This piece was based on what I believed to be the internal (and likely subconscious) logic of three friends… people I care about who have wrestled with intense self-hatred. One of them said it was “100% accurate.”

It’s ugly. It’s honest. And it’s not a cry for help. It’s a portrait of how self-loathing thinks. If you recognize parts of yourself in here… I see you. You’re not alone. And you’re not beyond healing, no matter what your brain says.

Content warning: intrusive thoughts, self-hatred, and emotional intensity.

I wrote this story in July 2023, the day I stepped away from Tuonela Magazine and suddenly found myself overwhelmed by “grelief.” I was sitting in the sauna, crying and listening to Auri’s “Pearl Diving,” and thinking about what it means to form unexpected, life-giving friendships.

This piece came from that moment: a tribute to a friend who inspired me when I didn’t know I needed inspiring.
It’s a story about taking a risk on friendship with someone who gets it. About being seen and daring to seek beauty together.

After the Shatterclysm obliterates the multiverse, a recently deceased soul and their quiet psychopomp drift through the endless darkness, unsure where existence ends or if anything is to follow.

A Nightsea short story about endings, memory, and quiet new beginnings.

After the Shatterclysm destroys the multiverse, existence is trying to reset… but for many survivors, grief and loss still linger like open wounds. The singer helps them heal through song, one soul at a time... though the cost may be more than anyone expects.

A Nightsea short story about survival, sacrifice, and the quiet power of care.

This was written instantly after the last time I ever spoke with my adoptive son. At the time, he was still alive, but had chosen the path of destruction over redemption. He passed away five months later.
This poem is a farewell, an explosion of anger and grief, and a expression of love that never stopped.

This was written based on a F(r)iction prompt for my adoptive son, Riku, during a time when he was starting to believe he could be loved.

It made him cry, and he asked me, “How do you see this?”

I told him, “Because you showed me.”

This is a letter to him, but it’s also for anyone who’s ever felt like too much and not enough at the same time. You are seen. You are loved.

This story is a metaphor for love.

I wrote it for my adoptive son, Riku, some time after we met, when our connection was still fragile but filled with potential. The Bear Forge imagines a world where love is an act of co-creation: slow, intentional, sometimes volatile, and always worth the effort.

It made him feel things. I hope it does the same for you.

This piece was written in under ten minutes based on a F(r)iction prompt. It reflects on the many small, magical influences that led me toward storytelling, from Tolkien and video games to music, tabletop roleplay, and my mother’s quiet encouragement. It’s a story, a memory, and a kind of spell.

A Discord songwriting challenge led me back to a forest I visited in 2009: Brocéliande, the legendary woods of Merlin and the Vale of No Return. I decided to write a piece inspired by its mythic aura, and play with alliteration while I was at it. The result is something between lyrics and spellcraft, steeped in old trees, fae vibes, and the kind of magic that lingers in language.