Today marks the first story we publish to Fimfiction of 2020, the start of a new chronicle, with a familiar franchise peeking in behind the veil~.

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When I was young, there was a daily need that stewed within me. A desire to fill. Often this was met with food. Though, hunger could be sated, a physical hole to be filled and plugged. But this desire was different. Impressions, ideas, media, stories, items, exploration... If all desires were slaked, all holes filled, it dug new ones, always moving to the next, shifting, running, pouring into several at a time. Yet also it kept moving. Spare little time spent to dedicate oneself to a single

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Quite strange, it feels as if a year had just passed by in an instance... So many voices calling out to be muted by aethereal filaments. Of untapped potential and personality. Wherefore hath this presence made itself manifest?
Will it ever return, or will we then have changed too much to recognize it?

Happy Filthy Leapyear Friday~

What is the road? We tread upon it during our journey - the quest of walking, waking, understanding - yet the road itself does not exist, merely a concept brought about underneath us through a collective will to have it there. We see because others see it. Because we need to walk? We need a destination. We have to put one foot after the other. How deep does it go? Will someone who does not believe in the wall have it cease existing for them, or does it run deeper? Is there a collective

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It is a curse to live during interesting times, despite the ravenous hunger one has for stories.
Interesting times, make for wondrous stories, though a miserable experience. As always, any good story requires conflict.

Happy Filthy Friday~. And Happy Twin Month~.

Slowly does one sink into tar,
it feels like standing still, least not going far.
It feels fine, not a change in their smirk,
Slowly they find themselves, waist deep in murk.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

As storm clouds loom ahead, I upon my bed, and knit a pouch or sorrows, to carry for tomorrow. I line the piping in dread, and thread the warp with fear, and once the pouch is woven, I wash it out with tears.
Come bright morrow I step outside, bag of mine in hand,
It is filled with bright thoughts and fantasies, I carry across the land.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We trap ourselves in a cycle, it goes commitment, that reaches deep into the night, and to then rest the brief amount of time I have, to wake up and realise there is more commitment. At which point, instinct delays it, and becomes pushed forward, down the day, into the afternoon. And then work begins again....

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Thoughts of snow. Of the pleasant chill that invades your veins, chains your nerves to the whims of winter and sends your spine rattling. It rouses a heat. The throes of your body engaged to keep you warm, to keep living. A visceral experience of your essence clinging to life... made tactile. You cannot just feel it, you are beset to feel it...
Few, though, desire to dance with their own mortality.
They are a rough partner.
Present, or not.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

This week we have a new story to share, one involving The Orchard, a pleasant bar where like minded pony folk can relax and indulge in some depravity. And sometimes, a mutt or two.

Struggles harden the mind, through the weight of hardship the body molds.
Stress toughens the body, through the pressure of failure the mind buffs.
Both follow a pattern, weaving through one another, to craft the felt of consciousness.

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I took part of a nightmare night artpack for the spooky season, check it out~.

Perhaps it is for the best to linger in the chiaroscuro, the twilight of what is visible and not, what is real and imaginary. To not be seen, but to be able to see what you wanted as real, enough. Perhaps saying so is giving up, to not fall into complete safety, to not stride into the light. But in light or darkness, one is blind. Vision is bred from shadows.

Happy nightmare night~.

Shadows grow, reaching past their limits, stretching towards the horizon. They all harken back to the vanishing point, a destination as distant as it is fictive, yet we rely on it every moment of observing the world. Every step, towards an abyss without end, beginning, nor reality.
Perhaps it is so, because for there to be existence, we require contrast to make it out.
Else, we would stare at but a blank canvas, lacking the marvel chiaroscuro grants us.

Happy nightmare night~.

Below are two fanfic reviews based purely on the initial impressions provided by the first chapter (or first 3k words.) For an outline of what my reviewing guidelines are, go here. Please do not request reviews!

One NSFW Mature story review is below. I don't believe I can link directly to the story, even on my blog, so I linked to the author's profile instead. Just to be safe, get the deets after the break!

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That's right, folks, after today there will be no more Monday Review blogs. No, I'm not quitting the reviews, I'm just moving them to Thursdays. Why Thursdays? Because they're my easiest workday of the week and thus make the perfect day to do these things, plus it spreads out my blogs through the week so my activity seems more... err... active? And yes, that does mean we'll be seeing two review blogs this week. Nifty, huh?

We've got a mixed bag today. Let's get started, shall we?

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I'm not sure why normal people even use Twitter, normal as in right-wing and conservative.

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So yeah. This "describe yourself with three characters" thing. I finally came up with something, so to be lazy I'm just going to share the screen cap.

After a week of having a badly distorted sleeping schedule that made me too tired to be productive half the time, I have finally righted the ship of sleep to the point where I am actually awake during daylight hours and asleep at night (for at least a few hours). In celebration, I thought I’d start attacking all the new stories I missed reading while I was dazed and confused for the holidays.

Today’s stories:

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