#also man . i love drawing sparrow

[justablah56]

stumbles into ur asks hi hello . grant n sparrow ? :3c

Grant and sparrow ,,..,, my beloveds ,..,.,, here you go lemon , ty for the vote o7

vote for terrick here for a drawing !

[llumimoon]

Btw just changed up the page navigation layout for The Talk comic !! I’ll make a master post of all the pages after the comic is finished bc LMAO all those links increasing every page killed me

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

SEASON 2 CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Blackbeard rules the sea. Despite wanting his captain back, Izzy realises his mistake. Protecting the crew is his concern. Protecting you is his life mission. Stede's return brings hope, but there's a lot of work to be done before this crew becomes a family.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Spoilers. Izzy's depression spiral. No real unicorns were harmed in the making of Izzy's new leg. Things get a little steamy at the end.

Chapter Thirteen - Loving touch

♡♡♡

Stede had gathered the crew, minus Izzy, to talk to them all. Turns out Ed woke up. You swore under your breath when you heard that. No way is that man going to be happy with any of you.

"What happened to your face?" Pete asked Stede who was standing to a bruise on his cheek.

"Bet Blackbeard did that, didn't he?" Wee John asks.

"It was an accident. Okay? I think Ed just sat up too quickly," Stede says.

"That's what they all say," Roach states.

"As you know, he's gone through quite the ordeal and he does need to regain his strength," Stede explains.

"Yeah. He'll probably get around to killing you after he's rested," Jim says, looking Stede in the eye.

"Yeah, I'd say it's a pretty obvious mistake letting him get strong again," Lucius points out. You nod.

"Kick him off the ship already!" Jim yells.

"We just don't banish people, do we?" Stede says. "That's not us. Let's give him some time, perhaps to rebound a bit."

"Medically speaking, the man can't speak, and his brain is maybe couscous." Roach points out. "Also, gonna need that steak back. It's dinner."

"Right. Yes, aye."

"Maybe we should put it to the vote," Fang suggests.

"Do we have to do this now?" Stede asks.

The crew start yelling.

♡♡♡

Stede got his answers from the crew, that much was clear enough. As you head out, Stede catches up to you.

"You were awfully quiet in there."

"Don't get me wrong. I agree with them, Ed has to go."

Stede's expression falls.

"I know you like him, but that man... he did things. He hurt people like I've never seen before. He hurt Izzy..."

"Ah yes, Izzy. How is he?" Stede asks.

"He's been better."

"Where is he anyway? I didn't see him in there."

"Drinking probably. He, uh, he's stopped talking to me at the moment. He won't talk to anyone."

Stede frowns again. "He's stopped talking to you?"

"I think it's the constant drinking... It's making him... upset. Like, more than before."

"I see..."

You shrug lightly and sigh. "Look, I'm not looking for sympathy. You're the captain, sort this out."

You walk off. Stede watches you go, his heart feeling heavy. Maybe he could have a word with Izzy for you.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck with the wooden sparrow in your hands. After everything that happened it had survived. Izzy had kept it in his cabin. You had found it when you had gone in there to find him. Izzy was nowhere to be seen, but the sparrow was sitting on his desk. There was a slight chip in the wood, right on the wing, but for the most part it looked good.

You sigh as you run your finger carefully over it's little head. Did Izzy even notice it was gone? Probably not.

"The atmosphere around here sucks," Lucius sighs, sitting down next to you. You notice the cigarette between his fingers, but you don't ask. "What's that?" He nods toward the wooden bird.

"Marietta."

"Marietta?" He looks at you with a funny expression.

"That's what I called it. It was a gift for Izzy from me. I dropped the first one in the sea while I was angry at him... so I remade her." You hold the sparrow up. "She's a little beaten, but still in nest condition."

"You carved him a bird?"

"Look, I can't draw like you can. I can't make sew like Frenchie, or knit like Wee John. I can, however, whittle."

Lucius smiles a little. "I like it."

A moment of silence passes while you play with the bird in your hands a little more.

"So, you and Izzy?"

"So, you and Pete?" You reply, sarcastically.

"We're fine," he says defensively. "What's going on with your boyfriend?"

You raise your eyes to Lucius. "Blackbeard abused him. Punished him. Took his leg. He's a little upset at the moment. Rightfully so."

Lucius stands up a little defensively. "We've all been through shit," he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not saying you haven't. We thought you were dead!"

"Well, I wasn't." He puts out his cigarette. "I've suffered too and it's all his fault!" He points to where Blackbeard is tied up on the deck.

"He's fucked everyone over, Lucius. Just need Stede to get his ass in gear and do something about it."

Lucius sighs. "Do you think anything will ever go back to how it was?"

"No," you admit honestly. "But I do believe things can get better. In time."

Lucius says nothing. He glares at Blackbeard and then leaves. You sigh and return to holding the bird, caressing it again gently.

"Oh, Izzy..."

♡♡♡

Stede found Izzy at the front of the ship. He was leaning on some of the rope rigging, his wooden leg propped up on the railing. In his other hand was a bottle of rum, of which he was drinking merrily.

He looked a mess.

Stede offered him a smile as he joined him, ignoring the look Izzy was throwing his way. He means over and notices the unicorn is missing it's head.

"He's seen better days, hasn't he?" Stede asks in a lighthearted manner.

"At least he's still got both legs!" Izzy yells.

"Yes!" Stede joins in. "He can't hear you, he's go no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after."

Izzy down his rum. Stede sighs.

"What do you want, Bonnet?" Izzy asks, not really in the mood for conversation.

"Well, here's the thing. The crew, they're in a bit of a deadlock over the whole banishment of Ed thing and I just thought, seeing as, well, you were the one who kept his body aboard, maybe you should weigh in. You've already murdered him once. Seems like a pretty good payback." He chuckles softly. "So, what do you think?"

"My vote?" Izzy leans in a little closer to Stede. "A rotten let's got to come off."

"Right. Just to confirm, was that a nay or yay on the banishment?"

Izzy just drinks some more.

"Right... I suppose I just mention that our Spirit of the sea is worried about you. You've stopped talking to them apparently..."

Izzy says nothing.

"Don't push them out, Izzy."

Izzy just drinks from his bottle again. Stede sighs and takes his leave.

♡♡♡

"So! We, the crew of The Revenge, have voted and we've chosen banishment, unfortunately." Frenchie states, announcing the result. "So, yeah. Effective immediately. Your complimentary dinghy awaits you portside. Now leave, please."

"Fuck off," Ed hisses, walking past him. You watch him closely.

"Alright, rude."

"Fuck you," Ed laughs softly, walking past Olu.

"First time I've been on this side of a walk of shame," Wee John comments.

"Way to make this awkward, bruh," Archie says.

"Shitty sailing with you." Jim chimes in.

"You're making it really hard to look up to you, man," Pete sighs.

"Hey, made you this sandwich for the trip," Roach says, holding it out to him. Ed slaps it out of his hand and Stede catches it

"You don't want your sammie?" Stede looks sad.

Ed slaps it out of Stede's hand and it hits Lucius in the face. You have to cover your mouth to stop from laughing. Lucius bites back his laughter too. It really isn't a funny moment, throwing someone off the ship, but at least you can find something to laugh about, you supposed.

"Ed, say something at least."

Ed turns his head and looks at Stede.

"You're not a fuckin' mermaid."

You knit your brows together in confusion by that statement. Stede looked equally confused.

"What?"

Ed climbs off the ship and into the dinghy. Stede looks down and watches him, you and Lucius part with the rest if the crew, not hanging about to watch any longer.

Ed was gone. That was that.

♡♡♡

"Is it me or does the energy around here seem off?" Wee John asked.

"By 'the energy,' do we mean him?" Roach nods over to Lucius who was smiling and freaking out a little. "Or him?" He gestures over to where Izzy is still standing at the front of the ship yelling at the unicorn.

"Well, mythical creature?" Izzy yells. You sigh as you watch him from where you stand. He still wasn't talking to you much. "Anything to say to yourself? Fuck you!"

"Or them?" Roach asks, looking at Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang scrubbing the deck of any "possible" bloodstains left over from where Edward had bled out.

"Do you still see blood?"

"Yeah. We'll get it. Just keep scrubbing."

"They're lookin' this way." Fang says.

You tune out the rest of their conversation to watch your stupid drunk pirate curse at the unicorn some more. If only you could talk to him. He would surely listen to you.

It was breaking your heart to see him fall apart like this. Izzy hadn't held you since you got back onto The Revenge. He was shutting you out, suffering on his own.

You hated it.

You try not to let the tears fall as you walk away, letting Izzy do whatever the fuck he wanted.

♡♡♡

Olu had invited you to join the crew for a surprise. Jim had speculated they were planning to kill you all off for being disturbed after sailing with Blackbeard. You thought it was a bit of a stretch, but you wouldn't put it last them either.

You were all guided below deck where the surprise was.

"You gotta close your 'cause it's a surprise." Olu says.

No one does that, everyone sceptical. Frenchie leads you all behind Olu. You find Pete and Wee John waiting.

"Ta da!"

Wee John moves to reveal the surprise.

The crew all jump and startle, hiding the knives they were all carrying behind their backs incase of an attack.

"Fuck!" Lucius sighs, jumpy enough already.

"Guys, it's called a pine-ata." Pete says.

