Cecil

@softestpunk.bsky.social

175 Followers 152 Following

Storyteller + rat de bibliothèque. Smale beste of gentil kinde. Relic of the 80s. They/them.

Photo of a dark tortoiseshell tabby cat sitting on top of a Scrabble box lid full of tiles
Screenshot of text which reads: In 1900 the charitable St. James Society offered free heroin through the mail to anyone wishing to kick morphine.
Photo of a blood pressure monitor showing a reading of 94/58 and a heart rate of 48
Photo of a can of Celsius energy drink in the flavour Sunset Vibe which claims to contain no real fruit, essential flavours, zero sugar, and green tea extract
Screenshot of text which reads: Next year would be her hundredth deathiversary. I was still trying to figure out what to do for it. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing to celebrate, exactly, but I felt like I ought to acknowledge it somehow. I would’ve sent flowers to her grave, but she’d been cremated. It was a myth that cremating remains destroyed ghosts. I didn’t know why anyone believed it—they were fundamentally not attached to the bodies they’d had in life anymore. That was how death worked.
Screenshot of text which reads: Alex switched free hands to ruffle Benji’s hair, smiling down at him. “Hey, trouble. Say hi to Uncle Max.” Benji turned and stared up at me. He was heart-meltingly adorable, just like Flora. Then he tipped his head back and let out a long, high-pitched howl. I managed to let him finish before I started laughing. “Awoo to you too, kiddo,” I said, crouching to his level. We’d drawn a few stares, but there was no sense of a threat about them. A few people cooing or laughing to themselves. “That was a pretty good howl. You been practicing?”
Screenshot of text which reads: August looked at me again, brow raised. “Because you’re a werewolf?” I blinked at him. How did he—? “How did you…?” The corner of his lips twitched into a fleeting, self-satisfied, unbelievably sexy smirk. “I have my ways. But it’s not your fault, Claude hisses at everyone because he’s a bad cat. The next full moon is Tuesday. Will you be staying that long?” “I, umm…” That, I didn’t have an answer to. “I can take myself somewhere else?” August waved a hand, grabbing a pen and notepad and scribbling something on it. About me, presumably. “We’re equipped to accommodate guests with specific requirements. The gardens are fully and robustly fenced.”
Screenshot of text which reads: “No,” I hissed. “Gloria, don’t you dare—” Too late. The snowball sailed through the air, Gloria’s throwing arm proving to be better than I would have expected as it found its target and exploded against Max’s shoulder. Max turned, eyes falling directly on me. Which was, from his perspective, where the snowball had come from. His mouth fell open. I held my hands up in defence, but then that was exactly what someone who’d just thrown a sneak attack snowball would have done. Max scooped up a handful of snow, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “I swear,” I started, backing up a few paces as he approached me, rounding his snowball off. “It wasn’t—” The snowball hit my shoulder—the one I hadn’t fallen on—and burst. Freezing snow sprayed over the side of my face, into my ear and hair.
Photo of the spines of paperback copies of Stephen Fry's Mythos, Heroes, Troy, and Odyssey lined up in a row demonstrating that Troy is a larger format than the rest
Screenshot of text which reads: The record keeping here was all analogue, in notebooks and physical files and that kind of thing. Because the place was so heavily warded. My phone worked just fine, except in a few spots where the signal would cut out, but if the wards were ever set off—and they were, occasionally, when something with less honourable intentions than an upset ghost or a vampire looking for somewhere to shelter for a day or two showed up—there was a risk they’d fry a harddrive. We still provided complimentary wi-fi, of course. We weren’t animals.
Photo of a large square paperback book titled Medieval Needlepoint with an image of a medieval unicorn on a tapestry cushion on the cover
Screenshot of text which reads: It was just possible I was a little more in tune with all the beautiful things in the world on account of the company I was in. Even the squirrel hanging off the repaired feeder I’d filled with dried apricots—and nuts and seeds—as promised was the cutest squirrel I’d ever seen. At the centre of it all was Augie, the last of the sunlight tangled in his hair like gold threads, his face turned a quarter away from me as he looked up at the oak. I’d made him laugh. Better, when I’d come back he’d practically bounded up the basement steps to see me, smile already on his face. There’d been a nervous pause. I’d set down the paint and the rest of the things I’d grabbed in town. The pause had broken as we both closed the rest of the distance between us and he’d turned his face up to mine and let me kiss him hello.
Screenshot of text which reads: Evie—a short blonde with an almost perfectly round face covered in freckles and the cutest button nose I’d ever seen—had already started on Melody’s order when I approached the counter. She told me Melody’s favourite seasonal treat were the tree-shaped peppermint chocolate brownies and handed me the tea I’d had last time without being asked. When I picked up the tray she’d set everything on, I couldn’t quite remember actually ordering any of it. I backed out of the door to find Melody sitting at one of the tables nearest one of the outdoor heaters. She beamed at me as I set the tray down, still a little confused. “Evie has that effect on people,” she said. “You’re spoiling me.”
