Today’s morning drink is Water. Just a half gallon of water. I have genuinely been so thirsty recently I’m beginning to wonder about myself. Tell me—are you also a thirsty person? The thirst I’ve been dealing with challenges the idea of an emotional support waterbottle because at this point Hues is dying for a drink.

But thirsty van symbolize a lot of things. Right now I’m thirsty for a dirnk. But, sometimes I’m thirsty for knowledge, oor poetry, to he feeling of a pen in my hand. Thirst is another word for desire or ambition in that way. And you know how much I love denotation and Connotation here at The Morning Hues.

I’ve always been particular when it comes to language. People love to project and correct me when I speak, in particular arguing semantics or meaning. But, I pull out my hand dandy dictionary and show them the definition of the word right there. No sense in arguing bout it when its black and white. Its right there for everyone to see.

For me language is apart of my destiny, I get activated when its involved. But I— and you— are multifaceted beings. So there is more than one thing that can activated us i’m sure. And that’s what April 2026 is all about.

Prompts:

1. What part of my life currently feels “fated” or divinely timed?

2. What recurring signs or patterns feel like guidance rather than coincidence?

3. What strengths have been consistent through every chapter of my life?

4. What am I here to do that no one else can do the way I can?

5. What dream keeps returning, no matter how often I pause it?

6. What decision could shift my life onto a higher track right now?

7. What parts of my identity feel like they were meant to emerge this year?

8. What do I feel guided toward even when I doubt myself?

9. What would my life look like if I fully trusted my mission?

10. What moments from my past feel like training for what I’m stepping into now?

11. What inner voice feels like destiny speaking through me?

12. What part of me is being activated—creatively, spiritually, personally?

13. What relationships feel karmic, purposeful, or aligned with my evolution?

14. What am I being asked to take seriously about myself?

15. What gifts do I withhold because I underestimate them?

16. What future version of me is trying to get my attention?

17. What fear is standing between me and the life I’m meant to live?

18. What skills or talents feel like they chose me?

19. What does “destiny” feel like in my body—excitement, pressure, clarity?

20. What am I ready to commit to with full intention?

21. Where in my life is the path opening with almost suspicious ease?

22. What part of me feels overdue for activation?

23. What legacy do I want to leave behind, big or small?

24. What decision would align me with my highest timeline?

25. What is one step I’ve been procrastinating that my destiny needs me to take?

26. What inner calling has grown louder recently?

27. What truth about my purpose have I been afraid to admit?

28. What vision from my childhood or teens still feels alive today?

29. What does my soul want more than my comfort zone does?

30. What version of me do I become the moment I say “yes” to my destiny?

Keep an eye out for some of my personal responses of these prompts coming to your inbox in April!

In the Meantime! What is your favorite prompt? Which ones did you hate? What did you drink today?

See you tomorrow!

Hues

Today’s morning drink is Oolong. March always reminds me of the Ron Pope song A Drop in the Ocean. Possibly because things feel so vast and expansive and I often find myself really feeling small.

But being small doesn’t mean confined, in this case I feel as if it relates to the concepts of potiential. March makes me feel small because it shows me how much more room I have to grow. Or something like that.

Regardless march feels more romantic to me than February. There is just something uniquely Cathartic about being just one of many. Or Many of One.

I wont waist much more of your time because the theme of March is Rebirth through Clarity. What do you need to get clear on. What is hiding away from you, and what are you hiding from yourself? Get the answers to that and you’ll become someone new.

Prompts:

1. What truth have I finally stopped arguing with?

2. Where in my life is clarity trying to break through, but I keep resisting it?

3. What did confusion once protect me from?

4. What am I no longer willing to pretend not to know?

5. What belief feels outdated the moment I write it down?

6. What has recently become obvious, and how does that shift things for me?

7. What part of my identity feels like it’s dissolving?

8. What new version of me is quietly forming underneath?

9. What clarity has arrived that feels both freeing and uncomfortable?

10. What do I understand now that I didn’t last year?

11. What emotional pattern makes the most sense now that I see it clearly?

12. What situation has shown me my own strength?

13. What am I ready to forgive myself for recognizing late?

14. What truth about a relationship is asking to be honored?

15. What have I been viewing through fog that’s now clearing?

16. If clarity were a voice, what would it tell me today?

17. What illusions have I dropped recently, and what did they cost me?

18. What am I seeing with sharper eyes, and how does it change the story?

19. What am I realizing about my needs, nonnegotiables, and desires?

20. What is becoming simpler the moment I stop overthinking it?

21. What misunderstanding about myself am I ready to release?

22. What new priority is rising to the surface with unmistakable certainty?

23. What wound is healing now that I finally understand its lesson?

24. What recent insight felt like a rebirth moment?

25. what truth feels like an invitation instead of a burden?

26. What clarity about my path is emerging from stillness?

27. What am I choosing now that I couldn’t have chosen before?

28. What insight has shifted how I see my future?

29. What decision becomes obvious when I tell the absolute truth to myself?

30. What does “rebirth” look like in my personality, behavior, or boundaries?

31. What new identity am I ready to step into with clarity and confidence?
    

Keep an eye out for some of my personal responses of these prompts coming to your inbox in March!

In the Meantime! What is your favorite prompt? Which ones did you hate?

See you tomorrow!

Hues

the world is such a scary place, please settle into some whimsical fiction for today. let your brains rest in regards to the heavier things. let fj do the heavy lifting.

to seek. to find.

hues

chapter 8: in which we move to a new setting

foxglove did not speak for a long time as she followed Libations and The Tongue away from the mirror lake. she could feel the water and tattoos from the bending. she regrets following The Reader through the portal, and she regrets leaving her home that was nestled deeply and safely withing the Elvenforest.

Libations and The Tongue chatter amongst themselves, both paying little mind to the child who trudges behind them. The siblings had not been reunited for soemtime, and knew that nothing they could say would help FJ understand what must be done. The chatted about what each of their respoective realms were like and lamented over the foods they had not had in a while.

it was this conversation that brought Foxglove out of their own mind.

“What’s corn pudding?” she asks

“You’ve never eaten corn pudding?” The Tongue judges

“My family ate mostly venison, berries and sweetgrass” Foxglove says.

“elf food,” The Tongue scoffs.

“your ancestors didn’t have access to those types of luxuries,” Libations laments, “I’m so grateful that you have been blessed in such a way. “

“right, but what is it?” Foxglove asks again

“its a sweet custard made from corn and sugar with usually flour as a thickener.” LIbations sighs, “that with some mac and cheese, and collard greens.”

“and Turkey neck” The Tongue laughs, “who knew losing our bodies would mean we’d miss food the most”

“no, no. I mean” fj sighs frustrtaion tightening their chest “i understand what pudding is. but what’s corn?”

the two spirts stopped and turned their wide eyes gazes to the girl.

“she doesn’t know what corn is?” Libations asks

“she doesn’t know what corn is,” The Tongue says.

“well, i’m sorry. I j—”

The tongue hold up a hand to silence Foxglove, and libations waves her hands pulling water up from the ground. she shapes it into a long knobby cylindrical shape, housed in a tuft of leaves.

“you’ve never seen this before?” The Tongue asks.

“oh,” Foxglove says, “i’ve seen that before. maybe once in a common lesson.”

“this is corn,” Libations says.

“i’’ve never heard it called that before..” FJ admits.

“What did they call when they showed it to you?” The Tongue asks.

“Poison”

tip your storyteller

as they walked Fj explained that the corn—also known as poison—had been outlawed nearly 200 years ago. There was a big company name Monstracito that had genetically created what they called a super food. for years they had bred this superfood with other nonmotified versions of this plant. even sneaking onto the farms of those who had refused to buy their terrible seed, and planting it. then suing those whom they’d sabotaged for stealing their plants. soon, the superfood was the only crop left. but, people started getting sick. it took a long time before anyone realized it was the superfood. So, when Faece came to power they banned it. outlawed it, removed its name from history. called it poison. native populations called it an outrage. the poison had once been a sacred crop to them. stolen by monstracito. but Faece didn’t care. the poison was banished. so the native populations had to find a new sacred crop.

“that’s horrible” Libations cried, “those poor natives”

“that horrible” The Tongue laments, “i’ll never have corn pudding again”

“that’s what you took from my story?” fj said.

“humans are humans,” The tongue answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

the three reached the corner of the realm where a large icewall sat. there Libations felt around on the wall as if looking for something.

“are you going to open up a magical door?” fj said.

“is a door magical just because it cannot be seen?” libations asked as her hand wrapped around what could be assumed to be the invisible know of the invisible door.

fj expected her to open the door, but rather, se ran her other hand up the wall of ice and hooked two fingers on what one could guess was the knocker.

knock. knock. stated the door, as the unseen knocker played upon its face.

click. said the lock on the door as it was turned to allow them to enter.

as libations open the door, it portaled into a realm of absolute darkness.

nothingness, fj thought, that is the nothingness that they write about in the genisis.

“shall we?” asked the tongue waving their cloaked arm into the darkness.

“of course!” cried libations, bowing a little before strepping through the threshold. her silloeute vanishing into the void beond.

“youre turn,” commanded the tongue, but fj was nervous. her hadns trembled, and her stomach flipped. her stomach flopped, but she could feel teh dangerous weight of the tongues gaze upon her so she stepped into the darkness herself.

and once again— Fj was falling.

this week has been incredibly difficult.

i am going on week 5 of being sick with bronchitis. after 4 weeks of being forced allow my immune system to work i finally got a doctor willing to give me some antibiotics.

which by the way have been absolutely fucking terrible. my gut biome is destroyed and i am very very sick now. but that is okay. we must carry on.

as such i have been eating almost nothing but apples.

thats right.

apple juice, apples, and apple sauce. some of the things that simply do not make me sick at this moment in time.

this is because I have what feels like an over full stomach. A lump in my throat.

After a quick er visit turns out that I have a rare infection called bacterial bronchial tracheitis. which is a bacterial infection of the trachea. Haha.

This bacterial infection was well on its way to killing me, but luckily I braved the er visit early enough that I am receiving treatment now that should have me recovered by the end of the month.

Reader, I am so furious at the health care system. This infection was completely preventable if they had xrayed me like I requested during my first visit four weeks ago. But they swore it was an upper respiratory infection, but no. It was pneumonia. Which has now invaded my trachea swollen it and blocked it prevent air from getting in effectively.

But no armed with a stronger antibiotic, steroid and nebulizer treatment I am seemingly back onto my road of recovery. I’m lucky to say the least.

Because of that it is unfortunate to say but I actually did not get around to much this week.

I spent much of my time resting and playing animal crossing again.

I’ll leave you hear, this weeks newsletter short as it can be but hopefully we will be back to our regular conversations next week.

on the regression of modern medicine

week 1

i was sick. as sick as i had been in baton rouge during delta. minus the sweltering heat, but my fever made up for the difference with hot flashes and the sweats. every breath was crackling painful and dry, yet somehow extremely wet. my ears, nose, and eyes leaking and my body creaked.

i told myself it was a cold. that it would past.

there is no way this pain could last.

week 2

the utc was crowded. not wrapped around the building waiting in 90 degree head busy but busy enough that i curled my legs up into my chair so that the men on either side of me wouldn’t touch me. accidental or not, any brush on my skin was awful.

i was sweating. my pajamas drenched in sweat. my lungs heavy with mucus. the mask the only barrier between me and the world did nothing for my comfort.

and hour passes.

then another.

“hues”

finally i’m triaged.

one swab. left nostril. right.

second swab. right nostril. left.

back in the waiting room. time passes as if it has somewhere to be.

im still waiting.

“hues?”

yes. i walk through the door.

“room 2”

check for fever. ears. nose. throat. listen to my chest.

“sounds good. covid and flu neg,. upper respirtory infction. probably viral. ill send in some cough syrup and an inhaler. nothing else we can do.”

i sigh. i tell him im an asthmatic. that i had respitory issues from birth. i was concerned it was pneumonia.

“unlikely. this is a virus going around. it last 4-6 weeks”

he points to sign.

its brightly colored that indicated that the cough was the last to go.

week 3

chest heavy. body sluggish.

no more cough syrup. cough is worse.

more blood in my mucus.

more blood from my throat

i go back to the clinc.

its less crowded this time.

they triage me immediately.

the nurse says my cough sounds terrible.

scolds me for not going to the hospital because my chest hurt. nothing they can do if its a heart attack.

first swab. left. right.

sceond swab. right. left.

“covid flu are negative. its just a URI. saline nose wash for the congestion. sudafed for the sneezing. over the counter syrup and honesy for the cough. don’t comd back until the cough lasts 6 weeks.”

“6 weeks?”

“then well know its not viral.”

“can’t you just give me antibiotics?”

“nothing antibiotics can do for a virus. the honey will help.”

“i have asthma and a history of respitory illness. it tends to be bacterial.”

“you have bronchitis from a viral infection.baterical bronchitis is rare. same for bacterial pneumonia. everyone has this right now.”

“oh”

week 4

everything i eat feels like lava in my chest.

is that indegestion? i’ve mever jhad indegestion before.

at least im not congested.

when i cough i bark and squeek. a sick joke of a sound.

my mom keeps telling me her friends are worried about me. this is a long time to have a cough.

