#tree symbol

[ro-bee]

order

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Maximilian Lenz (1860-1948) "A Song of Spring" (1913) Symbolism

[aqua-regia009]

The last beech ― Emilia Castañeda Martínez (Spanish, b.1943)

https://emiliacastaneda.com/

[crumboatt]

lmfaooo imagine eating bugs what a loser

the line art bc im really happy w how it turned out!!

[staracket]

more deer alex for the soul

[prettyiwa]

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Content Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Realization of feelings, Switching POVs Summary: Sakura's cut his own hair for as long as he can remember, so it surprises him a little when you express interest in giving him his next haircut. Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I think there's more intimacy and trust to haircuts than a lot of people realize. Needed a break from writing Hanakotoba and this has been rotating in my mind for a bit. Obligatory @owoasis tag as my no. 1 enabler 💜

The wind blows and leaves shake loose from their trees, a lovely shower of red and gold. You watch as one leaf floats down, not quite finished in its transition from summer to autumn, and lands in Sakura’s hair. Your fingers ache and impulse wins out as you reach up, catching the leaf before brushing his hair back in place, disrupted by the breeze.

“H-Hey, what’s that for?” he asks, cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink as his attention snaps to you.

Bringing your hand down, you show him the leaf, half-red, half-gold, twirling it by the stem between your thumb and forefinger. 

“You had a leaf in your hair.”

The Sakura from a couple months ago would’ve snapped at you, made some remark about how you should warn him next time or something. Instead, he sighs, eyes drifting to the left before they close, finding you when they open again. 

“You good?”

When you smile, his eyes track the movement before he turns away, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck.

“Perfect.” Continuing down the path in the park, you hear his steps behind you. Turning to look over your shoulder, you say, “Your hair’s gotten long, you know.”

His eyes flick up and his fingers come up to measure the length of his fringe before feeling the length at the nape of his neck. “Oh, is it? I guess I should trim it soon.”

“You do it yourself?”

He nearly runs into you when you stop and turn, surprised at your interest. “Y-Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” His voice hitches, turning defensive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” While you remain in place, he walks forward, all too eager to make it to the restaurant. “I could do it for you, if you’d like.”

That makes him pause, shoulders rising as he looks over, his ears turning pink. “Hah? No, it’s fine.”

It’s silly. You’ve done it a couple of times before and for whatever reason, learning that he cuts his own hair makes you want to be the one to cut it this time.

“Please?”

“You… want to… cut my hair?” As he asks, you can see the journey each word makes from his brain to his mouth, understanding your desire as though it were some elaborate math equation. “What’s wrong with you?”

His shoulders lower when you laugh and he rolls his eyes when you finally stop, unable to contain your glee. “Stop arguing and just tell me yes or no.”

The two of you stand there in silence for a minute or two, watching the other as another breeze blows through. After a moment longer of staring at you, he turns away, but not before you catch the blush that sits high on his cheeks. 

“F-Fine.”

Sakura shows up right on time the following Saturday morning. You walk him through to the kitchen, pulling up a dining chair on the tiled floor like you’ve done this countless times before. It makes him nervous, a little self-conscious, but you’ve never made fun of the gaps in his experiences, so he chooses to trust you. 

“How short do you want to go?” Your fingers come up, light as they card through his hair, pulling the strands between your fore and middle fingers. 

“Hm? Oh, I guess s-same as usual?” 

He isn’t expecting how serious you are about it, how your eyes assess him, measuring himself against the image you have of the past. He isn’t expecting the way you see him and don’t, the soft parting of your lips before they curve into a smile. 

“Got it. So, about here?” You draw an invisible line with your finger along his brow line where he’s been keeping it cut lately. 

“Yeah.”

“Can do. C’mere,” you say, pulling him from the chair and to your sink. 

“If you needed help with your dishes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, will you? Do you see any dishes that need washing?” He likes the sound of your laugh. You turn on the sink, setting the water to something just above lukewarm. “Wet hair’s easier to cut.”

Draping a towel over his shoulders, you have him wet his hair in the sink, your hands careful where they land, making sure it’s reached everything. 

“Really? I don’t notice a difference.” Water drips from his hair, landing on the towel, trailing down the contours of his face. You huff a laugh, using another towel to pat the excess wetness before combing through his hair.

“Maybe it’s good enough for you, but I wanna do this right.”

“I don’t get it, but whatever. My hair’s still my hair.”

He sits in your chair and listens to your footsteps, listens to the gentle metallic snip-snip-snip of the scissors as you open and close them, nowhere near him. No one’s handled his hair since he was a kid. By the time he came to Furin, he got used to doing it himself, not trusting anyone with his appearance. By the time he met you, he’d been doing it for so long he didn’t see any reason in wasting money to pay someone else. What little hesitation he feels evaporates when you walk in front of him, when you appraise him with careful eyes, wanting to do what he asks of you.

It’s painless, even in the prolonged silence. 

Your fingers are gentle as they guide his head, your voice soothing as you ask him to keep still, to bring his chin down, to keep his head straight. You cradle his face, moving his head when it starts to tilt when he grows relaxed, the cool press of the scissor handles on his cheek as you do. He doesn’t even notice it happening but you smile each time it does. When you start on his fringe, you’re quick to brush away loose hairs, keeping him clean. 

(It almost starts to feel like something else).