"Yeah. So, you just pull this string and then--" Olu tries to explain.

"And then you hit it with a stick!" Pete demonstrates.

Everyone is triggered. PTSD from the storm, from Blackbeard.

"Time for blindfolding." Wee John tries.

"Stay the fuck sway from me!" Jim yells.

"You won't want to stay the fuck away from this came!" Roach says, brining the cake in.

You feel your stomach churn at the sight of it. It looks like the wedding cake...

"God's sake, take it away!" Fang screams.

You all draw your weapons. Yeah, even you. This is too much, too soon. This how it ends up at a stand off.

"One-half of this room has some serious emotional damage," Jim explains, holding Wee John in a choke hold. "And it's not us."

"Well, it's not us!" Wee John says back.

You have your knife pointing at Olu.

"Right, so, is everybody else's arms and various limbs getting tired?" Frenchie asks.

"Alright, look, look, look, look. I think there's actually an easier way to resolve this." Olu days, eyeing your knife. "Yes? Right. So you all think that we're plottin' against you?"

"Yeah," you nod.

"Which, in hindsight, maybe was inaccurate." Frenchie says. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Okay. So, can we all agree to just not jump the other crew and solve this as fuckin' adults?" Olu asks.

"You're saying this is like a space that is safe?" Jim asks him.

"Yeah, babe." Olu looks at them.

"I love that."

"A safe space."

"Yeah, okay."

You all lower your knives. You take a deep breath. Nearly lost your cool there.

"A lot has gone unsaid," Roach speaks. "I think now is a great time to discuss lingering issues."

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely." Archie nods. "Can we talk about the fucked-up sleeping arrangements?"

"Excuse me, do you even have a name, new guy?" Wee John asks her.

"Yeah, fuck you is her name." Jim starts, drawing their knife again.

"Hey, stupid name for a person," Roach draw his knife on Jim.

"You know my name is Archie," she point her weapon at Roach.

Everyone draws their weapons again. You sigh and point your knife at Olu again, but he doesn't sense any actual malice from you.

The sound of something thudding against the floor draws everyone's attention to the door. You turn and your heart skips a beat at the sight of Izzy. Two wooden legs at his feet.

"There! It's done!" He yells. "Maybe next time he'll think twice about not doing his fucking--" Izzy's peg leg breaks from under him as he raises his crutch and he falls harshly to the ground.

You gasp and drop your knife, hurrying over to him. He shrugs you off.

"Get off me! Fuck off!"

You sit there on your knees as he rolls over and starts crawling down the hall. Your heart breaks watching him.

"Leave me alone! I'm already gone." He mutters. He starts repeating a phrase over and over again. "You're born alone, you die alone. You're born alone, you die alone."

You can feel tears building up again. God, only Izzy could ever make you cry so much.

"Yeah, he's definitely more disturbed than any of us," Lucius says, watching Izzy go.

You try to hide your teary eyes as you get up and leave.

♡♡♡

You're sat up on deck with yours curled up wiping away the tears that were falling. If only you could get that stupid man to talk to you. You just wound to heal his internal wounds, and soothe his external wounds.

You don't hear the door open, but you do hear footsteps coming over. You turn your face away, but you know it's Fang who is now sitting beside you. He has one of the unicorn legs in his hand.

"You okay?" He asks softly. Fang was a soothing presence.

"Spectacular," you mutter.

He look down at the wooden leg and then back at you.

"We, uh, we had an idea for Izzy."

You wipe your eyes again. "Yeah?"

"We're gonna make him a new leg. You wanna help? It would sure mean a lot if you gave it to him after." Fang smiles.

"You want me to help?"

"I think Izzy would like that, don't you?"

You shrug quietly. "I don't know. He's not exactly talking to me right now."

"Aw, listen. He still loves you. He's just hurting, but maybe we can help. Let's do something good for him."

Fang offers you a small smile.

You find yourself smiling back. You reach over and take the leg from him. "Okay. Let me see what we can do."

Less than 30 minutes later the leg is being constructed, the crew are gathered to help. Fang constructs the leg into a strong, comfortable, and practical leg. Lucius had got some gold paint to add something that little bit extra.

You smile as you paint the leg.

"The gold was a gold touch."

Lucius smiles, happy he could help.

You leave the leg to dry and then Fang returns to your side with it. You sigh as you take it, looking it over.

"We sure it will do?" You ask.

"Its been measured and made just for Izzy. It will more than do. Oh don't forget the note." Fang holds out the parchment.

You take the leg and take the note.

"Right..."

"Just leave it outside his door if he doesn't want to talk. I can assure you he'll talk to you again soon."

You nod and make your way to Izzy's cabin.

♡♡♡

As you approach Izzy's door, you don't hear much. It's almost too quiet for your liking. You hover outside the door, the leg in hand. That's when you hear his voice. He's talking to someone.

"And you? What's your excuse?" You hear him say. You lean a little closer to listen, worried about him. "I mean, what even are you?"

You knock on the door hoping he'll answer.

"Fuck off." You hear him shout. You knock again firmly. "Fuck off!" He yells again.

You sigh. Telling him it was you probably wouldn't make a difference. You prop the leg up but the door, tucking the note and Marietta, Izzy's carved sparrow that you still had, into it.

You knock again and hurry away, disappearing down the hall.

"You are harassing a cripple! Fucking twats!" Izzy yells, no longer realising the person has gone from behind his door. He limps his way over and opens it, looking down the hall.

He sees no one.

His gaze drops down to the item waiting for him. He sees the note and the bird. He reads the note first, all emotion clogging up in his throat.

Those little shits.

He cries. Izzy covers his mouth as tears overwhelm him. He looks up down the hall, trying not to break down.

"Fucking cocksuckers."

He sees the sparrow and picks it up. It's then he realises you had been the one knocking. His finger close around the bird and the tears fall freely.

Shit. He's been really shit to you.

Izzy hold the sparrow against his chest and takes a few deep breaths. He grabs the leg and hobbles back inside his room.

♡♡♡

It's the early hours of the morning.

Izzy stands on deck with his new leg on. It's a good fit. Made really well. His hair is slicked back against his scalp, out of his face. His face is a little cleaner. No rum in sight.

In one hand he's clutching the ring he wears under his clothes, hanging from a string of twine. He smiles as he looks down at it.

In his other hand is the note. His eyes drift over to the words written on it. His heart feels full.

'For the new unicorn.'

Izzy smiles.

With the dawn of a new day comes a new Izzy. A healing Izzy.

He's going to be okay.

No. He'll be more than okay.

He just needs to talk to you first.

♡♡♡

The sun hasn't even risen yet when Izzy wakes you. You've been sleeping with the rest of the crew since Izzy stopped talking to you, so he had to be quiet when waking you. You're startled awake by something hitting your face again and again.

You wake up to find little balls of paper being thrown at you. You look up to see Izzy waving you over. You look at him confused. He wasn't talking to you befkre, and now he wants to?

That's when you notice the leg and your heart begins to race.

You climb out of bed and make your way out of the room, not waking a single person. You follow Izzy into his cabin and enter cautiously. He looks tidier, cleaner, more content.

"Izzy?"

He stands there and looks at you. There are several emotions flickering in his eyes, but he finds his words in no time.

"Thank you."

You stand there awkwardly. "I didn't do anything."

Izzy inhales loud enough for you to hear as he looks down at his leg, his hand resting over his thigh. "You did this."

"It was the crew's idea."

Izzy holds up the sparrow. "I noticed it was gone, but there was only one place it could be."

You nod your head softly.

Izzy puts the sparrow down and walks over to you, closing the distance between you both. You find your heart rate picking up as you look into those beautiful eyes of him.

"I love you," he whispers.

Just like that he's reaching out and kissing you. You're in his arms again. You return his kiss, having missed his lips. Having missed him. You reach out and take hold of him.

The kiss is hot, passionate, desperate. It's significance lies with the fact that you two spend all your time wanting each other, but when you're hurting, you don't reach out for one another.

You remove his scarf, taking the ring around it and carefully placing it down. It belonged to his mother and you know he would definitely curse you if you lost it. You begin to undress him, and he, you.

Clothes land on the floor. The soft thud of his wooden foot taps lightly on the floor as he moves you over to his bed.

Doing this right after the emotional rollercoaster you both has been through probably wasn't the best idea, but this time no one could stop you both, and this was long overdue.

You push Izzy down on the bed and take care of him, admiring him. You notice the other ring around his neck. You had seen it before, but it's origins you hadn't known. He was wearing it last time you did this too.

Still, your mind was focused on other things.

Safe to say, both of you are going to be a little late getting up tomorrow.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world - @outer-space-beech - @ahewi24 - @grace585 - @innertimemachinegirl - @dmitrytherat - @emilynissangtr -

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

Summary:

The truth that no one will ever, ever unearth from his tightly clenched fingers - the beating heart that's never been conquered, even if the rest of him is to be shared - is that Baxter Alexander Ward fucking loathes his wings.

Length: 5059 words

Fandom: Our Life: Beginnings & Always

Characters: Baxter Ward, Main Character

Relationships: Baxter Ward/Main Character

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Alternate Universe - Wings

Written for @ficwip5k 2024.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Baxter's wingcare routine takes up a chunk of his day; from the outside looking in, however, it doesn't seem that way.

