I rewrote an old story from high school. Couldn’t find the original I made. Tried a scary story about my cousin and myself about this one house in her neighborhood. This didn’t really happen but it was fun to write.

An absurdist short story about what happens when extremely online people meet IRL in a Central California shanty town. Features: Dublin Dr. Pepper, curry-scented suntan lotion, cryptid crafts, and an underground do-wop convention. For fans of deadpan humor and the weird corners of small-town America.

What do you get when you cross Nikola Tesla's DNA with ancient golem magic and a grave-robbing cosplayer? Nickolas Goylem—the pint-sized genius who treats physics like a suggestion and toy stores like an armory. When the dreaded Vuvuzela Vixens take a Visalia hobby shop hostage with their sonic weapons of mass annoyance, most people hit the floor in auditory agony. Not Nick. While everyone else clutches their ears, he's busy weaponizing RC cars, model rocket tubes, and foam planets into the most gloriously over-engineered rescue operation this side of a Rube Goldberg convention. Perfect for fans of: Terry Pratchett's absurdist brilliance, Douglas Adams' chaotic logic, Christopher Moore's irreverent humor, and anyone who's ever wanted to see farm animals used as tactical projectiles.

This excerpt from "Memories" details a terrifying account of domestic abuse, psychological manipulation, and suspected criminal activity, all experienced shortly after the narrator returned home. The text describes a partner who relentlessly subjects the narrator to emotional abuse, fake crying, and intense surveillance, exemplified by stolen account access, a tampered phone, and hidden cameras throughout the residence. Crucially, the narrator uncovers evidence suggesting a much larger, sinister plot, including unexplained construction noises, sealed-off areas in the house, found biological material, and the partner’s rapid exchange of unmarked guns with a truck driver, leading to the chilling suspicion of human trafficking occurring in the home. Despite being deliberately isolated and mentally targeted to undermine their credibility.

THE WOMAN WHO NEVER DIED August 4, 1962. Los Angeles simmered in the final hours of a summer night thick with the scent of jasmine and smog. The city’s heartbeat was a low murmur of distant car engines, late-night chatter, and flickering neon signs along Sunset Boulevard. The moon cast a pale silver light over a quiet Brentwood neighborhood, where behind the walls of a modest, softly lit house, one of the world’s greatest icons lay still. Marilyn Monroe. But not really. The world would soon mourn her as dead. Newspapers would run headlines filled with grief and speculation. Fans would light candles in her memory. But none of it was true. Tonight was only the beginning.

She swore off love, vowing to never let anyone hurt her again, but a fateful night out changes everything.

Tristan must learn the horrible consequences of upsetting his giant gulliverian friend, let’s hope he survives to begin his job.

Jophiel has the job--what he doesn't have is anything to wear! Fortunately, Callie has the solution he needs.

Not because the love ends. But because this is where it lasts. This is not the grand reunion. Not the happily-ever-after. This is proof: Love isn't fire. It's coals—burning slow, deep, and forever.

This is the shift. Because love isn't just built in bed or kitchens. It's built when the world calls-- and you have to ask: Can we grow without breaking? This is the chapter where the future knocks. And one of them has to open the door.

This is the morning after. But not in the cliché sense. No regret. No awkward scramble for clothes. No avoiding eye contact. This is the kind of morning where everything that should feel scary-- feels like peace instead.

This is the night they finally touch again. Not to escape. Not to burn. But to say: "I know you now. I see you. And I still want every inch." This is the kind of sex that doesn't start with lust. It starts with trust.

This is the rebuild. No grand apology. No flowers or speeches. Just one quiet, relentless effort: Show up. Stay. Try again. This is the chapter where Noah proves he meant it-- and Aubrey lets herself believe it.

This is the first real fight-- Not petty. Not jealous. Not about someone else. This is the fight that happens when you're already in too deep. When one person flinches. And the other can't help but bleed.

This is the chapter where it doesn't end. No fireworks. No ring box. No big ask. Just one still morning. One soft breath. One sentence that holds more weight than a vow. This is the chapter where Noah doesn't try to prove anything-- he just lets it be real.

The concepts of Love and Time conspire to create a Utopian universe. What would happen if Love & Time...were one?

This is the chapter that breathes. There's no explosion. No betrayal. No storm. Just healing. Earned. Quiet. Unapologetically real. This is what happens when two people stop surviving each other—and start building something new.

This is the test. Not just of love. Of loyalty. Of identity. Of the lines Noah thought he'd buried and the choices Aubrey can't unsee. This chapter asks one question: What do you do when the person you love is still haunted... and the ghost has a name?

The fragile peace in Belle Marias was brutally shattered. Jax Reynolds (Kofi Siriboe), driven by justice and a growing obsession with "Alana," publicly dropped the paternity bomb, revealing that Alana Jacobs is the secret daughter of Cassandra Laurent and Dr. Andre Bishop. The news instantly destabilized the Laurent inheritance and forced Alana's mother, Loretta, into a desperate custody battle. Meanwhile, the personal fallout from the disastrous wedding reached a devastating peak: Riley Kurth (Chris Warren) witnessed his new wife, Monique, embracing the master schemer Matthew Deschamps. Crushed by this betrayal and the simultaneous confession from Daphne that the baby she carried was his, Riley’s world collapsed. He transitioned from the loyal, naive fiancé to a wounded, vengeful enemy of the Laurent machine.

This is the soft aftermath—the days that feel like stolen light Aubrey and Noah find rhythm. A routine. Real love in small things. Coffee in bed. Brushes dipped in paint. Quiet glances that say stay even when no one's leaving. But peace doesn't last forever. Because one phone call will snap it like a cracked bone.