atlasuncomfy

[atlasuncomfy]

Oh my goodness, the attention to detail on this is incredible, and I love how clear and raw the emotion is!  Wonderful job on this!

Oops

Tadaima, hetalia ✌️😎

Hetalia characters: -FUCKING S C R E A M S-

I made this drawing after reading this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272718?view_full_work=true

[atlasuncomfy]

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 02

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: None

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

Thank you to: Kip, SnowyWolff, cooler_than_a_vintage_cassette, OhGodItsAPerson, and @devintrinidad ! I’ve been sitting on this story for about five years now, and it means a lot to have gotten such amazing feedback now that it’s finally here and on the interwebs.  Thank you so much for your kind and helpful words!

The video below, which I recommend listening to, is a Million Reasons Cover by the talented Manuel B. Joy!

"On the whole our American outlook on Sicily and Sicilians has been so influenced by the idea of “Mafia” that we’ve created two separate identities for thinking about Italy. There’s the mainland full of art, wine, and romance, then there’s the island, which is a lawless land run by large men with dark mustaches and brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes...The beautiful thing is that in some ways you’re not wrong! While Sicily shouldn’t have the reputation of an island of infamous organized crime, it also shouldn’t be lumped together with the rest of Italy. The Sicilian identity is extremely important and it’s this pride that helps preserve the islands unique and varied culture" (Sicily Lifestyle).

In the eleven hundred and forty-three years Feliciano was alive to watch the sun rise and fall, he observed the myriad of signs for when a battle was well on its way—one of which included the scrambled packing of rations, not unlike what was unfolding right before his very eyes in this moment.  It wasn’t even a genuine question when Feliciano finally asked, “So, Arthur and his friends really have taken Sicily, then?  And they’re coming here, I take it?”  For a moment, Romano paused, just briefly enough to turn and properly face Feliciano.  At his brother’s questioning brow, the latter murmured, “Ludwig told me.”

Romano scoffed, returning to his packing.  “Right, of course he did.”

There was a moment of hesitation.  Then, Feliciano asked, “Lovino, are we going to run away?”

The Southern half paused again, sighing. “Not—well, no, not exactly.”

“I don’t understand, Lovi.  Even when wars got scary, we’ve always stayed and weathered it out.  Why aren’t we doing that now?”

Romano didn’t deign that with a response; without a word of warning, he tossed the heart-marked rucksack to Feliciano and shouldered past the younger man to the bedroom. Feliciano, unsure as ever, absently followed his brother’s lead.

Now, with the sun fully pouring into the windows, Feliciano could see the way the golden light created deep, weary shadows around his brother’s face.  Lines, no doubt carved by centuries of endless stress and worry, were clearly defined on the man’s face.  It was a sharp contrast from the younger man’s youthful, boyish features; there was little room to wonder if this was yet another byproduct of their different upbringings.  When Lovino looks like this, so much older than he really is, he looks so much like Grandpa Rome.

“It’s not up for debate,” Romano said, effectively dragging Feliciano from his thoughts.  The older man had taken to raiding the dresser drawers now, yanking out any irreplaceable items and necessities his bag had to spare. Feliciano joined him, albeit only as quickly as his addled brain would allow.  It wasn’t even noon yet, and his mind was still attempting to wade through the self-preservation and internal emotional toil, so his brother would just have to forgive him for any information he didn’t absorb right now.  

Swallowing the rare, sharp retort that was certainly prepared to launch off his tongue, Feliciano closed the drawer—not too gently—and moved on to the closet.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard from that potato bastard,” Romano continued, noting his brother’s irritation (not something anyone would want to cross) and taking on a calmer approach, “Sicily’s been invaded by the Allies.  It won’t be long before they show up here, so we need to get you out of here.”

“But, what about you, Lovino?” Feliciano asked, fretting.  “Sicily is your home, yes? You look so tired, fratellone, and you’re obviously hurting so much.  Is travel really a good idea right now?  Shouldn’t we at least wait until you’re feeling a little better?”

“Enough with the questions, Feliciano,” Romano snapped, waving a dismissive hand, no doubt feeling every bit of the exhaustion and pain catching up with him.  “Come on.  If you’ve got enough strength to pester me with questions, then you’ve got the strength to tackle this trip.”

