sweetpsychos - Tumblr blog

[sweetpsychos]

[sweetpsychos]

#mood

[sweetpsychos]

[sweetpsychos]

[sweetpsychos]

[sweetpsychos]

““I hated you when we first met,” He laughed a little bitterly. The air between us filled with his cigarette smoke. I didn’t respond and continued to watch the night sky. He continued— “You stressed me out,” Looked over at me for a response but I gave none. “I thought you were the most beautiful person.” He expected me to reply, But there was nothing but a pregnant pause. He breathed out smoke again. “You still stress me out,” He laughed, Amused this time. “And you still think I’m the most beautiful person,” I smirked, finally replying and looking over. The coldest blue orbs clashed with my dark eyes. The cigarette smoke cleared And there was no air between us. “I still hate you,” He muttered tenderly before I tasted nothing but fire.”

— But they say blue flames are the hottest (C.W)

[sweetpsychos]

date someone that makes you roll your eyes and smile after

[sweetpsychos]

20FUN (kyle drabble)

The male's face scrunched into a look of disapproval as he swallowed down the amber liquid, a burning at the back of his throat as a wicked grin spread across freckled lips. He slammed the shot glass down theatrically against the tabletop, fingers drumming audibly against the surface as he chased it down with another french fry from a woven, plastic basket. 

"ALEX!" Kyle nearly shouted, leaning further across this table to his best friend, blue hues wide and alert as he wiggled slightly on his stool. "SING WITH ME. They're probably gonna call me soon...and then...you gotta think of one for us to do together when I'm done. Okay?"

He pointed his finger toward the television that stood at the front of the bar, the words to a Journey song currently scrolling across a bright blue screen in white letters that turned yellow once their moment had passed. It had been his idea to adventure out into the city for karaoke, of course, though he had never been much of a singer at all. In fact, he was probably the least qualified person who could have wrapped his fingers around a mic and yelled out pop songs for a drunken crowd; but it was his birthday. His twenty-first birthday, to be exact, and he planned to spend it however he so chose...even if he chose to make a complete ass out of himself.

"Kyle, you're up. We got a Kyle in here?" The DJ called out into one of the microphones, the male shoving himself off of the stool with a beer in one hand as he made his way up to small stage that housed a mic stand and a couple of monitors to display the lyrics. He stood in front of the mic stand and yanked the device from its holster, squinting at the monitor in front of him as it clicked down until the start of the music. Licking his lips and clearing his throat, he stood and began the path to his initial shame, a rather unique rendition of Stressed Out by Twenty One Pilots (to the surprise of literally no one, probably).

"WISH WE COULD TURN BACK TIME...TO THE GOOD OLD DAAAAAAYS..." He paced back and forth along the stage, impossibly white sneakers colliding with plywood each time  he allowed himself a little hop or a dramatic gesture, body weight leaning into the stand as he popped the microphone back into place and fell into the repetition of the bridge.It was like one of those expectations vs. reality memes that used to consume the internet, though he had absolutely no concept of the reality of the situation. In his mind, he was Bentley Nash standing on the stage of one of the biggest stadiums in the country, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans who shouted his name. In reality, he was a drunk idiot. God damn I am fucking GOOD at this! (He wasn't).

[sweetpsychos]

tom lookin’ like a snack (▰˘v˘▰)

[sweetpsychos]

#me when men compliment me

[sweetpsychos]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - “Life Serial” (2001)

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Serious Questions - Carl Grimes Edition

[sweetpsychos]

kiss me senseless. ( kyle drabble )

Therapy. A room with a ceiling fan that ran too loudly and a pen tapping rhythmically against a clipboard. "What's she like?"

━━ Kiss me senseless.  The subject of infinite adolescent fantasies, of vivid imagery painted across eyelids in the dim light; a gentle breeze through a cracked window. Strange, senseless longings like to be a plastic bottle with sticky crimson rings around the neck. A feeling in the pit of the stomach that twist like red vines and leave belly aches from all of the sugar. Shaking fingers and a tongue that has forgotten how to enunciate or write the poetry that yearned to be left between parted thighs. Obsession. Weakness. Broken heart with pieces shattered like bits of glass. Bloody palms from ripping it out for you - - - only you.  

Fingernails picking away at black polish, holes in the knees of a pair of fashionably weathered jeans. Deep, chestnut hair concealing orbs of an acidic blue hue and the action of teeth sinking into lower lip. "She's alright."

[sweetpsychos]

start at the end. ( kyle drabble )

"Start at the end."

━━ There was a sound like that of a microphone being held too close to a speaker, wretched and shrill white noise that buzzed and howled through the male's brain as it all began to come back into focus. The last thing that he remembered was the warmth in his throat from a shot of Fireball, eyelids drooping as the exhaustion became unbearable and he drifted away into what was meant to be eternal nothing. 

