#clarrissa

[saltyxtides]

[ Unfortunately, like every year they never truly ever had any access to anything - the only talents they ( Celestis in Bayden’s body ) had was only one thing && one thing only - Yarn.       Placed in Rowan’s mailbox this year was a card they made nicely packed in blue made envelope with a card of a popping polar bear saying: ‘ Hold on for deer life! ‘ for his love of deer, && a bit of play on the fact he was holding on for dear life in another person’s body in a fun kind of messed up joking kind of way. Underneath the card would be a grey antler yarn hat, that would be all matchy-matchy with Clarissa’s adorable antler one && a crochet pencil shark/pen case that matched the rules to this caged scam they ( Celestis ) were in. ]

[ A nice sized crochet doll of Clarissa with a handheld black kitty accessory with antlers that have the same shade of blue as Bayden’s.  With was suppose to be matching antler’s to Bayden. . . but they passed it on to the REAL B a y d e n because that’s just a big nah.  Originally suppose to be all matchy-matchy with the real Bayden but it just didn’t work out. ]

[ Being Bayden, meant they had to play the part, but what do people get mothers?  What do you buy with Bayden mums money?  They have no idea!  What do mum’s really like, as they can’t recall if they ever had one or not . . . but none the less his mom’s card did get charged.  The FIRST g i f t they bought Bayden’s mum came a little early, as it came the day before Christmas Eve so all her employee’s get to see the very big mystery bouquet ( as the sender was annonymous!  How? Used the power of getting a Visa Debit and using paypal but with Mum’s money so it’s easy to link the connection ).  IF Dr.Wardeyn didn’t put 1+1 together, she would on Christmas Day, as the 2nd charge was $75.00 ( org. price $280 cause it was on sale ) for a Diamond Accent Calla Lily Pendant in Sterling Silver on Christmas Day ]

[ . . .  What do you get someone who literally hates everything but designer shit?  Doesn’t even know where to begin.  Loser psychopath.  Not going around to spend much of Bayden’s mum’s money but they did get them a $50.00 Starbucks card with an envelope saying ‘ Where do deer get all of their coffee? ’  && when Monty opened it the answer ‘ STAR-b u c k s ’ the originality there was priceless had to play the Deer loving Bayden. With a star bucks card inside. Oooo.  Hope it burns her tongue.  The other gift cost Dr. Wardeyn nothing.  They personally made Monty an exact Ýrúrarí Jóhannsdóttir’s slobbering mask && told her ‘for your knitted sweaters && in case you needed a mask to cover up those zits’ since it was featured in Vogue.  Maybe she won’t notice it’s a duplicate fake, but all in all, it was more meant to be disliked over liked to begin with. FASHION is w i e r d. ]

[incorrectoxenfreequotes]

Clarrisa: You can tell me your secrets

Clarrisa: I mean you absolutely shouldn't, i will use them against you, but you can

[katmk36]

Fall

Clarrisa's first blind date was with Zach McGinnis. They went to the local restaurant and had a very nice dinner.

The date ended with a kiss.

(All blind dates are by @ice-creamforbreakfast)

[project-golden]

who is this girl!

[nerds-yearbook]

In 1950, a plague known as Masculitis was thought to have killed every man on Earth over the age of 12. Boys 12 and younger had survived due to a vaccination that had left them sterile. Women took over all major roles including President of the United States. Chaos was created when a fertile man was found and captured. (The Last Man on Earth flm, loosely based on the book The Last Man and a short story in Munsey's Magazine)

[uselessgay10101]

Word of advice: be like an 1800s ghost

[ladyorlandodream]

not a one shot...anymore...

enjoy :)

[callum-hunt-is-bisexual]

scott's coming out scene im obsessed

[originalcharaycters]

yoooooo heyyy rayyyyyy. Random ask but why would your oc's superlatives be (ex most likely to succeed or the one that I got which was most likely to win the hunger games) you can choose whichever ones you want ❤️

since you didn't say who,,, i'm doing all of them 😈 also i'm poking fun at them

はんぞ　在やぉ　[ayako hanzo] | most likely to get away with murder

viper despair | most likely to challenge god to a fist fight

maya morris | most likely to turn into a supervillain renesmee fennec | most likely to start a revolution oliver vagabond | most likely to get lost in a mall

