Go ahead and let me know what you'd like - you can see my portfolio, the kind of things I draw, and my drawing style.

It has to be something I wouldn't get reprimanded for drawing on my lunch break at work, so no nudity or violence. It's also going to be a ballpoint sketch on a sticky note, so loads of fine detail may not be possible.

I will make this a PWYW thing, plus the option to get a print of it mailed to you, once I figure out payment.

Thank you for reading.

Nice style, good content. If his commissions are open, why not buy one? :)

https://www.furaffinity.net/user/kunyka/

The best way to support artists is to pay them to create the content you love. I promise you they - we - will appreciate it.

Even when our homeland has been in an active state of war for more than a decade, we take for granted that we're safe in most of the Anglosphere, even if we're not always warmly embraced, if you know what I mean.

But the speed at which our notional allies in our wider Anglophone society - especially academia - have not just turned on us, but rejoiced in news of our slaughter, has kinda... rattled that sleepy contentment.

We are very few in number, so even as minorities go, teensy-weensy! And we know how well minorities have been treated, historically, in the countries to which we've been exiled. So the lull in the worry about being slaughtered wholesale, to say nothing of the lull in slaughtering, has certainly been welcome, but it's clearly the exception to the rule. And learning that many folks' commitment to both understanding and preventing genocide is no deeper than their commitment to their favorite dessert coffee has been... instructive.

That's why our national plant, in the modern era, has been not the date palm or fig tree, but a small cactus. The thing about a cactus, you see, is while it is small and eminently crushable, it has the ability to ensure you won't get away with it unscathed.

And, of course, if you can approach it peacefully, the fruit is delicious.

This artist, Rosettia, is offering an art raffle. I figured you, dear reader, might also like to know about it.

Link: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/53962170/

Chest tuft y/n? That is, a tuft of fur, matching the character's coat pattern or otherwise, sprouting from between their collarbones. If you look closely at many humans you may find they have hair, or at least follicles, bunched up in that area (many folks will probably not show it as their hair is too fine and/or color-matched to their skin to be readily visible).

Pubic tuft y/n? I would definitely vote y, partly to emphasize we're looking at physically mature characters, if their pose and viewing angle would make such visible. But I'm open to arguments.

My FIL died a couple months ago, and while he was a terrible person, I still salute his long and apparently earnest military career (35 years as an enlisted mechanic).

My MIL recovered from COVID-19 apparently uneventfully.

I've had the full vaccination course for SARS-COV2. So have my brother, his wife, and my parents.

I'm wavering on my course toward beating my late elder brother's high score - he survived 38.5 years, roughly, so I still have another 13 months or so to go. I dont know what I'll do after that as I've been surviving out of spite and anger at his premature death for some time now.

We'll see if I'm still alive and still married this time next year, eh?

Yep, still alive. Working from home 40hr/wk due to pandemic precautions (I work in healthcare, but on the back end). The kids are alternately delightful and horrible. My mind isn't what it used to be, unfortunately.

I have a cold (JUST a cold, not COVID-19), and my household here is healthy, and my parents and brother and sisters-in-law are healthy, but my brothers-in-law have gone silent, my father-in-law law still refuses to do the decent thing and perish already, and my mother-in-law has COVID-19 and is currently on supplemental oxygen. Fingers crossed that... that anything that happens will resolve itself quickly, and without undue suffering.
*deep sigh*
I'm not a praying man, but you know how it is.

I'd really like one of you to sit with me and hold my hand, and tell me, yes, I understand, it is terrible, but tomorrow will come, and most of us will survive to see it.

I like ERP with a partner who's got a bit of imagination and a decent command of the English language.

I also gender-switch my characters, playing a male one today, a female one tomorrow. I don't know if I could fool women, but I can definitely food men (not ERP, now, I mean freely-flowing conversation and life-RP). And I take pride in being good at it.

I'm still alive! Between needing to take care of my wife and two kids, my new job (six weeks now, still not fired), and my general sense of exhaustion, I haven't been able to write much.