Feliciano nodded—not quite reassured but somewhat appeased by his brother’s familiar mood for now—and moved to continue prepping for the journey. “I guess so,” Feliciano murmured.  The words weren’t intended to fall on his older brother’s ears, but of course the Southern Italian caught every syllable.

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, “guessing’s for idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.  We, on the other hand, are not idiots and have a game plan.”

Feliciano, having decided he wasn’t entirely done questioning his brother, and knowing that the man did his best thinking when utterly vexed, humoured him. “Which is?”

As expected, Romano began to pace, suddenly thrown into a whirlwind of thought. “We go to Monaco,” he reasoned.  “Technically they’re a neutral space, so the Allies have no reason to go there, but the Monacans are Axis-leaning and will be on our side if those Ally bastards do show up.  Besides, it’s so close to Frances that they wouldn’t expect us to go there to begin with.  We’ll be safe there, right under their noses, and it’ll only take us three days to get there, so we’ll have an extra to stop and rest along the way.”

Felciano hummed, carefully turning over the new information. “Okay. Okay, yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”

For a moment, a blessed moment, silence fell upon the brothers, save for the occasional rustle of clothes or dull thump of something being placed in one of their rucksacks.  Finally, Romano fastened his rucksack closed and swung it onto his back. “Feli,” he said. “Fratellino mio, do you trust me?”

“Ve?” Feliciano’s attention snapped to Romano, confused by the sudden question. “Of course, I trust you, Lovi.  You’re my big brother!  If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone.”

“Alright then.”  Romano heaved an ever-weary sigh, running a hand through his dark hair.  “I’m so sorry, Vene,” he murmured, reaching out to cup his calloused hand around his younger brother’s cheek.  “I know this is a lot, okay?  But, I need you to be strong and do everything I tell you.  The whole point of this is to keep you safe, and I swear on our Nonnuccio’s grave that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  No matter what it takes, capisti?”  Feliciano nodded.  “So, if anything happens to me, you need to be prepared to leave me behind, okay?  I’m not taking no for an answer, either.  Promise me: if it comes to it, you will walk away from me.”

It’s happening again, Feliciano realized.  Centuries-old heartache and desperation slammed into him like an oncoming freight.  He swore he’d never let this happen again.  “What? No!  There’s no way I’d—”

“Will you just shut up and do what I say for once?” Romano roared, slapping a hand over Feliciano’s mouth.  “Ti vogghiu beni, capisti?  Do you think I’m not scared?  That I’d love nothing more than to just take off and run?  Read my lips: everything I am doing, I am doing because I’m trying to protect you.  That’s it, point-blank, period, paragraph, end of story! So, please…” Feliciano marveled, briefly, at the tears beginning to streak freely down his brother’s face. It didn’t escape him how Romano, for all his rage-infused bravado, was fighting for far more than just his brother’s safety, even if the man wouldn’t admit it for himself.

“I’m doing this for your sake.  I know it’s hard, but do not throw this chance away.”

Feliciano shook himself, forcing that memory back into the shadows of his mind with the rest.  Romano was—is—different than the others.  “I—I promise, Lovi,” he whispered.  “I’ll do what you say.”

Neither man said anything for a long time, searching each other’s eyes pleadingly for comfort.  Finally, Romano stood, tugging his little brother to his feet.  “Amuninni, fratellino,” he said, smiling sadly.  “We’ve got a lot of walking to do.”

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[atlasuncomfy]

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 01

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: Mild, infrequent language

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

He would never admit this aloud, not even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded he do so. But among the many things he missed dearly about living with Spain, the one Romano Vargas longed for the most would be the quiet of the Spanish countryside. Now more than ever, not for the first time, with the drum of machine gun rounds and the moan of fighter planes overhead filling his ears—as well as his trauma-laced nightmares—he wished he could return to the days of his childhood and continue to live in total, uninterrupted silence. Things were simpler then: wake up to the sun warming his chubby face, eat chocolate con churros for breakfast, work in the tomato fields, and so on. (And, when Spain taught him about siestas, a few of those were thrown into the mix, as well.) He learned to value the easy-going lifestyle of the Spanish and doing things at one's own pace.

