Non Uberis

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We don't need Nons where we're going.

Writing, art, and/or gaming.

Probably NSFW.

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Gives birth to a single full-grown adult chad shark

For as goofy and blatantly incomplete as the old live action movie was, I appreciated how they did some things differently from the original to spice things up

Almost the entire manga is covered, with very little meaningful content removed despite how truncated it is, and it's clear that the anime was made with fans of the series in mind so the creators were probably afraid to do anything new

After finally watching the Uzumaki anime, my takeaway is that its biggest issue (other than the obvious troubled production) is that they weren't confident enough to do much new with the story

“You look great, Spike!” Twilight Sparkle remarks with a smile. “Thanks, Twi, I feel great,” he replies, beaming back. This is mostly true, so long as he disregards the anxious butterflies in his stomach (for a dragon, they must be volcanic fireflies). He certainly likes the way the qipao looks on him now that it’s been refitted, and he likes the silky embrace of the fabric draping over his scales. It hugs to his broad, jutting chest, emphasizing that aspect of femininity, but the open sleeves and the slit along the side show off his toned masculine physique (not to mention the conspicuous way the skirt falls over his meaty groin). His own feelings, however, are not as easy to sort out as those of other ponies, and there are a lot of ponies at the gala tonight. The feeling of so many eyes upon Spike is something that he’s not used to, having avoided the spotlight for much of his life. It must be hard for anyone to miss him, since he stands over a head taller than just about any other creature present at the gala. His stature brings his chest to just the right height that anyone can see his bust rising above the crowd like a breaching whale. He can only imagine what the social atmosphere would be like if he were tall enough that his crotch was in that position. “I’m glad you were able to get things working with Rarity despite my, uh, miscalculations,” the mare mutters sheepishly. It had, of course, been Twilight’s calculations regarding Spike’s rate of growth that assisted them with making projected measurements for the dragon’s clothing. “I didn’t anticipate such a sudden exponential increase!”

In the gloom, however, the slightest form of illumination becomes drastically amplified, making it not so hard to see the faint glow that emanates from a door that’s cracked slightly ajar. “Hmm…” Vanilla’s motherly intuition tells her that Tails must be doing something in secret, and she doesn’t exactly want to pry, but she can’t just go home emptyhanded while her streaming services are still barred to her. She goes to open the doorway and finds herself standing at the top of a flight of stairs, fluorescent light filtering up from below. “Tails?” she ventures again, echoing down the stairwell. Once more there is no response, though she can faintly hear some metallic clattering. There is someone down there. Once more Vanilla considers turning back, maybe leaving a note. But how will she bear going to bed without checking SpinTok first? Heaving a weary sigh, she starts making her way down the steps. She moves carefully since it’s difficult for her to see the steps beneath her feet. It’s a rather tight fit for her as well, though she understands that a small fox like Tails wouldn’t exactly need to build his workspace for one of her stature. Maybe the loud thumps of her descent will be enough to get his attention. As she comes to the bottom of the stairs, one more time she says, “Tails? I’m sorry if you’re busy, but I’d appreciate if I could speak to you!” Still no response, but her long ears perk up when she hears something, a hushed mutter: “Should it be…?”

The shrine is quiet, save for his own hoarse, shivering breath. Fu understands that these are simply traditions, but he had quietly hoped for some kind of sign to indicate that a blessing had been conferred upon him, that the spirits were in favor of his decision. He is still left with the same uncertainty that has plagued him since he formulated this plan to leave home. All he can do is hold his breath as he bows his head low to the ground. No sooner does Fu’s nose touch the floor than there is a sharp CRACK of thunder, a blinding flash that washes into the shrine. He flinches, but still he remains steady. What instead causes him to rise is when a heady warmth starts to waft over him. He looks up and sees white smoke filling the shrine. The idea of a fire flashes in his mind—started by a lightning strike, or worse by his own carelessness—but the smoke mystifies him. It’s warm and hot like breath, with a bitter tang that cloys in his sinuses. The misty clouds billow all around him, a cloud front swallowing up the shrine’s interior. Then he becomes aware that he isn’t alone. Something pads through the mist, heavy footfalls. The noxious smoke prevents him from smelling anything, but he can hear the low growl that rumbles around him. A shadow resolves from the ether, striding closer and closer, growing implausibly larger. The shrine is small, hardly more than ten feet across, and yet within the white cloud all sense of space is completely obliterated. When the shadow stands above the dog, it towers over him, seeming to fill the whole world.

