#mrs. wing

[agentsketchbook]

2-5-23 Pigeon's Nest

Ding

Dong

Leaning on the tips of his toes, Hansa peered up into the peephole of the door before him, as if there was any chance for him to view the interior through such a myopic piece of glass curved the wrong direction. He bent sideways, looking at the orange glow of lights inside the familiar house. Hansa wasn’t known for his patience or ability to sit still, fidgeting with his keychain in his pocket, thumbing over the plastic grooves of the miniature figure’s coif. He rocked on the soles of his shoes, back and forth for what seemed like forever before he decided he’d waited too long.

Ding Dong

Knock Knock

Pressing his ear to the door, he could make out some sounds. So there was life after all. There was a distant and muffled shout and footsteps advancing. Hansa stepped backwards from being flush with the door, allowing a tall slender gentleman he knew well to swing it open, light hitting Hansa’s face and warming his complexion as he did so. 

“Oh, it's Hansa. Honey, it's only Hansa!” He crowed behind him. 

A female voice called out from what he believed to be the kitchen, judging by his memory. “I heard you the first time, don’t make him wait outside, come in!”

“Thanks for letting me come over, Mr. Wing. And Mrs. Wing.” Hansa slipped his thumb under the heel of his left shoe with his right hand, familiar with the drill of entering the Wing household with respect to the homeowner’s boundaries. He carried his scuffed once-upon-a-time white shoes to the closet next to the doorway, placing them in an empty spot on the ground. He gazed at a particularly large pair of sky blue canvas shoes. They look like they’d hardly ever seen the outside of the confines of the closet. Hansa didn’t recognize this pair, but it was starkly clear they belonged to Pigeon Wing. Or at least, once upon a time. Who would wear them now? Anybody? “Hansa, you want something to drink? Water? Juice? We have Coka!” 

He snapped out of his thoughts, turning to face Mrs. Wing. “Oh uh, no thank you, thank you for asking.”

“I get you some juice. Wait here.”

Before Hansa could even protest, she was scampering down the hallway to fetch the young man a drink. He couldn’t recall ever entering this house and leaving without something in his stomach. The hospitality he received from the Wing family was always thrust upon him. Perhaps a little forceful, but always well intentioned. Hansa took it no matter what he was feeling. 

The newly empty nested mother returned to Hansa with a tall glass of orange juice, placing it in his open palm. 

“Here, drink it up. You’re so short- like me, you need to grow,” she fussed. “You want something else?”

“Aha, no thank you, Mrs. Wing. I just wanted to go up to um. You know. Pigeon’s room. I-I called earlier and Mr. Wing told me it was alright to take anything home with me that I wanted from him.”

Mrs. Wing’s face changed at the mention of her late son. A sadness clouded her eyes, lips pressing together to contain it. 

“I don’t remember that, he not tell me. You can go, but if you need something, tell me, okay? I get it for you, anything.” 

Even with the painful reality, she managed to compose herself and maintain her gracious host persona for guests. Hansa had been over countless times before, and yet, she never waivered or let her guard down around him. He could sense a kind distance she’d kept between him and her through the cordiality. Despite this impersonal care, he’d return the pleasantry. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Wing!” Hansa plodded up the hard wooden stairs that creaked beneath his socked feet. He made a turn into the second door down to the left, putting his palm to the cool metal handle, ice cold glass in his other hand.

It was so dark. The room was nearly black, save for the dusk fading in through the window past the white curtains. Hansa’s free hand planted against the wall, searching for a switch he’d never had to turn on before. Every time he was over, Pigeon was leading the way and lighting the room. That, or he had it on ready for him. 

To his surprise, the room was very neatly laid out. Pigeon’s bed was made, there were no clothes strewn on the floor or stray papers carefully set up in little project piles, and his desk was free of empty bottles of Coka Co or half eaten bowls of ramen noodles. There was, however, an assortment of boxes by the bed full of belongings. Clothing, books, and… more books. A lot of books, actually. Several of these boxes were filled with notebooks as well as published titles. They were all neatly placed in the cardboard and plastic bins with care.