One of my most productive tools in getting myself to write, in the past at least, has been a chart of 100 different monster girls. The idea was to roll d100 and then write about an encounter with the creature whose number you've rolled.

I don't have the chart anymore, except in my old laptop that is literally falling apart, but I bet a quick Google search will turn it up.

Starting last Wednesday I had a simple skin issue balloon (literally) into full-blown cellulitis. Since Saturday night I've been in the hospital. It is so boring here, plus my swollen (dominant right) hand still isn't back to normal after four straight days of IV antibiotics. I almost want to slice it open to drain the foulness from the lesion on the back of my hand, but that would probably be a tremendously bad idea since even the doctors don't want to do that.

We'll see how much this ends up costing, after insurance pays its part.

I didn't. Probably a good thing. I'm married, you see... And not to her.

She's a friend of mine and my wife's. Like both of us, she's educated, attractive (I don't mean to boast here, but when I take care of myself I do look pretty good), has niche-y interests in fantasy and sci-fi, has a similar case of ADD... Also, for one weekend a month she joins a LARP as a catfolk cleric, complete with makeup. Which I, obviously, as a furfag, find awesome and would love to see.

And... she's really attractive. Not just good-looking, you know? So while I try not to have an inflated idea of my own attractiveness, and I'm not sure that I can distinguish normal off-the-wall humorous banter from flirting, I did think she was flirting with me a little, and I wasn't sure that if my wife hadn't been there, I wouldn't have replied in kind and then some.

Which makes me feel like I've been disloyal, at least in spirit. (Cue the Jimmy Carter line, "I have committed adultery in my heart", although our Bible doesn't include that verse.) And while I know it's wrong, I still want to kiss her.

Only to know what it's like to kiss one of the catfolk, of course.

I played two games of Warhammer 40,000 and, I would say, put on a fairly good show for all that my models were vastly outnumbered and largely outgunned. I put down a thousand points of Space Marines for the first game, against a mechanized Imperial Guard army with lots of plasma and melta weapons, plus a tank and a gunship in support. Were it not for my opponent's First Blood score, it would have been a tie... even though I only had a dozen models out of my starting forty, compared to his assorted remaining troops, transports and gunship.

The second match was a game of Kill Team, in which the players put only 200 points on the table. I used a five-man tactical squad and a five-man Sternguard squad with a heavy flamer. I won simply by deploying models in a tall fortress and shooting down, eventually forcing his army to take (and fail) a leadership test.

We shook hands gladly. We're friends, after all.

It just struck me tonight, when I got news that a forever-single friend of ours (who actually introduced me and my wife to each other) is herself engaged, that I'm not a kid anymore. I'm an adult. All my peer group, out at least the majority, is married. A few have kids (our son will be among the older ones). We have families, households, bills to pay, and most of us have paying jobs, too. Which, of course, we all wish paid more...

I'll be thirty this spring. I look at what I have and what I've done and I see a few good choices, a lot of bad ones, and inside my head is a damned wreck. I'll be thirty, and what will I have accomplished?

At the very least, though, I know I've realized my lifelong dream of being an Abba; our son is adorable and everyone likes him, plus he seems to like everyone. I've paid rent on a roof over our heads for three years. I've worked real jobs in the real world and learned lessons about what kind of employee, and what kind of person, I can be and what I want to be. I'm living proof that nice guys don't finish last.

All in all, no matter how much I may despair, or wring my hands over the possibility of bankruptcy, I haven't wasted the past thirty years.

I've been thinking about this as a possible story line:

An ordinary girl who wants to enlarge her boobs mail-orders an "all-natural herbal treatment" from a Chinese firm. She likes the effect that a little has, so she ignores directions and uses a lot. Things go from questionable to worse when her boyfriend gets involved...

Would you judge it worth elaborating?

Between an intensely frustrating employment situation and financial worries, some of my creative juices have dried up. Any suggestions? I'm willing to take a stab at just about anything.

