iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 22/05/2026

A bonus snippet from Chapter 9 of Those D*mn Brownies is cozy fantasy with bite 📚💙🪐⚡ 🎧 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #CozyFantasy #FantasyPodcast #AudioFiction #ThoseDamnBrownies #FolkloreFantasy

Excerpt 2 —

“This house has never been talented at lying.”
As if to prove the point, the cupboard over the stove opened by itself.
A wooden spoon floated out, turned in the air, and pointed accusingly at Pooky.
Pooky stared at it. “What did I do?”
The spoon tapped once against the table.
Bubby Vama sighed. “It thinks you’re pretending not to be upset.”
“I am not pretending.”
The spoon tapped twice.
Snooker leaned toward Weewee and whispered, “That spoon has courtroom experience.”
Weewee whispered back, “I would not commit perjury before it.”
Daz, despite the tightness in her chest, let out a small startled laugh.
The spoon seemed satisfied and returned itself to the cupboard.
Bubby Vama poured more tea. “There. Much better. Truth always sits easier after the first ridiculous thing happens.”
Then another cupboard opened. A little saucer floated out and landed in front of Biscuit. On it sat a rib bone.
Biscuit’s tail thumped once.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 22/05/2026

A snippet from Chapter 9 of Those D*mn Brownies is cozy fantasy with bite 📚💙🪐⚡ 🎧 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #CozyFantasy #FantasyPodcast #AudioFiction #ThoseDamnBrownies #FolkloreFantasy

Excerpt 1 —
Biscuit did not bark like a little dog, she barked like the largest dog on the planet.
Her small red body stood braced in front of Bubby Vama’s back door, paws planted wide, tail stiff as a poker, ears pitched backward in sports mode. Every hair along her smooth spine had risen. Her growl had dropped low enough to make the floorboards remember they were once trees.
Daz held a broom in both hands.
Pooky held a chair in a defensive position like a lion tamer.
Snooker and Weewee stood on the dining table beside the breadbasket, each trying to look like the sort of tiny heroic person who would absolutely be useful in a crisis involving something large enough to make the windows tremble.
Weewee had armed themself with a butter knife.
Snooker had armed himself with a dinner fork, which he held as if it were a ceremonial spear and not, in fact, still shining with gravy.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 14/05/2026

A bonus snippet from: The Condom Column That Shook Higher Education 💙📚💡 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #StudentJournalism #FreeSpeech #SexEducation #PersonalEssay

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 14/05/2026

A snippet from: The Condom Column That Shook Higher Education 💙📚💡 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #StudentJournalism #FreeSpeech #SexEducation #PersonalEssay

Excerpt 1: The Scandal
I originally published this article in September 2006 in The Student Printz’s Pillow Talk column.
This piece, along with another column I wrote about oral sex, became part of an international free-speech controversy after the University of Southern Mississippi’s then-president, Dr. Shelby Thames, attempted to expel me for writing them and attempted to dissolve the student newspaper for publishing them.
He failed.
I graduated with honors that same school year.
At the time I wrote this column, most “safe sex” articles I encountered relied heavily on scare tactics. They offered fear, but not much practical guidance. While there are undeniably serious risks associated with sex, I believed then, as I do now, that leading with fear alone is counterproductive.
Shame is not healthcare. Silence is not education.
So I wrote about condoms.
Cheerfully. Practically. With jokes.
Naturally, civilization trembled.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 14/05/2026

I wrote a student newspaper column about condoms The university president tried to expel me He failed I graduated with honors Now I’m revisiting the column with more humor, context, and receipts 💙📚💡 The Condom Column That Shook Higher Education: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #FreeSpeech

open.substack.com

The Condom Column That Shook Higher Education

From the Vault: safe sex, student journalism, and the wild ride at Southern Miss | Some essays arrive with a thesis statement. Some arrive with a paper trail. And some arrive from the vault wearing li...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 30/04/2026

A bonus snippet from New Fillmore story: How the Dixie Mafia Got a Get 💙📚 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SouthernHumor

