#Lea Rue

[cookiesandcantarella-art]

My favorite deranged bisexual ballerinas 💖

[ID: a lineup of the main 4 characters from Princess Tutu standing against a pink and blue gradient background followed by closeups of each person. All four are wearing their school uniforms.

First is Duck, a short, tan chubby girl with freckles. She smiles and swings her leg playfully through the air.

Fakir is a tall boy with medium dark skin. He is sneering with his arms crossed.

Rue is very pale. She stands straight with her hands clasped in front of her, looking to the side.

Mytho clutches one of his arms loosely and looks absentmindedly off to the side.

End ID]

[lesbianfakir]

Neeeeeeeeeeed a princess tutu dating sim mostly because I would use it to psychologically torment fakir

[sp3llboundgirl]

Playlists for some of my favorite characters 💖 ~still in progress~

[ask-sebastian]

it's more of a good night song than the morning one, but still

Given my disposition to insomnia, it is practically a personal anthem.

[queer-little-demigod]

Hi lea!!!! Can you write about an clarisse la true x apollo!reader

Clarisse got in trouble for something (what's new tho) and got a punishment of helping out with the little demigods art class for 2 weeks (or however long) the volunteer teacher is reader. At first Clarisse did NOT wanna be there she acted like a baby for the first few days but after she got more involved and started to understand she enjoyed it (she would never admit it), she started talking to the kids more (she totally has favorites, reader has to constantly tell her dont be so obvious about her favorites 😭) it got to a point where the kids would start talking to her outside of class. Also Clarisse definitely doesn't develop a crush on reader. AT ALL. SHE DEFINITELY HATES HOW PASSIONATE SHE IS ABOUT THE KIDS AND ART AND HOW GOOD SHE IS WITH KIDS SHE DOESN'T THINK ITS CUTE AT ALL. SHE DOESNT THINK OF THAT CLASS AS ONE BIG FAMILY. I mean what???? Who said that???

Anyways when it's time for her to go reader takes some of the kids to make a goodbye sign for clarisse; clarisse takes her 100% not favorite kid on a secret mission to make an 'I'm staying' sign. Then reader and Clarisse present them at the same time and it's all cutesy!! After class, reader asks clarisse on a date via showing her a pain she drew of them on a date and hopes she gets the message!

Thank you! :)

you got an artist inside you - clarisse la rue

summary where clarisse finds herself falling in love with a girl over paintbrushes and a punishment

fic type fluff

pairing clarisse la rue x fem!apollo!reader

word count 1.8k

warnings none

The camp was usually sleepy, quiet, and mostly empty apart from a few stray campers training here and there. But with summer already beating down with a burning force, it was full of kids running around, training left right and center, and all-in-all just general chaos.

So with the burning heat came grumpy older campers, which meant fights.

And a fight at lunch is what led to Clarissa having to help the younger campers with art class, with the co-teacher being none other than you, Y/n L/n, counsellor of the Apollo cabin. Additionally and otherwise known as the girl Clarisse was smitten with.

"Clarisse La Rue if you don't stop whining like that right now, I am going to smack you," you grumbled in utter frustration for the fifth time that hour, when she complained to you about some kid not cutting the paper the way it was supposed to be cut.

For a child of the god of war, she was such a wuss sometimes.

"But they're not following-" she began to protest, but a smack upside the head with a roll of wrapping paper shut her up.

"They're seven year olds in a summer camp art class," you emphasised on those facts. "They're gonna do their own thing!"

This was how the first few days went. She complained, you disciplined both her and the kids. But once she got used to the whole routine of you both giving instructions and the final products having irritatingly distinct variations, she cooled down.

If this was going to be a punishment for the next two weeks, she might as well enjoy it.

The art room, as usual, was a mess. Glitter was everywhere, coloured pencils were strewn around, papers were on the floor, blackened and trampled on. The strong scent of glue made everyone a bit woozy, and there was enough shouting for supplies across the table to give even the calmest camper a sensory overload.

Clarisse sat in the danger zone where the most glitter was being thrown around and spilled, and her soft skin was already glimmering with purple and red glitter as she tried restoring order. However, instead of yelling as usual she was laughing along with the little kids.

One kid in particular, you noticed, she helped far more than the others. A Hephaestus kid named Dennis, who was the sweetest little thing with big, round glasses and bronze hearing aids that you had Charlie customise so they looked like metal elf ear tips.

You pulled Clarissa aside and scolded her with a smile, “Clar, you cannot pick favourites!”

Clarissa loved your smile with everything she had. So naturally, she was so captivated by it that she didn't hear you the first time. Nor did she register the scolding.

"Excuse me, but Dennis deserves special treatment--" She began, but you cut her off.

"No, he's just like the other kids, okay? Just make sure you don't pick favourites, please," you sighed and walked away, going back to showing the kids how to make paper butterflies.

But you're my favourite, she thought to herself. She wished she had the courage to say it out loud, admit her feelings for you, but she couldn't.

Later, as time went by, as days of standing in clouds of glitter and glue fumes began and ended, Clarisse found that she was apparently likeable. After classes, during training, during dinner, she'd have little kids pulling her sleeve to talk to her, she'd have kids randomly hugging her at odd times of the day, or giving her small artworks like a wonky bird or a odd-looking Cerebrus. It shocked the campers beyond belief.

But for you it just made your love for her grow.

One day during class, a Demeter kid named Flora started to cry because glitter went into her eye. You rushed over immediately and helped her up, holding her in your arms as you took her to the basin to clean her up.

"Shh, don't cry, baby, it's okay, I'm gonna wash it out, alright?" You said softly.