うえむら　あきら　[akira uemura] | most likely to be hospitalized 10 times a week

antos goldfarben | most likely to have a mental breakdown to an armless snake maximus appel | most likely to text his ex again parson | most likely to win in a sword fight, bare handed red hemingway | most likely to be a disney princess sun luciu | most likely to be a model yuuma | most likely to be a cryptid

はるみ　みうき　[mizuki harumi] | most likely to be worshipped in a cult

миша смирнов hayes [misha smirnov hayes] | most likely to commit homicide

orkid | most likely to poison someone for fun pulse | most likely to be on unwanted posters

alastair anderson | most likely to bring a bow to a knife fight nixxiam wu | most likely to accidentally kill a man

charlie [charlotte evans] | most likely to break every bone in her body and still be fine clarity [clarissa alinsky] | most likely to betray her closest ally theseus [peter fullilove] | most likely to write self-insert fanfics of his favorite superhero ryu [rhys williams] | most likely to steal an ice cream from a child shadow [shay o'sullivan] | most likely to sacrifice herself for her loved ones

this is long-

[whorxology]

⛧☾༺♰Restless♰༻☽⛧

WARNINGS: Mentions of past relationship with Luke, Spoilers for Ep 8 PJO, Angst, Cliffhanger, very much so not canonically accurate, not proofread

W.C: 0.7

A/N: I have not read the books only knowledge I have of PJO is from the movies, TV series, and multiple fics I have read. With that being said this is purely for fun. You are more than welcome to disagree and leave feedback.

A/N: I kinda fell out of my PJO phase after the last episode but I wrote like right after the last episode dropped and forgot to post it 🧍🏻......... its here now 🤗

Again. Again. Again. Again. You continue to hit the dummy over and over again. The wooden sword dug into your palm as it hit the stuffed mannequin. You had hoped that training would help take things off your mind but the events from last night played over and over in your head. It was like a broken record or a taunting little kid annoying and making you bubble with anger.

You weren't supposed to be there. You were supposed to be with Annabeth watching Clarrissa. Annabeth had disappeared and you were left alone with the target. She had made a snarky comment about if you wanted to make friendship bracelets with her since you seem to be glued to her ass. She and you weren’t friends mainly because of how rude she was to Percy. Her comment made you realize that she wasn't Percy's friend and that meant that the prophecy couldn't have been about her. 

You had rushed to find Percy and Luke. You couldn’t believe your thoughts you didn't want to think that Luke, amazing boyfriend Luke, your Luke could be the traitor. You had hidden in the treeline just a few feet from Percy and Luke. Everything seemed to be okay which made your chest loosen up a bit. Then you heard it. 

“I didn’t think you’d give ’em to Grover to wear.” 

“How long have they been doing that? '' Percy’s voice pulled you from your mind. The loud clank of the sword could be heard as it made contact with the dummy. Actually, dummy would be an overstatement at this point. This was just a bag of straw on a pole with a face on it. A face that awfully resembled Luke's. The hitting got harder the pole holding the bag of straw was shaking with every hit. 

“Since this morning, they couldn't sleep and as soon as the curfew was over they got up and immediately came here” Annabeth spoke. You knew it was her. She's been periodically checking in on you since you got here. 

“Have they eaten or drunk anything at all? It's nearly 100 degrees out here” When was the last time you ate or drank anything. The subtle grumble in your stomach reminded you that it had in fact been a while. You ignored it fueled by anger the hunger faded. 

The once loose feeling tightened by a lot. Your chest felt as if you had been hit full force by a bull. Your hands shook as you reached for your sword. The sword Luke had gifted you. Tears spilled from your eyes leaving wet trails down your face and a salt ting on your lips. It was Luke all along. How could your Luke do this? Everything you thought you knew about him. Gone. 

“I am your friend.” 

