another-version-of-truth

[another-version-of-truth]

why did my last two braincells had to be a sad one and a stupid one

[another-version-of-truth]

I genuinely hate people and at this point I'm really just waiting for everyone to die

talk about your Feelings? Understand how they're raised? People aren't inherently bad? Fuck that

Tired of it. Don't wanna talk to anyone. I want the world to end

[another-version-of-truth]

china shop

-

She takes first watch for the night. Her companions-- exhausted and eager to bunker down while they still can, whispering flirtatiously to each other like she couldn't hear-- they don't see as well as she does in the evening light, and they're thankful as always that she offers to handle the responsibility for the meantime. Of course Krysa protests at first: "aren't you just as tired, Fran? Are you sure?" because she's the nicest, and Francine warms at the sincere concern as she assures her-- "it's not like I sleep," she says with a smile. "I can spare the time while tending to my carvings."

That about convinces the bard, and she pats Francine's shoulder in thanks as she walks past for the deeper parts of the cave they're staying in. Nim follows her partner close behind, leaving Francine with "have a good watch, let us know if you wanna skip out early!" before simmering down to converse with Krysa in private, and the young warlock watches them off with a fond smile.

Rocks shift beside her in the following quiet. She doesn't move, already expecting the presence, yet still her shoulders tense when she hears his voice: "...and what are you working on this time?"

"Still you," she says simply, like it's the answer enough to explain everything else. In her hand is her unfinished project: a wooden block slightly larger than her palm, edges chipped away to resemble a stern face and beady, gemstone eyes beneath circular sunglasses. "Somehow, I can't quite capture your smile."

The older man snorts, affronted. "Ah. That is because I don't smile."

Francine lowers her tools. She shoots him a look, then behind him to see if anyone else was still awake. Fortunately, the cave is deep enough to lend both parties some privacy. "And last night...?"

"Itchy lips. It's the sand-- gets everywhere, leaves my skin rough. I am allergic."

"You're not a very good liar. I know what I saw."

Alma cocks an eyebrow. "You've become quite bold, Francine." He sounds almost... impressed. She feels his hand hover over her lower back, and the heat from the proximity is already causing her face to flush. Her head tilts upwards, leaning subconsciously into the promise of embrace, and her words ghost over his lips.

"Have I?"

He doesn't say anything else, and lets his body do the talking.

She closes her eyes and submits. It's a different feeling from when her muscles go limp at the control of the eldritch horror housing her body, like fire and earth and yearning and lust keeping her grounded to a reality that isn't entirely out of her control. Her fingers grasp at the back of his neck, feels hard edges of rock scrape against her nails, and she revels in the sensation it brings. In this moment she feels alive-- alive and normal and herself, the darkness beneath her eyelids comforting rather than an imposing one, and every inch that Alma touches leaves an aching rawness that fills the black with stars. She gasps as warm wetness covers an exposed breast, the calloused hands tending to it just as dizzying when her partner pulls back to watch her squirm. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," the Genasi half-purrs, stubble tickling her sensitive flesh. "Not as reserved as last night, aren't you?"

Francine pouts, opening her green eyes to half-slits. "Don't be mean. You know I..."

"I know," Alma reassures her. She doesn't notice the other hand sneaking downwards to unveil the secrets of her skirts, and the sudden pressure of a square thumb sliding over her clit jerks an honest sound from her throat.

"A-alma--!"

"Shhh, they'll hear." He kisses her cheeks gently, then fills her mouth with his tongue as he attends to her aching, drawing circles against the wet patch on her underwear. Her hips buck into his touch the more he teases, mind blank and reeling.

"Alma, please--" Francine mewls into his mouth, shaking with the effort to keep up with his advances. "I want..."

She feels the girth of him sliding over her nethers in compliance, feels the smugness in his smile as he kisses her openly underneath the blanket of night. "So bold now," he whispers, and slips inside.

The sensation is intense. It takes all of her self control not to cry out, thankful that he's there to swallow the noise practically dribbling down her lips. He tests her constitution once, then twice, and impatiently she wraps her legs around his waist to spur him on-- "I'm fine, I can take it, please just move--" and Alma laughs against her mouth, drinking in the indulgence of her request.

Their clothes are in the way, pushed aside haphazardly in the rush, and it makes the excursion feel a lot dirtier than it already is; Francine thinks of the elegant green of her dress pinned into the makeshift blanket, the folds that catch on Alma's fingers as he balances himself over her-- thinks of warm days and arguments and purpose, gold clinking in her hands and his constant berating over her spending it; she thinks of friendship and family and whatever this is, whatever she wants it to be, guilt like a bludgeoning and desire a brand on her skin.

And in this moment, small and explosive and secretive for being several shades wrong, returns with the hesitation of a tense palm over the Genasi's shoulder.

He notices right away, of course-- pulls back with creases forming between his brows in concern, a gentle hand on the curve of Francine's waist. "Does it hurt?"

