#igibys

[the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not]

if this gets to like 100 notes I’ll continue writing my wingfeather saga fix it fic and maybe even publish it

[isavitarts]

Fang Kalmar! concept design

[undercoverossifrage]

I drew one of my favorite scenes from the monster in the hollows; Janner bringing a reckoning. I love this scene where Janner kind of realizes that the only way to stop the bullying and protect his siblings is to play Grigory’s game and win. There is this certain raw emotion throughout the chapter that makes it stand out.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | “first kiss” (but make it platonic)

Hi yes I’m posting another fic no I don’t know how. Enjoying it though. Artham Wingfeather my beloved.

read on A03

~~~

When Esben bursts through the doors, Artham shoots to his feet and expects the worst. He’d been daring to hope for hours now, keeping a sturdy faith in the Maker’s goodness, and that hope hadn’t once vanished or lessened—even after the sun set and the stars came alive, long after the moon made its journey across the midnight sky, and all the way up to the gentle but brilliant sunrise. He hadn’t lost his hope. He hadn’t lost his faith. 

But now, all the hope and faith in the world evaporates like water, leaving Artham with a sick, sinking hole splitting his chest apart. Something went wrong. Something went so terribly wrong. One of them didn’t make it. None of them made it. No one could help. No one could do anything. It’s all over now. No more can be done. 

Something went wrong.

Esben spins around, searching wildly. His eyes catch Artham’s and then he stills. His hair is greasy and tangled. There’s tear tracks on his face. 

Artham’s breath stops in his throat.

And then Esben laughs—or cries or sobs or shouts, or maybe all of them at once. And Artham’s breath returns; the sinking hole in his chest begins to mend itself. It’s okay.

“How are things?” He asks, which seems far too refined a question to ask in a situation like this, but it’s all Artham can think to say—and he wants to know. 

“Great! Perfect, just brilliant!” Esben laughs (it’s clearly a laugh this time) and gleefully runs his fingers through his hair. “Nia’s- she’s as bright and beautiful as ever, even- oh Artham, you should’ve seen her. As surely as I stand today, there’s never been a braver woman in all of Anniera—no, in all the world! She’s just- oh, I don’t know. I don’t know how she managed to do that. I could never, certainly… oh, surely not.”

He shakes his head, a somewhat horrified look coming upon his face, before he looks up, brightening. His eyes are shining like the sea. “It’s a girl.”

And then Artham does what he should have done the moment Esben opened those doors: he races forward, quick as the wind, and pulls his brother to himself, one hand on the back of his head. Esben cries, returning the embrace with shaking arms. 

Artham holds on tighter. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, hugging in the middle of a hallway. It could’ve been decades or millennia and Artham would have never pulled away. 

But then Esben is bouncing, unfurling his arms from his brother and taking a step back. His eyes are bright like sunlight despite the bags underneath. He looks free. “What are we doing, all the way out here? Come on, you have to meet her! Just think Artham, you have a niece now!” He grins. “How cool is that?”

Artham opens and closes his mouth. Oh. A… a niece. Him. He has a niece now. Oh. 

Esben chuckles. “You’re speechless. Y’know, I can always count on having a kid to shut your mouth for a few blessed minutes.” He winks, clearly joking, but Artham barely hears the words.

I have a niece. She’s a girl. I’m an uncle to a girl.

“I-”

“Come on!” Esben hurries forward, taking Artham’s hand like a child and rushing through the doors and into the bedroom. Artham blinks, following blindly. 

The lights are low, a quiet and steady dimness that feels comforting. The midwives must have left by this point, because all that remains is Nia, sitting against a tower of pillows in bed. She’s holding something small close to her chest. 

Artham gasps. His feet stumble. 

Nia looks up; she looks tired, with hair sticking to her face and dark spots under her eyes and lines on her forehead, but Esben was right: she’s as bright and beautiful as ever. There’s a glow that seems to radiate from her whole being, happiness and relief and gratitude all rolled into one. She smiles. “Hello, Artham.”

“Congratulations, my lady,” Artham stutters, because that’s the sort of thing he ought to say to someone who just gave birth. Right? He said it for Janner and Kalmar, didn’t he?

Nia dips her head in thanks, and Artham’s nerves are somewhat eased. That’s the sort of thing he ought to say, then. 

“Come on!” Esben urges, dragging Artham forward a few steps. “You have to see her!”

