I don't really know what to think about my writing this past year. I have managed to accomplish a great deal and I have created a great many stories I am proud of. At the same time, I stalled out completely on doing commission work, some of which might be blamed on the pandemic, but the overarching problem is a growing sense of disillusionment. I'm starting to feel more and more desire to reach to greater heights with my writing, but I don't have the capacity to work on my own projects at the same time as I'm doing work for others. I don't know what I'm going to do to rationalize this.

For now, all I have is the content that I did this year, and I'd like to think that there's a lot of good stuff here.

As a reminder, if you are interested in my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patrons get access to updates on stories before they're publicly posted.

January:

She turned to the side (far to the side) to pull the door open and walked in. The smell of gasoline was at a relative minimum at the start of the day, before the engines could be turned on, leaving only the coolness of the air conditioning, whirring loudly in the summer heat. That was in addition to the low grumbling and muttering that came from the pale bandicoot on the other side of the room. Tawna couldn’t see her face, but it was enough to identify the distinctive green and purple color scheme of her tank top and pants.

Liz. Tight-assed Liz with her tight little ass up in the air as she bent over.

Yes, this would be a great place to start.

“Hey there, Liz,” Tawna called out, announcing her presence with both her voice and the loud clopping of her shoes against the concrete floor as she crossed the room.

WHAP. WHAP. WHAP.

(GLOOSH. GLOOSH.)

-Competitive Spirit


February:

They came together and embraced. Non’s breasts filled the span of his arms, squeezing as he reached past them to hold Non’s shoulders, and he did the same. Non had to straddle Non’s cock to get in close, grinding his own bulge against the meaty girth, and it pulsed in response to the stimulation. Non’s lips were engulfed by Non’s lips as they kissed, but he still put in everything that he had.

It was a perfect moment, not a care in the world.

Then they started to make their way to the front of the store. Non had a bit of difficulty with handling his cart since his bosom got in the way of the hand-grip. Non didn’t have to worry about that, but walking was difficult in general on account of the junk between his legs, forcing him into a shuffling gait, so Non let him walk in front to set their speed. It also let him appreciate the shape of Non’s ass a little better, round buttocks crammed into his shorts, tail wagging over top. He wouldn’t mind getting a handful of those, even if they were dwarfed by his own.

And it was as they languidly passed along the aisles that Non looked at one of the shirts hanging on a rack they went by. It was a nice solid black color, and he ran his hand over the silky fabric. His fingers touched on the price tag. There were numbers and gobbledygook about sales and registration. $19.99.

A thought occurred to Non: “I wonder how much all of this stuff is going to cost.” The notion of expenses had never occurred to him at any moment when he had been gathering all of them to bring to the fitting room. He wasn’t supposed to worry about things like that.

But the idea was there now, and it proceeded to spread through him.

-Anomaly


March:

As the train came to a stop in front of them, Lyra Heartstrings felt a sparking tingle run through her horn.

“What-?”

A pulse of light flashed all around them and a dull drone filled their ears, the two ponies staggering as their perception of the world was momentarily cut off.

A single sensation rocked through them all at once.

Lyra Heartstrings felt compression, weighing down, spreading outward.

Octavia felt heat, building and billowing and rising, filling every inch.

Then the moment was over, leaving them to reel.

-Convergence


April:

As you glance over the earthen walls, you notice an irregularity among them: a path of divots in the surface. Hand- and footholds. A makeshift ladder for climbing in and out of the crevasse, once used, perhaps, by those who had maintained and regulated the bridge.

You make a start toward it. You can’t wait to see the world above.

A hollow chuckling noise comes from behind you moments before the air keens wildly.

You throw yourself to the ground and in the process feel only a sliver of metal scraping at the skin on your back. It stings and burns, but it is preferable to being sliced open with your spine severed. You land harshly and tumble, your joints aching, but you are quick to plant your feet again, holding yourself low to the ground while your fist clutches the sword hilt, and you snarl as you turn about to face your attacker.

“Oh, a lively one. You’re definitely not one of ours.”

The voice is rough, gravelly, grating in your ears, playing at a mockery of erudition. He is a tall figure, wearing brass armor that gleams in the dull light, the shape of fangs molded over the chest and stomach, like a gaping mouth, with a curved ivory object hanging from his belt. In one hand he carries a weapon with a long handle and a broad, curved blade at the tip—a glaive, you think. Leathery wings extend from behind his back like a grand cape, with holes worn in the aged translucent membranes. He has a toothy muzzle and horns that curl out and forward, his skin a bleached yellow white like bone, and his eyes are dark, but unlike the undead soldiers you can recognize some definition to them, sclera with fiery irises.