His parents must have tidied up the young man’s living space some time after the news he’d never come home. That he’d gone missing. Police reported to the Wing residence that their son had become a casualty in his involvement with a drug operation and that his body had gone missing from the morgue he was taken to. Hansa knew the truth a little further than this, but he would have to stick to the authority’s story. How heartbreaking it was to not only feel involved in the passing of their baby boy, but to keep from them the knowledge where his body was safely buried. 

It felt almost dirty to be in their home, in their son’s room, going through his belongings with the intent of walking away with them. Hansa pushed that feeling down as deep as he could. It wasn’t helping him to feel so gravely guilty. He just wanted to get in and get out without causing pain or feeling pain. He was already failing, however, as a dull aching began in his throat and the middle of his face from the nasal cavity out the eyes. Emotion was filling his face and chest quickly at these thoughts. 

He took a sip of the sweet orange juice in his hand. Mrs. Wing always freshly squeezed it from the few trees they grew out in the backyard. As he approached Pigeon’s desk to set the glass down, he could see the foggy silhouettes of them through the curtains. There was no wind to breathe between their leaves, making them appear still, as though they were frozen in a moment in time. In the corner of Hansa’s eye, the alarm clock on the bedside dresser ticked, proving that time was indeed moving on without him. He made a mental note that he was intruding on the bereaved couple’s evening, inspiring him to move towards the boxes and get started. He pulled his face up with a sniff, furrowing his brow and directing his focus to the boxes. 

He gave a glance to the ones with clothing, acutely aware that they were too big to be of any use to him or anyone he knew. Sunshine was much too massive to fit in the clothes of any of his loved ones, even if Pigeon was a giant too. Blackery was too bulked up to wear the gaunt Wing’s garments. Even still, Hansa picked up the soft button up on the top of the pile, holding it up by the shoulders as though to prop his friend up before him. Many a time, Hansa would be too proud to wear a jacket out. Hell, even long sleeves. And every time, Pigeon would hand the shivering young man whatever shirt he was wearing over his T-shirt the moment he could hear chattering teeth. 

Unlike those times, the shirt in his hands was not warmed and fragrant with body warmth and cozy lived in cotton. He held it close to his chest and gave it an inhale, taking note of the empty room temperature and sterile smell of detergent. Along with organizing Pigeon’s space and things, his folks have appeared to do whatever laundry he had not gotten around to.

A deep inhale and sigh out of his chest made Hansa sink to the floor, sitting in the middle of the boxes with his legs crossed. He arrived in his usual tank top and jeans, still feeling the chill of the evening outside from waiting to be let in. The warmth of the house did start to tingle his skin, but wasn’t doing enough. An arm slipped through the oversized sleeve, then another until Hansa was swimming in his best friend’s shirt. He scrunched the sleeves up his arms to his elbows for use of his hands. Owning the button up simply didn’t give the same feeling as borrowing it. Still, Hansa got the only thing he really wanted from the box of clothes. 

Moving onto the other boxes, he peeked into the ones full of notebooks of all sorts. He began to pull them out. Arranging them around him in piles similar to how Wing would lay out his homework on the carpet around himself as Hansa crashed on his bed, keeping him company and accountable for his concentration. He had composition books, spiral notebooks, planners of every shape and size, and itty bitty memo books. Some were empty and never touched, but the majority were filled, their pages fanning out from use. Most peculiar was a little wooden keepsake box full of tiny keys, far too small to fit any door he knew of.

Hansa thumbed through the pages of a small thick book, the soft leather cover bowing in his hand and thin pages gently brushing his fingertips as his eyes scanned the contents. He looked to the plastic bins and boxes surrounding him, noting how every single book must have been filled with Pigeon’s neat and tiny handwriting. It differed greatly from Hansa’s large and scrawled characters, all joined in the wrong places and scorned by all of his past teachers. He didn’t have any current professors to disappoint or irritate with his writing ability, but he thought of Pigeon's excited conversations about his creative writing course, his gripes about the stuffy professor in his English course, and so forth. 

