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nvirskies · 3 months

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it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction.

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day.

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her.

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion.

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely.

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette.

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway.

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence.

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus.

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands.

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed.

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse pjo #cabin 9 #daughter of hephaestus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv

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nvirskies · 3 months

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til death do us part, and then some - c. la rue

warnings: reader suicide, angst hurt/no comfort, ruegard, asshole clarisse, descriptions of blood, infidelity, broken promises, not beta read

summary: clarisse never comes back from a quest and you take matters into your own hands to reunite.

unclaimed!fem!demigod!reader x unfaithful!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover @azrielsdiary

PROCEED WITH CAUTION, READ AT OWN RISK

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Lord Dionysus, Chiron, or whomever may be reading this:

In the event that someone has been unfortunate enough to find this note upon my death, do not fret. This has been a decision I had been mulling over for weeks, months, if not years now. I do not know when I will feel compelled to take this step further, so this has been written entirely in advance. Know that I will be content with my life in the Fields of Asphodel, or the Gardens of Elysium should Lord Hades be so generous as to grant me that privilege.

I would like to thank everyone who did their best in making Camp Half-Blood a welcoming and home space. Special thanks to the Hermes cabin, and Lord Hermes for their gracious welcoming arms and making me feel like I belonged somewhere. My belongings should be distributed amongst whomever would like to keep them, and make sure they are put to good use.

Return any and all of Clarisse’s clothing found in my chest back to the Ares cabin, and let them figure out what to do with it on their own time. Lord Ares, I give my final thanks to you for graciously allowing your daughter to have been part of my life.

To my fellow unclaimed demigods who are wondering if they should be mourning the loss of a sibling, I have no definitive answer for you beyond if you felt like you were close enough to call me a sibling, mourn me like you would a biological one. No matter if you are claimed tomorrow or never claimed at all, know you are not unworthy or inferior simply because of your divine parent’s lack of attention.

You may be half-divine, but always remember to keep that human spark within you alive. Keep your compassion, your empathy, your sense of understanding. This world is not made for us, but never give up on creating spaces that are. We live heavy lives, and respite is hard to come by.

When you bury my body, put me to rest with my javelin, suit of armor, and the fragments of Clarisse’s shattered spear. Under my tongue, please place two coins instead of one. My love is waiting for me on the banks of the River Styx with no way across, and I would like to provide her with a way across alongside me.

Underneath the last paragraph was your name, signed in neat print alongside your signature swooping cursive. The letter was found rolled neatly atop your chest of belongings, your lifeless body on the bunk bed you had claimed for yourself for the past four years of your life. Crimson blood seeped through the bed sheets and mattress, a fatal reminder for all of the fragility that even the strongest harbored.

Upon the discovery of your body, ripples of whispers swept through the campers like a stone tossed in the midst of a serene waterfront. Your skin was just barely lukewarm, the blood streaming from the thin cut horizontal across the jugular vein was beginning to brown and oxidize.

In one hand was the knife that had presumably made the cut, the blade pristine and glinting in the dim light save for the thin line of blood that ran across its edge. The other held Clarisse’s favorite shirt, all bundled up and cleaner than anyone had ever seen it before. Anyone who picked up said shirt could immediately tell that it had been doused in the cologne that she once wore on a daily basis, no doubt a purposeful move to make your last moments completely blissful in surrounding yourself with her scent.

She had been your home, after all.

Clarisse had comforted you through nightmares, the breakdowns about being unclaimed for years that happened whenever someone new was claimed and the jealousy and anger of it all.

She had reassured you that even after Silena had died that you weren’t a rebound, and that her feelings for you were genuine, and you had believed her.

You were her girl, after all. The one she let her walls down around, the one who had tried to patch together the spear her father had given her even after the Hephaestus children had given up. The one who she let braid her hair and be soft around. The one where she had promised over and over again that even in the afterlife, you would find each other in Elysium again.

Then, she had been sent out on a quest. One that she had vowed to return from, safe and sound. The rest of her group did, but her face was never again seen on the hills of Camp Half-Blood that the two of you called home.