Artham realizes that he and Esben had walked in holding hands, and Nia had said nothing about it. She had only smiled. 

Somehow, Artham’s love for his sister-in-law grows. 

Esben leads him all the way to the edge of the bed, where he stops and grins so wide it seems his mouth will jump right off his face. Artham stands there dumbly. 

“Do you see her?” Esben asks dreamily. “Do you see how perfect she is?”

Artham leans forward slightly, eyes wide as he searches for the tiny thing. Nia smiles and gently tilts the bundle in her arms towards-

“Oh,” Artham breathes. “Oh.”

Because in Nia’s arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, is a baby; an unbelievably small, amazingly delicate baby. 

Artham leans even closer, watching the baby’s nose gently flare with silent breaths. Her eyes are shut, her skin is pink, and Artham thinks she may be the most perfect thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“She’s beautiful,” He murmurs, and Nia beams. 

“Do you want to hold her?”

Artham tears his gaze away from the baby, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“Our child.” Nia tilts her head meaningfully. “Would you like to hold her?”

“I-” Artham looks to his brother, feeling oddly helpless. 

Esben grins, nodding eagerly. “Hold her. Hold your niece and say hello.”

Artham shuts his mouth, then opens it, then nods. 

There’s no need to ask for instruction on how to properly hold the newborn; Artham learned from Janner and Kalmar, and he doesn’t think he could ever forget the feel of an impossibly tiny human resting in his arms, or the immense responsibility it carries—the knowledge that you are the keeper of a helpless human being, all that stands between them and death. It’s a wonderful and terrifying feeling. 

Nia carefully moves the baby, a motion so smooth that the infant doesn’t stir. In seconds, the baby has passed from her mother’s chest to her uncle’s hands. Artham doesn’t dare look away from her.

She really is small. Smaller than her brothers when they were born.

A flutter of worry erupts in the Throne Warden’s chest. “Is she healthy?”

“Healthy as can be,” Esben answers, placing a cheerful hand over Artham’s shoulder. “We thought she was small as well. But, the midwives assured us that her size isn’t dangerous, and she’s been content as a thwap in a totato patch so far.”

“But we’re keeping a close eye on her,” Nia adds. “Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Esben echoes, quieter. 

Artham swallows. The baby doesn’t even stretch from his hand to his elbow. She is so, unfathomably small. 

She makes an equally small noise, and Artham’s eyes go wide as a (somehow smaller) hand reaches out of the blanket, plaintively waving. 

“It’s alright,” Artham soothes, voice soft like the blanket the newborn rests in. Using the hand that isn’t currently occupied, he holds out his index finger to her. 

She grabs it. Like instinct. 

Just like that, her noises cease, and she relaxes amidst the blanket. Artham suddenly finds that he is unable to move. 

She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. She looks like the Maker painted each and every detail with the softest paintbrush and the calmest colors. She looks like tiny blue waves lapping at a sandy shore, sea-birds gliding and chirping nearby. She looks like the music notes for the most stunning piece of music. 

She looks like a song.

Artham breathes out (though he isn’t sure how) and he thinks he smiles and he knows he cries, because how? How does one experience pure beauty like this, and live unmoved by it? It’s impossible, he believes. It’s impossible. 

The baby opens her eyes for a brief moment, blinking and yawning. They are brilliant. If true could be a color, that would be hers.

Artham pulls the baby closer, gazing deep into her face and attempting to memorize every shape of it, and every line. Every single detail. 

She’s still gripping his index finger with a gentleness he doesn’t think he could ever deserve. He wants to sob. If he did that, though, then he would probably drop her. 

Instead, he dips his head forward and presses his lips to her forehead, wondering at how new the skin feels. She has not yet been weathered and beaten by storms and sun. Artham finds himself grieving the day she will lose this newness, this softness, this remarkable state of being that’s unique to newborns. 

He lingers there. He doesn’t know for how long. She is so perfect.

It is in this moment that Artham Wingfeather’s heart shifts, allowing room for someone else to make a home there; a small space, filled with ocean waves and flapping birds and singing. A space for this innocent child that he holds in his arms. A space he will fight to the death for. He will die before this space becomes empty and overgrown, he decides. 

“As long as I live, I won’t let anything happen to you,” Artham promises, pulling away and staring into her sleeping face. “I promise. I promise by the Maker’s good hand, young…”

