#hawk skeletal

[birbbones]

WIP's of some birds I'm articulating. European Common buzzard, Eurasin Kestrel, Tawny owl and Barn Owl (Bops legal in the UK)

[ronanlynchbf]

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[squatch-and-stretch]

Do You Remember?

Fiddleford McGucket/Ford Pines | 2,916 words | Memory Lapse, Hurt/Comfort

An old man wakes up in an unknown room with a handsome stranger and no memory of who he is.

Fic under the cut.

He wakes up tucked into a comfortable bed with a pounding headache and a pervasive sense that something is wrong. When he opens his eyes and sees the opulent room around him, that feeling only intensifies. He can’t quite recall where he’s supposed to be, but it’s certainly nowhere quite so fancy-shmancy. He’s not quite sure who he is, but he’s not the fancy-shmancy sort.

He should probably know who he is, right? That seems sensible. He should figure that out.

He sits up, shrugging off a thick duvet. His head swims, vision spotting for a moment before it clears. The air is a little cold, but it’s tolerable. He’s wearing a large sweatshirt, and as he looks down at his hands, he realizes he’s old. His fingers, blurry even at this distance, are nearly skeletal, swollen around the joints, skin pale and paper-thin, spotted with a hundred small scars and age spots. He pushes the sleeve up, admiring the body he seems to occupy. There’s a thick scar along one arm, and as he runs his fingers over it, he feels something strange beneath the skin. He checks it against his other arm, and yes, there’s something wrong with that one that isn’t wrong with the other.

Or maybe it’s the other way around…? No, he’s fairly certain the unscarred arm is the normal one.

He runs a hand down his face curiously. There’s only a few stubborn wisps of hair still on his head, but he’s got a pretty impressive beard underneath one heck of a big nose.

He rolls his sleeves back down. The room is a little cold. The window across the room is cracked just slightly, letting in chilly morning air. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but when it does, it’ll shine right through that window. He usually wakes up before it does.

So he’s an early riser, and his room is on the east side of whatever building he’s in. He’s old and he broke his arm at one point. He’s also pretty darn sure he’s a he, now that he thinks about it, and that’s something.

“Fiddleford?” a voice says gently, accompanied by a light knock on the doorframe.

He— Fiddleford, is he Fiddleford? What a ridiculous name— freezes like a deer in headlights. Without waiting for a response, the person at the door opens it.

He’s tall, somewhere around 60, and very handsome. Fiddleford— yes, that’s him, he’s Fiddleford— does not recognize this man, but a strange flurry of emotion is stirred at the sight of him.

Anger, betrayal, terror, concern, affection, all at once, suffocating in their strength. It’s all so confusing, but he focuses on the fear. It’s not the most powerful, but it is the most understandable reaction to having a stranger in his (his? is it Fiddleford’s?) bedroom. He does not know this man and he does not know why he’s evoking such a powerful emotional response from him and he does not know where he is and why this man is here.

“Who’re you?” Fiddleford demands shakily, and there’s a southern twang to his voice that this stranger does not possess. He draws the blankets back up to his chest like a shield, backing himself up against the headboard. “Where am I?”

The man, who had moved to enter the room, freezes. The gentle expression on his face gives way to confusion, then alarm, then concern.

“Fiddleford, it’s me, Stanford,” he says, stepping closer. Fiddleford flinches, pressing himself tighter against the headboard. The name sends a shiver down his spine.

“I… I don’t reckon I know you,” Fiddleford says, nearly a whine. Does his voice really sound like that? It’s terrible.

“No, I don’t suppose you would, at the moment,” ‘Stanford’ says, soft and heartbroken, “but please, believe me when I say that I mean you no harm.”

“I… I dunno that I do,” Fiddleford mumbles, watching him like a hawk.

Standing there looking like a wet dog, this man does not cut a particularly intimidating figure. There’s a bulk to his shoulders and chest that implies strength, but he’s hunched over, hands fluttering awkwardly. They’re big hands, wide, with one more finger than Fiddleford’s. His own hands tingle, a phantom sensation of warm, thick fingers between his own. He clenches his hand into a fist to squash the feeling.

“If you really don’t wanna hurt me none, how ‘bout you stay over there and answer my questions?” Fiddleford says sharply. As sharply as he can with his voice shaking, anyway.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, keeping his hands in view as he steps out of the doorway.

His eyes flick towards the open door, looking away from Fiddleford for the first time since he’s entered. He looks like he wants to close the door, but he doesn’t.

The door opens out into a long hallway, and even if he can’t see the entrance from where he’s sitting, he knows it’s that way.

He glances at Stanford. Stanford stares back, brows furrowed, eyes wide.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Stanford asks, gesturing with one hand toward a cushioned wooden rocking chair in one corner, the wall behind it lined with bookshelves. A well-loved quilt is thrown over the back of it, and a banjo leans against it.

Part of Fiddleford prickles possessively. He doesn’t recognize anything in this room, not really, but they’re his. He doesn’t have much, what he does have he needs to protect.

But that doesn’t make much sense, does it? Isn’t this his fancy house?

No, it can’t be. Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong in a place like this. This must be Stanford’s house. He doesn’t know why or when or how, but Stanford must have dragged him here himself.

What does he want from him? He’s a frail and confused old man. If he has— had— any skills, he doesn’t remember them now.

He was smart once, wasn’t he? Was he? He certainly isn’t now, not when he’s taking advice from the small, scared animal burrowed in his chest.

It’s telling him to run.

The man, Stanford, he said something, didn’t he?

“Huh?” Fiddleford breathes.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Stanford repeats, patiently.

“… go ahead,” Fiddleford allows. “Careful with that there banjo.”

Don’t provoke him! the scared animal squeals, but Stanford just smiles at him. The concern— fake, he’s tricking you!— remains in his eyes, but there’s a soft, kind curl to his lips. He looks fond.

“Of course,” Stanford agrees, gently repositioning the banjo so it’s leaning against the wall instead of the chair. “Now what did you want to ask me?”

Fiddleford watches him. He’s leaning forward, templing his hands, and his eyes do not leave Fiddleford.

“Well, uh…” Fiddleford glances around. “First things first, just what is that?”

Fiddleford points away from the door. Stanford, that gullible son of a gun, falls for it, following his finger to frown at the bookcase.

Go, go, go, hurry, he’ll hurt you if he catches you, the scared animal says, and Fiddleford agrees.

He scrambles out of bed, and his balance tilts, vision going dark for a moment. He comes back to himself on his hands and knees, and he doesn’t know how long he was out but he needs to get out. Stanford isn’t blocking the way to the door yet, so Fiddleford scampers on four legs towards the opening.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford gasps, and he steps in front of him, hands extended.