They said that everything would be different the second time around; that the air would smell sweeter and his heart would feel lighter. A second chance was meant to open the eyes and be a reminder of what would be missed if it were left behind...pieces of the machine that would be immobile if they were missing one of their crucial cogs. He was meant to feel regret for the pain and suffering that he'd caused, meant to feel selfish for the look of disappointment and concern buried into the lines of his father's face and in the tears that stained his mother's cheeks. Selfish. Wanting to leave was selfish. That was what everyone would say - - - - everyone who had no idea how it felt to be trapped inside of his head. Most nights he laid awake in bed and replayed the day's events as he picked his own mistakes to pieces; reliving pointless moments of embarrassment time and time again as another hour was lost to a round of Emoji Blitz because it was easier than thinking and he knew that the moment that the screen went black the panic would settle back in. In moments between rounds of Fortnite he would glance at his phone and wonder why his friends hadn't texted and try to pinpoint the precise moment that he had chased them away, wondering if it was the poor delivery of a punchline or the time he complained one too many times about the same issues that none of them cared to hear about. Or, at least, he believed that they didn't. It was impossible to shake the tension in his chest and the way that his breath felt short and staggered; another symptom to diagnose. Another colored pill to add to the rainbow.

Neither of them knew how it felt to be suffocating in his own irrational misery as he toppled off the edge of overjoyed and crash landed at dismal because he ran out of Lucky Charms or because someone had touched his favorite controller with slightly sticky hands. The triggers were small and meaningless, empty even, yet somehow they caused his world to come shattering down around him as the terror only intensified that everyone else would find him just as dramatic and psychotic as he did. He couldn't bare the thought that for even a moment, someone else looked at him the way that he looked at himself. 

Impossible to love. Someone had told him that once and he'd never forgotten it. It still caused him to lose his appetite and feel foolish for dry swallowing what was meant to regulate him - not make him feel normal. Normal was worth a quarter in the swear jar. Normal was a setting on the dryer, not a trait to assign a human being who simply needed a bit of help balancing their chemicals. At least, that was what Asha told him time and time again during their sessions as she promised him that there was nothing wrong with him, he just needed help. Was he always going to need help?

Even now, he wasn't thinking of apologies or ways to say I love you, he was thinking of the lecture and the words that he dreaded so entirely - - - the ones that resurfaced each time that the male made another mistake. "I can't lose you too." 

Stephanie's death had placed him on a pedestal too high for him to reach - - - his own ivory tower where his parents kept him shielded from the world. They reminded him of how it felt to lose a child, never wondering for even a moment of how it had felt for him to lose a confidant. A best friend. His only friend. His sister. His other half. He had to be everything that she had never gotten to be - - -had to toe the line and live in safety and suffocating boredom to shield them from more agony. Pleasing them was impossible. He'd never been allowed to be foolish or reckless or experience how it felt to fall and wipe the blood from his knees only to keep running. Bringing him to the United States had been placing him into a bubble where they thought that no one and nothing could touch him. No one and nothing but the pills that they siphoned in to keep him complacent. Start at the end.

"I'm not selfish. You are."

[sweetpsychos]

soot. ( kyle drabble )

"Have you even spoken to him since she died? Do you even f***ing care how he feels?"

━━ There were no words to explain how the pain shredded the teenager's insides; how it burned and seared the flesh and left nasty scars along his heart. Without her, the rooms felt empty and vacant. The hallways were filled with the ghosts of her laughter and the scent of her dirty clothes. 

He couldn't bare to watch them remove the body...to watch them mangle her face with cake makeup to disguise the blue of her lips and the fear behind her eyes. Sixteen years old and wearing a toe tag instead of a prom dress. Sixteen years old and never earning the right to walk across the stage with diploma in hand. Kyle couldn't even recall if she'd ever experienced heartbreak, she'd been too wild to ever let any pathetic male tie her down. There had been boyfriends, of course, but they hadn't mattered. She'd never tolerate the way that they teased her brother and the way that Star Wars posters and glowing plastic stars decorated his bedroom walls. No one in the world had been as important to her than the male that was three years younger. They had always come as a matching set...you simply couldn't have Stephanie without Kyle. Often times, they'd been mistaken for twins.

Seeing her lifeless had stolen the breath from his lungs as he felt himself gasping for air, choking on salty tears as he had begged her to wake up...wished for her to wake up...prayed to whatever cruel f***ing God that existed that she would just f***ing wake up. He'd gripped her arms and shaken her with panic and desperation. His parents had found him screaming and crying against her chest while he tried to will the sound of a heartbeat to fill his ears. It didn't seem real. None of it had ever seemed real.

Even when the family began arriving for the services it all felt like some sort of terrible nightmare. He'd expected to wake up and watch her eat cereal and tell him how tragic he was for getting so worked up over something that was only a bad dream...a fleeting memory. There was no use crying. Not when it was real. His mother had taken center stage as the protagonist of the story; a tragic mother who'd lost her pride and joy with the death of her most beautiful and most loved creation. She'd soaked in the attention as her son crumbled away to nothing - - - reclusive and mute and withdrawn until he became a shell of a human being. He had felt forgotten and thrown away. The lesser of the two. At times, he'd felt that she'd wished that it was him. Kyle had imagined it so many times that he had came to wish it himself.