😂 Excerpt from How The Dixie Mafia Got a Get
By Glory Fink
There were long, cheerful explanations of all the things in the environment that could, under the right circumstances, eat you.
“Careful down there.”
He heard: accidents happen.
“Don’t go too far out.”
He heard: no one would find you.
“That there’s an alligator turtle. It’ll take your toe clean off.”
He heard: we are being very specific for a reason.
And the bayou—
The good ol’ boys loved it. They pointed things out, told stories, and warned him like they would warn a child.
“Plenty things out here’ll eat you. Best stay where we can see you.”
They meant: we don’t want you hurt.
He heard: there are no witnesses in the swamp.
All weekend, the same pattern held.
They included him.
He prepared to survive them.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 30/04/2026

A snippet from New Fillmore story: How the Dixie Mafia Got a Get 💙📚 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SmallTownStories

Excerpt from How The Dixie Mafia Got a Get
By Glory Fink
Now, there are invitations, and then there are Southern invitations.
By the time he realized the weekend had been decided for him, it would have been rude to refuse.
Also, by the time he realized these men were not who he thought they were, he was absolutely certain something was wrong.
This is where the misunderstanding began.
They thought they were doing a kindness.
He thought he had made a very serious mistake.
They thought they were offering fellowship, fresh air, and a little practical wisdom about not mistreating women.
He convinced himself he might not survive the weekend.
And then the weekend began.
Mud bogging. Beer. More beer. An alarming amount of mud. Engines roaring like something had personally offended them.
The good ol’ boys were delighted.
Miri’s ex-husband stood in the middle of it, watching grown men celebrate becoming indistinguishable from swamp creatures, and quietly reconsidered every life choice that had led him there.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 30/04/2026

For anyone who enjoys small-town gossip, Southern quirks, Jewish divorce law, and the sentence “He experienced it as a warning from God” 💙📚 New Fillmore story: How the Dixie Mafia Got a Get open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SouthernHumor #JewishStories #SmallTownStories

open.substack.com

How the Dixie Mafia Got a Get

A darkly funny Southern short story about a Jewish divorce, a missing get, and the small-town intervention that solved it in the most unexpected way

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 16/04/2026

A bonus snippet from The Trouble with Angels Chapter 17 📚💙🪐⚡🎧 for readers who like celestial chaos, afterlife bureaucracy, and cozy-horror satire with heart: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #TheTroubleWithAngels #AudioFiction #Fantasy #CozyHorror

The Waffle House kept going.
Humans kept trying.
Not gracefully. Not consistently. Not with the kind of composure Heaven liked to pretend mattered. They tried while hungry. They tried while tired. They tried in the middle of embarrassment, heartbreak, and shifts that ran too long, conversations that should have ended but didn’t, and nights that had gone sideways hours before.
They made food. Shared it. Stayed. Apologized badly. Laughed too hard. Came undone in public and were gathered back together by caffeine, comfort, or somebody saying honey like it still meant something altogether more divine.
Gabriel watched them with that same softened attention.
At last they said, “Humans keep trying.”
Michael nodded. “So did we.”
Gabriel was quiet for a beat.
Then, softer still, they said, “So do we.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 16/04/2026

A snippet from The Trouble with Angels Chapter 17 📚💙🪐⚡🎧 for readers who like celestial chaos, afterlife bureaucracy, and cozy-horror satire with heart: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #TheTroubleWithAngels #AudioFiction #Fantasy #CozyHorror

Gabriel had forgotten how loud humans were when they were tired.
Not loud in the catastrophic sense. Not loud like battle or collapse or Revelation. Loud in the smaller, stranger way of mortal creatures trying to outwit exhaustion with sugar, caffeine, and the stubborn conviction that whatever had happened to them up to this point in the evening could still be redeemed by hash browns and a conversation that should have ended in the parking lot but had somehow made it all the way to a booth under fluorescent light.
Michael seemed completely at ease in the middle of it.
That, more than the place itself, was what unnerved Gabriel.
The Waffle House sat off the road like an afterthought the universe had accidentally made permanent. Its yellow sign buzzed faintly against the dark. Inside, the air smelled of coffee, hot grease, syrup, onions, and a kind of exhausted civic tenderness no angel had ever successfully replicated by committee. Every surface shone with that peculiar human compromise between cleanliness and overuse. The booths were cracked in places. The laminated menus had the texture of something handled by generations of people who had come there hungry, grieving, drunk, hopeful, or all four.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 02/04/2026

A 2nd bonus snippet from my newest short story, Deadname Dan a gentle, moonlit story about identity, belonging, and becoming yourself 📚💙🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #Folklore #GentleFantasy