He tells himself that the unveiled looks of awe and desire are worth it, that the pride on Adrian and Amelia Ward's faces when their friends offer doting words of praise are a justification for the long and tedious routine of carefully preening, brushing, and oiling each feather upon the six dusty grey wings that bloom from his back. The smile he wears, when a classmate in school comes up and stammers requests for a glance of his their way, and more than mere minutes brushing of shoulders, is that of someone who's used to people's eyes first being drawn to the feathered appendages, then to the sparkling pristine image of a Ward; last, if it ever comes to that, to the young man who lets himself be touched with covetous hands, his body a feast for people's eyes and mouths and fingers, like a bird plucked and then shared among the famished until there's little else but bones.

The truth that no one will ever, ever unearth from his tightly clenched fingers - the beating heart that's never been conquered, even if the rest of him is to be shared - is that Baxter Alexander Ward fucking loathes his wings.

"How do you keep these beauties looking immaculate?" A hand buries itself into the middle wing on his left side, fingers dragging through the feathers. 

Baxter's jaw flexes within a hair's breadth of a frown before it smooths into a smile as he cants a look upwards through veiled lashes. "It's no large undertaking. I've made some rather excellent purchases as of late that have made it all a breeze." A tilt of the head, an empty offer tumbling from his lips that expects no acceptance. "Would you like to see how I care for them? Perhaps," here, his voice drops into a coax, though he dares not hope for more. "You would like to try it on me?"

"I might," the person in his bed laughs. "If you'd also do me the favor?"

He sees them off with a gentle swipe of his uppermost wing against theirs - a sparrow's wings, he knows he'll remember them by this and not the name which will eventually slip from memory - drawing them close one last time with a wistful peck on their mouth. They bow over him and press back, smiling as their feathers rustle against each other; one side enthusiastic to the point of ruffling the other. The sound makes Baxter's stomach twist, and he pulls away to let them step back onto their doorstep.

"You're seriously something else, Baxter Ward." They shake their head in amusement, eyes roaming up and down the length of his body again. "I've got a newfound respect for how much of a pain those things are. Seriously." An awkward pause. "My bad, for the-"

The spot on his lower right wing twinges, the scapular feather that had been wrenched and bent out of shape by an impatient hand. "It's no big deal. Nothing of import, and something that can be easily fixed." 

They look at him oddly. He imagines that the concern in their eyes is his own wishful thinking. Though if it was real, it doesn't last, and soon his friend shrugs. "If you say so. Anyway, Jules's got something cooking this Saturday. See you around, then?"

"Yes, I'd love to." He knows that they won't. The campus is big enough to hold both of them and keep out of each other's orbits.

In the evening, Baxter Ward plucks the errant feather without even flinching and throws it in the bin. It irritates him to look at it, and even then, it'll grow back in time.

His hand snaps out and wraps around her wrist before she can pinch at the tip of her wing and pull. 

"Don't do that." He realizes that his voice is more forceful than usual when her eyebrows pinch together, a startled look on her face.

"Come with me, if I may be so forward." He slips his hand down and twines it with hers, nudging a clenched fist open to make room for his digits. She latches on more gently than he expects out of her. Baxter exhales, casting a look at the way the wings at her hips flex and loosen in an attempt to ease off the restlessness. It's been thrumming through her the moment he opened the door and found her looking so lost, a disquiet that speaks louder to him than she likely wants it to; he doesn't fancy himself an adept coastal dweller who can tell when a storm is coming through the movements of the waves and the specific shades of the sky, but he imagines it like this - one look into Wisteria Blanc's clouded grey eyes, not a glimpse of the sun behind them, and he finds himself just as unsettled.

"It's not a big issue," Wisteria refutes, yet she's allowing herself to be led inside. "And it'll grow back. I was rather careless earlier. Normally, I'm not..."

He allows himself a silent raise of the brow, lip twitching at the near-petulance she trails off with. With a firm push, he settles her down on the couch, shooting her a look as he pats one of the throw pillows down on her lap. "Let me hazard a guess: you'd rather not have Pamela or Noelani noticing?"

She bristles, feathers on either side of her head ruffling in time with the shake of her head. "... Wouldn't be good if they did. Cove would also feel bad, and I'd rather not see that."

Baxter promises to himself that he would get to the root of what this thing is, for it to make a trenchant eighteen-year old mumble and avoid his eyes. What is he to do when he finds out, he doesn't yet know, but there must be something. He lets go of her hand, keeping all his focus on her as he sits down. 

It's experience that makes him keep a respectful distance, after he's interfered with her earlier. 

Wisteria's right wing curls around her; the little bent feather at its very tip flutters with the motion. He makes sure not to comment on it, sensitive to every little motion and the jitters that follow them. After a long moment, she sinks her hands into the pillow, eyes intent on the patternless maroon fabric. "I saw one of my old classmates at work today. We weren't close, but... He was very tactile with everyone in class- And I tolerated it, to an extent."

It's a picture that paints itself, even with the incomplete details that she provides him. He takes a moment to let it sink in, watching her mangle the pillowcase between her fingers, before standing up. His own wings are just as stiff as hers, mirroring her. "I shall be back shortly, we must soak that part in a basin." Is there a shallow enough washbasin around his rental condo? Baxter quietly curses at himself. Of course, his habit of hardly staying inside long enough to know his way around this temporary summer residence - which feels less and less like a prison around her - would come back around to haunt him now of all times. 

Casting a warning look at Wisteria when he spies her hand slipping down to her wing, he leaves her in the living room. 

When he reemerges from his hunt around the condo, he clutches the plastic washbasin in his hand. Precariously balanced on top of them are the products he uses for himself, ones that take Wisteria out of her stupor long enough for her to blink at him in incredulity. He sets it all down on the coffee table, all except for the washbasin, and hurries to the open kitchen. 

The sound of water from the faucet, filling up the basin, is the only thing in the room until she speaks. "... What are these for?" 

"You will see soon," Baxter replies, shutting off the faucet and turning around. 

She's inspecting one of the bottles, holding it up to her face with an upwards tilt to the corner of her mouth. "Guerlain? Abeille Royal Revitalizing & Fortifying Care Feather Conditioner?"

The tight ball in his chest loosens. "I believe the results of my usage must speak for themselves." With a raised brow, he arches his six wings a little higher, a little wider, as much as he could indoors. Flaunting them, dancing around the edge of presenting. His face brightens when hers spread out on either side of her; tentative, and not as forward as she would on another day. 

Baxter has to remind himself that this is the same girl who flared out her wings, a warning in the way she stepped in front of Cove, on his very first day at Sunset Bird.

Wisteria Blanc's wings are ghosts that have haunted his memories ever since that strange little Summer Soiree at a country club. He doesn't think of them on the regular, but every so often he remembers the girl with plumage that looked like white paper halfway dipped in ink. The topmost part of the backs of her wings were a gradient that began from feathers as black as a starless night sky, lightening to varying shades of grey until one's eyes were near-blinded by the immaculate white of the remiges. It was a mirror to the unusual shade of her hair, an inkwash painting given life in silken strands that fell to her back and argent eyes that looked at him with undisguised curiosity.

What stuck out the most to Baxter Ward, fourteen years of age and already loathing the dismal dusty grey of his own plumage, was the tiny pair of wings on either side of her head, like a crown of laurels. 

He had been very young when he had learned that one's wings standing out was not always a good thing. 

A lot of societies since the dawn of the age of man have waxed poetic and built religions out of the appendages that every human was born into this world with. Some claimed it to be a leftover of the age of the divine, when gods and monsters walked the earth and brushed shoulders with mortals. Others claimed it to be proof of the existence of the soul, a physical manifestation of your inner self - an indicator of what kind of person you would grow up to be, the mark you would leave the world with. Yet even other schools of thought out there simply believed that it was a vestigial organ linking man to an older species that had once dominated the skies. Now, flight is more often than not impossible, since the structure of most wings don't make it feasible for them to carry their human bearers. A growing sentiment in the 21st century is that wings are useless limbs on humans, and the option of having them amputated is quickly growing popular. 

But most people are attached to a feature that they had been born with, even as they grow to bear complex feelings about their wings and the way the world would grow to judge you for how you carry them.

Baxter had known that his wings couldn't be an extension of his soul. They didn't reflect who he was at all, not when it took all that grooming and preening to look halfway presentable for his parents. If souls could be tampered with so easily to look as clean as a polished mirror, then perhaps humans are better off not trusting each other at all. Mirrors are dishonest things, the way they prey upon the weaknesses in your heart and morph your countenances into something you loathe once the negative feelings get their claws in.

He had wondered. What did that girl see in the mirror, with her four oddly-placed wings? It is a question that follows at the heels of fond remembrance; her blush stains that black-and-white memory, a shade of red that sometimes takes the edge off of the self-loathing that he feels when he grooms himself.

"You're very considerate," she had told him, back then, as they danced to the steps of a waltz. His wings were tucked in close to his back, painfully aware of the eyes on him. Adolescence had been an awkward, dreadful time with his lengthening limbs and wings, and how he had to make himself smaller, so as to not bump into others. "No need to keep them folded close; I want you to enjoy yourself as much as I am. The dance floor has plenty of room, and you don't need to constrain yourself for others' convenience."

