wildbasilius-blog

[wildbasilius-blog]

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

[wildbasilius-blog]

Sylvie wasn’t one for watching movies. They were, in general, about a half hour too long for her attention span and most of them had disappointing endings anyway. However, she had stumbled upon a marathon of heist movies at 3 am a few weeks before and it was them she was reminded of as she managed to smuggle an entire bottle of wine out of the dining room. The slightly too large suit jacket’s pockets had played an essential role, as had the backs of her taller friends as shields from the mass of wealthy mourners who filled the room. The sound of gossip and grief faded behind her as she made her way up the staircase and down a long hallway until she found a place that could provide the appropriate amount of privacy to get nicely drunk and ignore everyone else. 

Despite all precautions, she was only slightly tipsy by the time she heard footsteps making their way down the hallway, and she hissed a quick curse. The desire to be left alone felt strange in her chest. Even when everyone in the world made her angry, Sylvie still sought them out; falling into beds that would have her and throwing punches at anyone who looked at her wrong. Contact grounded her, helped to silence the buzzing in her mind and the feeling that she was expanding to be too large for her body. Her mass of curls, already fallen out of the attempts to make it into presentable, tumbled into her face as she peered out of the stairwell to see who the visitor was. “Lost or hiding?” she called out, taking another drink from the heavy bottle in her hand. “If it’s the second, sorry, but it doesn’t seem l...like this is the best spot.”

[wildbasilius-blog]

emramos‌:

There was only so much bullshit she could handle. She didn’t exactly have any moral opposition to lying, but as a believer of brutal honesty she could only uphold the coy and clueless exterior she’d slipped on alongside a slightly too revealing black dress this morning for so long. And after sitting through mass – something she avoided like the plague unless visiting family –  and a few hours of the wake, she’d met her quota. All of these people – sharing memories and tearing up and reminiscing about what might have been, about a light extinguished too soon and all of them knowing exactly what hat happened. Up to a certain point, at least. If one more aunt or whatever these people were came up to her to reminisce about marriages and children he’ll never have, she might just hurl herself at them.

So, she did them all a favor and retreated until she’d found her cool again. The outside seemed like a good place to calm a heated spirit and so she found herself perched on a bench in the garden, attempting to find some sort of peace in the noise of the fountain splattering in front of her. She only heard the footsteps behind her when they were close, the water too loud to alert her any sooner. Still, she barely reacted, just lifted the glass of alcohol (stronger now, she’d moved past the champagne portion of the evening) to her lips and took a slow sip. “What do you want?” Distaste about being intruded on was obvious in her voice and her refusal to even turn around spoke of the same. “There’s what? Six-thousand acres of this estate and I can’t even find a ten feet radius for myself.” If this was another aunt – she kind of had it coming.

The main benefit of not having being one of the families who had known each other for seven generations was that Sylvie could easily slip away without anyone much caring. Everyone was eager to talk to the current society members; excited to be loudly mourning and looking for any sort of gossip Ed’s “friends” could provide them, but they soon caught on to the fact that she was hardly a legacy member of Pandidakterion. She’d long since finished the hoard of food she’d taken from the buffet and had taken to wandering the halls and trying to guess which rooms were the most likely to be haunted. Standing in the woods in silence, staring at the dirt and listening. Suddenly it was too hard to breathe inside, the heavy stone walls pressing in to suffocate her, and she hastily traced her steps back outside.

The faint mist felt cool on her skin and she didn’t mind the mud that was surely gathering on her shoes as she drifted off of the path. It was a different kind of quiet out here: not heavy and oppressive like the silence of the castle, it was a calmer, more familiar quiet. The sound of a fountain caught her attention and without thinking she headed for it. It was the sort of thing the other members of Pandidakterion reprimanded: you can’t just follow everything that enters your mind, you need to make actual decisions. The crumpled packet of cigarettes in her pocket jostled against her leg and she cupped one in her hand to light it, the heat of the lighter prickling her fingers. It was while she was looking down that she heard the voice and sighed, flicking off the lighter and bringing the cigarette to her lips. “Don’t want anything from you.” Of course, the person she found was Sodalitas. Sylvie wasn’t sure which was worse: the people back in that room or a member of the rival society. “I’m surprised you’re out here. I thought all of you l...loved parties where they make napkins out of silk or whatever.”

