#Cecilia Writes

[complementaryhalves]

when you plan to write a cute little scene and go look for real life info and the real life in question was indeed very cute

[yxlenas]

some NYE Chrissy/Robin/Nancy for the soul

[someforeignband]

🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday!🪱

having thoughts about eddie and steve going to visit steve’s grandmother! (im spending the week with my nanna and am having thoughts)

It starts with this nebulous idea that Steve’s parents didn’t want to take care of Francesca’s mother after her husband died, so they moved Steve’s maternal grandmother to a 65+ community in Sun City, Arizona. Just like their son, they’d much rather ship off Franny’s mother instead of dealing with her needs. So, they leave sweet Cecilia in a massive 2,900 square foot condo in the Arizona desert, all by herself.

One afternoon in march, Steve gets a call from his Nonna. She explains she has had some plumbing issues and neither Franny, nor Richard is returning her calls. She complains that there’s palm fronds in her yard, and with the state of her back, she just can’t fix all of these things on her own.

“How do you feel about a trip to Arizona?” Steve would ask Eddie, after a two-and-a-half hour long conversation with his grandmother.

Thusly, a PanAm flight to Phoenix was booked. It was Eddie’s first time on a plane. Despite his nerves prior to getting on the flight, he has a marvelous time. Eddie discovers that he loves turbulence and puts his hands up and giggles the whole time.

Steve, to Eddie’s dismay, is the exact opposite. He squeezes the armrest the entire 3.5 hour flight. He can’t stand how relaxed Eddie is, not understanding how someone like Eddie could just be so calm.

Once they land, Steve tries to brief Eddie on his Nonna’s disposition. “She’s sort of a firecracker, Eddie. Very particular about pretty much everything. I’m sorry if she’s mean to you.”

Eddie tells him not to worry about it, assures him they’ll get through the weekend.

To Steve’s delight (and Eddie’s utter surprise), Nonna takes to Eddie like a fish to water. He can talk about the Bible with her. Wayne’s been pretty devout his whole life, so when Eddie makes a comment about her dish towel with Philippians 4:6-7 printed on it, Steve knows Eddie’s going to practically be family.

Cece is ecstatic to be able to show the boy pictures of Italia and tell him stories about her upbringing. She shows him pictures of Franny, pictures of her late husband, and her collection of photos of Steve’s baptism. It keeps Cece distracted, while Steve gets to work fixing her kitchen plumbing.

Steve can’t help but grin to himself like a madman as he tinkers with her pipes, listening to his Nonna and his boyfriend volley back and forth. Sharp as whips, the both of them, and god it was nice to watch Eddie get on with someone who was blood to him.

Steve didn’t have much family that bothered to be in his life.

It was nice.

And best of all— at least for Nonna— Eddie can eat her food. Eddie can seriously put it away. Steve stops after one helping of Parmigiana di Melanzane, but Eddie has two more servings, and saves room for dessert.

“Eat up, Edoardo,” Cece pats his cheek. “Too skinny, Stephano. You starving him?”

“Never, Nonna,” Steve laughs, shaking his head, watching Eddie shovel another spoonful into his mouth, grinning at Steve across the dining room table.

Despite the fact that they’ve been seeing each other for a few months, after dancing around each other for the better part of two years—Eddie’s feeling things about Steve fixing his grandmas plumbing, doing yard work, etc. The flush in Steve’s face, hands on his hips, complaining about the state of the yard: Eddie’s never felt more in love (and other tingly, warm sensations).

Further, Eddie watches Steve and Cece scream at each other in stilted Italian as she tries to pick up a scorpion and take it outside with her bare hands. Finally, after about forty-five seconds of screaming and the scorpion trying to wiggle away, Steve takes Eddie’s boot and smacks the thing with a scared squeal. It crunches under the sole and twitches a few times before dying on the salmon colored tile, guts splattered everywhere.

“You handled that well,” Eddie muses, once the whole ordeal is over, taking a dishcloth and floor cleaner, scrubbing at the thing’s guts.