He knew Pigeon had a knack for writing and stories, but his towering friend would never share his work. It didn’t bother Hansa as much as it could have. After all, he didn’t want to step on his toes and make the already skittish Wing uncomfortable. He always had his head in the clouds, however, and was curious as to what he saw from up there with his eyes in the sky. Now that he was really up there, he could not ask. Hansa looked to the books surrounding him instead to tell his truth. They were filled up page to page with poetry, his thoughts, his feelings. These books told of his love for life, and his fears, his dread. He had an eye for the beauty in things as dark as death, and it made Hansa understand how Pigeon could stay so melancholy at baseline.

One thing that caught his attention was a series of notebooks with locks on them, about the size of a Bible. This made the box of tiny little keys that Hansa produced make a lot more sense. Each of the notebooks had different doodles in ballpoint pen, stickers, and collaged scraps of paper on the outside covers and backs. Every one sported its own color and style. He looked through them, rubbing his palms and fingertips over them, taking in the texture and thinking of how well loved they were. He could even see the ruffled up edges of the pages, clearly frequented as opposed to the impeccable neatness of the brand new notebooks pigeon never used. 

Hansa picked up one of fourteen secured notebooks, inspecting the lock and passively prying at the edges with his fingers, testing their strength. No dice. “No duh,” he thought. It wasn’t just for show. He looked at the box of keys, noting that there were multiple of the same key, two to a small coiled ring about half an inch wide. 

He picked up a key and flipped it over, closely observing the ridges on the side before trying it on the lock of a notebook. With a click, the mechanism released, spilling forth Pigeon Wing’s pages to the middle, allowing Hansa to drink in the sight of them. 

His eyes darted across the spread of words, skimming them for an inkling as to why they were guarded so closely. It seemed to him that Wing was writing about his feelings for someone. Through the thickness of his chest and throat, he chuckled to an absent Pigeon, “You sly thing, I didn’t think you had it in you…” He picked up that it was about a certain “him,” and found himself slowing down to read through. Was this really what he was seeing? These were intimate feelings. More than just amicable, and even more than describing a crush. There was a heaviness that pooled in Hansa’s heart as he absorbed the text. Pigeon felt things so strongly that he could compete with a reader like Sunshine for the title of most emotional. However, Hansa was carrying the burden of feeling for the both of them. 

He never knew Pigeon felt so strongly for another man, let alone another person. Hansa reminisced and realized his friend had never once mentioned a girl in his life outside of interacting with family. Hansa used to egg Pigeon on about whether or not he was interested in someone special, and even played games such as asking who in Molly’s gang he would see himself with. Pigeon didn’t find kiss marry kill very stimulating, so it was a curiosity that remained unsated.

Hansa’s eyes scanned the finely written text, wondering if he should even be reading something so personal and intimate. He continued regardless, until his eyes froze on a name. 

His name.

Was that right? 

He read the following lines closely and with a careful cognizance. 

“I just wish I could do something about how I feel about Hansa. He has never once left my side, and maybe that’s the problem. I’m always feeling so vulnerable near him, and it feels good to let myself be soft and loosen up around him. I feel like I can be myself, except for the matter of telling him how strongly in love with him I am. It’s overwhelming at times. And other times, it feels like we’ve been married for decades. I’ve never wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone else, but I could see myself growing old with him. It’s a fact that he is so dedicated to caring for his mother. Nobody could deny it. I have no doubt in my head, as rose tinted as it may be, that he would do the same to care for me if I ever needed it one day. I would take care of him until my dying days if the roles were reversed.”

Hansa felt tears pushing out from the intense numb stinging of his face as he read on.

“I want to do what he does for me. To encourage him to follow his dreams and pursuits. He’s such a gorgeous and talented illustrator, to add. Sakana may be the resident artist in the gang, but I think Hansa is the best. His drawings for my writing are my favorite. Even if I don’t let him read it, he always draws the perfect thing for it. He’s perfect. So passionate about what he cares about, in fact. I hope he feels passionate about me as well.” 