A beat later, she had followed up with that blunt comment about his smile being cuter when it's genuine, and the Summer Soiree girl had found a place for herself in his heart. Autumn and his pretty golden wings, already a lingering ache that was slowly being buried with time, are swept aside by a lone encounter. One dreamlike midsummer evening that could only be topped by the summer of five years later.

His plans for this evening are cast aside; what’s one night spent aimlessly driving, seeking out the next empty attraction to whittle away his time in Sunset Bird, to caring for her? Sitting in his living room, kneeling down at the side of the touch, he keeps his palms spread open. Hovers them by her wing, eyeing her as he poses the question.

“May I touch your wing, Wisteria?” Her expression is at once hard to read and achingly familiar as he continues, “I would like to help you with your wing, if you would allow it.”

With his past flings, he’d readied himself to be rejected with his offers of them caring for his wings, after he’s finished with theirs. Yet he finds himself more mindful of her rejection, while at the same time fully understanding if she is to do it to him.

“We’ve already touched each other’s wings,” she prods, tentatively lowering her eyes to her hands. “I didn’t mind it during our hangout with the others.” 

Baxter remembers fully well what she means. There’s precious few memories that could make him feel like he could fly, wings as useless as they are. He still wonders what possessed him to have such courage at the time: to draw his shirt around her shoulders, enclosing her in three pairs of wings to ward off the cold, right until her friends jeered at them. The moment is as ingrained in him as the taste of the chocolate from her popsicle, when he bent down to try it. It’s the same taste lingering on her lips when he kisses her under the glow of the fireworks, their feathers pressed close to each other as she leans back against him.

“That was then, and this is now,” he smiles at her. “As elated as I am that you’re trying to tell me that I am implicitly allowed to touch you, I would still like to hear a confirmation from you this evening. Indulge me, if you will.” 

She regards him; he wonders what she sees in his face, to bring such a look of relief to her eyes. A gentle smile curves her mouth. “... right.” She takes a breath, and straightens her spine. “I’d like it if you help me, Baxter. Please, go ahead.”

It is a familiar routine to him, the act of soaking a bent feather to soften it up. “Your feather will straighten out,” he keeps speaking in low tones, taking glances at Wisteria. She’s relaxed in just the exact way to let him know that she’s not relaxed, hands lightly clasped atop the throw pillow she’s been clutching since he handed it to her earlier. If she’s mangling it like earlier, it’d probably be more reassuring.

He lips thin, pressing together as he turns his focus back to the ruffled feathers. “If I may ask. Is this your first time?”

“My first time having someone else care for them?” She shakes her head. “I groom my wings together with my family, once a month.” 

Baxter hasn’t ever seen his parents tend to each other. They had people they paid to do that for them, so what was the point? It had also been the way with him, growing up as a young boy, until he had one day visited the Murrays with Qiu, seen Mrs. Murray’s gentle hands preening her kid’s feathers. Of course, his friend had blushed so furiously when they both noticed that Autumn and Baxter had arrived early. 

It hadn’t seemed like a thing to be flustered about. Being preened by someone else looked warm and comforting, like a blanket around his shoulders as he sat in front of the fireplace in his big house, a cup of tea heating his palms.

He shakes his head. “Ah, I meant something else. Was earlier your first time,” he murmurs, hands drifting up to groom her feathers as the tip of her wing is left to soak in the basin. “Having your wing grabbed without your permission?”

She stiffens, the topic they had been dancing around brought to the spotlight. He briefly regrets bringing it up, before he remembers that she came to him of all people. Walked up to his doorstep, to her temporary neighbor, when she could have sought refuge at Cove’s, or even Terri and Miranda’s places. There are a good number of others that would have taken care of her, but she had come to him instead. It’s a callback to that day on the yacht, the way she had looked green around the gills and still refused her sister’s concern, only to allow him down in the cabin with her.

“No,” she sighs out. “It’s not.” 

Her wings are healthy, and carefully tended; a life being well-loved writ in glossy flight feathers and soft underwings. He’s seen her and Cove sometimes straighten each other’s feathers out in casual motions, barely taking a thought to do it for each other, and felt an odd twist in his gut. It’s not quite grooming each other, but Baxter could never have afforded to be so casual with someone else in such a way. Not after he had long left Golden Grove and the days of his boyhood behind.

“I find myself sincerely hoping that your manager had words with your old classmate.” He pauses for a moment when she squirms against his hand, realizing that her scapula feathers are ticklish. “If they were a customer.”

“You don’t have to keep hoping about that,” Wisteria’s reply comes out dry. “Yes, he kinda got kicked out of the restaurant and blacklisted. My manager is at least good about that, or maybe she didn’t want me to end up punching a customer on the job.”

This breaks a laugh loose from him. “Would it be too remiss of me to say that I would have loved to see that?”

“What, me getting fired?” There’s mirth dancing in her eyes. “Or punching someone?”

“Speaking any further would incriminate myself,” Baxter says, primly stepping away from answering that . He gives her a soft grin. “Thank you for coming to me this evening.” For ending up on his doorstep, just in time for him to stop her from plucking at her feather when she deserves a place to feel safe. For asking for him on the yacht when Liz, Lee, and Cove would have gladly gone. For making his evenings feel much less empty, even when she bumbles about it.

Later, she ends up half-asleep on his couch when he’s finished grooming her wings; having deemed it a long enough soak to soften her flight feather, he straightens it and feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

After the ice cream truck, the sun shower might be one of the quintessential summer experiences that could get him near-giddy.

Running through the sprinklers in a suburban neighborhood is one thing. Rain drizzling down like a lingering remnant of the clouds that have drifted far away, splashing the unsuspecting, reminds him of the weather in Golden Grove. It often rained in Golden Grove, particularly as autumn drew close; it was a much different experience, with cloudy grey skies offsetting the deep reds, golds, and browns of the trees far below, the rain like tears that tried to cleanse the deep ache that had made its home in his heart and brought him to flee the nest.

It reminds him of Golden Grove, and yet it is everything that a rainy day in his old hometown is not.

The sunlight is still out in full force. Rain droplets, caught in the sunbeams, lit up and glinted gold as they fell and cascaded down Wisteria’s face. It is the sight of them that snaps him out of his stunned delight, long enough to remember-

He brings her in close with one arm, shutting the car door she had just come out of with his other hand. Chiding himself for having no umbrella on hand, he brings his wings up above the both of them to shelter her from the unexpected drizzle.

The sunshower continues for a few minutes more; he wonders if Wisteria can feel his heart pound against his ribcage, her face tucked against his neck. He is at once both peaceful and unmoored, in awe of how the rain can feel so gentle. They stand there, Baxter unbothered by his feathers becoming damp, the droplets seeping through the topside to run in unseen rivulets down his plumage. 

For once, his seraph wings feel useful. 

When the rain ebbs, he lowers his wings with a sigh. A part of him feels almost wistful; it’s another moment that passed him by so quickly, one that he will look back on from time to time.

She is suspiciously still, wrapped up in his arm, up until she pulls away. “You didn’t have to do that,” Wisteria squints at him. “Your wings are all wet.”

Baxter grins at her, broad and unabashed. The tips of her ears are very red. “I would rather not see you beset with another cold, and right after our date. My wings will simply dry off.” 

Wisteria’s look is supremely unimpressed. She ruffles her wings, the ones on either side of her head flattening against her hair, and reaches out to take his arm. “Come on. We’ll dry off together inside my house.”

She brings him past the Blanc home’s threshold, pausing when they’re both inside. 

Elizabeth has once again made herself at home on the living room couch, hunched before her laptop with a frown to rival the size of Pamela’s Cheshire cat grins she sometimes sends her beleaguered daughters. Her wings, in fiery hues of deep orange and pale gold, flex about in annoyance behind her. He suspects that her summer courses are going on rather challengingly, and he and Wisteria both pause when brown eyes flicker to their entrance and narrow.

“That drizzle just now got you two, huh?” She eyes Baxter’s wings. He tenses, ready to be turned out the door for dripping all over the floor. Instead, all the elder Blanc sister says is, “Why is he soaked?”

Ria shrugs. “He thought that I needed an umbrella. And then decided his wings would work out.”

The frown that had seemed near-permanent for this afternoon melts from Liz’s face. “Huh.” She regards Baxter with an odd little half-smile, an impish tilt to her eyes and lips that has her little sister immediately on guard around her. “Well, hurry to the bathroom and help the poor guy, won’t you?”

Before Liz can say anything more, Wisteria shoots her a flinty look and tugs Baxter after her. They go to the bathroom on the second floor, and she gives him a little push on his back when he hesitates at the doorway. “Come on.”

The drying fans whirr to life, pelting them on either side with warm breezes that penetrate through the top layers of their feathers. He sighs as the temporary chill - brought on by stepping inside an airconditioned home with his feathers soaked through - melts away with the heated blasts of air. 

“I forgot to say this earlier,” Wisteria begins, prompting him to turn towards her. “But thanks for that.” She steps up, close and personal, towards him. “I would like to do something for you, in turn.”

His smile grows mischievous, from languid to heated at the drop of a hat. “I would adore anything from you, Ria, but you needn’t insist on a repayment.” He pauses, letting his gaze point to the closed bathroom door meaningfully. “I believe that a bathroom at your home wouldn’t be the most appropriate, though, would it?” His tone is idle musing and faux demureness. 

Cocking her head, Wisteria frowns. Her tone carries a distinct note of confusion. “I was about to ask you if I could groom your feathers after they’ve dried off.”

