#hollow glen

[makinggingerbread]

Another wip from Hollow Glen. I keep building and deleting because everything i create sucks

[21deppstreet]

there’s this ridiculous SpongeBobs edit to this song I kept rewatching so I had to make my own version of it 💀💀

[island-in-ignorance]

How's everyone coping with the election results?

I bought tickets for Twisters in 4DX and have started rereading the Pixie Hollow books from my childhood.

[mattpresents]

Happy Pride Month! Who wants to see two queer people and their straight friend discuss two of the most infamous gay movies ever?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: Topographical Elements

Ideas for Naming your Fictional Places

Buildings and stones brough, burton, caster, church, cross, kirk, mill, minster, stain, stone, wark ⚜ Examples: Crossthwaite, Felixkirk, Newminster, Staines, Whitchurch

Coastline features ey, holme, hulme, hythe, naze, ness, port, sea ⚜ Examples: Bardsey, Greenhithe, Sheerness, Southport, Southsea

Dwellings and farms barton, berwick, biggin, bold, by, cote, ham, hampstead, hamton, house, scale, sett, stall, thorpe, toft, ton, wick ⚜ Examples: Fishwick, Newham, Potterton, Westby, Woodthorpe

Fields and clearings combe, croft, den, ergh, field, ham, haugh, hay, ing, land, lease, lock, meadow, rick, ridding, rode, shot, side, thwaite, wardine, worth, worthy ⚜ Examples: Applethwaite, Cowden, Smallworthy, Southworth, Wethersfield

General locations and routes bridge, ford, gate, ing, mark, path, stead, stoke, stow, street, sty, way ⚜ Examples: Epping, Horsepath, Longford, Ridgeway, Stonebridge, Streetly

Hills and slopes bank, barrow, borough, breck, cam, cliff, crook, down, edge, head, hill, how, hurst, ley, ling, lith, mond, over, pen, ridge, side, tor ⚜ Examples: Barrow, Blackdown, Longridge, Redcliff, Thornborough, Windhill

Rivers and streams batch, beck, brook, burn, ey, fleet, font, ford, keld, lade, lake, latch, marsh, mere, mouth, ore, pool, rith, wade, water, well ⚜ Examples: Broadwater, Fishlake, Mersey, Rushbrooke, Saltburn

Woods and groves bear, carr, derry, fen, frith, greave, grove, heath, holt, lea, moor, oak, rise, scough, shaw, tree, well, with, wold, wood ⚜ Examples: Blackheath, Hazlewood, Oakley, Southwold, Staplegrove

Valleys and hollows bottom, clough, combe, dale, den, ditch, glen, grave, hole, hope, slade ⚜ Examples: Cowdale, Denton, Greenslade, Hoole, Longbottom, Thorncombe

NOTE

These elements are all found in many different spellings. Old English beorg ‘hill, mound’, for example, turns up as bar-, berg-, -ber, -berry, -borough, and -burgh. Only one form is given above (Thornborough).

Several items have the same form, but differ in meaning because they come from different words in Old English. For example, -ey has developed in different ways from the two words ea ‘river’ and eg ‘island’. It is not always easy deciding which is the relevant meaning in a given place name.

This resource does not distinguish between forms which appear in different parts of a place name. Old English leah ‘forest, glade’, for example, sometimes appears at the beginning of a name (Lee- or Leigh-), sometimes at the end (-leigh, -ley), and sometimes alone (Leigh) (K. Cameron, 1961).

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[rootedinrevisions]

Through the Dark

SUMMARY: You've been struggling with depression, but Glen doesn't know. You've done your best to hide it from him. Once he finds out, he helps you work through it - together.

WARNING: This story contains themes of depression, mental health struggles, and emotional vulnerability. While the story emphasizes love, support, and healing, some readers may find certain scenes emotionally challenging. If these topics are difficult or triggering for you, please take care of yourself and feel free to skip this story. You are not alone, and your well-being is what matters most.

A/N: Thank you to the Anon who sent this request in! I apologize for this taking longer than I would like to get it posted. But I really tried to put a lot of my heart into this one. I wanted to get this one right and make sure it was perfect! Thank you for trusting me with this request and trusting me to write about such an important but difficult topic.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAGS: IN COMMENTS.

The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the television playing a rerun of some old sitcom you weren’t really watching. A single lamp cast a soft glow across the room, highlighting the blanket you’d cocooned yourself in. The evening had stretched on long after supper, and you’d succumbed to the weight of exhaustion, curled up on the couch as the muted voices from the TV blurred into the background.

You didn’t hear the sound of the key turning in the lock or the soft click of the door as it opened. It wasn’t until the warmth of a familiar presence stirred you from sleep that your eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Glen’s voice was soft, laced with affection.

You blinked up at him, his face illuminated by the dim light, that easy, boyish smile spreading across his lips.

“I’m home.”

A rush of emotions should’ve hit you right then—relief, excitement, joy. You had missed him so much these past few weeks, but instead, there was a strange hollowness. Like your heart was trying to feel something, but the connection wasn’t there. You smiled anyway, forcing it past the weight pressing down on you.

“Hi,” you murmured, voice hoarse with sleep as you sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Welcome home.”

Glen crouched beside you, his hands resting on the edge of the couch. He smelled faintly of his cologne and the crisp winter air from outside, and just the sight of him—the messy hair, the slight scruff on his jaw—should’ve been enough to fill the emptiness. But all you could do was reach out and place a hand on his cheek, trying to summon a warmth you didn’t feel.

“I missed you,” he said, leaning into your touch.

“I missed you too.” And you had. But the words felt thin, like an echo of what they should’ve been.

Glen studied your face for a moment, his smile faltering slightly. “Were you waiting up for me?”

You shook your head, offering a small laugh. “Not really. I was just watching TV and must’ve dozed off.”

His brow furrowed, just for a second, as though he’d caught the slight edge of detachment in your tone. But then he nodded, standing and stretching. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” you replied quickly, standing and adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. You smiled at him again, too bright, too practiced. “Are you hungry? I can warm something up for you.”