“I couldn’t let her get stung. She’s seventy-nine!” Steve says, then shudders. “I never wanna do that again.”

Later that night, Eddie sips coffee out of a lumpy clay mug, a Stephano Original, while she and Steve play rummy. Catching eyes over the table, they smile at each other, knowingly. After a while, Eddie gets tired, slinking off to the office, where Cecilia had set him up with an air mattress.

Before Steve retires to the spare bedroom that night, his Nonna pulls him aside, wrapping him in a warm hug.

“Ti voglio,” She whispers, kissing his temple, smoothing his hair back.

“I love you too,” Steve answers quietly, thrown off by the unexpected display of affection.

“And,” She pauses, scrunching her dark eyebrows together, deciding exactly what to say. “I really like that boy, Stephano.”

Steve’s chest fills with warmth, not knowing exactly if she means what he hopes she means. But at that moment, he’ll take it.

“Me, too, Nonna.” He whispers, grinning at her. “Me, too.”

TAGGING ONLY @yours-etc!!!! WRITE SOMETHING I MISS YOUR WRITING

[feral-ballad]

Cecilia Woloch, from Carpathia; “Carpathia”

[Text ID: “Having failed and failed at love. / Having gone anyway, / breath after breath. / Having trusted the world to be kind / and stood in the doorway / and listened for wolves / and heard my own dead in the high / grass whispering, / beloved, beloved, beloved.”]

[birdsribcage]

ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢᵃᵈ ˡᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ˢᵒ ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ʲᵒᵘʳⁿᵃˡᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ, ˢᵒ ʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʷʳᵒᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ, ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵉᵐᵇᵉˡˡᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ˢᵒ ᶦᵗ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ᵃˢ ⁿᶦᶜᵉ ᶦⁿ ᴱⁿᵍˡᶦˢʰ ᵃˢ ᶦᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ⁿᵃᵗᶦᵛᵉ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ.

"Honestly, it’s strange being wanted. I remember not too long ago, on my knees, praying to some god I didn’t even fully believe in, begging him to make me desirable. Back then, I thought all it took was being skinny, like, once I was small enough, everyone would like me more. I’m still not skinny, which sucks, but I discovered that if I make myself just pitiful enough, they like me—or at least, they get entertained enough to toss a little attention my way. And I mean, who am I to be picky, right? Beggars can’t be choosers. Even if that attention comes at the price of oversexualising myself for their entertainment, or enticing their saviour complex by being a dumb lost girl who they can swoop away in their white horse and shinning armour.

Sometimes I watch my friends who just started having actually relationships, and the way they look at one another so tenderly and hold eachother while whispering things only they can hear, exchanging cute smiles and soft kisses... I can't help but think that I will never be loved that way. Most times I don't even feel worthy of that tender, soft, kind of love. Maybe some people were just made to be alone.

And yet, the attention I receive is fleeting—like a fire that burns bright and fast, only to fizzle out just as quickly as it appeared. I’m just like a new toy, exciting and shiny until the novelty wears off, left discarded once the wonder fades. And for some reason, I still can’t stop chasing it, even though I know exactly how it ends: with me hurting, crying, and wondering if I'm not lovable enough.

'A toast to Emily, always the bridesmaid, the bride'.

[bambiali]

The girls were right in choosing to love Trip, because he was the only boy who could keep his mouth shut. By nature Trip Fontaine possessed the discretion of the world's great lovers, seducers greater than Casanova because they didn't leave behind twelve volumes of memoirs and we don't even know who they were.

The virgin suicides, 1993 Jeffrey Eugenides

[garadinervi]

Theo Van Doesburg, L'Aubette : projet pour une table d'indication, (graphite pencil, India ink and gouache), 1927 [Centre Pompidou, Paris. Photo: Cecilia Laulanne/Centre Pompidou]

[heavenlytouches]

Robbie Turner- the whisper of healing

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- mentions of war, slight PTSD

Robbie survived the war with only injuries, he's in hospital

NURSE! reader comforting him <3

Robbie Turner

The hallway of St. Thomas's Hospital is filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and an undertone of lavender from wash cloths. The air is heavy with the weight of stories untold, of lives interrupted by war that ended last mont. Ever since then, you've been caring for a lot of patients. One of them was young Robbie Turner, a man your age.