"Guys, focus on your work, Flo's fine," Clarisse said, clapping her hands to direct the staring kids back to work, her eyes fixed on you as you washed Flora's eyes with water gently, telling her that she should not to go so close to the page when blowing glitter off in the softest voice the child of war had ever heard.

You were so gentle, like the softest summer breeze which didn't make the leaves rustle, but cooled one's warming skin. You were so precious, with your soft smile and loving words. Your voice was sweet like honey, no matter who you talked to or how.

If your voice was bottled, she swore to the gods that she'd get drunk on it every night.

"You okay, champ?" She asked, gently ruffling Flora's soft brown hair as the girl sat down. "You're a strong girl, aren't you? Showed that stupid glitter it's place."

You giggled at the way she spoke, covering your mouth with your hand to hide it. It was ridiculously obvious that Clarisse thought the kids in the art class were like family, and it was genuinely so adorable.

Seeing her like this, curly hair pulled back in her red bandanna, arms splattered with paint here and there, with glitter shining off her smooth caramel skin with every movement she made into the light, lit up something inside of you. Seeing her without her usual scowl, pulling funny faces with the kids as she showed them how to draw a monster, made your heart beat twice as fast.

However, two weeks went by with heartbreaking speed, and before she knew it, she was in Chiron's office, listening to him gleefully say she was officially un-grounded.

But honestly? She didn't share his happiness.

Nor did you.

"What?! Already!?" You exclaimed that evening as you sat in your cabin at your desk, which had plans put out for what to make for the next art class.

"Yeah," she grumbled, lounging on your bed. "I hate it."

"That's rough, but it's okay, you can always hop in to volunteer,"

"What do we tell the little ones?"

"The truth?"

"You're fucking crazy if you think they'll go with it,"

"I'm out of options, Clar," you leaned back in your chair and put your hands over your eyes. "I love that class, and I love teaching art."

"I know, and as much as I hate to admit it," she sat up. "So do I."

The very next day, Clarisse rushed to Chiron and begged him to let her stay for that class. Even going to lengths that she told him how she felt for you.

"Fine," he relented. "You can stay with the class for as long as you'd like,"

She'd never run to the forges to find a kid so fast.

"Beckendorf!" She exclaimed, looking at the cabin counselor. "Hey, where's Dennis?"

The boy looked around, and his eyes landed on Dennis, who was inquisitively watching one of his half-sisters mold a few practice swords, helping occasionally with putting the swords in water.

"Dennis!" Beckendorf exclaimed, "Clarisse wants to talk to you!"

Dennis immediately ran over, grinning broadly, showing his gap-toothed smile. "Hi, Clarisse!" He said, excitedly.

"Hey there, big boy!" She smiled back, giving him a high five. "So listen, I'm going to need your insane artistic skills and your help..."

While you did help the other kids make a 'goodbye' sign for Clarisse, on the side you decided to confront your feelings.

You knew you liked her from the beginning, from when you first saw her infectious smile, from when you heard her deep laugh reverberating through the empty Apollo cabin on days where you both would plan lessons.

She held the key to your heart, she knew her way past your walls. She clearly also knew how to remain in your thoughts, subconscious and conscious, to the point where you found yourself in the art studio, canvas on an easel before you.

Thoughts of her, of feeling her coarse, battle-worn hands on your skin, of gazing into those deep brown eyes which were like the colour of the rain-kissed earth, and when she fought were like the evening sun, golden enough to put the wings of Icarus to shame, made your paintbrush move. It made your colours flow like the blood in your veins, made each stroke perfect enough to create the scene you most desired on the canvas in front of you.

You stepped back once you felt the need to express yourself flow away, gazing at the canvas. A scene it held, and what a scene indeed. The sky was cornflower blue, a cloudless day, with the sun’s rays shining down on a big oak tree. The leaves were paler as the golden light kissed the surface, casting sharp shadows on the pillowy grass.

But then there was vivid orange and red, a flash of bronze. In the foreground there sat both you and Clarisse, the latter having more detail than any part of the drawing.

Then the dreaded day came where you all had to say goodbye to her.

The little ones were devastated, not letting Clarisse go anywhere without following her around like baby ducklings, making her explain to them that she's not going away from camp, she's just not going to teach them anymore.

At the end of the final class, just as everyone unveiled the 'we'll miss you' poster, she and Dennis revealed their 'I'm Staying' poster, causing a loud, thunderous cheer to erupt from all of you.

Later, you pulled her aside to give her your canvas painting.

Nerves wracked your body, your palms began to sweat.

When was the last time you had felt this nervous? It was probably your cello recital the day you had come to camp...

"Holy shit, Y/n this looks absolutely amazing!" Clarisse exclaimed, taking the painting in her hands.

She didn't miss the detail you had given her, drawing her angelically, despite her thinking she was the opposite. It was so well done that the brush strokes weren't even visible.

Please get the message, you blockheaded, oblivious fool...you thought.

Deciding to act against your nerves, you asked her in a shaky voice, "That's a painting of us on a date...would you like to go on one with me sometime?"

Clarisse's heart stopped. Had you just asked her out on a date?

She was at a loss for words, they didn't touch her tongue, nor did they pass her lips. She stood there, speechless, gaping at you for a moment too long.

"I mean, I get it, you're probably not even a les--" you began, but a pair of gentle lips on yours silenced your words.

Sparks flew, butterflies went haywire, your brain short-circuited. You didn't know what to doo, just stood there frozen with shock. Kissing the girl you had liked for the last few months now.

Clarisse, however, was ecstatic. Her mind was a burst of colour, her body was ablaze. She felt like she had wings, and her heart was taking her up, up, up.