Thus, the ringing of his phone on this, or any, morning was entirely unwelcome.

Romano groaned, clearly annoyed by the unwanted sound invading an otherwise peaceful slumber. For a moment, confusion reigned as the temptation to slip back into sleep gently coaxed him along. His bleary vision faded in and out of darkness, yet the incessant ringing danced at the edge of his subconscious, only just keeping him away from tantalizing sleep. In a feeble attempt to ignore such noisy intrusion-and so early in the morning! -he pulled the covers over his head. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize this was one war he would not win (and he knew quite a bit about those sorts of losses). Ever reluctantly, Romano Vargas rolled out of bed and began the dreaded quest for silence, dutifully uttering curses along the way. Oh, how sleep loved to tease him, and oh how the caller would pay dearly for interrupting their ritual time alone.

The source of the sound—a clearly aging rotary phone whose darkened hues of gold still reflected every bit of the shine and brilliance of the man who gifted it to him—sat seemingly innocent atop his deep mahogany desk. Strewn about it were various war-laden documents, stressfully scribbled notes, and of course: his beloved photo of a family from long ago. A family that would never again be. He gave pause, regarding the tattered still of memory as he did many a time before, before shaking himself. Clearly, someone needed his attention; these days no one bothered to call unless someone wanted something from him, anyway.

For a moment, Romano considered the other body he shared the meager bedroom with: Feliciano. A glance backward, and he fondly noted his younger brother's sleeping form curled up and burrowed in an impressive mountain of covers. The sound of soft snoring and steady breathing made its way into his ears; all was still calm. He debated taking the call here, as sudden conversation posed a risk to waking the resting man. Although, he knew with absolute certainty that the harsh ringing would eventually wake even Feliciano Vargas, a god among even the heaviest of sleepers. On a whim, Romano's fingers wrapped around the device's familiar neck, and with the choice made he allowed his own croaky voice to join the morning's sounds. "Pronto," he muttered, warily eyeing any sign of stirring from his brother. "What do you want so early in the goddamn morning?"

"That's certainly no way to greet your commanding officer, Herr Vargas," came the sharp reply, coated with an unmistakable, gruff German accent. "Especially after trying my patience and making me wait so long. You would do well to remember holding your tongue, lest you find yourself losing it—do I make myself clear?"

Despite contrary belief, Romano was no fool. He knew full well what Ludwig and his superiors were capable of should he mouth off a step too far from usual. Such came the horrors of war and being forced to align with such monstrosity. Unfortunately for his German associate, who he knew for a fact was chasing after Feliciano, Romano also was no coward. "My apologies, commandante," he allowed, sarcasm lazily dripping from his tongue, though with notably less malice than before. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of this phone at such a delightful time of day?" It wasn't lost on the Southern Italian just how important this conversation was. Communication between national bodies during times of war was exceedingly rare, especially unencrypted. There simply was no need; anything of importance that needed to be said could be passed along via their respective leaders.

Unless, of course, it was an emergency. So, if Ludwig was calling him now…

"Forget it; it doesn't matter. Time is of the essence."

"Well then, with all due respect, just spit it out already—"

"British forces have begun invading Sicily, you fool!" There was a beat of stunned silence—then two, then three—and the snapped response all but hung densely in the air, threatening to suffocate them both. Before a word of apology could even begin to form on Romano's tongue, however, Ludwig continued. "Italy informed me some time ago that his Southern half would be staying with him for a few weeks—are you still there?"

Despite the dire situation at hand, Romano couldn't help but bristle at being referred to as a southern half, effectively demonstrating the lack of autonomy he seemed to have over his own person. I'm a personification, he thought bitterly, a pawn in a game. The least you could do it acknowledge the one moving the piece, potato bastard. "Yes," he murmured nonetheless, barely able to register the question with all the deafening thoughts racing through his mind. "Yes, I'm still in Florence, with Feliciano. What do you want me to do, commandante?"

"Protect Feliciano with your life. Flee Italy as soon as possible."

"Scusa?"

"Do not argue with me, Vargas," came the sharp reply. "There is no time for it."

Any ounce of subordinate fear Romano had abandoned him in favour of protective instinct. "Make time, then! I can't just tell my brother we're leaving without a good explanation, testa di cazzo!"

