get dirigible'd

Being a pamcakes isn't going to stop me from winning the champeenship

HHHHHHHWHO IS SHE

“Your tool certainly looks sharp enough to pierce my shell, sir,” Hornet remarked as she held the tool in her claw, needle with bulbs full of bright blue Plasmium (the alchemist’s insistent terminology for the Lifeblood she was familiar with), “but why should I want to do so?” “Because filling your body with Plasmium is so beneficial!” the enthusiastic bug Zylotol insisted, indignant as if her assertion were an affront to his very existence. “It protects you from harm! And it feels so exquisitely good!” “Good, hmm,” she responded dubiously, unimpressed, while she pocketed the object. And for a while after that, she didn’t put much further thought into the eccentric scientist’s morally questionably creation. But, some time later, while she sits battered and bruised in the distant edges of Pharloom, her shell aching, her cloak torn and singed and stained, she remembers the phial that she holds in one of her pockets. The bug holds it out before her, and the blue fluid produces a faint luminescence in the gloomy cavern around her. “Well…it can’t hurt to try,” she mutters under her breath. Hornet attempts to remember what Zylotol said about using the phial, but all she can recall is that it’s supposed to be injected straight into one’s body. Steeling herself, she raises the tool, gripped in both claws, tip pointed downward, and then she drives the sharp tip into her stomach. The piercing is far less than “almost painless” as was advertised, but immediately the surge of vital fluid into her body invigorates her senses, driving away the pain. With a gasp, dazed, she tugs the phial out again, and she palms over her abdomen, but there’s no sign of an entry wound, and the dark surface glows blue faintly.

The etagere in the corner is laden with several shelves’ worth of old earthenware, fine antique dishes and bowls and vases, white porcelain painted with flowery patterns in blue and green. They have been sitting here for as long as anyone can remember, unused, given that the Master is usually content simply with regular store-bought plates. So they are simply here as decoration, generally without being commented upon as there are far more interesting topics to discuss. Even if the dishes are never used for eating, however, it is still necessary to clean them from time to time, just a light dusting. Cerea looks up at the high shelves and sucks in a deep breath, steeling herself with determination, holding a feather duster and washrag and bottle of disinfectant with the same conviction that she would a sword. She knows that she easily has the capacity to reach the cabinet’s top shelf, owing to her tall stature. As she steps closer, however, she is faced with the complications that come from her breadth. No matter how much she tries to suck in her gut, she can’t stop the dome of flesh from jutting ahead of her, and she can only scarcely reach beyond it. Her breasts, resting heavy and swollen upon the upper shelf of her abdomen and barely contained within her blouse, don’t help much with this equation, shifting when she leans forward. The centaur clenches her jaw at the thought of what might be said to her if she were caught doing this. An expecting mother surely shouldn’t be on her hooves so much, shouldn’t be busying herself with work. She can’t bear the idea of laying about all day, however, she needs something to do or she’ll simply go mad. Diligence is not merely a virtue but a necessity.

It was an ordinary day at the Mousetropolis city bank, which is to say a very boring one, a day of waiting and counting and double-checking and triple-checking just to be sure. Imagine the surprise of all those attendants and patrons and guards standing around doing nothing in particular when the front doors rip apart with a great blast of noise, and pink smoke starts to flood into the clean white marble chamber. A high-pitched laugh rings out as a huge figure comes lumbering forth from the wreckage with loud footsteps, though one listening carefully might discern a low, fizzling hiss beneath this commotion. “Citizens of Mousetropolis, look alive!” announces the rotund mouse who emerges, looming over the cowering civilians, “You’re about to witness a fabulous performance by the one and only Kiloton!” She makes a flourish of the dark plum cape which swathes around her torso, but it does very little to obscure the bulk below her waist, a huge, smooth, black bulb with stout legs jutting to the sides. This mass alone is taller than any of the mice present, easily large enough to smother any of them if the villain were to roll over them.

“We are coming down to the wire for this race, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer says, nasally voice blaring over the cheering crowd and the pounding of hooves. The betting audience watches with rapt attention, begging and pleading and praying to whatever higher powers may be listening, as the equines come thundering toward the finish line. “Up-and-comer Mane Attraction has been gunning for the lead this whole race, but Maximus is neck and neck with him, that old stallion has never been one to let anything get away from him, which one of them will—wait, what’s this, the dark horse herself, Luna is coming to the head of the pack!” Over the chaotic drum beat of the horses’ hooves, there is a loud meaty clapping commotion that echoes through the stadium, a sound which grows increasingly fervent as Luna pushes herself, galloping toward the finish. There are only two more contestants ahead of her, statuesque stallions, and neither of them is going to allow her space to pass. Not that she has any intention of asking them or anyone else for permission. Not when victory is so close at hoof. Then a sharp sting swats at her flank, a blow that elicits a sharp whinny from inside her. “Hurry it up, girl!” Asriel commands as he leans forward in his saddle, over her neck, “We can still make it to the front!”