He gazes at you with a cruel grin.

You know that grin.

-The Well of Life: Drink Deep


May:

Gossamer Gleam awoke to discover that she was pregnant.

But she didn’t dwell on this for very long. As soon as she was conscious, she was already trying to throw off the blankets and get herself out of bed.

The pregnancy was not so willing to allow itself to be easily overlooked, though. Even pushing and huffing and grunting it took a phenomenal effort to get herself over the side of the bed, and she nearly toppled to the floor under the sudden drastic increase in weight. Her belly hung heavily past her waistline and down to her knees, filling the span of her legs and spreading them to the sides, as if she had swallowed a yoga ball. Her breasts were excessively full as well, taut and straining, resting heavily upon those upper surfaces.

She winced and moaned as she rose to her hooves and stumbled, pressing her belly against the wall. The insides of her thighs turned wet and sticky, grinding together. The thing (or things) inside her stirred – some life that she could not comprehend.

She should have known, but the information wasn’t in her head.

The unicorn didn’t waste time with putting on a gown. She only felt that she had to move.

She didn’t take the time to look outside the window and see the world outside, pitch black, darker than night, inky, dripping.

-Blur


June:

“I recall asking if you would want to join me, for old times’ sake. Waking up at the crack of dawn—to make the crack of dawn, you might say. Just like we did every day. And now here you are, still in bed, and it is past noon.”

Silence. After a few seconds Celestia rolled back to the other side with a drowsy groan, even if it meant turning her face to the open window.

“You know, sister,” Luna said, raising her voice as she looked up at the great swollen shape on the bed, “I may not govern the realm of sleep anymore, but I did not relinquish any of those powers to Twilight either, and as such I am very much aware that you are awake.” Her horn lit up with a magical aura and the blanket was yanked down, uncovering the swelling curves that made up Celestia’s form, white-furred flesh exposed to the air in its entirety.

“Nnn…nooo…!” the alicorn cried out like a petulant filly. She reached blindly and desperately for the blankets, but Luna kept the cloth out of reach. “It’s so comfy!”

“Gods, it is a good thing you are deposed now, could you imagine what it would have been like for one of our retainers to come in and see you like this?” The other mare shook her head and clicked her tongue in disappointment. “It would only be a matter of time before it found its way to the headline of the Canterlot Gazette: ‘Expectant Princess Sleeps Through Whole Day. When reached for comment, her reply was “I was too comfy to get my fat ass out of bed!”’”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Celestia grumbled with a huff. She laid there weakly on the bed a while longer, huddled around the warmth of her midsection, before she fought with her unwieldy body to get into a sitting posture on the edge of the mattress, grunting and groaning in a decidedly un-princess-like manner all the while. This was appropriate enough as it had been several months since either she or Luna had been a princess of Equestria. They had both done quite a lot that could be described as un-princess-like.

-Summer Days


July:

My attention turned to the hall around me. There wasn’t much to see, only the other elevators around me, bright yellowish lamps hanging from the walls, the floor covered in a rich carpet that wasn’t stained by orange fluids. To the left there was a set of tall double doors, dark wood slabs. A plaque above it read simply “CEO”.

My destination. I could grin again as I tugged on the collar of my suit and walked forward.

Then I stumbled and stopped and shuddered and sputtered.

I’m sure it probably looked weird to anyone who would have been watching. Like I just felt my heart seize up all of a sudden. The way I doubled over was as if the five steps I had taken were equivalent to running a mile.

I had suddenly felt something. Pulling, tensing, weightlessness. Vertigo.

It had been too easy to make those steps. It was like the floor was sloping away beneath me. Down toward the doors. Toward the abyss.

But that was ridiculous. I looked ahead of me now and I could see the office doors ahead of me just like before, as they had always been, naturally. The floor was completely flat, I didn’t need a level to tell me that. It was just an ordinary office building.

An office building owned by a shady woman whose employees called her “Mistress”.

I shuffled the rest of the way, keeping my feet close to the ground.

-Interview


August:

Rarity momentarily felt the weightlessness of freefall before her hooves came to rest with a heavy thump upon the floor. Once again, a tremulous wobble shook through her form, but her expression remained as stern and stoic as before. She was used to this. This was very much a part of her assignment.

The Mistress usually had the decency to give her subordinates advance warning when she required something of them.