“they said not to come back for six weeks. its a virus.”

but— i don’t feel right.

my body no longer feels like my own.

it was once a place that i called home.

but now it was like glass when i breathed.

my ribs hurt, tight like their closing in.

the world is a tilt. the world likes to spon.

my brother tells me he’s starting to worry about me.

we rarely speak.

week 5

my mom’s boyfriend is on speaker phone reccomending a medication to me like hes my dad.

it bothers me cause my body hurts and i long from my father who is buried in the ground four miles to the east.

he’s nice.

and they aren’t really dating anyways.

just phone friends she says.

my cough echoes through the phone.

worries a man i've never met.

back to the utc.

my doctor’s name reminds me of Pochahontas.

every time he says it he pulls his id badge toward my face so that i can see it.

its generic.

he’s anything but.

hes funny.

“im on your team kiddo. that cough told me everything i needed to know”

antibiotics.

cough supressant.

rest.

week 6

my auntie is visiting, and tells me to go to the er.

she’ll stay with my mom. she said i look like death.

i feel like death.

or like the heavy burden of its cloak is on my shoulder.

im trying to eat but its so hard. it hurts.

my skin aches at the caress of my shit.

i can’t breathe.

im tired.

my chest feels like fire.

car. blanket.

er.

12 leads. no reception.

heart rate high.

xray.

diagnosis.

“im glad you came in. you could have died.”

breathing treatment.

antibiotic.

red gatorade vomit on a white fure blanket.

phenergan

change of clothes.

second medication dose.

sent home with four meds.

breathing treatment twice a day,

chest feels like lead but a bearable weight.

anyway that’s what’s on my mind right now.

weekly read

Plated Prisoner Series

I am still reading the plated prisoner series but I will not be finishing it because I hate it so much. Don’t worry because I will be publishing all my thoughts on it in the next news letter

Drops in the Ocean

Japan Is What Late-Stage Capitalist Decline Looks Like

One of the more bizarre and traumatic incidents in Japanese pop culture was when music group AKB48’s Minami Minegishi publicly shaved her head in penance for breaking a band rule…

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4 months ago · 11404 likes · 483 comments · Ellie

History Can't Hide from Kahlil Greene

Julia Roberts' birth was paid for by MLK. Her reaction to the racist interview makes a lot of sense.

Last week, an Italian journalist at the Venice Film Festival delivered one of the most tone-deaf interview moments in recent memory. And Julia Roberts' response (as well as those of her co-stars) has gone viral…

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7 months ago · 3849 likes · 222 comments · Kahlil Greene

youngmi’s Substack

soon yi previn our worthless daughter, you are so pretty i'm going to die

in korea, there is a ‘joke’ parents say to children. they say they are not their own, but that they were found under a bridge- 다리밑에서 줏어왔어. the word 줏어왔어 specifically means ‘to pick up’ and is used often with something collected from outside, from off the ground. the word has a impoverished feeling. a dirty feeling. like the person who did it is stained …

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2 months ago · 1519 likes · 99 comments · youngmi mayer

weekly watches

writing sneak peek

the hearth crackles softly, throwing long shadows across the room. He pops the cork and takes a long swig of the viscous liquid, I’M IN THE SAME BOAT AS YOU.

THIS IS NOT HOW THING ARE SUPPOSED TO BE, WRI, The Editor puffs, slamming the manuscript on the desk. THEIR ARE BILLIONS OF CREATURES IN THE WORLD, She continues, pulling open her draw and pulling out an unopened pack of cigarettes. She taps the paper pack on her hand before ripping at the foil and popping one in her mouth. WHY IS IT THE ONLY STORIES YOU SEEM TO WRITE ARE ABOUT THIS BITCH?

The Writer sighs, and takes another drink of his ink, DO YOU THINK I LIKE WRITING ABOUT THEM? THEY’RE THE ONLY CHARACTER THAT THE READER WANTS TO READ ABOUT.

YOU SPOIL THEM TOO MUCH, The Editor snaps while pulling otu a pack of matches. She strikes one and brings it to paper in her mouth. She takes a long inhale before walking over to the window and opening it. She blows the smoke out into the white emptiness outside her window.

AS IF I HAVE ANY SAY AT ALL ABOUT WHO OR WHAT THEY DO, The Writer feels the ink now as the toxic miasma spreads through his body, He words slur, YOU AND I ARE IN THE SAME BOAT, EDI.

IF ONLY THEY HADN’T WENT INTO THE STORY.

to seek. to find.

hues

thank you so much for your continued support in reading this serialization. when i first conceptualized foxglove jamjar it was at a period in my life where i need something a little more childish. i was desperately seeking something from my teenage years. besides magic and whimsy there wasvery little. the only other thing was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. which is what inspired foxgloves journey through the portal and into the woods. i hope you enjoy this weeks chapter as well.

it is also worth noting that these segments are being posted as soon as they are finished and are little with imperfections. this is on purpose. no ai can write this bad. <3

To Seek. To Find.

hues

tip for the storyteller

chapter seven: in which foxglove witnesses something unspeakable

chapter 7

fj didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up the sun had risen in libation’s realm. snow had fallen in the night and piled up against the trees, but the magic of the spirits had created a perfect clearing of snowless green grass around where the three of them had slept. the tongue was lounging against a large fallen tree, which had not been there the night before, with a thick black tomb in its hands. it leisurely turned the pages without glancing up but fj noticed the way that its eyebrow had twitched slightly telling her that it had in fact noticed that she was awake.

“i’m glad to see that you’re awake,” libations voice cut through fj’s observations. she was exiting out of a tent that had appeared in the clearing while fj had slept, “did you sleep well?”

“about as well as one can in the dirt with a single fur,” fj said with a dry laugh, “it must be nice to be a spirit with access to magic like this.”

“what do you mean?” libations asked, handing fj a cup of warm milk, that she had once again made appear out of thin air.

“that. that is what i mean,” foxglove said, taking the mug into her chilled fingers, “humans simply cannot do that sort of thing. where i am from, there are rules, rhyme and reason. like how do you conjure a felled tree? did you use a ritual circle?” foxglove held up hand to signal that an actual answer was not necessary, “ no. i know you didn’t,” she gestured to the tent with exaggerated force, “ in fact, you probably just thought. ‘i don’t want to sleep on the ground, hmm, what would be better to sleep in? a tent, yeah, a tent.’ and poof! there was a tent.” foxglove was breathing heavily and moved to take a drink from their mug.

libations was laughing as they gently rubbed foxglove’s back soothing the child who had unceremoniously burned their tongue, “you’ll be able to do this soon as well. as soon as you contract, bend, bind, and consecrate all four of the merveilleux you will be nearly unstoppable.”

“i understand humans in your world have these rules, rhymes and reasons,” said the tongue, “but have you considered that perhaps they were wrong?”

“wrong?” fj scoffed, “i’ve never met a human that is able to do magic without borrowing the quintessence from something else.”

“yet.” librations giggled, “yet is the operative term.”

“what do you–”

“humans used to be able to do magic freely,” the tongue interrupted foxglove, “it was those same humans that imposed rules like circles, and words to the work.”

foxglove stared at the sibling spirits with a dumbness that made her feel small. she had felt like she had a strong basic understanding of magic (all children in the common wealth of hix did) and yet as soon as she followed the reader through that portal everything had been turned upside down. her stomach turned as she realized with a heavy heart that she was even farther away from her home in the elfwend forest, and from the walks of meridian bank than she had expected. she had been so naive to think that a strange talking cat would lead her anywhere good. at the time though, she had thought that anywhere was better than the scorching asphalt of the bank, but this place was strange. not just the kind of strange that comes with the unusual, or the uncomfortable but foxglove had in fact truly wandered the realm of spirits.

they took another drink of their mug of milk, and felt their stomach flop and knot. the warmth of the milk slid down her throat and wrapped around the knot like a soothing hug. it reminded her of her mother, when was the last time that she had hugged her. they had been so disappointed in her for leaving, for wanting to be a thespian over a warrior. oh! how she longed for the feeling of her mothers arms wrapped around her now. the knot grew, and foxglove drank more from her mug. when it was empty, libations conjured more. as she drank, the knot grew and grew until it had filled out her whole body. she took a final sip, and saw her own tired reflection in the smooth stainless steel bottom of the mug. and suddenly the knot burst, and her tears spilled out. the tongue stood and came to her other side, and the two elder merveilleux wrapped their arms around her.

foxglove cried until there was nothing left inside her, and when she was done libations said: “and, now is the time for your lesson on the bending of the will. do you have the chalice?”

foxglove nodded limply and pulled the golden chalice from where it was tucked under the fur with her. she handed it to libations.

‘this chalice is the ancestral vessel. you will first, make a contract with me as you did the tongue. and then, you will fill this vessel with your spirit.” libations said.

“how do i–” the tongue covered fj’s mouth.

“once you have filled the vessel, you will say the libation. then, our wills will be bent. once bent we will be in our spiritual form. from there you will have to bind us to move forward, but white candle will teach you that. for now, once we are bent, you will say the release.”

the tongue moved its hand and allowed fj to speak: “what is the release?”

“ase.” the tongue replied as he stood up.

libations followed their brother standing up, but they reached a hand down to foxglove and helped her to the feet. libations handed the chalice to the tongue and then led fj away a little bit. they turned to face foxglove and released her hand picking up the edge of her skirt. libations curtsied and bowed low .

“it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance officially,” libations said, their voice having taken on an echoey quality, “i am libations, the spirit of gratitude.”

foxglove laughed a little, but bowed herself, “the pleasure is mine, libations. i am foxglove jamjar.”

“for my service what will you trade,” libations stood straight and held out their hand palm up.

“for you i will give my love of the stage. if you are a spirit of gratitude, then to you i will give the thing i am the most grateful for.” foxglove said, placing her hand in libations.

“your love of the stage i will accept,” libations squeezed foxglove’s hand, “but it is not what holds your most gratitude.”

foxglove had no time to react, as libations pulled her close, and spun her in a waltz. every step they took lifted them up in the air as water pooled under their feet. tendrils of water lifted and swirled around them until it surrounded them, and then with a force only described as an implosion it slammed into foxglove’s body. she screamed, and libations threw their head back in a laugh of pure joy, as the water sank and sizzled into fj’s skin.

“and so it is done.” libations said, as foxglove fell to her knees. the water slowly lowered them to the ground.

“and so it is done,” foxglove cried. she took a few calming breaths and rose to her feet.

the tongue approached the bonded pair, and handed the chalice to fj, and took its place next to libations.

“focus on the chalice,” the tongue instructed, “ and imagine your spirit pouring into it.”

fj adjusted the golden chalice in their hands as they took several steading breaths. They held the cool metal before them, and felt within themselves. They felt cold at first. An empty void took up the space within their body, but then digging deeper they say a plains with a bright sun and a gentle breeze flowing through the grass. Foxglove bowed their head, their eyes fluttering close. And as if by instinct, they bowed their and imagined a door opening in their forehead. From their skull poured their spirit green and irridescent splashing into the goblet until it was filled.

“good, good” coo’ed libations.
”now wh—” foxglove felt it come deep from within their empty vessel. they spoke as their spirit continued to flow into the cup, “i bow my crown to the liberation of spirit i share with you my burdens and worries. i offer to you my dreams, and put all my faith in the miracle of the grand scheme. from this gilded chalice may the spirit drink, and together out soulds well keep.”

foxglove felt the surge of power shoot through her as the chalice began to over flow. the color shifting liquid bubbling over the edges onto the ground. some of the liquid sank deep into the earth, and some of the liquid flowed between Foxglove, The Tongue and Libations. as fJ’s spirit touched the three, the liquid became the apparition of a green chain connected to collars around the spirits neck. the leads in fj’s hand.

“Oh, oh fuck no,” FJ said, dropping the chains and chalice. The ghostly chain disappated along with the essence of their spirit.

“pick the chalice up, we will do it again,” The tongue said.

“You cannot expect me to do this.” FJ hissed.

“it may make you uncomfortable, but this is what it means to be bound to another’s will,” Libations smiles.

“I am not going to enslave you,” FJ shouts.

“Calm yourself child,” the tongue sighs, “ this is how it has always been.”

“I refuse.”

“foxglove,” libations sighs, but her brother placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I am not doing it” Foxglove said, shoving her braids from her face.