He can’t stop himself before he’s crashing into Stanford’s legs, and a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t think, just reacts, and he twists his head to bite at Stanford’s wrist. His teeth— of which he has very few, he’s realizing— catch on the sleeve of his sweater. Stanford doesn’t back off though, he just secures him with his other hand.

“No!” Fiddleford yelps. “No, no, lemme go!”

“Fiddleford, please,” Stanford nearly begs, but his firm grip doesn’t falter, “I don’t want to do this but we’re on the second floor, you’ll hurt yourself on the stairs!”

“No! No no no, stop!” Fiddleford sobs. He hears the words, but he doesn’t register them. “Lemme go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Something familiar scratches at the back of his head. Yellow eyes, skin so pale it was nearly transparent, large clawed hands, men in uniform and scowling townsfolk.

A crowded room that always smelled like coffee and tobacco and damp, a couch beneath a stained glass window, caves and campfires and constellations.

His head throbs painfully, and the thoughts leave his head as quickly as they came. Stanford’s grip shifts, tightens, and Fiddleford struggles until he feels his wide palm on the back of his head, pulling his head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Stanford says. His neck is right there. Even through his sweater, he could hurt him. The scared animal demands that he do so, but he knows this man. He doesn’t know why, but he does, and his tired old body aches.

“Stanford…” he whines, and the name tastes familiar in his mouth. He buries his nose in his shoulder as he goes limp against the larger man. He smells like sweat and coffee. “What… what’s goin’ on?”

He sighs. Fiddleford can feel it against the top of his head.

“You’re having a memory lapse. It’s a side effect of a device you invented,” he explains, stroking the thin hairs clinging stubbornly to the back of his head. “I have yet to help you through one, but I have plenty of experience with my brother’s. I… I could get him, if you’d prefer.”

“Brother…” Fiddleford echoes. He knows the meaning of the word, understands its importance to this man in particular, but he doesn’t know why.

“Stanley, my twin brother. He was… affected by the same device, so he has direct personal experiences with its consequences,” Stanford elaborates, voice strained. “Besides, your relationship with him is less… complicated than our own. It may be best—“

“No!” Fiddleford fists his hands into the back of Stanford’s sweater. “Please, I don’t…”

I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want to see anyone else, I don’t want to bother anyone, I don’t… Fiddleford doesn’t know what he means, but Stanford hushes him with a gentle noise and lets it go.

“Let’s get you off the floor, m— Fiddleford,” Stanford says.

What had he been about to say? Fiddleford has bigger concerns, but the curiosity claws at him.

“Mm-hm,” Fiddleford agrees, and for some reason, instead of moving away to stand up, his body curls closer to Stanford’s.

Stanford takes this in stride, carefully repositioning Fiddleford in his arms. With an ease that’s a bit irritating given his apparent age, he stands up with Fiddleford held against him. His stomach swoops with nausea, and he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face further into Stanford’s neck as he lets out a soft whine.

Stanford replies with a soothing, wordless noise from deep in his throat. Carefully, he sits down on the bed and releases Fiddleford, keeping himself between him and the door. Fiddleford wiggles out of his lap, but stays close beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He still doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know if he can trust him, but his body seems to think he should. Or maybe he’s just that lonely, so lonely that he’ll seek comfort in some home invader or kidnapper that possibly gave him brain damage.

“So,” Stanford began, clearing his throat, “what is the last thing you remember?”

Fiddleford tried to think back, but everything beyond this morning was a blur. Thinking about any of it too hard sent a painful pulse through his already aching brain.

“Um… well, I reckon I remember wakin’ up this mornin’.”

“You… you don’t remember anything?” Stanford says, voice tight. Fiddleford looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together anxiously as he nods.

“Okay… okay. I don’t— this has never happened with Stanley, but that’s fine! That’s… that’s fine.”

“Your name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and you were born the second of five siblings on a hog farm in Eastern Tennessee. You have an older sister, two younger sisters, and a younger brother, as well as countless cousins, I swear you changed the number every time we talked.”

“I didn’t change the number just for the heck of it, my aunts and uncles just kept havin’ kids,” Fiddleford argues. “That’s what happens when you’ve got seven uncles and nine aunts of varying ages.”

“You remember?” Stanford says, delighted.

Fiddleford blinks.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Fantastic! It’s working then! What else do you remember?”

“My siblings, we used to be real close, loved ‘em to death and I reckon I still do, but after I got married—“ Fiddleford stops, heart stuttering in his chest. All the comfort his mind had tricked him into taking in the other man drains away in an instant, and he scrambles away from him. He hits his back hard on the headboard. “My wife! Emma-May, where’s my wife!? My son!?”

“They’re okay! They’re fine, I promise I haven’t done anything to harm them!” Stanford holds his hands up placatingly, but his expression falters slightly. “At least, not directly, and not in the last thirty years…”

“Then where are they? What are you talking about!?”

“Emma-May still lives in California, I believe, but…” Stanford sighs, “the two of you got divorced approximately thirty-one years ago.”

“… oh,” Fiddleford says. It really isn’t a surprise. Emma-May, the poor darling, was bound to catch onto him eventually.

… catch onto him? About what? What was he hiding from her? He looks at the man sitting in bed with him and knows that he is related.

“Why? What happened?”

Stanford winces.

“It’s not really my place to say, but… I took you from them. We met in college, do you remember?”

“… the McGucket/Pines Hologram Conjecture Theory,” Fiddleford says. He remembers it, remembers the heat on his face from embarrassment and tears, remembers the taste of coffee and cola, the equations scribbled on paper and sticky notes and windows, the weight of this man’s arm around his shoulder, their wide grins. He remembers the excitement, the joy, the affection. At some point, he had loved this man.

So that’s what it was.

“Exactly right!” Ford agrees, and his smile now is so much more restrained, but twice as affectionate. “After we graduated…”

“You moved to Oregon, I went back to Tennessee. Reconnected with Emma-May, and we got married, but…” Fiddleford frowns. He knows Emma-May, knew that he loved her in some sort of way, but… but he didn’t do it right. Always too reserved, too awkward, too distant. He couldn’t love her how he was supposed to.

“I called you up to Oregon, to Gravity Falls, to work on a project.”

“A polydimensional meta-vortex,” Fiddleford agrees, heart twisting at the words, “and I did it. I left them both, easy as that.”

Ford remains silent for a long moment, watching Fiddleford with palpable guilt.

“I don’t think it was easy. You visited when you could,” Ford says eventually, and his hand flutters as if he wants to reach out to comfort him, before it falls in his lap.

“It wasn’t enough,” Fiddleford sighs. “I left her, and she made sure it stayed that way.”

Ford nods, ashamed.

“And we did it, didn’t we? We made… we made the vortex,” Fiddleford continues, voice shaking. He remembers breathless terror, even if he can’t quite recall what made him feel that way, can’t recall what he saw beyond a single massive eye. “That’s why I’m like this.”