He shook his head. “No, I grabbed something on the way. I just wanted to get home to you.”

His words should’ve made your heart race in the best way, but instead, you felt a pang of guilt. You let him pull you into a hug, his arms wrapping securely around you, his warmth and scent enveloping you. It was comforting, but even as you rested your head against his chest, there was a part of you that felt disconnected, like you were watching the moment from somewhere else.

He pulled back slightly, his hands settling on your shoulders as he looked down at you. “You okay?”

You hesitated, just for a second too long. “Yeah,” you said, forcing another smile. “Just tired.”

Glen’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied you. He wasn’t the kind of guy to push, but you could tell he wanted to. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from your face and kissed your forehead.

“Alright. Why don’t we head to bed, then?”

You nodded, relief washing over you at the thought of ending the day. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

As you climbed the stairs together, his hand lightly resting on your lower back, you tried to remind yourself that you were lucky to have someone like Glen. But as much as you wanted to feel whole again, there was something pulling you under, deeper and deeper, and no matter how hard you tried to mask it, part of you knew he could see through the cracks.

*****

The next morning sunlight that streamed through the curtains in the bedroom was soft, but it still made you wince as you stirred awake. For a moment, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day already pressing down on you. Glen’s spot in the bed was empty, and the faint clinking of dishes carried from the kitchen.

You dragged yourself out of bed, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt and shuffling down the hall. When you reached the kitchen, you found Glen at the sink, loading the dishwasher. His hair was still damp from a shower, the sleeves of his gray t-shirt hugging his arms as he rinsed a mug.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his face lighting up with that easy, charming smile of his.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, drying his hands on a towel before crossing the room to meet you.

“Morning,” you murmured, letting him press a kiss to your forehead.

His warmth was comforting, but as you glanced past him toward the living room, guilt twisted in your chest. The room had been tidied—blankets folded, stray dishes cleared from the coffee table, pillows fluffed. You’d tried to keep up with things around the house while he was gone, but over the past few weeks, it felt like every ounce of energy had been drained from you. You were lucky if the dishes made it to the sink some days

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said softly, gesturing toward the living room.

Glen shrugged, leaning against the counter. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just figured I’d tidy up while I was up.” He smiled again, but his eyes flicked over you for a moment, lingering as though he were trying to read between the lines of your expression.

You dropped your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“I’ve got a busy day,” he said, breaking the silence. “A couple of Zoom meetings, some interviews, but I’ll be done by late afternoon. We could do something tonight—whatever you want. Dinner, movie, a drive? You name it.”

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

Glen tilted his head, studying you again. “You should text the girls, see if they want to do brunch or shopping or something while I’m working.”

Your stomach sank, and you busied yourself by grabbing a glass from the cabinet, pretending you hadn’t heard him.

“Babe?”

You turned, plastering on another smile. “Maybe. I don’t know. I might just stay home today. Maybe take a nap or something.”

Glen frowned, his brows knitting together. “You haven’t mentioned going out with the girls in a while. Everything okay with you guys? There wasn't some stupid fight I didn't hear about right?” He teased trying to make you laugh, get a smile...anything he could out of you.

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, everyone’s just been busy, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentle. “You used to love brunch with them. And I know how much you’d all laugh and talk for hours.”

The knot of guilt in your chest tightened. You had loved those brunches—the bottomless mimosas, the laughter that left your cheeks hurting, the way your friends could brighten even the darkest days. But lately, even the thought of reaching out to them felt exhausting.

“I’m just tired,” you said finally, taking a sip of water to mask the shakiness in your voice.

Glen didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel his eyes on you. When you finally looked at him, there was concern etched into his features. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it, instead giving you a small smile.

“Alright,” he said, his tone soft. “But if you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” you finished for him, your voice lighter than you felt.

As Glen turned back to the dishwasher, you leaned against the counter, watching him for a moment. He was so attentive, so thoughtful, and it only made the weight on your chest feel heavier.

He deserved someone who could meet him halfway, someone who wasn’t sinking under the surface while pretending to float. Someone who had the same bubbly energy he always seemed to. But you weren’t ready to let him see that you were struggling. Not yet.

*****

The streets blurred past as you drove aimlessly that afternoon, the soft hum of your favorite playlist filling the car. You hadn’t planned on going anywhere in particular, but sitting at home felt unbearable, especially with Glen in the office doing work stuff. There was an ache in your chest that you couldn’t name, an emptiness that felt louder in the stillness of the house.

The music helped, a little. For a while, you let yourself get lost in it, the familiar lyrics and melodies washing over you. But no matter how far you drove, the heaviness didn’t lift.

Eventually, you pulled into a quiet overlook on the edge of town, the city lights stretching out below you. You turned off the engine and sat in the silence, the weight of everything pressing down harder now that there was nothing left to distract you.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, but when you finally made it back home, the house was quiet. Glen was in his office, the door slightly ajar, his voice carrying down the hallway as he wrapped up a phone call. You slipped into the bedroom, hoping to avoid any questions, and kicked off your shoes before collapsing onto the bed.

A while later, Glen’s voice broke the silence. “Hey,” he said softly from the doorway.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Hey.”

He smiled, stepping inside. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your heart sank, but you forced yourself to smile. “A surprise?”

“Yeah.” He moved closer, his excitement evident in the way his voice lifted. “I made dinner reservations at your favorite place. Thought we could get dressed up and have a night out. I even picked out a dress for you—it’s hanging in the bathroom. And…” He held up a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a little sheepishly. “These are for you.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He looked so hopeful, so eager to make you smile, and all you felt was guilt.

“Glen…” Your voice faltered as you looked down at your hands. “Thank you. Really. But I’m not… I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”

The smile faded from his face, replaced by a flicker of hurt that he tried to mask.

“Oh,” he said softly. He set the flowers on the dresser and sat down beside you. “I just thought…”

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not you, I promise. I just…” You trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

Glen exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately, you know? ‘It’s not you.’ ‘I’m just tired.’” He paused, searching your face. “But something’s going on, isn’t it? You’ve been distant. You barely talk to me anymore, and now… you don’t even want to spend time together. Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “No, Glen, you didn’t. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. “Why are you pushing me away?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for so long that it felt like a physical weight. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The truth was there, clawing at the back of your throat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not yet.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking.

