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nonuberis.bsky.social
Non Uberis
@nonuberis.bsky.social
410 followers 96 following 1.3K posts
I write and color things. I am very confused. He/Him. 33yo. 18+ only pretty please.

#nonuberstories
#nonuberart
#nonubercomms
#nonubergaming
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nonuberis.bsky.social
Non Uberis @nonuberis.bsky.social · Oct 17
Here be lewds, 18+ viewers only.

See my other locations here:
linktr.ee/nonuberis
https://linktr.ee/nonuberis
t.co
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Burger date aftermath?

Doppelganger twist?

Juicy reversal?

And makeout machinations?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
“Come on, Chryssie,” Luna burbles, giggling, lips stretched in a giddy grin, her normally refined enunciation slurring together, “do you not…want a drink?” “No,” Chrysalis replies for the umpteenth time, pointedly sipping from her glass of water instead. “Aww…come oooon!” she whines back in the distinct manner of a foal instead of a centuries-old alicorn. She squeezes her breasts together, the globes sprawling over the table ahead of her, having long since broken free from the confines of her dress. A milky fluid dribbles from the nipples, pale and translucent, and with it pooling over the table, splashing on their empty dishes, the lingering aroma of their dinner is being overpowered by alcohol. “If you do not drain me…then I will pop! You do not want your princess to pop!” “Oh no, oh goodness, what a terrible prospect,” the changeling remarks with a droll, forced gasp. “This is all just a dream, there’s nothing to worry about. Anyway, you can still fit on your side of the booth, I think you’ll be fine for another few minutes.” (Neither of them realizes that the booth has subtly extended its dimensions over the course of their meal.) Then the other Chrysalis, the corpulent waitress garbed in the uniform branding of Burgatory, comes wobbling up to their table again. She doesn’t express any surprise at how Luna has become a living keg of moonshine. “It looks like everyone’s enjoyed their meals here,” she remarks with curt politeness while she starts to reach for the empty plates, sopping with fluids, “would you be interested in dessert?” “No thanks, I think I’d better bring her back home, it’s past her bedtime,” replies the buxom Chrysalis sitting at the table, “I might need some help getting her out of here though.” After a long shift of swabbing floors, cleaning up spills, beating down extradimensional abominations, and dodging rifts of unreality, Jody looks forward to an opportunity to take a break. Then he walks into the janitor office and sees himself standing by the desk. There is still enough adrenaline pumping through him that he’s able to spring to action, leaping across the room and grabbing the red-haired Lopunny by the shoulder and demanding in a harsh growl, “What the hell are you?!” Despite the urgency of his threat, it moves with calm complacency as it turns to face him. Jody flinches when he sees his own face mirrored back at him…but not entirely accurately. The eyes are smaller, beady black dots, and wider apart, and its mouth is a thin line formed into a faint smile. It responds in a cheery garble: “?kcans a tnaw ouy oD !ereht ih ,hO” “What?” Jody sputters back, not knowing how to respond but certainly not prepared to back down. The doppelganger shrugs and makes a sound that’s almost like laughter but played in reverse, and it says “flesruoy tiuS” before showing a bundle of black licorice clenched in its fist. “H-hey, wait, are those—!” Jody doesn’t get a chance to intervene before the uncanny Lopunny stuffs the candy into his mouth, gnawing and chewing them up in seconds. Rainbow pushes the cardboard rectangle back. “C’mon, Queenie, you don’t gotta be so hostile.” She smiles at her, lips curling slowly upward. “I’m not payin’ you unless I can give you a drink too.” Chrysalis glares daggers back at her (or perhaps something larger and more deadly such as broadswords or battleaxes would be more accurate). With the threat to her financial obligations, however, she has no choice but to acquiesce. “Fine, bring me the drink,” she says, keeping hold of the box, “and it had better not have any alcohol in it.” Not that she wouldn’t welcome the buzz, but she can’t get caught drinking on the job. Rainbow should know that too, which is exactly where the problem lies. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” she replies with a wink while she starts to turn around, “Just gimme ten seconds!” And, indeed, it’s almost exactly ten seconds after the pegasus beats her wings, flying off into the house with a gust of air, before she zips back to the door. In her hands she holds a fistful of bits and a glass of orange juice. After completing the business transaction of dropping the bits in Chrysalis’s payment jar (with a small show of fireworks; a surprising tip), she enthusiastically extends the juice and says enthusiastically, “Here you go, pal!” “Hey there, Non,” Claire says as she sidles up to the Milotic, stumbling over the name just for a moment (she couldn’t remember it despite it only being a three-letter word, but she found it by combing through her texts and emails), “you’re looking pretty hot tonight.” He turns to face her, long neck craning around, his smiling lips coming to occlude much of his face. “Hiya!” he replies with a chipper giggle, “You look pretty hot too!” He croons as he eases his weight against her, nearly pushing Claire over. His body, hardly contained within a crop top and skirt and underwear, compresses more than hers does, her breasts and buttocks maintaining a pert, round shape. And then he asks, “You wanna make out?” The Gabite blinks at him, taken aback for a moment, before she breaks into a toothy grin and replies, “Yeah, of course!” “Okay!” He promptly takes hold of her shoulders and kisses her right on the muzzle. It’s too fast for Claire to keep up, but she wouldn’t have been able to reciprocate this anyway. Non’s lips engulf her snout, smearing gloss over her scales, squeezing and sucking as if trying to swallow her face, the rubbery wet squealing noise filling her ears. The kiss utterly devours all other thoughts for the time being. She doesn’t have enough brain space left over to think about the boneless, twisting manner with which his arms encircle her, anchoring her in place while her legs turn to jelly. When he lets go, she staggers away, doubled over, face inches away from her own cleavage. She can feel the sticky purple paint staining her face.
November 25, 2025 at 7:27 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
what I wouldn't give for people not to treat goodbye volcano high and sn**t game as if they're interchangeable