“Yes,” Ford agrees, voice thick. For all his bulk, he looks like a scolded child. How was he ever afraid of this darling man? “Though you were its inventor, I was the one to drive you to create the memory gun.”

“None of that, darlin’,” Fiddleford soothes, and even though his head throbs with every thought and memory that flows through it, reaching out to him is easy as breathing. He takes Ford’s hand, threading their fingers together. Ford flinches, but Fiddleford holds tight, squeezes his hand gently. “I made it, I decided to use it on myself, I got addicted to it. Now you aren’t one to take credit for other people’s work, are ya?”

Ford smiles, even as his eyes remain pained.

“We’ve done this before,” Fiddleford muses.

“We’ve been doing it a lot, ever since I came back to you,” Ford agrees. “I still struggle to believe I’ve earned your forgiveness.”

“Ain’t something you really had to earn, hun,” Fiddleford soothes, and he wiggles closer to Ford now that he knows who he is, now that he knows that his body’s instincts to trust him were right. “I had enough of being angry and scared, and I certainly had enough of forgettin’.”

Things still don’t make a whole lot of sense, and his head hurts like no tomorrow, but he knows he’s safe here, with this man in this house. Ford pulls him closer and presses a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Are you alright, my love?” Ford asks, soft and sweet.

“Hurts,” he says vaguely, curling into the man.

“I know,” he soothes. “I should get you some water and painkillers.”

He tenses as if to move away, but Fiddleford shakes his head, burying it in his chest.

“Later,” he mumbles. “Just stay with me?”

“Of course.”

[blueiscoool]

Dentist Discovers Human-Like Jawbone and Teeth in a Floor Tile

While touring his parents' recently renovated European home, a dentist spotted something unsettling. Embedded in a travertine floor tile along the hallway leading to the terrace was what appeared to be a human jawbone. Sliced diagonally, the tile revealed a cross-section of several teeth. Uncertain of the proper course of action, the dentist turned to Reddit, where the discovery ignited a frenzy of online interest, ranging from enthusiastic curiosity to sheer disgust.

The discovery has captured the attention of an international team of scientists who are eager to examine the fossil. They believe it could belong to an extinct human ancestor.

"If it turns out to be a fossil hominin, which I think it is, it should be studied and placed in a museum," John Kappelman, an anthropology professor at the University of Texas at Austin who specializes in hominid and hominin origins and evolution, said in an email.

Travertine, a type of limestone commonly used in construction due to its aesthetic appeal and longevity, often forms near mineral springs and can contain fossilized remnants of past life. While plant, algae, and even animal fossils like those of rhinos and giraffes are occasionally found in travertine, human remains are exceptionally rare, as noted by University of Wisconsin paleoanthropologist John Hawks, Forbes reported.

In a blog post titled "How Many Bathrooms Have Neanderthals in the Tile?" Dr. Hawks highlights the uncommon nature of this particular discovery.

"I expect there will be many twists and turns in the story of this jawbone," Mr Hawks wrote. "With some teeth preserved and abundant surrounding rock, I expect that specialists will be able to learn a great deal about the life of this individual and when he or she lived."

The European dentist, who specialises in dental implants, told Forbes that he immediately knew he wasn't just looking at stone tile's natural pattern variations when he saw several teeth staring up at him.

"From my dentist's point of view I had no doubt it was some kind of human," he told Forbes. "The teeth distribution and size of the mandible is characteristic. Also, the width of the cortex is specific to ancient humans."

"I don't think it is Jimmy Hoffa," the dentist joked in a follow-up to his original Reddit post. He said he prefers not to reveal his name, or his parents' location, to protect the family's privacy.

When the dentist spotted a jawbone as part of his parents' home upgrade, he was surprised for a different reason.

It is very, very unusual to find vertebrate fossils in processed travertine tile, and hominin fossils 100 times more so," Kappelman said. "We have only a handful."

Mr Kappelman was part of a team that observed the earliest evidence of tuberculosis etched on 500,000-year-old human skeletal remains discovered by factory workers in Turkey cutting travertine tile for commercial use. The scientists published the findings of their research in 2007 in The American Journal of Physical Anthropology.

[foxingpeculiar]

It bugs me that so many people I have encountered don’t watch old films, feel they can’t relate to them.

Cos like, okay. I’m watching Howard Hawks’s Bringing Up Baby (1938). Which is a screwball comedy. Which is to say, a romantic comedy that does a lot of winking at the audience to, specifically and maliciously, get around the censorship of the time. (The Hays Code was still relatively new at this point, and the Breen Office was giving everyone a lot of shit. The whole subgenre of screwball comedy exists as a fuck-you to that.)

And in this film, Cary Grant plays a… I dunno, dinosaur-guy at a museum. Who bumps into chaotic society girl Kate Hepburn, his life gets upended, they get together, you know how it goes.

But a key point of the plot is that the last piece of a dinosaur skeletal-reconstruction that he’s working on gets stolen by her pet leopard (the Baby of the title), who then escapes at large. It is in solving this problem together that they bond.

And what is that problem, put more directly? Her pussy has run off with his bone. That was very intentional.

Also, I believe this is the first film—certainly, at least, the first mainstream studio film—to use the word “gay” in reference to homosexuality. (Which they probably only got away with because nobody had done it yet. Like, Joseph Breen did not know what that meant.)

Like, c’mon. This shit is great. Expand your mind.

[a-drama-addict]

1, 3, 5, 9, 10, 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 22, 25, 31, 36, 44, 46, 49 SABRI BLAST!! SABRI ATTACK!!

SABRI BLAST! SABRI ATTACK! [ask game]

1. How old is Rook?

Sabri is 28!

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

didn't have one SHOUTOUT CRYPT BABY! no i guess she's always just... been in the Mourn Watch. She was raised with them and doesn't remember anything prior to it.

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

Pretty... tame? She spent a lot of her time just. Researching. She definitely cleansed the occasional haunting and restless undead, which is WHY she became a warrior. A lot of studying and reading mostly. She spent a lot of time researching necromancy in theory, even though she could never actually perform the magic herself. Also she likes studying insects. SHE GOT THAT WHIMSY IN HER !!!!

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

She's strong and pretty good at anticipating where and when an enemy would strike. She's spent a lot of time observing how different armies, factions, types of people fight. Of course that can't give you everything, but she's pretty good at thinking ahead like cornering an enemy to the edge of a cliff/rooftop/etc and kicking them off. SHE WANTS TO PLAN EVERYTHING OUT SO BAD

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

SABRI HEARTS THE HERO OF FERELDEN EMIRA TABRIS!!!!!! no but seriously she knows of them. She thinks Chloe also rocks because like "Woagh a blood mage became the champion of kirkwall? That's cool I wonder if the public knew" then asks varric and varric lies bc he's protecting hawke 5ever.