“My work is not to destroy names,” he said. “My work is to carry them. Some names arrive too early. Some too late. Some are handed to the wrong child altogether. I take them from the places where they pinch and chafe and echo wrongly, and I bear them onward until they reach the soul they were meant to find.”
Abigail looked up into his moon-bright face.
“So it won’t just vanish?”
“No name worth speaking truly vanishes,” he said softly. “That would be wasteful, and the world is already full of too much waste.”
He lifted one hand, and in the silver of the glass Abigail glimpsed brief, flickering scenes: a swaddled baby blinking under hospital lights; a child on a bus with their backpack hugged close; a boy in a school hallway practicing possible names silently behind his teeth; a little one standing in a field, muddy-kneed and laughing, waiting for a call that would sound right when it reached him.
“Somewhere,” Deadname Dan said, “there is always someone waiting for a name that will fit like birdsong in the chest.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 02/04/2026

A snippet from my newest short story, Deadname Dan a gentle, moonlit story about identity, belonging, and becoming yourself 📚💙🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #MiddleGrade #QueerBooks #TransJoy

“My cousin said names aren’t bad,” Tamantha went on. “Just sometimes they get handed to the wrong person first. Deadname Dan takes them where they belong.”
The promise of her words settled over the room in a hush.
Abigail turned toward the mirror on the closet door. In its long glass she could see both of them, small and solemn, caught between childhood and whatever came next.
“Do you know how to call him?” she asked.
Tamantha nodded.
“Show me.”
They stood before the mirror together, Abigail in front and Tamantha just behind her, their reflections layered one over the other in the pale afternoon light.
“I’m not saying his whole name,” Tamantha whispered. “My cousin said that’s asking for too much attention. I’ll say ‘Mmmm’ instead. But you have to say his real name each time or it won’t work.”
Abigail nodded.
Her stomach fluttered in a way she did not care for.
Softly, both girls looking straight into the mirror, Tamantha began:
“Mmmm Dan, Mmmm Dan
come as quick as you can,
I’ve got a name for you to claim in your hand.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 02/04/2026

For readers who love tender folklore, queer hope, and stories where magic comes to help instead of haunt Deadname Dan is a gentle, moonlit story about identity, belonging, and becoming yourself 📚💙🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #MiddleGrade #QueerBooks #TransJoy #Folklore #GentleFantasy

open.substack.com

Deadname Dan

Some names are not lost. They are only on their way home. When twelve-year-old Abigail hears her deadname one time too many, her best friend tells her of a moonlit spirit who carries away outgrown nam...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 11/03/2026

A bonus snippet from The latest Fillmore News Spring Update 💙📚 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #satire #SweetTeaEnergy

This is normally the time of year for crawfish boils, but with boiled crawfish selling for more than $7/lb, Fillmoreans are having to look at alternatives.And yes, we have heard the whisperings of a community potato boil.
But really—it’s difficult to get excited about a community potato boil. A potato boil is not A Boil, it is a group coping mechanism. It’s less “festival” and more “we have gathered together to accept what’s been taken from us.” Regardless of whatever the Irish have to say…
Economic Outlook:
Bleak for crawfish. Strong for potatoes. Unclear for morale.
Also: tornado season is warming up, which means the weather will be 83 degrees on Tuesday and 42 on Thursday. Dress in layers like an onion with secrets.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 11/03/2026

A snippet from The latest Fillmore News Spring Update 💙📚 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #smalltown #southernhumor #satire

Nothing makes a person feel alive like buying twelve plants you have no intention of watering consistently.
It’s time to start planting your seedlings—those little plants of hope rooted in balls of dirt and compost. Maybe this year the slugs will migrate to your neighbor’s yard and ignore your tomato and zucchini starts. Maybe this year your basil won’t die like it heard a rumor about you and took it personally. Maybe this year you won’t stand in your kitchen at midnight whispering, “Why did I buy cilantro again,” like it’s a confession.
Slug Forecast:
High. Always high. They are thriving. They have plans. They have little wet meetings at night where they assign targets. Leave them an offering in order to stay on their good side.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 05/03/2026

A bonus snippet from Chapter 14 Part 3 💙📚⚡🩸🪐 Read/listen: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SerializedFiction #DarkComedy