as if they're just two versions of the same idea

as if one didn't shamelessly rip off the other
November 24, 2025 at 6:44 PM
Reposted by Non Uberis
happydingo.bsky.social
It's the first time I've ever tried running something like this, but times are tough and I need to realize I can't do this all alone.

I couldn't screenshot my Paypal debt because it's blocked and I just had to type it out. Any sharing around definitely helps!
www.gofundme.com/f/support-ca...
Donate to Support Carson's Journey to Financial Stability, organized by Carson Ziegler
I'm a 32 year old dispatcher who was preparing to move out on my own be… Carson Ziegler needs your support for Support Carson's Journey to Financial Stability
www.gofundme.com
November 22, 2025 at 1:48 AM
Reposted by Non Uberis
reimoon.bsky.social
New Round of Commissions is Opening up for this month!

Taking 5 slots

NOT First Come, First Serve!

If your interested please fill out the linked form:
forms.gle/GAN8WPz2CSTs...

Form will stay open until slots have been filled up!

Please help this Riolu out~
November 22, 2025 at 12:01 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Taking a break?

Big smashy?

Bimbo propaganda?

And fattening media?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
Euphoria assesses themselves. They have been looking out the window for some time. How long exactly? It doesn’t especially matter. A while. The passage of time is largely irrelevant anyway. What have they been looking at? The fields outside the cottage, grass rustling gently in the breeze. Nothing unusual has passed by; they would be able to remember something of that nature, surely. They can see their own reflection in the glass, ghostly and transparent, smiling placidly. “Don’t you have something to say about this waste of time?” they ask aloud as they glance away, toward the seat across from them. “Are you quite certain that you do not want something…smaller?” the draconic blacksmith asks, speaking every syllable with a guttural growl. Aster blinks back at him and frowns. “Why would I want something smaller?” He hums, a tectonic grating sound in his throat, as he looks down upon the rabbit. Even lying upon the ground, limbs curled around himself in a feline manner, he looms over her. “One cannot help getting the impression that you are pushing above your weight class,” he mutters, and he extends one claw to gesture at the weapon she’s currently holding, “that hammer looks like it was crafted for one a good three or four heads taller than you, a human or even an orc.” “I’ve been using this hammer for over a year and it’s served me well,” she asserts promptly, holding the war hammer out and stamping its haft on the floor. It would be taller than her were it not for her long ears sticking up from her head. Her arm can barely reach far enough beyond the expanse of her broad curvature to make this pose without bumping the handle against herself. “It only just occurred to me that this one is insufficient for my purposes. I need something with greater reach and heft if I’m to engage in combat.” “Fox,” General Pepper says with a breathy, gruff huff, “I’m calling to inquire about the…photos that just came in.” “Oh, yeah?” asks the digital image of Fox McCloud over his computer display, muffled voice further distorted by radio static. The video feed isn’t entirely helpful since most of his face is obscured by lips. The glossy green mounds make it difficult even to discern how he grins. “From the shoot for the military advertisement, right?” “Hrm, yes,” Pepper grunts back. “I felt pretty good about it,” Fox prattles on, lips wobbling gelatinously as he speaks, “even though that uniform was awfully tight on me, it’s been so long since I had to wear something so stuffy. And it gets really hot under those big photography lights, I got awfully sweaty from that and I wasn’t even doing a workout!” “I see…” Pepper can certainly guess as much from looking at the pictures that show Fox wearing a standard issue Cornerian military uniform. Or, rather, one that was meticulously tailored to his absurdly augmented proportions. The grey and red jacket around his torso is fairly unremarkable. The pants, on the other hand, would look like some kind of absurd tent if they were extricated from his gargantuan buttocks and genitalia. “So what’s the deal, General?” he then asks, eager zeal brimming through his voice. “Everything good? Did you need some more pics taken?” “HELLOOOOOO and welcome back to GAAAAAIN WATCHERS,” announces a tinny, nasally voice, “where it would appear that our last contestant is just wrapping up their binge session!” The screen shows a sprawling mass of chocolate brown with a few buttery yellow highlights. It takes a few seconds for Renamon to decipher that this pile of furry folds is actually a person, their anatomy scarcely identifiable, swaddled up in an ocean of fat. The bloblike creature has a large hose fed into their mouth, buried within the fleshy crevasses of cheeks and neck and muzzle, bushy tufts and long ears and light orange hair perched on top of their head like mossy growths. This scene does, if nothing else, succeed at rousing Renamon from her stupor of malaise, eyes widening and ears perking up as she comes to attention. “What an admirable performance, let’s give it up for them, everyone,” the announcer declares over canned applause and laughter. “Ah but what’s this? It looks like we have a neeeew contestant.” The feed shifts, showing a dark space, as they say, “Let’s give a warm weighty welcome tooooo—” The audio cuts out, replaced with a robotic monotone utterance of “RENAMON.” “Huh?” Renamon stands straighter still as she watches the black get chased away by a spotlight, revealing another Renamon, waving as she looks about. “Thanks, Paul!” she replies cheerily, “I’m glad to be here, I’ve wanted to be on the show for a long time!”
November 21, 2025 at 10:47 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
TWO (2) new drabble selections uploaded.

Featuring beach jiggle, royal audience, spooky sleepover, subdued berries, and dream transformation.

www.furaffinity.net/view/63056026/

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
November 21, 2025 at 12:26 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Charming snakes?

Data corruption?

Reverse exercise?