"Du hältst jetzt die Klappe! You are a macroregion: a subdivision defined only by traditional politics, globalization, and leading a legacy only comprised of tasteless Americanized film caricatures. Whether or not you are taken by the Allies holds little bearing, save wartime formality, as you hold virtually no worth in terms of political bargaining."

"But Feli does."

"Exactly. Mussolini will be forced to bend at Allied will, as he would need to quickly regain Italy by any means possible—including surrender."

Romano sighed, casting an accusatory glare toward the heavens. For all our country's legacy of dutiful worship, he thought, you really enjoy shitting in my dinner, eh? His earlier fatigue returned to his bones tenfold, this time joined by a faint migraine and an ache marching down his spine. "Message received, commandante. I mean nothing; Italy means everything."

"Indeed. I'm glad you finally seem to understand the severity of the situation." Upon only receiving a half-hearted hum in affirmative, Ludwig continued. "Even if it costs you your life, you must not allow Italy to fall into enemy hands. He is far too valuable to our cause, to his country…" To the heart of Germany himself, although both men knew better than to voice it. "Once Southern Italy has fallen, it will only be a matter of time before they begin heading North. Fortunately, you will have a four-day head start to find somewhere safe for him until the Allied forces are driven out."

If they can be driven out, with the way this hopeless war is going. "Capisco, commandante. We'll leave tonight at dusk. Was there anything else…?"

A pause. "Would it be possible—I only wish to speak privately with Feliciano. It may be some time before I can talk to him again. If this is to be the end of our communication, I want it to be on good terms."

It took everything Romano had not to scoff at that. Even in the depths of cruelty and madness, it seemed only his dear young brother could surface any microscopic amount of humanity Ludwig had left. And, of course, his gut instinct was to end the call right then and there. But he knew how it would break Feliciano if something were to happen and he couldn't properly say goodbye. With Nonnuccio and Holy Rome gone—well, the younger man wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak a third time. "Let me go wake him," he ceded, feeling every bit like some faceless courier sent between Romeo and Julian. Then again, what else was new? Setting the phone to the side, without bothering to wait for a response from the German, Romano stilled, trying to relish the few seconds of quiet he had left before the weeks of uncertainty ahead.

"Lovi?"

Startled, Romano whirled around; it seemed despite his best efforts, his little brother finally awoke. "Damn it, Veneziano, don't you know not to scare me like that? We're at fucking war, for Christ's sake."

Feliciano, in his infinite sainthood and for all the hostility thrown toward him, only smiled. "Well, good morning to you to! I'm glad to see you up so early with so much energy, fratellone!"

Ignoring the playful ribbing, Romano handed his younger brother the telephone's neck. "Make it quick. We've got somewhere to be soon, so come find me whenever you lovebirds are done." He didn't wait around for a response, hastily moving to dress himself and begin packing. On his way out of the small bedroom, he could hear Feliciano's soft murmuring, no doubt using what little time the duo had left together to tell the German everything and anything. They both knew that this war was coming to an end—a bad one. The Allies made very clear that they were not interested anymore in negotiations or mercy of any kind, especially now that American was eagerly joining in. For all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they ever spoke to each other.

As he closed the door, there was a twisted part of Romano that rejoiced at the thought of his Northern half finally getting to experience a taste of his entire lost childhood. You can't have everything, Vene, he thought. The journey ahead would prove to be tense, indeed.

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[atlasuncomfy]

Supernova: Chapter 01

The Aurora Borealis

All of this began the same way that most of life's oddities and serendipities do: we were drunk.

I mean, we were also young and stupid.  We thought these passing moments of heat and sensation could pass for a crude imitation of a lasting love we didn't even believe existed.  Lingering touches in the dark, in a shabby room smelling of desire and sweat, with only desperate pants and moans to fill the heavy silence.  All we wanted was a distraction from the lives that were crumbling away to nothing all around us, threatening to bring us down with them.

But, most importantly: we were completely hammered.