Nothing.
No throne.
No lightning.
No choir.
No pressure of holiness.
Just a room.
A big office with a desk that looked like it had never been sat at.
The air didn’t smell like incense.
It smelled like… nothing.
Like the room had been sealed from time.
Everything was pristine, but not in a polished, loved way.
In a way that said: unused.
The chair behind the desk looked like it had been waiting forever for someone to come back and make it matter.
My throat tightened. My rage tried to become nausea.
Bob stepped in first, like a person entering a hazardous space.
I took one step into the room and felt the absence like weight.
“This is it,” I whispered.
Bob’s voice was barely audible. “Yes.”
A small sound came from behind the desk.
Not scary.
A tiny rustle.
Like paper.
Like something small shifting where it shouldn’t.
And then—slowly—something moved in the shadow beneath the desk.
A pair of beady eyes blinked up at us.
And a familiar, impossible voice—too small to contain the weight of what it was saying—said:
“Oh. Uh.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 05/03/2026

A snippet from Chapter 14 Part 3 💙📚⚡🩸🪐 Read/listen: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #CozyHorror #UrbanFantasy

A key.
Not thunder. Not light.
Recognition—pure and immediate—as if the building had just seen a master badge.
Bob looked at the Liaison.
Not angry.
Just done.
“You don’t get to separate her,” he said quietly. “You don’t get to educate her pain. And you don’t get to tell me what doors I’m allowed to open in a system I’ve been keeping from collapsing with duct tape and prayer.”
The Liaison’s voice went thin. “Bob, you cannot—”
Bob took my hand.
Not dramatic. Not heroic.
Just… a decision made with compassion.
His fingers wrapped around mine—warm, steady, real—and the whole room changed shape around that simple contact.
Adil moved with us immediately, like they’d been waiting for the moment Bob stopped negotiating with furniture.
Behind us, the Liaison’s voice sharpened into pure managerial panic.
“Bob. Bob, you cannot—”
Adil called back, sweet as syrup, without breaking stride:
“Bless your heart, yes he can!”
And we left Upper Administration mid-sentence.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 04/03/2026

Preorders OPEN ✨🚀 CAPTURED AMONG THE STARS by @clockhartwrite.bsky.social Captain Kyra Johnson: surviving grief, claiming power, and now… captured by alien crocodiles. 🐊👽 💙📚⚡ PB writteninmelanin.com/store/p/tlw2p HB writteninmelanin.com/store/p/tlw2h E writteninmelanin.com/store/p/tlw2e

Square, red-toned sci-fi promo graphic. Large title at top: “THE LADY WIDOW.” On the left is a 3D book mockup: “The Lady Widow Book 2: Captured Among the Stars” by C. M. Lockhart, showing two women in a spaceship setting, tense and ready to fight, with green laser beams and a crocodile-like alien figure at the bottom. On the right, white text reads: “Book 2 coming May 26, 2026” and: “In this Black space opera, a grieving widow becomes the captain of her late husband’s spaceship to avenge his murder.” Bottom text compares vibes: “Cowboy Bebop x Frieren x Star Trek: Discovery.” A cute star/planet sticker appears in the lower right.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 26/02/2026

For anyone who’s ever been told to be “calm” while bleeding emotionally: you’re not too much—you’re just not convenient. This scene is a small, righteous release valve where grief refuses to be managed into silence 💙📚🎧 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #CozyHorror #DarkComedy

The Liaison’s smile warmed like they’d been offered a charming misunderstanding.
“Without… influence,” they corrected. “Without the pressure of being perceived. Hannah deserves privacy while she stabilizes.”
The word stabilizes landed in my chest like a hand trying to hold my mouth shut.
Adil’s smile sharpened. “Care doesn’t require separation.”
The Liaison turned to me, voice lowering into that soft sympathy that makes you want to throw a chair.
“Hannah,” they said, “please regulate your tone.”
The words hit like a slap.
Because I’d walked past the sign.
Because the sign had been waiting for me.
PLEASE REGULATE YOUR TONE.
ANGELS CAN HEAR SUBTEXT.
Something ancient and furious climbed up my spine.
“Oh,” I said, louder. “We’re doing tone policing in Heaven? Incredible. Ten out of ten. Love that for you.”
I held up my proof-of-existence receipt like an exhibit in court.
“You keep using that sweet voice like it’s kindness,” I said, shaking, “but it’s not kindness. It’s control wearing a halo.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 26/02/2026

If you’ve ever suspected the “system” is running on vibes, cover sheets, and someone quietly pretending they’re not in charge… this scene is for you. Come watch a clerk with a smile and an audit log turn a polite question into a full-blown cosmic problem 💙📚🎧 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin...

