#survivics

[pararennial-archived]

San Luis Obispo is something else. It reminds of her a promised tanginess as soon as an orange peel gets pulled back. It's warm, wonderful, and luminous. In other words, it's a vacation homer's delight. Who wouldn't fall in love with waves gently breaking against pale shores, and soft sunlight beaming down on a quaint-looking neighbourhood? For once, she finds herself taking a moment to bask in encompassing rays and take in the air ( it's a different kind of refreshing, unlike home but yet she is actually content ).

The more she lingers, the more she can smell sea salt mixing in with sugar wafting from the local bakery. That's where Roxanne found Sakura, locked in a mechanistic routine and carrying out her usual tasks in a mournful state. The sadness was palpable, she wonders if not salt from the sea, it's maybe from tears and a forlorn goodbye.

Damn, Jack, what did you do before you left?

A stranger she met and rescued in the woods one day made a humble request. One that she did not expect, but one that won't turn down. A request that landed her across the street from the bakery, eyes peering through the shop window and already she can tell the woman is exceptional. Those who have no choice but to be extraordinary often drew those of their ilk in like a magnet. It's really awe-inspiring that amongst the already existing otherworldly and strange beings, he'd find her first and discern her from the rest. Perhaps that is the reason for such a crestfallen aura, it also radiated off Jack before he made his official departure.

With a sigh, Roxanne crosses the street and enters the threshold, intentionally disrupting the pale, melancholic fog like a vibrant beacon. There, she meets downcast eyes and sullen countenance, it makes her flinch inwardly. She is no stranger to heartbreak, and unfortunately it's a familiar companion. One that she nursed several times over until it becomes mere scar tissue. But something tells her Sakura is still made of raw nerve, and she has no real balm to remedy it.

❝Sakura Tsubaki?❞ The question is redundant, she knows whom she's speaking to, it's more that she is announcing herself as some sort promised omen to the beholder. Although, her arrival doesn't come with a happiness that can be captured within an orange peel. But she is good company at least. ❝Figured you would like to know the person who'll be watching over you.❞

@survivics

[shxlmes]

~ @survivics || "How are you really in the grand scheme of things?" || v; the manor mystery ~

Sherlock takes a moment to think about his answer, head tilting to the side as he muses. "I assume you'd like to hear some emotionally vulnerable answer but truthfully, I don't have one to give. This is my bread and butter. I deal with death daily." He's become so desensitised that he rarely thinks twice about how daunting the situation might be for those unused to it. "My immediate concern is finding the killer. The past and the present are within my field of inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question to answer and I do not want any more lives lost.” He looks at Sakura, studying her for a moment. "How are you doing? The food was wonderful, by the way."

[vxctorx]

@survivics continued x

He is about to step down the hallway in order to surrender the requested guest list in his hand to the detective, when he is abruptly stopped by the other. Her words give him pause, and for a moment he considers entertaining her supposition.

❝—Who are you talking about?❞ He asks in a patient voice. After all, permanent or not, who can one trust if not one's own staff? ❝—What did you see?❞

[bushido-jack]

//god. I’m thinking about the fact that Jack has endured 3+ years refusing to leave my headspace as a muse all because of Sakura. I didn’t lose him as a muse primarily because he refused to leave her. He came back for her. Jack means a lot to me personally and one of the reasons he has stayed as a primary muse is certainly the hope and strength he represents, but the reason he never faded was absolutely in large part due to her. No other character has had such a profound effect on Jack or any other of my muses for that matter, Sakura just is that powerful.

[sherunsfaster]

@survivics asked: ❛ keep it. it looks better on you. ❜ from the soft and sweet meme

❝ you don't need to be modest... or generous. ❞ or flirtatious? no, leah's mind had completely ruled that out. honestly it was her fault for leaving the house without an umbrella on a day like today. aman's jacket was a lot more comfortable than the drenched shirt that now rested in a plastic bag inside her tote. ❝ i can wash it and bring it back to you, it's really not a big deal. ❞

[yourgirlsarchived]

finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for (Aman)

Mari wasn't expecting it. She knew, of course, there is something here between them. Something precious. Acting on it, however, just didn't happen. Or hadn't.

He smells nice. Is the first thought that penetrates the surprise that's rendered her still. Then that his lips are surprisingly soft. Then that Aman is kissing her.