“Hmm…this certainly is the result of entropic corruption,” Sunset remarks as she inspects the first tree. Each of her eyes reports a different detached perspective, observing her subject from multiple angles and in varying spectral lenses to isolate the facets of its makeup, physical and magical and spiritual. In some angles, she can see herself, swollen top-heavy form standing amidst the orchard, dwarfing Applejack beside her. It isn’t necessary to go into this much detail to know that something is plainly wrong, but she prefers to be thorough. The apple tree before them twisted and gnarled and distended. The bark of the trunk bulges grotesquely along its crooked length, blackened as if scorched by fire, leading up to a crown that looks like a huge knot like a clenched fist, looming over the grass. The only branches that extend from it are short and stubby with sickly yellow leaves, drooping from the overgrown, misshapen fruit that hang from them. Sunset plucks one apple and holds it up before her, feeling it with telekinetic sensors; the yellow-orange rind is firm and unblemished, but there is a distinct warmth to it that a fresh apple shouldn’t have. Another flash of her horn and the apple slices cleanly in half, revealing flesh that glows faintly and, for a few seconds, seems to roil like magma before cooling. “Twilight and I will have to run some tests to determine the exact nature of this transformation,” she declares with grim authority, enveloping the split fruit in a net of compartmentalized void matter. “Suffice to say, these apples should not be considered safe for consumption until then.”

Are you interested in:

Continued fitting struggles?

Mom technology?

Guardian spirits?

And chaos investigation?

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

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#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw

I just want firefox to work why is that so hard

Heaven is between big bulges

absolute nightmare with computer lately

wanted to try switching browsers and now everything's exploding constantly

with Legends Z-A on the horizon it feels strange that I just...don't care

I was hyped up for it for so long and now Nintendo's scumminess has me turned off of it

plus feels like a waste to get it for Switch 1

I'm not sure I have much to say about it haha, I just thought it was a funny thing to get one time because Richy was doing a YCH for it

Get more from Non on Patreon creating Fantasy Fiction

You can get access to my full catalog of drabbles and previews of other stories by subscribing to my Patreon.

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New drabble selection uploaded.

Featuring ice cream, parasitism, milking, pink, and apple.

www.furaffinity.net/view/62561980/

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw #hyper #fatfur #inflation #transformation

A flattened pancake Non

Funny you should mention that extremely specific scenario

Yes :')

Ideal shape: head as big as the rest of your (also very big) body

Heavy footfalls thud and scrape down the hallway, louder and louder, the floorboards shaking as a huge mass drags over them. A terrible odor creeps through the air, biting and acrid, with the bitter tang of blood. A hulking shadow emerges from the gloom, a figure that fills the hall from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, blotting out the view of everything behind it like a solar eclipse. Dim fluorescent lighting reveals scant details at this distance, swollen contours of flesh covered in a matted coat of inky black, a living veil of darkness, and you do not wish to see more of it. Terror wells in your heart, an icy chill that seeps through your limbs, but a rush of adrenaline keeps you thawed enough to turn and— “HALT,” booms a thundering, multilayered voice that you feel as much as you hear, rumbling through your bones, and all your confidence ekes out of you at once. There is a chorus of deep chuckles as the footsteps come closer still, underscored by a dizzying chittering drone. The Rat King looms before you, its enormous frame ill-contained by the claustrophobic hallway in which it stands; surely were it to be outside, it would expand to fill the whole sky. A cloak of shaggy fur hangs all around it, obscuring the exact shape of its amorphous, sprawling figure, but not all of the fine details. Its ferocious maws. Its many powerful arms and sharp claws. Its countless eyes, piercing red pinpricks. Its bloated bellies, conjoined abdomens lined with rows of teats. And something upon its head that gleams like a crown. The monster rumbles five times over, “KNEEL BEFORE OUR MAGNIFICENCE.”

“Hmm…” Euphoria stares at the page laid out before them. There are a few attempted doodles and scribbles scattered across it, scratchy half-formed figures with loosely defined anatomy. They hold a pencil between their pointer and middle fingers and idly allow it to waggle, eraser thumping on the paper. This motion carries through them in different forms: hoof tapping on the floor; knee wobbling; tail flicking back and forth; horn sparking and flashing, as if communicating in morse code. Their lips are curled faintly into a smile, yet they do not seem particularly happy with their violet eyes glazed over. “WE DESIRE TO REITERATE OUR PREVIOUS COMMENT ABOUT THE MANIFESTATION OF IMAGINATION.” “Shh.” They make a scolding mental clap across Pneuma’s rump. A gravelly whicker responds in their ears. “YOU DO NOT APPEAR TO BE AS ENTHUSED WITH THIS AS THE WRITING.” Closing their eyes for a few seconds, Euphoria huffs a sigh through their nostrils and finally ceases their fidgeting. The scarlet fringe along their mane recedes, becoming almost entirely golden, and their ears fold to the sides. “I thought this would be easier for me now,” they murmur ruefully, “I’m not getting angry about my lack of skill but I’m still just…getting stuck.” They hold the tip of the pencil to a vague unicorn face, a circle with a boxy muzzle projecting from it, curved horn and ears grafted on top, curls representing a mane. They cannot muster the will to refine it.