She knows of the Inquisitor too but. Less. Mostly heard about his alliance with Cassandra because OooOoOoh did you know a PENTAGHAST is helping the inquisition? Crazy

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

Not that Sabri knows of. No family ties by blood she's ever met

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

She has an emblem in the shape of a beetle. Beetles are prized in Nevarra and allegedly brings good luck. She always keeps it on her

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

When Sabri was around 7 or 8 years old she tried talking with wisps for the first time. She was too shy at first, having been told that dwarves can't do magic so it might be more difficult to summon or communicate with them. One night she was feeling very brave and asked one of her mage friends to help her find and connect with wisps.

After a long trek to find them in a room, Sabri sat down on the floor and started talking to them. She spent that whole night talking the (metaphorical) ears of those wisps who very eagerly flew about around her while she rambled.

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

I'd say quality time and physical touch definitely. she's a cuddle bug that wants to spend time with those she loves damn it! in terms of reacting i would also words of affirmation. she goes real well on that

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

Sabri's smile is very warm, always genuine. If she doesn't have a reason to smile she doesn't, every time she smiles or laughs she gets a crinkle in her nose. Her laugh is loud and shameless, she isn't afraid to let you know she is happy, and it's definitely infectious.

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

Oh man trying to invent some kind of mechanical entrapment that would give dwarves the ability to mimic necromancy when she was 17. She spent months, almost a full year, trying to build a skeletal set of armour that would have necrotic magic infused in the palms of it's hands so it would deal necrotic damage, and hopefully be able to raise and speak with the dead because of the magic.

Loooong story short, after the help of a professor to mimic the spellcasting, the necrotic powers in the palms overloaded and exploded. Her hands hurt like hell for weeks and she was too embarrassed to walk out of her quarters for two weeks straight.

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

Reading! Researching! She loves learning things and reading stories!!! SHE WANTS IN ON THE VEILGUARD BOOK CLUB NEOW!!!!!!

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

Reaper! Because MOURN WATCH FOREVER AND ALWAYS!!!!! RAGHHH. No but seriously she was kind of already training for this as an apprentice in the necropolis anyway, it just seemed... right.

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

Sabri believes she is too soft. Not as willing to fight or kill as she should be. She would also feel herself too... dwarf-y. She loves being a dwarf, the traditions and cultures from Orzammar, definitely believes in the Stone. But she feels so inadequate to be part of the Mourn Watch. Even the non-mages at least can dream, she can't even do that. No connection to the Fade. What good is a Mourn Watcher with no connection to the Fade?

44. What is Rook really good at?

Sketching! It's mostly mechanical sketches, studies, that she usually does. She keeps a journal where sketches everything that catches her eye, and if she's lucky she can take it with her and study it up close.

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

Helping people, honouring the deceased in ways appropriate to the deceased person (respecting different costumes from different cultures in that front), being nice to insects and animals.

49. What will always make them laugh?

Assan. Also dad jokes and puns (That whole segment with the giant stone hand.)

[oldbardictales]

It was years ago. Truly it was like a decade or so ago,perhaps an even more mere amount of time.

You caught a deep,deep illness. Though it doesn't spread often it's most commonly dormant in parents and awakens in their children after infecting them in the womb and with enough of that hard to pin down thing the people call time the child will feel it

It's in the bones. The very marrow in your skeletal structure. It hurts and creaks and cracks and writhes in pain inside the bones

Not that it was diagnosed officially but you heard stories of it ofcourse,on forums,subreddits and songs of creepy bands whose singers always ended up breaking taboo,from cannibalism to child porn possession to rubbing out a few to pictures of their ma and posting it on the hub

You had heard of the spread of the accursed illness enough times to learn the rumors so well you could recount them like a pessimistic prayer. The impending punishment you were dealt by the sadistic cracked nails of fate just cause

First your junk won't work as good as normal,for the sadness would fill you and distract the lust

Then your guts will feel so empty they'd resemble the greatest hunger all the while you would feel everything but hunger

Then your wrath will keep swelling and bleeding into every nerve ending and the start of the nerve on top. The scorching hot discomfort that will swallow you whole as you start to creak and crack and twist again and again and twice more cause no being can ever be too sure. And you'll burn alive. And then you'll burn dead

And you'll just get up and start hitting. Hitting everything that made you mad everything that does and everything that will

You'll flail your arms faster than the hawk diving from the sky and you'll hit so hard you'll remember your mother's damned hand

And you'll be killed. Just like that. Cause no one bothered to help,cause no one bothered to make a cure,cause no one cared of your suffering until you were too far into the ailment and the only way of helping you left was to put you down like a violent dog. Only then was it easy enough for someone to bother

[imsparky2002]

Ghoul Squad Reboot: MariDeath

Marinette Dupain-Cheng - Grim Reaper

Age - 14

Appearance - Shoulder-length black hair with a tint of blue tied into pigtails, Black scolera with glowing green irises, skeletal body

Attire - Long thick black cloak, long black spider-web pattern dress, bat earrings.

Personality - Spooky, earnest, sweet, occasionally dramatic, dorky.

Likes - Gothic culture, all things horror, bringing souls to the afterlife, fashion, cemetaries, Adrien, Kagami and Luka

Dislikes - Bullies, conformist culture, bigots, monogamy, Hawk Moth, having to stop Chloe and Lila from causing trouble (they're all friends, don't worry), having to use the scythe on unruly targets

FrankenPet - Tiki the Franken Ladybug

Coming from a long line of esteemed grim reapers, Marinette eagerly takes on her role as the latest in the family legacy, leading people to their final resting place

Though she does a good job coming off as an intimidating and theatrical harbinger of death, those who know her will tell you how much of a dork and a sweetie she is. It's up to her to motivate her best friends and her partners.

If you’re human, take extra care that you don’t touch the blade of scythe or look her directly in the eyes. One kills you instantly and the other gives you visions of your own death

Marinette never wishes to leave her targets sad before they pass away. She uses her fashion skills to design them new clothes for the afterlife, and will often comfort them before they pass on.

There’s nothing in the world she loves more than spending time with her partners, who enjoy her morbid jokes about death and quirky tendencies. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are the lights of her life.

Quotes

Akuma... your time has come.

Graveyards are so peaceful, I don’t know why people don’t spend more time in them.

Tikki, have you seen where my scythe went? I'm always losing it!

I may not have a living heart, but the three of you would make it race if I did.

Unless you want to be six feet under, get your hands off my friends.