$“Nothing,” they said sweetly. “Just… patterns. I love patterns.” They read off the screen with a sing-song cadence, like gossip at a church potluck. “Okay, so. Ways office: Out of Office. Means office: Out of Office. Grief & Human Affairs: Out of Office.” Click. “Miracles & Exceptions: Out of Office.” I stared. “So God is… just not in any office?” Adil’s smile remained. “God is marked Out of Office,” they said. Bob’s face tightened. “Marked by whom?” Adil made a tiny, admonishing sound—don’t start, darling, we are being normal—and kept scrolling. “Upper Administration: Out of Office. Prayer Processing: Out of Office. Emergency Only…” They paused. Their eyebrows rose. “Oh! Emergency Only is—” Bob leaned in a fraction. “—also Out of Office,” Adil finished, with a bright little smile that did not reach their eyes. “But don’t worry! Emergency Only has an acting coverage note.”$

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 26/02/2026

Heaven runs on forms. Grief files an escalation. Upper Admin says: “Please regulate your tone.” 💙📚🎧 If you like afterlife bureaucracy + celestial chaos + cozy-horror satire with heart: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #AudioFiction #UrbanFantasy #SatireWithHeart

open.substack.com

🎧 The Trouble with Angels — Season 2, Episode 6: Chapter 14, Part 2

Chapter 14, Part 2: I Need to Speak to the Manager of Existence—Because Honey, You Don’t Deserve the Headache I’m About to Give Someone

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 07/02/2026

All that’s holding me together today: 2 soup bowls of coffee, avocado toast, and an irrational spite to inject more whimsy into our increasingly cursed timeline

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 04/02/2026

An extra snippet from Chapter 13 of The Trouble with Angels 📚💙🎧⚡ Read/Listen Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SerialFiction #FoundFamily #CelestialChaos

It was inevitable that a child would find Gabriel.
Children are basically heat-seeking missiles for the most awkward adult in any vicinity.
This child was five, which meant she was small and made entirely of ambition.
Her name was Junie.
She had glitter sneakers, a clipboard covered in stickers, and the unblinking confidence of someone who had never once considered the concept of no.
She walked straight up to Gabriel, looked them up and down like an interviewer assessing a candidate, and said, “Hi! I’m Junie. Do you have a moment? I’d like to hear what you think about my idea.”
Gabriel blinked.
Michael, nearby, made a noise like he’d just watched a deer step into traffic and realized the deer was about to start a business.
Junie didn’t wait for more consent than the word moment. She flipped her clipboard around like she was presenting quarterly earnings.
“A network of lemonade stands,” she said, “across the whole United States. Then we use the money to make Party Pony Rescue.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 04/02/2026

A snippet from Chapter 13 of The Trouble with Angels 📚💙🎧⚡ Read/Listen Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #AudioFiction #FictionPodcast #UrbanFantasy #CozyHorror #DarkComedy

Michael parked at the edge of a field that seemed to hum with an unusual amount of energy. Like it used to be a crossroads. Like the land had loosened its belt and sighed, Fine. Let there be magic.
Past the gate: banners, tents, a ferris wheel waiting for dusk like it was trying to look casual, and a crowd that had already formed three separate governments around three separate coolers.
The smell, Michael said, was the standard human festival cocktail:
fried dough, sunscreen, kettle corn, and hand sanitizer that wanted to be citrus so badly it was basically flirting.
The first thing he noticed wasn’t a ride.
It was a sign.
WELCOME WAYS & MEANS.
YES, YOU’RE RELATED.
NO, WE CAN’T EXPLAIN IT QUICKLY.
Michael said he stared at that sign like it was sacred scripture.
“See,” he told Gabriel, “they’re self-aware.”

