the skin of his back, his fists clench tightly. He’s only grateful he had enough self-control not to jump this time. They spend a few minutes like that, her cleaning and shaving his back with careful hands while he tries to pull himself together. 

He’s been around plenty of beautiful women in his twenty years of existence, but something about her gets to him. Maybe it’s the way she holds herself with such sureness; the stubborn tilt to her chin, the dragon tattoo, the casual display of talent. Maybe it’s the way she reads him like a book. Either way, Garrett has to fight to keep his breathing normal around her. 

She applies the stencil thoroughly, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. After she’s done, she gives his back a tap. “Go ahead and look at it in the mirror for me. See if you like it. We can adjust the font size or the placement, but in my opinion it looks pretty sick already.”

Garrett does as he’s told. The mirror on the wall is huge and slightly rusted at the edges with lots of stickers littered around the surface. He turns to look at his back and feels his throat tighten up. 

She must see something in his face, because she smiles at him softly and says, “Good?”

Garrett looks at the stencil for a second. Not permanent yet, but it’s getting there. 

“Yeah,” he coughs, clenching his jaw. “I love it.”

The first press of the inked needle on his skin makes him jump embarrassingly. She laughs at that, muttering “you good?” but otherwise continuing with her job. Because she’s a professional. This is her job. Garrett repeats the words in his head enough times for them to stick. 

“You have a lot of bruises,” she says after a few silent minutes of just the tattoo gun buzzing in the air. 

The sentence makes him smother a smile. “Yeah. Hockey.”

“I figured,” she counters with a short chuckle. “I heard you guys won your last game. Congratulations.”

Somehow, the fact that he or even just his team had been on her radar enough for her to know that sends a thrill down his spine, something more pressing than the needles. “You like hockey?”

“No,” she says immediately, unashamedly. “But everyone on campus seemingly does. I just hear things.”

So she’s a student. Garrett carefully files this information in his brain, because he’s being totally normal. “What year are you in?”

“About to be a junior,” she hums. The tattoo gun goes over a sensitive spot that has him hissing, and one of her hands squeeze at his shoulder to soothe him. “Shit. Sorry. You okay?”

“Fine,” he manages to grit out, skin stinging more from the squeeze than the needles. “And same. So are you in Fine Arts?”

“Technically,” she answers, wiping at something on his back. “My major’s Art History, but we don’t really get to whip out our sketchbooks that often as much as we do thick dusty books, so.”

Art History. There’s an overlap there that Garrett has to warn his mind not to fixate on. They may very well be in the same classes. Maybe they already were at one point and he just didn’t notice. But that scenario felt unrealistic; he’s sure that if he’d seen her in one of his classes, he would have noticed her. It would be impossible not to. 

“You’re really good,” he finds himself saying instead, voice low and steady. “I saw your designs on Instagram. That’s what made me choose this shop, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Garrett answers honestly. The repeated poking on the skin of his back is more tolerable now; she’s settled on a rhythm that almost lulls him to a state of vulnerability. Like they’ve entered an alternate reality where anything he says won’t have consequences in the real world. “I saw that piece you did. The diary entry.”

He feels her falter for a few seconds. Just a blip, but he senses it all the same. When she speaks, her voice is more careful, a little guarded, and Garrett finds himself hating it. “Did you?”

“It was so vulnerable,” Garrett scrunches his eyebrows together, trying to find the right words. “So–I don’t know. Raw. Brave. I want to be like that.”

He doesn’t say anything compromising, even with the loaded words. He doesn’t reveal anything about himself or his trauma that will come back to get him in trouble. But one of her hands travel to his shoulder again. Not quite squeezing. Just hovering there. The almost-contact brings him a relief he’s not sure he’s ready to decipher yet. “I think this is a great start.”

“Yeah?” It’s his turn to ask, moving his head slightly to try and take a look at her. 

“Don’t move,” she scolds instantly, making a grin form on his face. “But yes. No lunch is free, right? You earned this.”

Garrett feels a pang in his chest. “That’s right. I did.”

It’s over before he can even begin to comprehend whatever it is he’s feeling. One minute he’s lying there on his chest, eyes halfway closed and heart beating stupidly fast, and the next she’s wiping his back with an antiseptic wipe and saying, “all done.”

“Already?” He can’t help but ask, bracing his arms to the tattoo bed to pull himself up. “Can I see?”

She stands from the stool, an almost fond smile on her face. She’s so beautiful Garrett has to pinch himself to stop staring at her. “Go ahead. Hope you don’t hate it.”

The first thing he notices is how red his skin is. Slightly swollen, the tattoo visibly raised from the surface. And then it finally sinks in: he did it. The words are dark in contrast with his tanned complexion, curved neatly and filled with meaning. “Holy shit.”

“That a good holy shit or a bad one?” She teases from behind him, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her hip popped to one side. She’s removed her gloves, long fingers waving on the skin of her arm. She’s still smiling at him like she’s proud of him, and it makes something stupid settle in Garrett’s chest. 

“It’s perfect,” his voice comes out gruff and a little too emotional to not be embarrassing, but that only serves to make her grin wider. 

She goes over all the cleaning and healing process, having him repeat after her just to be sure, which makes him feel a little bit like a kid in class who has a big fat crush on his teacher. She gives him a couple pamphlets, a business card, and a sachet of complimentary aftercare ointment, all of which he takes with careful, ready hands. 

“That’s basically it,” she finishes with a clap of her hands. “Come back or call us if something goes wrong, though hopefully that doesn’t happen.”

Finally seeing an in, he flashes a small grin at her. “And if I just want to come back anyway?”

“For another tattoo?” She asks, though her eyes are shining like she sees exactly where he’s going with this.

Garrett shrugs, all faux innocence. “Maybe.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Garrett’s a little too proud at getting any reaction from her at all. “Goodbye, Garrett Graham.”

“Wait, you know who I am?” He suddenly asks, taken aback at the mention of his full name which he didn’t remember giving when he booked the appointment. 

She shrugs. “Like I said. A lot of people around here love hockey and I hear things. Captain.”

“You know who I am,” he repeats, a slow smile beginning to form on his face, smug and confident and more reminiscent of the Garrett that he usually is. 

“Oh my god,” she laughs, pointing down the stairs. “Goodbye.”

He’s still chuckling when he goes down, bidding a goodbye to the lady at the counter and ignoring the knowing look she gives him. His smile feels like a permanent fixture on his face, though he doesn’t realize it until he’s arrived at home and met the curious looks of his friends.

“The hell’s got you so happy?” Dean asks, giving him a weird look. 

Garrett pauses by the door in surprise. “Huh?”

“You’re smiling, like, creepily widely, G,” Logan adds before turning back to the TV to the game they’re playing. 

Garrett scoffs. “No, I’m not.”

But even as he says it, he feels his lips split his face open, the traitor. 

He doesn’t tell them about the tattoo. Not yet. Something about it feels intimate, somehow, the idea that only he and the gorgeous tattoo artist know about the piece branded on his back. It makes him want to keep it to himself for a little while. Get used to the permanence first before letting other people take a peek at it. 

He shoves a hand to his pocket and pulls out the aftercare ointment she gave him for free and feels his smile get even bigger. 

Yep. He’s going to need to book that appointment soon. 

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[azhagu]

chiron asking annabeth to weave percy’s shroud while he’s on ogygia and they think he’s dead. annabeth weaving obsessively during the day because it gives her something to focus on even if everyone is concerned about how she throws herself into it, no food no sleep no breaks. then every night she frantically unweaves it because no shroud means no funeral and if they don’t burn it, he’s not actually dead. finally finishing it just about to burn it and percy shows up and she feels relief because she knewwww it. percy and annabeth taking turns mirroring odysseus and penelope oh lord make me normal about them