Glen’s face softened, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. “Hey,” he said gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here.”

You looked away, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice barely audible.

Glen didn’t press you further, but the hurt in his eyes was undeniable. He squeezed your hand, holding onto you like he was afraid you might slip away entirely.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice tight. “Okay. But please… don’t shut me out.”

You nodded, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t enough. The cracks were starting to show, and it was only a matter of time before everything came spilling out.

Glen hadn’t said much since you’d turned down the date night he’d planned. He’d stayed close, though—lingering in the room for a little while, then quietly helping fold the blanket you’d draped over the couch earlier, and moving the flowers to a vase and placing them on the kitchen counter where they wouldn’t wither. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

You could feel him watching you every so often as you moved around the house aimlessly, pretending to straighten things that didn’t need straightening.

Finally, he spoke. “Are you still happy with me?”

The words stopped you in your tracks. You turned to him slowly, your heart sinking as you saw the vulnerability etched on his face.

“What?” you whispered, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Are you happy… with me? With us?” His voice was soft but unsteady, like he was afraid of the answer.

“Glen…”

He held up a hand, stopping you. “I’m just trying to understand. You’ve been so distant, and I don’t know why. Did I do something? Is it me? Or…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Is..is there someone else?”

The room seemed to tilt as his words hit you.

“Someone else?” you repeated, your voice breaking. Tears sprang to your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, streaming down your face. “How could you think that?”

Glen stepped forward, alarmed, but you held up a trembling hand. “No, Glen. There’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else. How could you possibly think I’d want anyone but you?” You managed to get out as your voice cracked and tears started falling down your cheeks.

He reached for you then, his hands gentle as they cupped your face, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. “Hey, hey,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I don’t know what’s going on, and my mind keeps going to all these places.”

The look on his face—the heartbreak, the worry—was too much. Your shoulders shook as sobs wracked your body, and Glen pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried into his chest.

“It’s not you,” you choked out between sobs. “It’s me. I’m the problem, Glen. You’re patient and kind and thoughtful and the best man I’ve ever met. You’re too good for me, and I…”

He leaned back, his hands still holding your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Stop,” he said firmly but gently. “Don’t say that. You’re not the problem.”

“But I am,” you insisted, your voice breaking again. “It’s my depression. I’ve been struggling so much, Glen. I can barely get through the day most of the time. Work has been a nightmare because I keep using sick days just to stay home and my boss is on me about being behind on a project and… and…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. Your voice dissolved into a fresh wave of tears, and Glen pulled you back into his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as he held you to his chest.

“You should’ve told me,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you admitted. “You already have so much going on, and I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Glen pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of heartbreak and determination. “You’re never a burden,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me? Never.”

You nodded again, but he wasn’t satisfied. He tilted your chin up so you had to look at him. “It’s okay to feel the way you feel,” he said softly. “And it’s okay to tell me when you’re not okay. I need to know when you’re struggling, so I can help.”

The tears came again, but this time they were different—softer, quieter, like the weight you’d been carrying was finally starting to lift. Glen brushed them away gently, his fingers tender as they traced the curve of your cheek.

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t. But I promise you, from now on, I’ll do everything I can to help. Whatever you need, we’ll get through this together, okay?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. Glen pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close again, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely alone in this.

*****

The next morning, you woke up to find Glen already in the kitchen, laptop open on the counter. He glanced up when he heard you shuffle in, his face softening into a smile.

“Morning,” he said warmly, coming over to kiss you on the forehead. “I made coffee.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, still feeling the weight of last night’s conversation lingering in your chest. It wasn’t unpleasant—it was more like a cautious lightness, like the first crack of dawn after a long, dark night.

As you poured yourself a mug, Glen gestured to his laptop. “I was doing some research,” he said. “I found a few therapists in the area that specialize in depression and anxiety. I figured we could look through them together and see if any of them feel like a good fit.”

You froze, your hand gripping the handle of the mug a little tighter. “Oh,” you said softly. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted gently. “I know how hard it can be to take that first step, and if I can make it even a little easier for you, I will.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. “Thank you,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

“Of course,” Glen said, his voice so steady and full of love that it made your chest ache. “We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? No pressure. Just… whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded, grateful beyond words.

As the day went on, Glen made it a point to celebrate even the smallest victories. When you managed to muster up the energy and do an "everything" shower - completely with shaving your legs and a sugar scrub - he kissed your cheek and said, “Proud of you.” When you sat down at the table and helped him look through therapist profiles, he squeezed your hand and smiled, saying, “We’re in this together, okay?”

By the afternoon, you’d made a tentative first appointment with a therapist. It wasn’t for another two weeks, but it was a start.

That evening, as you walked into the bathroom to brush your teeth, you noticed a bright yellow sticky note stuck to the mirror.

“You’re stronger than you think. And I love you. –G”

Your chest tightened as you plucked the note from the mirror, running your thumb over Glen’s handwriting.

The next morning, you found another note on the coffee maker: “One step at a time. You’re doing great. –G”

By the end of the week, the notes had multiplied. They were tucked into your book, slipped into your wallet, and even taped to the fridge: “You’re not alone. I’m always here.” “Bad days don’t last forever. Neither do bad feelings.” “You are loved. You are enough.” Each note felt like a tiny lifeline, a reminder that you weren’t facing this battle on your own.

*****

It had been a few months since that night—since the tears and the honesty and Glen’s unwavering support. In that time, you’d started therapy, taken baby steps toward feeling like yourself again, and slowly but surely, things began to change.

This morning felt different, lighter. You walked into the kitchen, the smell of coffee wafting through the air as Glen stood at the counter flipping through emails on his phone. He glanced up when he heard your footsteps, his smile bright and warm.

“Good morning,” he greeted, setting his phone down to give you his full attention.

“Morning,” you said, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. There was a slight pause as you turned to him, a little grin tugging at your lips. “So, I was thinking… I’m going to brunch with the girls today.”