(As I type this my son is babbling and wiping his drool-soaked hands on the keyboard. Babies are gross but awesome at the same time.)

At the end of the fourth series (the Doctor with Donna), Dalek Caan travels in time from 1920s Manhattan to the hottest battlefield of the Time War in search of Davros. Along the way, though, Caan has an epiphany. When Davros captures the Doctor and his companions, he is thwarted at last minute - Caan, who has become an oracle, reveals that he had deliberately spoken a number of false prophecies in order to lead Davros to his own undoing. Caan then reveals why he would betray the Daleks and aid the Doctor: when he made his emergency temporal shift, he fell through the Time Vortex. Just seeing the Vortex drives a significant minority of witnesses to insanity; Caan not only saw it but traveled through it for an undefined period of personally-experienced time.

But what does madness mean to a Dalek, created to kill and indoctrinated with an unshakeable belief that all other life forms must die? Perhaps it takes the form of a Dalek considering that, perhaps, other forms of life have a right to exist in peace...

Just wondering, since I've noticed a few artists are really fond of the idea that a female having sex with a much larger male should have a significantly distended abdomen. I'm not an expert in female reproductive anatomy - I have a good working knowledge, of course, bring married and a father - but I'm pretty sure that for the shape of a penis to bulge out of a partner's abdomen, we'd be looking at severe internal injuries, like a ruptured uterus or torn bowels. You know, the kind of stuff that kills people or ruins their lives without major reconstructive surgery. Ask Abner Louima.

Am I wrong?

Posted from my phone.

Informal poll: if you didn't have an internet hookup at home, where would you go to check your FA page and/or post material? (Library, bookstore or coffeeshop, health food store with its "naturalfoods free wifi", community center, a friend's house, etc.)

I've wondered for a while how to approach the topic of underaged characters in sexual situations. There's a wealth of evidence that underaged people are in fact sexual beings, but due to the legal issues involved (and the ick factor, sometimes), presenting this kind of stuff gets a little tricky.

BABY GET !!
+ 10,000 Pt

This past Sunday, my son was born. He was a bit jaundiced, but otherwise healthy. He still is. He'll be snipped and officially named tomorrow.

This past week has been really rough. My wife and I were not prepared for living with an infant. But as long as we remember to eat and drink, we do all right, and so does he.

My wife and I were going to have guests over - good friends of ours, one of whom is a professional (vegan!) chef. Quite reasonably she (my wife) wished to have the kitchen clean and presentable, so I did a fair amount of work moving all the shelving out, cleaning up the floor, sweeping and mopping, reorganizing the shelves (she did the organizing but I did the actual placing of items on said shelves), and generally cleaning up the place. It looks a lot, a lot better.

Unfortunately, our friends couldn't visit - the one, a UCC minister, has left his teaching job to attend seminary full-time, the other is making up the income by working weekends; since he works for a kosher restaurant which is (of necessity) closed on Saturdays, that means working Sundays. And we're a four-hour trip away, so it just isn't practical.

So at first I felt like I'd done all that hard work for nothing - for nothing! - but then I realized, it's a lot nicer to work in a kitchen that doesn't have plastic bags, dish drainers and basins, and as-yet-unpacked dishes and utensils strewn all over the floor. And one in which the microwave oven is on a level where my wife and I both can reach it without bending.

I breathe easier, even as I lament other changes in our circumstances.

Baby's healthy. Wife is mostly healthy. Why am I nervous? Except for some relatively easily solved financial issues I should be a happy man.

Oh well.

Weevils must die.

Our little munchkin seems to have a sense of comic timing, judging by when he or she kicks, elbows or headbutts his or her mother's insides. Baby's the right size for this stage of pregnancy (about 5.5 months), the heartbeat sounds like it should (the ghosts from Pac-Man), and all my wife's blood tests etc. came back normal. My family knows we're expecting; my in-laws don't yet.

We kept it a secret for a good long while!

...and say "father".

It's been true for four and a half weeks now; we know when the seed was planted, so to speak. But we've kept it quiet.

I am a happy man!