“What.” 

He… He didn’t mishear her, did he?

She grins at him, sharp and pointed. “You didn’t think I’d let you take care of me without doing the same for you in turn, did you, Baxter?”

He’s discombobulated, more than just a little stunned, and despite it all, so damn comfortable. Lying on his stomach atop her bed, he represses a shudder when lithe fingers smooth the downy insides of his wings, preening and tugging at long flight feathers.

“I’m sorry we don’t have the-” Wisteria pauses. “Guerlain products you use, but my Ma has something similar that she mixes herself.” She tilts her head. “I don’t really need additional oiling for mine, but Mom needs additional care for hers since she doesn’t produce as much oil naturally, and that’s why Ma picked the practice up. I suspected that it might be a similar case for you, considering the volume of six wings.”

An involuntary giggle escapes him when she pulls away from his flight feathers to run her fingers through the tiny feathers along his spine. He’s ticklish there, and he didn’t even realize until someone touched him gently enough to make the reflex kick in.

Baxter bites his lip afterwards, his face burning red.

There’s a pregnant pause, and then the fingers return to dancing atop the feathers up and down his spine. With a vengeance, and the deftness of an experienced piano player.

He tenses, doesn’t try to hold back that hard, and laughs; he fears that Elizabeth downstairs would hear the snorts and giggles that Wisteria evilly pries from him with her quick hand. 

Once the impromptu tickle attack has ceased, and Ria has taken pity on him, Baxter huffs and glares at her headboard. “You devious little - I swear, one day I will yet have my turn.” He sends her a look over his shoulder, promising playful vengeance.

“You relaxed.” Wisteria hums, turning her attention back to his upper right wing. He tries to ignore the ache in his chest. “I’m glad.”

His throat tightens, and he rests his head against her pillow. It’s fragrant with the scent of her shampoo, sweet and entirely her. “Tending my wings will be quite the hassle, I did not wish to impose it upon you.”

“... Baxter, I help three other ladies in this house with their wings every month. Well, two, since my sister is away at college more often than not.” Wisteria’s gaze burns into the back of his head. Her voice is quiet, laden with a meaning that he’s not yet ready to comprehend. “It’s really not a problem for me.”

There’s a lull in conversation afterwards, and he finds himself near to dozing off, eyes slipping shut more than once. She takes her own pace, moving like she has all the time in the world to focus on each and every feather. It makes thinking - more importantly, dreading - so much more laborious when there’s a gentle hand in his middle left wing, treating it like it’s a cherished part of him.

Wisteria speaks, voice barely above a hushed whisper. 

“In the one moment I got to take a good look at you before you hid me from the rain, Baxter Alexander Ward, I thought I was looking at an angel.”

In the hazy in-between limbo straddling consciousness and dreams, the part of him that listens recognizes the feelings that linger behind her words. He keeps his silence, letting her go on to think that such an admission went unheard.

“I think I’d prefer you over the popular interpretations of angels… You’re wonderful. You contradict yourself so often that I’m often confused. And you’re infuriating sometimes, and I can’t stop looking away from you. I don’t think real angels could ever be like that. So please, just remain as you are without trying to live up to them, or anything else.”

It’s not the first time someone has called him an angel. Rather, it’s an on-the-nose nickname from past flames, considering the three pairs of wings that he carries.

But it is the first time that someone has breathed it into the silence like it’s a secret, not meant for him to hear. Not meant to flatter him. 

Why, then, are they worth millions more than the praises so easily bestowed upon him?

It’s evening when he wakes up, just in time for a dinner at the Blanc household. There’s a sharp tease at the ready for him and Wisteria when they come to the table, courtesy of Elizabeth.

As Wisteria passes him a dish of mung beans, his hand brushing against hers, he swears to carry her words and their glow with him for as long as he could.

They say that humans have long become incapable of flight, their wings not physically capable, their wings a vestigial trait left over after millennia of evolution. To fly is a pipe dream, and humans can only look to the heavens with coveting eyes or resort to contraptions of steel and technology to mimic what they once took for granted.

But he thinks they found the feeling of flying attainable in other things, in the words one can say when they think the other is asleep.

fin.

[spidervee]

coming soon! -> the good man's grace • tangerine x fem!reader

summary: tangerine doesn't make mistakes. until he does. and it all starts on the day he walks into the owl's hollow, a pretty little bookshop tucked away in an alley somewhere in london. his theft, a collection of poetry from one of his favourites, should be the end of it, but something (or someone) draws him back between the cluttered shelves. the shopkeeper, his sweet sparrow, who may not know his name, but knows much more than she's willing to let on.

a/n: i cannot stop thinking about this man and how he'd fall in love with the sweetest heart only to be (pleasantly?) surprised that she's more than meets the eye so this is my latest brain worm that just won't go away. dropping within the next couple of days! (before 2023)

warnings: 18+ only; canon-typical violence and gore; cursing (like, so fucking much of it); fem!reader who is also bi!reader; britishisms written by a canadian with zero clue; bookshop!reader has no racial or body type descriptors, other than being shorter than tangerine (and having smaller hands than his); kidnapping; non-con photos and a threat of a*sault (but no actual a*sault); protective!tangerine; protective!lemon; smut (fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight dacryphilia, fantasizing about oral sex); angsty!tangerine; semi-graphic descriptions of injury; bird motif; copious amounts of petnames; unnecessary references to bluey because the author loves that show

preview: The more often he visits, the worse it becomes. 

Tangerine contemplates burning your shop to the ground, only after checking that you’re not inside, of course. All he’d have to do is toss the fuckin' match and walk away. You’d collect a nice little insurance payout and he’d have no more excuses to see you. 

But therein lies the problem. Because as much as it makes no bloody sense, his fucked up brain wants to see you. He wants to see you every day in more places than this cozy little shop you've created and in less clothing than those bloody colourful dresses you're always wearing.

And you?

You think you might be developing a crush on moustache, as you've taken to calling him. Which is stupid because you don’t know anything about him aside from the fact that he’s got a mouth like a sailor and hands that look large enough to wrap around your throat and blue eyes that pierce your very being. And a moustache that reminds you of that seventies porno you'd watched years ago with your college girlfriend, just for shits and giggles. This bloke is the shit romance novels are made of—tall, dark, and handsome—and you’d gladly stock a hundred of them if he were on the cover, even though you like to think your shop is a little more refined than that. 

You watch him over the pages of your book as he weaves in and out of the shelves, a few volumes of poetry in his gloved hands, pointer finger tapping a frenetic beat on the hardback covers. He seems less at ease than usual—in fact, he's downright intense. How utterly Byronic of him.

Making up your mind, you set the book down and step out from behind the waist- high counter, floral skirt swishing about your hips.

“Is everything alright?” 

He blinks at you with those cerulean eyes that sit like sapphires upon his face, framed by fine lines of crow's feet. And then, before he can reply, you bite your lip and try a smile.

“Can I make you a cuppa?” 

[lxkeee]

Francis,azrael and [name] is dazzlings coded trio you can't change my mind dude.

I mean cmon azreal and francis are aria and sonato while [name] is adagio.The other two would fight while [name] just watch with bored look on her face..

And what if when they are in their human forms.They sing like the dazzlings just for fun duhhh and don't get me wrong these three would just giggle and shit for the choas/dramas they had made XD

And just imagine thoo feancis is like just don't care about anything what will care if it's serious.While azrael would be exposing that they are angels which [name] just says it's joke:P

I might make drawing of these three thehehe:3

Have amazing day/evening/night<3

Azrael and Reader met Francis when they were on earth, the poor dude just so happen to bump into them lmao and a very weird friendship happened.

Francis, a lower ranked virtue angel. Same height as Husk. Azrael is literally looming over him. Slightly tanned skin but not enough to be considered like brown, just a little bit. Dark brown hair with hints of black, wolfcut hairstyle. Black eyes. Wears a white t-shirt with a knitted dark brown sweater on top and some black pants. Two pairs of wings, one on his jack and one small ones behind his head. Soft looking facial expression, looks tired 24/7. Very introverted. Dissociates a lot.

Yes, I am basing him off the gorion bird or also known as house sparrow lmao.

Very introverted, accidentally got adopted into the group by Azrael and Reader.

Azrael pissed off Francis as the taller man would mock the other man's height.

The two had this weird love-hate relationship.

Francis after getting added to the friend group, gets dragged to very important seven duties.

The seven virtues ft. Francis.

He's just there offering emotional support.

Azrael and [y/n]: *doing their jobs*

Francis (at the sidelines cuz they dragged him with them): 😐👍

“I love his lack of energy, go boy give us nothing!” —Azrael, maybe

Francis often spends the majority of his free time in his bird form. Often can be found nesting in Azrael's hair.

Azrael won't push him away but will complain.

“I swear to our creator if you shit on my hair I'll fry you and eat you.”

“Don't worry, I'll shit on your shoes instead.”

Man has no fear.

Reader is tired if their banter.

Francis and Reader gets along well as they are depression buddies as what Azrael calls them.

If Francis accidentally trips he won't move because his motivation disappeared the moment he lost control of his body because that means he lost control of his life and therefore don't feel like doing anything anymore.

Literally, he won't move for days.

Azrael had to pick him up like a sack of potatoes to move him.

Francis sleeps a lot, anywhere and anytime.