Screenshot with text which reads: A knock on the door made me look up. Just as well, because the foot on this sock had gotten long while I’d been brooding. How long had I been at it now? “It’s August,” August’s voice came through the door. “I thought, uh. I wondered if… there’s hot chocolate. For you. If you want it.” All thoughts of my sister left my mind completely as I bounded out of the armchair, dropping my knitting onto before heading for the door. It was completely ridiculous how much I liked August, and obviously it couldn’t go anywhere, but I was allowed to enjoy being around him while I was here. I’d learned to enjoy things while they lasted and not worry too much about the future.
A Christmassy moodboard with images of a wolf, a reindeer mug of hot chocolate, a black and white picture of two masculine hands linked together, a black Queen Anne-style house, and a deep red swatch of cabled knitting
Screenshot of text which reads: “Our room rates are—” “A third of what they should be if you were offering real ghosts,” Estella finished for me, floating an inch off the ground. “I’m trying to say competitive.” The washing machine door squealed as I tugged it open. It was more horrifying than any ghost ever could be. That was probably easier to say when you’d met dozens of ghosts. It was just possible people who hadn’t would enjoy the novelty. It was just possible I’d been living in a haunted forest too long to see the ghostly trees. If that made sense as a metaphor at all. Estella made a dismissive sound. “Competitive with what competition? You’re the only game in town.” “There’s a Holiday Inn just off the freeway.”
Screenshot of text which reads: the skin and smiling at the shiver it earned me. "Should I mention how gorgeous you are, or lesve thsr dimndddddd dffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff fffffffffffff dare
Top down photo of the cap of a mushroom, red with white spots (amanita muscaria)
Cropped screenshot of a Scrivener window top bar with the project title "haunted b&b"
Video of a tiny pastel green caterpillar waving around on a mustard yellow knit cardigan
Photo of a pink keyboard, black reusable coffee cup and small glass container of strawberries set on a table overlooking a set of swings
Screenshot of text which reads: [they fuck]
Photo of an uprooted brown mushroom that looks remarkably like a shrivelled penis
Photo of two tiny flat round translucent mushrooms from above
Photo of a pair of mushrooms with beige stems and round chocolate brown scaly caps
Photo of a colony of white and grey bracket fungus growing from the foot of a tree
Photo of a hanging bunch of unusually elongated black grapes
Photo of a tightly packed cluster of grey-brown mushrooms with conical caps. They look like they're about to ask you to join their polycule.
Photo of a cluster of tiny beige mushrooms with conical caps growing on pine bark mulch
photo of the white gills of a mushroom half-emerged from soil and leaf litter
Photo of a golden brown mushroom with its cup inverted to show the gills amongst leaf litter
Photo of a partially knitted sock cuff and leg on double-pointed needles in hot pink and neon green yarn
Photo of a pair of green and purple striped socks on a pair of feet which are up on a desk. Each sock has the opposite stripe pattern and cuff/heel/toe colour to the other.
Photo of a tiny jar of Bonne Maman poires et mandarines à la cannelle jam
Photo of a green and purple striped hand-knit sock modelled on a foot
Photo of a tiny jar of Bonne Maman ananas au rhum et à la vanille jam
Photo of a tiny jar of Bonne Maman cerises à la feuille de violette jam
Photo of a tiny jar of Bonne Maman noisettes et cacao spread
Screenshot of a Scrievener wordcount bar which reads: 33,158 words
Photo of a tiny 30g jar of Bonne Maman Apricots au Miel jam
Photo of a small cluster of brown bell-shaped mushrooms with frost covering the caps
Photo of a narrow rainbow gum tree trunk showing the bark peeling to reveal bright greens, deep purples, oranges, yellows, and reds
Photo of a very orange mushroom cap growing on a log
Photo of a model of a transparent aqua liquid soap bottle shaped like a hippopotamus, about an inch and a half long, held in a pale hand
Photo of a pale hand with purple ink stains on the fingers
Photo of pale green and yellow-gold lichen commingling on a tree trunk with dappled lighting
Screenshot of an email with the header Winners of the 2024 New Media Writing Prize and the text Writers Online Student Prize: you have created a monster. by Cecil Wilde circled in purple.
Photo of a tabby cat sniffing a copy of Donna Scott's Vivid Worlds anthology
Cropped screenshot of an email which reads: Congratulations, Cecil Wilde! Your work you have created a monster. has been shortlisted for the Chris Meade Memorial Main Prize, the Student Prize and the Opening Up Prize in this year's New Media Writing Prize. We had an amazingly strong field this year, and we're honoured you chose to submit your work to us.
Photo of the open edge of a stack of four thick books, each with a large number of multicoloured page flags sticking out of them. The top book is just about identifiable as Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber.
Photo of a baking rack piled with thin, toasted slices of hot cross bun
Photo of a palm-sized, ornately framed portrait of a family of sheet ghosts on a watercolour background
Photo of a tabby cat sleeping tucked into the back of a desk chair with a remarkably smug expression
Photo of two tiny figurines: one a slightly chubby mummy, the other a clearly knockoff Jack Skellington
Photo of a tiny chubby mummy figurine a little over two fingers tall
Photo of a tabby cat with a white underbelly looking upside down at the camera with a prodigiously vacant expression
Photo of a latte taken top-down. The lighter part of the foam forms an open quotation mark shape
Photo of a pale left hand on which the thumb, index, and middle fingers are covered in blue-black ink
Photo of a handful of golden, slightly shiny baked dough balls on a wire rack
Photo of a packet of coca-cola flavoured oreos amongst a tea set