Glen’s brows shot up, a spark of surprise lighting his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone soft, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You nodded. “Yeah. I already texted them, and they’re excited to catch up. It’s been a while, you know?”

A smile spread across Glen’s face, pride and happiness shining in his eyes. He stepped closer, leaning against the counter. “That’s great,” he said, and you could hear the genuine joy in his voice. “I hope you have a good time.”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before adding, “And… after brunch, I was wondering if maybe we could have a redo. Of that dinner you planned for me…if the offer still stands.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “Of course, it still stands,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll clear my schedule. You just pick the time and place.”

You rested your head against him, letting out a content sigh. It had taken time, effort, and the kind of love you hadn’t even known you deserved, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you were coming back to yourself.

As Glen held you, you could hear the quiet happiness in his voice when he murmured, “I missed this you.”

And with that, you smiled against his chest, knowing that while there were still steps to take, you weren’t taking them alone.

[oskea93]

✶ Weren't for the wind - Jake Seresin x OC ✶

Warnings: Story will contain situations involving arranged marriage, sexism, cursing, verbal and emotion abuse, sexual content, mentions of drugs and alcohol, miscarriages, etc.

A/N: So this is an idea i've had swirling around in my head for some time and I wanted to see how you all like it! I of course used an Ella Langley song because I feel like they go perfectly with any Glen fic! This one will be a little dark and heavy at times due to the nature. I'm loosely basing it off of the show Landman (very loosely)! There's gonna be a little mention of Top Gun but Jake is now out and back to Texas. Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged!

“If it weren’t for me signing that contract, you wouldn’t have the life you have today!” Jake’s fingers hastily ran through his growing hair, his voice rising with frustration. “You think you’re the one who made me who I am today? I never saw your ass out there at the crack of dawn drilling those holes and making sure no one got hurt or killed. You’ve got no idea what it took to build this empire.”

“Well, that’s funny because I never saw you out there either,” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. My arms crossed tightly over my chest as I stepped closer to him, my eyes locked on his. “You simply sat up there in your nice, cozy office with your pretty blonde secretaries while others made the money for you. I got you to where you are today, sweetheart. Don’t you dare forget that.”

Jake’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, so now you’re the brains behind it all? That’s rich. You think a few dinners and handshakes make you the mastermind? You were just the pretty face I brought along to seal the deal. Nothing more.”

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, the sting of his words cutting deeper than I cared to admit. “For a minute there, I actually thought this would work out,” I said, my voice quieter now but no less sharp. “I thought I could see myself being married to you for the rest of my life. But it’s apparent you only cared about the money and fame. You’ve got everyone from here to the Middle East trying to grab your attention, and I’m just the little old housewife who was forced to marry your dumb ass so you could set your claim to those grease pits sitting below our feet.”

Jake’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of something—guilt? regret?—passing across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Forced to marry me?” he scoffed. “Don’t act like you didn’t get something out of this too. You wanted the lifestyle, the security. Don’t pretend you’re some innocent victim here.”

I took a step back, my chest tightening. “You’re right,” I said, my voice trembling now. “I did want those things. But I also wanted you. Or at least, I thought I did. I thought there was more to you than the suits and the boardroom meetings. But I was wrong. You’re just hollow, Jake. All this wealth, all this power—it’s just a mask for the emptiness inside you.”

The room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us. Jake stared at me, his face unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might say something—anything—to break the tension. But instead, he turned away, his shoulders stiff.

“You don’t know me,” he said finally, his voice low and cold. “You never did.”

“Maybe not,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I know enough to realize this isn’t what I want anymore.”

[adventuresofalgy]

As he flew around his assistants' garden. Algy realised that he was exceedingly tired. His Hogmanay Hootenanny had been one of the most wonderful parties he had ever held, but it had certainly drained much of his energy, and he felt that he needed a good wee rest before embarking on any new adventures.

The weather birds had been wrong again, and instead of staying dry for a change, it had rained all night. Not that Algy was surprised… It usually rained in the wild west Highlands of Scotland, after all, but it meant that everything was soggy, drenched and uninviting, especially as the temperatures was only a wee bit above freezing. It was hardly conducive to a restorative rest…

Algy hopped about here, there and everywhere, looking in vain for a cosy couch suited to a weary fluffy bird, until eventually he spotted a small clump of bright green cypress in a dark corner.

This seemed to offer a perfect bed, and when Algy lay back on the gentle, springy branches with their soft, fragrant needles, he felt a sense of deep contentment, for they were not even particularly wet. Here was a perfect place for repose!

Hail, sweet Contentment, calm Repose! The balm of comfort shed, Oh! let me not complain of woes, By thy kind guidance led! To thee Compassion is allied, Revengeful hope unknown; As thou a stranger art to Pride, From thee is Discord flown. Tho' plain and humble be my lot, Yet grant me strength of mind; So shall I find, tho' in a Cot, Pleasures the most refin'd. With pity shall behold the great, While no rude cares molest; Nor fond desire for useless state, Disturb my tranquil breast. In silent glen, in hollow cave, And Hermit's lonely cell, Where winding streams delight to lave, Reflection deigns to dwell. Far from the bustling scenes of Life, I wish in peace to rest; Remov'd from vanity and strife, In calm retirement blest. To me in gorgon terrors clad, Appear the rash and bold; The vain, the wealthy, and the bad, Who thirst for nought but gold. With horror such delights behold, As deck the festive scene; Tho' young, am prematurely old, Collected, grave, serene. To thee, Contentment, thus I bend, With meek and humble heart; In pity to my pray'r attend, And lend thy soothing art!

[Algy is thinking of the poem Ode to Contentment by the English 18th/early 19th century children's educational writer and poet Ann Murry.]

[aliciavance4228]

I wish Apollo's relationship with Cyrene would be more explored, purely because of this fragment which is brilliant for way too many reasons:

Pindar, Pythian Odes:

"And Hypseus raised his lovely-armed daughter Cyrene. She did not care for pacing back and forth at the loom, nor for the delights of luncheons with her stay-at-home companions; instead, fighting with bronze javelins and with a sword, she killed wild beasts, providing great restful peace for her father's cattle; but as for her sweet bed-fellow, sleep, she spent only a little of it on her eyelids as it fell on them towards dawn.