Once she pulled away, she winked at your blushing face and dopey grin.

"It's a date, L/n."

hi, it's me! lea! i hope you enjoyed this long overdue oneshot <3 requests are open via dms or asks!

[jnkgrnde]

— closer, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — in which, clarisse la rue can’t get enough of you, no matter how much you set her off. loosely based off of closer by RM. (media from princemick !)

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of poseidon)

authors note — first pjo fic.. kinda nervous 🫣 here’s my new years gift for the lack of posting 😭

clarisse la rue.

whether you feared her, hated her, were intimidated by her, you knew her name if you resided in camp half-blood. she was the infamous daughter of ares, god of war. if she didn’t scare you by her demeanor alone, then she had that status and her electric spear to back it up.

and then there was you.

you were a poseidon kid, claimed early, then got thrown into the poseidon cabin to fend for yourself. it felt lonesome at times, but getting along with people like luke and annabeth helped. it was also nice having a cabin to yourself, free to decorate it however you liked!

people thought you were pretty chill, a little scary with how you come along with your powers and whatnot, but overall you were a fun person to be around.

except when you were around clarisse. you definitely got under her skin, whether she liked it or not (she was starting to).

you were quick with your comebacks whenever she had something to say, which got snickers from her siblings around her, you were good with a blade, good in war games, good in almost everything she was.

did it get to her? yes. but did she find it attractive? also yes.

you could hold your own and your friends if it came down to it, and as a daughter of ares, she found that attractive.

that was all up until percy jackson came.

did you know you had siblings somewhere? yes, but you didn’t expect one to actually make it here, much less alive, but here we were. you were a couple years older than percy you found out. his mom had died on his way here with grover, another friend of yours. all he really wanted to do was find out who his father was and why all this was happening.

you felt protective of him, and that meant feeling protective of him against clarisse.

he didn’t know but you could tell he was a son of poseidon, your brother. you felt inclined to guide him until he found his way around and got used to what his life was now.

flash forward to the day after he arrived. he was already gaining some popularity around camp because of his encounter with the minotaur. in the morning you met up with him and luke, telling him about how the day after was capture the flag day.

you were walking until a familiar brunette came into view, knocking into percy. you snapped your head towards her just as she pushed him into the dirt. “hey, clarisse, back up.” you stepped closer to her. she looked at you, and for a moment your heart skipped a beat.

when had she been so pretty?

you two ‘glared’ (admired) at eachother for a moment before she turned to percy. “so this is the kid who killed the minotaur?” you looked at percy and he locked eyes for a quick second before looking back at clarisse. he looked scared but used to it, like he’d been bullied all his life.

“you want attention around here, dummy? you better be ready for it when it comes.” she jumped at him to scare him, then left laughing, not before making eye contact with you once more.

“well, she seems nice.” percy commented. “don’t worry about her. she just has this image to keep up. she’ll leave you alone soon, i’m sure.” you told him.

did you know that? no, but you didn’t want him to have to deal with anything yet.

“why don’t people mess with you?” percy asked you and luke. “they know better. best swordsman in over a century and she can drown people if she wanted.” luke explained with a smirk.

it was later in the day. the sun was still up, it was warm out, and the smell of the strawberry fields graced you. you were practing with your main weapon of choice. grunts rang in the air as you practiced on your dummy.

it was empty, which was just what you needed to blow off some steam. at least, it was empty until clarisse walked over. “you’re doing it wrong.” you didn’t face her, choosing to ignore her. you continued until a hand gripped your wrist.

“you ignoring me now?” just you ignoring her started her off wrong. she wanted you to pay attention to her. “do you need something?” you hissed at her. “i was talking to you. your forms off.” “mkay. thanks.” you went to go back to the dummy before she placed a hand on your waist to turn you back around. “you realize that could get you killed right?” she scolded. you stared at each other until she realized where her hand was and took it off like you were a hot pan burning her.

you mulled over the interaction; your waist felt tingly- you felt tingly. she was just so pretty and she was starting to make you nervous, but you had to do something.

“you willing to correct it then? since you feel like you need to comment on it.” you remarked.

this is what got her going.

you always having something quick to say, getting under her skin but in the right way.

she smirked, canines showing a little. it had your heart racing.

she went over to the dummy with a dagger that was on standby, and showed you a technique she used. “like that.” she moved to go behind you and gripped your waist again. “what are you doing?”

“relax, i’m moving you into a stance.” she told you.

was she half lying? well, sorta kinda. she was moving you, but she just wanted to be closer to you.

she adjusted your stance, then moved back and allowed you to practice. “just like that.” she told you.

“why are you helping me?” clarisse shrugged. “got bored.” “you sure you just didn’t wanna be near me?” you jokingly asked.

“maybe i did, maybe i didn’t.”

she did. she just wanted to be closer to you.

[neos-schlond-poofa]

fcd club and lea michele you will rue the day

(art @dead-finch-420 and @expiredsoda)

[cookiesandcantarella-art]

local author won't stop bringing the duck he's life-bonded with into the NO ANIMALS ALLOWED library

(lil doodle of hypothetical adult designs)

[lesbianfakir]

To elaborate on my ruekirtho throuple thoughts, sometimes I think about a world where their shared love for mytho brought rue and fakir together instead of driving them apart. They’re both incredibly lonely kids who have lost too much and, as much as they care for mytho, a heartless doll isn’t replacement for real human companionship. So they find each other.