Gone were the moments wherein she would hold you and soothe all of your worries away. Gone were the times of squealing as she picked you up from behind and spun you around to face her mid-air. Gone were all the possibilities to make the most of your limited years together, because she was dead, off in a faraway land that you couldn’t even visit to see her corpse and offer her one last smile.

That was when the thoughts began to swirl in your mind. Months went by and everything seemed to go back to normal. You had been given three weeks off training to mourn, and after those three weeks you seemingly bounced back like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t just lost the love of your life.

The only difference was the streak of white that made itself apparent in your hair, its origins unknown, and the smile on your face that never seemed to quite reach your eyes no matter how many times you tried to convince (yourself) and the others that it was genuine.

Months passed and all fell back into its routine. Things were looking up for the camp as a whole, and Chiron had been able to take a few steps back in managing thanks to Percy Jackson’s continued efforts to have gods and goddesses interact with their children more.

But those thoughts still took root in your mind, their tendrils digging into the very essence of your psyche as every lonely moment was spent longing for her touch, for her warmth, for the security that she provided once upon a time. In your mind, there was no doubt that it was time to make good on your promise to each other.

You would meet her in the gardens of Elysium and reunite once more.

After your burial, you made your way down to the banks of the River Styx, anxiously clutching the two coins in one hand and your javelin in the other. Your eyes scanned the crowds of souls, all clamoring to Charon, pleading that he take pity on them and take them across without payment.

The wails of the damned, sobs of the innocent, and screams of the guilty all flooded your senses.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar mess of brown curls and sprinted towards them, your footsteps leaving indents on the ash-sand lining the waterline of the Styx.

She was there. Your assumptions had been correct.

As she had died out in the world and had never been given a proper burial, she had joined the crowd that lingered just at the edge of the Styx, taking every chance she had to try and get across.

But now that you were there, she didn’t have to worry about sneaking aboard Charon’s boat. You had enough payment for the both of you to make it across safely, and finally live out the rest of your afterlives like you had promised each other.

It wasn’t until you were naught but a couple dozen feet away that you noticed she was rather busy with something. Or rather, someone. And she was looking at that person like they were the only one in the world right now. Your gut twisted, knowing that was the look that she had given you.

But it wasn’t you she was looking at. It was Silena Beauregard, the daughter of Aphrodite, that Clarisse had spent countless hours reassuring you that she wasn’t just using you as a rebound to get over her death.

She had lied right through her teeth, all with the kindest smile on her face that you could imagine. It was becoming apparent that you were a fool, strung along for the sole purpose of keeping Clarisse’s arms full and warm while she thought of the Beauregard girl.

Every kiss, every moment, every word shared between you two seemed hollow now. They had lost all meaning, all of the sentiment that once made your stomach fill with butterflies.

You skidded to a stop just behind the pair, watching with a heavy heart and tightening in your chest as their lips collided over and over again in a series of passionate kisses, their hands roaming each others’ bodies. Just like she had done with you, countless times prior. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence.

You had always been hers, but she had never been yours.

There wasn’t much emotion left in you besides melancholic resignation, and your gut twisted every time you gripped the two coins in your hand, a reminder that they would never be used for their intended purpose.

You waited there for a moment before tapping on Clarisse’s shoulder, causing her to break away from the kiss and turn to look at you. Surprise filled her features, then guilt. Overwhelming guilt as she realized the situation you had caught her in. Her lips were interlocked with another girl’s just a moment ago, the very same girl that she had reassured was not a problem or factor in your relationship.

Silena stood behind her, her eyes scrutinizing your appearance, taking note of the way you clutched two coins instead of the customary one.

“Love-? What are you doing here?” Clarisse asked, the term of endearment slipping naturally off her tongue as it had countless times in the past. But it no longer held any meaning to you, not when you had just witnessed everything before your very own eyes. You didn’t respond beyond throwing the two coins down at her feet with a knowing look, a silent callback to the promise that the two of you had made. The coins clinked softly as they fell onto the fine ash that lines the shores of the River Styx, falling on top of each other.

Horror filled her features as she realized just exactly what you were doing down in the Underworld, and her eyes fell upon the thin scar that ran just along the jugular vein on your neck.

The one spot she had taught you to go for on an opponent if anything ever threatened your life, and you had used it on yourself to have a chance at forever with her. A chance that had been wasted.

“You- you didn’t-” she began, choking on her own words as tears filled her eyes at the thought of it, and the sight of you, now in front of her, very obviously dead.

“It was for you, ‘Risse, but it seems I really was just a rebound after all.” You spat out, a dangerously bitter edge to your voice as you looked her up and down.

“These,” you gestured to the coins on the ground, “were supposed to be for us, for the promise you made. But I guess I was the one foolish enough to listen to you, to fall for you in the first place.”

“Enjoy your time in Elysium, La Rue, and know that you were the cause of my death. Don’t forget. On the River Styx.”

That last statement was the final nail in her metaphorical coffin. No one made a promise on the infamous river and broke it, not without terrible consequences. Any and all chances of her getting into the paradisal side of the Underworld were dashed in mere moments as the realization dawned on her about the gravity of her mistake.

You bent down and picked up one of the coins on the ground and left without a word, turning on your heel and disappearing back into the crowd of souls before Clarisse could utter another word.

You had left her with two choices by giving her that one coin: to take the coin for herself and cross with Charon with hopes of trying to win you back and leaving the Aphrodite girl in the dust, or giving it to Silena and letting her go because she was clearly the girl the daughter of Ares loved most. Either way, she lost something.

Her last name was right. You rued the day you ever met Clarisse.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue pjo #ruegard #silena beauregard #angst #hurt/no comfort #wlw #sapphic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians

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nvirskies · 3 months

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sand - c. la rue

idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words

summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown

wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.2k

καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart

Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart

"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.

And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.

When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.

But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.

Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.

In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.

She was seventeen again.

Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.

Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.

Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.

Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.

She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.

What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?

Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.

No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.

Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.

A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.

She never lived to see that day.

Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.

She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.

Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.

Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.

It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.

She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.

“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.

Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.

One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.

“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”

She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.

“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.

“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”

Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.

You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.

After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.

“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”

Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.

“They’re all gone and- and- ”

“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”

She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.

Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”

Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.

“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”

“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.

“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.

“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.

It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”

She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.

Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.

And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.

The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo tv #im not sorry #maybe i am #no im not

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nvirskies · 3 months

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quick + fluffy text scenario w/ clarisse!

per @star-girl69’s request, little something to tide you over until i get more long form ones

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

tag list: @lvrue @petitegavotte @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse la rue x you

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nvirskies · 3 months

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little snippet of the clarisse x daughter of hephaestus thing that blew up a couple days ago in the works!

title (wip): it's getting hot in here

unedited rough draft!

lmk if you wanna be on the taglist for this and/or future clarisse pieces!

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. The forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day.

Something about you entranced her.

#🗡️ nvirspeaks #🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse pjo #clarisse larue #cabin 9 #daughter of hephaestus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv #percy jackson and the olympians

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nvirskies · 3 months

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(teaser) just a bite - c. la rue

vampire!clarisse la rue x fem!human!reader (vampire au)

warnings: vampirism, predatory behavior, dubious consent, predator/prey, very ooc clarisse, descriptions of injury, descriptions of blood

sneak peek of little vamp!clarisse in the works, coming out soon :)

taglist: @star-girl69 @azrielspeaks @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover @lvrue

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

She was a hunter, and you, her prey.

The first moment Clarisse smelled your blood, she knew you were the one she had to have next. The red liquid of life that rushed through your veins was so, so enticing. Almost as if it were calling out to her to have a taste.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t just take you then and there, with you drunkenly stumbling into her master’s territory. You were but a stupid human after all, with an open gash on the side of your shoulder from whatever altercation you had gotten yourself into during the wee hours of the morning.

So, she let you leave.

Oh, how the beast within her roared to be fed, to feast and drink endlessly from the pulsing vein in your neck, to have a taste of the sweetness you were unknowingly sustained by.

Clarisse’s own slowly-beating heart thudded in her chest with an intensity that she hadn’t felt in years, and the inextricable pull she felt towards you was only tightening.

She could hear your breaths from a mile away, and a portion of her wondered what your voice would sound like if you were to plead for her mercy or beg for a moment of reprieve.

How sweet your little gasps would sound, ringing out into the air around the two of you. Or the hitches in your staggered breaths as she savored the taste of you like a sommelier to a fine wine.

Except, she wouldn’t drink slowly like a sommelier, no. She wouldn’t swirl the crimson liquid around in her mouth, allowing every note to hit her palate. She wouldn’t ponder about the history behind its formation or why it tasted like it did. She wouldn’t sip delicately.

Clarisse would devour, she would tear apart and ravage you like a woman starved the moment your blood hit her tongue. She would consume, greedily drinking all that she could, akin to King Erysichthon’s curse of boundless hunger. The warmth of the life-sustaining liquid coating her mouth and the deliciously ironic taste of it would drive her mad.

Maybe it would be savory, maybe it would be the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Whatever it tasted like, she knew she would seek it time and time again, consumed by her need for it like an addict and their vice.

She was salivating at the mere thought of it, her mind spinning wild with the possibilities of the power she held over you.

Clarisse would have to wait until you stumbled into her territory to make her move, and luckily for her, that day came quickly.

It wasn’t more than a few nights later that you came unknowingly stumbling into the streets she had claimed as hers.

Being her master’s favorite underling meant that she had full hunting privileges, and she intended to use those privileges as much as she could.

Especially when it came to someone as tempting as you.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #vampire #vampire au #vampire!clarisse

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nvirskies · 2 months

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HEAR 👂 ME✋ OUT 🤗 Silena and Clarisse with a very sunshine and all around happy energy gf 😓. Doesn’t really matter which god/dess they’re born from but I’ve been feining for ruegard x reader 😩

HI ANON OKAY THIS IS SO CUTE AND RAAAAHHHHH but i've been in a writer's block lately so you're going to have to settle for short headcanons and some thoughts rn but ty anon for this ask!! forgive me for any mischaracterizations of silena, it's been a long while since i last read the books

maybe something to make up for tddupats? sorry to whomever i caused ruegard trauma to :(

also this is kind of self insert indulgence because i dont ever see masc and/or butch pairings with either clarisse or silena (besides ruegard itself)

warnings: none, just fluff, stream of thoughts at this point, ending alludes to hickeys & making out

taglist: @star-girl69 @lvrue @azrielspeaks @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover (taglist open!)

silena beauregard x clarisse la rue x fem!masc-leaning reader

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, terfs, 16-/19+ dni

maybe apollo cabin or hephaestus cabin reader if i had to pin it down? infectious energy + smile and maybe himbo-ish? (himbo as a compliment)

silena would have to beg you and bribe you with extra cuddles to let her do makeup on you which always works

but any time you (begrudgingly) agree to it, somehow you end up with more lipstick marks on your neck than blots of foundation?

however could that happen? i wonder...

silena claims that she just has to wipe her excess lip stain somewhere and that there aren't enough wipes in the cabin to use for every single color she wants to try out...

of course you can never stay mad at her for long, but whenever you go out there are always stares and quiet comments about it

you're in a camp full of emotionally charged teenagers - what did you expect walking out there with your neck looking like a sephora test swab in the lipstick section?

but clarisse always swoops in at the right moment, coming up to stand behind you, arm wrapped around your waist with a glare hard enough that it could rival medusa's

"you'll do well to back off unless you want your neck to match hers but in bruises?"

after they scurry off, clarisse's glare completely melts and she looks at you like you're the only light in her life

which is partially right with the inclusion of silena

"i'm assuming Si gave you those, baby? gods above, you have to stop falling for her tricks"

"but she promised extra cuddles!"

pouting from your side

which was true, aforementioned daughter of Aphrodite promised she would get one of the aphrodite cabin's back rooms for the evening for the three of you

clarisse just shakes her head, fighting off a smile at your pout

"come on, let's go pay Si a visit? get some payback to what she did to you, poor thing"

needless to say, silena would be the one needing copious amounts of concealer the next morning

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue x reader #silena beauregard x reader #ruegard x reader #clarisse la rue x silena beauregard x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #silena beauregard x fem reader #♟️anons

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nvirskies · 3 months

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sand teaser!

fic has been posted!

continuation of this teaser ! ngl im kinda making myself cry with this too

see warnings in linked post before reading under the cut

men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16-/19+ dni

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily placed under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue

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nvirskies · 2 months

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valeria thoughts at this wonderful time of 10:18 pm on a friday night before i have a swim meet.

no major warnings? scar appreciation, softer val, i have so many thoughts, descriptions of non-sexual partial nudity, lesbian valeria and i will die on this hill, descriptions of injuries

men, nsfw, non-sapphics, terfs, 16-/21+ dni

normally she'd be a pretty closed-off person, always preferring to have her hands on you instead of your hands on her. it was just a thing of your security and peace of mind mixed with possessiveness.

some part of her was always touching you, whether it be a hand on your shoulder, an arm wrapped around your waist, her arm interlaced with yours as she escorted you to wherever it was you had to go, a feather-light touch of her fingers tracing idle circles on your thigh during meetings or in the car, and so forth. all small gestures signifying and cementing her presence in your life.

the entire cartel knew that you were hers, it's painstakingly obvious. even the men her sicarios have gone after knew not to utter a word against you unless they wanted to be apprehended by el sin nombre herself. it was essentially signing and mailing their death wish if anyone was stupid enough to try it and walk out alive.

the first time she'd let you touch the scars on her back would probably be right as the two of you are drifting off to sleep. the rare occasion that she'd be the little spoon, facing away from you.

no shirt on her torso to obscure your view of the expanse of the bronzed, mexican sun-kissed skin of her back now visible to you. the only tattoo visible is the one she had done in commemoration of your relationship, a small pair of intricately detailed revolvers with intertwined vines holding them together, resting just at the base of her neck.

the thin, pale lines of healed-over scar tissue that littered her back were always a bit of a sore spot for her. remnants of the slashes that once ran along the length of her spine, jagged patches of toughened skin from burns past, and countless seemingly unconnected, smaller cut lines.

to her, they all represented the times her trust had been broken, that she'd been backstabbed in both literal and metaphorical contexts. they represented her hurt. they symbolized her mistakes in trusting and confiding in the wrong people, and the very real possibilities that everything she'd worked for in building the cartel from the ground up from its stint as la araña, now pitiful in comparison to the currently internationally infamous cartel of las almas, would all come crashing down as a result of her mistake in trusting the wrong people.

but to you, they represented her resilience. her strength in continually getting back up no matter what happened and working to preserve what she had poured so much time, energy, money, and effort into maintaining. her unwavering commitment to it all. and of course, the trust she held in you to even sleep so exposed in the first place, leaving it all for your eyes to drink in til your heart's content. or until she turned in her sleep, whichever came first.

#🗡️ nvirspeaks #🖋️ nvir writes #valeria garza #el sin nombre #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem reader #valeria garza cod #valeria mw2

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nvirskies · 6 months

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v .garza - wine glass

warnings: implied death, alcohol consumption, fem reader summary: formal business dinner gone wrong

word count: 457 a/n: first time writing in years and it's angsty- enjoy sdkfjh

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16- / 21+ dni

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a night routine that you had become accustomed to. Heading out into the center of Las Almas, with your wife, Valeria on your right side and a guard shadowing your left, for yet another business meeting over dinner.

Soon, you had made it to the restaurant, quickly being seated by a waitress who took a look that lasted a tad too long for your wife’s liking at your body. Around the table were a few men dressed to the nines with polite smiles on their faces as they waved Valeria and you over to sit.

Drinks were quickly provided, and food was ordered not long after. One thing you couldn’t help but notice was that everyone had been served the same wine, which seemed to be a bit odd, but you brushed it off. The food arrived, and everyone began to politely make conversation as the night went on, discussing various matters of business, ranging from territory expansion to recently apprehended traitors.

None of it was particularly intriguing to you, as your gaze was almost always focused on your wife sitting next to you. Valeria, with her hair neatly styled, the suit sitting perfectly on her frame, and that smirk on her face that you loved dearly.

You didn’t notice the small amount of clear liquid being poured into her wine glass, and neither did she.

The night wore on, dishes cleared off the table, but both you and Valeria had yet to touch either of your glasses. The men around the table decided to toast to the new connections forged, and urged you two to join them, despite not having done much besides sit and watch the interactions happening.

Smiling politely at the men, you picked up your glass of wine alongside Valeria, and toasted, the sound of glasses clinking filled the air, quickly followed by the majority of the wine being consumed by the surrounding men.

Deciding to do something to amuse yourselves for the time being, Valeria proposed that her glass of wine be shared, offering you the first sip.

With a gentle smile of adoration on your face, you took a sip, your lipstick staining the rim of the glass.

Your head felt fuzzy for a moment, but you chalked it up to the wine, oblivious to the horrified looks coming from the men at the table.

The wine glass fell from your hand as your throat constricted, and your body fell limp against the chair you sat in, the look on Valeria’s face quickly contorting to one of horror as she reached to grab your body before you slumped to the floor.

And the last memory she would have of you, would be your red lipstick stain against the glass.

#valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem reader #🖋️ nvir writes #cod mw2 #valeria garza #el sin nombre #x reader

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nvirskies · 5 months

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v. garza - last one open

warnings: angst: hurt/no comfort, mentions of alcohol, being drunk, predatory behaviors while drunk (nothing graphic or explicit), hidden relationships, vague allusions to past sex (never gets into it), assumed death of a loved one, fem reader (no use of y/n) summary: former especiales!r opens a food stall, the only one left with business hours into the early morning. a group of drunk men stumble in one night, and an unlikely woman with them.

word count: 1.4k

taglist: @lesvii

a/n: oh no my finger slipped and i wrote another angst piece, whatever shall i do? i wrote this instead of my overdue english essay

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16- / 21+ dni

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a long night, especially being the last food stall open this early in the morning. Even the military couldn’t prepare you for the absolute mental and physical drain of owning and working your own food stall, since everything was already prepped and provided for you. There was no need for pitched-up, bubbly “customer service” voices that exhausted you beyond belief to keep up. No need to plaster a smile onto your face as inebriated men all tried (and failed) to shoot their shot with you, their words slurring together and eyes crossing. You almost missed the routine and the rigid structure of it all.

Almost.

There was one big factor that was the main driving force in why you had left the armed forces.

Valeria.

You two held a bond that was certainly more than friends, but never had the time to define it. Stolen kisses behind closed doors, nights spent sneaking into each others’ rooms in the barracks, always having your and her uniform patches swapped, always finishing training first before everyone and heading to the showers together, only for you to emerge flushing redder than the arroz rojo served in the mess hall.

You swore up and down to your bunkmates that you showered only in cold water, mumbling some excuse about it being better for your skin and scalp. But you never offered up any explanation as to why you didn’t smell like body wash or shampoo, and instead of a very distinct cologne.

On the outside, you and Valeria seemed like the closest of friends. It was only natural, especially being the only two women in the Especiales, that you would become fast friends. That was all that anyone ever saw. Two women, in the prime of their lives, forming an inseparable bond reinforced by the camaraderie and patriotism of being part of Mexico’s most elite fighting force.

But it all came to a grinding halt one fateful day. She had been called out as a member of the RED Team for a mission. She never disclosed where, when, or why she was leaving, only that it would be soon, and quickly changed the subject with a chaste forehead kiss.

One morning, you had woken up to an empty bed. Her things were all as she had left them the night before, scattered around the floor, seemingly as if she had never left. Her uniform was still on the floor in a crumpled heap, her boots unlaced, and her stack of hair ties still looped around one end of the metal bedpost. The unopened bottle of her cologne was still in your bag, having been placed there the night before. But she was missing, nowhere to be found.

Later that week, after being denied time and time again by your superiors in your near-frantic requests to communicate with her via the radio you knew never left her belt, there was a small, white envelope pushed under your door with your name on the outside of it, written in her signature scratchy handwriting. That, alone, was enough to send you into a fit of tears and uncontrollable sobs as you just stared at the envelope in your trembling hand. You knew letters like this were only ever given to soldiers who had just lost a loved one, whether they were on or off-duty.