He pauses, and a realization strikes him. He looks up—perhaps for the first time in a very long while—and looks to the parents’ faces, which are both glowing and wet. 

“What’s her name?” He asks. 

Esben looks at Nia, and Nia looks at Esben. “We don’t know yet,” He says slowly. 

Nia smiles. “It will come as the Maker wills it. For now, I am content to call her mine—call her ours.” 

Artham looks back to the newborn, taking her in once more; her nose, her ears, her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her meager supply of hair. His heart begins to warm like a fire in a hearth. “Leeli.” 

The room quiets. 

“What?” Nia asks softly. 

“Leeli.” Artham smiles, and the fire inside his chest burns brighter. “Leeli Wingfeather. Her name.” 

He swallows, looking up before looking back down. “Leeli.” 

“Leeli,” Nia repeats, soft like the beginning of a song. 

Esben looks from brother to wife, then back again. “Where’s that name from, Artham?”

Artham thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure. It just… sounded like her.” 

“Leeli,” The High King murmurs. He sounds thoughtful. 

The room is quiet. Then: 

“I think it’s lovely.” Nia’s voice is strong through the dimness, and Artham wonders if she has a fire in her chest as well. “Leeli, Song Maiden of Anniera.”

“Leeli Wingfeather.” Esben smiles, nodding his head and shaking water droplets to the floor. “That’s perfect.” 

Artham turns back to the child in his arms, and he feels an odd respect for her, despite her unassuming size. She is the Song Maiden—something the kingdom has not had in many long years. Artham instantly knows that she will fill the land with music, and it will be the most beautiful music anyone has ever heard. 

He smiles once more, watching her sleep peacefully in his arms. “Hello, Leeli Wingfeather. We’ve been waiting for you a long, long time.” 

He smiles wider. “I can’t wait for you to learn to sing.”

[toonydoodles]

i want to cement myself as a bona fide janner enjoyer + figure out how the heck this site works so here's a random sketch of him (plus all the references because i want you to look at him)

[ettawritesnstudies]

This is one of my favorite series I've read the whole year. If you're a Christian, part of the inklings challenge crew, or even if you just like a fantastic story with relatable sibling protagonists, please check out Wingfeather!

[nightmaretherabbit]

Leeli

[flowersofstarlight]

🌼Leeli Wingfeather🪶

@wingfeathersagafanblog

Leeli is a wonderful, sweet little girl and I love her music when she sings and plays her whistleharp. 💖🩵✨🌼

She is my favorite character and I feel more connected with her because she loves animals, music, and I like the leaves on her hair. I also love her pet dog named Nugget, he’s a brave dog and a good boy. 💖

Romy Fay, who voices Leeli, did an amazing job, especially singing the song called Yurgen’s Tune for Leeli & The Sea Dragon Song. I enjoyed listening to that song and the other version of Yurgen’s Tune. 💖🌟✨🎶

I kept humming or singing this song out loud when I’m drawing, and this song really made me feel something like what the characters said in season 1 episode 1. I can’t wait to hear more songs and Leeli singing when season 2 comes out. 💖

Here’s the video of Leeli singing the Sea Dragon’s song. There’s a full lyrics of this song feat. Romy Fay if you want to check out on YouTube.

[wings-dings-and-iggyfings]

*suddenly remembers she can create polls* *rubs hands together and giggles in a slightly maniacal way*

Alright, alright, let's start out with something simple. Who's your favorite (main*) Wingfeather character?

*Main character in this case means a character who plays a significant, recurring role in the books. I'll make a separate poll for side characters and... oooh, I should make one for the villains, that'd be fun >:)

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

On a scale from Mirabel

To Tink

how excited would you be to discover your weird sad uncle’s hideout?

[tam-song-the-shade]

Make the comments section look like Janner Wingfeather’s search history.

[isavitarts]

The King of Anniera

[undercoverossifrage]

The Sea Turned Red

The sea turned red is one of my favorite chapters in the whole series. Everything about it is just phenomenal! Janner finally accepts his role, takes joy in protecting his brother and finds his courage. The act truly fulfills so much of what the story was building to in the first and second books, and really it's the end of Janner's first character arc. His acceptance of the call if you will. Its his actions here that kind of inform how he tries to act and who he eventually becomes in the third and fourth books. I love trying to draw this scene and have attempted to do so once a year for five years. I'm finally happy with how I captured it this time!

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Psssst hello yes I’m writing Wingfeather Saga fanfiction now. Apparently. Yes yes.

read on A03