That being said, of course, there aren't many things that I remember clearly about the night.  Everything seemed to blend and blur together in a unique, abstract piece only one's intoxication can paint.  There was an earlier moment, loud and filled with an illegal thrill, where I stepped into an underground warehouse.  The scene was painfully stereotypical: dancing strangers pressed together in a breathtaking crowd, the rhythmic thrumming of a bass that ran through the floor and into my legs, and the blinding neon lights passing over our faces.  

I took a step forward, and suddenly it was as though I'd leapt through time into the next moment.  I managed to shove my way out of the masses and to a wall, like coming ashore after nearly drowning.  There was a man I'd come to know as yet another passing face, but for the time being I saw him as something more.  There was liquor on my lips and courage on my tongue, so I approached him, taking in the scar running across his nose and the familiar tattoo running up along his long arm.  The words escape me, lost to time and the drunken abyss of my mind, but I remember the way his eyes crinkled with amusement as I spoke.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial; it was filled with these lovely little pink crystals, like sugar sprinkles glistening in the strobe lights.

Oh, and did I mention that we were stoned, too?  No?  Well.

Time sped forward again, and we were stumbling out of the warehouse's elevator into the chilled air.  It was far past curfew hours, even for adult citizens, but we didn't care.  I'd like to blame that on the crushed pink powder beneath our noses and the warm alcohol in our bellies, really.  But one cannot deny the severe lack of brain cells that lead us to this moment in the first place, although I'd later find it was something a little darker and more sinister some time later.

Whatever it was, we managed to make our way down the empty streets, somehow avoiding any officers on the way, and I found myself staring up at a rundown apartment.  A few of the windows were broken in and there were smatters of graffiti all along the brick walls; inside the halls were signs of a past fire or even a struggle.  But his hand tugged me up the stairs and I followed.  I found myself fascinated with just how much bigger his hand was than mine, almost swallowing it whole, and I felt something akin to loneliness strike my heart.

Skip past all of the foreplay and the all of the pleasure, the things that make us feel better at the time and then stare our futures in the face with perhaps an even greater sense of hopelessness.  We were laying in bed, reveling in the afterglow and the last of our inebriated states, when we heard it--the telltale hum of a police car landing on the rooftop.  Neither of us made a single attempt to rise from the bed, not even to pull our clothes back on, because the futility of it was all too obvious.  

Even if we managed to get away, they would find us--they always find people like us.

Sure enough, after a few moments of heavy boots thud-thud-thudding their way across the rickety floors outside, the door slammed open, sending splinters of it through the air and skidding across the floors.  There wasn't a moment of hesitation nor any formality to the process.  I felt the officer's strong, mechanical grip tighten around my arm, hauling me to my feet.  I wanted to feel fear or anger or indignation--something, anything--but if I felt anything at all, I suppose it would've defeated the purpose of all my acting out.  Suddenly, as the handcuffs were snapped into place around my wrists, I began to wonder just who the machine was here: me or the officer leading me out the door toward my fate.

  First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

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[atlasuncomfy]

Commercial for The iPhone SE from Evan Burley on Vimeo.

A trip down memory lane! This video is about two or three years old, so it's not really great. Plus it was for a school project, rather than doing it for fun. But, the reason I decided to upload it is because, well, I'm happy with how far I've come with my creative projects. And I thought it'd be nice to share it, rather than let it sit and collect dust on my hard drive.

[atlasuncomfy]

“Would you be willing?  Can you make me this promise?”

So here's a little something that's a bit personal.  I took this photo following a late night conversation with a loved one.  Things weren't going the greatest--our relationship had been rocky, at best, around that time.  We were in the process of breaking things off, but we were both so very afraid of what the future would hold for the two of us.  Could we stay friends?  What if we stopped talking?  It was a very stressful time.  It was a period with endless questions and seemingly no answers in sight.  A single question seemed to hang in the air: "Will we be okay?"  Hence, after all was said and done, this photo was born.

I don't think either of us regrets this situation--logically, we both know we're better for it.  Still, I hold onto this photo as a reminder that, sometimes, it's okay to let go.  And, once you do, always remember that the loss isn't without a brighter side.

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[atlasuncomfy]

A rough design of two characters in my entry for a Coffee Game Jam.

On the left is Mariah, a human trans woman (she/her) and the owner of Common Ground, a safe haven for monsters seeking shelter from the war. On the right is Lars, Mariah’s undead partner (he/him)—a kind soul who is rather shy, but unafraid to step in when trouble arises.

My game, Common Ground, is a short kinetic novel about finding family among those you wouldn’t expect, and fighting for the people you care about. Also: coffee!

[atlasuncomfy]

From July 16th to July 23rd, I’ll be doing writing commissions!  I’ve been getting pretty into DBH these days, so I figured, “Why not make it a whole theme?”

This isn’t limited to just the Detroit: Become Human fandom, or fanwork in general, either.  I’m open to commissions for original pieces or work for other fandoms, as well!  However, if you do commission me for a Detroit: Become Human story, you’ll get 20% off!

If you are interested, more information is available under the cut!  Thank you so much for your consideration!

I charge $7.25 per hour worked.

(min. wage x completion time)

Below is a list of story types I write and a rough estimation of how long it will take me to complete them.

Drabbles

Less than one hundred to two hundred words in length

Will take approximately an hour or less for completion Pricing Example: 30 min.($7.25/hr) = 0.5 (7.25) = $3.63

Example: Into the Morning

Flash Fiction

Three hundred to five hundred words in length

Will take approximately one to two hours for completion Pricing Example: 2 hrs.($7.25/hr) = 2 (7.25) = $14.50

Example: sundown

Vignette

Five hundred to one thousand five hundred words in length

Will take approximately three to four hours for completion Pricing Example: 4 hrs. ($7.25/hr) = 4 (7.25) = $29.00

Example: Like the Sun

One Shot

One thousand five hundred to three thousand words in length

Will take approximately five to seven hours for completion Pricing Example: 6.5 hrs.($7.25/hr) = 6.5 (7.25) = $47.13

Example: Anchor up to me, love

If you are interested in commissioning me, then please contact me at my e-mail address (kaizeydoodle.business@gmail.com) and I will get back to you ASAP!

Be advised that I will not write for the following fandoms:

Marvel

DC

Harry Potter

Star Wars

Undertale

Five Nights At Freddy’s

I also will not write the following content:

Gratuitous, graphic violence - Torture/Character Bashing/Whump - R*pe or abuse - Self-harm/suicide

RPF (Real People Fanfiction)

Sexual Writing - Smut - NonCon or DubCon - Kinks (including the omegaverse)

Crackfic

July 16th - July 23rd: Commissions are officially open! - Accepting commissions - Establishing contact - Answering questions

July 24th - July 31st: The planning process begins - Drawing up an outline for the plot - Determining character number and possible ships - Drawing up a contract to finalize the project details

August 1st - August 10th: The writing process begins - My butt gets in gear and starts typing! - Reports detailing project progress e-mailed to client daily - Constant communication and updates

August 11th - August 16th: The final transactions are made - Final edits and changes are made - Preview sent to client prior to payment to establish completion - Full project sent to client following payment

[atlasuncomfy]

sundown (chapter 02)

General Information

Rating: T+

Word Count: 180          

Warnings: Gender Dysphoria, Alcoholism, Depression

Fandom: The Arcana

Relationship(s): Julian Devorak x The Apprentice 

Character(s): The Apprentice, Julian Devorak

Status: Ongoing | Previous Chapter                           

Summary

Any fool could see that Dmitry’s impending death left Julian nothing short of distraught. The man cared for his beloved partner more than anyone in the world. So, after weeks of watching them growing weaker and weaker with every moment, he decides to take action.  One morning, Dmitry awoke to find Julian stroking their hair, grinning.  "Good morning, my love,“ he murmured.  "If you’re well enough, get dressed.  We’re going out today.”

Keep reading

[atlasuncomfy]

sundown

The above gif has absolutely nothing to do with this story--I just included it because I thought it was really funny and so entirely accurate.

Anyway.

General Information

Rating: T+

Word Count: 149          

Warnings: Gender Dysphoria, Alcoholism, Depression

Fandom: The Arcana

Relationship(s): Julian Devorak x The Apprentice 

Character(s): The Apprentice, Julian Devorak

Status: Ongoing | Next Chapter                           

Summary

Any fool could see that Dmitry's impending death left Julian nothing short of distraught. The man cared for his beloved partner more than anyone in the world. So, after weeks of watching them growing weaker and weaker with every moment, he decides to take action.  One morning, Dmitry awoke to find Julian stroking their hair, grinning.  "Good morning, my love," he murmured.  "If you're well enough, get dressed.  We're going out today."