“We will continue with out the Bending.” The tongue says. “Perhaps meeting the others will give you a new perspective.”

this week has been enlightening.

i would like to say that ive been spending my days in quiet reflection. that’s not the truth though. i have been aggressively loud about my reflection an realizations.

this is at the behest of my new therapist. who has been a wonder.

ever meet someone and think: this person might save my life? that’s my therapist. saving my life. most definitely.

which brings me to the three main things that i learned about myself this week.

one. i am a hypocrite and i have absolutely no intentions of changing this about myself. i would give you an anecdote about my childhood here, but to spare you the complicated details of my childhood and say that i was groomed to be both master and slave. which of course it part of what has crafted this hypocritical nature of mine. I love the rain but hate to be wet. i crave affection but cannot stand touch. i believe in kindness but am by nature cruel.

two. i am actually as smart as my doctors told me. i have been told my whole life i am smart (and pretty, and funny). but, i have spent that same amount of time being humble and full of humility. no one likes a know-it-all after all. yet, i am constantly told i am smart. so, to prevent others from feeling insecure i used smaller words, dumber ideas, more acceptable paths. but then i took my autism evaluation and had the evaluator explain to me that i was too smart. my disability disabled me by making me a genius. (SOMEBODY CALL MENSA). and so now— im mad. because i spent my whole life telling myself i was stupid and average when im anything but. little me deserved better.

three. i am mean, and thats okay. you might not see it. why? because im friendly. but that friendliness is a well sharpened weapon. im friendly because it brings peoples boundaries down. im friendly because rudeness gets you kicked out of the room. im friendly because you attract more bees with flowers than with vinegar. it adds a sweetness to the day. but that is a trap that everyone falls for. they think because im friendly— i will be a good friend. and i can be a good friend to those who need a friend like me. but i say what i want when i want. i will tell you that youre a fucking idiot with honey lacing my voice. why? because its truth, and just because its true doesn’t mean it has to be rude. im tactless not uncivilized. i laugh at others, and parade their pain. why? because irony, difficulty, hardship can be funny. especially when its a bed they made themselves.

and the thing about it is? i like myself. my friends like me. my family loves me. and its become so much easier to speak when i allow myself to to just be me.

i spent my time

dear reader, i spent nearly all my free time this week working on my animal crossing island. the 3.0 update has been amazing, and i became a bellionaire.

so i have begun the process of really working to shape my island into what i wanted it to be.

i also finally recieved my christmas gift i bought myself. which was amiibos of the pastel animals i wanted on my very pink, very pastel island.

the villiagers i began with were ugly, though i am sure someone loves them. so i am slowly removing them one by one until all of my menagerie is cute pink, and fluffy.

on practice

i decided not to go to yoga school after all. in part because i actually think that its a scam and would do me literally no good what so ever, but also because i realized that working out is my hobby and i wanna keep it that way.

unlike writing, which is my job and i want to keep that that way too.

its literally insane how much work i have been getting done now that i am no longer on the clock app. i spend my days, reading, working out, writing, and learning. the perfect mixture for someone like me.

it has been such a good realization.

without all of the stress and pressure i am feeling so much more free.

on friendship during revolution

the truth is that there is a bloody and horrific revolution brewing in the wings of the world stage at this moment.

we’re tired.

we’re lonely.

we’re starving

we’re sick

and that is a pressure pot betting to boil over.

if you’ve been paying even one “eh” of attention this is not coming as a surprise to you. you are intensely aware of the war that is happening in minnesota. chicago. new york (and coming to a city near you). and that is fucking terrifying.

be not afraid.

you are not alone.

now more than ever it is worth calling a friend. reaching out to a person. your person. any person.

because the systems are purposely pushing us to the edge. they are hoping to incite the incident.

Buy Hues a Tea

i know your afraid. that you worry you aren’t doing enough. thinking that you don’t deserve to live. to go out. to laugh. there is too much hatred in the world, too many people dying. why am i allowed to have joy?

because its resistance.

your joy is their kryptonite.

and guess what? you don’t need to do anything to earn it either.

you can go bowling, even if the bombs are dropping.

you can sing even as the bullets do too.

because life is still happening. it must has to keep happening.

if life stopped because of tragedy then there is ho hope.

nothing to look forward too.

so— go see a movie with your friend

wave to your neighbor on your hot girl walk.

anyway.

that’s what’s been sitting with me this week.

Edit: speaking of spending time with friends. My bestie got these for me. the pink one smells amazing

weekly reads

Glint— Raven Kennedy

Guiltless Pleasures

When I Realized I Had Good Pussy

Someone once asked me, “when did you realize you had good pussy…

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2 months ago · 787 likes · 31 comments · symone says

The Girls Are Not Okay

Men Are Using Instagram as Surveillance

I recently saw a TikTok where someone said they knew a man who would stop dating a woman he met in real life if her Instagram “wasn’t popping…

Read more

4 months ago · 358 likes · 52 comments · Catherine

Savior’s Substack

Let's Talk About Genital Preferences

In tandem with this piece, please go read “Big Scary Penises” which is available to my subscribers or as a one-time purchase on Payhip.Savior’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber…

Read more

a year ago · 1284 likes · 83 comments · Savior

Craft with Kat

How My Agent and I Sold My Book

I signed with my agent in 2019, but we didn’t sell my first book until 2024. This week, in a guest post for Sub Club, I wrote about what those five years looked like on a writing and business level…

Read more

a year ago · 26 likes · 21 comments · Kat Lewis

Misfits & Daydreamers

A Guide to Revisions

Note: I wrote this post in 2017 as part of a Misfits & Daydreamers newsletter! You can read that original post here, or scroll down to read it all below!This newsletter exists thanks to readers like YOU! To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber…

Read more

4 years ago · 30 likes · Susan Dennard

The Feminology Data & Research Report

Fear of Being Seen: The Witch Wound and How to Heal It

Let us begin with the truth: visibility is not neutral. For Black women, queer women, and those who carry ancestral memory in their bones, being seen has never been safe. It has been a site of violence, a trigger for exile, a portal to punishment. The fear of being seen is not a flaw it is a wound. And like all wounds, it carries history, intelligence, and the possibility of healing…

Read more

7 months ago · 1934 likes · 151 comments · Otissia Lynette

The Crypt Ledger

How to Write a Horror Story (That Actually Scares People)

Doing what I do, one of the questions I get asked most is: How do I write a horror story that’s actually scary? And not one that’s creepy or gross. But the kind of scary that will make the reader smack the book shut, sit in haunting silence and listen to their home creak while the terror festers all around them…

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7 months ago · 711 likes · 47 comments · The Horror Scriptorium

Dave Kang's Octopus Life

Ikigai Ruined My Life

If you’ve done any kind of work on yourself, you have likely come across Ikigai. It’s a Venn diagram with concentric circles that supposedly help you figure out your “Ikigai”, which can be translated a few different ways depending who you ask, but it roughly translates to “life meaning”, “life purpose”, or “reason for being…

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2 years ago · 1649 likes · 354 comments · Dave Kang

HOT PURSUIT OF PLEASURE

why do you want to be the hottest girl in the grocery store?

‘It’s okay to just admit that you’re jealous of me…

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a year ago · 888 likes · 20 comments · Ismene Ormonde

i-D

Your Taste Should be Private

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3 months ago · 1140 likes · 25 comments · Nicolaia Rips

E. K. Carlisle

The most boring influencer on TikTok

Excuse the clickbait title, which is not meant to be a mean comment on Jemima Grace’s personality (of which I know nothing). And lots of people seem to find her content engaging. However, for me it can only ever be boring…

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3 months ago · 276 likes · 24 comments · E. K. Carlisle

Spit It Out!

You're Not White-Passing...You're White.

COLOREDS ONLY…

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a year ago · 1079 likes · 59 comments · Carma

weekly watches

Dracula: a love tale

This shit is immaculate. no notes.

Peppa Pig

this has been my go to for overstimulation this week. and i got this sit ass reaction image when i paused.

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weekly listens

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writing sneak peek

Achirres’ presence hit her all at once—towering and sunlit, like some ancient statue coming to life. Those glacier-blue eyes locked onto hers, a lazy and easy smile across his lips. He held her gaze but saw straight through her, past her skin and bones to something deeper. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the rest of the sky, but the sun peaking through the storm clouds kissed the edges of his form. That same sun had kissed its skin leaving smatterings of freckles across the exposed flesh giving this monster a boyish charm.

To Seek. To Find.
hues

chapter 6: in which we take a short break

foxglove jamjar was awakened by the feeling of snow falling on her face despite the fact that it was the middle of summer. the water had crystallized on her skin, freezing her to the ground below her, which cracked and stung as she forced her stiff muscles to pull her body up from the ground. she heard laughter coming from behind her and she turned to see whom it was coming from.

around a fire foxglove witnessed the tongue and libations giggling, eating something steaming from wooden bowls. the tongue and libations were wrapped snugly fur blankets, their spoons scraped against the bottom of the bowls. the firelight cast eerie shadows on their faces, emphasizing their otherworldly features.

“well, look who’s finally awake,” the tongue said dryly, not pausing in their eating. their voices sounded more hollow, each word echoing in her chest sending shivers down foxglove’s spine.

libations looked up, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “join us, foxglove. we’ve saved you some stew,” they said, gesturing to an untouched bowl resting on a nearby rock.

foxglove approached cautiously, the heat from the fire a welcome relief against her chilled skin. in her hand she gripped the chalice. she took a seat across from the two spirits, placing the chalice by her side. as she reached for the bowl, she noticed the contents: a thick, hearty stew, its aroma rich and enticing despite the peculiar circumstances.

she glanced at the tongue and libations, their expressions unreadable. “what is this?” she asked, her voice cracking from the cold and disuse.

“food, of course,” the tongue replied, smirking. “you must be hungry after your little nap.”

libations nodded in agreement. “eat up, foxglove. it’s rabbit stew. foxes love rabbits don’t they? you’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

hesitant but driven by hunger, foxglove took a spoonful of the stew. the warmth spread through her body, revitalizing her. she felt her muscles relax, the icy stiffness melting away.

“why was it snowing?” foxglove asked between bites, still wary but grateful for the warmth. the stew was delicious.

“ah, that,” the tongue said, waving a hand dismissively. “just a little trick of libations. you’ll need to cool off before the next part of your journey.”

libations leaned in, their voice a whisper. “there’s more to this world than meets the eye, foxglove. you’re only just beginning to see.”

foxglove’s curiosity was piqued despite her wariness. “what do you mean?”

the tongue’s grin widened. “you’ll be meeting our younger siblings soon. white candle will be calling soon . for now, rest and regain your strength.”

foxglove finished the stew, feeling the last remnants of cold dissipate. she knew she couldn’t trust the tongue and libations entirely, but for now, their hospitality was a lifeline in the strange and unpredictable landscape she found herself in.

libations stood and gathered the empty bowls and pot and walked over to the reflective lake to wash them.

“isn’t she scared of the ferals?” foxglove asked, snuggling deeper into the furs that the spirits had provided.

“no,” the tongue said coldly, “they are afraid of her. libations is the most unpredictable of my siblings. she is gentle and loving with an incredible depth, but under the right conditions she is like a reckless and vicious storm. her venom can be all consuming, and break down anything in her path.”

“that’s a lovely compliment, brother,” libations giggled as she came up behind her older brother.

“only the best for you,” the tongue smiled softly, looking over their shoulder. libations grinned and took a seat next to him by the fire and the tongue turned his gaze up to the sky as she had conjured it.

“are you the most dangerous?” foxglove queried sleepily over the flames.

“oh no, “ libations said, looking over at the tired but bundled human girl, “that would be white candle. while flames may be chaotic, they are consistent, and very very powerful,” libations manifested some leaves into her hand, and tossed them onto the fire causing it to crackle and smoke, “nothing purges like fire.”

this week was a literal murder.

i wish that I could write something that was more positive but things have gotten so crazy that all i can seem to think about is the way that the government is speed running fascism and geocide. It’s a terrifying model that is treating all humans like cattle. Minneapolis is setting a historical and international precedent and i think we all need to follow it.

there have been so many conversations about what we are supposed to do. that not everyone belongs in the front line. hell i even wrote an article about it back in 2025.

i’ll place it here if you want to read it. the truth is that its not that articulate but could be a good place for you to start in regards to understanding what you role in the resistance is.

this week

was a big week for elmo. thanks to tiktok collaborating with fascism, i have decided to delete and remove all of my videos (save for one) from the account. one of the major changes to their terms of service allowed for them to have coownership of any of the content that is posted on there. Honestly this gave me the heebie-jeebies enough to remove it all. as soon as i did so i immediately got ads that were ai generated, and saw the post about the white house official using ai to change the look on a woman’s face who was being detained by ICE for “domestic terrorism” which in this case was simply protesting. which is her legal right.

my fear was that they would use my likeness, and the likeness of thousands of other creators to create propaganda that was in support of this false governement. especially since they were removing crack downs on generative ai. i just don’t think that i can allow myself to witness that occur. like cosigning the possibility was too much for me. I am of course, currently looking for an alternative way to post my materials.

i want to still share, but how can i do that without using my face.

edit: I have deleted the app. #freepalestine

small joys

this weeks small joys connect to the snow storm that has hit the east coast.

i wanted to build a snowman, but i have bronchitis

another fun thing from this week was being able to sit down and crochet a bit. it has been awhile since i have felt like i had that time to do that.

crazy how much things change.

on practice

my therapist recommended that i make small goals and use those as my anchors for dopamine. that way the bar is being moved horizontally instead of vertically.

i am resistant.

but we will see what happens.

my first small goal is to follow my weekly schedule.

gotta create consistency somewhere.

on the role the artist plays in a civil war

which is actually was has been circumnavigating around the point in my mind.

what is my role? how do i show up for a world so injured. i have limits. time, energy, ability. i can shoot, and i can run, and i can organize. but im not a good leader. (as in leading people to battle). but i am a good artist.

therein lies my issue. yes, there is a place for artists in teh revolution. in fact, we are the ones who will rebuild society when the dust clears. but it is already so hard to show up to create. it is already so difficult to allow our work to be made and to speak because society has told us that its not a real job. that its a waste of time. that it is playing.

and part of me wants to say. so what if it is play? is there not room for joy in the resistance. who cares if it seems lazy. is rest not retaliation. these conversations are still being had. i know im not alone. i’ve seen other artists also say that they feel silly creating when they should be fighting. when they should be rallying.

but isnt the beauty of that creative process the dialectics it holds. it is silly, but we need silly. there is a war going on, but we need to laugh. yes people are dying, but children still need to see art. and you words give people a place to rest. and even when bombs are falling, children need bedtime stories. arguably they need them more then. fuck, the adults need them.

there is a place for the art. your art. it can be on badges, and flags. in newspapers, and stickers. the divine inspiration another needs to pick up their weapon and rise again. the song you make is the background music to cover the bullets and destroy the barricades and keep the front line moving.

it is so necessary. even if we can’t see it. even if it seems hidden, or false.

because that’s what art is. a hidden secret language of feelings. expression given physicality, there to remind us that we are human. that we are something. that when the sun rises and sets on the battlefield that does not mean we are ending, but that we have made it to another day. only art (your art) can do that.

they say that the smalls drops in the bucket still make waves. that even the tiniest of molecules, of moments can shift the tides. and here’s the thing. i know that you are bigger than you believe you are. but while you’re still playing small, you need to remember that you are that drop. that your work no matter how insignificant or unimportant you label it was made to create that ripple, which will meet all of the other ripples formed from tiny drops until final we have a tidal wave that will cleanse and purify the evils of fascism from our lives.

you did that.

you do that.

so make the fucking art.

anyway. that’s what’s been sitting with me this week.

weekly reads

Gild— Raven Kennedy

finally finished this. i also bought the sequel and its follow up.