Once the god of the broad quiver, Apollo who works from afar, came upon her wrestling alone and without spears with a terrible lion. Immediately he called Cheiron from out of his halls and spoke to him: "Leave your sacred cave, son of Philyra, and marvel at the spirit and great strength of this woman; look at what a struggle she is engaged in, with a fearless head, this young girl with a heart more than equal to any toil; her mind is not shaken with the cold wind of fear. From what mortal was she born? From what stock has this cutting been taken, that she should be living in the hollows of the shady mountains and putting to the test her boundless valor? Is it lawful to lay my renowned hand on her? And to cut the honey-sweet grass of her bed?"

And the powerful Centaur, laughing softly with a gentle brow, right away gave his wise advice in reply: "Hidden are skilled Persuasion's keys to holy love, Phoebus, and both gods and men blush to take the pleasure of a bed for the first time openly. For even in your case, for whom it is unlawful to touch on falsehood, a gentle impulse has swayed you to dissemble your words. You ask me from what race the girl comes, lord Apollo? You who know the appointed end of all things, and all the paths that lead to them? And how many leaves the earth puts forth in spring, and how many grains of sand in the sea and in rivers are dashed by the waves and the gusting winds; and that which will be, and from where it will come, all this you clearly see. But if I must match myself even against one who is wise, I will speak. You came to this glen to be her husband, and you will bear her over the sea to the choicest garden of Zeus, where you will make her the ruler of a city, when you have gathered the island-people to the hill encircled by plains. And now queen Libya of the broad meadows will gladly welcome your glorious bride in her golden halls. There she will right away give her a portion of land to flourish with her as her lawful possession, not without tribute of all kinds of fruit, nor unfamiliar with wild animals. There she will bear a child, whom famous Hermes will take from beneath his own dear mother and carry to the Seasons on their lovely thrones and to Gaia. They will admire the baby on their knees and drop nectar and ambrosia on his lips, and they will make him immortal, to be called Zeus and holy Apollo, a delight to men he loves, an ever-present guardian of flocks, Agreus and Nomius, and others will call him Aristaeus."

Having spoken thus, Cheiron urged the god to fulfill the delightful consummation of his marriage. Accomplishment is swift when the gods are already hurrying, and the roads are short. That very day decided the matter. They lay together in the bedchamber of Libya, rich in gold, where she possesses a most beautiful city which is renowned for victories in contests. And now in very holy Pytho, where by his victory he had Cyrene proclaimed, the son of Carneiades brought lovely, flourishing good fortune to her; she will welcome him graciously, when he brings back home to the land of beautiful women desirable fame from Delphi."

1) Apollo admires Cyrene for her strenght and courage rather than her beauty;

2) He asks Chiron for information about her;

3) He asks him for advice and even questions wheter or not he is worthy of her;

4) Their relationship was consentual;

5) He adored her enough to make her receive a whole portion of land to rule over;

This is probably one of his most romantic affairs so far.

[makinggingerbread]

A Hollow Glen pic from the drafts

[lamontarte]

Cordelia, the oldest of the Devore siblings, and her fae fiance Alfred have settled in a glen little town of Midnight Hollow, that lies not too far behind the mountains of Moonlight Falls. So far, the neighbors welcomed them well and the town seems like just the right fit for them. ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

[treeroutes]

what's up ! non-exhaustive list of stories featuring weird plants :

The Day of the Triffids, John Wyndham

The Night of the Triffids, Simon Clark

In the Tall Grass, Stephen King and Joe Hill

The Boats of the 'Glen Carrig', William Hope Hodgson

The Man Whom the Trees Loved, Algernon Blackwood

The Red Tree, Caitlín R. Kiernan

Annihilation, Jeff VanderMeer

The Willows, Algernon Blackwood

The Nature of Balance, Tim Lebbon

'Bloom', John Langan

The Ruins, Scott Smith

The Wise Friend, Ramsey Campbell

'The Green Man of Freetown', The Envious Nothing : A Collection of Literary Ruins, Curtis M. Lawson

The Beauty, Aliya Whiteley

The Ash-Tree, M.R. James

Canavan's Backyard, J.P. Brennan

Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Jack Finney

The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher

'Reaching for Ruins', Crow Shine, Alan Baxter

'Vortex of Horror', Gaylord Sabatini

Hothouse, Brian W. Aldiss

Vaster than Empires and More Slow, Ursula K. Le Guin

Odd Attachment, Ian M. Banks

Deathworld #1, Harry Harrison

The Bridge, John Skipp and Craig Spector

'The Garden of Paris', Eric Williams

Apartment Building E, Malachi King

The Seed from the Sepulchre, Clark Ashton Smith

Rappaccini's Daughter, Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Nursery, Lewis Mallory

The Other Side of the Mountain, Michel Bernanos

The Vegetarian, Han Kang

Sisyphean, Dempow Torishima

The Root Witch, Debra Castaneda

Semiosis, Sue Burke

The Wolf in Winter, Charlie Parker #12, John Connolly

Perennials, Bryce Gibson

Relic, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Gwen, in Green, Hugh Zachary

The Voice in the Night, William Hope Hodgson

Ordinary Horror, David Searcy

The Family Tree, Sheri S. Tepper

The Book of Koli, Rampart Trilogy #1, M.R. Carey

Seeders, A.J. Colucci

Concrete Jungle, Brett McBean

The Plant, Stephen King

Anthologies/collections :

The Roots of Evil: Weird Stories of Supernatural Plants, edited by Michel Parry

Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology, edited by A.R. Ward

Roots of Evil: Beyond the Secret Life of Plants, edited by Carlos Cassaba

The Green Man: Tales from the Mythic Forest, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

Sylvan Dread: Tales of Pastoral Darkness, Richard Gavin

Evil Roots: Killer Tales of the Botanical Gothic, edited by Daisy Butcher

Weird Woods: Tales From the Haunted Forests of Britain, edited by John Miller

'But fungi aren't plants' :