The loud crack of your sword drew you from your thoughts. You had broken the wooden sword in half. The large blade splinted jaggedly down the middle. Tossing it aside you hastily pulled out your sword. The beautiful golden glimmer on the handle reminds you of Luke. You swung at the dummy and you swung hard. The harsh bangs were heard throughout the camp. 

“She’s going to end up breaking the poor dummy”  Percy tried to joke to ease the tension in the air. You didn’t acknowledge the joke still hitting the dummy as if it was Luke all over again. 

“Better the dummy than us” Annabeth muttered barely loud enough for you to hear. You swear Luke had said the exact same thing to you when you had pissed off Clarrissa. The memory of you and him laughing turned sour in your mind. A loud almost thunder-sounding crack echoed throughout the camp. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at the source. The source was you. You had hit the dummy so hard you had cracked it in half.  

You were panting hard. Sweat covered your entire body as your shirt stuck to your back uncomfortably and your bare thighs stuck together the shorts you wore in hopes of keeping you cool failing. Your fingertips were white from how hard you had been gripping your sword. The blood-red gems leave imprints on your palms. 

You were still thinking of last night. 

“Are you okay you don’t look so good?” You could hear his voice. It was fuzzy and spun around in your head. You turned to face him. To tell him you were fine. You spun around fast only to be met with two Percy Jacksons. 

“Huh?” was all you said as your sword slipped from your grasp and you fell to the side. Head hitting the land before it all went black. 

 “Percy, none of this was meant to betray you”

[asvterias]

Hi love your writing.I just wanted to drop a request/ idea. About yandere Clarrissa La Rue x half blood reader . Where Clarrissa La Rue is a bully who is hates reader but struggling with her new yandere feelings and to deal with it she bullies reader so she can spend time with reader because it’s not considered normal for her cabin to associate with people like reader so bullying reader is the only way but like if anyone of her siblings (or anyone else in general) tries to join in on the bullying it or even try to talk to reader. Let’s just say Clarisse doesn’t take it well.Like Clarisse does cool down on the bullying would definitely show off during sparring.Like while she beating the crap out of some poor camper she’s all ways looking at reader for approval or has her arm around reader like they are her prize.But yeah do with this as you want (Sorry this is so long😭).Have a good one. (:

i really like the prompt you gave me, but i won’t do the yandere part!! i hope you’ll still like this without the yandere!!

[leondoodlezart]

First attack for art fight for @darkmoonartwolf

Their Helluva Boss OC, Clarrissa.

[chaos-fantazy]

The project I teased in my previous post is finished. Here are fan designs I created for a Friday Night Funkin' D-Sides version of the main characters of Mega Man. I'm aware that there aren't really any noteworthy FNF mods based on Mega Man to tap into for a D-Side version of the characters, but I wanted to take a stab at it anyway, because the franchise has historically been very important to me.

(Partial credit goes to @e-clarrissa for helping with these sprites, and also for making the sprites used for the "A-Side" versions of Roll (From Mega Man Maker) and Drs. Light and Wily (From the Mega Man: Infamous Intent public-domain resources.)

Like before, you can find the full story associated with these designs and other details under the cut:

Main Backstory Info

Up-and-coming robotics prodigies, Dr. Thomas Light and Dr. Albert Wily, are making their first forays into the field of robotics together.  Despite their camaraderie, however, the two have never exactly agreed on how to improve the standing of robots among humans—Dr. Light believes that robots will only be fully accepted by humans when they become their equals, and diverts much of his research into artificial intelligence accordingly; while the more pragmatic Dr. Wily believes humans will accept robots that prove their usefulness firsthand.  To this end, he devises a peripheral known as the Double Gear System, which could divert a robot’s power to extremes, granting them superhero-like strength and speed on demand.

Early prototypes of the Double Gear System prove strenuous, however, with many of the robots Dr. Wily tested on suffering intensive damage.  A council is held to discuss the merits and flaws of each doctor’s approach and ultimately decide which of them will receive funding to continue their research.