The next line whiplashed his heart, nearly pulling the tears back into his skull as the sultry words echoed loudly in his head. Perhaps a little too personal to be reading in Mr. and Mrs. Wing’s all too squeaky clean home. He felt like he’d opened Pandora's box, or blared a siren in the middle of the silent suburb. He hurriedly joined the halves of the book back together, latching the lock to its original position. Hansa was unclear about whether or not to continue, but he decided now and here was neither the time nor the place to do so. 

His face flushed at the confession. Had he really been this dense as not to notice how strongly Wing felt before? He knew Pigeon would always cling to him, wallflower that he was. He knew he would confide in him and lean on his shoulder when times were rough for him at home. And he certainly knew that Pigeon was a fan of passionate works, always mentioning the next romance novels he’d move onto. Maybe Hansa should have understood sooner, despite it being a secret guarded by a series of locks and keys. 

He wiped his tears with the sleeve of the massive shirt he donned upon him and took in a deep breath, recollecting himself and clearing his head. Hansa glanced at the alarm clock through blurry eyes, shocked at how much time flew by. 10:01 PM, it read. He had to get going, he thought. He turned his head to all the boxes with a determination to move them all into his car. 

Creeeaaak…

The yellow rose whipped his head to look at the open door, seeing Mrs. Wing peeking in.

“Are you okay in here?” She asked in a voice softer than her usually high volume. 

She stepped into the room and Hansa stood up, giving a sniffle before replying.

“I’m fine. I think I’m ready to go, I just need to take…” Hansa gestured to the books strewn across the floor and the boxes they lived in. “all of these back with me.” 

“Okay, okay.” Her head nodded, eyes fixed on the books with a worried distance. “You need help? I help you.” 

“Oh um… Don’t worry about it, I got it. I just need to take a few trips and I’ll be out of your coif.”

“Nooo. I help you. Okay?” Their eyes met and he could see the sincerity in them, pleading for him to allow her to help. His face softened to match hers, and he sighed. 

“Okay.” 

[intairnwetrust]

"You're not going to argue? Or tell me there's another way?"

"Me? Argue with you about books? I only pick fights I can win."

This is such a cute moment between them we need to appreciate it more. Xaden just being in love with his scribe minded wifey 🥰

[violetsorengail]

Xaden growing colder throughout the book when the one thing Sgaeyl hates is the cold

[chayannekelo]

doodle page!!!

does anyone have drawing requests? im sooo bored

[newvestroia]

Why don’t they just drink the lake. Are they stupid

[dunmeshistash]

I've been having a bunch of ideas kinda float around my mind like little screensavers that I didn't feel like putting on paper, but one of these ideas just so happened to hit a corner, and it gave me an idea for what might perhaps be a bit of a silly (and oddly specific) question, but one I was very interested in asking nonetheless. Especially after reading your long post on the Demon's perspective of Laios' backstory. I really hope you don't mind.

While my memory's a tad blurry on how the scene played out in detail, I still find Laios' confrontation with the demon to be one of my favorite scenes. Definitely top 5. It's the one where Laios secretly orders Izutsumi to execute him at the slightest hint of suspicion. That one. I think that scene is among my favorites because it's both a perfect demonstration of Laios' remarkable cleverness hidden underneath all that lack of social skills, but it's also the perfect demonstration of how utterly terrifying the demon is.

At first I was under the assumption that Laios had it all under control, but the Demon's frighteningly gentle with how he twists Laios' very thoughts in a way that frames him as some sort of misanthropist, and the Winged Lion's words seemingly foil whatever plan Laios may have had. It made me think that Laios had failed, and Izutsumi's orders to lob his head off may have been a fail safe because he didn't know if he could successfully thwart the Demon's plans.

However, after finishing the story, extras, etc; I started thinking that perhaps failing was all part of Laios' plan, too. At least partially. Perhaps he realised that the only way to outsmart and ultimately best the Demon, was to let the Demon win. Perhaps he concluded that the only way for him to stand a chance against the Demon was to lose, to be at the Demon's mercy, to have his words utterly twisted; because he couldn't just make the demon "think" he had won. The only way for the Demon, the embodiment of hunger, to think he had won, was for him to actually win.

