#blanket monster

[static-electric-dreams]

Even more Sparklefurs!!! I finished some very old WIPs with this batch! Top to bottom, left to right:

Binkie the blanket monster

Buttercup the strawberry highland cow

Cara Celle the cotton candy carousel horse

Wynona the bus-seat greyhound

Durian the, well, durian fruit skunk

The Duke the caramel apple horse

Mittens the snowcone silk moth

Find the rest of this series below:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Want a fursona like this? My commissions are OPEN!

[thatmomwitchfriend]

This is just what I needed this week!!!

@crazy32-1

[thingsthatmakemefeelhappy]

This remake of Star Trek’s original series episode “The Devil in the Dark” looks fantastic!

They have accepted their fates

[no-brain-just-good-omens]

theres a blanket on the end of my bed and i know it’s a blanket because i put it there. doesn’t stop my brain from telling me it’s a monster that’s going to bite my face off :(

[demigods-posts]

currently obsessed with the idea of everyone viewing percy as a forced to never be messed with. for the sea is unpredictable and does not like to be restrained and all that jazz. except, frank and hazel. who only see him as just a little guy. a soldier left to his own devices out on the streets with nothing to comfort him but a panda pillow pet and a lingering memory of a girl he loves. he's just a little guy you guys.

[diodellet]

cw: sorry for writing more bedroom shenanigans, it will happen again. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. probably some scientific inaccuracies, except for the inertia bits, that i understand. established relationship things and some light swearing. it's all lighthearted 😇

who needs morning alarms when you're partners with naga!jamil?

the first thing to wake you up is the cold press of his scales against your skin. which is the beginning of the end, sad to say. being part-reptile, of course his instincts bring him to search for the closest heat source. as the warm-blooded one in the relationship, you will make do.

which leads to your current predicament - not the comforting feeling of sleeping in his arms, the upper body situation is all fine and dandy on this side, you like the fabric of his sweater, you (both) deeply crave this kind of skinship, it's all good up here! - his coils are twined around your legs, heavy enough to pin you in place, leaving you vulnerable to the cold of the room. as your eyes crack open, what greets you is the dim blue glow of dawn. of course.

in this world of magic, you'd think they'd have created a kind of blanket that doesn't become utterly useless after several hours of shifting in one's sleep. with your limited movement, you manage to free one arm.

"jamil." you shake his shoulder.

"hmm?"

"can you get up, please? i need to shut off the ac."

to your dismay, he makes a vague sound of protest, curls his arms more protectively around you.

"jamil." he can't seriously be going back to sleep.

"it's still early, and you're all nice and warm..." and wasn't that the twisted miracle of this situation? the fact that you woke up before his alarms?

his languidness has got to be a joke. you've seen him move quicker than a bullet. snakes can haul ass when the situation calls for it. you weigh your options, you could yell 'spider' and risk the consequences of a freshly-awoken-and-panicking jamil.

or you could just freeze. who needs legs? who needs to move? the way his fingers idly stroked against the flesh of your stomach was nice and comforting -

"bullshit, you're also freezing...!" he just liked to see you struggle, didn't he? you try kicking your legs in a last bid to free yourself only for his coils to shift and properly entrap you in their grip.

oh that was unfair, being comprised of mostly muscle and having quick reflexes even when half-asleep. damned naga anatomy.

you heave an exasperated sigh through your nose, not even bothering to hide your annoyance.

jamil's breath fans across the back of your neck. "didn't you want to spend more time together like this?" he asks, faux-dejection creeping into his voice.

the skin of your nape erupts in a flurry of goosebumps, definitely not from the cold. you feel like you're burning, and you're not sure if that's a good thing.

so you decide to roll off the bed and take him down with you.

tagging my fellow jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @crystallizsch @jessamine-rose @just-a-little-silly

(if any yall wanna be tagged for future jamil writing, just lmk through the replies. i know in my bones he will strike again)

[vorekody]

FINALLY done with this, a concept of the storage and digestive dolphin pred guts (-the thing that inspired me to make Alon in the first place shsjh)

Anyways I feel like it's usually the first stomach that's safe in mer/naga/centaur vore so I wanted to change it up a little bit.

Also felt like it made a bit more sense for Alon's bigger stomach to be for storing stuff yk?

This does make it so they can only digest one person at a time because of the lack of room in their first stomach, but I really like it that way I think, gotta wait ur turn.

[kcrossvine-art]

by popular demand, more yurgey

[mrmeepsmadmind]

his horns (finials) (idk)(ears)(whatever) shaking... the jumping ??? the struggling 😭 the off center twitching ..he is PISSED. AWF !!!!!!

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[mossymandibles]

Wanted to draw something soft.

Sometimes Jago takes the place of Kraw’s tail when they sleep together.

[enbysiriusblack]

remus sees himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the other marauders see him as a sheep in wolf's clothing

[spookberry]

I cannot wait for this comic, like, look at them!!