The sound of the bell attached to the shop’s door jingled, snapping you out of the melancholic haze of memories that you had nearly lost yourself in moments earlier. Your head snapped up and at attention, watching with keen eyes as a group of very intoxicated men stumbled in and seated themselves at the high stool seats at the counter.

Even as they were presumably parts of the same group, there was one thing that stood out about all of them: they all were armed to the teeth, even donning bulletproof vests with rounds of bullets clinking together in a compartment on their utility belts. The sounds of loud, raucous laughter floated through the small area, mixing with slurred words and vague gestures from the men.

You stood there, behind the counter with your hands firmly in your pockets as you surveyed them all carefully, analyzing their mannerisms and how they seemed to be just a tad too confident at this time of night, drunkenly traipsing around. Plastering your signature customer service smile on your face before approaching the men with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, twirled around between your fingers in an intricate pattern. That pattern had been taught to you by Valeria while the two of you were still in boot camp and bored during the class lectures, but the habit stuck. “Are you gentlemen ready to order, or do you need more time?” you question, all of their heads turning to look at you with gazes that weren’t unfamiliar. These same gazes you had endured for years, all too aware of the way their eyes raked up and down your body in the shirt and sweatpants you had decided to wear.

What they failed to see, in their collective drunken stupor, was the strength of a fine-tuned human weapon underneath the facade of a smiling woman. It might have been years since you had left the military, but your skills were just as sharp as ever. You might have had a bit more muscle definition in the past, but the quiet strength was still there, lurking just under the surface.

Suddenly, another jingle from the door catches your attention as a head of familiar black hair and a husky laugh you had sworn you wouldn’t ever hear again, rang out. “Boys, mamí’s here!”

In an instant, your hand stills, the pen that was spinning atop it falling to the tiled floor with a sharp clatter. Thoughts raced through your mind at the all-too-familiar sound of the woman’s laugh, rich, full, and husky in all the right ways. The laugh you hadn’t heard in years. The laugh that both haunted and soothed your dreams.

It was her. Valeria Garza. The woman you had assumed to be dead for the past six years, alive, well, and seemingly happy, stood behind you. She was oblivious to your identity, only registering a vague familiarity upon seeing your back and hair. You didn’t even have to turn around to know it was her.

There’s a soft grunt from behind you as she squats down to pick up the pen that you had dropped onto the floor, and a tap on your back accompanied by a soft request. “Ma’am? I think you dropped this pen-” she begins, but she’s quickly shut up as you turn around to face her.

Her face, etched into your memory, was just the same as you remembered, but now with a few new smile lines around her eyes and some eye bags underneath those midnight eyes of hers. Eyes that you had gotten lost in, once upon a time, now stared back at you in silent shock.

“Val-?” you all but choke out, incredulously. She greets your own shock with a similar expression of your own, every last bit of her previously confident and jovial manner gone within an instant. “Gatita-?” she questions, the old nickname that she used to call you slipping out just as easily as it had in the past.

Any and all resolve in your body crumbles, and you take the pen from her hand, blinking back tears. Tears of unresolved grief, anger, joy, and betrayal. They threaten to spill, but you clear your throat and turn your attention back to the notepad in your hand, watching as she sits herself down on one of the stools alongside who you can only assume are her friends or colleagues. The cold military disposition takes over, thinly veiled by a mask of polite professionalism, the smile on your face wavering slightly.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly feeling unwell. I’ll have another server out here to help you in just a moment,” you mumble, rushed and apologetic, but not quite knowing who you were apologizing to before setting the pen and notepad down on the counter and sprinting to the back door of the establishment, all but slamming it open. You didn’t dare look back, knowing full well that Valeria would be staring at you, surprise and guilt etched into her features.

#🖋️ nvir writes #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x fem reader #el sin nombre #valeria mw2 #cod mw2 #valeria garza cod #valeria x reader #valeria cod #kortac operators #cod mwii #los vaqueros

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