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 04/02/2026

Need a palate cleanser for your nervous system? This episode is a sunset carnival reunion where kindness is accessible, hydration is enforced, and a five-year-old CEO ambushes an archangel with a clipboard and Party Pony Rescue Plan 📚💙🎧⚡ Read/Listen Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin...

open.substack.com

🎧 The Trouble with Angels — Season 2, Episode 4 (Chapter 13)

Listen now | The Ways & The Means: By Blood and By Policy | This family reunion has everything: carnival lights, laminated schedules, and emotional-support water stations. Michael hauls Gabriel into t...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 21/01/2026

A snippet from The Trouble with Angels Chapter 11 💙📚⚡🩸🎧🪐 Read/listen: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #UrbanFantasy #CozyHorror #DarkComedy

They arrived in The El Dorado.
The El Dorado they’d “borrowed” from Jesus.
Bob used air quotes when he said borrowed, like the word itself was an ethical compromise he didn’t have time to litigate.
If you’ve never seen an ancient car used as a vehicle for cosmic beings, let me save you the trouble: it looks exactly as ridiculous as it sounds, and it somehow still carries authority. The El Dorado glided into the parking lot like a relic of style that had gotten tired of being symbolic and decided to become useful.
Gabriel was in the passenger seat, stiff with tension, vibrating like a perfection rule in a bad font environment.
Michael drove with the calm, furious focus of someone piloting a legal argument through traffic.
And the car stood out among the beige sedans and family SUVs, which was its own kind of commentary on bland corporate homogeny.
Bob told me that’s what made it feel like generals amassing their troops before anyone said a word.
Not the weapons.
The fact that The Family had started traveling together.
They headed in.

If you enjoy audio fiction, please check out the podcast version of this on your favorite podcast app. If you're unable to find The Trouble with Angels Season 2, Episode 2, please let me know which app and I'll see what I can do -Glory

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 21/01/2026

If you enjoy “afterlife bureaucracy” + “celestial chaos” + cozy-ominous satire: Chapter 11 features an apocalypse memo appearing by a hotel ICE MACHINE. Three immortals lean in like it’s office gossip, but the paper feels… holy-wrong. 💙📚⚡🩸🎧🪐 #FictionPodcast #AudioDrama

open.substack.com

🎧 The Trouble with Angels — Season 2, Episode 2: Chapter 11

Listen now | Business Casual Armageddon | A Holiday Inn Express is the last place you expect to witness divine crisis management. But when the universe is glitching, it turns out apocalypse paperwork ...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 15/01/2026

A snippet from The Trouble with Angels open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... 💙📚⚡🩸🎧🪐 #AfterlifeFiction

Drink Up, The World's About to End
By Glory Fink
Maui should have been impossible.
Not because humans couldn’t get to Maui. Humans went to Maui all the time. Humans went to Maui on points and honeymoon desperation and credit card debt and the kind of optimism that only lasted as long as the hotel towels kept arriving fresh and fluffy.
No, Maui should have been impossible because I hadn’t earned it.
Grief has a way of turning pleasure into contraband. Like your body is a cop and your heart is a teenager and joy is a stolen car.
And yet, here I was.
Bob brought me through an ordinary doorway that pretended it was part of a normal day.
It wasn’t a portal with a choir. It wasn’t a tear in the sky. There was no dramatic wind, no swirling light, no Heaven-branded elevator music.
It was a door.
Just a door.
The kind of door you could walk through without thinking.
Which was, in retrospect, the most terrifying part.
I remember stepping forward and feeling the air change, not in a dramatic way, but in a way that made my skin prickle—like I’d walked into a room that had been recently cleaned with something expensive.
The light hit differently on the other side. Softer. More flattering.

The entire podcast series is available for free on GloryFink.SubStack.com or wherever you get your podcasts. If you're having trouble finding it, please let me know which app and I'll see what I can do to help -Glory

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 15/01/2026

If “paradise” feels uncanny when you’re grieving, here’s an episode that gets it: afterlife bureaucracy, celestial chaos, and cozy-horror satire—with heart. 🕯🥭 💙📚⚡🩸🎧🪐 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #AudioDrama #CozyHorror

open.substack.com

🎧 The Trouble with Angels — Season 2, Episode 1

Listen now | Drink Up, The World’s About to End (Chapter 10) | Paradise is supposed to be soothing. But grief doesn’t believe in palm trees. Hannah and Bob step into Maui — a place so perfect it feels...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 07/01/2026

A snippet from the latest Fillmore News 💙📚 The full article includes: seed-catalog delusion, Wilfred’s seed underworld, diner “spring specials,” and a town PSA begging folks to stop trying to mulch fake trees. open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #SmallTownLife