Elation kind of goes off like a firework in Mari, her lips curving slightly before she leans in some. She's been quietly hoping for this for ages. Somewhere along the line she'd decided if anyone would kiss her it'd be him, and if he didn't want to then she didn't want anyone else. But he is and she's so happy she accidentally ends it with a giggle, her smile wide enough it hurts a little bit.

"You kissed me."

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

“Kiss me?” (Sakura)

Things for Richard: ALWAYS ACCEPTING

II @survivics

Richard was already beginning to drift off to sleep when Sakura’s familiar voice cooed against his ear. He didn’t even hear her come in. “Ye’ don’t have to tell me twice,” hummed the Scotsman, shifting in bed to face the baker before tenderly claiming her lips against his own. He loved kissing her when she just came back from work, as her lips were always dusted with a light layer of sugar. How he adored the taste of her sweetness.

“Good day at work?” he rasped, between trailing kisses against her jaw and neck.

[normallyxstranger1]

@survivics | title; a marvelous time (wade & sakura) | cont. from here

     A little affection could go a long way. It honestly hadn’t taken much—a few charming phrases, a couple of simple lies, drinks, dancing and talking. Lots of talking. He was a man who liked the sound of his voice, certainly, and she’d given him plenty of opportunity. 

     But he’d listened too and that seemed to be what earned her trust. Perhaps not completely, but enough for now.

     The sweet, chaste kiss brought a smile to his lips and before she could step further away, Wade caught her sleeve between two fingers. He leaned in, closing the distance. He didn’t go for the cheek, but her lips, brushing them with his own in a featherlight kiss. His skin was warm, flushed from drinks and the blood he’d consumed before their evening began. 

     He lingered, exhaling softly his held breath. This was all a game, a means to an end, but he had enjoyed himself in getting to know her. Had it become more than just a manipulation? Just like that?

Maybe. Maybe not.

     Wade wouldn’t concern himself with that right now. He just wanted to soak in the moment, for whatever it was worth.

     “Thank you for takin’ the chance with me. We should do it again sometime. Soon."

[thejadedking]

@survivics ∣ breath of life sc

As the chilled night crept in, the vampire made his way along the darkened streets, eyes scouring his surrounding, keeping an eye out for anyone he found -- - particularly enticing. Though one did catch his attention, a young woman who caught his gaze, the creature steadily making his way across to her. "You look cold. Here, take this." The man uttered calmly, shedding his smart suit jacket from his shoulders, revealing his fine waistcoat beneath. Gently, he placed it over her shoulders, stepping into the lamplight above wearing a charming smile. "It suits you, you know."

[fantasiesandfolklore]

❛   brush (asra)

@survivics //  brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ((omg I missed you! Guessing this is for Relta?)

"That feels so nice Asra," Relta commented, smiling over her shoulder as she felt the soft comb go through her thick, nearly burgundy hair, "thank you again." Her residency was draining her energy, and she'd forgotten to brush her hair fully once one day that week and a knot had formed that she couldn't fully get on her own.

The demigoddess closed her eyes, content as she felt Asra's touch occasionally when her hand touched Relta's hair. "How was work for you today?" she inquired, eyes still shut.

[pararennial-archived]

*‵ ･ from where there are no heavenly bodies ･ ′

There are no fair negotiations for things that lie beyond one's control. Of course, there's a more succinct and colloquial way of putting it: life is not fair.

Fingers idly pluck at steel strings, thrumming out a continue empty twang in the air, buoyed only by some sort of forlorn idleness; as though passivity seized all motor control in a soft-palmed hostile takeover. Roxanne hardly does anything without intent, she's never aimless. The thought, "Was any of this ever mine?", never crossed her mind until recently. Everything at this point might as well slip through her fingers like sand imbued with shards of glass. It's not like she can tighten her grip in hopes that the bleeding will stop and cycle back into her veins.

But perhaps, there might have been something she could have done in order to allow herself the peace to not be… for once.

A string snaps loose and whips against her finger, leaving a pink wake upon her skin. She stares at it for a while, watching it fade the instant it appears. It's a small lapse in concentration, in which she easily remedies by taking the string and refastening it. Nothing really stings, it's pale. Bloodless.

By the time she finishes the menial task at hand, she suddenly doesn't feel like playing anymore and sets her guitar back on its stand. With nothing but pure instinct leading her, she ambles out of her room and finds her way to the front porch. She stares at the house ahead, her neighbour from across the street emerges with her golden retriever-poodle mix. She smiles and waves at Roxanne, and Roxanne returns a wave of her own but the smile on her face is as artificial as plastic petals.