Sisipho Mbuli

What does it mean to move through life as a woman who is admired, desired, but never kept?

I Want to Be Loved…

Read more

a year ago · 9787 likes · 463 comments · Sisipho Mbuli

CLOSE UPS

On Overcoming the Fear of Being Seen

At twenty-three years old, I went into hibernation. As a film student, my life was governed by social media. Instagram was as equally competitive as it was cathartic - an exchange of ideas, a place for creative output, an indicator of beauty. Social media was encouraged as a means of getting ahead, a secret pathway up the ladder of success. I directed m…

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a year ago · 2667 likes · 111 comments · CR

The Content Girl

Getting comfortable with bothering people

Hi, if you’re new here, I’m Ellen, and I’m in the early days on my freelance journey…

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a year ago · 2795 likes · 71 comments · Ellen

The 25 Reset

I’ve protected my peace so much, I’ve accidentally made myself boring.

I’ve protected my peace so much, I’ve accidentally made myself boring…

Read more

8 months ago · 2398 likes · 99 comments · Niamh Duffy

weekly watches

Cosmic Princess Kaguya

My Hero Academia

i made this desktop of bakugo. <3

Love through a prism

Singles Inferno

weekly listens

writing sneak peek

I was angry. I walked over to the door, my night shirt brushing my calves. I jumped up gripping the top of the door frame and pulled my bare feet up to the door. I gave a little hop, and whispered a spell of impact. The spell whirled behind me and gave me a little push on my back adding force to my collision with the door. I hated my morning routine being interrupted by strange visitors that come in through windows, or by a chair (a now broken chair) being jammed under my bedroom door. Things like that have been happening with far too much frequency lately. The persistence of signs from the universe was becoming impossible to ignore. If you asked me, or my mother, it was rude for magical destiny to just blow in and mess up your house. And this had been the 55th unusual visitation over the past three months or so.

To Seeking. To Finding.
hues

chapter 5: in which we learn what gratitude means

foxglove jamjar’s tongue felt huge in her dry tacky mouth as libations pressed a map into her hands.

“i’ve marked the place on the map for you,” libations said, with a full teeth smile, “the chalice is behind a puzzle that most people would be familiar with. after you solve the puzzle you’ll acquire the chalice. please return chalice to me without during.”

foxglove took a deep breath in and out to prepare themselves as they examined the map. they looked it over, and noticed that there were several chalices marked. one chalice closer to the opening of the lake, and that the other three seemed to be clustered more towards the middle. it made her nervous to think about the monsters in the lake which according to libations would eat anything. however, here foxglove steeled her soul in spite of this. it was clear that death awaited her either way but she had faith in her underwater speed and skill.

foxglove committed the furthest chalice location to her mind. determining that libations would more than likely place the correct chalice puzzle at the farthest point. this was not uncommon for spirits to go. they were quite tricky.

she stripped down to her sports bra and boxers before approaching the lake. the waters of the lake were incredibly still, and yet seemed to be brimming with life. foxglove glanced down into the waters but found the surface of the lake to be like a mirror reflecting back on her appearance.

foxglove took in her visage. she was covered in soot and dust from the caves collapse, which was on top of the last month’s worth of grime from living on the meridian bank. her thick locs needed a retwist, and stuck up and out like the tops of palm trees. the bags under her eyes were heavy, and the blue of them seemed dull in the reflection. she smiled to encourage herself, and decided that once she had completed this trial she would give herself a nice spa day with the last of her geld at the public bath downtown. she deserved it.

with that, foxglove took in a deep, deep breath and drove into the mirror lake. foxglove opened her eyes once she was under the surface. foxglove had expected a deep lake, but not the endless deepeness they now felt and saw below their feet. so deep that the bottom was a shroud of blackness. instinct told her that the lake’s predators would find their way toward her from there. so she made a note to check below her often. foxglove had also expected to find at least some earth below the surface to hold up the massive trees visible on the shore. instead, they found the roots free floating and tangled with ruins covered in pictographs. foxglove felt small amongst the vastness.

she shook her head and pushed faster toward. she had maybe half a minute left to get where she was going and solve the puzzle waiting there for her. she glanced toward the bottom of the lake and saw a strange glow pulsating like a heart below her. foxglove’s heart stirred with shock as the light seemed to be approaching her rapidly, and she stroked faster. she willed strength in her arms to propel her faster toward the ruin puzzle that had just come into view.

the puzzle stone cube with glass walls. it was held up by the trees roots which had wrapped around the strange casing like a hammock. each glass wall had a cut out in the center. the one that foxglove could see the most was a square. from the bottom of the roots hung four large stone shapes by rope: a square, a circle, a star, and a heart. foxglove deduced that the other three shapes must match the other holes in the glass. inside the cube sat a glowing golden chalice. its bright light stood out amongst the deep colors of the stone and the wood.

that is when foxglove heard the sound of rushing water. they glanced toward the sound and saw the glowing pulsing light rapidly approaching her. but more than a light it was the glowing dorsal spine of a merperson. it was a grinning eyeless monster, grinning sharp angular teeth as it began to close in on her.

foxglove almost screamed but remembered they would die if they did. they hurried to the roots of the cube and began to climb as quickly as they could. wrapping their arms and legs around the tree trunk as much as they could and rapidly ascended toward the surface.

and just as they had made it two feet above the lake’s surface the lake monster struck out toward them. foxglove watched as it came a foot above the surface, its face pushing against the surface tension of the lake and found itself forced back beneath the water from a rubberlike invisible barrier. the surface wobbled just a moment before becoming mirror-like again. foxglove took the opportunity to climb a little higher.

elsewhere, libations and the tongue were having a cup of hot cocoa.

“it sounds like she’s escaped her first attack,” the tongue said casually.

“that means she’s probably realized that the ferals can’t leave the lake,” libations commented while taking a sip of her drink. she burned her tongue because it was too hot, and spent the next several minutes fanning her tongue.

“i wonder if she’ll be able to handle your soul’s manifestation,” the tongue wondered, “you’ve always been quite vicious underneath the kindness.”

libations gave the tongue a knowing look and glanced out toward the lake, “foxglove is the right one. i know she will be one of the few to meet salt.”

foxglove’s fingers were starting to give, and she was scared to go beneath the surface of the lake. she couldn’t tell if the creature had left, had swam back to the bottom, or what if it had gotten backup? the thought made her tighten her grip against the bark hard enough to cut into her fingers. the sting of which gave a pump of blood throughout her body waking up slightly her legs that had fallen asleep.

foxglove felt sick when she thought of the monster’s speed, but reckoned that the puzzle was just below. she knew the moment she breached the surface the monster would begin making its way back. she could never hope to outrun it, but she maybe could outsmart it. it would depend on her luck but if she could get under the surface and complete one part of the puzzle, then run up the trunk maybe she could get the chalice.

so, she took a deep breath and let go of the tree. the cool water was refreshing on her worn and tired limbs. foxglove immediately opened her eyes and checked around for the feral. she noted that its glow had drifted back down toward the bottom of the lake but not completely. she could still make out its faint beating, she also noted it had reversed its direction.

quickly, she swam to the square stone hanging from the roots. the stone was large and heavy, but with effort she managed to hoist it up and into its respective slot. the stone slid in and fell to the otherside of the glass wall. it hit the bottom of the glass case, and the glass did not break. foxglove did not have time to celebrate as two things happened simultaneously.

first, the roots of the tree gave a little and the cube lowered and tilted causing the chalice to slide forward ever so slightly. secondly, foxglove saw from her peripheral the approaching glow of the feral. foxglove swam backwards and narrowly avoided being bitten.

she swam evading the gnashing of the monster’s teeth as much as she could. it grabbed her and she wiggled free using as much of her strength as possible to kick it away from her. she succeeded in sending the monster backwards and propelling herself towards the tree’s roots. she clamored up once again narrowly escaping the monster as the surface pushed it back.

foxglove held herself tightly to the trunk, and weeped at how close she had been to death. she thought about how the extra weight of the stone within the case had caused it to shift within the roots. more than likely it would fall, if she added any more weight to it. so, she realized she would need to devise a more clever scheme.

after a long rest, foxglove allowed herself to slip down the trunk and into the water. she noted that once again the feral had drifted back down towards the bottom, and she used her few minutes of time to very hurriedly place two more of the stone shapes within the case and watched as the roots loosened even further until they were barely holding the case.

right on cue, the feral was on her. anticipating this foxglove swam around and through the circle hole in the case grabbing the glowing chalice. the feral followed her into the case, a mistake they both realized as the added weight shook the glass case loose from the roots, and it began to rapidly sink towards the bottom. this thought was something that foxglove had considered. using the momentum of the fall and the feral merman’s confusion to her advantage she kicked it in the head and into the wall of the case. this wounded the monster and darkened the water with blood. foxglove swam out the opening, their heart pounding as the case had just barely entered the black water where other monsters were surely waiting. foxglove pulled at the cord holding the circular stone plug onto the case, and maneuvered it to allow for gravity to shove it into its hole.

foxglove was panicked with hey lungs and limbs burning, but she pushed on. using the last moments of her strength to pull themselves up onto the shore. black spots crowded into their vision, and they could barely make out the multiple tension bubbles coming after her below the surface. safe for a moment, she allowed sleep to overcome her.

libations and the tongue looked up from their hot cocoa, unbothered by the state of their soon-to- be master. once foxglove had awoken they would feed her, and allow her to use one of the many blankets that they had summoned to keep themselves warm by the fire. libations’ realm though beautiful had always waxed cold, and though the sibling spirits held a brief thought that perhaps foxglove would be cold. neither moved to bring her closer to the fire. if she had wanted to rest by the warmth, she would have found her way to their picnic with the remainder of her muster.

libations did however take to warming up some rabbit she had caught over the flames. she couldn’t let the child starve after all.

Today’s morning drink is water. Make sure you’re staying hydrated and using come carmex on those lips. Can’t have them chapping off before spring gets here.

Am I the only one that thinks its absolutely vitrol that the month of love is during one of the coldest months of the year? I know some places are starting to warm up, but in these mountain basins it is still eerily chilly.

February is a great time to focus on you, especially if you have unhealthy patterns around love. Cherubs are in the air, Fate and Love are spread generously thin and Scorpio Babies are being made everywhere.

Which means that just like October, February is a great time to start evaluating how it is we are showing up for ourselves. Make sure to dig deep, because the Lunar New Year is this month on February 17th! That’s the perfect time to make the resolutions we put off last month!

My resolution will show up in this month’s Special Newsletter. So consider becoming a paid subscriber to catch that.

Prompts:

1. What pattern in my life feels the heaviest to carry right now?

2. Where did this pattern begin, and what was I trying to protect myself from?

3. What payoff (even a subtle one) do I get from keeping this pattern alive?

4. What emotion appears right before I repeat the pattern?

5. What would happen if I chose differently in that moment?

6. How do my current patterns echo my past environments or relationships?

7. What belief keeps this pattern in motion?

8. What belief would break it?

9. What is the cost of continuing this pattern for another year?

10. Who am I afraid of becoming if I break this pattern?

11. Who do I become if I don’t?

12. What is one micro-shift that could interrupt the pattern today?

13. What does my body feel right before the pattern activates?

14. If this pattern could speak, what would it say it’s trying to do for me?

15. What boundary could disrupt this cycle?

16. What truth have I been avoiding that would break this pattern instantly?

17. Who around me reinforces this pattern—intentionally or not?

18. Who supports my desire to evolve?

19. What is the gentlest way I can challenge myself right now?

20. What identity did this pattern help me uphold?

21. What identity is asking to take its place?

22. What does freedom from this pattern actually look like in my daily life?

23. What emotions will I need to face to move beyond the cycle?

24. What new behavior would future-me be proud of?

25. What am I afraid will happen if I stop overexplaining, over-giving, or overworking?

26. What repetition in my life is no longer aligned with who I’m becoming?

27. What is one bold boundary or action that would break this cycle with clarity?

28. What promise can I make to myself as I release this pattern?
    

Keep an eye out for some of my personal responses of these prompts coming to your inbox in February?

