#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]

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!

[rachelwhiteartist]

In the immortal words of Loshain P’stane, "If anyone reads this without permission, he will be most certainly and brutally slain. Or at the very least, I’ll chop off a finger or two. Or three."

It’s the Wingfeather Boys! I drew this ages ago, back in 2020, while listening to Andrew Peterson read On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness aloud over livestream. Incredible to think about how far the animated series has come since then!

[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 >:)

[isavitarts]

The King of Anniera

[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.

[tam-song-the-shade]

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

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

The pure love that can be seen in Peet’s eyes when he looks at Leeli something that can be so meaningful.

[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.

[27-roses]

Found this collage-ish page in an old sketchbook from a few years ago. My handwriting is awful, and the fan art could be better, but it made me so happy to find. Hope you guys enjoy it, too!