The Fungus, Harry Adam Knight

Growing Things and Other Stories, Paul Tremblay

The Girl with All the Gifts, M.R. Carey

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Fruiting Bodies, and Other Fungi, Brian Lumley

'The Black Mould', The Age of Decayed Futurity, Mark Samuels

What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher

The House Without a Summer, DeAnna Knippling

Mungwort, James Noll

Fungi, edited by Orrin Grey and Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Trouble with Lichen, John Wyndham

Notes :

all links lead to the goodreads page of the book, mostly because i like to look at book cover art ;

list features authors/books that i love (T. Kingfisher, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Ursula K. Le Guin, the collections from the British Library Tales of the Weird, etc.), but also a few that i don't like and some that i have not yet read ;

if upon seeing that list the first novel you check out is by Stephen King's you have not understood the assignment ;

not all of those are strictly horror stories, some are 100% science fiction (Brian W. Aldiss' Hothouse for instance).

[bullet-prooflove]

4000 Follower Celebration: Cufflinks -Mitch Ripley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee

Trigger Warnings

Hitting the 'And what if I don't accept it? Will you scream at me? Hit me? Again?' Square on the bingo card.

It’s the wedding that prompts Mitch’s mother to try to insert herself into his life again. He doesn’t know how she hears about it, only that she spends the next couple of days blowing up his phone. He ignores it the same way he has every other time because he doesn’t want his mother to ruin all the good things he has in his life.

It’s a couple of days before the event that she manages to track him down. He’s sitting in the café at the hospital going over the final revision of his speech when she drops down into the seat across from him. His breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest. Just being in her presence drags up all of those memories, the ones he’s spent years trying to forget.

“I wanted to give you this, it’s a wedding gift.” She tells, setting down a small box in front of him. He stares down at it frozen, unable to move a single muscle. She scowls then, opening it herself. It’s a pair of cufflinks, the tag from the pawnshop still attached.

It takes him back a couple of decades, to the last time he was in his mother’s custody. He’d been eleven years old when she’d forced him to break into a house in Forest Glen with her, he’d pawned a set of gold cufflinks the next day to pay for food. Only his mom had come back from the store with a couple of bags of meth and box of booze. She’d had a party later that night, got Mitch a little drunk.

“Don’t worry baby.” She had told him as she poured vodka down his throat. “It’ll make it easier.”

It was the first time she sold him to her dealer. He still can’t look at a bottle of vodka without his skin feeling like it wants to crawl right off his bones.

“I don’t want it.” Mitch rasps back in the present, shoving the cufflinks away from him. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Mitchell.” She chides, pushing them back in his direction. “Take them.”

It’s another echo, a man’s heavy breath in his ear as he’s held down, face pressed so hard into his pillow that he almost suffocates.

Take it like a man.

“What if I don't accept it?” He asks her, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’ll scream at me? Hit me? Sell me?”

“Why can’t you ever just be grateful?” She snaps at him, gesturing at the cufflinks. “I came here with a gift…”

“Grateful.” He repeats, the word tastes acidic on his tongue. “I’m supposed to be grateful that you sold my virginity to your dealer and his buddies? That it’s taken until my late thirties to actually form a healthy relationship because before that I was incapable. I’m supposed to be grateful for that? I’m supposed to thank you for it?”

His eyes are fucking stinging as he raises to his feet, clasping his tablet to his chest. He knows he’s on the fringes of a panic attack, his chest heaves, his throat constricts. His head  starts spinning as the edges of his vision turn black.

It’s Sean Archer that intervenes, that grasps his arm and guides him towards the sensory room they use for kids who are neurodivergent.  He closes the door, shutting out Mitch’s mom as Mitch drops into a chair, his trembling hands covering his face. He’s so bitterly ashamed right now, it leaves him feeling hollow and vacant as Sean kneels in front of him. There’s a calmness in the other man that he finds grounding, it anchors him in the moment, bringing him back to himself as they work through the breathing exercises together.

In for five, hold for five, out for five.

His hands stop shaking, his nerves began to settle.

“It happened to me too, at Sea Cadets.” Sean says quietly into the space in between them. “It’s why I went off the rails, became an addict. My dad doesn’t know. It was his idea for me to go, a way of following in his footsteps. He didn’t understand when I wanted to quit…”

Mitch understands what he’s not saying. Sean can never tell Dean about what happened to him. It’s always been the crux between the two of them because on some level Sean blamed his father for making him go back to that place week after week. It’s only through therapy that Sean’s learned to let go of all of that, that he’s managed to regain a relationship with his father again.

“I can’t forgive her.” Mitch tells Sean as he looks away. “I can’t have her at the wedding, my past and present colliding like that, I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to.” Sean reassures him, his palm coming to rest on his friend’s shoulder. “Do you want me to call Marley?”

“No.” Mitch says quietly, running his hands through his hair. “She’s on shift and I’m not…”

He trails off and Sean gets it. He’s not ready to talk about what happened to him back then. It had taken Sean a long  time to trust someone else with that information, there had been some triggers when it came to sex, things he’d had to explain to his partner.

“Alright.” Sean says softly before he pulls out his phone and holds it out to Mitch. “Wanna read through my best man speech? Tell me which embarrassing stories I can’t tell.”

“Yea.” Mitch says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile for the first time since this whole ordeal started. “Yea Sean, I do.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[theladyofbloodshed]

Nesta x Eris Halloween Fic

Chapter 2 of 6

When the weak October light filtered through the glen, Eris found himself bartering for a horse with Kallias, a horse master. His son, a wide-eyed young lad fed the horses pieces of hay while they agreed upon a price for his fastest steed. His wife, Viviane, was busy in the home; her calling as a midwife was necessary to their small village.

‘Did you know the victims?’

‘We all did. Sleepy Hollow is a small place, Mister Crane.’

Eris nodded in agreement. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t already know about his arrival to the place – or the manner of his visit.

‘I cannot find a common thread amongst the victims. A father and son. An old widow.’

Kallias frowned. ‘Who told you she was old? Briar was comely. Widowed young then dead before the bloom was off of her.’