You push open the door to room 204, heart thumping a little faster than usual, excited and nervous. Your uniform brushes against you, a reminder of your duties, yet a part of you longs for the moment you spend with him.

Robbie Turner sits by the window, his blue eyes scanning the street below, shadows dancing across freckled cheeks. He looks like a wistful poet in some far-off garden, contemplating life’s agonies and joys.

Having served in the war, the weight of those experiences clings to him like a heavy coat, but today feels different—there’s a certain lightness in his demeanor as you enter.

“Hey, soldier.”

You softly greet him, eliciting a shy smile that flickers across his pink lips, momentarily dispelling the clouds in his gaze.

He turns his head slightly, his shoulder catching the sunlight in just the right way, illuminating the bandage that swathes his wound.

"Hey.."

He replies, his voice still laced with that charming, flirty tone that makes your heart race, though he artfully disguises it behind a mask of shyness. His freckled cheeks blush ever so slightly—his tell when he's nervous.

“How are you feeling today?”

You ask, approaching him, unable to suppress a smile of your own, your heart fluttering at the sight of him.

Robbie shrugs lightly, careful not to jostle his wounded shoulder.

“Like a new man.”

He says, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“A little less battle-worn, I suppose."

You settle into the chair beside him, your proximity allowing you to catch a glimpse of vulnerability in his expression.

“You sound better than yesterday.”

You say, leaning forward, genuinely interested. There’s an underlying sadness in his eyes that you long to chase away, if only he would let you.

“It’s the company.”

He responds, glancing sideways at you, a wink and spark in his already luminous blue eyes. It surprises you how close you got in a month, yet it feels comforting.

“Just a nurse doing her job.”

You reply, grinning playfully. Inside, you feel the truth of your words; you dearly wish to be more than just a passing duty to him. You want to hold that gaze forever and comfort his restless spirit. In a month you became more than nurse and her patiend, you're good friends. Very good.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, the occasional shuffle of nurses and doctors floating in and out, but there’s a cocoon around you both.

He steals glances at you, his eyes sparkling with gratitude, yet there’s also that sheen of something more, something deeper—something that feels like longing.

“Can I ask you something?”

He finally breaks the quiet, turning to you fully, his brows slightly furrowed. He seems hesitant, contemplating his words with the solemnity of a soldier preparing for battle.

“Of course Robbie.”

You encourage gently, feeling your heart seize in anticipation.

“Do you ever think about how life changes?”

He asks, his tone profound, the boyish flirt transformed into an old soul wrestling with the weight of experience.

“Before and after the war?”

His gaze drifts out of the window, losing itself somewhere in memories etched in the lines of his laughter.

"I do,” you admit, leaning closer.

“Life has a way of flipping everything upside down. But it’s what we make of the time afterward that matters.”

His blue eyes find yours again, vulnerability peeling away some of the bravado.

“And how does one figure out what to make of it?”

He hits you with a piercing question that mirrors your own struggles.

"You take small steps," you reply

Biting your lip, a wave of empathy washing over you.

“It's about finding comfort in the people around you...”

There’s a heartbeat of stillness between you both, a moment where the world outside seems to fade. He studies you, and you know he sees: your gentle smile, the way your hair falls over your eyes, the tender kindness that brims in your gaze. Robbie's hand rests near your own, the space between them electric.

“Do you think...”

His voice trails off, and you lean in closer, captivated by the moment.

“Do you think we could discover that together? Comfort, I mean?”

“Oh, Robbie...”

You whisper, realizing your own feelings are mirrored in his. There’s an undeniable pull, a breathless intimacy in the air.

“I’d like that very much.”