Marinette's come to reap the rewards! Make sure to lemme know what you think in comments and reblogs. Thanks so much to Weebs for helping me write quotes and bullet points. @artzychic27 @msweebyness @nerd-chocolate

[pluumed]

-> hawks + body/quirk headcanons

one. hawks' headphones were initially given to him in order to protect his ears/head from changing air pressure when he reaches high altitudes and allow him to easily communicate with his handlers, however he's also added the ability to be able to play music and cancel out sound when and if the need arises. one point one. these headphones also work to amplify the sounds his feathers pick up if he needs them to.

two. this is his work playlist.

three. hawks has incredibly sensitive eyes. rapid changes of light or going too long without his goggles or some kind of sunglasses on is a sure fire way to give him a migraine or disable him in a fight (use that information how you will :) )

four. his sense of hearing is also incredibly sensitive, which is another reason why he added the ability to cancel out sound to his headgear. when he was younger he'd find himself easily startled by sudden loud noises or shouting too close to him - especially when his father would kick off.

five. hawks often needs physio treatment because of the strain on his muscles when he's flying for too long or he sleeps at the wrong angle because of his wings - he often has neck pain or low grade back pain because of his unique anatomy to accommodate his wings.

six. when he was going through his specialised training he'd often be side lined with hairline fractures or completely broken bones. hawks' skeleton is built much less densely than the average person's because of his quirk, meaning that it sacrifices some of the strength the average person has in their skeletal system. in more modern times he's put on enough muscle mass that it negates some of that weakness but he's still very vulnerable where he's not got a huge amount of muscle coverage. equally, muscle is heavy and he has to be careful not to bulk up too much that he sacrifices his speed - it's a balancing act.

seven. keigo is ftm trans, he paid for his own top surgery and is on t, he's pretty comfortable with his body and doesn't tend to see it as an insecurity of his at all

[leolithe]

For the ask game, since i cant find the emojis i need:

Family hc

Random hc

Clothes hc

Hobby hc

Oh my god i managed a thousand words of headcanon THANK YOU LOL. Ask game here!

🧬 Family

After the New War, Lotus sheds the part of her that's the clingy and anxious mission mom, and it kinda transfers over to Natah and Margulis instead LOL

Natah is a backseat gamer, telling the Tenno about patch notes the second they drop, giving them unsolicited modding advice, putting way too much detail in a mission transmission as if she doesn't know that the Tenno do not have Sentient processing capability. She watches over missions like a hawk... Very very diligently.

Margulis is the "you've been playing for over a hour" message in chat, just in overbearing mom form. She's very reluctant about leading missions without Natah or Lotus co-conscious; it's very overwhelming keeping track of so many mission feeds. If Natah is too present during missions, then Margulis is the opposite. She really tries to see the Tenno as who they are now, as capable warriors fighting to bring order to the Origin System, but she understandably struggles! She just wants her Tenno to be home safe and sound.

Some Tenno complain about them to the Lotus but all she does is smile. "Let them have their moments," she says. They eventually mellow out, but the first few months Natah and Margulis take the lead are rocky. The Tenno keep their patience with them, and the Space Moms take the time to learn what their children need, swapping between alters more and more fluidly as time goes on.

📓 Hobby

All three space moms share the joy of design! On Tau, Natah wasn't given the time to make her own blueprints or models on account of being put to use as a spy, so building new things together with her headmates really excite her, whether it's weapons or architecture or simple cosmetics. It's honestly adorable, you get to see Natah's innocent side during a brainstorming session.

Natah is big on overall shape design, while Margulis delves deeper into details and intricacies. Lotus is obviously a mix of both, so the other two kinda go through her for design vetting lmao. Surprisingly, they don't argue much during a design-related project! They bounce off each other's ideas and find plenty of value in them. It's very soothing. Margulis gets to exercise her proverbial Archimedean muscles and Natah gets to catch up on what she missed out on in her past.

When Margulis gets too tired in the middle of a project, Natah MOURNS the loss of her design partner. She's devastated to need to stop, she gets so sad that it's funny. Lotus goes "You can keep working on it while she rests" but Natah is like "I CANNOT PROCEED WITHOUT HER BRILLIANT MIND".

Cue them sleeping together while Natah's mind is still spinning with the vigor of a puppy wagging her tail.

👗 Clothes

Living in the body of a Sentient Mimic makes dressing up very easy. Just think of an outfit and boom the shared body adapts to it. Margulis picks out clothes that are comfortable and easy on the eyes, Lotus goes for something classy and elegant but not pompous, while Natah goes for more...... unorthodox fashion statements. she has a distinctly Sentient lens on the whole self-presentation thing.

For example. I've been playing with a Natah who, when outside of her usual mech, presents herself with the features of a Xenomorph. With the long, skeletal tail and just creepier general anatomy. She's honestly a furry, just a Sentient version of one lmfao. I think she maintains her default colour scheme when she changes up her body

Lotus and Margulis share each others' wardrobes and in their headspace they take the time to do little Human rituals like actually painstakingly put their clothes on and do each other's makeup. They definitely lean towards more femme fashion, but they both will indulge in a good suit...

😶 Random

NSFW!!! UNDER THE CUT

SPACE MILF SEX HEADCANONS LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO

Margulis: Bottom switch. Surprisingly commanding in bed if she wants to be. She is incredibly alluring and she knows how to tease... Ridiculously good at dirty talk........ Everything she says and does is like scientifically formulated to drive you up the wall. Being the OG Space Mom who owns the titty window I am inclined to say she can be verrrry slutty. Unfortunately still a regular Human in the datascape, but she's a curious woman and eventually finds out how to use the Sentient body for her own fantasies that i will not elaborate on 😶

Lotus: Vers Switch. Painfully. Excruciatingly. SWEET. In bed. She shows glimpses of herself that are so polite and innocent and affectionate that it makes you want to stop everything and just cuddle her and tell her you love her and she's safe. She NEEDS validation. It greatly upsets her if she thinks she's not doing a good job. Wins "most likely to cry while having sex" award (reasons range from being reminded of trauma or because you told her she's perfect the way she is or because she remembered again that she's free) and you HAVE to be nice about it...

Natah: Stone dom. Does not have nerve receptors and does not want them. She kinda just has sex to satisfy her curiosity and to fill her data banks. You should probably hope she likes you or she will not leave you....... Ahem. Alive? But if she DOES like you, she'll take joy in figuring out ways to push you to your limits and then give you aftercare. For her, sex is less about tactile pleasure and more about learning Human tendencies and how to best manipulate them.

Also she doesn't use her Human body (she reserves the intimacy it grants her for Lotus and Margulis) so you're stuck with her big beautiful mech shell thing and her clawed tentacles. Have fun!

[disintegreate]

♱ ABOUT THE BLOG ♱

helloo im niecie, pronounced "niece-E." this blog serves as a personal archive for things i am interested in... punk, goth, emo, mallgoth, scene, and other subcultures, 80s-2010s music, the colors red and black, fashion, movies and more.

my dm's and asks are open - ur totally welcome to suggest/request a post topic, ask a question, or just chat!