And undercover operations?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
There is a figure sitting at the mouth of an alleyway, partially obscured in shadow, beckoning with a curling finger. He—this seems like the correct designation despite his exaggeratedly plump purple lips and the armfuls of breast which extend from his chest—is garbed in thin satin veils with golden trim. There are thick golden bracelets around his wrists. He sits cross-legged, perched upon something which seems like a giant pillow, but it has the conspicuous shape of a thick shaft and a pair of conjoined globes. “Please, I do not ask for much of your time,” Non remarks, and his long neck sways ever so slightly from side to side while he speaks. “It will be a most titillating spectacle, I promise.” From behind his back he produces a pungi which he holds up to his engorged lips. He plays a cyclical rhythmic tune on the thin instrument, bobbing along with the beat, antennae shaking. There is a distinct sense that something is missing from this equation. There should be some kind of vessel which the Milotic has before him, a basket or a jar. Then his breasts jostle, independent of his own movements, as if possessed. This continues for a few seconds before something emerges from the deep cleft of pale flesh. It starts as a tangle of chocolate hair attached to a scalp, and as the face emerges it unfurls to the side in a broad hood. The blue cobra has a crimson underbelly with a yellow star on the back of her hood, and she wears a gossamer veil over her muzzle, draping over the mounds of her lips. She sways from side to side with the humming tune as her neck emerges, but she comes to an abrupt stop after only a couple feet. She tugs and yanks as if there’s something caught inside the Milotic’s cleavage. “This would be easier if I had arms,” Alice grouses, twisting back around so she can glare at him. “Guilmon,” Renamon says sternly, watching him with her arms crossed, “don’t you suppose that you should be more discerning about what you eat? You don’t even know where any of this came from.” Guilmon looks at her with a vacant expression in his eyes and his maw crammed full with a loaf of bread, before he swallows the thing whole, bulging down his esophagus to his bloated stomach. “But it came from right here, Renamon,” he replies plainly, pointing to the pile of breads and pastries and desserts scattered over the ground, slightly dirty. “It came from there,” she asserts, pointing higher, to the green rift floating about ten feet above them, a glitch in the makeup of the Digiverse. It ambiently produces a low buzzing hum, intermittently crackling, and, with a sound uncannily akin to a belch, a whole chocolate cake drops from it and splatters on the pile. “And it’s delicious,” Guilmon chirps back as he picks up a bagel and dabs it in the mess of chocolate frosting. Sighing and shaking her head, Renamon waves her hand while she turns to leave. “Whatever, do as you will, have fun being a blob.” “Sure will!” he replies through another mouthful of half-chewed mush. And perhaps he would have kept on eating and done just that. But digital food is not like food in real life; instead of being made of flour, eggs, yeast, and sugar, it is comprised of numbers and code, and inside the rift that code roils chaotically. This can lead to unexpected results, such as when, for example, Guilmon eats a cupcake that has a caloric value of UNDEFINED. “Huh…what’s the deal with this?” Shannon wonders aloud as she stands by the machine. It’s recognizable enough as an exercise treadmill, a pad with a rotating mat to stand and walk upon. However, it lacks the typical support handles at the front or sides. There is only an arm that extends up from the side with an electronic interface perched on top. This works well enough for Shannon’s purposes, since her figure makes it difficult to use treadmills that aren’t specially designed for users of her proportions. Experimentally, the shark steps up onto the machine, and she doesn’t have to worry about her broad chest or hips wedging into anything, nor does it even groan in protest at her weight. “I guess this’ll work just fine,” she says with a cautious smile as she glances to the controls. The arm is far enough away that there’s no danger of her knocking into it, though she does have to stretch and reach to put her fingers on it. There’s a cord with a safety cut-off she can attach to her wrist to minimize risk of injury. There are an awful lot of settings on the machine, though, and it’s a little hard for her to read the tiny text from this position. In scanning over it, she sees a button that reads “AUTO” and decides that’s good enough for a test run. She presses the button and lights blink on one by one, and the machine whirs beneath her. She puts one foot forward and the mat begins to turn beneath her, accommodating for the stride of her legs. Whilst idly wandering through the crowd, a squishy, bouncy collision jostles her out of her thoughts. “Gah!” “Oh my!” Under normal circumstances, this upset balance wouldn’t be a problem, but with those damnable high heels on, Carmelita is unable to stop herself from tipping over. Before she can fall, however, a hand grasps around her waist and holds her firmly, enough for her to get her feet firmly in place upon the polished floor. She gasps for breath, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The sharp intake of a throat clearing presages a shrill voice saying, “My goodness, hon, I’d hate for you to fall for me like that!” “I’m…sorry, it was my fault,” she mutters as she corrects her posture, “I should have looked where I was…” She stops abruptly as her vision focuses, zeroing straight in on the face of her savior. Long eyelashes, thick mascara, and heavy eyeshadow…surrounding golden brown eyes. Clouds of blush applied around the cheeks…with grey fur with black stripes. And thick, glossy, pouting lips…framing an insufferable smirk. Carmelita’s fur bristles, her ears perk up, and her eyes widen for a moment before her brow furrows and she blurts out, “Cooper?!”
November 17, 2025 at 10:10 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I feel like GDQ has had poorer stream quality over time

A lot more disconnects, a lot more stuttering and buffering
November 15, 2025 at 4:54 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Moonscape?

Motorcorn?

Sunbirth?