Azrael is tired of his dry ass humor 😭

Reader likes it though cuz she has the same humor as Francis.

God please help Azrael's poor soul.

All three of them have the humor of a middle school boy.

“Look at how big that clock is in hands.” -someone

*cue the muffled laughter*

Laughs at the sentences "It's very hard" or "I'm coming" even if the context is innocent.

[enlitment]

asking you your top-5 anything: ok this might not come in list form, but what 5 things do you like the most about Catullus?

Hi, first of all thanks so much for the interesting ask and so sorry for taking forever to answer it!

(obligatory am not a classicist, just an enthusiast. I also sadly can't really speak Latin, so take anything I say here with a grain of salt)

1. The sheer variety of his poems

Are you looking for a poem describing a fun playful banter between friends? A tender love poem? A poem about stolen napkins? An epic poem inspired by Greek mythology that is so beautiful and haunting that it shakes you to your core?

Or perhaps a poem so obscene that it wasn't allowed to be published in most of the English anthologies until relatively recently?

No matter your taste or mood, Catullus has got you covered!

2. There's a feminine aspect to his poetry

The understanding of gender and sexuality in Ancient Rome is hands down one of my favourite subjects, and Catullus' poems give you a great insight into them if you read between the lines.

You could for instance read C 16 as an inherent testimony to the fragility of Roman masculinity (seeing it as an attempt to re-establish his masculinity after he's been criticised for writing 'unmanly' love poems).

But what I especially appreciate is his ability to take on the female perspective. There's the fact that he was a big fan of Sappho's poetry (as evidenced by him calling his partner 'Lesbia' and by his (beautiful!) reimagination of one of her most famous poems) or the fact that he was able to draw parallels between his and Ariadne's pain stemming from feeling betrayed by a former lover.

(I'm also kind of here for the interpretation of Lesbia's sparrow poem as an example of some kind of Pseudo-Freudian clit-neid...)

3. His brutal honesty/ him just wearing his heart on his sleeve in his writing

It just seems he had no filter whatsoever, so reading his poems is this incredibly raw, often times bizarre experience.

But to me, it demonstrates that even though our society has obviously changed quite a lot over the 2000 years that separate us from him, a lot of things that remained the same - the petty jealousies, ambivalent feelings after a breakup, but also the pure joy one feels after spending time with their friends and loved ones

4. His use of language and imagery

More evidence in my previous post. It just sounds so beautiful at times? Plus it often alludes to Greek/Roman mythology in really interesting ways. I'm sure reading the original would make it sound even better, but I'm personally a sucker for the Czech translation as well.

5. He was ahead of his time! (You could say he was a romantic poet almost 2000 years before it was cool...)

Again, by no means an expert of this, but I think you could definitely say he paved the way for some of the latter great Latin poets, like Ovid,

Some aspects of his poems to Lesbia also remind me of the courtly love poetry from the middle ages: the poet's desperate pining after a lady of a higher class - which Clodia, as a patrician woman married to a consul, undoubtedly was. There's of course the important difference that she has been... previously attained, to speak in the annoyingly gendered language of medieval poetry - but alas, no more Catullus!

But to me, he was most of all a forerunner to the romantic poets like Byron or Shelley! The talent, the scandals, the rejection of societal norms (like the fact that he didn't really seem to be too interested in a career in politics or the military which were essentially the two things a respectable Roman man was supposed to take interest in), as well as the homoeroticism of it all (in his case indisputable, re: his poems to Iuventius)...

Hope that covers it! Thanks again for the ask and giving me a chance to rant!

[saltyr3mix]

EVERYONE ELSE GO HOME YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR THE NEXT HOW EVER LONG THIS TAKES YOU TO READ. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS.

Ladies, gents, all of the above below and in between here is my rambles about new life sparrow because he has infested my mind like the skulk that infests him.

OK WERE DO I EVEN BEGIN WITH THIS GUY

Okokokokookokooo SO

We love a flawed character who has good intentions and a not so good way of showing them. he comes off as over enthusiastic and insensitive at first with his studies of hybrids. which is....just a tad bit relatable as someone often seen as energetic i can be too much for people at times so i get it.

Also everyone that drew the parallels between the way Sparrow talks about hybrids and O!Owen talked about demons is correct. it's terrifying. and if sparrow ever goes down that arc i will write incredibly angsty fanfiction about it and cry.

If you haven't already im going to point anyone reading this in the direction of my New life smp fic, Storming sacrifices on ao3 by Salty_R3mix cause thats where a lot of this next part comes from.

i head cannon that on New life when players die/switch hybrids they have to fall into a coma like state to do so and it takes time in between those shifts. Sparrow is on the longer side of these shifts for the more drastic the change the longer. to go from human to machine and then machine to skulk. thats like a solid month or two of their body just reforming and recreating. both times.

ALSO THE MOST RELATABLE THING ABOUT HIM.

HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HUMAN.

WHICH IS JUST SO SAME BESTIE LIKE IF I LIVED IN A WORLD WHERE PEOPLE GET COOL TRAITS AND MAGICAL POWERS AND I WAS JUST BORING? YEAH I WOULD STUDY THEM AND TRY TO BE ONE TO! BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME MY LOVE FOR FANTASY AND MAGIC ISN'T ALREADY BASED OFF THE NEED TO ESCAPE THE REAL WORLD BECAUSE IT SUCKS AND ITS BORING ANDGHYKULKNBVGVUKL

Anyway hes also insane. like, i get it. but also you could have found a away to make the process less painful im sure. hes smart. but his egarness got the best of him.

Anyway one of my favorite things to think about and debate is the 'chip' in his head. cause to me and my messed up little mind that has read well over at least 20 hours worth of sbi hybrid fanfiction in the summer of 2022. to me that just sounds like instinct. hot take but i don't think it was that big of a deal. what was wrong with the situation was prior to becoming a copper golem, Sparrow was human. if any other hybrid became a copper golem. they would be a lot less bothered by it. Sparrow was not used to that sheer level of inhumane instinct that it overwhelmed him and he just let it. t Not knowing what else to do. until eventually getting so lost and consumed by it that he had to you know....blend himself.

I miss him though. i like robots. and he was so fun to draw. i draw him all the time. just because the design i made for him is one of my favorite things ever.

OH AND SKULK SPARROW. THIS MAN. HE IS SO MESSED UP. THE NARRATIVE CAME CRASHING DOWN IN FRONT OF HIM AND SCREAMED THAT HE IS DOOMED.

I haven't seen a character so demised by the narrative that wasn't my own since outsiders Apo and maybeeeeeeee Celio form wtd. beside the point.

He is so overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time its iconic. one seconded hes lonely after copper literally abandoned any former relationships. the next he can hear things through the skulk. but then he brings a guy down. kills him. decides to build a gate. AGAIN. WE KNOW HOW THIS ENDED LAST TIME OWEN. WHEN HAVE GATES EVER WORKED IN YOUR FAVOR. i think it's just a cannon event for them at this point. Owen with gates and Apo with levers. (GUYS IM JOKING HERE. DON'T CARY THIS CURSE INTO PIRATES PLEASE LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE)

Ok yeah. Im really excited to watch skulk and other versions of sparrow later realize that no matter what monstrosity he ends up as. he'll never be as free as he was human again. Every hybrid comes with their own form of instinct that he will be forced to follow. some lighter than others. and hell, even if he does end up as human again the effects are still there forever lingering.

ALSO I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH THE 'Wait? His name is sparrow but he still answers to Owen. this clearly must have lore implications.' PEOPLE. To anyone who has ever had that thought you are the best. i've read i think 3? fics based of it and oh my word im obsessed with that idea and the different takes on it.

and here is where i come to a close. do i have more to say? probably. but my hands hurt and my thoughts are slowing in pace so if you want more feel free to ask id be overjoyed but ask another day. i mean i didn't even touch on his interactions with the other players.

i am so clearly sane and stable about this character btw. i don't know what made you think otherwise.

[hedgiestail]

So I have three of your average sexy-tiefling Tav's as my first dive-in into BG3

However I wasn't really attached to them, you know? There was no caring connection to this characters as to like Warden, Hawke, Inquisitor or Shepard. Perhaps because of this I still didn't finish the game once. Always stuck in the act 3 after beating Cazador's ass

BUT

I made a githyanki bard Captain Jack Sparrow looking man of a toad and I LOVE HIM!

Finally!

And Astarion has some funny diologs in the creche

Also him being a bard who can talk demon to send itself back in Hells, but flirting with Astarion in the mirror scene as most awkward githyanki is hilarious

I even felt the urge, very dark urge, deep down into my depressed bitching ass to draw

Maybe it's a good sign

[hnnny]

2 and 4 for the artist asks :)

Ooh these ones are fun!

2. 5 favorites of your own work?

I'm really living it up with this alien portrait of myself I did recently. I just really love the colors and the way I rendered things to look glowy.

This piece is one of my favorites for the cohesiveness of it. It's really hard to render characters one by one and still make them look like they were all rendered the same way. I like how each of them stands out in their own unique way, and how the colors are all a part of the same color palette and yet the colors translate well for each of them.