She can't remember if there was a time where things were far more simple, the memories feel like a collage of someone else's life. Akin to patchwork, swaths of fabrics sewn together but the colours and frames fail to fall in line with the overall scheme and design. She wants all of it to work ⏤ to be hers. And so she pulls herself into frenzied nights out with friends, dissonant laughter in hallways, music flourishing but not quite reaching its peak. Empty promises to herself to live on her own terms. She honestly thought she could get herself a cut of a self-congratulatory slice of cake and eat it, too.

So, count your parts and measure them twice, because you can only cut once…

Whatever semblance of normalcy she once had was proven a falsehood, there's no form to really return to other than blissful ignorance. A time where she felt alive, but now all of her history seems to be composed of someone else's memories. A fever dream. Images fluctuate and bend into each other like a kaleidoscope. She is merely the spectator, taking in everything and nothing all at once. For all the times she attempted to rehouse, reshape, and rebuild a sense of belonging, the home she ended up creating still remained untrustworthy. A life built off artifice ought to do that; foundation as fragile as a porcelain vase.

There is no turning water into blood.

What exactly is there to trade in exchange for that? Roxanne internally asks herself, and she has no intention of really getting an answer. Could she have gone another way home? Could she have avoided that gateway demon? Could she have dutifully wore the charm her guardians meticulously crafted so that she does not fall into awaiting jaws of a world that was kept from her?

Such questions make her vision fog over, so she turns back inside the house after mere minutes of being outside ( to her it felt like hours ). Her steps remain aimless when she retreats down the halls and finds herself plopped on the living room couch, muscle memory guiding the remote into her hand and she flicks on the TV. She hopes it will silence the slow drone from which every cell in her body is being replaced by something other than human. Mindless chatter from flickering channels do little to tame the turmoil haunting her mind, like a thundering echo within an emptied bullet chamber. Her feeble attempt in her continued search for something to keep her rooted and real has finally landed her on a live news broadcast featuring a local farm, celebrating the birth of a two-headed calf from last night.

Something trembles in Roxanne, but she only stares blankly. A two-headed anomaly, unexpectedly blessed with the ability to gaze upon twice as many stars the night it was born. In her case, so she believes, it would be an overwhelming relief have that second head removed immediately. The poor thing would have hours, or if lucky enough, mere days left to spend on Earth. Wouldn't that be a fair trade? To cut out a part that is only measured by its remarkability in exchange for an unexceptional life that will be well lived and untouched by misfortune?

She doesn't even notice Mallory entering in, the shadowed goddess standing by the screen and partially illuminated its glow. Her beloved guardian felt so far away.

❝What is it my child? I sensed you were in trouble.❞ Mallory closed the distance, kneeling next to the couch and enclosing Roxanne's face within the palm of her hands. They were cool but never truly devoid of warmth. ❝What is wrong?❞

❝Nothing...❞ There is a strange fizz accenting her voice, ❝Is mine. Even if I tried.❞

[shxlmes]

~ @survivics || Liked for a starter ~

      Eyes don’t look up from his laptop, fingers furiously running across the keyboard as he types up a strongly worded email to his brother. He'd been refused access to Pentonville prison and he's certain that Mycroft is behind it. Something about Sherlock winding the prisoners up. Texting won’t do - Besides, his number has been blocked. Hence the essay in email format. He tuts, backspacing and getting rid of a particularly nasty insult about his brother's suit - Probably better to maintain civility if he wants to get his way.

“I’m not taking on any new cases, Mrs Hudson should’ve told you that before letting you up.” 

[vxctorx]

@survivics You are cordially invited to the summer soirée at Ardleith Manor.

The Staff (baker)

Name: Sakura Tsubaki Age: 27 Gender: Female  FC: Carissa Rae Martin Bio: Strange things seem to always happen around this bakery owner , an orphan the daughter of orphans who fell in love despite being cultures apart. Loneliness, hardship, and tragedy seem to always follow her, and she has more secrets than people expect. However, she is hardworking, kind and warm. People often find themselves drawn to her gentle nature and friendly ear. Other: She is Japanese and Mexican, speaks 4 languages, loves to read and will never turn down a person in need, bakery/café owner.

[bushido-jack]

"I have never liked my name as much until I heard you say it."

Jack smiled, a hand brushing back the soft, fluffy waves of her dark hair fondly. “I will say it as often as you want to hear it, for I’ve never known a name that felt so right to speak.” And she could call him any name she wanted, and his heart would recognize the tune and sing along.