Maybe he ordered Izutsumi to�� how do you put it… "artificially shorten his lifespan" because he knew the Demon would use his love for monsters against him, and would manipulate him into wishing to become the Ultimate Strongest Monster. His recent addendum (that the Ultimate Strongest Monster can eat desires) seems to support this theory, if I remember correctly. However, I can't remember for certain. Maybe his plan was to trap the Demon in his body and kill it that way? I genuinely can't remember.

So, I was wondering if you'd be interested in answering this oddly specific and mildly stupid question: How much of Laios' interaction with the Demon was planned, and how much was him fucking around and finding out? I'd love to know your thoughts on this!

PS: Laios rocks the swag he dons as king. Would happily serve under him. PPS: I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week, Mr. Morbius! Thank you for this awesome blog. You're cool.

Hello!!!!! Yeah!!!!!! The question Kabru himself would rather not know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Same as Kabru I decided not to think too hard about but Kui definitely gave us hints that this could be the case, I don't think Laios "planned" to fail from the start, he strikes me as a very optimistic guy (as you can see with how he first thought the confrontation with Thistle could go and how he STILL tried to talk to him instead of fighting) but I think he did "prepare" somewhat for the worst case scenario, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst?

Like I don't think this part of his plan was a misdirection I think he really hoped it could be this simple? So this was plan A (although he realizes this is too optimistic I think he hopes it will work)

This part tho I'm pretty sure was partly a misdirection for his teammates, since he asks them to help him get his mind back only to tell Izutsumi to kill him at the smallest hint he lost his mind, so I think this was plan B as in "If I become the lord of the dungeon kill me so there's no more dungeon lord" which was the original canary plan

Which again is kinda confirmed by this thought bubble

I think this was plan C

He knew he no longer wished for a country where humans and monsters could coexist (because of what he saw) so I guess he had *some* idea that becoming a monster was his other wish and added that as a fail safe if plan A and B failed? I don't think he could have guessed the Demon would use his body but maybe he thought he could use the nature of the demon against him (granting his desire to become a monster even tho the monster can eat him)

As Marcille and Kabru realize tho, that might all be a coincidence and he really thought plan A or B would work lmao. WHO KNOWS Laios' mind is a mystery

I'd recommend rereading chapter 88 if you want to go thru Laios' whole plan and how the demon manipulated him, it's a great chapter (87 too with the demon origin story)

[autumnmobile12]

How the LoV got into the most intense argument they ever had:

Shigaraki: Hawks has wings.

Dabi: Yes.

Shigaraki: Hawks can fly.

Spinner: Mm-hm.

Shigaraki: Hawks is a human who can fly.

Mr. Compress: This is true.

Shigaraki: Humans are mammals.

Twice: Yeah? Duh!

Shigaraki: Hawks is a mammal, not a bird.

Toga: Pity, but yes.

Shigaraki: The only mammal that can fly is a bat. Therefore Hawks is a bat.

LoV: ...

Shigaraki: Discuss.

[squash1]

the passing of an object,

the passing of the torch, the passing of a legacy:

[the west wing / the dream thieves / dead poets society / the bear / young royals / ted lasso]

[archonoelle]

the category is: fictional men who would have “husband” in their instagram bios

[onlymexsarah]

⚠️⚠️THEORY AND SPOILERS FROM ONYX STORM⚠️⚠️

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Am I the only one who caught that Sloane is THE cure for venin? I see everyone confused by Jack’s handprint on Dain’s arm disappearing, but it was obvious to me?

And it would be too easy to quote “you are life.” from her future husband.

Sloane is terrified of her power because she doesn’t want to be like the Venin, and she’ll turn out to be the only one who can cure them.

Also I might write something about her and Dain with this specific topic and lot of angst :)

In Slain we believe.

[wheeloffortune-design]

The cover reveal for the sapphic western is Saturday!!

January 11, 2025, 1pm EST

I'll be sharing the screen with my dear friend @edhelwen1 , who's also announcing her next novel, Winging it. The cover art is drawn by @pinkpiggy93 so you know it'll be beautiful!