In a much more lighthearted direction, I really enjoyed working on this piece. It was as calming as the subject material to render. I really like the warm green and the warmth in Link's hair in this. Also kitty :3

This is one of the first full on digital paintings I've done and actually liked by the end of it. The colors are probably my favorite part. There are parts of it that I would change, like have the lighting be a little more dramatic, like she's sunlit, and make her skin more pigmented (I swear I need to get my monitor color corrected).

Okay this one is a hilarious last addition in comparison with the other ones, but I think this is literally the most handsome man I've ever drawn. For those of you unfamiliar, this is my Sparrow, or Hero of Bowerstone from Fable II. I based him off of the male default art for the game (pictured on the left), and I'm just incredibly proud of the design flairs I gave for his older self. I will never be able to top this in terms of handsomeness. Not unless it's art depicting him (his name is William Fulton btw, and he's Cassandra's dad [pictured above]).

4. Favorite things to draw?

Ooh this questions is also just as hard to narrow down lol. Well, I've always enjoyed drawing people and doing character design, and that's a trend that has followed me all my life. I'm specifically having a lot of fun redesigning some of my character designs for a couple of Kotor characters (a hint of what's to come perhaps?).

I also enjoy drawing long flowing hair with lots of flyaways, quick and dynamic sketches with lots of foreshortening, and characters that I love (which happens to be Zena, Mira, and Malak for whatever reason. Torellia and Atton are in time out at the moment for both having hard to draw short hair and being dumb with their life decisions lol). Oh, and recently I've really enjoyed doing background studies. I would love to make backgrounds consistently in the future cause it's actually a lot of fun.

Oh, and eyes. Lots and lots of eyes. I'll probably post a big sketch dump after this lol, cause I'm realizing there are quite a few pieces and sketches I have yet to show you guys :)

Thank you for the ask!

[myshiptrashcan]

Such a shame wings cover the back, Jason had a nice ass and everything. But his wings are pretty. They're big enough to fly but not overly large like some bird of prey wings other people have. My rule is that the total wing span has got to be at least twice as long as the body. I'm pretty sure if he stretched them out it would make it.

Some first draft duologue for my new HOA bird person story.

"I know it may sound childish, but I used to think all Americans had Eagle wings. That was before the war. But I thought if anyone would have them it would be you, Jarhead." And Jason let out a loud laugh.  "Was it the tattoos?" "I think it was your accent." "I used to get made fun of a lot as a kid for my wings. My Pa wanted a big tough boy, he had massive Vulture wings, but when my plumage showed he was disappointed I got my Mother's wings. I was her little sparrow, a Mama's boy through and true. But damn, I wanted to be the son my father always wanted. So I tried to be tough, pretended I was a big scary vulture. But I would get beat up and bullied and I would cry. I would hangout with my sister and play games with her most of the time. My sister loved it, my father didn't. Never did get my father's approval, that was until I joined up in the military." Jason reminisced.  "I wasn't proud of myself then, and I'm sure now he'd curse me out for who I've become." He added. "And how do you feel about yourself now?"  "I don't know, since meeting you my whole world has been turned upside down….. Right now I'm feeling pretty good."  "I like who you are today. You are a good man, Jason."  "Maybe someday I'll believe it."

I still need to draw a nice version of him though. Also fuck this guy's backpack.

[vesseloftheend]

begging for ideas so I can b active again!!

hiii vess here!! 18+, artist and writer (you know what that means :smirk:) I deleted all my old posts from like YEARS ago we are STARTING FRESH

things I do: - fanart - fanfiction drabbles - headcanons - fanfiction in general - angst AND fluff AND smut - mentally ill!reader (so I can insert myself teehee) (if you are also struggling with mental health PLEASE drop a suggestion) (I love making our favorite characters comfort us instead of going to therapy) (teehee) - gender neutral reader/alternating between writing about a male reader and female reader/ trying to make my genderitis happy things i DO NOT DO: - noncon - anything to do with minors (including ageplay) - those creepy creepy kidnapping tropes (ew) (stockholm syndrome who???) characters/ships im willing to write about or draw (mostly wanting to do character x you stuff tho) (there's so many im forgetting 2 put on this list PLEASE ask about ur faves)

König

Snape

Lucius

Piers (Pokemon)

Jack Sparrow

Deadpool

Ghostface

Carlisle (Twilight)

Batman/Joker (Man/Jonkler (are they stupid?))

Drarry

Joker by himself

Loki (Marvel)

[belphegor1982]

How did you come up with the designs in your Crowbra Kai AU?

Hey, thanks for the question! I don't... really know, really, it's mostly vibes :D Oh, and research. Like okay, Johnny and Daniel, and Amanda (and of course Robby and Sam) are classic ducks like a lot of the duck 'verse (with different colourings because I like the diversity of the 2017 series), but Tory is a prairie falcon and Eli a song sparrow, both native to California, for instance. And of course Mr Miyagi is a crane 💜 Also I wanted Miguel (and Carmen) to be dog characters to express the sweetness of Miguel's character at the start of the story. DuckTales dogs are cute and round (but not just, like ducks they're wonderfully diverse) and I love their designs a lot!

There's no equivalent between fictional species and race (even though I hate that word in this context, cultural/language difference), because Nate and Bert are the same "species" of ducks as Johnny and Daniel, Abe is a mallard, Mitch is a panda, and Demetri a chicken (Gyro Gearloose vibes 💖). I still haven't found a species/design I like for Kreese and Silver, though ^^'

In terms of actual design, I just. Borrowed a LOT from the 2017 DuckTales series and tried to integrate the characters best I could. And honestly I think I didn't do too bad:

The trick to this type of lineart is to use a very fine line and no dynamics at all so your line has the same thickness from start to finish. And if I'd known how to use paths back then, it would've made drawing eyes much easier, because MAN it's hard! 100% worth it, though ^^

[bird-goofle]

hi! thank you for your kind words on my ST ii fanart!! to draw i referenced sparrow wings for the shape which is why i put it in the tags but your suggestions are intriguing. tbh i havent decided on which bird i want to go with for the actual design for ii (and for the rest of them). i was thinking something along the lines of spotted woodpecker iii and maybe hooded crow iv?? no clue about vessel q-q though i would prefer it if his type of bird displayed very clear sexual demorphism. just rolling around concepts in my brain atm--- i would love to hear your thoughts if thats ok with you! if not, then thats perfectly fine too, of course. either way i wish you a lovely day :>

Right, so I’ve taken enough time to somewhat compose my thoughts here. I have many more.

Okay I can go a couple of routes:

- Per this ask: woodpecker III extremely good, the jokes about head banging would write themselves. Hooded crow IV also very good. That man refuses to take off his hood, huh. Species thoughts as far as sexual dimorphism go: I’m back on the northern cardinal track. There are also a couple of chicken breeds and specific varieties with bigger color differences. Brown leghorns are particularly striking. If waterfowl are appealing, mallard and wood ducks, eiders, and mergansers

- Taking height into account because I think it’s a little funny: II and IV get the shorter, rounder, more maneuverable wings- game birds and passerines, possibly hawks and kestrels thrown in. Low aspect ratio. Vess and III get longer- sea and shorebirds, soaring raptors. Very high aspect ratio. Vess with water bird wings very much fits with the aquatic theme.

- The Miscellaneous: I wanna give III some nice heron wings or maybe secretary bird wings because their legs match, but really the funniest option for him that still follows that line of logic would be flamingo wings. I have a note elsewhere for a mostly unrelated thing where I want Vessel to get golden Sebright wings, which is famously a chicken breed that exhibits far less sexual dimorphism than other chicken breeds. Essentially the opposite of what you’re talking about, which I thought was an interesting coincidence

- Also very good: catbird!Vessel, hoatzin!III, Give That Man Peacock Wings (which one? I have yet to decide. Probably IV because I can)

Themed ideas:

- All red: wallcreeper, turaco, northern cardinal, red-winged blackbird, summer tanager, etc. (Saw red wings, brain said “that’s a wallcreeper.” And then I wanted to give IV red and black wings because of his jacket. And then I started spiraling.)

- Oops all cockatoos: sulphur-crested, black palm, cockatiel, red-tailed black, Mitchell’s, Moluccan, umbrella, etc. because: noisy, II going bangbangcrash, III occasionally headbanging, and Vess and IV screaming. The intro to Gods really gives me big parrot vibes.

[thesweetnessofsalt]

Process Blog #2

To the person who left this comment like, two years ago:

You were so on the nose, you didn’t even know. But I knew. I KNEW!!!

Process Blog #2 covers pages 6 through 9 of Chapter 3.

Man, this was the sequence from hell. I’ve been having some computer troubles, and in my attempts to fix the issue, I ended up losing a lot of my files for Chapter 3. It’s fine - I ended up recovering almost everything, and I’m using a cloud service going forward. But the issue still persists and my computer just shuts down at random. Some days it doesn’t happen at all, but on others, it’ll happen continuously.

(You can also file this under ‘reasons why Michelle can’t manage to keep a stream schedule’, btw…sorry.)

Nevertheless, I’ve been looking forward to making these pages for a while, and they are juicy. So let's get into it!!

Historical Inspiration & Stylism

Sha’s memory is kind of hazy - it’s why she, say, rounds to 2,000 years instead of providing an exact date; see also the ‘egg incident’ - and her recounting of her past is similarly lacking in detail. That being said, I do want to imply something about when and where this occurs, and have tried to do so through the visuals. 

The compositions and figures themselves are inspired mostly by red-figure pottery, while the eyes and decorative details are inspired by Minoan frescoes.