"N-no, it's not that." She swallows thickly, turning her head away from the shadows pooling at the sides of the cave; the campfire has dimmed enough to allow the dark into spaces where it resembles spindly spider legs, curving over their entangled form ominously. "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Alma levels his eyes with hers, serious. "Should we stop?"

Francine leans back, her chin pointed at the sky. She watches the stars until the night seemed to be peeling at the edges like worn wallpaper, patches of old wood showing right beneath, her father's voice muffled but insistent on the other side.

She suddenly feels so cold.

But Alma is still there, even while reality begins to fold in on itself at her revelation, and she reaches upwards to smother the panic with lips she knows so well-- lips she wants to know so well, guiding and firm and warm like certainty-- but the dream is already melting through her grasp, sand between tight fingers.

"I don't want to, not yet, not yet--"

She squeezes her eyes shut.

And wakes.

The first thing she notices is Alma, but he's different this time. Real. He's counting his gold on his lap, half-leaning against the cavern wall. "You fell asleep," he says as soon as she attempts at getting up. "Not very good for a watch, but fortunately nothing has happened so far. I will let it slide this time."

Francine rubs her eyes, quiet. She finds her woodcarving tools right beside her, set aside neatly (though she can't recall putting them away before nodding off) so that she would not roll over them, or lose them in the dust. The wooden block with Alma's face lies incomplete.

"I'm sorry..." she begins, but her voice is too quiet to carry over the evening winds. She figures it's the fake Alma she's apologizing to, the one unfinished in her dreams.

"You can return the favor the next time we take watch." He says dismissively, and the sound of coins being returned to a leather pouch fills the quiet that follows.

Her thumb traces the wood work in her hand. She can't bare to look at him right now, at the version that was never hers to begin with, not while yearning twists like a knife in her gut for a reality that was so, so different. It makes her feel dirty, disgusting-- and the spider god stirs underneath the veil of her consciousness to feed into the anxiety.

It used to feed on her dreams, in a distant time where rebellion was only a matter of not sleeping-- but nowadays it catches nourishment from the tangled web of her emotions. It must be having a feast; she can almost hear it chuckle.

"...what are you working on this time?"

The honest question catches her off-guard-- coincidence, the ghost of a dream-- and she almost drops the wooden block. She stammers: "still you," like it's the answer enough to explain everything else. "...somehow, I can't quite capture your smile."

The older man snorts, affronted. "Ah. That is because I don't smile."

She's starting to think he really doesn't.

[another-version-of-truth]

the last time i updated this blog i was in a really terrible fight w him. and now it’s.. not exactly a fight but im not doing so well

oR AT LEAST IM NOT because my brain is, once again, being stupid

if youre feeling unappreciated raise your hand up

[another-version-of-truth]

are we done is this the end

[another-version-of-truth]

i hate you so much

[another-version-of-truth]

death leaves you so, so empty.

we part ways at 9. reluctantly, stretching time with prolonged hugs and farewells, a heavy weight settling upon our shoulders as we walk closer to the door. shirvani’s place is small; there is barely enough room for all six of us to fit in the hallway where our shoes are littered, so we step into our partner’s arms to make it easier. i bury my nose in raph’s shirt and breathe in his warmth, fully aware of his internal struggle to keep it together. we all struggle the same way.

[another-version-of-truth]

im a terrible person

[another-version-of-truth]

while on chore duty, i enjoy coming up with revenge fantasies. most of them are pretty graphic, depending on the person they’re directed towards, but sometimes im content with the usual crumble of a relationship due to careful passive aggression.

so here’s one: what if i slowly lower the level of enthusiasm i get whenever i talk to him? would he even realize? and then if he asks, I’ll go: oh! well. i thought you found it annoying. and you usually react to me with the same level of nonchalance, so I thought it’d be okay. it’s not very savage, come to think of it. but it’s something. 

last night i purposefully made myself busy. our friend shirvani was about to play league, and i agreed to a game with him when I knew it was around the time raph would be online. he sent me a message as I was halfway through the game, so of course I said “oh hey!! im in a game with shirvanini, haha sorry” and his reply was just “okay, i’ll go to bed in a bit. i’ll tell you more about the trip when i get back” and immediately left before I could squeeze in a reply

aaaaaaaaaa i feel so stupid 

it wasn’t even a minute after that i said “sorry!!! i’m still sort of here anyway, my fb messenger is on the phone.” and then, feeling guilty, i added: “i love you!! just in case you forget ; - ;” 

:’) 

joke’s on me, i guess

[another-version-of-truth]

i feel?? i dont know what to feel?? 