Tell me neighbor, How did you spend your month of love? What was you Lunar New Year resolution?

See you tomorrow!

Hues

this week was enlightening.

i learned quite a bit as i have navigated my daily life.

some days the consistency feels boring to me. like i’m a rat in a race, or a minotaur in a maze. waking up daily, and counting the leaves on the hedges, or the cheese in my bowl in order to stay sane. i often ask who would want to read about this?

but dear reader, this is by design. the monotony is leading toward the madness of genius but it only works if you stick to it. if you allow the rhythm to swell and build. the inspiration will burst through and flood all of your synapses.

i’m in the swell at the moment. daily: wake up, brush my teeth, shower, skin care, breakfast, take care of my mom, lunch, work, dinner, work, journal, work out, read, sleep. i move from one space in my enrichment enclosure to the next. the momentum hidden beneath them twitching of my skin wrapped around my muscles poised to pounce when the plot finally comes to me. the momentum encased deep writhing. moving without moving. progress promised purposely posed to be perceived as being paused.

but i’m not paused. i’m in a state of instant transmission, riding the swell.

on top of that i’m fighting the bronchitis still. i long for the days where i could sleep when i was sick, but here we are.

this week

it was my moms birthday so i hung out with her and my auntie came to visit. this is in part because i was supposed to be in a sleep study this week because conditionally speaking all of 2025 last year i didn’t sleep well. specifically i was waking up extremely thirsty like 5-6 times a night and drinking nearly a gallon of water between those times. however, it seems to be from cortisol being raised.

not being surprising as a cancer moon that when i am stressed my sleep and dreams begin whiling out.

but that aside, my mom turned 72! everyone say Happy birthday Momma Pat! my mom has always been my biggest supporter and honestly i want to be able to help her the way that she helped me. i mean not just being a mom, once i was an adult my mom has gone above and beyond to support me as a child and a content creator. its hard to find someone like that.

my momma is a special lady. despite being a boomer she can apologize and love you regardless of your gender or sexuality, and she has offered to adopt all of my substack readers who need some loving! <3 lemme know if you need a pseudomom in the comments.

i also was blessed with my loading dose of dupixent this week. that shit hurt, but my skin is grateful and probably so are my lungs.

i also finally got back to working out this week after a week of nothing. i was was feeling so much like dookie.

small joys

playing Uno with my momma this week was super fun. she swears she hates cartoons and hates games but somehow when they are put on the tv or table she loses herself in them. and she’s super good at the games too. she literally beat me and bens butts.

another small joy this week was getting to organize and better open up my bedroom. its been really crowded trying to fit my bedroom and office in one space since moving into my moms house.

on practice

i already mentioned that i kind of sucked this week or so on sticking to my yoga and work outs. i’ve just been so sick. but i have diligently journaled every day, don my sudoku and read my book. so i think that is definitely worth celebrating.

on ice and the world being on fire

i’m scared of being deported. i’m also scared of being pulled away from my family.

while i can pass the paper bag test, i am still not white passing. i’m still mixed. i’m still not a desirable even if i did nlook like them. and what’s crazy is that some times my fear takes over and i want to look like them.

straight blond hair. blue eyes. heterosexual hyperfeminine tradwife.

safe. until its just the women their after.

sometimes i wish i was a man. same appearance as above, but a man.

i don’t want to be pulled away from my family. even though they’d have to pull me from the vice grip of my loved ones. even though my family looks like them, they aren’t them.

and here’s the thing.

i have never even when i was was at my lowest of the lows wanted desire to look like them.

i love my tan skin. i love my green eyes that shift in the light. the dark brown of my hair, and the way it tightly coils around my round face and wide nose. even wider hips. and a big head just like my ancestors.

i have never desired to be anything but who i am. i am always myself.

but the way that everything is exploding and catching the bystanders with the stays scares me.

unlocks something carnal in me.

its like: what can i do? what should i do?

i can’t just keep doing this

* wild gestures at crumbled pages covered in pen ink *

can i?

they say that everyone has a role in the revolutions. so what’s mine?

storyteller? anarchist? archive?

i love talking about policy, even have a few ideas for it myself. but the politics—this game that is being played with the lives of real people frightens me. disgusts me.

and its the fact that there are humans that inhale oxygen and exhale hatred. who love the feeling of blood on their hands. No good soldier enjoys that feeling. take it from a martian. a good man is repulsed by blood, and death, and vestigial gore. that’s why a good man is dangerous. because a good man knows what it takes, is willing to do it, but chooses peace.

these men dressed in tachgear, blinding civilians and killing mothers? they aren’t good men.

they serve a tyrant. a false prophet. evil dressed up as god.

and while their lapping up his cum to call him king in hopes of a crown themselves.

we will remember. their names. their faces. their families.

and their actions.

we will be planning. coalescing in our communities to build something better.

even if we’re scared.

we cannot take knee to a false king.

we cannot trade out humanity for safety.

the world is on fire.

the ice that should be cooling it off is made of gasoline.

and the only thing that stands between it and the children?

its us.

terrifying, right?

anyway…that’s what’s been eating me this week.

weekly reads

Gild— Raven Kennedy

i haven’t gotten all the way through this one yet, but it and its next two sequels are the book club reads for the month of february. as much as i love king midas (the folklore) this is…hmm

future/proof

If you have multiple interests, do not waste the next 2-3 years

Society made you think that having multiple interests was a weakness…

Read more

3 months ago · 3991 likes · 154 comments · DAN KOE

Amie’s Substack

I don't want a job

There is no greater crime in our culture than to not want to work…

Read more

a year ago · 11659 likes · 1032 comments · Amie McNee

a quiet corner

fanfiction is literature

in honor of my hero academia ending (which is, and has been, an immense part of my life), i wanted to talk about the elephant in the room. fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on who you ask — i’m a nerd. i read and write fanfiction. i love anime, books, comics, and movies with a passion that borders on religious. since i was seven, i’ve been deep …

Read more

6 months ago · 625 likes · 25 comments · a quiet corner

GIRLS

You Don't Need To Document Everything

I’m sure by now you’ve seen this video of Paris on New Year’s Eve, where everyone is so busy filming the countdown and fireworks on their phones that they forget to experience them. It’s surreal…

Read more

2 years ago · 15286 likes · 447 comments · Freya India

weekly watches

They Cloned Tyrone— Netflix

This movie is a personal love of mine. my mom asked to watch it for her birthday. and honestly it didn’t even feel like two hours. it just flew slew flex by.

Im not proud to admit i did a deep dive on a familiar favorite and childhood watch Sister Wives this weekend. it was background filler, and honestly it answered a good portion of my questions but tbh i need to get out of the habit of watching shit i do not care about.

i’ve been on a journey this week, and it brought me back to a personal favorite reaction channel. obesetobeast. I checked out the featured influencers substack too. it was interesting but not my cup of tea. i didn’t really have any thougths about this video besides that there are more important things to be talkjing about to be honest. felt like a waste of time.

i’m still working on my hero academy right now. but, lemme know if ya’ll have any fun suggestions for quick animes or shows to watch

some other watches from this week

weekly listens

writing sneak peek

excerpt from my current novel:

Tattoos coiled around his forearms and climbed the curve of its neck, an intricate dance of Celtic knots interwoven with irezumi-style storm clouds. The knots, endless and deliberate, flowed seamlessly into the dense, curling forms of clouds that seemed to shift and roil under the café’s dim lighting. Lightning bolts streaked through the designs, their sharp edges adding a dynamic energy that made the ink feel alive. Across its neck, the storm clouds faded into softer details, blending with the natural contours of its throat.

Y/N P0V sneak peak

What happened in the meeting:

Eamon: Thank you all for joining us at this meeting. We are really hoping to get into the nitty gritty of the culture here at New Life Publishing. As you all have probably heard we are moving in a new direction with the company. We have notices that due to the grind and demand of the industry we are in we have all in many ways lost our sense of identity and self. So, we are going to be implementing some changes that should bring back spark we all had for publishing. Rat, one of our HR reps will be taking over the meeting from here. Listen closely everyone.

Rat: Hi everyone! Many of you have already met me, but some of you have maybe dealt with one of our other HR reps or the CHRO. But, my name Rat and today we will be talking about the culture of individuality.

The first thing that we will be expecting each department head to do for themselves and the others in their departments is to choose a moniker that they would like to go by in their worklife. While outside of work we do not expect you to use this moniker, we have noticed that productivity and satisfaction has increase amongst those in the work place who have implemented these “names” already.

Yes, Y/N

Y/n: hi, im the head of finance. This seems a little ridiculous. Weren’t these names just a running joke around the office, from Y/N in editing.

Rat: Right. Thank you Y/n–head of finance. I can understand why you might be feeling that way. And while Hues–hues wave please– ah there we are, did start this process as a joke,the C-suite has noticed that those who use these names have a healthier work place culture which has resulted in more productivity. Yes, Badboy rough around the edges co-head of editing?

Badboy rough around the edges cohead of editing: Right, so, how do we pick this moniker? All of you were giving one by Hues?

Crimson: I didn’t. I got my name from Becky. And I love it. Crimson is just so /chic/.

Rat: Correct. One way for you all to get this moniker is by visiting Hues, who will be temporary made head of the naming department, But–

Hues: wait, uhm, what?

Eamon: Hues..we can talk after.

Hues: I’d rather–

Rat: But! We strongly encourage you to talk amongst your peers or select a name yourself. Hues will get us an appointment calendar and we can have you all set up appointments.

Hues: stunned

Rat: Moving on. There will be no more flirtation or romance allowed in the office during office hours it is completely inappoarpriate and leaves the company open to law suits– fade out

see you soon,
hues

the editor and the reader sat cozy in the editor’s office. the reader had curled up next to the ever-burning fire and was sleepily watching as the editor skimmed through some old manuscripts. she had probably read that particular novella a hundred times already. the editor had already deemed it completely perfect and ready for print. so, she stimmed with the pages as an attempt at hiding her nervous glancing at the clock on her desk.

the reader was lounging across the bear skin rug, its legs curving into one another. its whiskers and the clear tape holding them onto their glowing fur glinting in the fire light. in one hand they held a glass of 50 proof pure artisan grape juice, and in the other they were scrolling on their spellphone. the reader and the editor were waiting for a visit from the writer.

it had been quite sometime since the three of them had been together. the writer had locked himself away in his apartment at the ego. the reader had visited him a few months back, but he had refused to allow himself to be seen and sent the reader away via dog. the reader was not very fond of dogs. nonetheless, the reader and the editor were delighted to receive the text message that the writer had finally finished his manuscript.

the writer was almost always late for his appointments and so when he stumbled in the door with a flurry of pages twenty-two minutes late, neither the reader nor the editor was shocked. in one hand, the writer carried a thick manuscript;the pages dropping as he rushed toward the desk, and in the other sloshed a vial of ink.

the reader was shocked at their older brother’s appearance. the writer’s body which had been originally white and stained black like the ink that he drank. he looked like a demonic shadow wobbling in front of the desk of his twin. the editor by contrast was a pristine white, her dicky collar pressed and her red tie tied in a perfect windsor. she smiled at her older brother, her eyes creasing generously to make up for her lack of mouth.

in truth, none of the functions really needed a mouth to speak at all. communication was provided by the universe, which would supply subtitles to whomever they were speaking.the reader had never met another function beyond their older siblings, though they assumed that all functions looked alike. they would all have the rounded squishy animal ear like antenna to portray their feelings. they’d all have the same beady little eyes, and soft velveteen bodies which ruffled out above their legs.

maybe they’d come in different colors, like how the writer had become black. or, they would all be like the reader and the editor–white and relant on accessories to help convey their identity. the writer had his pen before he’d changed that helped differentiate himself, the editor their collar and tie, but the reader? the reader had chosen the best identity of them all: a cat. to ensure no confusion of their identity as a cat, the reader had taped pipe cleaners to their face like whiskers, and created a tail from an old pillowcase.

“sorry, i’m late,” the writer burped, dropping the manuscript on the desk. he turned to wobble over to the pages he’d left in a trail behind him. he gathered the loose paper from the ground, and closed the office door. the writer turned again, and made way back to the editor’s desk where he unceremoniously shoved the pages back into the manuscript.

“were those even in the right order?” the editor bitched. she obviously knew they weren’t, and before the writer could even answer she set about reordering the pages.

“why ask, if you already know the answer,” the writer said, taking a swig from his bottle of ink. he waved his hand and conjured an emerald coloured bean bag chair. he sank into the sea of beans with a sigh.

“you’re so sloppy,” the editor said, narrowing her eyes at the black bodied form of the writer, “you could at least come to the meeting sober.”

“i’m sober,” the writer stated, and with the hand holding the ink gestured toward the reader, “reader, i’m sober i promise. i opened the ink on the way up here. and, it’s my first bottle.”

the reader sighed, “i mean, you can’t really expect the writer to take criticism sober, can you?”