And stackstream?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
“Hmm…” Luna hangs in the air above where she believes Canterlot should be. There is no sign of it, however—not the royal palace, not the gleaming marble city, not even the peak of Mount Canter. There is only a black ocean, a void which stretches out to the horizon where it meets with the starlit sky. With careful flaps of her wings (augmented by magic to assist in buoying her bulk), the alicorn descends and alights upon the midnight expanse. Her hooves sink into the swampy morass, down past her knees, so that her gut rests upon the smooth surface as well, and her huge breasts, spilling over her midsection, aren’t much farther behind. The material is cushy and pliant, covered in a coat of short fur, and a sweltering warmth exudes from within it, warding off the night’s chill. Under ordinary circumstances, it would be far more expedient to simply keep flying, but she knows that the effort she exerts doesn’t truly matter. Turning around, Luna starts to wade across the dark, fleshy mire. She enters into the shadow of two mountains which rise even higher than the rest of the expanse, a range which extends far to either side. This valley between them is the only avenue of approach. The moon hangs heavy in the sky overhead, a luminous eye looming over the world. Euphoria steps outside the cottage and promptly stops. The fields of gilded grass stretch out before them to a distant treeline, and the rest of the dreamscape extends beyond that. They could move as swiftly as the wind and cross that distance in the span of only a few heartbeats, bounding across the wilderness to wherever they feel like going. Their yearning to explore knows no limits. The unicorn holds in place there for a while, humming to themselves, before they step back into the cottage. They stroll toward a door that hadn’t been there when they walked past earlier and open it to find a dimly lit room on the other side. It’s cooler in here, a space that isn’t entirely insulated from the elements, and the smell of gasoline lingers in the air. Instinctively, they reach to the wall and press a button which prompts an automated grinding as a sliding panel door rises up from one wall, letting in the light from outside, gleaming off the sleek metal chassis of a car. They smile as they place their hand upon the hood and stride around it toward the driver-side door. When they touch the handle and the locks automatically click open, they become aware of a weight inside their pocket: a wireless key fob. The white mare stumbles to her hooves and looks back just once. She thinks she sees movement through the trees, flitting shadows, cruel blades glinting. And she sees the warrior clad in fur and armor, ready to face them and whatever else should dare to appear before her. Desperately clutching that image, believing in her sister’s strength, she turns and runs up the slope. The ascent is no easier than it had been before, and the thought that the summit is already close does little to alleviate the strain upon her. The snow steams around her, melting beneath her hooves, her gravid gut hanging heavily before her and casting its heat upon the frozen earth, but the thaw isn’t quick enough to keep the drifts from being a hindrance. Her progress is glacial, her breath misting as it comes huffing out from her burning lungs. She clutches at her midsection, partly in an effort to keep it steady, and to feel the gently churning warmth which rests within it. “I am sorry,” she thinks, the words wailing in her skull, “this is all my fault…I should have been more careful…but I shall not let them take you…I can still do this one thing right!” Dimly, an ethereal embrace caresses her, hands which are so small and yet so very strong. Putting her all into her climb, trudging through the snow and past steadily thinning trees, the white mare endeavors not to think about anything else. About the guttural, monstrous shrieks. About the roaring battle cry of a furious fighter. About the clashing of steel. About the rustling branches and leaves. About the muffled scuffling of snow. The webcam shows a bedroom painted in pastel greens and yellows and pinks. One may scarcely discern the top of a head on the lower periphery of the view, a coral mane and the tips of yellow ears. “Um…hello, everypony,” says a voice that’s scarcely audible even with considerable audio boosting. “Today, we’re, um…gonna be playing…Avian Crossing.” The center of the stream displays a title screen, ambient music playing as it scrolls over autumnal landscapes with cartoon birds flitting about. Messages scroll past on the chat playback. “And we’re gonna, um, have a…a special guest today!” The ears perk up slightly. “She’s running a little…late, just a little, I know she’s, um, really busy, she told me she’ll be here—” A ping plays over the background music and then an image appears in the background, behind the webcam and game capture, a sprawling field of dark blue with broad, sloping contours. On the side of the screen, visible in the epicenter of the swollen folds, there is a mare’s face, clouded by a starry blue mane, expression stern despite the flab which swallows her features. “Oh, she’s here! Say hi to Princess Luna everypony!” “Fluttershy.” The mouth of the blob pony opens statically alongside the new voice that speaks, firm and stern. “The stream cannot see you.” “H-huh? What do you mean?”
November 14, 2025 at 3:36 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
minding my own business when a new idea for an epic pony fetish story clotheslines me to the ground and stomps on my chest until my ribcage shatters
November 13, 2025 at 4:36 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Experiencing the bleh spiral

A tiny amount of bleh causes me to not feel enough motivation to do anything

And then I get dejected because I'm not doing anything and that produces a more drastic amount of bleh and I start collapsing inward
November 12, 2025 at 11:18 PM
Reposted by Non Uberis
queenkaijupixel.bsky.social
Please consider donating!
Pretty much all my income streams crashed and burned all at once and I've been trying to recover.