Every now and then you meet his eyes and you soften, seriousness melting away for something that looks dangerously close to fondness. In normal circumstances, he’s pretty sure he’d blush and try to escape, but he’s steady now, unable to look away. If you ask, he’ll blame it on the scissors in your hand.

(You don’t ask).

It’s over all too quickly, the soft padding of your slippers against the floor coming on the heels of your command to stay put. His skin burns where you last touched him, sharp in contrast to the cool air on the back of his neck, caused by damp hair. You sweep the hair from the ground all around him before asking him to stand, hands quick as they brush off any loose hairs from his clothes, stealing the towel from around his shoulders before you move around him. 

“You’re just about all done. I can blow dry your hair, if you’d like.”

“Uh, s-sure. You’re the one callin’ the shots, right?”

The smile you give him is blinding, happy with his trust in you and something flutters in his chest. It gets hard to not wanna go along with what you have planned when you look at him like that. He follows you to the bathroom, letting you fuss over him a bit longer. Even as the small space fills with the loud sound and hot air, even as you blow his hair every which way, all he can see is the reflection of you by his side in the mirror.

Everything ceases and you smile at him, not even glancing in the mirror, and you ask, “Well? Do you like it?”

Your hand comes up like it did earlier in the week, brushing his hair with your fingers, a satisfied grin sitting on your lips. 

“It looks the same.”

“Yeah, whatever.” That smile is replaced by a playful pout as you nudge his shoulder, turning to your reflections.

“I… guess… it wouldn’t be so bad if you cut my hair from now on.”

“You can’t just say that you liked it, can you?” You look at him again, that smile from earlier appearing, the one that’s soft like you can’t help yourself, the one that turns the tips of his ears warm. “Just tell me when, Sakura.”

As you leave him alone in your bathroom, patting his shoulders as you go, he realizes that if he didn’t know for certain how he felt about you before, he sure does now.

(bonus) | Hanakotoba masterlist | misc fandom masterlist

[synthshenanigans]

me when im forest for the trees idk i dont watch chonny jash

alt saturated one below v

also time on ibis cos god this took almost 40 hours

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

Autumn comes

You know that weird inbetween autumn and winter vibe? Ye, this goes by Autumn collection #6, which I couldn't finish in time from last year! Tho I did this in february so it's also Winter col. #2 lol.

[cirr0stratus]

all the bayou stories end with drowned

inspired by THIS post

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

I need to look like a person again. I'm sick of looking like a kicked dog, because that resemblance makes people want to kick you, or look away, or ask questions like who kicked you and why don't you look like a person?

If I could look like a person right now, I would be doing it. Questions don't help. I need options.

A haunted doll could work. I could dig my collection out of my parents' basement, brush off the dust and study their frilly, composed gloom. I can copy it. It worked when I was young. But dolls can shatter, and I'm taller now. I'll mirror a willow tree, swaying in the wind and growing. People don't mind the weeping a willow does because you can get shade and poetry and medicine from the tree. That'll do.

[weabooii]

Shelter from the rain

[simcardiac-arrested]

ATTENTION: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS TREE? IF YOU HAVE, YOU MIGHT HAVE FALLEN INTO SOME SORT OF RIP IN THE FABRIC OF TIME

alt version because i also liek it :)

[newyorkthegoldenage]

The Wishing Tree, 2240 7th Avenue (now Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard), 1936.

The Wishing Tree was originally located in front of the Lafayette Theater on 7th Ave and 132nd Street. In the 1920s and 1930s, 7th Avenue was commonly called the "Boulevard of Dreams" by Harlem residents, as it was lined with prominent performance venues. Reportedly, before performances, actors, musicians and the like would touch the branches and bark of this tree for good luck on stage. The tree was a symbol of promise for Harlem.

Unfortunately, the good-fortune granting shrub was chopped down by the Parks Department in 1934 to widen the Avenue, and sections of it were cut up and sold to private hands. Seeking to preserve the public tradition of the lucky charm, Bill "Bojangles" Robinson saved the stump and brought it at a nearby traffic island. The "replanting" ceremony was attended by over 5,000 Harlem residents, who led a "rhythmic planting" in homage to the music industry the tree served. Even Mayor LaGuardia attended the ceremony. A young sapling was planted at the original location of the Wishing Tree, but hope-seekers continued to visit the stump. Soon, a plaque was laid in front of it, which read "The Original Tree of Hope Beloved by Citizens of Harlem."

The Wishing Tree has since been removed, but a commemorative sculpture, titled "Tree of Hope III," by Harlem artist Algernon Miller, takes its place. A portion of the original stump can be visited in the Apollo Theater.

Photo: NYPL Text: Urban Archive Instagram

[cinnamon-flame]

Starting off the new year with I think the most background heavy piece I've ever made! I think Rainwings and Nightwings would celebrate their traditional holidays together after the events of The brightest night. So this drawing is meant to show their cultures kind of blending together during a very joyful time. I remember talking about this concept with someone on tumblr a year ago but when I went back through my posts I couldn't for the life of me find it - so if your reading this, I remember you and this drawing stems from that conversation so thank you!

Close-ups:

[walnut-tries-too-hard]

Merry Christmas and happy holidays

From the life series winners!! (and Jimmy)

Winner exclusive party, ft them in ugly watcher given sweaters based on the season they won.

[smile-files]

mommy let you use her ipad, you were barely two

and it did all the things we designed it to do

now look at you, look at you!

(objectober 2024 day 10: internet)