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Oikawa Tooru is really fucking gay. 

He’d known that he’s just “gay” before already, so that’s no earth-shattering surprise. He hadn’t known that there was still some room for more – and that empty space is currently occupied by Hajime and the fresh ink blooming on his naked back. 

Tooru sends a prayer to the volleyball god. His teammates admire the black tattoo on Hajime’s back with louds oohs and aahs, while Tooru’s standing there with his shirt in his hands, staring like a lovestruck school girl being confronted with her first crush. When Hajime laughs, the muscles on his strong back shift, coiling underneath the skin, sweat dripping down from the soft, wet hair in his broad neck. Tooru swallows again. It doesn’t help. The tattoo is an ancient tree, beautifully curled branches that stretch over Hajime’s shoulder, the dark trunk nestled against his right side. The roots reach down to the rim of his training shorts, and Tooru’s eyes trace the tree’s silhouette. It’s breathtaking. It fits Hajime. 

It’s strong and reliable and invincible, standing with a calm pride that Tooru hasn’t yet managed to find inside his own chest. 

After everyone’s already left and Tooru finally slips into his jacket, a warm arm slings over his neck. Soft breath drags over his ear, and Hajime whispers, his grin hot on Tooru’s jolting skin: “Wanna come over to my house and find out where the roots end?” 

Tooru is so unbelievably, helplessly gay, and he loves it. 

culturenlifestyle:

Nature-Inspired Swirling Illustrations by James R. Eads

Los Angeles based multi-disciplinary artist and illustrator James R. Ead’s stunning illustrations are known for their unique style and technique. Following van Gogh’s signature brushstroke composed of colorful and fast moving brush strokes, Ead’s work reveals a meditative and soothing connection with nature and humanity. Both gentle and powerful, the swirling illustrations contain a surrealist and ethereal touch. 

Source: culturenlifestyle.com

Rosé. || daisuga

“Suga,” Daichi says. 

“Yes?”

“Your hair.” He swallows, tries to breathe around the thick lump inside his throat. Suga smiles at him, his best friend, his boyfriend, an angel who’s somehow made it into human form to make Daichi realizes just how goddamn gay he really is. If there’s something like Sugasexual – yup. That’s totally him. 

“It’s,” Daichi tries again. He reaches up to touch Suga’s hair, gently takes a strand between his fingers. “It’s pink.” 

“The colour’s called ‘rosé pastel’, actually.” 

“Oh.” And because Suga keeps smiling, tilts his head so adorably, Daichi can’t stop staring. “Daichi, are you going to let go of my hair, or – because we need to do the cleaning – “ 

“Uhm yeah, s-sure.” 

Daichi watches him leave, and the light of the afternoon sun floods through the windows of the gym, painting golden flecks onto the flower colour of Suga’s soft, angelic hair. 

Maybe he’s always loved him, Daichi thinks when he follows, throwing his arms around Suga’s waist after checking that they’re alone. Suga makes a tiny gasp and laughs, bell-like, crystal-clear, his head turning with a waft of pastel hair. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Daichi whispers into his ear, “and I – I adore you, do you know that.” Suga’s blushing cheeks are warm inside his hands, afterwards, when Suga whirls around to kiss him with an embarrassed mumble of “stop it already, that’s – mhm, Daichi.” 

The next day, Suga’s hair has purple tips and a turquoise streak from his pony to his ear. 

‘Pastel is an amazing colour scheme,’ Daichi thinks later when he kisses Suga against the lockers and steals his sweet, warm breath away. 

Hinata breaks his right arm in a bike accident. He still insists on partaking in training, but he can’t swing both arms as usual and has to spike with his left. Kageyama has to re-learn the timing of his tosses. When Hinata apologizes to him in tears, Kageyama just ruffles his hair. 

“Idiot, don’t worry. I make you invincible, remember? With me, you’ll always fly – even if I have to get you a new pair of wings.”