Panels are made up of Greek meanders - those decorative borders. I know it's not what the Greeks were going for, but it looks very comic-like to me and I'm here for it.

Aphrodite

Aphrodite’s domain was love, passion, and beauty, but she was also associated with fertility and marriage. I’ve peppered a few of her symbols throughout this sequence - sparrows, myrtle (those leafy branches) - but the main one are shells. 

Aphrodite was often depicted with scallop shells, alluding to her birth by the sea. Oh, hey - we’ve seen shells like this in TSOS before!

Well, have you caught it? Have you figured out that we’re drawing parallels between Sha and Aphrodite? What if we were both girls…and we were both born from the ocean…

The (Ex-) Husband

Divorce was a viable option for couples in Ancient Greece, so his threat isn’t completely out of left field - neither is the implication that he’d hold Sha responsible for their troubles. Infertility was seen as a women’s issue, and was perfectly reasonable grounds for divorce.

Yes, this guy comes off like a complete asshole to us, but to Sha, this would have been normalized (though still awful).

Not much else to say about the dude. He was a fisherman,  though that detail ended up really only coming through here:

Shop Talk

For all the troubles I had with research, stylizing, and tone, the actual making of these pages was pretty quick (thank god…I had to make up that time somewhere!). I really tried not to fuss too much on the execution of these, given that I was working on them in such sporadic sections and lost my original files partway through.

I didn’t really do a sketch pass, instead jumping right into the lineart so it’d look stiffer and less refined than the usual style. I gave the lines a little oomph by adding a duplicating lineart underneath, blurring the heck out of it, and changing it to red. This just gave them some warmth and helped distinguish them better from the screentones.

I chose this screentone for its resemblance to tiny mosaic tiles, with some slight hue shifts for variety and a gaussian blur to soften up those harsh anti aliased dots.

Closing Arguments

Well, now you know the terrible truth: TSOS is not very historically accurate or specific.

Instead of sharing her story through facts and events, I wanted it to be shared in Sha's own words, supported by visuals that could be interpreted freely.

Sha doesn't remember where she lived, or when she died. Even if she did, those things would be counted and named differently today, and those facts wouldn't add anything to her character or the story. What Sha does remember is the loneliness and desperation that got her to where she is now.

It's not the most forthcoming, I know, but hey - neither is Sha!

This flashback continues for another two pages, but they start to break from this ancient style as we fade back to present day, so that's all for now!

As always, if you have any questions about the making of TSOS, leave them in the comments and I’ll answer them in the next!

Process Blog #2 was originally published September 21, 2023 on Ko-fi. Supporters get early access to TSOS pages and process blogs!

[cagenewman]

THE INSPIRATION BEHIND... CAGE LUCAS NEWMAN

something in the orange / zach bryan 🎧

burning man / dierks bentley 🎧

duet / penny & sparrow ft. stephanie briggs 🎧

cage is ... an old soul, winding dirt roads in the countryside, striking blue eyes, young love and the deeper meaning that comes with it in time, a cross on a chain tucked under his shirt, the perfect catch on a Friday night, bushels of blueberries, saw dust shavings sticking to plaid shirts, worn out work boots, a father's love.

Cage is a good-looking country boy with a heart of gold. He might not be everyone's first choice of 'gorgeous' or 'sexy' and he's alright with that. Zach Roerig was the perfect face claim to fit that kind of vibe; attractive in both a traditional and non-traditional way. Not your typical six-pack, ripped guy, more of a dad bod and great personality type. A lot of his 'aesthetic' made its way to Cage: some of the fashion choices that he explores, the cross necklace, his deep laugh, those blue eyes, things that just fit for. Of course there are some inspirations dragged from his characters. Matt Donovan's steadfastness and dedication to the town and people he loves. Will Mosley's melancholy and inner turmoil. But there were other inspirations, such as Matt Saracen in Friday Night Lights, and particularly his relationship with Julie Taylor, and how it mirrored Cordelia and Cage, not to mention Matt leaving town despite loving his girlfriend unconditionally. And Jake, from Sweet Home Alabama. A small town guy and his small town girlfriend, and how everyone thought that they would be the ones. Eventually, they were. They just had to find their way back there. The Paul Newman of it all might be more of an inside joke between Lindsey and myself, given how much I adore Paul, but... last name inspiration still counts. That, and those blue, blue eyes. And the importance of family and compassion.

Of all of my characters, Cage probably has the most 'me' in him, in terms of how family and our upbringing has shaped our lives. The deepest foundation of Cage's character is family, from top to bottom, and given how important my family is to me, it only made sense. Cage has a strong relationship with his siblings the same way that my own sibling is my very best friend. Although I am lucky enough to have both of my parents in my life, Cage does not. Lindsey and I purposely didn't delve into the loss of their father (it was previously decided with another player that their mother would have been lost during childbirth) because we never wanted the hows and whys to be the focus; it was about the family, drawing them together, carrying on the legacy left behind. It was less about the grief and more about the growth. But despite them not being in his life anymore, I wanted him to have a strong bond with his parents. Particularly his father. Fatherhood is the most powerful force in Cage's life, tying him to both his own father, and his son, who is the entire world to him. The bond between father and son was a huge thing for me to explore; Cage's own father often seeing a lot of himself in his second eldest son, teaching him the ropes of the blueberry farm, thinking he would be the one to carry on the family name because of their similar trajectory... and of course Cage's bond with his own son, abandoned by his mother before turning a year old, the two boys taking on the world together, learning about life day by day.

There are a lot of other things that I injected into Cage from me and my own interests: old houses, black cats, small town life, John Deere tractors and old Chevy pick-ups, wildflowers, sweet tea, older country music, and he'll definitely get a donkey before I do. Brat. As Lindsey mentioned, the blueberry farm came from... well, Maine. But I also grew up picking blueberries and still watching my aunts and uncles do it every summer when the bushes are ripe.

One thing that Cage did not get from me was wanderlust; that's all his own. He left town when he was younger, which was inspired simply by wanting to embrace the idea that not everyone leaves a small town for good. Eventually, they find that it's home, and they want to be back in it. Even more important than wanderlust and wanting to travel and see the world was for me to be able to explore the concept of coming home. Cage explored the United States and then came home changed. He wasn't just a boy anymore, he was a man with a son on the way and had to make the decisions to grow, to become a better person. To go after more than just working in construction (up until that point, I had him traveling with crews, which was mostly inspired by someone just... wandering around, trying to find a place that called him home), but to maybe someday move towards creating his own pocket in the world. And although he did spend one blissful summer on the road with his boy when he was older, Cage has largely lost that sense of wanderlust, again... inspired by the idea that sometimes you really are happiest at home. I know that I am, so maybe he borrowed that from me, too.

As far as his love life goes, I think I just really wanted to cement the idea that from day one, everyone who knew Cage knew one thing: he was in love with Cordelia. They knew it when he was a kid on the playground, when he swung her around the field after a win on Friday night, and they knew it when he drove away from town, too. And I wanted it to be the kind of thing that no one forgot; people saw them as adults at the football game and could feel it. His family knew it before he had even become friendly with her again, and Cage knew it the moment that he kissed her for the first time in Tumbleweed the December after they reconnected. That just sort of stole inspiration from all those cheesy love stories where two people are just destined to be together. Who could argue it? But I didn't want to play someone who just pined away for that when he didn't have it; he had to try to figure things out without her. He slept around on the road, he got a girl pregnant, he got married to prove that he could, and he still ended up dancing with Cordelia on a dirt road in her gorgeous pink dress. But from day one, it was Cordelia. The concept of fate and destiny and true love inspired that.

Personality wise, Cage was inspired by a lot of the guys you see in a small town. The ones that play football on Friday nights and hang out at the ice cream shop with their friends, but by some miracle, they end up being good guys by the end of it all. He's kind and very compassionate, and he has a good, tender heart that he doesn't show to just anyone. He can be hotheaded and stubborn and determined, but it's because he cares. There is not an evil, mean bone in Cage Newman's body, something his parents made sure of when they raised him right. He carries a lot on his shoulders, and always has, whether it be the pressure of becoming his father, the business he's built from the ground up, the mistakes it has taken him forever to let go of, the crushing worry of being a good brother, a good friend, a good boyfriend, a good businessman and a good father first and foremost, but he has broad shoulders, and he is convinced he can do it.

Owning his own carpentry and construction / restoration business was entirely inspired by my absolute hatred of house flipping gone wrong (you know, faux marble countertops, shiplap, gray walls everywhere, cheap carpeting) and wanting to play someone who cared about historical integrity. I cringe every day, watching a local home be restored and fearing for the day they remove the old, leaded, lattice windows. Cage does, too. I've always admired wood working and what people can do with a simple slab of wood, and I wanted to play someone who could make magic with their hands. Past that, I wanted him to be incredibly successful (he is!), but not let it get to his head. Cage has money in the bank, but he doesn't let it stop him from telling Colton that they have burgers at home, or to wear a t-shirt until it has holes (despite the Ralph Lauren sweater, or Hugo Boss suit tucked away). I think a lot of that was inspired by watching the way wealthy business owners in small towns can be -- sometimes, you wouldn't even know.

Overall, Cage is 'one of the good ones,' inspired by my own family and a lot of the 'good ones' you meet along life's journey.