~~~

Leeli has never once been scared of thunderstorms. 

Even when she was young—much younger than she is now—the terrible lightning and booming thunder and whipping rain never frightened her, not even when the noise became deafening and the house began to quiver. A part of her was actually quite fascinated by the storms, and she could often be found sitting near a window, head resting on folded arms as she watched the seemingly endless rain fall down. She never flinched at the thunder or lightning. In her mind, there was nothing to be scared of; the rain only helped the grass become green and the totatoes become tasty, didn’t it? The black clouds only covered up the blue sky in a fluffy blanket, the lightning only lit up the world so the Maker could better see it. 

Her brothers could not be persuaded. 

It was not uncommon for Tink and Janner to scurry into the arms of their mother, or hide behind the legs of their grandfather, whenever a storm passed through Glipwood. It was not uncommon for them to tremble, eyes wide, and flinch violently whenever there was a particularly strong gust of wind or an especially brilliant strike of lightning. Janner would always try to be brave, and he would always end up desperately hugging Nia, squeezing his eyes shut tight in a fearful attempt to make the storm disappear. 

Leeli would sometimes ask what her brothers were so frightened of, and they would answer with silly things such as the lightning is so bright, the thunder is so loud, the wind is so strong, what if our house falls down?

“It’s just the way storms are,” Leeli would remind them. “It can’t help being loud or bright or strong. Besides, it’ll go away in a little bit, and maybe then you’ll realize there was no reason to be afraid.”

Tink and Janner never really listened. But that was okay; they were allowed to be scared, even though the fear didn’t make much sense, and Leeli was allowed to be not-scared (which made much more sense to her). 

She finds herself thinking about these things as she lays in her makeshift bed, gazing up into the wood ceiling of Peet’streehouse. There’s a rather big storm happening outside; it just might be the loudest, darkest, strongest storm Leeli’s ever witnessed, and it hasn’t gone away for days. 

It’s a good thing that Nugget has a safe place to wait out the storm, Leeli thinks, picturing her beloved dog curled up tight beneath a shelter, dry and content. Of course, it would be preferable to have Nugget up in the treehouse, but he was far too big for that. He’d probably bring the entire treehouse down with his weight!

Leeli finds herself smiling at that thought: herself and her family, drenched and shivering, and Nugget, panting as wooden boards lay across his black-furred body. 

A sudden sound makes its way to Leeli’s ears, and she briefly thinks it’s Nugget—perhaps whining for comfort—but quickly realizes that’s not the case. This sound is too quiet to be Nugget, and sounds… human. 

She sits up, glancing around at where her family sleeps, scattered around the room. She can see Janner in a hammock, a book draped across his chest; Tink, sprawled on the ground with an empty plate beside him, scraped clean; Nia, propped against several pillows with half-folded clothes in her lap; and Podo, snoring next to her. The only one she can’t see is…

The noise comes again, and Leeli’s eyes widen as she recognizes it: whimpering. 

“Peet?” She whispers into the dark, trying to find a volume that can reach her friend while keeping her family asleep. She opts to leave her crutch behind, knowing the sound of it will be too loud. The treehouse is small enough for her to make do without it, anyway. 

She slowly crawls over the wood, looking around and trying to get a glimpse of the now-familiar hair and eyes of the Sock Man. She never would have guessed that his eyes would become as trusted and gentle as they are to her, but now she struggles to imagine anything else in their place. 