Come hang out and get exclusive news about the publishing of Mrs. Victoria Buys a Brothel :D

[theoogtree]

I'm not saying I understand what's going on in the Kingdom Hearts lore but I am saying that if Roxas could dual wield because he shared a heart with Sora and Sora could dual wield because he shared a heart with Ventus and both of them retained their ability to dual wield after they all separated and became their own people because the bonds you make in your heart never truly leave you and continue to give you power

then Logically, Sora should be able to triple wield like Zoro Onepiece

[heepthecheep]

It bothers me when people compare Tailchaser's song and Warriors and act like they're so similar when they're really not?

To me Tailchaser's Song is most similar to Watership Down, being a single novel of epic proportions, with a large focus on the fictional language/mythology, large overall battle that must be won that's not initially present at the beginning of the story but that the plot builds up to through other conflicts.

To me, Warriors is most similar to series like Wings of Fire (arc structure, novellas, etc), Redwall (Length), Guardians of Ga'Hoole (Conflict and age) and Silverwing (how our characters actually perceive the world). Actually, I think it's most similar to the various Ginga manga than anything else.

While Felidae is known for it's graphic violence, it's also not comparable really, besides featuring cats and a cat-cult. These cats are fully aware of how humans work, and at the same time, they often act more cat-like.

While writing this up, I realized that there's a distinct subgenre within Xenofiction that I'm going to refer to as "dog stories". A "dog story" is told from the perspective of a dog, but it's actually about the people in the dog's life rather than the dog itself. In essence, the story could be told from the perspective of a sentient air fryer and very little would change. Popular examples would be "A dog's purpose" and "The art of racing in the rain" amongst others. Of course, not all stories about dogs are "dog stories" but many of them are.

Also, I'm realizing that mice are super popular for Xenofiction, except most just make them tiny humans living parallel to humanity. This isn't a bad thing as many of them are pretty good stories (Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIHM, The Tale of Despereaux , The Rescuers, Etc), while birds outside of owls are very very underrepresented (except for Swordbird, which as a kid I thought sucked. Which is funny because I was and still am into Warriors) ...Unless you count Raptor Red?

[justjesse116]

I'm fuckin mad tonight so; to anyone who doesn't believe Hawks cared about any or all of the League of Villains: Fuck You.

You're going to stand there and tell me that the fucker with the hero complex so strong he dove head first into every danger presented to him didn't at least marginally want to save all of them? Get the fuck outta my face.

He wished to hell Shigaraki hadn't been found by AFO, he wanted to steal Himiko away to do his nails and face masks with her, he would have become Touya's friend to get him away from Endeavor because sometimes your heroes aren't who you thought they were and he's not fucking stupid.

During the timeskip he was absolutely in contact with Mr. Compress and Spinner. Don't fucking piss me off.

You're fucking INSANE if you think he wasn't sympathetic to the LOV at all, actually out of your mind. That man CARES and it's not fucking reserved for 'good' people.

How do I know? Reasons.

Hawks is the most hero to ever hero, and came from a place that no one can argue with me that he wouldn't give literally anyone a chance, let alone anyone with a fucking point.

I'm ready to tear my hair out over this, it's ridiculous. This fucking complex some people have about the only people 'deserving' to be saved have to be model citizens is making me feel violent.

Your privileged ass can stand there and say whatever you want, but if you really think that every person who's committed a crime, not even a violent one, deserves to die, hey, go ahead and turn that back on yourself, you fucking jackass.

[dragons-library]

fine…FINE! FUCKING FINE!!

I’ll say it, im a Dain Aetos apologist now through and through.

I fucking love the guy now, I can see why he was Violet’s best friend for so long. Damn it. (Also is it just me or does he low-key wanna be friends with Xaden now lol)

This just makes me hate Daddy Aetos even more, fucker.

[smilingberryy]

Some more lil Homicipher doodles, who else thinks Mr. Chopped sometimes gets around via the hand or trys to roll JSVDHGA