#a rustling of leaves

[anitosoul]

A Rustling of Leaves Inside the Philippine Revolution (1988) Courtesy:...

[alithographica]

It’s 1:15am which means it’s Sandwich Hours

[eggfeather]

breeze that rustles the leave

[maiko-coy]

Presenting

FNAF SECURITY BEACH

By the talented and hardworking Maiko-coy (yes this ask was an excuse to tell you your art is cool and present this terrible pun)

I-- HELP I LITERALLY STARED AT THIS ASK FOR 5 MINUTES STRAIGHT WONDERING WHERE THE PUN WAS, IM GUNNA CRY

[play-my-game]

[asjjohnson]

...Um. Super, super late DP Invisobang 2023 art?

The fic by Rockity Sock is still an unpublished WIP so far, but it's really nice and will hopefully be completed and published later.

It begins at the end of the Ultimate Enemy episode, with Dan getting trapped in the thermos. And... I'm not sure how much I can say without spoiling it, but a lot of really cool stuff happens. It's a psychological type of fic, about different types of prisons and punishments, and has time stuff and pocket dimensions, and redemption stuff. (I was only planning on drawing one illustration for IB, but when I saw the WIP, I wanted to see so many things animated. So many awesome visuals. I wish I could've animated them all.)

This is the part I did animate:

He just walked for now, searching for the tiniest crack. The darkness went on for seemingly forever though, and no matter how far he walked it kept on going Dan kept moving He tried his best to break through the walls but every ectoblast he formed fizzled out. Fading into the darkness. Oh, now it makes sense. His powers are being limited, it takes him a few more tries to believe it. The fact that he’s trapped with nothing whatsoever. Endless hours spent, and wasted. Powers he has built up from the ground with no mentor, ones he trained endlessly after a decade. Gone, disappeared, muffled. Limited. Dan let out a laugh, one with no humor. A laugh that turned into a cackle, he couldn’t stop.

Here's Rockity Sock's AO3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockitysockity and tumblr account: https://rockitysock.tumblr.com/

(I also uploaded the video on deviantArt and YouTube)

[andallshallbewell]

[daddy-long-legssss]

The ‘Submarine’ soundtrack gives me the amount of comfort as a fuzzy blanket and warm bowl of soup.

[westwindy1]

Jack using the wind to speak to non-believers would be so insanely creepy- because imagine, you're alone, you're walking and the hairs on the back of your neck and prickling, because you've just heard something- was it the leaves, behind you? The sound of something else? Trash, an animal? So then you're left wondering, "Is something there?" and yet, when you look back, there's not even a shadow to watch.

Then, suddenly the wind picks up, and maybe it makes you chilly, and so you're holding your arms, and then it gets stronger, but then you have a problem, because you don't know which way to face, and where is it coming from?

There is wind whipping everywhere, things are flying violently, nearly because all in a moment, it's searching for just the right crack, the right slip, the right noise to carry, and they're all in different places, because one vowel could take many noises, depending on the tone, which has to be inconsistant, because there's virtually no way to work speaking over the wind into an art, because the world is always subject to change and unless you want to carry around a whole host of tools, you have to find your sounds, figure out your do-re-mis as you go, so there's not even a full word coming from any one direction, and sounds die, so of course, so if you want to be heard now, the wind has to be stronger than ever, so you're trying to speak, but the person you're speaking to is much too focused on trying to make it out alive to listen.

And maybe Jack's trying say something, to be funny, but it won't carry because talking over the wind is inherently wild and it takes a lot of control.

But also, imagine you're a musician, and when it is calm, and you're at peace with yourself, and you're doing very well, sometimes it feels like your instrument is talking to you. ...And almost, almost it sounds like someone else is singing along, too, like you've got a partner playing to the same tune, with the same notes, and you're not just singing for yourself- it's a voice you can almost make out, but not quite, and some words are missing, and you can't always hear it over those pesky sharps, but it's there, nearly gentle and sometimes not, so it's feels like all the world -the woods, plants, leaves, birds, the spaces betweeen trashcans and through the air under and around the seats in the concert hall, maybe it's even the carried voices of other people, words and phrases selectively carrried- it's all singing and dancing around and sombre and joyful and feeling with you.

And then, when you're putting your instrument away, when you're pressing your bow back into it's case and making sure your reed is sound and you're carefully resting the lid of your piano, you feel better- you're looking around, thinking to yourself, nearly imagining you actually, quite literally had a partner to sing and play with, a partner to dance to your melody, and that it hadn't just been you and the magic of your music that had been stringing your heart along.

You think of fairies and witches and other forest-y, musical, planted creatures, unseeing, unknowingly mussing the solid imprint of a footprint in the dust, dirt or something else that someone nearly there had left by your side.