- this blog is SFW - if you are the owner of an image and would like it removed/properly credited please let me know

EXTRAS.......

interests of mine - drawing - thinking about clothes - character analysis - The Cure - planning outfits - making image collages - watching movies - sleeping for as long as possible - visiting thrift & antique stores - scrapbooking - journaling

artists i listen to (In no particular order)

The Cure, Fiona Apple, Depeche Mode, Bauhaus, Black Sabbath, Dio, Dystopia, Evanescence, Strawberry Switchblade, Echo and the Bunnymen, Cocteau Twins, Les Discrets, Specimen, The Eden House, Danzig, Gregory And The Hawk, She Past Away, Paralysed Age, Nox Novacula, Casket Casette, The Ink Bats, Skeletal Family, Amesoeurs, Malice Mizer, The Damned, Primer 55, The Oh Hellos, The Crane Wives, The Paper Kites, Sisters of Mercy, Joy Division, Kittie, Bat Nouveau, Soundgarden, New Order, Horror Vacui, Miss Lauryn Hill, Paramore, London After Midnight, Paralysed Age, Clan Of Xymox, Fleetwood Mac, Harsh Symmetry, Slipknot, Deftones (Adrenaline), Korn, Pixies... aaand more

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Hey! Hope you're doing well! This may be off topic (hell if I know), but I have a bit of an oddly specific inquiry about the race Shadow is (Falkry? That was the name right?), specifically the biology (I think that's what it would be)

Specifically-specifically, the wings... okay I know that probably doesn't make much sense, but the context is that I learned that wing shape heavily influence how a creature (race? human? person?) flys through the environment. I can't explain it much more, but, in short, what are the wing shapes? Are they one type of wing throughout all or do they differ based on what each culture would have been (since they're, uh, extinct kinda? In your world anyways)? Shape? Size? Any other features? Just for some more reference, this is what I mean (and also sparked my curiosity/thoughts) https://preview.redd.it/yh9fkr515i321.png?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=221c8cac62659ee3e87f58c00a7cc76e2112aebc Not sure if you can access reddit even, but otherwise, just Google search "wing types real life reference for world building" and go to images. Feel free to answer in as much or as little detail as you want (or just straight infodump with unstructured word vomit, that's cool too! My personal favorite too! The content, not the, er, vomit) Anyways, hope you're having a good day/night, are taking care of yourself, staying hydrated, eating your favorite snack and all that jazz :) -idk

Wow, this a VERY interesting question! And I have a spectacularly long answer for you! (I also included a few pictures at the bottom of this post of the very specific anatomy a Falkry has -- the art is not mine, but it perfectly shows the skeletal and muscular structure of Falkry wings, also showing how the muscles and bone structure move and shift during flight which I thought might be helpful. You might have to zoom in though to read all the descriptive writing explaining each muscle and its purpose)

Now on to the explanation: You are absolutely correct in that wing shape heavily influences how creatures fly. And yes, there are different wing types among Falkry. BUT, they do not differ too greatly -- the differences are more subtle. For example, no Falkry has short-flight-type wings (shorter and stubbier meant for short bursts of flight in real-life birds rather than gliding/soaring - like chickens and turkeys). They always have larger, broader wings like eagles to be able to stay airborne, especially since they are human-sized (which means big wings to get them in the air).

To perhaps word it better, the differences I mentioned are more like hawk vs falcon-type wings (hawks have broad wings, falcons have thin and narrow ones for better maneuverability, but there are a ton of closer similarities between those two types than for hawk-shaped wings vs chicken-shaped wings. Make sense?)

A Falkry's genetics determine a lot about wing shape & structure. Shadow, for example, has wings that are powerful but slightly slimmer/more tapered and narrow than most other Falkry (genetic anomaly that works to her advantage). Her wing shape is a cross between hawk & falcon-types. She is a super fast flier because of this, and can out-fly anyone she races. She also has elite aerial maneuverability because of her falcon-like wings and can make sharp twists, turns, and abrupt changes of direction in the air that most other Falkry would have a hard time doing.

It means she's good at dodging & weaving through tight spaces and has a significant evasive advantage in aerial training combat against Falkry with broader wings who can't make those sharp twists she can and are slower to make turns.

But Falkry with bigger, wider wings than Shadow, on the other hand, would have an advantage in long-distance flight & journeys because they would have an easier time soaring and gliding on air currents, conserving energy by avoiding unnecessary flapping. Each wing-type helps in different ways, and each has its advantages & disadvantages.

Physical fitness has a lot to do with things too. For example, a Falkry with broad wings (designed for soaring) might still be able to beat someone with shorter and narrower ones (designed for speed) in a race if their muscles are stronger. But Shadow in particular is very physically active, even when's she's not punching people's noses in (LOL), and so she has a lot of built up endurance and raw power, along with loads of flight experience and skill on her side which is part of what makes her so dangerous.

Thanks for your ask! I hope I was able to answer it good enough (and if not, you can always send a 2nd ask too for more information -- I won't take offense)

Here's the pictures of all the anatomy a Falkry has!

[fandomsareforlife]

Hey fellow Shade enjoyer! Do you have anymore lore about him? Or headcanons? Or just random stuff you wanna share about him that you haven't gotten the chance to?

This escaped me so it's mostly world building but surrounding Shade, sorry. This is so stupid, but like here is the elaboration on the whole phantom! Shade thing, as well as the split personality headcanon. Thanks @purplecherryuwu for roleplaying with me lmao, that really helped me flesh this out a lot

Trigger warnings: Trauma and violence mentions, nothing in detail but yeah. I'll warn for more if need be. Also, slightly incoherent ramblings. I wrote this at midnight.

So in Ninjago there are a bunch of different types of fae (creatures who can manipulate magic and need it to survive). These include fairies, sirens, elves, giants, and phantoms.

They lived in communities with mages (what magic users are called), and they tend to have kids with mages if they have children with humans.

For this post, since it focuses on Shade, we're gonna focus on phantoms.

Phantoms are typically connected to death and violence, and phantoms are considered to be very good at fighting, due to having enhanced strength and senses. Considered to be very intelligent, especially in terms of strategy, almost like their brain is hardwired for it. However, in exchange for book smarts and battle prowess, they tend to be very volatile and resort to violence as the first move to a solution.

They are considered 'disturbing' to look at, due to having humanoid faces but they are cool colors such as blue and grey and covered in feathers with the bottom of their face elongated out similar to a beak, with it being hard like a beak.

They also are skeletal and covered in feathers, with massive elliptical wings that have feathers detached in order to be use as weapons, in tandem with their massive talons.

(If you wanna seea bit of the inspo, here is one. No real clue what it's from but you can check out the blog if you wanna. Also, the feathers being weapons comes from Hawks from My Hero Academia).