“Where can I try going now?” She glances around herself, looking for any kind of promising clue. She can’t remember if this is even where she was the last time she passed out (she has vague memories of an explosive rupture). A wall of lockers are behind her and there are openings ahead and to the left. There are arrow patterns printed upon the floor tiles, pointing down along the path, but she isn’t sure how eager she is to follow them. The obvious route almost always leads to something disastrous. But she spies something that glimmers faintly along one of the walls. It’s a flat pane of glass. She strides over to it, curious if it might be a window, something she could break and use to escape perhaps, but no, it’s clearly just affixed to the wall. A mirror, then, though the glass is so fogged over from the steam that she can’t see anything other than a smear of color. Lacking anything better to do, she wipes her palm across the cool surface, squeaking faintly. This doesn’t prove to be such a good idea, because the sight of her face staring back at her, disheveled and morose, doesn’t do much to lift her spirits. She tries to muster a smile, but it’s merely a crude facsimile. Then her reflection’s lips curl back, revealing a sharp-toothed grin. Victoria blinks and flinches.

Rarity has just finished immaculately applying mascara to her left eyelashes when Spike interjects “Um, I think there’s a problem” and her fingers spasm, nearly dabbing the inky brush against her brow. “What is it?” the mare replies, reining in the spike of anxiety that threatens to topple the precarious equilibrium of her present mental state. A problem arising in the final hour before they leave for the gala after weeks of preparation is the last thing she needs. She turns to the dragon who towers over her, his broad wings furled out into a canopy. “It’s…um…” he mutters nervously, unable to spit out what he means, but it’s clear what the source of his apprehension is. He’s holding his dress, the garment of dark plum fabric that Rarity painstakingly crafted for him, around himself, draped about the shoulders, clasps undone. His cheeks are flushed green and his frills are drooping with embarrassment. “Spike, darling, please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about your ensemble now,” she pleads with no small amount of desperation, and she reaches out and places a hand on his hip. “I told you, you will look marvelous, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “N-no, it’s…it’s not that,” he stammers back, nodding his head fervently, “I want to wear the dress, I r-really do.”

Are you interested in:

Rat king?

Unicorn artistry?

Through a mirror steamy?

And fitting struggles?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw

Sharkdragon women

[aiming sights of Garchomp TF cannon]

lol still a good time

Crave them heads

Weresquawk

The worst thing that Pibby has done is make me watch Rick & Morty

Jo my buttloved

Touch...

a cartoon character wearing a hat and holding a cane . ALT: a cartoon character wearing a hat and holding a cane .

Suddenly hearing a chiming noise outside and instinctively expecting it to be accompanied by Sherma singing

Hey All Its a new Month and I'm once again Open for Commissions!
Taking 5 Slots!
NOT First Come, First Serve!

Form to apply for a slot Here:
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Applications will be open till Monday (Oct 6th)

Help a Wuff Out~!

#MoonwuffArtworks

Huge nuts are the pinnacle of comfort

“OPEN YOUR SENSES.” Euphoria is conscious of their surroundings. They observe the field that rolls out ahead of them, tall golden grass rustling in the cool breeze. They hear the blustering chorus around them and the distant twitter of birdsong. They smell the heady loam of the natural world. They feel the earth beneath their hooves. They can even taste the faint honey sweetness of fruit that lingers in the air. The awareness of a unicorn is amplified so much more than that of a mortal creature. “NO.” Pneuma’s chiding nips like a pinch on their brainstem. “A UNICORN OF THE DREAMSCAPE MUST BE CAPABLE OF PERCEIVING MORE THAN WHAT IMMEDIATELY SURROUNDS THEM. REACH OUT BEYOND AND UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU CANNOT SEE.” “Oh, okay,” they reply and giggle to themselves, “I get it now.” The unicorn allows their senses to dilate. It feels like diving into a pool of water, a rush of stimulation that washes over them. Before them, the field extends and roils in waves, color bleeding through the gold, seeping across the twilit sky. A deep thrum fills their ears, muffled, gradually roaring louder. Their skin ripples, every individual hair of their coat swaying. An ancient smell seeps into their nostrils, the decay of worlds long forgotten. The oppressive tang of infinity wriggles within their saliva.