Also to consider- when you've got a gloved hand knuckle-deep in a shelf of ice way up north, with nothing a pickaxe in hand, a rope and parka to your name and it's just gotten dangerous- when you're alone, more than you've ever been in your life, and it sounds like the wind is screaming and it's stoming and snowling like you've never seen before and you've just heard something almost like a yelll echoing throughout the canyons, all drowned snow-white, and it's frustrated, echoing and devastating, almost reflecting the complete and utter terror broiling in your gut, the feel of frozen flesh thick around your bones and the hope you feel dying, running cold and sharp down your spine, like a weight heavy in your gut, fading by your feet like the ice numbing all sensation there-

[leavestreesandwhateveriplease]

and you are that honeysuckle breeze

Daylily by Movements

[uwhe-arts]

paths in november . . . | uwhe-arts

[hersurvival]

The clouds have formed a blanket

And the winds have made their debut,

It is unnaturally warm tonight, though -

Warmer in this late-night dusk

Than it was at high noon

Dried leaves crinkle as they blow,

Recently uncovered

From the melting ice and snow

The window is wide open

But the only sound is gusts and rustles,

No birds, no dogs, no passing vehicles

Something is about to begin

Or maybe it is about to end

But something,

Something is definitely going to happen

[aekirouan]

Ikigai.

Maybe one day, you too will find your own reason to live on.

[leaves-and-inks]

I am in a hell of my own creation (drawing armor)

[gloopdimension]

i dont know how anyone can leave an earbud in 24/7 or always be on their phone. not to sound like “phone bad” but Wow you are missing out on so many things around you sight and hearing wise

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Michael & Peter

Trip for two (Part 3)

Cutting down trees is often a great way to vent frustration. This is how Michael copes with his grief over his parents. He thinks about the past and also about the future… Perhaps Peter will be a good partner for him… But first he would like to get to know everything new even better.

Michael came back with a big load of firewood. "Oh crap, now I've dropped something…" / "Don't move, otherwise you'll really fall on your face and I'll have to take you home before our trip has really started" / "Oh man, thanks, I shouldn't have carried so much…".

The boys found the odd tree stump in the area. Witnesses to the time when people gathered wood to rebuild their houses. "Xander probably thinks I'll make a fire with a piece of wood and a branch, zz"/ "I still had the lighter from my dad"/ "yeah, it's much easier.". A old blanket was placed in front of the tent so that they wouldn't walk in with dirty feet.

When the work was done, they sat down together around the campfire. Michael looked into the flames for a few minutes while Peter watched him. At some point, Michael noticed and gave him a smile. "Thanks…"/ "For what?"/ "That you're doing this with me… I don't think Ethan felt like doing it, he's rather be at home all the time helping his mother with organizational things". Peter poked at the firewood for a moment and smiled back. "I promised you."

"I hope you didn't just come here out of pity for me…"/ "Bullshit, Micha, I'm here because I want to be here, okay? Man, our house is gone and we more or less live in a bunker with only one room above it, where we spend most of our time, at least when we're at home… And it's really boring…"/ "I can imagine. I'd rather have my own room again too".

"Wouldn't you have the space for it upstairs?"/ "No, not really. It couldn't be rebuilt according to the original floor plan. You had to rebuild everything provisionally… But one day… I want to build my own house. It doesn't have to be huge, but… I want to be able to say I've done it, it's mine"/ "I can understand that."

"I think I'll do it that way too" / "well, we could… do it together". Michael didn't look at him, but had his eyes fixed on the flames again. It was almost as if he was afraid of the answer. "O.k., why not"/ "yes? I mean… O.k…."/ "hnhn. School's about to start again here, what do you think about it?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders. "In principle, a good thing… At least for the younger ones…"/ "hehe, you quickly get used to not having any more lessons, don't you? But hey, at least it gives us a chance to graduate after all"/ "and who's going to teach us for the last year?"/ "Rumor has it that it's either Mrs. Landgraab or her husband"/ "fff, no thanks, neither one, they're not good teachers"

"No, that's true. And if you could choose, who would teach us?". Michael shrugged his shoulders again. " I don't care, I can actually do without a certificate. .There is no one left who could be proud of me…."/ "hey, that's not true.". Michael looked down sadly for a moment, because now he was thinking about his mother again, who would probably have been bursting with pride if her son had come home with a good certificate. He shook himself a little and rubbed his arms…. "Are you cold?"/ "A little…".

Peter went to his backpack and took out the warm jackets. These were also both his, so he could confidently hand over the second one. "It's a bit lined, I hope you get warm quickly"/ "hnhn, you look after me like I'm a child"/ "is that what you think? Hey, I just want you to be okay, ok?". Michael sighed a little as he looked at him "h-hh, I know… thanks"/ "didn't you want to catch a rabbit?"/ "Tomorrow morning, not today".

"Besides, what do you mean you wouldn't make anyone proud? I think it would be great if the two of us could at least hold something like a certificate in our hands. Then we could leave here and start again somewhere else"/ "would you really leave with me? You know I won't leave my sister alone"/ "then we'll wait until she's 18, OK?"/ "hnhn… OK. But now I'm hungry". Peter grinned and hugged him tightly again. Gradually, Michael got used to these loving touches, they made him feel safe.

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End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover🌞