Non Uberis
LightNews LightNews
banner
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
Posts Replies Media Videos
Pinned
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
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
Reposted by Non Uberis
energyunit.bsky.social
So im a bit strapped for cash and I need to generate some funds quick. So, Ill be offering simple flat color solo images for $50 USD (you can have add-ons, but they will be extra. If you know someone who is looking to get something, feel free to share this to them!
forms.gle/xKdMKzzTo7K5...
November 5, 2025 at 10:56 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
ftr I have written drabbles for the past four days but I'm feeling iffy on some of them
November 5, 2025 at 10:04 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
New drabble selection uploaded.

Featuring rats, mirrors, spirits, hunger, and barbarians.

www.furaffinity.net/view/62879027/

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw #hyper #fat #inflation #transformation
November 4, 2025 at 5:30 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
I have bought Look Outside

Now I just need to actually play it
November 3, 2025 at 4:30 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
See a back, post a back

Everybody wants the back

(I ought to get more shots like this)
November 3, 2025 at 1:11 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Bunbarian TF?

Fan mail?

And candy witchcraft?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
He warily turns a corner and walks into a study. Shabby curtains are drawn over the only window, limiting how much light can come into the chamber, yet it’s bright enough that he can see the shelves of books lining the walls, the desk and tables covered with miscellaneous objects of presumed research. He looks particularly out of place here, a tall, broad-shouldered figure with sparse armor that leaves much of his muscular frame exposed. His objective should be in here somewhere, though—he doesn’t know what it’s needed for, but the price had been enticing enough to drag him out here to the wilderness. And it looks like he’s found it: a small totem that’s perched on one of the tables. It’s made of pale soapstone and appears to be some kind of curvaceous figure, a fertility idol presumably. Its hair is odd, though, two long tufts that point straight up from the scalp. And it’s awfully dusty, like so much of the rest of the room. Leaning over, Aster blows on the statuette, which kicks up a cloud of dust motes that seem to specifically target his nostrils. He sneezes and hacks and coughs, stirring up yet more dust all around him until he’s just about engulfed in it. Partway through, the pitch of the coughing inside the cloud abruptly turns higher. “Oh, blast,” says a husky yet squeaky voice, “that better not have been a curse.” A clattering from the front door gets Alice’s attention. She stops stirring the pasta she’s been tending to and begins the arduous process of extricating herself from the kitchen. The narrow passage hemmed in by counters and cabinets on either side has only become narrower over the years as she’s continued to grow. She was already turned to the side so she could reach the stovetop and the boiling pot on top of it, now she has to turn again and shuffle sideways out of the corridor and shove herself out the open doorway. It’s not much better in the foyer beyond, and when she shuffles to the door she has to turn once more while she leans over, breasts resting heavily on the floor before she’s able to reach far enough to pick up the stack of envelopes that got pushed through the mail slot. The letters get tucked into her cleavage while she hobbles back to the kitchen. Once she’s settled beside the pot and stirring again she picks out the paper parcels and starts sorting through them. It consists largely of the typical daily drudgery. An electrical bill. An ad for a roofing agency. A trial credit card from a bank that doesn’t operate in Goldenrod. Unsolicited spam. There’s a tempting urge to stick them into the stove and let the fire consume them. But one letter in a blue envelope shows promise. Unlike all the targeted advertisements, this one is a bit smaller, not a size catered to a taller Pokémon like her. The return address lists not a faceless corporation but a name—a name the Garchomp doesn’t recognize, but a name nonetheless. She slides a claw along the seal and pops it open, removing the letter inside. It’s printed in neatly inked handwriting, albeit with a few smudges. “Uh-huh.” Bea stares at her flatly. “You can go do that, and I’m gonna just…stand over here and watch.” She leans against the corner, as far away from the circle as she can get. “Fine, more candy for me,” she replies, sticking out her tongue. She puts her hands on the edge of the circle, and for a few long seconds she just stares expectantly at the chalk markings. “Uh…I gotta do…something,” she mutters, “you gotta say something, like a…an incarnation.” “Incantation,” Bea interjects, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that.” Mae raises her hands and says in a dramatic tone, “Oh…great forces of Halloween…give us candy!” Bea gives a snort of laughter. “That’s the best you’ve got?” “I think the sentiment is more important than the words, not everyone can be so fancypants with what they say,” Mae says, maintaining her pose with her tail twitching languidly. “Mae, these things—assuming they’re even real—are a precise craft, you can’t just call for the spirits of the underworld at random and expect—” The room suddenly shakes. Bea staggers and nearly falls over herself while Mae stays in place and gasps. The lines of the chalk circle start to glow with an eerie green light before they suddenly peel away, forming a gap in the floorboards. A susurrus of whispers curls around the two of them. “See, I told you it would work!” Mae cheers.
November 2, 2025 at 6:23 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Today I am uploading two (2) new stories.

Wow, spooky!
October 31, 2025 at 7:39 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Evil queen gotta do an evil laugh.

She's just so happy that her fit came together.

Nightmare Moon as she appears in the Onyx and Ivory series.

Comes in multiple flavors of bulge and boobery (the first is canon).

Original art by @pinkpalooka.hyper.wang

#nonuberart #furry #nsfw #clop #hyper
Horny anthro Nightmare Moon with hyper boobs and bulge, wearing some fancy regal clothes and doing a dramatic evil laugh. Horny anthro Nightmare Moon with hyper boobs, wearing some fancy regal clothes and doing a dramatic evil laugh. Horny anthro Nightmare Moon with hyperer boobs and bulge, wearing some fancy regal clothes and doing a dramatic evil laugh. Horny anthro Nightmare Moon with hyperer boobs, wearing some fancy regal clothes and doing a dramatic evil laugh.
October 31, 2025 at 7:33 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
The "evolve Eevee into a ghost type with a brick" meme is so overdone
October 30, 2025 at 4:52 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
watching a GDQ video and getting bombarded with sponsor reads for Superman on HBO Max is...baffling
October 29, 2025 at 10:06 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
Are you interested in:

Sumo breathing?

Snow musing?

Coommersion?

And late-night thirst?

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

www.patreon.com/user?u=273837

#nonuberstories #furry #nsfw
“GREETINGS, BIG MAN,” Pneuma croons in a deep thrumming tone, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A GAME?” “A game?” He gasps, eyes sparkling, chest full of excitement, his confusion immediately forgotten. “Coocoo, I’d love to play a game! We can play hide and seek or freeze tag or snakes and ladders or guess who or—” “IT SHALL BE A GAME OF SKILL AND THRILL,” the unicorn interrupts, grinning with insidious intent. “IT IS CALLED SUMO BREATHING.” They snap their fingers, a crisp note that reverberates in the air. The two giants stand on a raised platform, made of the same cushy padded mats that comprise the rest of the Cuckoo’s playroom, but with a circle inscribed upon it. There are rows of squat benches with flat cushions on the sidelines occupied by other nestmates, though most of the lucid ones are visibly confused as to why they’re here. The sound of absent drums echoes around them, beating in rhythm. The Cuckoo feels something itchy around his undercarriage, and he scratches at himself and realizes that he is wearing a golden mawashi, wrapped around his girth and between his legs. He clucks and frowns in discontent, for he can’t help thinking of it as a diaper, something that a big man like him would never wear, and he tries to shimmy it off but it’s firmly wedged in place. Snow falls upon the field, tamping down the golden grass and blanketing it over with white. The sky, too, is paler, smothered with thick clouds that have been releasing their frozen payload upon the world for the past few minutes. There is distinctly less light, and yet it appears brighter outside than it would any other night; the white coat reflects even the slightest hint of illumination far better than grass or dirt would. The light from within the cottage spills out across the field in a long cone that gradually diminishes, fading into the gloom. “I thought places in the Dreamscape weren’t supposed to change on their own,” Euphoria murmurs, looking out the window at the landscape they created. The building’s interior is kept warm by a fireplace, but cold still seeps in through the window as snow accumulates around the edges of the frame. A pale figure resolves from the snow, a monstrous visage peering out from the blizzard. “YOUR IDEAS ARE AS MALLEABLE AS ANY OTHER,” Pneuma hisses as they press against the glass. They show no signs of being put off by the cold even though they’re completely naked. “STORMS OF THOUGHT ROLL ACROSS THE DREAMSCAPE AND DROWN THEM IN A DELUGE OF NEW IMPETUSES.” For a moment, an enormous pale figure looms over the cottage in the field, too vast and inchoate to be comprehended, swinging one giant appendage forward as if prepared to crush the minuscule building. Then a unicorn steps toward the front door, a towering figure who is too tall for the entrance, but certainly of more reasonable proportions. Pneuma wonders what is so important that Euphoria saw fit to block their ability to manifest directly within the cottage. And they don’t know how to feel about the fact that the young unicorn has figured out how to do that. They open the door and promptly mutter, “OH.” The other side of the aperture is full of white gunk. The thick ooze, faintly translucent but too murky to see the floor beneath, stands higher than Pneuma’s knees. Chairs and a lampstand and a cupboard by the entrance rise from the surface like islands pushed up from the seafloor. Despite the door being open, however, the white wall remains suspended in place, refusing to pour out of the cottage. The smell, though, heady and potent, is extremely apparent. From within the building, Euphoria calls out, “Hey, come in and shut the door! It takes concentration to maintain a seal like this, you know!” They twist to the side, looking toward the window and the moon hanging in the sky. But there is something closer, between them, a shape which is faintly transparent at first until they focus upon it. “Oh,” they murmur to themselves, feeling that their mouth and throat are parched, as they sit up and reach for the glass on their nightstand, only to find it empty, and they repeat, “Oh.” No big deal, they think as they toss the blankets aside and stand, only a little wobbly as they walk out of the bedroom with the glass. The bedroom isn’t especially dark thanks to the moonlight, but as they advance into gloomier chambers they find that the ambient golden glow of their horn and halo provides a gentle illumination to their surroundings. The light chases away palls of black from chairs and tables as they walk through to the kitchen where— The anachronistic fridge with built-in water dispenser is no longer present. In its place is a doorway, one that is itself out of place, framed by old grey wood and covered with a panel that rests slightly askew. Euphoria hums to themselves as they pull the panel aside—it squeals loudly on rusted hinges—and peer into the darkness beyond, which proves to be far more resilient to their light. The pitch is absolute and inscrutable, a shadowy void. The only identifiable feature is a staircase leading down into the abyss, and only the first dozen steps or so are visible before fading away. “Have we ever had a basement before?” they muse with a chuckle before they take the first step into the gloom, and the wooden plank creaks beneath their hoof. A musty smell promptly becomes apparent, seeping into their nostrils and taking residence like a squatter.
October 29, 2025 at 7:03 PM
nonuberis.bsky.social
posted without context
October 27, 2025 at 9:28 PM