srysarai

posies; oikawa tooru [victorian!au] chamomile tea ❝ you’re the sort of person who seems to have a calming effect on those around you. You’re not the sort to say, “relax” when things go a little sideways, you just act relaxed and everyone feels it. ❞ He leans by the window, glimpses of memories past gliding by him in the form of a sunset. Yellow hues filter his memory and paint the days golden with gilt edges and rosy pink lights colour the gaps the gold doesn't cover; a beautiful echo of peace and harmony. A gentle sigh escapes his lips as he reflects, a cup of tea cradled in his hands. He's twenty one

“promise to love you forevermore.” aka that fic inspired by abba that literally NOBODY asked for except for me when i was doing stupid edits on sony vegas but shhh ok warning; literal teen angst but !! OK [x] ♥ “Hey, (Y/N)!” a chirpy voice. Too chirpy. You knew that voice from anywhere. You peered around the courtyard warily, locating the cowlicked boy from half a mile away before cowering into yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, you just… you liked him too much. And too much was bad. Especially with Oikawa Tooru. You didn’t even know what he’d do if he ever found out of

[ poet!akaashi x painter!reader ] “we came forth to rebehold the stars.” - dante’s inferno (canto xxxiv) i. April always was a beautiful month to Akaashi. The way the cherry blossoms danced on the branches of trees through a gentle breeze; the breeze pushing the cherry blossoms around and allowing them to dance a jovial dance of springtime. The way the clouds pushed their way around the skies and painted a thousand different pictures of the skies as they transitioned from candyfloss pinks to cornflower blues all the way into the caliginous darkness that seeped into the day and switched it to night. A thousand different skie

ataraxy /ˈatəraksi/ noun a state of serene calmness. If hell was a feeling, you were experiencing something three times as painful. Your entire head was on fire in a throbbing feeling that brushed all across your head, creeping down your neck and hiding behind your eyes as you nestled further into the cocoon of safety known as your bed. A mound of blankets you wrapped around your body in a vague attempt to block out the light as though abolishing the light was a one-way ticket to banishing the dizziness and headache that raged on inside your head. The only thing that dragged you out of your slump was the rattling of keys in the

Serene. That was one word to describe the scene playing out during the early hours of the morning. The sunlight, slowly and gently streaming in through the blinds and casting a golden stain on the polished floorboards, painting golden stripes along the crisp white duvets where you both hid. Both concealing yourselves away from the horrors of the world by cocooning yourselves in a blanket of love that should last forever. The way the sun worked, casting an almost celestial glow on the older man's face beside you, emphasising the dangerous curve of his jaw and the curl of his lips as he slept. His face was a picture of childlike innocence that

 IN another time, he sees you by his side. In another place, he pictures you with him, a somewhat placid image that does nothing but ravage his thoughts with another bout of doubt that shakes his reasonableness that he so prides himself upon. Chuuya Nakahara is many things, but he is not indecisive. That's a fact. Yet there's something about the pictures that swim before his eyes that make him doubt the steadfastness that lies deeprooted in his soul; he's not a sentimental person in many aspects, but that doesn't mean he lacks such emotional capacity. In fact, he's drained his emotions of any possible regrets throughout his lifetime, torn do

"Hey Kuroo," you mumbled, successfully knocking Kuroo out of his essay-induced trance and making him stumble into something like the present. "What?" he asked, a thin layer of playful irritation coating his words as he spoke. Not that you felt even a trickle of remorse slither down your spine at the realisation that you'd distracted Kuroo from his task. No, it was more a mild victory in your mind. You'd distracted the Kuroo Tetsurou from his work. Besides that being a major victory on your behalf, you rather thought that he did waste quite a bit of time on his work. How he hadn't burnt out yet? It was beyond most people. "I'm hungry." "An

[noun] a brief or temporary failure of concentration, memory, or judgement. ✦✦✦ There’s a half empty glass in his hands, the liquid being carelessly whirled around as he stares at it. He’s not really there - well, he is in a physical sense, but not really fully there. Half his soul has been whisked away with tthe melancholy swirls of alcohol that taint his tongue with a bitter taste that makes him want to simulatenously down seven more bottles of the liquid and quit drinking altogether. The tavern is lonely at this hour, the hands of the clock have crept past the twelve, and the only other souls inhabiting t

The classroom is silent. Something of a placid silence, though, not accompanied by sadness or waves of anxiety, but more a placating calm that has Oikawa feeling contentment creeping into his soul. A warm hug as his eyes wander the classroom, the people in the classroom and all the happenings. Sometimes, he feels like he's not really in the classroom at all, more trapped behind a window pane looking into the classroom, observing the surroundings with a trace of a smile riding on his lips. Nobody approaches him, nor does he approach anybody else. Just as always. It's a normal day, in a normal classroom, at a normal lunchtime. Contentedly, he

i. "How much longer are you going to stay out there, Tooru?" There's a mild smile pulling on the corners of his mouth and tilting them upwards ever so slightly. His hair, usually floppy and soft is now plastered to his head and drenched. He doesn't know why, really. Why the rain always seems to calm him, why the feel of the raindrops falling onto his head makes him so calm, fills him with a tranquillity that he could stay in forever even if the rain gives him a cold; freezes him to the bone. He loves the rain, the mesmerising patter of it as it hits the ground; sometimes so fiercely that it bounces off the ground too. If there is one thing