Rue knows it will never last. No one beyond her Prince will ever love her. She sees the way Fakir throws rocks at the flock of crows that gathers around her. When he discovers her identity—and she knows he will discover her identity one day—they’ll go back to being enemies. He is the Knight and she is the daughter of the Raven, his killer. Still, it’s nice to have a friend even for a little while. So she lets herself forget. She forgets who, what, she is. She forgets that there was ever a before. She forgets that they won’t last.

Fakir knows there is something very, very wrong in Rue’s life. He sees the deep scratches that stand out against her almost unnaturally pale skin. She speaks in a hushed tone with a haunted look in her eyes when it’s time to go home. She won’t tell him anything, though. He doesn’t even know where she lives; it’s as if she disappears at the end of the day. He just hopes that one day, when it comes down to it, he’ll be able to protect her from whatever haunts her.

By the time the story goes into motion, the two, along with Mytho, are near inseparable. When Mytho begins regaining his heart, Rue and Fakir work together to put a stop to it. When Rue begins losing track of the days, feeling as if someone else is trying to claw their way out of her chest, she almost goes to Fakir for help. Almost.

It is, of course, Fakir who shatters the illusion that is Rue. Her one and only friend calls her an ugly crow, and in that moment she remembers what she is. What she’s always been. They’ve been enemies from birth. This “friendship” was nothing more than the a sad illusion created by a lonely girl—a girl who no longer exists. And she knows now, in her father’s absence, her “friend” will die at her hand. This is their fate and fate cannot be changed. Still, it was nice while it lasted.

[whoblewboobear]

TVGATE 📺💖

1.) Glee- Ryan Murphy is my enemy and glee is unhinged but it is hands down my FAVORITE show of all time. I started watching it when I was in 8th grade and the chokehold it has on me to this day is unreal. Season one was lighting in a bottle and to follow it up with an even better season after that? Lea Michelle is also my enemy BUT s1 Rachel berry is so fucking funny. Glee is the reason I joined chorus in high school- like the impact glee has on me? Incredible. Just 10/10. I could say more but we will be here all fucking day. And ofc Santana is my favorite character and I hope Naya is resting easy right now 💖

2.) Sucession- This show ate my ass for weeks and the brain rot after I finished it is still going strong. I avoided this show for a minute bc hearing about it through osmosis was enough and the fans put me off. I started about a month or two after the finale dropped. Like fuck rich people and fuck most of these characters but goddamn do I love it. I blew through this show so quick bc the acting??? The dialogue! THE EVERYTHING 🥵👏 you just know that if there’s a party or a dinner or some kind of rich people bullshit event that it will be the most compelling shit you’ve ever seen. Boar on the Floor was so sadistic and evil and FASCINATING. Like- I wanna open these people up and examine them. I was a Kendall girlie during my watch and a Shiv girlie post-show. I will say if you wanna enjoy this show just avoid.. most men’s opinions on it. I’ve heard the most shit takes on this show it’s ridiculous. It definitely lives up to the hype.

3.) Lovesick- Guys 🥺 if you’re gonna watch anything from this list watch this. I watched it when I was on a huge Netflix deep cut kick and WOW. Very lighthearted and funny romcom about a dude that finds out he has chlamydia and goes down the list of his old partners to tell them they need to get checked. All of these characters are so lovely and you just wanna root for them. It only loses points because it’s unfinished. I would’ve loved to see where things go for Dylan and Evie 🤧

4.) The Haunting of Bly Manor- INCREDIBLE. Mike Flannigan puts his whole pussy into into everything he makes. The write is incredible, the mystery is so well thought out. Every loose end is tied up just enough to let the viewer still have room to speculate. Definitely not scary in the way that Hill House is but everything else makes up for that. The cast??? I fucking love Rahul Kohli and I’ve loved that man since iZombie. Victoria Pedretti is the love of my life and the way she plays Dani? The range she has to go from Nell in Hill House to Dani is so sick. I just adore her. And of course T’Nia Miller as Hannah? She’s the clear standout. I need to see her in everything I’m BEGGING. The Hannah episode is truly the best episode of the entire season. This is a tragedy through and through and your heart will break for every single one of these characters. Just a gorgeous piece of television 💖

5.) Euphoria (Season One + Specials)- Again, Sam Levinson is my enemy but goddamn is season one SO GOOD. The aesthetics, the acting, the characters, the cinematography!? When Sam has a passion project and a story in mind he can truly make magic. Also putting Zendaya on your vision board and then actually landing her to be in it is so dope. The Trials and Tribulations of Trying to Pee While Depressed aka S1Ep7 is my favorite episode by FAR. So real, so funny, so compelling. Everyone showed up to set that week to make MAGIC. I don’t make a ton of fanart but euphoria had my ass so hooked that all I wanted to do was draw Rue and I sure as hell did. I was looping All for us for MONTHS. It’s still the #1 song on my Spotify TO THIS DAY. The special episodes during Covid were also so well done. Season 2 is dog shit so it isn’t included in this but rip to Angus Cloud because he was so special and the clear highlight of season 2 as Fez. (I could watch him beat up Nate Jacobs all day 🥳)

A huge honorable mention for the shows A Young Doctor’s Notebook, Chewing Gum, & The Bear (s1) because holy shit 💖. The first 2 are both absurd comedies from my Netflix deep cut era.

AYDNC stars Daniel Radcliffe as this doctor that gets addicted to morphine in the backwoods of 20th century Russia. It’s a dark comedy and a wild ride. I only watched it once and I have no idea if it’s still on Netflix or not but if you have nothing to watch and you want something that’s pretty out there or you’re a fan of Daniel’s comedic acting you’re in for a TREAT.