[selene-and-the-cold]

I am craving Christmassy cold snzarios so much! Give me all the sick, sniffly, guys with feverish cheeks and cold hands, trying to get warm in their flimsy coats and thin scarves, standing in the snowstorm with their chic, but oh so not warm leather shoes... skittering across icy streets and falling into heaps of snows, cursing and muttering under their breath as they sniffle and sneeze and fumble for the handkerchief they should have replaced hours ago...

[24-05txt]

Screaming is a waste of breath for Simon Riley.

People scream to let someone else know it hurts. They scream to share the pain, to call for help. All screaming ever got Simon was more of the wrong kind of attention. Maybe just laughter, if he were lucky.

He remembers the day he realized it, too. Remembers a school trip to a theme park, buckled into a civilian-grade jumpseat 102 meters in the air and looking out over the park five seconds before the drop. He'd screamed about halfway down before he realized he was slipping through the restraints, (he was a small kid. Malnourished, probably) then he'd stopped, thought _if I'm going to die here I might as well enjoy the view,_ and breathed the rest of the way down.

He didn't die, he'd landed along with the rest of the class, but he hadn't screamed since. It's funny to Simon that out of all the things he'd been through by that age, it was the bloody Rollercoaster that taught him a lesson.

He grew out of screaming, but he's still not grown out of finding places to hide. When he was young it was just the smartest practice; living in a tiny flat with his violent father meant that if one were to even have a chance at avoiding conflict, he'd have to know a good spot to hide, and a good way to get out without revealing where he'd been. By the time he was twelve he'd known where he could fold himself, all the places Tommy could fit, and how long they had to make themselves presentable should their father come looking. Not seen until looked for, was the best way to go.

(Simon can still remember when he was slim enough to go into the bathroom closet and slide between the standing plastic drawers and the wall. There couldn't have been more than a foot of space for him to occupy—if that—and he couldn't crouch or sit because of it. He'd go in with his hands above his head so that he could cross his arms over the wall and rest his head on his forearms.)

Getting older was hard in that way. It meant getting taller, broader, limiting the ways he could make himself unobtrusive. Becoming an adult and properly filling out, though... that brought with it the advantage of new environments, new techniques, new ways to get himself into places. By the time he'd enlisted it was second nature to scan a room and find the places most people glossed over. It was a strange habit, he knew—something that gave away far too much to anyone who knew how to look—and so he refrained. Stood with the others, made sure he was seen. Just another one of the guys.

After Roba, he stopped caring as much about whether or not people found him obtrusive or strange. He'd had other things to focus on.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@val-the-bun hits me with a padded sledge hammer in the feels with the wereharpy vaggie au thanks for that once again i inflict this ask on others as a coping mechanism >:C

val-the-bun asked:

Charlie can see the claw marks on Vaggie's side, golden blood, *angel* blood, dripping onto the floor... Her grip on the spear is shaking.

'Did you ever believe in me, Vaggie?'

Another shriek, weak and *crackling* is her only answer. Vaggie's talons fall, and she almost *leans* into the point of the spear. She can see the tears streaming down Vaggie's face.

The spear slips out of charlie's fingers. Her hands are shaking too much. She grabs Vaggie by the feathers, glaring up at her.

'Do you?'

Vaggie is *shaking*, taloned hands curling around Charlie with a *whimper*.

Charlie is clinging to Vaggie as the monster *buckles* around her. She lets out another whimper, nuzzling against her face. She cant keep her tail from curling around Vaggie, burying her face in those feathers she knows so well.

'Oh Vaggie...'

I am picturing a lot of comfort after this

Like just

Vaggie all bandaged up

And just curled up with Charlie in the lobby. And she's just gently brushing Vaggie's feathers.

'So uh, does anybody wanna explain why Vaggie Tales is doin' a heavenly werebird in hell?'

'I... I dont know. Maybe this is just... Maybe this is what happens if an exorcist stays down here?'

Eventually Vaggie starts changing back. Which, ya know, yay!

Aaaand also oh shit. Because uh. *She kind of shredded her outfit in her transformation*. And her spare one is back in what's left of the room she was holed up in.

'Oh, fuck. Uh. Blanket? Quick? PLEASE???'

Queue a very embarrassed and kind of ashamed Vaggie curled up in a *huge* blanket. But...Charlie's holding her. Vaggie may not think she deserves it, but she is.

'Please tell me I didnt try to eat anybody...'

'Oh, no my dear. Shreading on the other hand!'

Charlie gives Alastor a glare that surprisingly shuts him up. Meanwhile Vaggie has basically disappeared into the blanket, save the barest hint of white hair.

'Dont worry about it Vags, your aim was pretty shit.'

Queue a jab in the side from Husk.

'What! It's true! She missed!'

(Aaand that's all i got for this for now. Might do more in the future. Might write a fic. Who knows!)