I need the support so I have the time to rebuild. Please spread the word!
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November 12, 2025 at 10:13 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
so at some point my tumblr got terminated and I can't appeal it anymore, and it won't let me use my regular email to make a new account, and of course tumblr doesn't allow you to send emails to contact a human person directly, yippee
November 12, 2025 at 12:46 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Familiar faces?

Bunbarian bone battle?

Malephoria?

And burger date?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
“Oh Non!” Alice calls out with a playful lilt as she pushes open the door in her closet. “I hope you’re ready for a surprise visit!” But on the other side of the aperture she discovers another cramped closet, scarcely large enough for her to fit into. There’s yet another door beyond that, and when she opens this one she sees a hallway. An extremely familiar hallway. If she looks back over her shoulder, she can see the same hallway reflected behind her. The passage from her home leads back into her home. “Non?” she calls again as she steps forward, brusquely forcing through the closet and into the hallway. It’s exactly the way she remembers—the same squeaky floorboard right outside the bathroom, the same scuff marks on the walls from where she’s brushed against them a little too often. With her behemoth breasts jutting ahead of her, she’s at least prepared to ram into anything that appears in her path. There’s no response, but she can hear something sizzling in the kitchen and smell the smoky aroma of cooking meat. Rounding the corner, she sees a Garchomp standing by the stove. A Garchomp who has to turn to the side so she can reach past her bosom. A Garchomp with chestnut hair and violet tips on her horns and fins. A Garchomp who is herself. “What?” Alice blurts out. The other Alice looks back to her, freezing in place, a look of terror in her eyes. “This definitely isn’t the way I came before,” Aster mutters under her breath. Moist grass crumples beneath her feet, but she can hardly even see the ground—and not just because of the jutting shelves formed by her body’s curvature. The mist which fills the forest clings low to the ground and wreathes around her in a clammy embrace. The trees which surround her are tall, looming shadows, and she can scarcely see the brightening sky through the canopy overhead. It had seemed like a good idea to set out before dawn, but now with the sun still below the horizon she can barely tell where she’s going. It's a good thing that her long, sensitive ears make it easy for her to be conscious of her surroundings, even the slightest rustle in the distance. She can tell that there’s nothing nearby, though she’s still kept her war hammer at the ready since she entered the mist. She holds it resting over her shoulder and bosom, the cool metal weight offering a sense of familiarity and comfort. The trees gradually thin ahead on the path, and the ground turns soft and squelchy. The smell of earth is strong here, the stench of decay. It’s starting to grow brighter, and the sun’s warmth begins to chase away the mist, but it’s still murky enough that the rabbit can’t see anything until she’s close. Something emerges from the mist ahead: a crude stone cairn. She looks about, and she can see a few more of these squat markers in the vicinity. She must have stumbled upon am old gravesite. Old, yet not entirely abandoned, as the soil beneath her feet shakes. When Euphoria opens their eyes and looks down, they see the blankets covering their form. There should be a body under there, their body, and yet they don’t feel particularly conscious of its sensations. There’s