Chewing Gum stars Michaela Coel as Tracey. So 👏 Fucking 👏 Funny. The writing is incredible and I can’t speak highly enough about the way Michaela drops you into the world for a wild ride. Tracey’s pretty much in the end of that awkward transition period between your teens and adulthood. Just a really hilarious coming of age story that DEFINITELY would’ve benefited from a true final season. If you like Michaela Coel you will like this. She also has a show called I May Destroy You and I can’t wait to sit down and watch it. I’ve heard all good things 💖

The Bear is way newer and s2 didn’t drop that long ago so I won’t go too in-depth about it like everything else but INCREDIBLE SHOW. If you like food and sad white men and just- EVERYTHING about Ayo Edebiri then you’ll love this. Season 2 isn’t my favorite but Season One?? This show makes me miss living in a city. I just 💖💖 I can’t recommend it enough. Jeremy Allen White’s arms are reason alone to watch. I’d let that man [redacted] my [redacted] for hours like he makes me UNWELL he’s so gorgeous.

[kodiacast]

Timing: Not too long ago in the far off land of… 2022 Location: The Wormhole Feat: @alteyed & @kodiacast Warnings: Gun use (describing wound on ghost), alcoholism (the hunter) Summary: So a hunter walks into a bar…

Between the fingers tapping along the polished wood and the pen tapping on the journal, the large man at the bar was making a hell of a lot more noise than he usually did. Otis was reserved, to put it mildly. A mountain of stoicism, or at least that’s how he appeared. Generally, the bear was barely used to being around so many people. His moms and the ranch workers were just about the only social interaction he’d gotten before moving up north. He knew there would be a culture shock but this was… distracting. 

Otis came to Wicked’s Rest looking for a new perspective, but found himself a bit too much of a shy violet to properly interact with the locals. But he was trying to get better. Hence the bar. The Journal. And the Writing, but in public. This wasn’t his first time in the Wormhole. It was close to home, and cheap enough that he could afford to keep a tab open long enough to get some work done. Only, it was getting pretty hard to think. So many eyes all around, so many ears. It was a little unnerving. A strange feeling for the apex predator, one he wasn’t too sure he’d come to terms with. 

“Ah– hey–” The bear sighed, attention shifting from the lack of words on the page to the bartender. “Could I– Another?” You’d think with a profession built around talking he’d at least be good at it, but Otis had never been a real conversationalist. Words never seemed to fit in the right order when he had to make them up on the spot. Always mixing up, switching around. Like his mouth was a blender and speech was a smoothie. Well, maybe not a smoothie, everything always came out pretty rough. 

— 

Being back in Wicked’s Rest meant a lot of things, but mostly it meant that with every whisper, she was left to guess whether it was a spirit, or somebody trying to figure out why, under their breath, Rue Kincaid was back in town. She’d gotten used to the voices; had gotten even better at ignoring them– pretending she couldn’t hear their requests. In Seattle, the population of ghosts that swarmed her were typically of the familial variety with a few stragglers here and there, all aware that she could see them even when she tried to pretend she couldn’t. 

Her old hometown was entirely different. With its high death toll, it was bound to be filled to the brim with ghostly entities, all looking for their medium to latch onto. But this was just visiting, and while she had the option of working out of her dad’s ski loft for the summer, she figured there’d be more money to me made in town at the tried and true Wormhole. It wasn’t the cleanest of establishments, but the tips were typically good, and it was hard to say no to easy money, even if she had some funds coming in from her over the phone business. The underwriting job had proven to be boring, and while she didn’t anticipate straying from Seattle for too long, a summer couldn’t hurt. 

Rue finished off the glass that she’d been polishing, putting it down onto the counter when her attention diverted to the customer sitting adjacent from where she sat. He’d been quiet, for the most part– an easy customer, and a face she saw a few times since returning to Wicked’s Rest. Her gaze flickered to the now empty glass and she gave him a curt nod, grabbing the glass before pouring more of the brew in, cutting off the head by pouring some to the side before filling it up the remainder of the way. “This all you want?” It was why people came to bars, wasn’t it? He had a notebook in front of him, and a pen poised between his fingers. She had to wonder what he was writing, and she wasn’t typically the kind of person to beat around the bush. “What’s going down in there? Grocery list? Are you a food critic, here to review the beer? Just know I’m not in charge. I only work here, just for the summer at least.” She gave him a wink before grabbing an additional glass to begin shining. 

—

You had to get alcohol at a bar, right? It was like the law or something. Truthfully, the bear didn’t care for the stuff. Didn’t really like the way it reminded him of the air outside a dumpster in the thick of summer. But it’s what you were supposed to do, and Otis wanted a place to be social, so. Beer. An IPA, or something. Locally made with so many hops it could put a bunny to shame. The label seemed nice. That’s why he picked it. All scrolls and swirls like an Alphonse Mucha portrait. Got his brain lost in the ways he followed the lines. He found himself staring at it long after the drink was poured. Long after he was asked a question, or was it a series of questions? 

Otis blinked back to the bartender, ideas swirling behind his dark eyes. Something about a label that drew people into a trap, ensnaring them in a trance far deeper than any stupor the alcohol behind it could cause. Something about spiders spinning webs in fanciful patterns. Swirls rather than sharp angles, pleasant faces instead of the gnashing mandibles that so many feared. His first good idea in weeks. 

He smiled. A soft thing, hardly different from his neutral expression at all. “No judgin’ here, ma’am.” Otis’ gaze drifted back to the journal where he made a few notes, and half of a sketch. “...got any… bottles of that there brew? Tap’s fine but–” But he wanted to take it home. Wanted to keep the inspiration nearby. “S’nice is all.” 