His fingers brush against yours, hesitant yet hopeful—a gentle reminder of the warmth of human connection, ignited by the simple touch. You feel tingles travel up your spine, a gentle tremor of excitement mixed with trepidation.

“I don't think I'll ever feel... normal after everything.”

He confesses, glancing down at your joined hands, the golden afternoon light wrapping around your fingers.

“But with you, I might..I can try.”

Your heart melts, and a soft smile sprawls across your lips.

“You don't deserve to feel that way, Robbie."You’ve endured so much, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder what lies ahead—a new beginning or just another chapter of life’s endless tales? But whatever it is, you realize with clarity that you want to walk this path with him.

“Do you think it’s crazy?”

He asks, small laughter bubbling up within him, lightening the air.

“To want something more after everything?”

“No, it's human."

You answer softly, your heart racing with a mix of joy and anticipation.

A flicker of mischief dances across his eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Then perhaps it’s time to start writing a new story—I’ve had enough of tragedy.”

“Only if I can be part of that story.”

You squeeze his hand and lean a little closer. The space narrows, the world fading to insignificance. Your hearts beat in sync—a promise of the future layered with unspoken words.

Robbie smiles, that boyish, flirty charm surfacing anew.

“Believe me, my lovely nurse, you already are.”

In the warmth of that moment, you both know the truth: healing takes time, but maybe, just maybe, it can also mean rediscovering love in each other’s eyes.

The war is over, but perhaps, you think, this is just the beginning. The chapter is unwritten, but the whispers of healing sound like a sweet serenade, one you both long to share together.

Yaaaay Atonement!! I SWEAR GUYS I WAS CRYING WHILE WRITING THIS. The ending he deserved- a new begining.

Hope you liked this drabble <3 I can create more James McAvoy-related content; remember, requests are always welcome!

I love you guys so much

(@iseveryoneherederanged tagged u like I said <33)

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[berryblueshortcake]

am i ??!???

[glitter-andgold]

I mean, that's totally how it happened right

// This was definitely funnier in my head but the bit wouldn't leave my brain until I made it lmao

[arythias]

the brainworms i have for them are so fucking incomparable i dont know what to call this feeling. im so lost in the sauce.

[complementaryhalves]

so......... fic where lando starts talking and fake flirting with the oscar look-alike gymnast just to make oscar jealous, hoping it'll push him to make a move?

he talks to him all summer break, updating oscar about it while oscar pretends he doesn't care, and then invites him to the dutch gp (since he's dutch), and oscar has to smile and be nice for PR while internally seething, and lando is giggling and blushing around this guy, who may be genuinely into lando or was somehow convinced to play along, and oscar is just resigned because who could resist lando, and then idk, maybe lando gets a podium or a win (it's just fiction im not jinxing it), and oscar watches the guy congratulate him and lando be all cute about it and invite him to whatever post-race celebration they're having. and when he asks oscar, oscar says he's not going, he can enjoy his hot gymnast or whatever, and they kinda argue, lando is all like why do you even care about that, and oscar finally loses it and kisses him. the end. or not. whatever xd

i need to write this now

[yxlenas]

Without You Without Them, by reysrose on AO3

After the town splits open a patrol goes bad. In the aftermath, Nancy finally falls apart.

An Eddie and Nancy platonic soulmates agenda fic feat injury bandaging, Ronance, and Steddie.

[kawaiibaphomet]

Time for me to stop being so lazy and get back to drawing!

Here's a lil Ceelie doodle I did for fun about a month ago! As soon as I saw the pink dress I knew I had to draw it 😊

St. Cecilia belongs to @gointothevvater ❤️❤️

[feral-ballad]

I wish for you the book of childhood’s secrets, love’s dark stairs. I climbed them once to you; would climb again toward you now. And keep you company awhile. And lie down next to you. Oh lamb.

Cecilia Woloch, from Carpathia; “The Silk of Longing Is Never Worth What We Are Paid”

[vibe-stash]

All About My Mother (1999) dir. Pedro Almodóvar