At this point, the story is consubstantial with the original Mega Man timeline, per the prologue given in Mega Man 11.  Where things begin to diverge in this D-Side version of the story, however, is where Wily wins over the council, and they opt to continue supporting his Double Gear initiative in favor of Dr. Light's artificial intelligence research.  While this puts some strain on their partnership, it hardly destroys it, and the two continue to work together on developing robots.

To accommodate the Double Gear System's demands, the two work on developing a new prototype robot codenamed "Project Blue" that will set the hardware standards for the industry.  However, mistakenly considering this an excellent opportunity to stress-test both of their work, Light goes behind Wily's back and installs an artificial intelligence into the project.  The consequences are quick to make themselves known, as Blue quickly deserts the twosome's workshop.  Light is deeply guilty about these events, but keeps them a secret from his research partner, for fear that telling him now would jeopardize their work and their relationship.

So despite the major setback, the two work together to maintain their good standing; they eventually produce a "Project Green" and, a bit later, a "Project Red," which make good on Project Blue's original promise (And receive the nicknames “Rock” and “Roll,” a bit incidentally).  The doctors quickly garner good publicity from their new machines, and before long, production on the new breed of industrial robots begins.

All seems well for a time, until reports surface of a streak of robots suddenly turning up missing.  One by one, the designs created by the doctors disappear until they're left with just Green and Red again, but the cause doesn't make itself known until then—at this point, Blue reveals himself as the perpetrator, having given the other robots his "gift of enlightenment" and encouraging them to stand with him, as he believes that any robot at all not being sentient is morally wrong.

Backed into a corner with the government now breathing down their necks, the doctors have no choice but to put their money where their mouth is and prove Wily’s initial claims that the Double Gear System could grant superhero-like abilities.  They upgrade Rock and Roll for the express purpose of taking down Blue and his Robot Sovereigns, most notably granting them the ability to download information on weaponry and fighting style from those they defeat.  As the two fight, reporters documenting the events of the robot riots would witness this flashy color-changing, weapon-emulating ability, and christen Projects Green and Red with the sensationalistic name of the Rainbow Warriors—and the rest is history.

Factoids and General Tidbits

Although Project Blue has taken over as the series’ main antagonist, he has not swapped places with Dr. Wily to any capacity.  …This might go without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway.

The “Mega Man/Proto Man” monikers do not exist in this continuity.  Blue is only ever known as Blue; similarly, Rock is known as Rock to those who work closely with him, “Project Green” (Or simply “Green”) to the general public, and “a Rainbow Warrior” for his heroic feats (And the same for Roll/”Project Red”).

Only robots that have received artificial intelligence are classifiable as sapient—meaning Rock and Roll would not be sapient, at least at series’ outset.  There would likely be an event at some point in the series, towards the end of a specific game (Maybe Mega Man 3?), where Blue grants Rock and Roll sapience in an attempt to sway them to his side and rid him of his greatest enemies in one fell swoop—and is surprised when they continue to fight him anyway because they genuinely believe what he’s doing is wrong.  This would have a lot of consequences, namely the invention of Rock and Roll’s “civilian” designs as seen above, as they would have no reason to exist before this point.

I had other additional concepts for a few specific characters/game plots, but I wound up not drafting sprites for them, and at this point, I doubt I ever will.

[katmk36]

Fall

Her mornings and afternoons can be a little crazy but at least she has set up a night time routine.

Tea and cuddles from her cat to help her wind down and go to bed.

[marshmallow-biscuit-blog]

Hm... what about 14, 18, and 19 for Clarrissa, Rooty, and Amia?

14. How do they put out a candle? Clarissa pinches the wick. Rooty struggles to blow it out. Amia just snaps her fingers. 18. Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)? Clarissa will always love Kingsly, no matter what. That's her baby. Rooty loves her family, even if most of it was found and not given. (Her dad, Sketch, Mugman, Shire, her neices and nephews, Flower, Tea and Joe, Betty, Cuphead even if he pisses her tf off-) Amia loves everyone, because she, being an angel, cannot process hate for a living being. Even sinners, she hates the sin, loves the sinner. 19. What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding? Clarissa would just be silent. She's real good at that as you know- Rooty, depending on WHY she's avoiding them, would either be dead silent for once in her life, non stop talking worse than usual, be shakily apologetic, or be really passive aggressive. Amia's honest, so she'd admit to them whatever reason it was that she was avoiding them.