“you are way too soft on him, “ the editor said, “you always left him as the exception.”

“he is the talent,” the reader shrugged, scratching the tape on the edge of their whiskers, “just let him cook.”

“see?” the editor seethed.

“see?” the writer chuckled.

“let’s just get on with this,” the editor said, finishing placing the final page back into proper order.

“sure! no problem,” the reader said, jumping onto the editor’s desk. they opened the leftmost drawer and pulled out a blanket. the jumped off the desk and pulled it over to the rug in front of the fireplace. they laid the blanket out neatly and circled a few times before curling up.

“what is this prelude drivel at the beginning?” the editor said, flipping through the pages scanning.

“just a little sprinkle sprinkle,” the writer said, hopping up and rushing over to snatch the manuscript from the editor’s hands.

“hey!” the editor whined, “how am i supposed to follow along?”

“what? you called it drivel, ” the writer said, voice thick with an emotion that the editor couldn’t quite place. the writer shuffled the top pages to the back, “you just start at the first chapter if you don’t like the interlude.”

“trying to get out of edits on the interlude?” the editor said, her left eye scrunching a bit to give the illusion of the right being raised, “ is it that bad?”

the writer laughed, “yes, my writing is so bad that i am lowering myself to get on your good side.” he handed the manuscript back to the editor.

“was that sarcasm?” she asked.

“you can’t tell?” the writer asked.

the editor thumbed through the manuscript.

“all done!” the reader announced on cue. they had rolled themselves up childishly in the blanket making the perfect purrito.

“aw,” the reader and the writer said in unison

“make sure to use a string voice as you read,” the reader snuggled in, and conjured up their teddy bear.

the editor took a deep breath, and began to read.

chapter 4: in which a foxglove jamjar is marked by the tongue

“i met an old wizard named igba, at the lowest point in his life. before he had been stripped of his honor, igba was a proud magi in his home village. when the white devil arrived, they burned their village and spent days hunting them in the woods. thus, he, and his children were shipped into slavery, and his grandchildren had been born into slavery. despite the harsh conditions, he and his family had eeked out a small moment of peace. however, this changed that morning when their captor had murdered his son in the fields,” foxglove began, “ ‘an example’, that even the most obedient and hard working were at the master’s mercy. and though. igba had been stripped of his tools when he had crossed the sea, but that did not mean his magic had left him. he had kept it hidden, a secret until tonight. so, he summoned his son’s three children to meet him deep within the forest that night. while he waited, igba took time to prepare. from the earth he made three effigies, one for the tongue, one for libations, and one for white candle.”

as foxglove spoke, the symbols on the pillar began to light up, “igba was at the lowest point in his life. the night he decided to murder his grandchildren. he could have said that he had been driven mad, but his heart was too sure of his decision. the magic he used was ancient from his own bloodline past onto his children. when they arrived he assigned them their positions; the oldest was the tongue, the middle child was libations, and the youngest was the white candle. he chanted over them before placing them in sacks and burning them alive. using his own body within the fire to bind their souls into their new spiritual forms.

it was not until many,many years later that these three miracles awoke for the first time. they awoke the new born child called emry, and together they served him as companions in life. emry, was their uncle’s great great great grandchild and the first male born since igba’s grandson. it was this that had brought them into awakening. they grew close and loved emry as their own brother, but soon the country fell to war. and with it emry found himself in battle. the miracles aided him they best they could against the unusual weapons the enemy held, but emry fell slane–his heart ripped out. behind, he left a daughter. the miracles grew afraid. and so, like their grandfather, they did the only thing they could. together they bound emry’s soul into the form of salt. and the four of them went into slumber. until now,” foxglove finished, opening their eyes.

the four pillars glowed even brighter, their light becoming blinding. the room shook violently.

“what’s happening?” foxglove yelled quickly headed toward the tongue.

“you have passed the test,” the tongue said, a boulder falling right beside him.

“we need to leave!” fj shouted, “let’s go!”

“i cannot leave this chamber until we have made our contract,” the tongue said.

“what?” foxglove said, “it can’t be taken care of outside!” foxglove aggressively gestured towards the exit. as she did so, a rock fell and blocked the entrance. foxglove screamed in frustration. “augh! we have to do something!”

“then make a contract with me,” the tongue said uninterested.

“okay! how do i do that?” foxglove shouted, they were panicked.

“do you know the words of binding?” the tongue asked.

“no!” foxglove shouted, “how could i possibly know the words of binding?!”

“no need to be terse, foxglove,” the tongue replied, “i will show you how to prepare a contract”

the rocks fell faster much to foxgloves dismay. “you know what?” she said, “ fuck this.” she turned on her heel to leave but found that the cave entrance had closed. she spun again on her heel and and glowed at the tongue. “you’re smiling? what is wrong with you!?”

“unfortunately, foxglove there is only one way for this to be settled,” the tongue said, the smile horrifying.

“to what? make a contract?” foxglove asked their voice more like a hiss.

“yes, now tell me. what are you willing to give me in return for helping you? what is your offer?”

“anything!” foxglove shouted as they ran closer to the tongue. shouting as the deprise began to fall more frequently. some come close to crushing her.

“anything?” the tongue asked. his hand being held out toward her. it glowed a inky black aura.

“yes! yes!” she begged, hurriedly shoving her hand into his.

“i will take your children’s first cries,” the tongue said as foxglove’s hand pushed through the viscosity of his magic. he gripped her hand tightly.

foxglove recoiled at the statement but her hand was stuck in the tongue’s grip.

the tongue’s aura grew, the gel-like substance coiling up foxglove’s arm like snakes. the tendrils sharpened leaning back and then lunged forward to stab into her arm. foxglove screamed and the cave’s crumbling ceased. the rocks suspended into thin air.

“those are my terms.” the tongue said.

“what does that mean? what an odd request, “ foxglove was panting, thick tears calling out of their eyes. she was bent over with sudsie saliva pooling out of their mouth; a reaction from her guts need to spill over.

“i have said what i meant. you have agreed to my statement,” he gestured toward the bloodied tattoos his magic left behind.

the tongue released foxglove’s hand, “now we will handle the transformation. no need for the words at this time.”

the tongue grabbed foxglove up by her stomach, her body limp like a dolls, “i command us to be lifted to the heavens.” and so, they were lifted toward the sky and out of the cave’s skylight.

the two were carried on the wind gently across the sky and toward where the tongue knew that libation awaited their arrival. he looked down and saw that foxglove fainted. feeling sorry, he commanded a cloud below him and allowed her to rest.

when foxglove regained consciousness, she found herself lakeside as the tongue sat sipping tea around a fire.

“ah, you’ve woken up,” the tongue said.

“she’s awake?” said the gentle voice of libation. she approached foxglove, her coily thick seafoam hair bounced around her like waves. her skin was the color of the ocean on the darkest of nights. libations’ footsteps were light and almost indistinguishable from the sound like energy she admitted. she wore a furred poncho with only a white shell covering her pubic mound. across her skin were the same white polyglyphs from the pillars in the cave. however, the most striking thing amongst her beauty were her red eyes that seemed to peek into one’s soul.

foxglove felt nervous. she noticed that despite libations’ friendlier nature. it seemed as though she exuded a more dangerous aura than the tongue.

“you!” foxglove snarled, shoving herself up off the ground. she pointed her finger at the tongue, “you tricked me!”

“i did ask you for clarification,” the tongue said, “it is not a trick if you agreed.”

“you are the worst!” foxglove shouted.

libations walked closer and sat down next to foxglove. libations leaned closer to her and said, “i heard from the tongue that you traded your first child’s cry. i wouldn’t worry about it too much. children have lots of cries.” she smiled, flashing a perfectly trained smile at foxglove.

relief washed over foxglove rather suddenly. afterall, libations did have a point. perhaps, it wasn’t such a big deal.

“now that you’re here, fj,” libations said, “shall we continue the test and learn how to bind the wills of the meirelleiues?”

foxglove sighed, “what if i just stopped here?”

fj turned to look at the spirit siblings, and found them both staring at her oddly. a heavy silence settled between them. the shadows under the tongue’s hood began to wriggle, and libations’ eyes began to glow intensely.

“what do you mean stop?” libations asked, her pleasant voice having transfigured into a multi tonal glitch.

foxglove laughed nervously, and rubbed her shoulder awkwardly, “ah, haha. i was just playing. of course i am ready to learn what you have to teach me, libations.”

in a blink the aura had cleansed and the two spirits were back to normal.

“great!” laughed libations, “let’s head over to the lake.”

the trio made their way over to a very still large lake that seemed to span into the horizon. the trees which had rooted in the lake were larger than any that foxglove had seen, and moss flung along the water’s top not daring to make a move.

“that’s a little eerie,” foxglove commented.

“yes,” libations’ agreed, “that is because the feral merpeople within its waters hunt based on the water’s movements”

“what?” foxglove looked at libations.

“yes, they cannot see or hear but they can feel the water rippling. they are ravenous and will eat anything. even the moss.” libations smiled.

“i’m going into the water aren’t i?” foxglove lamented. they contemplated killing themselves instead of completing the task at hand. at least then they would have control over the amount of pain.

“as if i would allow that to occur, “ the tongue said offhandedly.

foxglove’s eyes widened, and they swallowed.

“foxglove,” libations’ said, “ you are to enter the lake and find the chalice and return it to me. you will place them in order and then i will teach you the meaning of bending a will.”

“is there a time limit?” the tongue asked.

“no. the ferals will be more than enough of a task,” libations said with a giggle.

“you are always far too easy on them,” the tongue chastised.

foxglove’s heart sunk into her stomach. if this was easy, then what did hard look like? she did have a little bit of luck on her side. she had been the top and fastest swimmer in her elf scout troop.

this week has been filled with snot.

i have been sick sickity sick. i take care of my mom, so i took her to the hospital last week because she was also snotty and gross. they told her it was just sinusitis and sent her home with a nose spray. she’d already been sick for about a week and was mostly fine.

me, on the other hand?

i came home from the hospital and woke up with a full-blown upper respiratory infection. lol.

so i have spent the last few days writing and recording from quarantine in my room, surviving on medication and vibes. i am recovering now, thankfully, which meant i was able to leave the house on thursday to go to a gundam double feature with my mate—and it was awesome.

i love the gundam movies so much. giant robots with political themes? say less.

this week also included book club on sunday. it’s just me and my best friend, but we talked about mister magic and somehow always end up having the most expansive conversations about literature and meaning and life. sometimes i don’t know what to do with how lucky that feels.

small joys and quiet focus

a lot of my attention this week has been on building a routine, especially around yoga. yoga school starts next month, and i am so, so excited. like—deeply, sincerely excited. i am ready to add another mastery to my belt.

this week also brings the animal crossing update, which i genuinely cannot wait to play.

and yet.

despite all of this joy, i am absolutely, desperately craving pho. with every fiber of my being. however, i made a promise to myself to only eat out three times this year: my birthday, my anniversary, and my mate’s birthday. all from my own coin.

may cannot get here fast enough. your shapeless stardust of a narrator is ready for the noods.

i have also been working on finishing my crochet project—a skull sweater. i’ll share it when it’s done.

on writing (and why it’s hard)

i’ve been reflecting a lot this week on my role as a writer, and on what i think might be the biggest blockage to finishing my project.

at some point, i was told that the things you are meant to do will come to you easily.

this is not true.

at least—not for storytelling.

writing is supposed to be hard. anyone who tells you it’s easy is lying to you.

fine. i’ll admit it.

i hate writing.

yes, reader. you heard that correctly. me—the writer—hates writing.

i hate the way a blank page looks. so i fill it. then i hate the way the words sit, so i move them around. i try different voices. different themes. i change the characters. i play with white space. i flirt with grammar. all of the usual tricks to try and make the process more fun.

but it just isn’t.

to be clear, i’m not saying there is no joy in writing. for me, the joy lives in the reader—the way their eyes light up at good wordplay, or at the pacing of a story that lands just right. i would be lying if i didn’t also admit that i love when people are impressed. i love being impressive. mostly because i am very impressed with myself and often feel like no one notices how awesome i am.

still, none of that makes showing up to the page any easier.

and that’s not what they sell you.

authors teaching authors will tell you that it eventually becomes fun. that the work is brilliant and exciting. that if you just keep showing up, it will get easier. sometimes they’ll mention a bad day here or there, but they don’t linger on it. they’re trying to be encouraging. they know how easy it is to become disheartened.

so they handle you with kid gloves.

but the truth is this: writing is hard. it is frustrating and challenging, and there is often more anger and sadness in it than joy—because the joy comes at the end.

the hard part is getting the words on the page. and to do that, you have to be willing to get ugly. to get angry. to get dirty. you have to show up cigarette-stained and broken so the story can get out.

not because you want it to.

because it needs to.

the story doesn’t care what you want.

you weren’t chosen because you desired to be a writer. you are a writer because the story found you. without the story, there is no need for an author. and good stories are never clean. they demand that you show up in the sludge and the funk and the mess to tell them.

that’s the part no one tells you.

because it’s not easy to romanticize. because it could crush you. because it might turn you away from writing altogether.

so writers teaching writers become agents of the stories themselves, encouraging you to show up so the story can be born safely into the world.

and now, unfortunately, you are one too.

a story chooses its author because the author is strong enough to bear its truth. authors are not chosen to enjoy the story. we are chosen to harness it.

and that is no easy task.

anyway.

that’s what’s been sitting with me this week.

weekly reads

the starless sea– erin morgensten
i have been working through this book for little over a year and it is so difficult for me to get through. not because it’s bad but because it’s so good. i’ve never experienced a book that was structured quite like this before and it is honestly just so fascinating.