“Peet?” She whispers again, squinting. It really is rather hard to see without a candle. 

Something moves in the corner, and Leeli’s eyes brighten. “Peet? Is that you?”

It moves again, and Leeli smiles. “I see you. I’m coming.”

Peet whimpers, and Leeli’s smile vanishes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t reply, which isn’t surprising; the man, for as long as Leeli has known him, has always struggled to form words. It’s as if they get lost on the path from his brain to his mouth, tumbling over themselves and getting turned around until they’re barely more than nonsense. 

But he tries. 

Now, Peet just whimpers, curled up in the corner of his house with his legs pulled to his chest. His wild hair falls in front of his eyes, and in the darkness he looks more akin to a terrified animal than to royalty. 

Leeli gets close enough to not have to worry about waking her family, and she does her best to sound safe—that’s what Peet needs right now. “Hi, Peet. What’s wrong?”

The Sock Man quickly shakes his head. Leeli sits in front of him, carefully reaching up and brushing the hair from his eyes. 

She tries not to gasp. “You’re crying!”

Peet stares at her, watery eyes shining in the dimness. Every few seconds, a new tear runs down his face, dripping onto the floor. His lip quivers. 

“What’s wrong?” Leeli asks softly, using her sleeve to wipe away the water on his face. “If you’re hurt, I need to tell mama. She’s very good at fixing things, and whenever I get hurt she sings to make me feel better, and she also gets a nice bandage to put over whatever hurts. Do you want that, Peet?”

Peet shakes his head again—slower than before. He sniffles. 

Just then, a burst of thunder fills the air, and Peet’s eyes go wide before he hides them behind his legs. His entire body shakes. 

Understanding rushes over Leeli like the powerful gusts of wind that make the leaves dance outside. “You’re scared of the storm. Aren’t you?”

Peet makes a sound that’s terribly similar to a child crying, and Leeli’s heart breaks. 

“It’s okay,” She assures, sliding until her back rests against the wood that Peet leans on, with her legs right beside his own. “Storms are loud, and it’s okay to be scared of it. It’ll go away in a little bit.”

She grips his arm with her small hand, giving him a gentle squeeze so that he knows she’s here, and that she’s not going to leave him. Peet leans towards her, crying into his legs. 

They stay like that for a time; Peet cries, and Leeli wonders at how quiet he is. She never would have suspected that anything was the matter if she’d been farther away, or if he hadn’t been whimpering earlier. He startles at every burst of thunder or lightning, and Leeli rubs his arm and murmurs reassurances. 

Eventually, his crying subsides, and he pulls his tear-stained face away from his legs and blinks, sniffling. 

Leeli offers him a small smile. “See? The storm isn’t going to reach us from in here. Your treehouse is safe.”

“Safe,” Peet repeats, in that way he sometimes does when he’s nervous. “Your treehouse is safe?”

“Your treehouse.”

“Your treehouse. My treehouse.”

“Yes. Yours.”

Peet is quiet for a moment. His eyes squint together. “My housetree—my treehouse. I built it in the woods, the soods are wafe. The woods are safe. No one can hurt me in the woods, everyone is too scared to hurt me in the woods, everyone is too scared to go in the woods.” And then, like a sudden realization, he declares, “Safe is lonely.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Leeli scoots closer to him. “You’re safe now, and I’m here. We’re all here.” She gestures at her family, and Peet follows her hand with wide eyes. “You’re not lonely anymore.”

“Lot nonely anymore—not lonely anymore. Yes.” Peet nods. “Yes, yes, not lonely. Leeli Iggyfeather is here. LeeliWingiby. Leeli…” 

His lips move silently, and his brows furrow with concentration. 

When he appears to have made no progress, Leeli smiles encouragingly. “I can just be Leeli if my last name is too hard to say.”

Peet shakes his head. “No. Leeli Wingfeatherby, Leeli… friend. Friend Leeli. Special.”

He looks at her so suddenly and so sharply that she blinks. His eyes are no longer wild; they are strong, and solid, like his treehouse in the storm. “Leeli is special. Leeli is… not lonely. Geeli is lood—Leeli is good. Leeli Featherby.”