[wildbasilius-blog]

kanishkmittal·:

For a private affair, it seemed to Kanishk that half of Oxford and half of Gloucestershire occupied Berkeley Castle now. There was one advantage to this: it was easy to slip away from the reception crowd, slip away from the mourners who spoke fondly of the dead Edward Hardwicke: the mourning parents, friends, and admirers whose misery was, in part, his fault. It was by his hand, after all, that Ed was seized from them. He hadn’t acted alone, but he had acted nonetheless. It was a quiet hallway in which he stood now, alone with his thoughts, partaking in the exact opposite of the act of remembrance. He pondered upon Berkeley Castle instead, a monument through time. Built in the 11th century, its stone walls still standing a thousand years later. Now Ed was buried underneath it, stricken of life, forever only a part of history, not unlike the weapons mounted upon the hall’s stone walls. Kanishk approached the display, let his hand run over the hilt of the sword. Senseless, garbled letters inscribed upon it, partly eroded by time, partly because smiths, as time went, had forgotten the meaning of the words behind the letters — in nomine domini, in the name of the lord.

Drawing the sword from its mount, he looked closer, appreciated the metalwork underneath his fingers. Many would have recoiled at touching an antique — the oils in human hands destroyed, after all, without ever meaning to — but perhaps that was a manifestation of some innate entitlement, selfishness, that he prioritized his curiousity first. He heard a set of footsteps approaching the hallway, and he hummed under his breath, turning around to meet the intruder. Recognizing the other, he quirked an eyebrow upwards. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, giving no weight to the fact that he had no right to be there, either. “Taking a break from the party?”

The dark suit felt ill-fitting and strange, pieces borrowed or begged from any other member of Pandidakterion remotely her same size. The tie itself she had done and undone unconsciously many times, discomfort and nerves absently moving her hands. She had lingered at the edges of the crowd, drifting behind Luca or Aegis and doing her best to take advantage of what even she could tell was high-quality alcohol. Strange as it had been at first, Sylvie had grown mostly accustomed to the privilege and airs the other members of Pandidakterion put on, ridiculous as they seemed at time. This, however, was another kettle of fish. Each of these people had what Sylvie’s third foster mother would have referred to as “good breeding” and they’d be damned if they weren’t going to project that as far as they could.

After a few too many trips to the buffet, the glances and glares finally reached the level where she slipped out the door with a napkin full of food and searched for a place she could wait it all out. Her footsteps seemed loud against the smooth stone floor, the scuffed heels of her shoes beating out a steady rhythm. What was that story? The heartbeat beneath the floorboards, titanic echoes of guilt. One of the many wide doors in the castle rested slightly ajar, a break in a long pattern of opulence, and she peeked inside. “Alright,” she greeted Kanishk, relieved to find someone who would be able to fit in and wouldn’t particularly judge her for not being the same. “Yeah, I don’t think the people at the party think I should be there either, so l...looks like you’re stuck with me.” Coming to stand next to him she peered at the sword in his hands and whistled softly. “Can’t believe they’ve got these just hanging around. Think anyone ever used them or is it just for showing off to visitors?” She held out the napkin. “Canapé?”

[wildbasilius-blog]

Stand down there's a fire in my soul All out and I'm losin' all control cause We are ready for a street fight

[wildbasilius-blog]

All the people I could be are dangerous. / The blood clotting, oil in my veins.