Pitch Your Novel

The Case of the Disappearing Author and Why You Probably Don’t Want a Six or Seven Figure Deal

Every author eventually loses her innocence, and I’m no exception…

Read more

6 months ago · 440 likes · 62 comments · Karin Gillespie

one cup of tea

the slow burn of becoming yourself

For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a quiet question inside me…

Read more

10 months ago · 48563 likes · 569 comments · janelle

The Narrative Thread

The Big Picture: Monetising Serial Fiction on Substack

Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t posted this week. The reason for this was that I ended up down a bit of a research rabbit hole after speaking to a friend and then reading a Substack post that sparked a bit of an internal debate…

Read more

a year ago · 223 likes · 50 comments · Megan Beth Davies

Badmouthing

Substack is a social media you cunt

It’s my first time experiencing the new year on substack and I gotta say I’m disappointed. I’ve been doing a massive subscribing cleanup, unsubscribing from newsletters I found underwhelming apart from a couple of articles because every single person is writing a 2025 ins and outs list, more stupid than the next…

Read more

a year ago · 6038 likes · 358 comments · Luciana Cole they/them

weekly watches

the thursday murder club
this movie follows a delightfully robust club of geriatrics who meet every thursday to solve cold cases. i expected it to be a run murder mystery, but it delves into the themes of endings, beginnings, finality, and humanity in a way that had me sobbing at my own mortality.

my hero academia
i am doing an emotional watch through of one of my favorite series as it finally comes to an end. all i have learned is that i am a bakugo katsuki stan, and that i too can be a hero. i wonder though–what does being a hero really mean.,

Writing Sneak Peak

an impact.
our first meeting was an impact.
a moment so cataclysmic that just for a second–a singular breath– everything froze.
the death, dust, and debris was suspended, cradled in the air like an offering to him as he came from the sky. blacked out clothes clinging to coiling muscles that bunched and braced for the bearings of boots to make contact with the earth. with how smoothly he landed, it was as if the earth had risen to meet him. his golden curls pulled back into braids coming to meet in the high pony tail of a warrior. in one of his half-gloved hands he held a grenade, in the other a gun. as he launched himself between me and the fanged beast that had just thrown me, his larimar eyes caught mine. anger blazed brightly there like the strike of plasmatic lightening that he had arrived on.

see you soon

hues

chapter 3: in which a deal is struck between heart and hearth

foxglove jamjar was in an unusual predicament. the puzzle before her was to translate images on the four pillars into any spoken language. the images on the first pillar began with an image of the world, followed by three human shapes around a simple fire. next was three lines stacked together, and some kind of wand. the final image of the first line of the pillar was a strange bowl shape—a flat line with an ovalled bottom— in the center a four pointed star.

looking at the second pillar fj saw the strange bowl repeated, and paired with a chalice on the second pillar. on the third pillar the chalice and bowl was seen next to a simple candle. the fourth, the previous three images were completed by the common symbol for salt.

“salt,” fj muttered to herself, and witnessed as the fourth pillar shimmered with the blue light, illuminating the symbol for salt all over the pillar.

fj gasped with surprise, and let out a laugh, “ahah! i got one!”

“you got one, you can get the other three,” the tongue responded, “ two and one half hours left.”

fj did a little fist pump in the air and set to comparing the pillars again. they were thankful for some of her classical education from common core in childhood. fj thought about what the tongue had said about the other three. fj could only assume they meant the other repeated symbols that had been with salt. that reminded her how the reader had told her that there were four spiritual contracts to make.

fj realized then they had two of the four names and two of the four characters of these pillars. so, they sat in the middle of the platform and meditated. they allowed peace to wash over her

meditation was fj’s favourite training that they had gone through with her family. they would all gather near the great lake by her home, and sit with her legs folded listening to the gentle movement of nature. this allowed for revelations to be brought forth from within herselves. though fj had a difficult time connecting with the spirit of nature, they had found it easy to connect to the spirit of storytelling. it was in these meditations that fj had realized how much they loved the art of acting, and that her home was truly in the theatre and not preserving the hunting culture of her elven family.

it had been a painful but freeing realization. this truth is why fj appreciated the act of meditating despite it holding such painful potential. and so, fj closed her eyes and placed the characters of salt, and the tongue in her mind. and allowed the darkness to overtake her, sink her lower, lower, lower within herself.

there fj found herself staring at a fire with a crooked old wizard bent over it. his beard was frayed, and his starry hat crooked atop his head. the wizard was holding three wooden effigies in his ashy hands. he began rolling her against one another creating a rhythmic wooden beat. he began to chant:

“from this last breath— i call the tongue,
curses upon them for what they’ve done
from this spilled blood— i offer libations,
blessings upon these humble oblations
from this fading spark— i light white candle
these grotesque foundations your flame dismantles
with these three miracles make i this gamble
by heart and hearth, and blackberry bramble
this i swear, this i decree
my descendants will not die slaves
they will be free.”

foxglove jamjar felt her heart sink into the floor with every repetition of the chant. they were confused about where they were. how they had gotten pulled so deep into the meditation, it was feeling far too real. the world began to sway to the low beat of the wizard’s chant. fj felt their body begin to move with the rhythm.

foxglove found themselves falling through the floor into another scene. the wizard sat around the fire with three young children.

“i know this must be so terrifying for you, after witnessing what has happened to your father,” the wizard said.

the three children, two girls and a boy huddled closer, their muddy faces stained with tears.

“they had no right to do that, “ murmured the eldest of them, he was tall and thin with skin the color of the darkest night. his eyes glowed in the fire, a brilliant blue.

these eyes pierced the heart of the old wizard, as they reminded him of the oppressor. this child’s true father, and the murderer of his son.

“vega,” the old wizard said, “ you are like the tongue, swift and just. you speak too much too quickly, you must be willing to mind it.” the old wizard handed vega, one of the three dolls he had been chanting over before.

“i miss my father, i want to thank him for everything,” said the middle child. she had tight and full waves of hair that feel around her shoulders. it should be blue in the light of the fire, like the moon hitting the night ocean.

“mira,” the wizard said, “you are like libations. always offering your gratitude, and quenching the thirst of the others in the field when you can. despite being chosen for the big house. do not forget to drink to your own success.” he grabbed her hands and placed a doll into her hand as well. he pressed it close to mira’s heart.

the third child had curled in herself, brown eyes lit like embers in the fire light. she curled her lips back, and she panted, “i will kill them. i will burn down their cotton fields, and fancy lady markets. wear their skin to show them their own monstrosity.”

“kabel,” the wizard said, “ you are like a white candle. you are filled to the brin with potential. your spark can either cause destruction or illuminate the darkness so that they can become illuminated. mind your fire so that you don’t run out of oxygen.” and, with that the wizard shoved the final doll in her hand.

“now close your eyes and cover your ears children, and when you awaken again. we will be freed from this curse.”

fj was frozen in place, she struggled against her invisible bonds. she watched as the old wizard placed the children into sacks. she tried to scream but there was no sound as the wizard tossed the sacks like flour into the fire. the screams of the children beckoning him to join. the old wizard followed their chorus into the fire.

fj found themselves in a black space, as they emptied their guts. a moment’s reprieve as they felt the darkness begin to shift towards a new light. foxglove found themselves in a room with a simple twin bed. the room only had the bed and a window. outside the window, now was falling thickly. however, fj was able to make out a a dirt road, and some carriages.

the gloss was broken outside the door, followed by a baby’s cry. fj followed the sound pushing open the door into the living room. though there was no baby, a young boy sat by a fireplace whittling a wooden figure.

“emry,” a woman’s voice called, “it’s time to get ready for church!”

the boy, emry, stood up and as it did from the ground rose three spirits. fj recognized the tallest as the tongue. the other two, they did not know.

the spirit of medium height, gave emry a large hug, “emry, loa, you are going to do wonderfully in the yuletide pageant tonight.”

“libations,” groaned emry, “ don’t remind me.”

“emry, emry!” shouted the smallest spirit, pushing up against emry “will you dedicate o holy night to me! please please!”

emry laughed gently creating space between them, “white candle, we talked about this. the whole pageant is dedicated to the grand scheme. i think they would have a problem with me dedicating one of their songs to a random spirit!”

“i’m not random!” white candle pouted, “ what if you did it in secret. like just in your head!”

“or a whisper,” suggested the tongue.

“fine, fine,” emry said, laughing again, “now, let me get ready.” emry turned and jogged towards fj, heading to the room behind them.

it startled fj and they expected emry to bump into them, but instead found him passing right through them. when they turned back around to see the spirits, they found themselves on a burning battlefield.

an older emry lay their heaving as blood poured for the mortar wound in his chest. around him sat the tongue, libations, and white candle. tears rolled down their faces as they placed their hands on him.

“emry, you must make it home to your child, “ sobbed libations.

“emry, emry, you must slay your attackers,” hissed white candle

“emry, emry, emry, you must make a decision,” spoke the tongue.

emry tried to ask, what decision?

“emry, you must swear to be our brother,” demand libations

“emry, emry, you must perform a miracle,” shouted white candle

“emry, emry, emry, do you make this oath?” spoke the tongue.

emry nodded with the last of his strength. as his eyes began to roll back, the three spirits shoved their hands deep into his torso.

“emry, you are like salt,” spoke the tongue, “filled with grit to wear away at the hardest of challenges. you bring flavor and interest to every situation you encounter, a reminder of the feeling of being alive. you must protect that blessing.”

the three miracles pulled in tandem, ripping emry’s soul from his dying body. as his soul began to take form, the world began to drip and decay.

for the second time in an extremely short period, fj found themselves falling. however, this time there was no spell to help them slow down.

quickly, quickly, quickly, fj fell and soon found themselves coming through the hole in the ceiling of the cavern. they could see their body quickly approaching, they held their breath in preparation.

suddenly, fj saw a flash of something. first it was something strange. emey, except it was a photo sitting on a mantle. a woman looking at it lovingly and then down at the baby in her arms. a baby wrapped in something familiar. foxglove remembered that blanket, it looked just like the one she had as a child. just like the one she had left with their parents in the elven wood. next, it was a familiar scene. the human woman, emry’s wife, stood with the baby in front of a door. a door that fj would know anywhere. the door to their childhood home. the woman placed the basket under her arm on the doorstep, and the baby within it. she kissed the baby, and knocked. once, then twice, then a hard third before running away. fj felt like crying when their mom opened the door.

fj fell forward as if they had been struck by blunt force. they landed on all fours, and noted how fast their breath was heaving. how sweaty herbodies was.

“what the fuck,” they gasped.

“did you discover your answers?” the tongue asked, “ are you ready to submit your answer?”

fj glanced at the timer, only 20 minutes left. how could they explain all of that in 20 minutes? how did they even do that to begin with?

here is a list of books i think you should read this year, even if you have a reason not to:

1. Who Fears Death— Nnedi Okorafor

2. Long Way Down— Jason Reynolds

3. Mister Magic—Kiersten White

4. Howl’s Moving Castle (trilogy)— Diana Wynne Jones

5. Wizard of Earthsea— Ursula K. Le Guin

6. Going Postal— Terry Pratchett

7. The Starless Sea— Erin Morgensten

8. Inkheart— Cornelia Funke

9. Redwall— Brian Jaques

10. The Stranger— Albert Camus

11. Convenience Store Woman— Sayaka Murata

12. Jackal—E. Erin Adams

see you tomorrow
hues

writing is not as easy as it seems.

i’ve sat down to write you so many times to day. but each one was met with an interruption. a deliberate universal delay.

im afraid the universe may not want me to tell you what is one my mind.

but, i must write you.

i am compelled to connect us through my letters so that we both know that we are alive.

feeling alive is in brief supply these days. connection in surplus but difficult to maintain.

especially for someone with mercury rx in their chart.

you or me, dear reader.

mercury retrograde is a life of being told who you are—even when it does not align.
and it rarely does.

mercury rx draws you inward,into the depths of yourself. so you know more than most who and what you are. but other’s aren’t like that. introspection must be learned, but us? heavy is the head that holds the crown.

our conenctions, our communications are uphill climbs.

projection.

upset.

deflection.

redirection.

guilt.

the order of operations for us.

prescription and diagnosis.

it doesn’t matter what you say. you will only be what they say you are, because that is what their internal world is telling them.

even if they don’t know it.

even if they can’t see the symptoms. they are there. we can see them.

staring back at us from the dark, but even if you were to point it out. place the finger on the issue they will choose not to see it. consciously of not.

that is the curse—
seeing clearly, speaking plainly, and being dismissed anyway.

that is the forbidden fruit of eden.

you watch them label you as they label themselves. they prescribe feeling, intention, and truth onto you as if they know you. as if certainty makes it so.

but it does not.

for me, it is always the same pattern:
unfairness.
mischaracterization.
dismissal.