[snug-as-bugalugs-in-rugalugs]

Rating: General Audiences Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries Relationship(s): Clarissa Watts & Llewellyn Watts Characters: Llewellyn Watts, Clarissa Watts, Augustus Jackson (mentioned), Word Length: 3,331 Summary: The night after Detective Llewellyn Watts watches his sister ride off in that carriage, out of his life forever for the second time, he is exhausted-- both emotionally and physically. Emotionally, from trying to sort out his giant mess of emotions on what had happened with his sister, and physically from spending the entire day holding back tears.

Once he returns to his apartment, though, before he can collapse on to his bed and fall asleep, he feels the sudden urge to pull out a box he hadn't looked at in months now.

Issy was the name carved on the top.

And suddenly, he can hold in his tears no longer. OR: I was rewatching S10E15 and thought to myself "Wow, this isn't nearly heartbreaking enough!" so here we go.

___________________________

“The truth is absolute, unyielding, and eternal, Jackson,” Llewellyn had said just three hours earlier.

Back then, when he was still fighting the tears building up in the corners of his eyes and winning, that was all he could manage to say– all he could fathom, or dare to fathom. But now that he was laying on his bed in his lonely little flat, drenched in his own tears, he’d realized he’d forgotten a word.

Awful.

The truth was absolute, unyielding, eternal, and awful.

He squinted at the blurry mess of a world around him and clutched the edge of his blanket. It was trapped underneath him, and as a small gust of cold air blew its way in through the cracks around his window, he wished it weren’t. He wished his body felt less heavy. He wished he had the energy to pull himself up off this bed of misery and do something –anything at all– even if that something was simply throwing a blanket over his freezing body.

He wished he still had the energy of hope.

Alas, he could search the ends of the earth for the sister he’d lost, but he’d never find her. Because the truth, which he’d longed for –lived for– so deeply was that his sister’s very body was possessed by someone else, someone he did not know and could not love, for she would never love him in return. Clarrissa Watts no longer existed– only Athena, as cold towards him as tonight’s windy air.

“More accurately,” he muttered to himself, “The truth is absolute ly, unyielding ly, and eternal ly awful.”

Llewellyn shut his eyes as tightly as he could and slowly rolled on to his side. He pressed one ear of his into the pillow and threw his forearm against the other one. Perhaps if he could only shut out the world around him, or at least his perception of it, all those horrible little pieces of “truth” could drift out into the depths of outer space and disappear forever. Perhaps he would drift out into the depths of outer space and disappear forever. As long as those horrid truths were somewhere he was not, he couldn’t find it in himself to truly care.

But even with his eyelids squeezed to the maximum and both ears covered, he could still hear it. He could still hear her.

“Goodbye, Llewellyn,”

He’d heard her say those exact words three hours ago, before she left his life forever for the second time, but it was not three hours ago he was remembering. Her voice sounded younger– almost squeaky in comparison to her current tones. It was the voice of an adolescent. A 16-year-old, to be specific.

Most days, she didn’t say anything before she went to her job. Llewellyn knew what her schedule was, and if anything had changed in her schedule for that day, she could tell him the evening prior. Even if she wanted to say goodbye, he tended to be barely awake at that time; he would still be sitting on his bed, throwing his arms upwards in groggy stretches. By all accounts, he should’ve been fully awake at that time, seeing as the school day started less than an hour later, but Llewellyn had flatly refused to push his schedule a minute earlier. If he had to go to school with his hair disheveled and his shirt half-buttoned to get that extra bit of sleep, he would. So Clarrissa always just went straight to work.

Only, that day was different. She had said goodbye. She’d gone out of her way to peek into his room and whisper a soft “Goodbye, Llewellyn.”

