Ko-Fi here. Commissions here [THREE SLOTS OPEN].

if you like what i do, a coffee in my ko-fi is highly appreciated!

if you’re interested in commissioning me and have questions, send me a DM.

otherwise, my ao3 is here. 

good lord

This man is catheterized he could only be getting laid

Ryosuke sleeps. This is a good thing, but it is five minutes past when practice was supposed to start, and their only saving grace is that Takumi always arrives ten minutes late. Normally, someone would have woken Ryosuke up by now...

But Keisuke has his arms crossed as he leans into a conversation with Tomiguchi. Matsumoto is rolling tires out for, presumably, the Eight-Six, while Kenta pelts him with questions.

And Fumihiro hunches over a travel table, writing down Ryosuke's plans and modifying them according to the conditions of the night. Warm and pasty, the humidity on his skin. Blinding, the moonlight.

Overall, a perfect night, except Ryosuke is still asleep.

And no one really wants to wake him up. Even when the Eight-Six finally arrives, Takumi is hushed on sight, though everyone winces at the sorry state of his own face. Ryosuke is exhausted, but he is sleeping.

Their downhill ace is exhausted and he works early tomorrow.

Well, well, well. Look who has a dialtown style character. None other than the illustrious @bellygunnr Thank you for commissioning me and being patient with the turnaround time for this

guns ! the new sex

Having fun with this more rough style

Loop is forklift certified 👍

Mjolnir Syndrome: A Helping Hand

My half of an art trade with @fablepatron - find the whole thing here on ao3.

The first chapter is too explicit, but here's the second chapter Roland POV.

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Another night watching his crew recover. Another night of patrolling the circuits of the ship, checking and rechecking, herding dumb AI back into their functions, herding dumb humans back to their responsibilities like sleeping. Most of Roland is divided into the monotonous tasks required to run a starship of this size and to care for a crew of this many talents. However, there was a negligibly sized portion of his focus on the single operating War Games sim and one Spartan Miller.

He didn’t play favorites. (Statement: untrue.) He had a handful, maybe. (Also untrue.) But that came with the territory of being a shipboard AI. Lots of handshakes and handholding. It made sense to keep an eye on a specific few in Command. Really. Just as a way to get a read on the rest of the crew and understand the social systems in place. That was the real reason Roland was watching Miller beat himself up in the wee hours of the morning, and why his subroutines flagged more processing power to monitor the Spartan as his vitals peaked.

Hello! I am opening comms as the job market is in shambles. If you are looking for a lil treat for yourself in the form of some writing or a fun edit then have I got some news for you!

I'm opening 1 slot for writing and 1 slot for edits! I'll keep this post updated about openings but I'm looking to keep turnaround pretty quick! Examples of my work found on this blog are in:

You can also check out @daysofrefuge which is my catch-all writing blog, complete with a random work button in the description when viewed in browser.

More examples of my work below the readmore. If you're interested send me an ask or dm! I take payment via my K0fi or p@yp.al

Ring, Ring!

A Harrysport-esque grooming-as-a-social-activity fic.

And a phone-head study.

Here you are again. Out of the cool nothingness of stasis and back into the maelstrom of a Fazbender diner, complete with a fine mist of blood, mucus, and expired pizza glomming to your exterior as soon as you step inside. You didn't miss it. Well, you didn't hate it, either. Hard to hate what you got quite good at. And, well. 

Managing the pizza joint on the ground usually means you're arbiting fewer lives. Afton Robotics, being the keel of the whole operation, meant you were overseeing or making life-altering decisions daily, most of which is crystal clear in your mind despite the thirty, forty years. You’re relieved to be free of the burden (that of which you will never forget) and reactivated. Managing a pizzeria is as easy as breathing. It’s comfortable in the way wearing full battle rattle is comfortable, in that it is heavy, and choking, and turns you numb, but you’re alive.

Alive, and covered in soda. It’s been a very, very long time since you were last covered in soda. It dries rapidly against your shell and happily congeals to the contours there, in the seams of your rotary dial and the holster of your hand receiver. Preliminary sensors tell you none of it seeped into your interior.

I love surprise drawing things for my friends <3

@bellygunnr’s guy

@bellygunnr