no need to be concerned with things that they can’t see. Without physical constraints, this can be whatever they want. “Hmm…what am I feeling like?” they ask themselves. Then they pull the blanket off, sit up on the edge of the bed, and inspect themselves anew. They find that they can see their stomach for once: a flat surface beneath the layer of fur, and when they press their hand upon it they feel the defined abdominal muscles. That hand is attached to a slender yet toned arm, which itself meets with the shoulders and the gentle swells of pectorals. And they have a cock and balls out already, resting in their lap. They curiously prod the dormant genitalia before slipping their fingers beneath it, between their thick thighs, but they find no slit in that dark crevice. “Masculine today,” they murmur, unconsciously stroking the goatee which dangles from their chin, unfazed by the slightly deeper pitch of their voice, and they chuckle. They stand and look for a mirror (since few things stay in the same place for long in the cottage) so they can observe their reflection. Many would call the unicorn they see in the glass a stud, a powerful and virile figure who could effortlessly woo whomever they choose. Their form is slender but distinctly toned with musculature, with lusciously curvaceous thighs and a plump rear. They feel this body is made for flaunting, so they hold their arms up behind their head and slowly sway their hips from side to side, phallus swinging between their legs. They laugh to themselves as they turn, their curiosity sated—the focus upon that being the only reason they were able to stave off the urge to gaze longingly into their reflection for hours on end. “I feel that we’re grossly overdressed for this establishment,” Chrysalis mutters while looking around the dining room. She thinks that she stands out even more than usual, dressed in a shimmery dark pine gown that hugs her figure, a formal gala dress in stark contrast with the casual garb which the patrons are wearing. Although, on the other hand, her curvaceous form is far less extraordinary in the presence of so many exaggeratedly large creatures delivering meals, dressed in black and red, cruising precariously along the lanes between tables. It is an obscene display of wobbling, gelatinous flesh, but Chrysalis finds that she must regard them with begrudging sympathy as she carefully navigates her path while managing her sprawling double shelf of a bosom. “There is no such thing as making too good of an impression, Chrysalis,” Luna replies, and she winks as she glances back at her. The changeling grimaces as she observes a patron taking a bite out of an enormous hamburger which squirts out a gobbet of sauce over their shirt. “As long as you don’t mind hoofing the bill for the drycleaning after this too.” Luna chuckles in that infuriatingly nebulous manner that alicorns are far too fond of, before she announces, “Ah, here’s our table.” The empty booth has an awful lot of space for two people. For Chrysalis, though, as she sidles in on one side and settles into place, there’s enough room for her bosom to rest comfortably ahead of her without bumping into the edge of the table. Not entirely conducive, since she still has to reach past the black globes to get the utensils and napkin, but it allows her to be comfortable and breathe a sigh of relief. She’s thankful, at least, that the ambient clamor of the restaurant is muted somewhat here.
November 11, 2025 at 11:35 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I have, in fact, been writing drabbles, there will be a preview later today and then hopefully we’ll be back on track
November 11, 2025 at 1:02 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I have defeated the evil in my computer