Llewellyn tightened his fingers into a fist. He should’ve noticed that. He should’ve known that it was of her own accord, that she was perfectly aware she was never going to see him again when she left that day. He should’ve known there was no point searching for her when she didn’t wish to be found. He should’ve known she wouldn’t have cared enough to take care of him. He should’ve known she just didn’t want him as her little brother, that fool of a child who went to school barely on time and offended his peers by telling them their faces were symmetrical. He should’ve known.

A few more sobs choked out his shaky lungs. There it was again. The truth.

He opened his eyes again and wiped his tears on the back of his hand, clearing his vision. On the side of his bed, sitting directly in front of his wet eyes, was a small wooden box. As soon as he had retired to his room for the day, he had yanked the bottom drawer of his dresser open and pulled out that box; it was as if some kind of instinct, a force deeper than himself, had made him do so. Perhaps the truth had made him do so.

But whatever it was that had caused his quick reaction had stopped there. Though it laid on his bed right in front of him, half an arms-reach away, he still hadn’t opened it.

In fact, he wasn’t sure he could open it. The first time he’d looked at it, after so easily grabbing it out of the drawer, all that happened was sobbing, and tears streaking down his face, and barely-muffled screaming into his pillow. The extremity of the reaction when looking at it had dulled now, but the sight still sent his stomach into a jumble of knots.

“Issy…”

That name, sounding so stupid as it came from his mouth, was what the top of the box read. The letters were carved in deeply and jaggedly, with the y barely legible at this point from 15 years of tracing over it again and again. He reached one single finger over and traced the I one last time. It felt surprisingly cold despite being insulated in the drawer– chilly and splintery to the touch.

Suddenly, as if that unnameable force had taken over him once again, he shoved the box towards himself and cradled it beneath his arms. Tears blocked his vision once again, but he had read off the box all he needed to.

Issy.

The top of the box was wedged up against his chest, and that word in particular against his heart. He heard it pumping in his ears, loud and fast, but it was not normal beating that he heard. Every one seemed to morph itself into his memories and his daydreams, all of which repeated the same thing.

Issy. Issy. Issy.

The box still on his chest, he rolled onto his back. He felt a half-eaten pretzel squish in the pocket of his jacket– the one Jackson had given him over three hours earlier, as he was watching his sister ride away forever in that creaky carriage. It was the first time it had taken him more than 20 minutes to finish a pretzel after starting; after the first few bites, it was as if his ever growing appetite had been ripped out and stolen from him.

The truth stole my appetite, he thought bitterly.

He considered twisting his face towards the pillow and screaming into it about that. He considered screaming about everything he hated about the truth, and about how he hated the very way hated the truth, the one thing that kept the universe from falling apart, and about how much he hated the universe for needing the truth in it. How much he hated himself for needing the truth, whether he admitted or not. He considered not even muffling it with the pillow anymore and just screaming all that into the universe, not caring what the neighbors thought anymore.

But instead, he sat there silently and hugged that stupid little wooden box.

It had just been his “case file” at one point. The evidence regarding her disappearance. Even at 12 years old, he had considered himself somewhat of a detective for her disappearance, searching for her every moment he got as if it really was his job. He searched not just around town but inside everything he still had left of her, as if old photos would somehow reveal her location to him as clear as day.

Some detective I was, Detective Watts thought.

The most obvious answer, the one that the truth held and dangled right in front of his blindly hopeful 12-year-old face, had never once occurred to him. And if it had occurred to him, Llewellyn admitted he would’ve just slapped the possibility away. He would’ve so easily slapped away the truth he was supposedly searching so hard for. Even at 27 years old, like he was when Jackson brought the concept up at the bar, he had rejected it without hesitation.

He was foolish. Stupid, even. Everything to do with his reaction to his sister’s disappearance had been so incredibly, painfully stupid.

The top of the box, or his case evidence file, read Issy for a reason that he still didn’t quite understand. Clarissa, he should’ve carved into it. Clarissa Watts if he was really being a professional and objective detective. 

Athena, if he had known the truth.