And expanded perception?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw

Dorothy’s demeanor abruptly sharpens, gaze focusing intently upon the tray. “Rabbit not know where that come from,” she states sternly. The Lopunny glares back at her. He really should know better by now. At a time like this, however, overflowing with confidence, he can’t resist the urge to scoff. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” He takes a bite out of the apple, teeth shearing through the rind, juice and flesh filling his maw before he swallows and— “Teacher?” Jody blinks. The janitor office with its dim fluorescent lights and sterile chemical smell are gone, replaced with what appears to be a classroom. There are colorful posters around the walls with motivational slogans and informative tidbits—a lot related to geology. A dull orange light bleeds filters through the windows along the right side of the room. Rows of desks extend before him, and they’re all occupied. “Is something wrong, teacher?” asks the same deep, gravelly, and yet innocuously gentle voice, belonging to a creature sitting in one of the front desks. They’re all akin to each other, craggy rock figures that hunch in their seats, faint red veins running through their dark skin. They don’t exactly appear to be children, bearing bulky forms that are more reminiscent of professional college linebackers. They don’t even seem to move, to breathe, as Jody stares at them, aside from the faintly flickering pulsations along their veins.

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The chanting of the demons matches the rhythm of Beelzebub gulping down gallon after gallon of nectar. She holds the huge barrel of golden serum up over her head, effortlessly lifting it with two hands while the second pair waves to her audience, beckoning their adulation. The sweet, psychedelic juice churns down her throat, her skin tingling as her stomach fills, though her form remains trim and slender. When her drink finally runs dry, she lets the barrel fall and releases a roaring belch that deafens the cheers around her and the booming music in the background of the club. “Now that’s how you cap off a party in Gluttony!” the monstrous hellhound exclaims victoriously. She pumps one pair of fists while still keeping palms clasped upon her midsection, feeling the tense surface of her kaleidoscopic skin. And then there’s another clatter, another barrel hitting the ground, and another thunderous eruption of gas. “Ha…d-done…” Loona wheezes through flabby jowls before she futilely reaches to grasp her own sprawling, distended, taut belly. The balloon of a gut sprawls ahead of her, nearly spherical, angry red stretch marks and a faint golden glow bleeding through the white fur. There are more cheers for her as Beelzebub saunters over and leans upon the slopes of flab that gird the hellhound’s side. “Great job there, babe,” she croons, lips pulled into a broad grin, “that’s a new record for you, ain’t it? Not a lotta demons can take four whole barrels of nectar without poppin’.”

“I don’t think this is working,” Non mutters into the pillow that his face is resting upon (more than just his pillowesque lips). “Sometimes it takes a while to work out the kinks in your system,” Lotus insists as she keeps on kneading her fingers into his pale-scaled skin. He snickers, tail flicking. “There are a lot of kinks in here.” Then he winces when the other Milotic pinches one of his antennae. “If you’ve programmed yourself for pain then surely you can relax,” she scolds. “It’s not exactly something I’ve had a lot of opportunity to do in recent times,” he groans back. “And that’s precisely the reason you should be relaxing.” She leans over him and says quietly, “You have to help yourself before you can help the rest of the world.” Non grumbles back but doesn’t speak any further. Lotus resumes her prodding at his back. She understands where the proper focal points should be (even with the shelf of her bosom inhibiting her reach and her ability to see). Non’s back is sculpted precisely, lacking any of the bulbous pockets of fatty tissue that define so many of his assets. Just a little further down, his buttocks rise up in tall humps, tail draped upon the cleft between them, and gaps in the surface of the massage table permit his breasts and phallus to dangle beneath. He had been willing to shrink to a more conducive size for this activity, but she insisted that he maintain a shape he feels comfortable with.

Terrible, rumbling laughter fills the chamber as Prince Hisan opens his eyes. The circumstances are very familiar to him; he finds himself tied to a stone seat, overlooking a deep pit set into the floor. This view is one he has seen before, except the last time he looked down into this pit it was full of boiling green slime. Now it’s completely empty, but the sight of the bottom far below isn’t much more appealing. “Now I have you right where I want you, little prince,” declares the owner of the laughter, a deep, booming voice, as she emerges from the gloom. Her tail curls behind her, wings outstretched, as she saunters forward, hips swaying from side to side. The Sphinx towers over him, about as tall as the pit is deep. She leers down past her bosom, purple-furred boulders which are larger than her skull, though with the disparity in height between them they’re easily large enough to bury Hisan. “You cannot threaten me, beast!” the stallion shouts back defiantly, though he has to put all of his conviction into keeping himself from shuddering. “I know that Somnambula will be here to save me!” She sneers back. “Cling to that paltry hope of yours, but that peachy harlot of yours shall not arrive in time to stop me from having my way with you.” He gulps, try though he might to maintain his composure. “And…j-just what would it be that you intend?”

Are you interested in:

Profession swap?

Gluttonous indulgence?

Struggling to relax?

Captive pleasure?

(continued)

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw