#epherians

[mermaidmelodysecretsanta]

From @pureiceblue

Happy holidays and happy new year @epherians! I drew Noel for your gift! I hope you enjoy it!  (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡

[ronniesshoes]

epherians replied to your post “i want to write but really i just want share my ideas. like writing...”

Your writing style is gorgeous though and I love it! ��

@epherians did you know that you’re the absolute sweetest wonder?? 💛

[earlgreytea68]

@epherians replied to your photo “:)”

This brings back the memories of crying when I read “Letters, Revisited.” That is still one of my favorites, ever.

::offers retroactive tissues::

[sammyspreadyourwings]

Top/Dom Brian, or draw 25!

Valid

[iamnotbrianmay]

Roger trying to post hints of his crush Brian to his Insta story because he NEEDS to get this unrequited love off his chest but he’s also terrified Brian is going to find out.

Roger has never been one for aesthetic pictures or sappy shit. His stories have been about parties, drinking, and concerts for almost three years now. But then he records a video of Brian playing some cheesy Ed Sheeran song and— god, he is fucked, isn’t he?

He takes his sweet time editing the video. Layer after layer of filters to get Brian looking just right, and loads of tinkering with sound and video quality. Once he is done the video looks perfect, and he has successfully wasted three hours of his life in a forty-five second video.

But Brian’s voice sound angelical, his fingers look like sin, and the small smiles that he gives Roger every time he turns to look at the camera are enough to send his heart into a ruckus.

That is the first look he gives his followers hinting to his ridiculous crush. He considers tagging Brian on the story, and then decides against it, opting instead for blocking Brian from watching his stories. Yes, no need for the guitarist to know that he had spent the last three hours stuffed in their room editing a video in which Brian looks like an angel. 

That video ends up being Roger’s downfall. 

Not because Brian ends up finding out about the video but because once he starts it’s impossible to stop. He finds himself dropping hints everywhere about his lovely best friend. Things like talking about how guitarists are the hottest members of a band, sharing stupid posts that talk about being in love with his best friend, and using silly love songs as background for every single picture he posts of himself and Brian. 

It’s not exactly subtle, because let’s be honest, when has Roger done anything subtly. 

It’s only after two months of playing his dangerous game that he notices he had blocked Brian’s main instagram account, but completly forgot to block the band’s account, which all of them have access too. 

He is laying in bed, scrolling through his phone when someone replies to his story. He clicks on the message, ready to tell Freddie to shove his comments about Roger being a love sick fool up his ass. Then he reads the message. 

officialqueenmusic: That’s a cute picture of us. Can I have the original? -Bri. 

Roger’s heart drops. He clicks on his story, looking at the picture he posted with dread curling in the depths of his stomach. It’s a picture he took last night, they are both lying in bed, pressed together. Brian is smiling brightly while Roger is sticking his tongue out. 

Not that there is anything wrong with the picture itself. But the song that’s playing and the strickers decorating it, make Roger want to curl into a ball and disapear. Hearts line the lower coner of the picture, and Lucky by Jason Mraz is playing in the background. 

Roger covers his mouth with his hand, tears of shame and heartbreak prickling at the corner of his eyes. He tries to swallow them down, man up, and send the picture to Brian. Then his phone pings with another message and the emotions are way to strong to push them away. 

officialqueenmusic: I love you, too. By the way. 

And it hurts because Roger knows that Brian’s ‘I love you’ isn’t the one he wants to hear. It’s not the I love you as much as I love the moon and the stars kind of love, but rather I love you like my bother in arms kind of love. The tears are streaming down his face before he knows it, and his heart feels like someone (Brian) has run a sword through it. 

He falls asleep like that, cellphone clutched to his chest and pain radiating from his heart and head all through his body. Like heartbreak was some sort of sickness taking over his small body, which in a way, it is. 

[bluebeetle-notafan]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad Characters: Malik Al-Sayf, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Kadar Al-Sayf, Desmond Miles, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Maria Thorpe, Lucy Stillman, Warren Vidic, Rauf (Assassin's Creed), Rashid ad-Din Sinan | Al Mualim Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Memory Loss, Canonical Character Death, Permanent Injury, Post-Break Up, Established Relationship, References to Canon, Canon Dialogue, Non-Linear Narrative, My First Work in This Fandom, Inspired by Music, Inspired by a Movie Series: Part 1 of altmal!eternal sunshine au Summary:

“It shouldn’t have had to end like this,” Altaïr confesses. “I just wish we had another go round.”

“Yeah,” Malik snorts. (Even the Malik of his mind does not pull any punches or soft comforts.) “If only we could. But I don’t suppose that is going to happen.”

After finding out Malik had the memories of their relationship erased, Altaïr returns the favor by undergoing the memory-erasing procedure himself. In going through the layers of their history—and beyond the moment it all went wrong—he realizes (too late) that he doesn’t want Malik to be forgotten.

Altaïr and Malik in the style of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

[the-crafty-assassins]

CHEEEEEEEEEEEESE

[bewareofchris]

Secret ship: imagination

It had been a secret affair, regulated by necessity to the dim corners of the edge of a computer screen.  They were nothing but the figments of the other’s imagination, built on clever wordplay (like foreplay) and single-line-biographies.  So she could imagine her lover as anything: a man, a woman, neither or both at the same time.  It was delightful and freeing, that secret affair.  

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