Anyway, they tend to have a lot of bird traits, like always being in motion (ex flying, hopping) and chirping and wanting to grab shiny things and hunt small things. They can't eat birds, cows or pigs, but they can eat fish, vegetables, small creatures, and other fae/humans, including dead phantoms.

They always have the whispers of Lady Magic in their head. Lady Magic is basically the First Spinjitzu Master for mages, and she gives people magic if they don't wanna be crazy from it (like Clouse is).

Phantoms are considered rare by those who don't have magic, but they just tend to be reclusive from non-mages since there was a bunch of hunts for mages (similar to the Salem Witch Trials I think) after the Serpentine Wars that wiped out a good portion of mages.

Anyway, Shade is part phantom, and he hides a lot of the traits on a day to day basis, especially when he isn't with people he knows very well. He can detach the feathers on his body and magic away his wings, and he always has gloves on and cuts his talons to the bone in order to hide them. And being pescetarian isn't that weird. So the only real trait that is always present is the grey skin and the instincts.

Which, whoo, they are not fun for Shade. He always want to grab shiny things (when he was younger he would grab people with a lot of jewelry since they were shiny to him). He never can sit still, always hungry and he likes to be high up. He also nests.

The worst part is actually his phantom. Basically, for a normal fae/human hybrid with 50% or more creature, they have a distinct voice in their head of their creature trying to encourage them to do things based on their instincts. Examples include for siren hybrids running away to live in the ocean or singing in order to hypnotize someone to escape, and fairy hybrids to fly around instead of walking and manipulate nature to their benefit. They tend to be very defensive and want the body safe at all costs.

This is because Lady Magic trying to be nice and giving them a bit of a step up in the world.

Normally the creature is only a voice in their head, and it doesn't have any real control over the body. It also doesn't tend to have much of a personality and tend to be a similar age to the human. If you read Harry Potter fic, it's like how Moony is portrayed in regards to Remus.

For Shade, and other hybrids who experienced trauma as a child that caused dissociate, however, their creature can take over the body. It's a defensive mechanism, in order to prevent the mind from breaking. This causes the creature to start to form a personality, and age oddly in comparison, since they aren't always present, unlike normal hybrids.

So for Shade, his phantom goes by either Phantom/Phoenix, depending on the au I write him in. Pronouns are he/it, but most people refer to it as he. He tends to be a few years younger than Shade, but I tend to write it more childlike if I call him Phoenix, since that meant he started to come out when Shade was a kid and therefore stopped aging normally as a kid. It is very protective over Shade, to the point of attacking anyone who tries to come close to him that he think he can fight and that Shade won't care if it killed.

(Also, shoutout to @purplecherryuwu for helping me come up with Phoenix as his name because before it was just Phantom)

However, it also is very traumatized, due to sometimes not being able to fight his way out of some situations, so it stayed out and experienced it all. When it's out, Shade doesn't know much, if anything, of what happens if Phoenix/Phantom doesn't tell him.

In some aus, Phantom/Phoenix starts to come out when Shade isn't dissociating, because Shade can give control to him if he wants to, but he doesn't like doing that since he likes to have control. In these aus, he does start learning more about the world and he starts to be less volatile and get help, as well become closer to Shade's age mentally.

Anyway, I have so many angst ideas relating to that whole headcanon you have no idea.

Also, to clarify, this is not applicable to every fic I write. Sometimes Phantom/Phoenix doesn't exist, sometimes Shade's a regular human, and sometimes the magic system works completely differently. This is just something I have spent a lot of time thinking about, and wanted to share!

I am aware this is probably not what you expected but like I wrote this all out and I'm not apologizing, so do with this what you will.

[sterlingarcher23]

A space walk....cosmic love.

(fair warning that this can be a bit convoluted because I try to connect references and some I noticed while writing it - sorry.)

Into space

The project board that we see on the left side behind Max mentions Kathryn Sullivan, an astronaut and the first American woman who ever made a space walk. Interestingly, there's a mistake: on the board it says. Sullivan is the first woman ever, however she wasn't, the first was a Russian: Svetlana Savitskaya. (These kind of "tiny mistakes" are almost a pattern with Mr Clarke. He said about Phineas Gage that he was physically fine. No, he wasn't. He lost an eye and even in the 80s it was safe to speculate that he had severe brain damage as proven later. But why these mistakes? Same reason they used the Planck constant from 2014 and not the 80s - this looks deliberate.)

So, on the one side of the black board we have the "skeletal system" and the "Nervous system" on the other: Brain, spinal cord, semsory org(ans).... It's all connected. - And there's a brain in front of Clarke too.

Over this there are Halloween themed cat heads. Now, on the one hand you can argue: that's Vecna as the silver cat. Besides that I pointed out that Max is herself a silver cat (like snapping/snarling at people like a feral cat, the Silver/Lone Ranger connection and her silver headphones and the fact that she fed dog while Vecna fed on Chrissy says: There's a double meaning behind the Silver Cat), the Halloween theme is more connected to El and Max, dressing as the ghost and the killer. So, I say that the Halloween cats are also connected to Max.

This is foreshadowing too. And it will haunt you. El is a ghost and Max...the killer.

Mr Clarke says in his Phineas Gage lesson "physically he was fine" (not true for Gage) and then the camera changes focus to Max when he says "complete change in his personality" which is true for Gage, Max on the other hand... Max doesn't believe brain damage is a thing. Why? Some believe it's ironic that she doesn't believe it's a thing and now may have brain damage. However I believe that Max is probably right in her own case at least in regards to the future, and that the Duffers are just messing with the audience, and Max doesn't or won't have actual brain damage. It's Max's belief that foreshadows her "healing".

Like a case of a woman that was blind after an accident and misdiagnosed with cortical brain damage. She actually had a multiple personality disorder/DID. One of her alters could see, another was disabled (that's really a thing btw) - That's the idea behind these plot elements/lines: they are "true lies" so to speak. Max doesn't/won't have brain damage, she has/will have DID.

This and the brain is directly related to the moonlanding and space through visuals in this scene. Right below the clock, there's a poster showing the brain in various views and below that poster is a photograph of the moonlanding in 1969 of Apollo 11. "The eagle has landed" - the poster behind Max's head shows a bird of prey and while I think it's a falcon/hawk (I have an idea what this may refer to), you can argue that this is connected because it's part of the sequences we see of Max during the revival.

And then there's the mission on the project board which Kathryn Sullivan made the space walk. The mission registration is half hidden behind the TV and ends on 41-6...no, not 6. "G". It's actually a G, STS-41-G, but this G-letter looks like a 6. (I misread it at first. Till I checked.) This is deliberate I'd argue. Because read as a 6,it says "....-4-16". Another 11?