everything so vague vague vague am i holding on too tight am i suffocating him?? am i taking away his freedom, his boyishness, his space

i dont know. he tells me always that everything is fine, that he is not angry. or sad. he reassures me that i’m not doing anyhtign wrong but i have to apologize just in case i do and it gets so confusing sometimes because we’re okay but my brain whispers ‘no youre not’

i’m not overdependent?? i can handle myself. i know loneliness, i know independence. i embrace them both 

but is it too strange to want to hear his voice once in a while...to lose myself for a few minutes in the tiny bubble we share away from the world?? is it too strange to think about holding hands and just being content with his presence?? is it too strange. am i too strange for him

maybe i’m giving so much of myself again to somebody who won’t bother giving half as m uch effort. maybe it’s a mistake. maybe i’m a mistake all along!!

i gave him myself.... a very small but very dear part of me. i still feel different, like i’ve lost something i wasn’t entirely prepared to let go. i said, it’s for fun! and i trust you. and i wasn’t lying. im just afraid

we’re both safe, though. my first time was nice. and safe.

but i’m still afraid

and now... maybe he’s gettign bored of me...... .

i want to tell him, but surely he has a lot of other things to worry about, and theyre more important than my stupid, stupid brain 

i know this cycle. i know this cycle. ive seen this a thousand times before,

yesterday i listened to songs that reminded me of him. i sent him a message on our private chat saying that i would love to hear his voice, even if he actually hasnt been gone for very long yet (he has a week left to go before his vacation in japan is over). we dont see each other a lot usually, but talking to him has become something of a nightly habit-- a perfect wind after a tiring day of work, a little boost before going to sleep. i just wanted that!! 

we went on skype. he looked tired, quiet. i fumbled with something to talk about: dumb movies i watched with friends during the weekend, a game of league. he agreed to a vidcall!! i was happy, but the buoyant feeling was off...like i was struggling to keep my emotions afloat. 

is this the dive again, I asked my brain. is this where my mood plummets. 

in that moment, he joked: we dont always have to talk, you know.

i could feel the crash,

and now here i am.

[another-version-of-truth]

i just. dont like the feeling of being left behind okay? ??? and who would enjoy that kind of thing anyway 

we already talked abt it but theres still this heavy feeling in my chest and i cant seem to find the right words to say bc im so mad and upset!! and i should probably cool down before i ruin everything SO HERE I AM TO RANT VAGUELY ABT IT ON TUMBLR, what’s new

honestly tho it’s a stupid game damn i gotta chill 

but like. i did so much better alone. i helped carry the team. he doesnt notice bc he’s too busy doing sick plays ™ with our friend 

and when he does turn to give a compliment i feel like he’s just patronizing me like OH YEAH SHE’S HERE AND I GUESS SHE DID GREAT TOO I MIGHT AS WELL COMPLIMENT HER BEFORE SHE GETS MAD, SHOULDNT FORGET IM PLAYING WITH OTHER PEOPLE

when we finally got to lane together (and i was excited!! i remember how we used to work really well as a team) things were ok for a while and then off he goes again.....for the  sick plays ™ ...... 

im sorry should i just line up solo queue alone? maybe i’ll have more fun oops 

[another-version-of-truth]

there are cracks in the wall, one two three four five six seven eight nine ten, then whatever else comes after that. Tiffany is five: she cannot count, but she has all her fingers and she knows their digits like they had names. small and bony and with tiny lines of dirt embedded into dried skin, webs that map callous palms like constellations except less pretty. 

[another-version-of-truth]

im gen ki im genk i im genk iim genki im genki im gneki im genkgi im igenjk im gebnmi im ngek ni i mngeinki :-) 

[another-version-of-truth]

it's so unfair theyre such good people why is everybody so cruel? ?? what did my parents ever do that they cant live a comfortable life why did we go her e inthe first place when all youre gonna do is bully our famil y and take away what is ours

i wish my parents didnt have to fight evry night abt money problems i wish my sister didnt have to stop college for a sememtstr i wish i could remain in animation wthout worryin abt mony i wish my ltitle sistr didnt hav to wathc my parents fight again n again an d again

i wish i could help i wish i could do more to help but im so useless and talentless and stupid thers nothin i can do i cant even help myself

my head is blank and full of static

i wish i wish i wish i wish

[another-version-of-truth]

TOO BISHIE :) :) :) :) 

idfk im??? 

[another-version-of-truth]

SALTY SALTY SALTY SALTY SALTY

[another-version-of-truth]

ok. but honestly. breathe in, breathe out 

i’ve sort of come into terms with how clingy i actually am, and i know how dangerous it is to glorify somebody into your emotional crutch...and i’m TRYING. i just. i just like holding his hand, and feeling at home, and not having to think about anything outside the few precious hours we get to spend together

and is that so weird??? that i don’t feel like my heart is bursting, or beating too fast, or feeling at all-- it’s not what they said it was supposed to be. but it’s lovely! i don’t think i’d be so happy and comfortable if that were the case 

im alone. i dont want to feel alone. we dont even have to talk, i just want a presence there, where i can....be. 

it’s a struggle to keep everything bottled in, but done properly, it helps avoid the mess. look at this blog; it’s so beautiful and full of drama and ill thoughts, and nobody knows it exists. ideal.

i want to write more