He can’t seem to get her name right, but Leeli smiles anyway. “I’m glad to be your friend, Peet.”

Peet’s eyes widen. “Friend?”

“Of course! Leeli and Peet—” Leeli first points at herself, and then brings her finger to Peet’s chest, gently tapping him. “—friends. Forever.”

Peet’s eyes fill with tears, but Leeli isn’t worried. He’s smiling. “Not lonely.”

Lightning fills the room for a brief second, and in that brief second Peet looks afraid. 

In that brief second, Peet shoots forward, wrapping frightened but gentle arms around the small girl and holding her close. Leeli allows herself a few seconds of surprise before she returns the hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Friend,” Peet whispers, voice trembling. “Leeli friend. Safe. Leeli safe. Not lonely. Leeli safe. Leeli safe.”

“The storm isn’t going to get you,” Leeli whispers back, promising. “You’re safe, Peet.”

“Leeli safe,” Peet chokes, hugging harder. 

~~~

Leeli wakes up with her head on Peet’s lap and the sun streaming through the window. Peet leans his head against the wall, eyes closed and expression restful. 

Leeli grins, sitting up and stretching. “Peet? Peet, wake up!”

Peet’s eyes open quickly. “Happy dream!”

“Happy dream?”

Peet smiles, nodding. “Yes. No storm in dream, just safe and berries and Leeli.”

Leeli’s heart warms. “Maybe we could go find some berries later. Look outside!”

Peet’s smile wavers. “Storm.”

“Not anymore! Look, the sun’s out!”

Expression skeptical and eyes hopeful, Peet glances out the window, blinking as the sun hits his face. It only takes a few seconds until he gasps in delight. “Sun bright! Sun bright! Water on the leaves, none in the air, all gone!”

He turns, looking unbelievably joyful as his gaze falls on Leeli. “Leeli made the storm safe! Leeli made the storm hide for tanother ime—another time!”

Leeli giggles. “I didn’t make it go away. It did that on its own.”

“Leeli safe! Leeli safe!” Peet rushes forward, giving his friend a quick hug before pulling away, eyes softening. “Leelisafe. Leeli saved me.”

“Saved you?” Leeli tilts her head. “How?”

Peet’s lip quivers, and he hugs her again. “Leeli saved me. Leeli saved me. Leeli saved Peet!”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that bounces off the treehouse. It’s the sort of laugh that would make flowers grow. 

Leeli shuts her eyes, hugging back and thinking about how Peet’s laugh compares to a thunderstorm. 

There is no comparison, really. Thunderstorms are neither good or bad, but Peet’s laugh is only good. 

~~~

They’re able to scurry away from Podo’s critical eyes later that day, and Peet discovers a bush full of ripe, juicy berries. 

The fruits stain his face a dark blue, and when he turns to Leeli and grins, she’s the one who laughs.

[mayzi33]

Hi. It's me again.

Like in my previous post, I'm still the second Wingfeather Saga book and I just wanna rant rq.

In the beggining I red someone saying they reccomend these books to 6-14 kids.

....THE FUCK YOU MEAN BY THAT???

I'M IN THE FORK FACTORY ARC AND THERE IS NO WAY THESE BOOKS ARE FOR CHILDREN. WE'RE GETTING STRAIGHT CHILD SLAVERY ALONG WITH JANNER GETTING BEATEN UP WITH MUCH DETAIL. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU RECCOMEND THIS TO 6 YEAR OLDS??? FIRSTLY THAT THEIR MIND PROBABLY WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND HALF OF THIS EXPLICT VOCABULARY. SECONDLY, ME PERSONALLY AS A 6YO WOULD HAVE NIGHTMARES WITH THIS SHIT.

Not complaining though, I love a good ol' captive trope. I just hope Janner gets lots of hugs and comfort after this.

[sailforvalinor]

Gosh, I’d forgotten how Janner cannot stop comparing Sara’s eyes to jewels or stars. Absolutely adorable. He is very much a twelve-year-old boy with a crush, but it’s beautiful catching glimpses of the poet he might have been.