(oops late)

Are you interested in:

Plasmium overdose?

Centaur cleaning?

Explosive introduction?

And horse races?

These topics and more explored in drabbles available through my Patreon.

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw

So in the post-credits scene of Galaxy movie, the obvious joke should have been that Ukiki tries to jump through the grate only to get stuck because the workers welded it shut to prevent the need for further repairs, right?

But no, we needed to cram more IP in

HAP BURP

destroys the sickness

I wonder if the big update for Funger 2 will come out before the monster update for Lisa The Pointless

"WHO POSTED MY NUDES ON BLUESKY DOT COM?"

when the ladies got the boob

Dreamworks does what Disdon't

(until Dreamworks also became cowards about conformity anyway)

Any amount is good amount

HAP BURP

I feel like Mal0 counts as this

I'd be extremely surprised if there weren't horny Sonic.exe characters though

I don't think I'd say so

If anything your shaded prices could be higher imo

Lampreysaurus my beloved

The power of Art

borbger...

I could see it if you wanted to try something less obvious than just a canine mon

Yeah I've kind of felt the same thing about that chart, don't really want to call anyone out for liking something

Sometimes a Derg's Gotta Make Do by NonUberis -- Fur Affinity [dot] net Fur Affinity | For all things fluff, scaled, and feathered!

Also posted on FA:
www.furaffinity.net/view/64657514/

An anthro intersex dragon wearing an undersized shirt and underwear, stained with milk and cum respectively, pressing up on the corner of a laundry machine in motion to pleasure hirself, with puffs of musk in the air around hir.

Dergs gotta make do sometimes.

A picture I had decided to color for @rykela.bsky.social

Original art by SimonAquarius.

#nonuberart #furry #nsfw #hyper

Lots of Big Man from this set

“Pathetic,” Shadow scowls as the last of the GUN robots falls into a heap of sparking metal, and he replaces the magazine on his rifle. “Now there’s nothing to get in the way of me and—” But there’s still someone else in the hangar, standing between the dark hedgehog and the jet that’s preparing for take-off. A tall, broad, burly figure who looms over the wreckage—one might even say that he’s “big”. He’s purple and white with long fluffy ears and he carries a weapon slung over his shoulder, or at least Shadow assumes it’s a weapon at first, a club or a steel baton or an oversized truncheon, but actually it’s a fishing pole. There’s a distinct blankness on his face as he stares back at Shadow, thoughtless, and yet very intent. He should probably know who this creature is. Surely this is another one of Sonic’s many comrades, but he never had time to memorize all of them before and he certainly doesn’t have time for that now. “What are you doing here, lardass?” Shadow snarls, making a derisive wave of his hand, “Have I run through all of the main characters already and now there’s no one left but the D-listers to get in my way? Don’t tell me you are going to try to stop me from killing the President now.” Big’s ear twitches, and he makes a low whine. “So it’s true, Shadow,” he says in a low, resigned voice, shaking his head, “you’re an enemy of freedom now.”

The ponies of the Crystal Empire are capable of many great feats using the crystalline formations which grow around their kingdom. They are used for architecture, interior design, weaponry, magical conduits, soul stones, and even cooking. Crystals sliced into thin wafers, a crunchy snack, or thick steaks to be seared and simmered. Crystals broken into chunks, glittery nuggets that one can’t help scarfing down. Crystals ground into fine powder, a zesty seasoning to go with any meal. Crystals melted down into a sauce, gooey with a faint grainy texture, the best garnish in the land. All these and more are ferried out by a long train of ponies from the royal kitchen, resolute despite their exhaustion and ache from this interminable service. The closer they come to the great palace dining hall, the louder the sounds of consumption become, jaws gnashing wetly, intermittent belches, and muffled but nonetheless fiercely demanding bellows. “Faster, whelps! Your sovereign hungers!” “This is nothing! Bring me more!” “More! More! MORE!” Into the hall, where all the long tables and chairs and benches have been removed to make room for the enormous mass of charcoal-grey bulk which occupies the majority of the chamber. It is an amorphous thing, its shape indefinable, sprawling folds occupying a space larger than a manor. Ponies stand upon the towering figure, kneading it with their hooves or scrubbing it with soap, walking along the slopes like goats scaling a mountain. Intermittently, another deafening eruption of gas rings out, and the fleshy mass ripples like a gelatin mold in an earthquake.

