#cyber writes

[cyb3r-lyc4nthr0p3]

Being obsessive and overly dependent with my questionably older f/o>>>>

[cyberwebz]

This is from my WIP called ‘I Wish I’d Met You Later’ - Harringrove, post Halloween party

They laid on the hood of the Camaro for a while, staring up at the stars, passing the joint to the other and back again in silence. The chill of the October air numbed their skin as they sunk into their highs. A smile broke over Steve’s face, twisted and full of bitterness and breaking the silence with it too. He laughed. A small chuckle. Then deep howling amusement. The sounds of which bounced off the trees and echoed over the cliff’s edge. His chest tightened with each convulsion; tears stung his eyes as reality sunk in. He pinched the tip of his nose, a trick he had learned to keep up the solid masculine appearance his father always insisted upon. Still, a single drop spilled over and down his cheek.

Billy watched the whole endeavour behind the filter of a Marlboro Red. When the silence resumed, save for the sounds of the water below and the chirp of crickets in the grass, it was Billy’s turn to disrupt it. 

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington. She’ll get over herself and come crawling back. Bitches always do.” He blew out the smoke over the brunet's face and smirked when Steve breathed deeply to inhale it.

“No. No, she was right. It’s all just…Bullshit.” Her voice resonated in his head as he said it. 

‘Bullshit.’

Now that the weed had loosened up his body, Steve was powerless to stop the thoughts in his head from falling from his lips. “She doesn’t love me. I don’t think she ever did. Jonathan was right there the whole fucking time. God, I’m such an idiot!” He paused. And then, “FUCK!” he yelled into the darkness. His hands fell to his sides in defeat. Their knuckles brushed together slightly.

Steve looked to where their hands rested now, side by side on the cold Chevrolet metal. He could feel the heat radiating off of Billy; the Californian blood persistent in his veins. 

“Hot.” 

It was meant to be just a thought, but there it was now floating away on cigarette smoke and midwestern wind. Out of Steve’s dumb mouth and into Billy’s vigilant ears. 

Billy hummed and quirked an eyebrow. Interesting.

Steve grazed the back of his hand against Billy’s, his eyes half-lidded and a breath caught in his throat. He threaded his long fingers between the blonds and completely lost himself in the feel of their skin moving together.

The long content sigh Billy expressed pulled Steve from his reverie. He snatched his hand away and bolted to sit upright. Fuck. 

“Sorry. I’m like, so stoned, y’know.”

Billy smirked. He’d heard that before. “No need to apologise, Harrington. Marijuana,” he scoffed “can really fuck with you.” He pushed himself up so they were sitting side by side again and placed a hand on the other boy’s thigh. 

Steve watched Billy’s every move. He studied the angle of his jaw and the slope of his nose, mapping the freckles spattered over his cheekbones. The blue of his eyes was lost under the dim glow of the moon beyond the clouds, but the glint remained when they flicked down to glance at Steve’s mouth. 

“I should be- um…”

Billy shushed him and leaned in slowly. His breath ghosted over Steve’s face and it smelt of tobacco, weed, and beer, with a hint of spearmint gum. All Steve could hear was his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. When Billy shifted to get closer he found a palm on his exposed chest. 

“I’m not- I- I’m sorry.” His eyebrows knitted together in shame. Shame from the situation or his aversion, he wasn’t sure. 

Billy removed his hand from where it was still resting on Steve’s upper thigh, turned away, and pulled out his pack. His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and lit up. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated quietly. “I should go.”

“Whatever, Harrington. No big deal. Go on, fuck off home.” Billy kept his eyes laser-focused on the cliff's edge. He didn’t move until he heard the Beamer’s engine turning over and pulling away on the gravel track. “Fuck!” He shouted, slamming his fist down on his car.

[cyb3r-lyc4nthr0p3]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ginger Snaps (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Brigitte Fitzgerald/Ginger Fitzgerald, Brigitte Fitzgerald & Ginger Fitzgerald Characters: Brigitte Fitzgerald, Ginger Fitzgerald Additional Tags: Sister/Sister Incest, Brigitte's Pov, Title from a Song Summary:

Brigitte grapples with the confusing thoughts she has about her sister.

[cyb3r-lyc4nthr0p3]

This fanfic shit is easy

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Everyone go read my Fitzcest fanfic

[cyb3r-lyc4nthr0p3]

I genuinely think it's hypocritical to be a horror lover, metalhead or dnd player and be anti pro ship. It was only a few decades ago when there was mass censorship of horror media, metal music and dnd out of feat that it was corrupting people and turning them into sex crazed, devil worshipping monsters.

[cyb3r-lyc4nthr0p3]

"Out by 16 or dead on the scene" -You can call me Cyber -My pronouns are he/it -17, almost 18 (there will be mild nsfw) -This is a proship/darkship account, block me if you don't like that -Mostly here to post about my favourite couple sisters -antis, radqueers, pro contact, maps/zoos/necros, under 16s dni

Tags cyber speaks - my posts cyber's favourites - reblogs cyber writes - my writing

"But together for ever"

[cyberbliitz]

Phantom Maestro || Monster Masquerade Prompt

AN: Just something dumb I whipped up for the MM event. Posting this after the event cuz of content theft

Through the fog and past the graveyard overgrown with rotten pumpkins, stood a lonely castle. Its spires would reach into the night sky, capturing the stars. The doors were grown over years and years, never to open again. Thought to be abandoned, the castle’s outdoors would slowly be taken over by thorny vines and remain at rest.

But every night, exactly at the 11th hour, a sorrowful melody would pour out from the castle’s old organ. Any restless spirits would be put to sleep upon being serenaded by this music.

Once thought to be a ghastly siren was the work of a dedicated musician, thousands of years old and only living for his craft, the Phantom Maestro.

[theblackparadeisdead]

Will we, won't we, never say die

I ran away when I was eight

I reached the end of the street and came crawling back

I missed the warmth that comes with hate

I'm picking petals off of daisies

The sun is high and hot

It's another migraine sunday

Today she loves me not

You loved me once, I still remember

Kissed tears right off my face

But that was a long, long time ago

Different people, different place

I'm picking petals off your roses

That red is all I've got

It's another lonely tuesday

Again she loves me not

You said I'm not who you wanted

I'm not, so I agree

I dont fit this choking, tailored skin

But I like the blood on my teeth

Bouquet massacre lines the ground

Petal shrapnel from my thoughts

Touch the bruises on my cheek

Today she loves me not