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site version: 2026.05.08.1
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The basketball loving sausage taur For Trefoils
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Socials: 1. https://www.furaffinity.net/user/undermouse - FA 2. https://x.com/undermouseMWS - X/Twitter 3. https://bsky.app/profile/undermouse.bsky.social - Bsky
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My old PFP BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/shibaitodraw2.bsky.social Discord: Shibaitodraw (https://discord.com/users/286894569747120138) X (Twtitter): https://x.com/Shibaitodraw FA: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/shibaitodraw
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artist:清蒸鱼红烧鱼
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Kit Bodega sketch fanart Funny how I did this back when the chapter was fresh in everyone's mind and now Gameoverse is trending back huh. I should draw her again better
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"Observing your life"
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Long speedpainting for my good friend GraffitiDragon ! Had such a blast painting this one!
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score: 2
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Lil design exploration sketchpage of a Stellaris species for GraffitiDragon ! Gotta say, I missed this type of anatomy, fond memories of making this type o lil guy for my thesis animation.
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Graphy (aka Graphy3D) artist on youtube is not the same as the one on the DNP list.
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6855144
score: 4
favorites: 6
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Dragapult can't fit through the doorway
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score: 4
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A beautiful view, isn't it? ✨
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score: 7
favorites: 5
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part of pool: 60744
🐶 Dog Knight RPG Rory's Morale, Ori's Curiosity
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score: 15
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Haircut porsha crystal's not so great hair dresser experience
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score: 5
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score: 3
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score: 2
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goth bobcat
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Power Couple
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hello again, Little Ghost
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Spread Toes Story Excerpt Logan’s voice was still in her head, “Rest, water, stop working on the album” which was why Alex had obeyed. She hadn’t touched the piano. She hadn’t written a single lyric. She had, instead, rolled out a mat she hadn’t rolled out in nineteen months—the pink one, the good one, the one with the hexagonal grid pressed into the rubber that left tiny honeycomb prints on her knees—and stood in the middle of her sunroom with nothing on at all. That was fine. Nobody was here. The house was hers. The sunroom was hers. The light coming through the window in a long warm wash across her stripes was hers—the four o’clock light, the good light, the one the realtor had made her stand in three years ago before she’d signed the papers with a hand still shaking from her first gold record. It was one of the reasons she’d bought the place. The whole west side of the room was glass, floor to ceiling, and beyond it the tree line—old growth, sixty feet of Douglas fir and cedar crowding the lot perimeter the way they’d been crowding it since before the house existed. The light came through the canopy in shifting green-gold, dappled, the leaf-shadows moving slow across the hardwood the way water moves across sand—a pattern her body was going to spend the next hour walking through. Behind the mat, pushed back against the far wall, the green bean bag she’d had since her first apartment sat fat and slouched next to the blue one she’d bought for when a friend finally decided to take her up on the yoga invite. Her yellow tour to-go bag was still slung across the blue one where she’d dropped it two days ago. She hadn’t unpacked. She might not unpack for a week. That was fine too. The room smelled the way it always smelled at that hour. Warm floor wax. The clean rubber of the mat, still off-gassing faintly after nineteen months in the closet. The green glass reed diffuser by the window—eucalyptus, or something near it, a bright herbal note threading up from the sticks into the warm air. And the specific low bass-note of the house itself—cedar, old paint, the ghost of last night’s rosemary from the kitchen two rooms over. Alex had forgotten she liked how her house smelled. She’d forgotten a lot of small things about being still. She’d set her water bottle beside the mat before she’d started—a blue one, the one she took on tour, the only piece of Logan’s advice she’d actually followed to the letter. “Hydrate, or collapse.” She snapped her hair up into a ponytail—one clean twist, the elastic biting, into her locks as it settled between her shoulder blades, the tip of it brushing the small of her back—and rolled her neck to each side. ‘Krk’. ‘Krk’. Nineteen months on stage and on the road had turned her spine into a bag of dice. She started slow. Mountain pose, first, because that’s where you always start, and because it was easy. Feet planted. Tail slack. The soles of her paws pressed flat against the rubber, her toes spreading of their own accord, the pads warm already. She rolled her weight forward, then back, then forward again. Breath in through the nose. Breath out through the mouth—warm, and she felt the ache in her throat like a bruise you keep pressing to make sure it’s still there. Slow down, Al. Her hands hung at her sides. The tigress could feel her own fingers against her own thighs, pad on fur. She could feel if she paid attention. She lifted her arms overhead and folded forward. Uttanasana. Her fingertips brushed the mat, then her palms, and then—because she still had it, thank God, nineteen months hadn’t taken that from her—her whole palms went flat and her forehead kissed her shins. Her ponytail tumbled forward over her head and pooled on the floor. Her breasts hung free between her arms, heavy in a way she noticed only when there was nothing holding them, swaying a little with the pulse in her ears. She could see, upside down between her ankles, the sunlit hardwood beyond her mat, and beyond that the slumped green hill of the bean bag, and beyond that the bright cut of window with the trees pressing close. Her whole world, folded in half. Alex felt the pleasure of gravity working on a body that had spent nineteen months in stage bras and corset tops and sequined armor. No underwire pressing into the fold under her breasts. No waistband biting her hips. No sequin sticker glued to the inside of her thigh by wardrobe at nine p.m. because the light hit better that way. Her hips tipped up. The air moved between her thighs—cool, sudden, entirely new—and she made a small sound at the back of her throat that surprised her, a little. “Mmmnngh.” Good thing nobody was here. She held the fold longer than she’d meant to. Just to feel the burn. Alex stepped back into a lunge and