False Spring and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves in Fillmore
By Glory Fink
(An occasional dispatch from the moist underbelly of optimism.)
Seed catalogs are hitting mailboxes, which means Fillmore has entered its most sacred season: Delulu Planning Season. People are circling tomatoes like they’re picking a soulmate. (“This one says heat tolerant. So he won’t leave me?”) We are all one glossy photo away from believing we will become the kind of person who labels herb jars.
And then—because the universe loves a joke—Fillmore gets one (1) 78-degree day.
False Spring #1
One 78-degree afternoon and suddenly every porch has folks in flip-flops and optimism. Lawn chairs dusted off and dragged onto the porch. Drinks sweating. Someone’s aunt is declaring, “Winter’s over!” like she’s giving a church testimonial.
Baby, Winter heard you. Winter took that personally. Winter will be back with a vengeance.
The Hardware Store: Temptation Altar Edition
The hardware store has placed seed-starting trays and little peat pots right at the front like a temptation altar. You walk in for duct tape and come out holding twelve packets of zinnias and the moral conviction that you are a person with a plan.
They’re not even being subtle about it. It’s merchandising. It’s psychological warfare. It’s “just one more seed packet” the way a casino is “just one more spin.”

Substack now has an auto reader available to have it read the entire article to you for free

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 31/12/2025

A snippet from Chapter 12 ⚡📚💙 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin...

Dear Diary, 📓😵‍💫🐝
I am writing this with my hands still kind of vibrating, like my bones are full of bees. 🐝🐝🐝
Which is poetic, except I do not want poetry right now. 🙄 I want a normal Tuesday. I want to complain about cafeteria potatoes 🥔 and whether Lavell is ever going to Not be in the mood for pineapple pizza. 🍍🍕 I want to be annoyed about homework 📚 and then forget about it immediately like other people do.
Instead, I am learning something very important:
Whisperen Academy does not punish you like a person.
It processes you like paperwork.
And I have become a file. 📄😬

It happened in the middle of class, which was honestly rude. 😑 If you’re going to destroy my spirit, at least wait until after I finish taking notes on whatever tragic old war we’re pretending is relevant to our lives.
There was a soft knock at the door. Our teacher paused mid-sentence like she’d been waiting for it. Like she knew the knock was coming. Like the knock had its own seat in the classroom. 😶
A man I’ve never seen before stepped into the room.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 25/12/2025

A snippet from Boarding School Murder Mystery Chapter 11 open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #MysterySerial

Dear Diary, 📓
I don’t know how to explain the vibe at Whisperen Academy today except like this:
It’s the emotional equivalent of someone spilling grape juice on a white rug and then immediately throwing a decorative throw pillow over it and saying, “There. Fixed.” 😌🛋🍇
Except the rug is… you know… a dead body. 💀
And the pillow is called “ACCIDENTAL DEATH, CASE CLOSED.” 📎🚫
So. That’s where we’re at. 😬

This morning the school felt… lighter. 🌤
Not in a good way. Not in a “we survived something hard and now we’re healing” way.
In “the adults have decided we’re done feeling things now” way. 😶
Teachers smiled too much. 😁 Hallway conversations stopped the second students got close. 🤐 The office doors clicked shut like they were allergic to questions. 🚪🔒 Even the cafeteria oatmeal tasted like it was trying to be extra polite. 🥣🙃

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 17/12/2025

A snippet from Boarding School Murder Mystery, Chapter 10 Something is Amiss at Whisperen Academy ⚡📚💙 gloryfink.substack.com/s/boarding-s...

I didn’t hear about the fingerprints from the police.
I heard about them the Whisperen way.
In fragments. 🧩
In half-whispers between bites of toast. 🍞 In the library, where someone leaned too close and spoke like the books might be listening. 📚👀 In the hallway outside the science wing, where rumors echoed louder than footsteps.
Someone said the skiff had been wiped down.
Someone else said the whiskey bottle was too clean. 🥃
Someone swore there were no fingerprints at all.
At first, I assumed it was just a rumor. The kind that multiplied when everyone was scared 😟 and bored 😑 and desperate for answers. But the same detail kept coming back, unchanged no matter who told it.
No fingerprints.
Not on the skiff.
Not on the bottle.
The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. If Mr. Grunfeld had been alone out there, drinking, then why wouldn’t his fingerprints have been everywhere? Wood. Glass. Rope. Something.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 17/12/2025