Notes

An old fic based on this equally old prompt: The Great Outdoors "From glistening beaches and beautiful forests to snowy mountains and vast deserts, there are incredible places for the cast of The Arcana to visit. With so many possibilities, where does this idea take you? Be sure to use the hashtag #ArcanaSpotlight on Twitter and Instagram or #Arcana Spotlight on tumblr to let us know what you make!"

Chapter 01

amid the intense summer heat, 

two tired bodies lay slumped together in a tangled heap.

their bodies were slick with sweat, 

but they still held each other with everything they had.

the sound of cool jazz floated overhead,

contrasting their warm pants and warmer hearts.

not a word was spoken, 

but dmitry's head still swam with thoughts.

 julian.

he always smelled of bourbon and cigarettes,

smelled of rowdy laughter and late night conversations.

from this position, ear pressed against his hairy chest,

dmitry could hear their beloved's heart beat fast--

faster, fastest--

quickening with every breath, as if

at any moment the guards would burst in.

 this smoky scent was julian--was home.

it chased away the darkness and fear and pain

that seemed to haunt them no matter where they run.

dmitry wondered if julian could smell him, too.

they wondered if he could smell death through the booze.

[atlasuncomfy]

In the Morning

General Information

Rating: G

Word Count: 100          

Warnings: N/A

Fandom: Yuri!!! On Ice

Relationship(s): Victuuri (Victor Nikiforov x Katsuki Yuuri)

Character(s): Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov                            

Summary

About that one time when Yuuri surprises Viktor with a late night dance session.

Notes

Highly recommend listening to this song as you read: “Will There Be a Next?” by Lee Hyun ( Listen on YouTube or Spotify )

It begins with Viktor feeling Yuuri’s arms snaking around his waist.  

    Loving anticipation worms a grin on his face. He playfully asks, “ Liubimiy, did you need something?”

    The shorter man’s face is pressed into his back.  Muffled, there comes an unexpected question:

    “Will you dance with me?”

    Viktor pauses, surprised.  It’s rare for Yuuri to express affection so confidently, and he doesn’t want to scare him off.  

    So, he turns around, pulling Yuuri close.

    They dance to a ballad for hours, ignoring the world.  

    Holding each other close, desperately in love, they move to whispered sweet nothings into the morning.

Ending Notes

I've always had a soft spot for this song--Lee Hyun really does have a beautiful voice. In addition, this has been sitting in my Docs for quite a while now, and I figured it'd be a shame to let it sit there any longer.  So, here it is! I hope you enjoyed it!

P.S. Regarding the pet name Viktor uses in the beginning: "любимый (m, liubimiy/любимая (f, liubimaya)...means “beloved”, but used much more casually than the English word...It’s a very frequently used endearment, practically every couple who use the word 'love' to define their relationship used that at least once..." -- this tumblr post that I highly recommend anyone planning on using Russian pet names in their stories use as a guideline.

[atlasuncomfy]

“It snowed again...it’s April 😭 “ — originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/BhK6nAUHSWp/)

[atlasuncomfy]

Hello, my fellow kids. Yes, I too am the ‘lit’.

— originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/Bg-JMDMnY0J/)

[atlasuncomfy]

““A late night snack, talking to the girl of my dreams—nights like these are the ones that keep me warmest. My only wish, my one truest desire: that she weren’t so far from me.”” — originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/BgxTsfgnQtG/)

[atlasuncomfy]

“Decisions, decisions...” — originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/Bg6Rn2GnBNU/)

[atlasuncomfy]

“I looked at her, and I asked, “If I told you the truth from the start, would you still be here with me?” Everyone says they would, but saying and doing are two completely different things. We like to think we’d be different, but in the end we’re all the same inside—liars.”

— originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/Bgw8Jd4HFJH/)

[atlasuncomfy]

“I was coming home from work, and...” — originally posted on my instagram (https://instagram.com/p/Bgw69KbnUMg/)