But at the time, when he was still crying out of worry instead of grief or, as it was now, overwhelming anger, Issy had seemed exactly right. It had already been years since he’d used that nickname for her, yet, as he carved it into the box for the very first time, it was all he could seem to think of her as. The same went for right now, as he was laying on his squished pretzel and letting the splinters of the box rub against his thin undershirt.

Issy. Issy. Issy.

Snippets of memories flashed through his mind. He was 12 years old one moment, carving the nickname over her box of belongings, and then he was merely three. His stubby legs stumbled about their parents’ apartment, the details of which were blurred from 20 years of forgetfulness, and he clutched a little wooden block in his left hand.

“Issy!” he called to his presently 7-year-old sister.

He ran over, placing the block into her palm with a smile. Clarissa rolled her eyes half-heartedly and put it back into his hand. She ruffled his messy curls.

“It’s Clarrisa,” she corrected him. “And I don’t want your toy.”

She always pretended like she objected to his constant referring to her as “Issy” instead of her proper name, but he saw the way a small smile peeked at the corner of her lips whenever he said it. Whether she admitted it or not, Llewellyn had known Clarissa found it quite sweet. Or at least, he had let himself believe as much. Considering he also spent the last 15 years allowing himself to believe she hadn’t abandoned him, he wasn’t sure if he could really say he knew anything at all anymore.

Either way, he’d stopped calling her Issy around the time she had turned 12. She’d hit a phase of slightly more sassiness, and it seemed had gotten more serious about her objections to the nickname. Besides, he’d already taken to calling her Clarissa most of the time at this age, since the whole affair had only started in the first place because he’d struggled to say such a long name as a baby. By the time he was 8, he was capable of pronouncing words far more complex than Clarissa.

“Who’s that guy, Issy?” he had said teasingly one afternoon, as they played on the street outside their boarding house.

As soon as he spoke those words, especially alongside the adoring little nickname, Clarissa’s face had turned as bright as a tomato. The ‘guy’ he referred to was a boy only slightly older than her, perhaps 13 or 14 years of age, and in retrospect, likely a crush. She quickly shushed Llewellyn.

“He’s nobody,” she insisted. “And seriously, don’t call me that.”

So that had been the end of “Issy” until four years later, when he carved it into the box of her memories.

Even then, it was far more than a simple case file, he knew. It was a coping mechanism, something to desperately replace the sound of her voice with, and in some ways almost a shrine. Just something to keep her memory alive inside him, and to kill the fear and doubt beginning to creep into the corners of his mind. It was, at its barest bones, everything.

Everything except the truth.

He returned from the world of these memories back to his eternally awful, truthful reality.

Goodbye, Llewellyn, his thoughts echoed again. Except this time it was her older voice saying it, just as she had only three hours ago, because even now that they were both capable adults with no requirements of taking care of the other one, she still wanted nothing to do with him.

He couldn’t take it anymore. With the last bit of energy he had in him, he thrusted himself up from his bed into a sitting position and threw the box of everything but the truth open. A couple old photos flew out. He carefully observed each one, from her smile as she wrapped an arm around him teasingly to the shadows cast upon the edges of her face.

All he could see was one thing– happiness. Everything seemed absolutely, unyieldingly, and eternally fine .

To that, he smiled.

They looked like the kind of siblings that would die for each other. Still smiling bittersweetly, he returned the photos to the box and searched through the other items in it. A messy drawing of her. A pencil she’d chewed on. A pocket-sized book she liked to read. A book that he’d probably stolen from the library, since it still had a stamp on the inner cover, but one which he felt he was more than justified in doing so. A bracelet.

Not just any bracelet of hers, he remembered. That bracelet.

He’d given it to her for her 14th birthday, with the same sweet smile plastered on his face as when he’d placed the wooden block into her hand at 3. He’d been so proud of it; he’d woven the threads together to make it himself, with his own two hands.

“This for you,” he’d said.

“It’s very pretty,” she had said as she wrapped it around her wrist. “Thank you, Llewellyn.”