That could radically alter the motive. Before he could open his mouth, however, gunshots sounded in the distance. A horse galloped towards them, the rider still brandishing his gun into the air.

‘Murder, murder! The Horseman has killed again.’

Without a moment to lose, Eris mounted his newly-bought horse – Gunpowder – and rode out with the villagers into the woods. Branches snagged at his red hair and dark suit. The forest had a way of reaching out its claws for them.

A body lay supine on the floor as though he had been running before the murderer killed him. Eris would not be washed away with talk of a Headless Horseman.

‘Interesting,’ he murmured, peering down at the neck. ‘The removal of the head is usually to prevent identification of the body.’

Cassian, who had ridden out with them, rolled his eyes. ‘But we know who the body belongs to. It is Bron – a manservant of the Van Garrett family.’

‘Precisely,’ Eris replied. ‘So, why remove the head? What purpose does it serve?’

He knelt down, a finger running over the detritus on the forest floor. There was a great hoof print near Bron’s shoulder. He mixed a concoction of water and powder to produce a runny plaster which he poured into the imprint.

‘Say Cassian, you are a blacksmith. Have you ever shoed a horse with a hoof quite so large?’

‘I have not.’

The townsfolk exchanged a worried glance, but Eris refused to give into ghost stories. There would be a logical explanation for it. There always was.

‘The attacker rode Bron down then turned his horse… came back…’ he tracked the horse’s steps. ‘Came back to take the head.’ Eris touched the dry leaves. ‘There is no blood.’

‘An apt conclusion,’ Cassian muttered.

Eris felt himself frowning as he gingerly examined the wound. ‘The wound was cauterized in the very instant as though the blade itself were red hot and yet, no blistering, no scorched flesh.’

‘The devil’s fire,’ one murmured.

The body was returned to the family for burial when no further conclusions could be drawn. Whispers were rife in the village that the Horseman had struck yet again. Out of courtesy to the dead, Eris watched from a short distance away as prayers were said for the man and his coffin was lowered into the ground.

Moving like a spectre across the church yard was Nesta Van Tassel. Her grey gown matched the heavy clouds above their heads.

‘Another murder, Mister Crane,’ she said in greeting.

‘It is ill news,’ he agreed.

‘With no head to be found again.’

‘It is not a ghost, Miss Van Tassel, I can assure you of that.’ He tipped his hat to her before departing back towards her home.

Without the revelry of the previous night, the home had a sombre feel. It was too large a home for such a small family. His steps echoed as he climbed the two flights of stairs to the attic. There, upon the table in his bedroom, was a note.

Bron was not the fourth victim, but the fifth. Five victims. Four graves.

He looked out towards the graveyard where the new mounds of earth marked the graves of Atwell and Tamlin Van Garrett, the Widow Briar, and Bron. His gaze paused upon the hole marked for the widow. Not an old woman, but a young one – a beauty, Kallias had said.

Nesta was approaching the home, her face drawn.

Eris raced down the stairs to meet her in the yard.

‘Are you a woman of strong countenance?’

‘I am.’

‘And do you have a strong stomach?’

A few hours before the dawn struck, Eris and Nesta dug through the pile of earth laid atop the Widow Briar’s coffin. Even in the depleting temperatures, a vile smell hung upon the cadaver. They hauled the body from the grave onto a wagon that Gunpowder pulled towards the doctor’s residence.

‘This is most unusual, Constable,’ the doctor said, blinking sleep from her eyes.

‘We will need to operate, Madja,’ Nesta said, before reaching for the arms to move the body onto the operating table.

Although Eris had little experience with women in any sort of domain, Nesta was quite unlike the ones he had met. She had retched only twice before composing herself. She had not wept or complained, even when mud wedged itself beneath her nails. Nesta was committed to solving the murders, just as he was.

‘I would ask you both to step outside. Such sights are not meant for ladies.’

When Eris was finished examining the body, a crowd had gathered outside the doctor’s office. Nesta remained but she had returned to her home and stood washed and dressed in a new gown. The only hint of their morning spent in the graveyard were the smears of shadow beneath her eyes.

‘I am finished,’ he announced.

‘What in God’s name have you done to her? Magistrate Azriel, you are the word of law here… put him in irons.’

Azriel pursed his lips. ‘And what did you find out, Constable?’

‘That there are not four victims, but five. The Widow Briar was with child.’

‘What of it?’ The doctor asked. ‘She should have been left to make her peace with God and not cut to bits by the Constabulary.’

 It could very easily turn into a mob, he realised. Eris was a stranger to this equally strange town. He held out his hands then noticed the blood on them, so promptly clasped them behind his back. ‘A sword was thrust into the womb – and no farther. A symbolic murder by one who knew she was with child. We are dealing with a madman.’

His dreams that night were plagued by his mother. Eris could no longer pick out memories from dreams. It had been many years without her. Light seeped from the hallway downstairs, suggesting that he was not the only one with a restless sleep.

Opposite an elaborate loom, nestled into a chair by the fire, Nesta was reading by candlelight. She closed her book upon his entry then hastily stowed it into her lap.

‘Oh. Pardon my intrusion. I saw a light.’

‘It is no intrusion,’ Nesta insisted. ‘I come here to read when I am wakeful.’

‘To read books which you must hide?’

‘My brother frowns upon my books. He believes such stories rot the brain and killed my parents. My mother died when I was a child. My father died last midwinter.’

Eris nodded in understanding. ‘I saw it written in the front of the household Bible.’

‘Yes. And the male who supported my younger sister through her grief stands as Lord Van Tassel now.’

He caught the bitterness in her tone even if she tried to hide it from her expression. Her family’s home should have been Nesta’s as the eldest daughter, but a marriage trumped everything else.

‘There was something else too in the Bible. Why did nobody mention that your sister was once betrothed to Tamlin Van Garrett?’

‘They did not walk down the aisle. It is old news, Mister Crane. When we came to Sleepy Hollow as motherless children, the Van Garrett family provided my father with an acre and a broken-down cottage and a dozen hens. My father prospered. He built us this home. I remember those days living poor in the cottage. Should I show you?’