for now...
November 10, 2025 at 2:17 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
computer is just gradually crumbling more and more with every passing day
November 10, 2025 at 4:13 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
there's so much in the video Little Runmo that I just continue to think about on a daily basis
a cartoon drawing of a skeleton sitting on a throne with the word bones below it
ALT: a cartoon drawing of a skeleton sitting on a throne with the word bones below it
media.tenor.com
November 9, 2025 at 3:38 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Girls with big teeth give the best noms

I mean hugs
November 8, 2025 at 5:44 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Speakers on computer suddenly stop working

Uninstall audio driver and do reboot

Computer beeps once and then speakers stop working again

.-.
November 7, 2025 at 9:24 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Guess what!

More computer problems!

Kill me! :D
November 7, 2025 at 4:52 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I swear FA's profile info section used to have a field for "favorite book" or "favorite author" but now it's gone
November 7, 2025 at 3:00 AM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Wanting you for Christmas?

Pizza appeal?

The importance of self-care?

And dancing bugs?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
The bouncy sleigh bell beat of the music is accompanied by a percussive rhythm of meaty claps. “It started as an overplayed radio thing because pop music has been driven into the ground over the past few decades,” Euphoria explains, huffing lightly with each breath, “then people made it into a meme and they just keep bringing it up every time the season comes around.” “AND THEY SPEND TWO MONTHS LISTENING TO IT?” “Or thinking about listening to it. Ear worms are kind of a big deal.” “MORTALS WOULD NOT BE SO GLIB ABOUT THEIR IDEAS IF THEY KNEW HOW THEY MANIFESTED.” Euphoria hums to themselves and observes the scene of the two of them candidly, two unicorn-turned-reindeer clapping their gargantuan ass cheeks along to the tune of Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You. “I don’t know, I think this would entice a lot of people to try manifesting them harder.” “You know what you need, Chryssy?” Discord declares as he suddenly pops into existence with the sound of a wet fart, leaning against her and reaching around her shoulders in the manner of an acquaintance trying to be far too personable. Chrysalis—who has, for better or worse, grown sufficiently accustomed to the draconequus’s appearances that she hardly bats an eye at his presence, even while she’s presently standing outside a Ponyville home waiting for the recipient of her delivery to answer the door—grimaces and flatly replies, “An ancient magical artifact that will allow me to throw off the shackles of my imprisonment and exact my wrath upon my captors?” He snorts and waves his talons. “No, silly!” He tousles her mane, mussing the stringy teal strands. Chrysalis ponders how much damage she could do by swinging her delivery pack at him. “What you need is sex appeal!” She just stares at him and holds her hands out, tracing around the sides of her sprawling bust, barely kept decent by a blue bikini top. Discord sighs melodramatically and rolls his eyes (they come up snake eyes). “No, no, Chryssy, that’s so basic! Anyone can do the slutty big-tit pizza delivery look!” With a snap of his fingers and a puff of smoke, now Discord himself is dressed the same