took a deep breath—the long clean pull along the front of her hip, the pressure of her back foot flexing against the mat—and then pushed back into her first proper downward dog of the day. And this was where the first bead of sweat came. Right at the base of her throat, that hollow spot—one warm drop, gathering, tipping. Then the second at her hairline, sliding down behind her eye. Then a slow crawl of them down between her bare breasts, tracking the center of her ribs, disappearing into the divot of her navel, the fur along her belly darkening in a widening arrow-point wherever they’d been. The fur along her spine went damp fast; a tiger’s coat wasn’t built for stillness, and it wasn’t built for slow controlled breath, either. She could smell herself already. That was the fastest change—you’d think the sight would come first, the shine of the fur, the darkening at the pits and the small of the back, but no, it was always the smell. Clean sweat, first, the good kind, the kind that came off the top of the skin without any staleness in it. The coconut of last night’s shampoo, warm now, releasing. And the warm musk of her own skin with nothing between her and the air—that specific low note she’d almost forgotten she had, the one that used to embarrass her in high school until the boy she liked said that he “didn’t mind it.” Her tail hung heavy and slow between her legs. The tigress could feel the effects of down-dog on parts of her that a pair of shorts would have quietly hidden—the crease of her thighs, the seat of her, the whole exposed route from her nape to the tip of her tail. She felt, briefly, like a very well-drawn anatomical diagram of herself. Every muscle labeled. Every line taut. “Hhh.” Out through the teeth. Downward dog is not, technically, a sexy pose. Down dog is a pose where your ass is the highest point in the room and you are trying very hard to breathe. But Alex, alone in her sunroom, couldn’t help but feel sexy doing it—from her heels up through the backs of her thighs, through her glutes, through the curve of her lower back—and she was aware, in the pleased impersonal way you’re aware of a good instrument, that her ass looked incredible right now. Bare in the sunlight. The stripes across her hips laid out clean. The specific curve where her lower back met the rise of her, that shadowed dip that photographers had spent nineteen months trying to catch and never quite getting because of whatever high-waisted thing wardrobe had put her in. Alex could see her own shadow on the hardwood in front of her—the long stretched-cat silhouette, forearms and thighs and the peak of her hips, one dark stroke laid across the shifting leaf-light on the floor. She adjusted her paws. Spread her toes wider. Gripped the mat. Pressed her heels down. The stretch bloomed up the backs of her legs and settled in the crease where her thighs met her ass, and the air moved between her legs, cool against the wet fur there, and she made a small noise that was mostly breath and a little bit hum. “Hoooohng…” The tiger flowed. Chaturanga, up-dog, back to down-dog. She took the up-dog longer than she needed to, because up-dog let her arch her whole spine open and lift her chest to the ceiling and feel, in a way no other pose let her feel it, proud of her own breasts pushed up and out. The sun caught the underside of them. Her nipples had gone hard from the flow—dark, standing up, the fur around them slick and matted flat from sweat and from the friction of her body against her own arms in the fold. Chaturanga, up-dog, back to down-dog again. Her arms started to shake by the third round, which was humbling—a little over a year ago she’d done twenty of these without blinking—and she huffed a laugh into the mat “Heh-hkk,” that turned into a real cough halfway through. Her throat still hurt. She dropped to her knees and let herself just kneel for a second, hands on her thighs, chest heaving. Her breasts moved with the heave. A slow heavy sway, glossed with sweat. Alex watched a fat bead of sweat track the center line of her sternum, cross the shallow of her ribs, curve around the outside of her navel, and disappear into the fur below. She watched another follow it—this one straighter, faster, taking the low road. Her thighs, kneeling, were pressed together and wet where they touched. When she shifted her weight a fraction the fur peeled and re-stuck with a sound so small only she could hear it. ‘Schlck.’ The mat under her had a wet print of her hands and her shins and the top of one paw. Little dark islands, and around each one the hexagonal grid of the mat stamped faintly into the damp fur, tiny honeycombs dissolving at the edges. She could smell the mat now, warmer than before—the rubber had woken up, and it smelled like a gym bag and a hot car and a summer she couldn’t quite place. More. Read the full story on Patreon! And on SubscribeStar! || Check out my Discord server || And a Telegram channel for easy access to all art of Alex || Follow me on Twitter || Follow me on Bluesky
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Glum It's not the right time for his story yet. But I thought I could share this art of Blake inspired by what I've been writing for the character. (Chinese spies are crazy for him)
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Almost as good as the real thing- almost.
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part of pool: 48006
Artist Furaffinity - https://www.furaffinity.net/user/softbunnyhouse
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"Betilla Bass Shake 🔊🧚♀️"
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Patching him up after a fight.
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Love the little tail wrap around the leg... though, not going to make walking any easier. I wager he doesn't mind.
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Zarok 6
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A date on Turtumback. Likely a quite leisurely journey.
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plushie
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Beach day!
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its just too gay, isnt it?
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score: 5
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wile e coyote and the road runner in maid dresses
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Keeping warm~
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Big Stretch by WarblingRadar Art by "warblingradar":[https://www.furaffinity.net/user/wababar] "Artist's upload here":[https://www.furaffinity.net/view/67008732/]. What a way to start the day, with a big stretch! Such beautiful artwork of Emmy and a very cute outfit.
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score: 5
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Commission for @skydtiger
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part of pool: 60784
デレラビサマー#14『フシギな撮影会 トラだよ！！編』 #15 https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/96069420 - The hot weather continues...after all, it's summer (forcibly). #14 ←now here #13 https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/94657209 Sora is going to participate in a sexy and cute animal cosplay show. She's not sure if it's a tiger or what, but it's a sexy and cute animal.
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Sweet little smooches between Jeran and his beloved, the Zafara Double Agent!
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