No one had dared stand up to Ophelia when the woman was grieving; dared to look past the mascara stained handkerchief and tell her to wake up. No one had dared to remind her of her son and husband that were struggling to just barely hold on. Her misery was always most important...the spotlight always had to shine directly on Ophelia Lerner. No one, of course, except for his aunt Reagan who may have been the only person who could actually put fear into his mother. "How dare you speak to me like this. I just lost my DAUGHTER."

The words could have shattered windows with the ferocity of their utterance, his mother moving wildly about the living room as she drew the curtains to hide her shame.

"You still have a son, Ophelia! And he is RIGHT THERE and he NEEDS HIS MOTHER."

He had needed to feel like he wasn't alone. Ophelia had needed wine, pills, and constant unrelenting attention. The world had burned to ash around her and all she'd noticed of it was the soot that was left on her clothes.

[sweetpsychos]

bucky 001.

He was supposed to be back by now. Seconds had felt like hours as they waited in silent anticipation, eyes fixated upon the platform where Steve Rogers was meant to return after the stones had safely been brought back to the exact moment from which they had been taken. It had to be Steve. Brave, honest, and capable. It always had to be Steve.

The truth had settled in before he'd even noticed the elderly man seated against the bench in the distance, gazing out at the water where they'd said their final goodbyes to Tony Stark. He hadn't needed an explanation . . . they had always had that unspoken connection that came with a friendship that ran as deeply as it did with Steve and Bucky; he had decided not to return. Not how they had planned, anyway. 

He had always pictured a world where he and Steve grew old together; a world where they sat on a porch with glasses of lemonade, beautiful wives to keep their beds warm and a handful of children that ran screaming through the yard with games of tag and hide and seek. All of that had been a fantasy that had been so easily wiped away when he had forgotten completely who he was . . . the cocky army boy who wanted nothing more than to see the world and become a real hero. 

Instead, he had become a vacant monster who had ripped apart anything that was unwise enough to cross his path. Instead, he had become the Winter Soldier. Instead, his only dream was to be forgiven for the sins that were performed when he wasn't in control of himself . . . the sins that stained red on his palms that couldn't be washed away no matter how many times he reminded himself that it wasn't him. No matter what anyone said, what Steve said, it was him . . . and it was a burden that he would wear for the rest of his days.

For a moment he had felt betrayed by the idea of his best friend existing in a world where he was happy without him; his other half laughing, dancing, and singing his way through a beautiful existence that left him feeling joyous and fulfilled - - - an existence that Bucky Barnes would never have the pleasure of experiencing for himself. It was too late for him yet it hadn't been too late for Steve; he'd seized the opportunity and used it to be something more, to find the one thing that he had been missing through his years of being Captain America. Love. Finally, Steve Rogers had found love.

He felt homesick for an existence that he had never even known, stomach lunging uncomfortably as his eyes settled upon the face that  he'd come to know as well as his own that he suddenly didn't recognize. In that moment, he would have given anything to mirror the wrinkles and the laugh lines, to know what it had felt like to sleep with ease and in the arms of someone who thought that he was the entire world. Captain America deserved that. Steve Rogers had deserved that. The Winter Soldier didn't. Bucky Barnes didn't. Maybe this was the punishment for all of the pain and suffering that he had inflicted upon those who hadn't deserve his wrath.

A solemn smile was offered to the man who stared up toward the sun, so peaceful and happy and ready to join his fallen friends who had fought for those who were still standing; to those who hadn't been standing until their sacrifice had been made. If it hadn't been for them, Bucky wouldn't even have been there to feel such loss and impossible loneliness . . . wouldn't be able to wonder what things could have been if he'd simply refused to let Steve go alone. Realities that had never been and never would be. No Steve. No Nat. Just Bucky and his lifetime of regrets.

"You deserve a second chance, Buck." Steve had said, his voice raspy and broken yet comforting and familiar, tired and pleased as he held his precious shield forward and passed it toward the man who didn't deserve it. With wide, terrified eyes of confusion he'd slipped his arm through the straps and held the stripes and stars before him as if to block his own emotions, head shaking slowly as he tested the weight. "I can't take this, Steve. I can't be you. I'm not good enough. I've done too much. I can't expect anyone else to forgive me if I can't even forgive myself." 

A silence fell between them, Steve's lips tipping into a frown for the first time since he'd shown himself since disappearing into the machine. "You always believed in me. Is it so hard to believe that someone could believe in you?" Bucky inhaled sharply, sheild scraping against his metal arm as he moved to slip it from his grasp, eager to be rid of it as if would burn him should he hold it too long. It wasn't his. It couldn't be his. "The world needs Captain America." He stated with barely a whisper, head shaking slowly as he turned toward Sam. "But that isn't me. It's someone else's turn." With a heavy heart he held the shield out toward the man, tipping his head in assurance as he handed it over and offered a pained smile. "It's yours. I haven't earned it yet. You have."