way as Chrysalis, with a dyed mop perched on his head and balloons filling out his top. “I would think that a master of disguise and deception such as yourself would know how to optimize your look to get the most satisfaction out of your audience!” Applejack loosens her grip just enough for Chrysalis to relax, but still holds onto her to keep her steady as she hobbles through the living room to the kitchen. Apple Bloom holds out a chair for her to sit upon, and it creaks ominously when she sets her weight down, rump filling the seat in its entirety, but remains intact. While she’s catching her breath, chest heaving and falling, the younger mare hands a tall pitcher of water to Applejack, who in turn holds it up to Chrysalis’s mouth. “Drink,” she commands, and the changeling does so, putting her hands on the glass to steady it but letting her do the holding. This goes on for a while, Chrysalis drinking long gulps of cool water, stopping for a breath, Applejack patiently asking if she needs more, then continuing, until the pitcher is more than half empty. “Any better?” the farmpony asks while Apple Bloom hauls the delivery pack into the room. Gasping, hoarse and wet, trickles of water trailing over her chin where it dribbled from her lips, Chrysalis nods again. “Good,” Applejack replies. Then Chrysalis mutters, “Go…gotta go.” “Go?” The changeling’s head languidly turns and she looks at her pack. “More deliveries…gotta go…they’re gonna…gonna report me if I don’t—” “No you ain’t,” Applejack interrupts, shaking her head, “you’re gonna stay right here ‘til you feel better. I don’t care if it takes all night, I don’t care if all those pies go cold, you ain’t settin’ one hoof outside this house.” The dancers each spin in a pirouette before they bow, and the Prince bows back, as is the tradition that precedes a bout. They are clearly modeled after a Verdanian, but in place of noble viridian shells they are comprised of crude bronze, and upon their heads they bear spiny diadems that mark them as products of the Citadel’s Architects. No matter how they look or behave, they are nothing more than imitations. As one, the Prince and the dancers twirl into motion, circling around the chamber. They step in time with the tick-tock of the cogwork which pervades the Citadel’s core, which matches the rhythm of Verdanian courtship dances. The dancers start directly opposed to each other, moving perfectly in sync as they step and sway. The Prince stands at an awkward perpendicular axis to them, with no partner across from him. Gradually, as the circle tightens and they come closer together, their positions shift, evenly spaced between them. When the dancers are finally close enough to swing at him, one high and one low, the Prince deftly leaps and threads between them, coming within a hair’s breadth of their sharpened razor claws. It is exactly the move which he would have done. Which they would have done.
November 6, 2025 at 8:00 PM
Reposted by Non Uberis
reimoon.bsky.social
Hey All Its Time for me to Open up Commissions again!
Taking 5 slots per usual
NOT First Come, First Serve!

If your interested please fill out the form here:
forms.gle/unFhoE925L8i...

Will be taking applications all week!

Please help out a wuff!
(I could really use it right now -w-; )
November 6, 2025 at 7:06 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I feel that the Maw in Little Nightmares was birthed by someone wondering "What the fuck was the deal with that metal shark abomination in James and the Giant Peach anyway?"
November 6, 2025 at 2:58 AM