She did not, however, have the patience to wait for them to navigate the expansive halls of the castle to reach wherever she was waiting, especially a pony as encumbered as Rarity, so usually she would opt to teleport them directly to her.

The room the unicorn now found herself in was dark, only lit by a single ethereal blue candle on a table in front of her, casting long shadows over the walls. Her eyes would take a while longer to adjust to the gloom, but she was well-acquainted with the arrangements and the décor. Gothic furniture in blues and silvers and blacks stood against the walls, eerie twisted and curling shapes that in the low light appeared to be squat ghoulish figures, bowed in reverence. Further tapestries were hung around the perimeter, most of them depicting scenes of a dark pony standing over others—a white mare with a rainbow mane being a prominent recurring figure among them. Far in the shadows of the back of the room there was the shape of a sprawling bed, a low, hulking silhouette.

There was a mirror to the side in which Rarity could see her own reflection in profile—or, at least, a portion of it, as the glass surface wasn’t broad enough to fit her entirely. It would be difficult at a first glance to identify where the center of her mass was, where her skeletal structure began, buried as it was underneath vast acres of flesh. Her bosom jutted out farther in front of herself than the span of her arms, and the vast shelf of her thighs and buttocks did the same for the sides and rear. A ponderous gut hung from her midsection, past her waist and down to her knees, thick legs creasing against each other, swaddled in sleeves of flab, much like her arms, choking whatever musculature was underneath. She would have had a great deal of difficulty getting any work done if she didn’t have the assistance of magic. She wouldn’t allow anything of the sort to get in the way of her and her responsibilities, though, and she wouldn’t let her bulk diminish her professional demeanor. She wore a uniform tailor-made especially for her (the latest in a long line of attempts to keep up with her weight), a combination of a coat and a sort of leotard underneath that buttoned up over her front, regal enough to disregard that there was nothing over the broad slopes of her legs. Her purple mane and tail were tied up in buns, and the doughy plumpness of her face couldn’t entirely detract from the severity of her gaze.

Rarity took a great deal of pleasure in her appearance, not that she was likely to show much indication of it in public or even most private venues, as her reputation and position were of far greater importance. The ways in which she could use her appearance to further her reputation and position were the most important of all.

-Night Service


September:

I turned to the left, the north, back the way I had come. I had managed to cover quite a lot of ground without fully realizing it, the houses far in the distance, the like small colonies of colorful mushrooms. I almost wondered if I’d be able to make the walk back and return to the house on the other side of the road before the dark and the damp could come down. Maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing—I couldn’t be bothered to go swimming but I could still get drenched in water in other ways. In fact, maybe I should keep going further south just to spend more time here.

I turned back to the right and I saw the unicorn.

She was standing not even ten feet away. I was immediately conscious that she wasn’t a horse despite superficially resembling one; the barrel was more compact, the legs longer with cloven hooves nestled in the sand, the tail closer to that of a lion, a long whip ending in a furred tuft. Her form was immaculate, pale silver, slender and tall, so much that I had to noticeably crane my neck upward to look at her face. Her mane billowed in the ocean breeze, snow white rippling prismatically with the colors of the rainbow, as she stared out toward the water. Her face seemed calm and composed, regal even, in a way that no ordinary animal could be. The horn extending from her forehead, like polished, gleaming seashell, twisting around itself, glowed with a soft but deeply enticing corona of light, a beacon that I thought must have been visible from miles away.

I’m not sure how I knew she was female, just from this immediate look at her standing in profile. I suppose many would assume that a unicorn must be female, but in seeing her I somehow just knew it, in the core of my being.

There was a moment in which it seemed that time was frozen. I felt as if my brain was stalling out like a car engine. I could only stare wide-eyed. The greatest advantage of having to wear face coverings, though, was that of obscuring one’s expression, hiding any amount of dumbfounded mouth-gaping I might have been doing.

There were surely any number of things I should have said or done. This was a momentous occasion for my life—hell, the whole world, to see a mythical creature before my very eyes. I should have asked her about herself. I should have tried to ascertain that she was real. I really should have taken out my phone and snapped a picture before anything else. Or maybe I should have just continued to do nothing, to stand there and watch, as if to do otherwise would be to cause this moment to vanish and be lost forever.

-You and Me, Always Forever


October:

A pop in your ears prompts you to wake.

You immediately convulse as the hunger reasserts its presence, rips through you without remorse. Any sustenance that might have been gained from the Husk was burned and then some by the mending of your skull and brains. Ichor and spittle fill your mouth. Your shoulders ache; something had been yanking on your arms, threatening to dislodge them from their sockets, while you were (dead) unconscious. Rough and uneven points are digging into your flesh—a bed of stones.