The door opens and Baal’amah steps inside, bringing with her the golden illumination of her floating crown. It matches the glow that is already present within the dim room, the bright yellow rings which are emblazoned upon its other sole occupant, who groans in a daze as she approaches him. She chuckles as she makes a quick, furtive gesture with her hands and her uniform melts away, formal suit replaced with loose folds of cloth that drape across her form, curtains over the front of her chest on either side, between her legs, and the cleft of her rear. There’s a lot more jiggling on account of how much less support this outfit offers, enormous, black-furred endowments bobbing and swaying in pendulous arcs. She comes beside the sprawling bulk which sits in the center of the room—shorter than her, but far broader—and leans out so that she can place her palm upon him, which elicits another low moan. “You’ve performed quite well so far, Beryl,” she croons as she traces her fingers over the flabby slopes, the swollen folds and bloated curves, anatomy scarcely recognizable. This contact unavoidably has her hip and the side of her breast spilling over him as well, dark on dark flesh. “Patronage has gone up more than ten percent since you started working for Burgatory. I’ve seen more than a few surveys saying ‘I want to be just like that Umbreon in the ad!’ I dare say you might just be the most successful spokesperson we’ve had thus far.” Beryl the blob-shaped Umbreon responds with nothing more than low moans, his eyes half-lidded. “Nuuuuh…muuuuh…”

As Falco strides down the hall that runs along the Great Fox’s outer hull, he catches a view out the window of the ship that’s parked alongside them, a compact vehicle painted bright yellow with flame patterns and stylized slices of pizza. He comes to the airlock, and after the two vessels are connected, interlocking with a shudder that rocks both of them he opens the door. He’s met with a huge stack of cardboard boxes that obscures the worker carrying them. “This is a pretty big order you’ve got here, bub,” the lizard says after Falco takes the stack from him, “you got a party goin’ on or somethin’?” “Or somethin’, sure,” Falco responds drolly. Once the order has been paid for (with the dwindling Team Star Fox expenses account), he takes the boxes on another route through the ship until he ends up in the den. Here, the savory smell seeping from the cardboard containers mingles with the lingering odor of many greasy meals which preceded it. With his vision obscured, Falco can only hear the sounds of videogames being played on the holoscreen, beeps and boops interspersed with the occasional exclamation of excitement or frustration. It’s only after setting the boxes down that he can fully take stock of the situation in the room—not that he expects to see much different. “Would you look at that,” Falco remarks, “I didn’t know we had a space whale on deck.” “Har de har.” Fox’s forced laughter is mixed in with haggard huffs of breath and gaseous expulsions. “You know space whales are a hoax, just blurry photos of Venomian cruisers.”

Are you interested in:

FREEDOM?

Crystal cuisine?

Performance reward?

And space pizza?

These topics and more explored in drabbles available through my Patreon.

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw

You Stumble Upon a Band of Adventurers by NonUberis -- Fur Affinity [dot] net Fur Affinity | For all things fluff, scaled, and feathered!

Also posted on FA and DB:
www.furaffinity.net/view/64646602/
derpibooru.org/images/3800082

Rarity and Fluttershy from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, in anthro female intersex forms, geared up as fantasy adventurers, Rarity is dressed as a knight with ill-fitting armor and a sword, Fluttershy is dressed as a tribal warrior with skimpy cloth tatters and face- and body-paint and a staff, also they're just really huge with big boobs and butts and cocks and balls and lips, standing in a forest and glancing toward the viewer.

Regular adventuring in the Decaverse.

Rarity and Fluttershy have nothing better to do I guess.

It's all just really kinky foreplay.

Original art by SimonAquarius.

#nonuberart #furry #nsfw #hyper #bimbo #clop

Extended music uploaders gradually realizing that there's nothing stopping them anymore after youtube dropped the ten-minute video limit

Extra Thick Pickle by NonUberis -- Fur Affinity [dot] net Fur Affinity | For all things fluff, scaled, and feathered!

Also posted on FA:
www.furaffinity.net/view/64634641/

An anthro female intersex Deviljho standing in a desert environment, thick and beefy with big boobs and bulge, wearing a crop top and cut shorts, holding one arm up behind her head and doing a little blushy.

Bulky beefy Deviljho gf is here.

She's not actually very angry.

But she's very passionate about her bird.

Original art by @pinkpalooka.hyper.wang

#nonuberart #furry #nsfw #hyper #fat #muscle

HAP BURP

Good, now smother my face with it