— 

With a raised brow, she presses her hand to her chest with the rag in it, aghast by the manners he provides. “Ma’am? You know, I’m only twenty-five.” She’d heard it before, plenty of times here and there, but never while she was tending bar. Maybe it was because The Wormhole’s clientele fell all over the place. Rue looked from his glass, then to the tap that she had poured it from. 

“Mm, I’ll see what I can dig up for you, sir.” With a begrudging smile, Rue retreated to the back fridge where she began to look and see if they had any bottles of the brew, the rabbit staring up at her from its label, tucked just behind a box of oranges. She grabbed the bottle and returned to him, setting it down just next to the freshly poured glass. “Might taste different, coming from the bottle.” She leaned against the wooden bartop, ducking her head low to grab another glass that was tucked away in the corner beneath the overhang. “You a beer connoisseur?” She avoided looking at the notebook he wrote into, not wanting to invade his privacy. 

— 

“Ah sorry, meant no disrespect.” Sheepishly, Otis shuffled in his seat. A thin blush reddening his cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was offend someone, but the north was so much different than his hometown. Either of his moms would have whupped him upside the head for not calling someone in service by their due titles. But Ah– northern attitudes, right? “Just didn’t know yer name is all.” He added, before realizing that might also sound wrong. Shoot. “Not that you gotta give it or nothin’ I just–”

Before any other misunderstandings escaped his traitor of a mouth, Otis hung his head. Hunched himself into his shoulders and went back to writing, but not before paying for the drink, with a little extra tip for the confusion. But she came back, and she was asking things again. Small talk. The kind he never knew what to do with. Felt too heavy in his hands, too small to shape into something worthwhile. “Truly don’t know much about beer.” He responded, candid, shy. “Sorta just like the branding…” 

— 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about beer either.” Not necessarily the truth– her dad had tried his hand at running his own brewery before failing miserably, and instead bought IPAs from the only other active brewery in town to cycle through the small bar within the lodge. Rue looked over the wrapper and gave a short nod. “The art is good, yeah. I can see why you like it.” She gave him a small smile before returning to shining the glass. 

“You can call me Rue, by the way.” She didn’t look up from the glass she was shining as she spoke, “or Prudence, but Rue is better.” Rue set the glass down, planting both hands firmly on the bar top as she looked up, leaning slightly forward. “Should I call you man who likes bunny, or do you have a name? You don’t need to tell me it, if you want. We can go by codenames.” She paused, a short laugh pulling from her chest. “Or, I guess, you can have the codename. I already told you mine.” It was easier to focus on conversations like these– to ignore the woman behind him, the way her throat was slit– an accident, she thought– something about a linen wire. She’d heard the story before, could hear it now as the woman droned on and on, but she focused on the clientele, leaning backwards to tick up the volume of the song by a few notches. “Love this song.” She grinned at him. 

— 

A notch twitched at Otis’ brow. For sure, he thought, he’d ruined the conversation before it ever really started. A messy mix of misunderstanding and miscommunication. More monstrous than the words he wove through the old microphone at home. This was what he should write his next episode about. The horrors of trying to get to know people. 

Rue came back, Well she sort of had to, it was her job. But it wasn’t necessarily part of the description to entertain surly bears that sulked around the edges of the bar. There was a warmth to her, a brightness. Made him wanna open up more. “Rue is...nice. It’s a nice name.” Otis repeated, accent heavy on his tongue. Committed to memory. She’d already painted a picture in his mind, now it had a proper title. “Fittin’.” Cause she was nice too. Nice enough to keep up with his… lack of expertise in this area. 

“Otis.” The bear took a second to reply as the warbling torrent of his mind tried to come up with something better, something about codenames, something clever. Nothing came, just a whisper of half formed ideas clogging up his thoughts. “That’s– That’s me. You can– I’m Otis.” He raised his glass, tilted his head and nodded. “It’s good, yeah. Good song. Don’t think I’ve– heard it before.” 

— 

“Thanks, I sorta picked it myself.” Not untrue, since her dad had tried calling her Prue as a nickname instead. She went by it sometimes, but only for him, due to his insistence.

“Well, I’m Otis, I think you have good taste in beer and music.” It was an old man's name, or at least she thought it might be. But Otis didn’t look old, not in the slightest. Maybe slightly older than her, but not by decades or anything. The woman behind him finally had enough, disappearing through a wall. At least that was over with. Lucky enough for her, most of her family knew not to bother her when at the bar, but there were a few– her great uncle in the chair by the door, being one of them, that never got the memo. 

“It’s by Imminence, it’s called Paralyzed.” She leaned over and grabbed her phone, showing him the screen. “We get to plug our own playlists, so guess I’m sorta… biased?” Rue offered with a laugh. “Might be… a bit sad for a bar, though.” Whatever, she thought. It was just the two of them, anyway. It was uncharacteristic of the bar, but… 

Her thoughts flew out the moment the door slammed open. A man with a woman behind him– translucent, eyes wide with terror, a bullet between the eyes, followed after him. He’s going to kill more, he’s going to kill more. The woman repeated this continuously, rising in pitch as the man spoke, “drink, want a–” His focus shifted as his gaze leveled on Otis, or Rue thought. The drunken expression he wore moments before transformed into something else– determination, maybe. 

— 

Otis’ brow quirked again, before settling into a confused smile. A joke, that was a joke. That meant this was going… well? The bear couldn’t get out of their mind to just talk, everything had to be predated with a mini meditation on the right choice of words. Only to lose them all in translation between thought and speech. He nodded, thankful for the compliment and then again for the song title. Even wrote it down so he could find it on the youtube later on. 