It grates against my skin like a blade. shapes me into a mold that does not fit. it itches, inflames, spreads—until I am raw with it.

and the salve?

honesty.
correction.
boundary.

i draw the salt line and refuse to cross it.

maybe they will meet me on my side.

here, at least, things are organized.

see you tomorrow,
hues

chapter two: in which the inciting incident initiates

foxglove jamjar found herself following itch deeper through the ticket. she noticed that the trees seemed to crowd less the further in she walked. while she had tried to make small talk with itch, it had seemed mostly uninterested responding in mostly grunts. though fj had heard it mutter under its breath once, about that stupid cat owing it double favors for the trouble.

she emerged from the bush into a small clearing. well, it wasn’t quite a clearing as much as it was a a large tree that had spread out its roots and driven off anything that had wanted to grow near it. in front of the tree sat a glowing cat. the white light emitted by it was nearly blinding.

“could ya turn it down a lil’, the reader?” said itch, shielding his eyes with his little paw.

the reader shook its fur strength languidly as a cat is apt to do. though, fj had never seen a cat turn down its glow before. upon closer inspection, fj could see that the reader, aside from its strange glow, was a fairly average short haired but fluffy cat, with whiskers that were perhaps too long for its face.

“isss that purrfect for you?” the reader said, rolling languidly along the ground.

“i suppose,” itch said, “ look, i brought you your human, now i’m gonna be on my way before i come to understand what mischief you’re makin’. but, ya owe me twice for this little favor”

fj watched as itch disappeared into the bush, before saying, “you know, it would have been nice for you to just wait for me.”

“well,” the reader huffed, “it would have been nice if you hadn’t taken so long to get here foxglove. i figured something must have gone awry when i noticed you’d blown up too big.”

“i did not blow up, i simply grew!” fj insisted, “how do you know my name anyway? and why did you bring me out to this forest?”

“i thought all elves loved the woods,” the reader grinned.

“we both know, i’m not an elf. fairly useless in elfing, “ fj motioned to her rounded ears, “ just disappointing my parents all the way around.”

“it sure might seem that way,” the reader said, taking a seat and examining its claws. it produced an emery board and began to file her.

“what?” foxglove glowered.

“i’m your inciting incident,” the reader said without glancing up from its work.

“exciting incident?” fj asked.

“no, inciting incident. you know, the moment of awakening for the story’s hero?” the reader spared her a glance.

“the hero’s awakening?” foxglove repeated back slowly. as if tasting it on her tongue.

“you had been waiting for a sign to start, right?” the reader said.

“start what? i was just hoping to—”

“hoping to put on a little show? get a little fame? all beginnings of a good hero. a great rags to riches moment?” the reader laughed, flashing all of its kitten teeth.

“well, i just want to get discovered. it’s my purpose.” fj toed the ground shyly.

“that’s not your purpose,” the reader scoffed, “you have a slightly more important role to play”

“what is that?” fj asked, her ears peeking up at the word “important”.

“a very important lesson on discernment. unfortunately, this is a speed run and you’ll have to understand your power now rather than later, this time.”

“this time, what does that mean?” fj frowned, “have we met before?”

the reader just stared at fj, its white voids seemingly wanting to pull her in and devour her, “no, of course not. i’m just the reader. now about your powers.”

“my powers?” fj said jerkingly as if she were being pulled from a trance. she was surprised to see that she had begun to move closer to the cat though she hadn’t remembered deciding to move.

“yes,” the reader cleared its throat and pulled from the hammer space behind it, and a simple glue bound journal, “foxglove esther jamjar, 22, prefers fj. it has been decided by your ancestor council that you are to face the trial of merveilleux. you are asked to tame the four miracles and contract her wills with your own. once you have bonded will and soul with all four you will be grant—“

“what do you mean will and soul?” fj interrupted.

“you will be granted the ability to create miracles,” the reader finished, she turned a level gaze onto foxglove, “ah, even i don’t know what that means. you’ll have to ask the tongue what that means. it is the one that wrote the rules. she really should be the one to explain to her.”

“but—“

“hush,” the reader said with annoyance, “your chattering and ignorance is getting on my nerves.”

the reader used its paw to gesture towards a path that was formed between two trees, “head that way, and stay on the path. it will take you to your first trial. should you complete it the tongue will explain everything”

fj wanted to clarify who or what the tongue was but the look on the reader’s face warned that it was not wise, and so she turned and headed down the path.

the path was narrow and the clustering of trees shaded it from the midday solid. fj had been accustomed to walking in the forest in low lighting with her elven family. she tried not to think about it, but the farther into the walk the more the shadows between the trees seemed to come alive. showing fj visions of her past.

her parents finding her abandoned, sacrificed to the forest spirits that she called on for power in battle. a barbaric and illegal practice within the commonwealth of hix, having been outlawed two hundred years ago.

her first steps which were much later than her elven siblings. that time when she got caught in her brother’s trap during night training because her night vision hadn’t developed yet. when she found out from her parents that she was a human, not an elf. that night she had destroyed her parents house in a fit of rage and left. how could she possibly stay when she would never be as good as her siblings.

luckily, she had graduated from common and was able to register as a street performer. she had tried out for several troupes and finally scored a place in the marvels of hix. a small traveling troupe that mostly did clowning and poetic readings. she excelled at it, and was able to afford a little flat right in the center of high city overlooking the meridian river bank. the same street she would perform on with her troupe at night. however, her head got too big for her shoulders and she began to conspire to take over the troupe.

this was the mistake that had landed her living on the bank instead of above it. after the troupe leader had gotten wind of fj’s plan she immediately severed her connection. it had only taken one witness, and soon fj’s firing had spread like wildfire amongst the other theatre guilds. thus, she found herself a beggar fool on the bank.

foxglove glared at the visions of these memories amongst the shadows and turned her focus forward on the trail. the light coming from the treeline before her obscured what waited on the other end. on the other side of the light, fj found herself in a large cavern with four stone pillars around a platform in the center. the platform was surrounded by water separating it from the large pillars. on the pillars were inscriptions, though when fj looked at the lettering directly she found herself feeling woozy.

so, fj focused her eyes on the figure in the center of the platform. it was well lit from above, a hole in the cavern’s ceiling created a spotlight effect on the black cloaked man. he was tall and wire thin, and almost 2d dimensional in shape like a drawing on a page. he took a little more shape as fj came to stand beside him. though the top half of his face was obscured, the man had a roman nose and dewy pale skin. his lips were very pink and more plump than one would expect on such a thin man. she was luscious and tempting.

“i am the tongue,” he said, his lips forming the shape of the letters punctually.

“thank god,” fj breathed a sigh of relief. she hadn’t realized she’d been holding the tension in her shoulders until she felt her sag in that moment, “the reader mentioned that you would be waiting for me here.”

“who?” the tongue asked, turning his head to face foxglove.

she felt a shiver run up her spine as her instinct told her to run. she couldn’t see the tongue’s sharp gaze; she felt the weight of its aura. fj swallowed the flood of saliva that rushed into her mouth, as the unease continued to wash over her. her hands covering her mouth as the nausea consumed her.

after another moment, the tongue turned its gaze away and fj felt the tension leave their body.

the tongue took a step forward, and swept his arm toward the pillars. his exaggeratedly long sleeves billowing, “this is the chamber of meillereux. here is where three of the miracles were formed. this is where your first miracle will be performed. you are asked to translate the four pillars into any spoken language.”

“i only speak one language though,” fj said meekly, her eyes tracing the pillars from top to bottom.

“i expect the trial should be easy for you,” the tongue said, pulling a rather large hour glass from within his large sleeves, “ the timer is set for three hours. it begins now.”

the tongue placed the hourglass on the ground. a blue light ring rippled from the hour glass and across the cavern. when it reached the edge of the platform it created a light bright to the pillars, before continuing out the top of the light hole.

fj felt exhausted just looking at the pillars. how did i even get here? she thought. she had just wanted to switch things up a little by following the reader into the portal, though she hadn’t expected that she would end up in a strange trial to become a hero. it is true that fj had dreams of grandeur especially since she had found herself sleeping on the street. she knew that opportunities such as this, the chance to gain extraordinary power and purpose, happened upon those with poor fortunes. fj, however, realized just then that she hadn’t expected something like that to happen to her. so, when the cat had called to her, she just had to follow regardless of the consequence. now that she was sitting in that consequence, staring at the mysterious pillars for her. she realized that such opportunities are never as easy as she sound in stories.

as fj examined the pillars she realized that the words were of no language common in hix or the usa. despite fj only speaking common, and three or four words in elvish (picked up her parent’s native tongue hearing her parents and grandparents gossiping over the kitchen table), fj understood that this put her at a major disadvantage when it came to translating the images.

see you tomorrow

hues

no—really.
from your first cry, you began the slow, inevitable march toward death.
death, who walks beside you always.
your lifelong companion.

and life?
life always seems to be in crisis.

but what if i told you it only takes ten minutes to save it?

two sets of five.

you’re spiraling now.
the thought of your barely-begun life being in danger flings you into outer space—but stay with me.

it doesn’t have to be dramatic.
it’s a slow march. a long walk.
you have time.
you can spare ten minutes. i promise.

ten minutes to save your life.
ten minutes to change it.

they say there are multiple timelines—
all of them waiting for you to grab one.
to be in the right place, at the right time,
to shift.

what if i gave you the keys?

the steps to set the conditions—
so that with a little preparation and a deep breath,
you could step into a new timeline.

it sounds miraculous.
impossible.

but it isn’t.

it only takes ten minutes.

those ten minutes are a commitment
to try something different.
to do something different.

and on the other side of the choice,
you’ll know whether you landed in the right timeline.

first: feel the rumble.
notice the pressure building—the anxiety, the heat, the swell.
this isn’t failure.
it’s ignition.
a star collapsing.
a black hole you can travel through.

second: halt.
stop. do nothing.
you will want to do what you always do—
scream, eat, fight, hurt, disappear.

don’t.

third: do the opposite.
not something better.
something different.

yell? cry.
cry? yell.
hurt? help.
eat? move.
move? eat.
fight? rest.
rest? fight.

do it for ten minutes.

fourth: check the nervous system.
it will feel different—but is it good or bad?

bad? wrong timeline.
next rumble, choose another path.

good?
you’ve landed.

hold steady
until the next jump is required.

these four steps create the conditions.
for alignment.
for movement.
for survival.

and those ten minutes?

they can save your life.

see you tomorrow

hues

i am about to say somethings that may not be polite and could stir the beginnings of resentment between the two of us. so, if you don’t want any aspect of our relationship to change, this newsletter may be worth skipping.

because recently as a part of my self prescribed curriculum i found myself investigating pearlieee’s youtube video you’re too afraid to build the life you want.

it’s a well-made video—cleanly structured, rhetorically tight, and dotted with genuinely pullable quotes. and yet, i found myself disagreeing with much of what she said.

that isn’t to say she’s wrong. i’m certain there are thousands of people who are afraid to become who they need to be in order to achieve the life they want—people who need to hear that the life they desire is not impossible, not out of reach, not waiting for the right time or opportunity, but waiting for them to stop being afraid of the person they must become to have it.

but, that is not true for everyone who is discontent with their life

there are people who have already killed the version of themselves that plays it safe—and what they lack is not courage, but devotion.

let me cook.

i’m talking about the person who has done the therapy, read the books, named the wounds, and built an exquisitely soft life—one that can explain itself beautifully but cannot sustain pressure. the person who knows why they are the way they are, but has no practice doing what is uncomfortable once the explanation ends. they are not frozen. they are resting indefinitely. and rest, when it never converts into motion, becomes a decision.

one could argue that this lack of devotion is simply fear by another name. i disagree. what i see instead is laziness rebranded as gentleness.

with the rise of therapy speak, we have found many excuses to not show up for ourselves. even if we aren’t afraid we use the excuse (or explanation) that we are too tired, too hurt, too done to show up for the things that are hard to do. that is difficult.

that is not fear.

it is a decision.

you can conquer every fear you have, but if you routinely justify inaction by saying your mental health “just isn’t there,” that doesn’t make you brave or wounded—it reveals a lack of commitment. a lack of diligence. your desire is lacking, not your bravery.

pearlieee says that to build the life you want, you must stop solving new problems with old tools. but there is another possibility: the version of yourself you don’t recognize may be someone who doesn’t solve problems at all—someone who avoids them.

not from fear, but because that is how you have brought peace to a chaotic, injured nervous system.

you’re not negotiating with fear.

you’re refusing to evolve a nervous system that is desperate to remain still.

and yes, it’s true that no version of a dream life exists without you becoming different. but for many people, being different is now in active opposition to their healing. because those dreams were not built from curiosity or clarity—they were built from trauma, panic, and survival.

which means it may be worth finding a new dream. or at least a new path toward one—built from safety rather than endurance.

pearlieee is right when she says we must stop asking our future selves to clean up the messes our present selves refuse to address. but we also need to stop pressuring our future selves to succeed at dreams that no longer align with the nervous systems we’ve shaped while healing.

if you keep returning to a dream, it may be meant for you.

but the shape of it may belong to your trauma.

and that distinction matters.

see you tomorrow,

hues