Cozy paranormal murder mystery fans: Chapter 10 is the “no fingerprints + unfinished audit + everyone acting normal” episode If you’ve ever been dismissed by authority and thought “okay but I’m STILL right”—this one’s for you. 👁 ⚡📚💙 Read It Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin... #CozyMystery

open.substack.com

🎧 Boarding School Murder Mystery — (Part 10) (80% off Christmas Special)

Listen now | Chapter 10: Something Is Amiss at Whisperen Academy | At Whisperen Academy, rumors spread faster than truth. Fingerprints vanish. Whispers multiply. And what should have been impossible...

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 10/12/2025

If you like quiet, character-driven horror—less jump scare, more “I will be thinking about this highway for weeks”—this episode is made to slip into your evening routine ⚡💙📚 Read It Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin...

I wondered if my mother was right that the world is filled with sadness because people think there isn’t enough love to go around ❤️. But how can there not be enough love when I never feel like I run out of love? People just don’t make any sense to me, I suppose 🤷‍♀️.

I think I released a deep sigh 😮‍💨 because Raine then burst out, “Hey! Did I ever tell you about the ghosts 👻 of the Alberta Highway?”
“There are ghosts on the highway?! How?” I asked.
Here is the story he told us:
When Raine was a young man he needed money 💵 because being a hippie didn’t pay. He heard about some seasonal work up in Alberta every spring 🌱 that would pay half a year’s wages to work 12–16 hours a day for three weeks cleaning up old abandoned cars 🚗 and litter along this highway in the Alberta province.
Two teams of six men each sleep in a camper 🚐 while they do it, and all your meals are provided 🍽️ while you do this work.
Since it was paid government work, he figured it was legit, so he signed up.
Bob was the foreman of the team Raine was assigned to. His rules were:
Always stay with the group. Never wander into the woods 🌲no matter what you think you heard or saw. No matter what.
Lights out is at 10 p.m. 🌙 When Bob says Lights Out, it’s all lights out. No talking. Go to sleep. 😴 You’ll be back up at dawn to continue working so everyone needs their sleep.
All windows and doors of all vehicles must remain locked 🔒at night. No exceptions!
When you need to piss or shit 🚽(his words) do it in the camp toilet. Never go into the woods. Ever.
🚫No drinking. 🚫No drugs. At the end of the three weeks, both teams will go to a bar to celebrate he end of the work. 🍻 The foremans will buy everyone beers all that night, if you enjoy that sort of thing. There will be NO DRINKING ALCOHOL during the work.
No guns allowed during the 3 weeks. Bob has a rifle and a shotgun 🔫 should the team encounter any aggressive wild animals🐻. Everyone must go into the camper while Bob has a gun out.

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Glory Fink @gloryfink.bsky.social · 03/12/2025

A snippet from Chapter 8 of Boarding School Murder Mystery 📚⚡💙 Read or Listen to It Here: open.substack.com/pub/gloryfin...

By lunchtime the fog finally gave up. It didn’t blow away dramatically or anything—no cinematic sweep of mist peeling off the lake. It just… loosened. Thinned. The way a headache fades but still leaves your skull tender. One moment the courtyard is a grey bowl, and the next I can actually see the treeline again, sharp and dark against the water. 😳
Everyone noticed.
Half the cafeteria pushed toward the windows, trays abandoned. I followed, mostly because it felt like we’re all sharing the same breath for the first time in days. The air feels brighter. Lighter. Like the school finally remembered how to exist in daylight.
Then someone near the glass says, “Is that—wait. Is that a boat?”
And everything went still again.
A little wooden skiff bobbed out in the middle of the lake, faint and distant but unmistakable. Like it’s been waiting there the whole time, only now deciding it’s okay to be seen.
A murmur rolled through the other students—sharp, rising, uneasy.
“Is anyone in it?”
“Whose is that?”
“Wasn’t Mr. Grunfeld missing?”
“No way, that can’t be—”
I pressed my palm to the window. The glass was cold, and so was the sick feeling crawling up my throat. I didn’t know Mr. Grunfeld well. Hardly at all. But there’s something about seeing a boat drifting alone on a lake that shouldn’t contain any mysteries. It feels wrong. Like the fog kept a secret and only now remembered to tell us.

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