“Somethin’ nice about sad songs though. Feels… more like a comfort when you’re down too. Happy feels broken when you ain’t. Commiseration, like a hand to hold, is better, y’know?” Probably more words in a row than he’d said face to face with someone since he moved to this town. Another sign things were improving. Good, very good. 

He didn’t pay much mind to the sudden slam. Didn’t even turn to look at the stranger who waltzed in already half cocked and clearly looking to add even more to his blood alcohol content. Otis was far and away too preoccupied with Rue, and with the brewing story inspired by the bunny brew. Far more content with sharing his attention to what deserved it, rather than what was demanded. “To be truthful with you–” He started, musing aloud as he wrote a few things down, fully ignoring the newcomer. “Rather have somethin’ sweeter. Like… What's that one soda drink, real red, with the cherries? Summ’n real nice about it. Smooth-like. Perfect for sippin’.” There was no attention given to the rowdy customer, no notice to the way he slinked in close, far too close. 

His breath bounced off the back of Otis’ arm, and the bear barely budged. Didn’t like that much. “Oi. Shitheel. Look at me when I’m–” A hiccup. “–when I’m lookin’ at you.” The man was giving a masterclass in articulation, clearly Otis should have been taking notes. “What’s a beast like you doin’ in a place like this?”  Slurred and mumbled, half the words weren’t really audible. But the man tried to twirl the bear around in his seat. Giving a full attentive audience to his belligerence. 

“...Can I…. help you?” 

— 

Rue would have much rather spoken to Otis about songs and what they meant– maybe not so much how they made her feel, because nobody needed to know that, but this asshole had other plans. He was piss drunk and she could smell alcohol on him as he neared– bourbon, she thought. She wrinkled her nose, gaze passing over his shoulder to the woman who was still repeating the same thing over and over. The blood that dribbled down her forehead, though translucent, was a stark reminder that she had been killed, and it was apparent that the man ahead of her had done it. 

But Otis was still speaking, seemingly unperturbed by the addition to their company. Maybe he couldn’t see him? Was the man dead, too? Spirits could force doors open, could do a whole lot more than just that, but he didn’t look dead, not in the way the woman behind him did. Was this something else? 

She tried to level her focus on Otis, to respond to him. Shirley Temple, she wanted to shout at him, it’s called a shirley temple. Maraschino. Syrup. Sweet. Seedless. 

The man was antagonizing Otis now, and it still didn’t seem as though he noticed him. Rue’s hand tucked beneath the bartop, grabbing the baseball bat that was clipped to the underside. There was another one just behind her, but this would be less inconspicuous. 

“Hey, fuck off– what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She raised the bat above her head, swatting it towards the man’s head, easily missing Otis in her aim. “Get the fuck out, NOW.” The man looked surprised by her sudden outburst, but his hand was still firmly planted on Otis’s chair. 

“Youa–h gonna make me?” Before he could get the rest of the words out, Rue was climbing over the bar top, kicking over a glass in her attempt to make it towards him. “I said get the fuck out!” The man’s eyes widened slightly as he stumbled back, and the spirits behind him– both the woman and her great uncle, stared at her with equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Get-the-fuck OUT!” Rue swung the bat at his head as she slipped off of the counter, kicking the chair next to Otis forward so that it caught the man’s legs. “I said now!” She swung again, and it whistled through the air just above the man’s head as he sloppily ducked, stumbling back towards the door. 

Otis was lost to her now, all she could see was the way the man had put his hands on him, on the way he commanded attention. Rue hated it– hated the way that he looked at Otis, the way he looked at her. She didn’t like the way that the spirit looked at him either, mouth hanging in a perpetual scream that never came, blood dried to her forehead. 

—

A sudden shift had the bear stepping back. The stranger insisted, getting a little more handsy, and Rue came in like a bat outta hell. Something about the scene sent Otis right back to the ranch. To the ways his moms would run a coyote out of the chicken coop, or how Lila or one of the other ranch hands would scare off a bobcat getting too close to the cattle. A fierce protective bolt of lightning. Snapped at the second the air got too excited. Sensed something, maybe. The intent Otis had missed behind the stranger’s wild expression and drunken slurs. A heat that had somehow been insulated against ever affecting him because the bartender diffused the bomb so quickly. So efficiently. 

The man retreated. The bartender stood there like a guardian. And Otis felt more at home in this town than he ever had since moving there. The bear hadn’t really gone out of his way to make close connections. Hell, wasn’t really anything to say that’s what this was either. Just a hell of a woman protecting the hell out of her bar. Weeding out a wasp before it could sting. 

A low breathy whistle escaped his lips. He pulled the jacket closer around his shoulders. A little stunned, a lot amazed. “...Sent him runnin’ like a rat been caught rummagin’ in the rubbage bin.” Otis’ accent was never thicker than when he felt the need to add a little southern simile to spice up the sentence.

“….You do that often?”  

—

Rue watched as the man disappeared through the door, her own chest heaving. Her head buzzed with electricity– adrenaline fused together with the hatred she felt. The spirit that had followed him inside followed him out, and Rue was left to witness it, the lack of accountability. 

For a moment, she forgot where she was, and she turned to look a Otis. “Only when some piece of shit comes in trying to act all tough.” It wasn’t the first time she’d run somebody out of the bar, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. If she got loud and aggressive, shrieking like some banshee, then people often cut their losses. People didn’t like when things got loud. She couldn’t blame them. Rue tucked the bat to her chest and turned the corner to go back behind the bar. “Are you good?” 

