#sum-yama

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♛

at first, it almost seems like an image of a  w a t e r c o l o r   f l o w e r ,                                          something sweet,                             something good and natural and lovely,      the curves and linesmingling like outstretched, yawning arms in the morning hours,                           with a singledark stem pointing down low to the base of the picture.              but a shift of thelight                                    sets the whole thing                                                                  on fire,                             the dark hues mixed with candy cane madness,                                          peeks and streaks of every color put on the brightest setting,                                                                                                 and maybe it’s                                                                               n o t                                                       a flower      so much as a  k n o t ,                                                                like one at the pit of someone’s stomachsomewhere,            something not terrible but powerful nonetheless.     a different angleshows the yawning instead as soft and beautiful explosions,                                  supernovae                across auniverse full of stars,                                 tiny specs of green-yellow lights flickering on theedges of the canvas.                                                                              they are waiting to be wished upon,                                                         ready to                                                                      f a l l                                                                            to earthor                                                                                           f a l l                                                                                                in love at any moment,                         just say the word.                         beautiful disasters alwaysbeing and end the same way.

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dibidibidi that’s all folks!

sam knew as soon as he sat down between imogen and sum, that this was a terrible situation and he ought to just run right now. it was bad enough that he seemed to be collecting people’s ire, getting plastered simply because he doesn’t like when people talk about him without telling him that they’re talking about him and now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place; the two girls who take up most, if not all, of his brain power, as well as contribute to 80% of his stress levels. he hates this—he wants to leave.

when sum leans over and asks her question, all the cells in his body go cold despite the way his heart beat stops and then speeds up and rushes through his system like a racecar. he feels a little out of breath and wonders if he can just pass on this, if that’s an option for this game. he doesn’t want to answer it—this is the worst question he could ever get—and sum knows it. damn her.

he turns and looks at her, his eyes squinting and dark, the amusement draining out of his face as he blinks repeatedly at her. he wants her to take it back but he can tell from her face that’s not going to happen. fucking—why is she being such a bitch? the two of them have been bickering and fighting this entire trip, and sure, maybe he’s said some hurtful things and maybe they’ve put each other in difficult situations before, but she doesn’t need to go this far. this is cruel. she knows he can’t answer something like this so simply, and stay honest. he’s gonna have to lie. messy, messy, messy.

his power is to see the future—why couldn’t he have avoided this? why can’t he see into the future to find out which answer will afford him the least amount of trouble?

he looks down into his shot glass, the silence around the table putting more and more pressure on his shoulders—he’s got to answer. but he’s not happy about it. he downs the glass even though he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t need to, slamming it on the table without a hint of a smile or a joke or anything. his voice is a slurry monotone. “jude. i pick jude, i love jude the most.” ah shit, he just ruined it. oh well.

“fuck this game, i’m out. ya’ll motherfuckers have a great fucking night, thank you very much.” so, so done. he stands up, shoving the chair behind him away and manages a grand total of about three steps before promptly tripping over his own feet and collapsing gracelessly to the floor in a big, drunken heap.

@sum-yama , @eltoromagico

[artisticfade]

cheer up buttercup

@sum-yama

samuel knocks his bottle against his teeth lightly on purpose, because even without his eyes closed like this, he is far too drunk for accurate hand-to-eye coordination. it’s not too jarring, thankfully, and there’s plenty left in the bottle so he’s not worried about missing his mark, as it were, even though a few dribbles do manage to roll on down his chin, but he’s not so far gone yet that he doesn’t notice. he laughs at his own silliness and wipes his mouth with his arm. the motion sets him off-balance even more than he already is, the sand beneath his feet shifting and betraying his already clumsy walk.

he ends up running into sum a little bit, nudging her as she walks along beside him, which only makes him laugh a little hard, the alcohol in his system heightening the hilarity of this situation. she probably has no idea what’s wrong with him, but he can’t help but think it’s so damn funny. he veers away from her a bit before the smile completely washes right off his face, the melancholy returning in an instant. he leans his head back, his neck protruding, and stares up at the moon hanging large overhead. “this walk is making me feel better,” he mumbles sleepily, even though his countenance doesn’t really prove that.

he’s been a bit depressed since his conversation with imogen earlier, like the waves themselves had come right up to him on the beach and stole his soul down into the depths below. he doesn’t know how to bring it back now, hoping he can just keep drinking and drinking and drinking until he passes out and then he can resume back to his spiral of degeneration in peace. maybe souls weren’t all that necessary in the first place if this is what it’s like being without. it’s almost more comfortable this way.

[solobyduality-blog]

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.

SOLO: yo sooooSOLO: you think if an alien was named AlSOLO: other aliens would call it an AL-ienSOLO: ?????SOLO: hello?SOLO: ✌️👽

[twelvesignsrp]

this is sum!

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