His heart gave an unexpected gallop at the offer. He forced his head into a bow. ‘I would be grateful.’

***

Nesta showed him their old home from her childhood. It was a far cry from the sprawling home they occupied in Sleepy Hollow now. Eris had remained quiet as she ran her fingers over the broken-down walls in contemplation.

When they returned, the dark was sweeping in to the village. It seemed to arrive earlier and earlier each day that Eris lingered. As he moved to draw the curtains, he spotted the figure of Lucien making a somewhat hasty departure from Sleepy Hollow.

Eris cantered down the stairs, as swift as his feet would take him, and apprehended him.

‘What does an innocent man run from?’

‘Damn you, Crane,’ he grumbled.

‘You are one of the men who serves on the night’s watch. Why do you run?’

The man shook his head, dark hair sweeping into his eyes. ‘I put myself in mortal dread of powers against which there is no defence.’

Eris held the reins of Lucien’s horse. ‘What do you speak of?’

‘It was I who left the note for you regarding the widow Briar,’ he said, most severely. His face drained of colour as if he wanted to take back the words.

‘Then I presume you are the father.’

‘I am not,’ he said. ‘I hope your deductions serve you better in your contest with Jurian.’

‘Jurian,’ scoffed Eris. ‘Am I to believe your ghost tale impregnated a woman too?’

‘The damn Horseman did kill her.’

Eris had had enough of the fearmongering of this town. There was no such thing as ghosts.

‘The Horseman? How often do I have to tell you that there is no Horseman! There never was a Horseman – and there never will be a horseman.’

The horse bucked against him, wrenching the reins from his grip. Sheep bleated as they ran towards the edge of their field, pushing themselves against the fence. The wind blew stronger and beneath it… thundering hoofbeats.

‘What have you done?’ Lucien whispered.

There, from the gloom of the forest, came a monstrous horse. Bigger than any that Eris had ever lain his eyes on. Its massive hooves churned up the ground as it galloped towards them. And its rider was without a head.

Lucien gripped the reins and tried to make haste.

Eris could only watch on in horror as the Horseman rode him down. One fell swing of his sword parted the man’s head from his body.

Eris fell upon the ground at the sight of Lucien’s head rolling towards him. No spray of blood came – the wound cauterised instantly. Then the Headless Horseman turned his steed. He galloped forwards, straight in Eris’ direction. He raised his sword then plunged it downwards, impaling the head upon it, before returning back to the forest – back to hell.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Surtsey Is a brand new island that formed off the coast of Iceland in 1963. It was reported in "New Scientist" in 2007 that the island featured canyons, gullies, and other land features that allegedly take millions of years to form. Similar to the regrowth of Mt. St. Helens, which saw remarkable growth in only ten plus years, Surtsey goes even further in demonstrating rocky crags, cliffs, hollows, glens, sandy beaches, lagoons, channels, and soft land fractures. The rapid formation of the island undermines old-earth assumptions that features like these take millions of years to form.

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

Ok I said this was coming weeks ago so here it is: FURTHER THOUGHTS ON WEIGHT AND NADDPOD

Weight: A common point of comparison in Animal Agriculture. There are number of important types of weight when dealing with livestock:

1 - Live Weight - The actual weight of a live animal. This weight may feel lighter than it is because live animals instinctively balance themselves when lifted.

1.a) Calder - Its strange being the biggest. But Calder knows what that means. He has to look after Callie and Sol because they’re smaller than him. He has to carry them even when they flail and attack things behind him and twist in his arms. He can’t drop them when they cuff his ears accidentally because you have to be gentle when things are smaller than you. But he can’t get to them every time. He can’t save them every time and he’s always been the littlest but he isn't anymore. He needs to save them. So he takes the helm. He makes the deal because it saves Callie and Sol and they’re alive and if he has to wait on the frozen plain for them to come for him well it’s easier to wait knowing they're still alive.

1.b) Live weight is easier to carry because it is Alive

2 - Adjusted Weight - The calculated weight of an animal at a particular age. Commonly used for comparison between slightly older or younger animals of the same herd.

2.a) Sol - 'If I’m dead weight just drop me.' Sol is always a little surprised when he comes back staring into Calder or Callie’s face He’s surprised when Swag says looking at him isn't like a broken mirror at all. Calder and Callie talk about siblings and families and how you have to stick together. They grew up bickering and fighting for their places but Sol grew up alone. He stares into his own eyes and sees a glimpse of a life slightly to the left of the one he's lived. Defined by absence the same way his was. It doesn't feel... good. But it is good right? To have a blood relation - a family… that's what family is isn’t it? It’s hard to account for something he’s never had before. 2.b) Adjusted weight is used for comparison but as a calculation it may not reflect the real world

3 - Rail Weight - The weight of a carcass once it’s been prepared for butchering. Usually about 60% of the live weight.

3.a) Callie - It feels… different, nice maybe, to watch Glen fumble and scramble and beg and to feel nothing but a mild disinterest. He’s a hollow man and anything left in her heart for him pales in comparison to the cold fury at the fact that they lost Calder to his stupid scheme. Calder saved them and Callie… doesn’t like being saved it turns out. So she reaches for her mother's cool logic. Oberon speaks to her and Callie feels the anticipation of the hunt in her veins but she remembers the gutted eladrin hung from the branches of the enormous tree. 3.b) a gutted, prepared animal, though lighter is still a load to carry.

4 - Dead Weight - The weight of a dead animal. this weight can feel heavier than live weight as there is no instinctive balance when lifting a dead animal.

4.a) Hardwon -No matter how much he’s done or how far he’s gone Hardwon has always been the human kid in a dwarphenage who never fit anywhere quite right. He fits with Moonshine and Beverly, as long as he can pull his own weight and take the hits then they can be Beverly and Moonshine and he can be a titan too, at least for a while. Except that when he can’t take the hits. When he isn’t fast enough, strong enough, hero enough... then people get hurt. And Hardwon has never been good at keeping the people he loved alive. 4.b) Dead Weight is harder to carry because it is dead.