She repositioned the things that’d been knocked by her eagerness to cross the distance to the man, putting the bat back to where it’d come from. “He didn’t bruise you or anything, did he?” Her skin was still warm and her chest still swarmed with a smattering of different anxieties– what if he came back? What had he done to that woman? 

—

Not knowing the context was a blessing that coupled with the security Otis carried himself with. He hadn’t gone to pieces at the aggressive display. Hadn’t flinched even when the man’s touch spun him around in a way that maybe he shouldn’t have been able to. The bear was of the mind that if he ignored the problem, it would usually sort itself out. Generally, things tended to. A stalwart confidence in his own ability to withstand whatever the world had to throw at him. 

“Yeah, sure ‘m fine.” Otis assured her. An apologetic smile crept in, as if he’d somehow caused the trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As if the drunk wasn’t going to cause issues no matter who was on either side of the bar. Maybe the man was having a hard time, Otis thought to himself, staring out towards the door where the stranger had made his exit. Maybe he’d been through something and was dealing with the grief it caused him. It never even occurred to the bear that maybe the man was predisposed to hate someone like him, something like him.  

“Wish some fellas wuddin’t make their sorry hearts a problem for other folk.” A huff of air filtered through Otis’ nose, noting how this was something the north and south had in common. People who’d been filled with hurt, hurt other people. Just a fact of life. “My mamas always told me to keep compassion for folks like that. But also to pay them no mind.” Easy for the one who didn’t have to see the specter of a woman with a hole in her head. “How ‘bout you, Miss Rue? How’s the ticker feelin’ after a fright like that?”  

—

Rue hid her shaking hands on the other side of the bar top, fingers now tangled in a rag. She checked behind Otis, towards the door, but he didn’t come back through. Her great uncle continued to stare at her, his own gaping wound obvious to her from where he stood. She gave him a look that she was half-sure Otis wouldn’t have noticed. 

“As long as you say so.” Rue offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pressed her hands into the rag, willing the trembling of her fingers to cease. She’d seen a lot– had done a lot, and no matter the anger that coursed through her for the sake of others– the bullet between the woman’s eyes, the dried blood– all of it, it made her feel ill. 

The lack of urgency that Otis showed had upset her in a way she didn’t want to address. It wasn’t her responsibility. Her gaze lifted up to meet his as he spoke and she let out a breath that matched his. “It’d be easy to do that, right? Pretend it doesn’t exist, the hurt that they cause.” It’s said before she can stop it, but she shakes her head as if to dislodge the thoughts that continue on as her words fall into the air. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve thrown a bat around a time or two.” Another smile, and it still doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s an odd thing, knowing how each family member has died– of being able to trace them back, accident or not. To have this capability, of being stuck with this capability, it’s a responsibility she wouldn’t wish on anyone else, certainly not Otis. “But uh, yeah, I’m good.” Another breath, before Rue is balling the rag up and tossing it to the side. “How about that shirley temple?” 

—

There was a clear tension tightening between the woman’s chest and the empty door frame. A palpable string, struck out from a chorus of ethereal violins. Her words were comforting, her demeanor less so. Haunted. If Otis had to put a word to it, that’s what it would be. The pools of her irises held depth that her age betrayed. She’d seen things. Seen the could-have-beens maybe. The ending of stories that didn’t stop at the end of a bat, quelled by a thread of threats. 

Otis stared, held his gaze a beat longer than maybe he should have. Trying to convince himself that he was embellishing again. Treating life like it was a story. Like everything was a play that just needed a narrator's touch. Maybe Rue was just tired. It’d been a long shift. He’d been there for a good majority of it. Nursing half-enjoyed beers, and wishing for the sweet little drink he couldn’t recall the name of. 

But she knew. Of course she knew. Otis knew fear, Rue knew drinks. The presence of the stranger hadn’t riled up that undefinable essence that the bear had always needed. He hadn’t gotten sick from accidentally drinking it in. Probably wouldn’t mix too well with whatever made it into his stomach so far. Sort of a relief, honestly. Meant he could stick around for a little while longer. Maybe figure out what kind of life made a person so steely. Meant he could enjoy that fruity little drink. 

“Yeah– sounds–” Otis nodded, wanting to say more but instead he choked up again. Back to square one. Quietly settling into the chair, hunched as he had been. One hand pouring over the notebook, the other playing with the ring he kept around his pointer finger. “Sounds good.” 

[valyrra]

He can fix me, alright?

Song: I can't say no - Lea Rue (Skeler remix)

CC: Liu Kang (Mortal Kombat 1)

@genesiswrld that's the stuff I've been cooking 🍳 . It's not much, but anything for Liu Kang community

[queer-little-demigod]

masterlist!

Hi! My name's Lea. I see you've stumbled upon my tiny, queer little demigod corner of the internet! here's a masterlist of my fics, along with some rules.

Rules:

No smut for any of the characters because they are underage.

Triggering fics will be marked with a (*)

requests are open, DMs or asks are welcome &lt;3

please be patient when it comes to the fics being written. your request may take longer than expected to be released, but please don't constantly ask for an update on it...

poly imagines are a NO. (bcause i cannot figure out how to write 'em.)

please be nice <3

feedback is definitely reccommended in any form! likes, reblogs, comments, anything!

18+/NSFW accounts are NOT allowed to interact here &lt;3

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clarisse La Rue

you belong with me (fluff)

you got an artist inside you (fluff)

———————————————————————

Luke Castellan

i like me better when i’m with you (fluff)

———————————————————————

Percy Jackson

small things you do (angst/hurt)

———————————————————————

Annabeth Chase

———————————————————————

Grover Underwood

———————————————————————

have a lovely day/night!