Fatimah Asghar, from “Oil,” If They Come for Us (via lifeinpoetry)

[wildbasilius-blog]

hey everyone! i’m sayer and i’m so excited to be a part of this group and writing with all of you. below is some info about sylvie and links to more in-depth stuff if you’re interested, as well as some connection ideas!

bio here, connections here

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: sylvia meredith driscoll

NICKNAME(S): sylvie

AGE: nineteen

GENDER: cis female

PRONOUNS: she/her

OCCUPATION: student,

SEXUALITY: lesbian

LANGUAGES: english, welsh

► ACADEMIA

UNIVERSITY: oxford

COLLEGE: magdalen college

MAJOR: physics

YEAR: second

SOCIETY: pandidakterion

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: eliza kallmann

HEIGHT: 5′5″

DOMINANT HAND: right

HAIR COLOR: blonde

EYE COLOR: grey

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: long scar behind left ear, others are hidden by clothing

► BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: cardiff, wales

CURRENT RESIDENCE: oxford, england

PARENTS: shauna driscoll

PETS: culwych, a rat she smuggled into her room

► ABOUT

sylvie was born in cardiff, wales and was raised for several years by her mother who was a serious drug addict. after her mother was hospitalised, sylvie was placed in the foster care system where she bounced from home to home

she is a brilliant math and science student and is among the top students in the physics program

she speaks with a stammer which is exacerbated by stressful situations

member of pandidakterion and very devoted to it and its members. if someone in the club needs someone beaten up, she’s the one to call

let’s go lesbians !! accepting gf applications now. 

anger issues and impulse control problems unite! she gets into a lot of fights and is pretty much constantly sporting some sort of injury. just feel free to assume she has a black eye or a split lip at any point tbh

her mother was catholic and sylvie has held onto the faith through several households of different christian denominations. goes to mass every sunday and keeps a rosary on her dresser. hasn’t gone to confession since the murder.

is feeling ,,, conflicted about the murder which isn’t something she’s into

just a big old mess of contradictions and devotion

(tw: rape mention, abuse mention)

► LIFE EVENTS:

Broken a bone | Gotten stitches | Had a near-death experience | Invented something | Been hungover | Kissed someone | Slow danced | Been in a long-term relationship | Had sex | Had sex and regretted it | Had a one-night stand | Had a threesome | Experimented with their sexuality | Ran away | Had a kid | Gotten married | Self-harmed | Been in a play | Received an inheritance | Been in a ship wreck | Lost a loved one | Been dumped | Dumped someone | Smoked | Gotten high | Been slipped something in their food/drink | Won a contest | Won an election | Joined a sports team | Gone skydiving | Gone hunting | Been in a band | Had a job | Been fired | Been in a wedding party | Owned a pet | Seen a ghost | Skipped class/work | Learned an instrument | Gotten a noticeable scar | Sued someone | Been robbed | Been mugged | Been kidnapped | Been sexually assaulted | Been brainwashed/hypnotized | Gone more than one day without eating | Had a recurring nightmare | Been bullied | Bullied someone | Seen someone die | Attempted suicide | Been tied/chained up | Shot someone | Stabbed someone | Saved someone’s life | Cheated on someone | Been cheated on | Been betrayed | Been in a fight | Been arrested | Been to a funeral | Had surgery | Broken someone’s trust | Gotten a tattoo | Used a fake name | Been tortured | Been abused | Been blackmailed | Had an attempt on their life | Gotten away with a crime | Gone on a road trip | Been in love

► HABITS:

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking|swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back or their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

► KNOWS HOW TO:

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | pilot | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | draw | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give CPR | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | wrap a gift | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read Morse code | pick a lock

[wildbasilius-blog]

Arsonist’s Lullabye | Hozier

Don’t you ever tame your demons Always keep them on a leash

[wildbasilius-blog]

I scorch everything with my teeth, my loud mouth a coal soaking rage, wrath, gutsquirm

Jesse Rice-Evans, from “Another Conditional,” published in Bad Pony (via lifeinpoetry)

[wildbasilius-blog]

You come on with it, come on You don't fight fair That's okay, see if I care Knock me down, it's all in vain I get right back on my feet again

[wildbasilius-blog]

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once.

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood  (via wordsnquotes)

[wildbasilius-blog]

I have the whole world raging under my skin. I’ve always been a girl armed for war.

And war has learned to fear me // L.H.Z (via lhzthepoet)

[wildbasilius-blog]