You feel as if your body is hollow, threatening to collapse in on itself like one of those derelict houses. You are in dire need of nourishment. Fuel. Energy. Souls.

You are still slipping away.

You are peeling.

Your skin is peeling.

Your skin is burning.

The reek of smoke and burnt flesh fills your nostrils.

It is apparent that you are on fire.

-The Well of Life: The Village


November:

Alice has always hated the coming of winter.

This could be attributed to a number of things. The disappearance of color from the world as plants withered, the shortening of days, the general inconvenience of snow. The pleasant atmosphere of Goldenrod City waned as activity died down, people growing less and less willing to go outside. It was just a bummer in general, something that not even the holidays could fully alleviate.

But the greatest and worst factor of all was the cold.

It should come as no surprise for a Garchomp, a species of Pokémon known for detesting all things related to ice. She had loathed the months leading up to the end of the year ever since she had been a child, when it also coincided with the beginning of school semesters and the approach of midterm exams. Sure, she had always been a physically active sort, but before the blood could start pumping on a morning run there was always the creeping chill lapping at her, seeping into her skin, down to the bone. Even as she had grown older and become bolstered by added layers of insulating flesh, especially around the vitals of the chest, the cold always managed to lance straight through to her core.

Of course, the growth was in some ways a detriment under these circumstances. With every year that went by, it would come time to put on her sweaters and long pants, only to find that they were just a little too tight. Even in Goldenrod City, the finest plus-sized (and beyond) tailors could only work so quickly, and so, invariably, she would have to endure some extent of time wearing clothes that either didn’t quite fit her or were inappropriate for the colder climate. Thus she now found herself wearing a tight pair of jeans with holes that had been ripped through them around her thigh-spikes and a sweater that couldn’t even begin to adequately contain the bulk of her front, a crevice of red cleavage peeking through at the top and the yellow underside of her gut at the bottom. And she had to wear shoes to keep her feet away from the cold stone and pavement, unprotected even by the thick skin and scales and calluses; at least those still fit, but she detested how uncomfortable they were, and she still went through them fairly regularly as her clawed toes wore away at the material.

-Heating


December:

There were blinds hanging on Tina’s side of the double doors that separated her room from the trio’s. She could have peeked through them to see what was happening when there were loud creaks and squeals of springs as someone landed on one of the beds and the two masculine voices began to speak to each other in guttural, hungering tones. She could have, but she had no desire to see anything of that sort, and she’d prefer to hear none of it either, if at all possible. So her own bed creaked, however slightly, as she surrendered the gentle warmth of blankets and mattress and stole across the room in her pajamas, picking up her phone along the way, not to those covered doors but to the door that led out onto the side deck.

It certainly didn’t help that she had just been in such a cozy place, or that she was wearing naught but the thin cloth of her pajamas, but the cold of night was instantly overwhelming. The pleasantly warm day that they had experienced before suddenly felt like a distant memory. Worse still when she sat down at the little table tucked into the corner of the deck, and the metal which conducted heat so much better than skin or even the wood panel floor was even colder still. Maybe she should go back in and grab a blanket.

No, it was no longer an option. Even through the far thicker outer wall of the house, she could still hear the faint echo of the passionate moaning that was taking place within. She wasn’t going to allow herself to hear any more than that for even a second longer if she could afford to. Instead she would have to sit here shivering until the commotion died down. That gave her plenty of time to take in the environment from this new perspective.

When her eyes adjusted, she was able to dimly take in the sight of a world of dulled blues and blacks, all other color drained out from her surroundings. She could see the reflection of the sky cast on the murky pond out beyond the fence that marked the neighborhood’s perimeter. Trees and bushes were now turned into hunched shadowy shapes, branches reaching toward the heavens. If there was any movement, it was too small and slight for her to detect—which was probably the intent of most animals that were active during this time.

She could still see the watchtower clearly. A great black spire rising up out of the sand, its peak high above the horizon. She wondered how long it had sat there, derelict, untended to, since the heyday of its original purpose had passed. Would there still be shards of glass from the broken windows scattered about inside, or buried among the sand outside, waiting to be eroded by the years into so much more dust? How many tourists, visiting this house, had sat here in the same seat as her, wondering what purpose the tower might have once had, or even what purpose it could have had in the days since, until whenever it could receive that renovation that everyone so desired?

-Rising Tide Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, and Epilogue