The day of that mission was October 11th.

The patch:

Sullivan and Leestma went out on the space walk or EVA, an extravehicular activity, to demonstrate the refueling system.

On the board it says "Extra! Extra!!" as a starting phrase to point to this event. Stating that it's the first woman who made a space walk - First of all in one shot this is directly behind Max's head and there's a lot going on behind her head in the background in numerous scenes btw like the "Love at first bite" Pac-Man sign, or her poster of the "Endless Summer" while she's fixing her skateboard, something that appears in S2-4, Lucas covering Max's mouth while the Pac-Man game is right behind her etc.

Second of all: This "Extra! Extra!!' with the three exclamation points is similar to two lines by Sam Owens:

"You are One of the good Ones" and later "First...first things first". - And it's behind Max's head. Like there's an "Extra" directly in her head.

Lots of 1s/Ones in these sentences. And I'll did point out the "Him - her" before but I'll ho into more detail in another post.

Space travel

In Season 1 El does whatever she actually does (transporting/atomize things into tiny matter that then disappears) to the Demogorgon and disappears at the exact same spot on the blackboard that in S2 has all this stuff with skeletal and nervous system on it while above are cats.... That is no coincidence. (And some pointed out that El seemingly dissappeared in the lab incident, the other girl stayed, that there are two girls, two different cracks in the tiles)

Same spot. Anyone thinking that this is a coincidence? The connection between El's first disappearance, the Halloween cats, the nervous system writing on the blackboard? Brain poster and moonlanding too. The writing is literally on the wall. - El will disappear or "travel" into that "space", into the brain, the nervous system, like eaten by a silver cat..Max's brain.

Like she went into a cats paw (the portal in the wall of Season 2) when escaping from the UD and potentially swapping timelines (or whatever) and is then figuratively be "born" from a cats paw. ("Are you real. Did I make you?", Max as the Silver Cat) And the glow in the portal resembles...a heart?

A glowing "heart" in the middle of a cats paw and there's the glowing in the rainbow sequence that also looks like a heart for split seconds, the heart imagery and El's and Max's hearts literally connected via sound effect. Both their hearts stopped, both were revived and they are literally, audibly and visually connected. This points to the origin story of ElMax that was hinted at in Season 4. ( Yes, I firmly believe that they have a comon origin story and it's not a romantic ship that just happened.)

The silver cat feeds. Feed = consume or feed = nurture. The sentence has more than one meaning. And I would argue that it's the silver cat on the right is the one we should focus on.

Besides, these shots of Vecna and Max mirror each other. He comes from the left, using his left hand feeding on Chrissy, she's on the right using her right hand feeding dog.

And in Season 2, when El touches Terry's hand, she gets a reaction even though Terry's brain is scrambled eggs, actually damaged by Brenner. Neural pathways firing up... This scene is like a Chekhovs gun.

Why is this connected? Terry having potential brain damage from Brenner, Max left with a disruption between her sensory organs and the nervous system. There's an explanation and in parts we can piece that together. I dare say that Terry isn't El's mom, that El originally wasn't "born" in a traditional sense.

But let's go back to...

Cosmic Love - The brain is a universe

The writers were asked how they would describe the Season 4 ending with a song. The answer: Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine.

(image from a Forbes article from 2016)

Did I mention that in the past it was noticed that the neural pathways, the network of the brain look like cosmic web looks?

It's debated of that's an accurate scientific comparison to a human brain: "Altogether, the cosmic web looks somewhat like a human brain. To be more precise, the distribution of matter in the universe looks a little like the “connectome,” the network of nerve connections in the human brain."

And who can't see or feel anything? Who is the cure? Who a silver cat? And who is One?

Conclusion:

ElMax is a love that happens in the head of someone. In the brain. - Max's. The brain is a universe with billions of stars. It's a "cosmic love". For the mind. (In which El fought for Max, while Lucas fought in the physical world - El for the mind, Lucas for the physical world.) And El can repair Max from within. She's the cure. The medicine. And that Max can...will absorb everything that El was and will be, her memories, her abilities. El's consciousness. That way, El can fire up the neural pathways, make Max see and feel even though this comes at a price. All magic comes at a price.

It's technically pretty simple, even though I digress a bit in my post(s) - the Duffers just used many props and backgrounds as metaphors over the years to point to this. Good foreshadowing and Easter eggs for generations to find after the show is over. It can be read partially as the events of S4 but I'd argue that in connection with El's disappearance in S1, the hint towards cats and Halloween (Max both "killer" and silver cat), that this is actually foreshadowing events of Season 5. Even though it's called space walk...it's more flying, leaving your vehicle to go into space. "You will need to fly"

In this scene of Max being introduced to the class, the Duffers foreshadow her fate, that she would end up in her current state while at the same time telling us how she will be healed: through El making a space walk into Max's brain, exploring this universe of her nervous system - and a cosmic love among the stars of this neural network.

Oh, and of course I forgot:

A wrinkle in time

Sorry for the long time it took. Can be a bit exhausting especially when it's not your first language you are writing in.

[hawkc]

So, since I've been on a bit of a D&D kick (since I got a game coming up on the 10th) I wanted to add some ✨flavor✨ to Hawke's spells.

I mean that the way he casts Cone of Cold, Winter's Grasp, Fireball or Firestorm, etc. isn't the same as Anders, Merrill or any other mage. Hawke's spells have a different look and feel to them. Cone of Cold is less of a wave of freezing wind and more like a bunch of sharp ice spikes aiming to impale his opponent. Winter's Grasp isn't a simple ball of ice, it's a ghostly, skeletal hand that freezes things in place (yes it's literally Chill Touch).

Fireball isn't Hawke literally throwing a ball of fire from his hand, I like to think he just makes the ground explode with fire. Firestorm is largely the same but with a few rocks thrown in, so just Meteor Swarm tbh.

Now, his Arcane Spells are where it gets ✨fun✨. Arcane Shield? It's not a bubble of wind/light, it's armor on top of Hawke's armor. In the case of the Mantle of the Champion, the Mantle instead glows with a shimmering blue hue. Or if he wants to get more creative (and protect his entire group) he can turn it into an enormous fuck you shield that can withstand damage as long as Hawke has the mana to maintain it. If it breaks, either because Hawke ran out of mana or the damage was too much, the shield physically shatters. Elemental Weapons cause the weapon to be covered with that element. Fire? The blade glows red and emits heat. Ice? The weapon is frozen and cold. Spirit damage causes it to glow blue and extends its reach.

Spirit Bolt/Strike is the only spell he has that changes its appearance depending on Hawke's whim. One day it can be a formless bolt of magic, others it can look like an arrow, a sword and so on so it's not exactly consistent other than the fact that he shapes it like a weapon.

this is what the proper Arcane Shield looks like btw