Yet when he searched her room late in the night after she left, right after he’d realized she wasn’t going to come home, he’d found it still there, on her dresser. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time– it had simply gone into his little box along with everything else that reminded him of her, safely tucked on the bottom. But now that he knew she’d left of her own accord, of her own very planning, it all seemed so different.

Llewellyn felt that unyielding truth stab him in the gut.

“She didn’t want it,” he stated out loud.

The sound of those words, truthful and real words, started his sobbing all over again. She’d chosen not to take that bracelet with her. She’d chosen to leave it behind. Just as she’d chosen to leave him . That one little bracelet wouldn’t have taken hardly any room in a suitcase, tucked in it somewhere like the way it was now tucked into his box, and yet she had made the decision to instead forsake that little token of their siblinghood forever.

His lips quivered; even the deepest breaths he could manage felt excruciatingly shallow. He slammed the box shut and turned his body away from it. Even his pupils kept strictly to the other side of his vision in fear of having to look at that ridiculous little bracelet again. Fear of having to look at what his possession of that ridiculous little bracelet meant .

“She didn’t want–”

But he couldn’t finish that sentence. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Keeping his eyes turned the opposite way, Llewellyn reached his hands back to creak the box open just a little, barely enough to reach in and pull the photographs back out. He pulled them over to the front of his eyes and stared at them again.

I left because I didn’t want you.

He’d tried so hard to be a good brother. At least, that’s what he told himself after she left. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how good of a brother he’d really tried to be, because at the time he didn’t ever really need to consider it. Only afterwards did he fret over it –cry over it– wishing he’d cherished the time he’d had with her. He’d cared about her so much. Surely, even if he teased her at times, she had to have known that.

Yet it wasn’t enough. She still left.

Abruptly, he turned around, grabbed the box, and chucked it onto the floor. Bam! the old floorboards cried in agony. He didn’t even flinch. Still too angry to care what he was doing, he crumpled the photos in his hands and threw them on to the floor with it.

“Damnit!” he yelled. “You weren’t supposed to have the truth!”

Yet he knew such an idea was impossible, because everything in this absolutely, unyieldingly, and eternally awful universe had the truth in it. And that only made him more angry.

He sat on his bed motionlessly with his arms crossed and his fingers curled into fists. He pouted like a child– a 12-year-old child, to be specific, waiting for his older sister to finally return home.

“Issy…” he cried.

He reached over the edge of the bed, to where he’d thrown the box and the two crumpled-up photos. Seeing them on the floor in utter disrepair, he quickly regretted his actions. The floor underneath it was badly scratched, but more importantly, the box now had a gash on the front and one of its hinges was cracked in two. The photos both had tears on the edges of them.

This image, the product of his own infuriated actions, made tears coat his cheeks once more.

He finally found the strength to roll out of bed and walk over to his sister’s belongings, picking them up one by one. The two photographs, he tucked into his pocket. The box, however, he kept out; he pushed the broken lid back on to it as he returned to his bed.

Iss…

He attempted to trace his finger over the carving on the top, only to quickly discover the final letter to be utterly destroyed. The gash dipped into it, making a chaotic mess of a shape instead of the Y.

He hugged the box, gash and all, and yearned.

As foolish as it was, he yearned for her. Issy. Not Clarissa Watts, and certainly not “Athena” or whatever it was that woman chose to refer to herself as, but Issy. His Issy. The one who cared about him as much as he cared about her and more. The one who told everyone who called Llewellyn a weirdo to get lost, even when he told her he didn’t really mind it.  The one who let him cry into her arms after their parents died. The one who was there. The one who he believed so firmly –no, knew – would only fail to be there if she was forced to. The one who, when he inevitably found her, would hug him instead of shutting him out. The one who had spent the last 15 years rotting in his childish imagination.

But the truth is eternal, and childish imagination is not.

So instead of rejoicing with a sister who wanted something –anything at all– to do with him, and hugging her and showing each other everything they’d discovered in the last 15 years apart, he was flopping down onto his lumpy mattress and crying himself to sleep, entirely alone.

“Issy,” he whispered as he drifted out of consciousness.

Issy…