#thank YOU you're always the one finding the obscure gems!

[chiaroscuroverse]

batfullobelfries replied to your photoset “Christopher Eccleston as Macbeth, RSC Production Photos”

what a great find! thank you! :)

It’s funny, I had the RSC site open when I got on the computer this morning, I *think* because there was something about the trailer in the google alert email. And just happened to see that new photos were added :D:D:D 

[starlitheaven]

Hi! Congratulations on 1k! For the summer mixtape, could I have nsfw Chrollo + Peter Murphy's "All Night Long"? Thank you!!

thank you! here’s some of the lovely kuroro who finds a home within you with suggestive smut. <3

its become habit for him to slip into your bedroom while you're asleep.

1k+ follower event.

ALL NIGHT LONG — KURORO LUCILFER

wc. 600+

the window of your apartment is left open, curtains fluttering softly with the night breeze as he sneaks his way in. then again, is it sneaking if you're expecting him?

kuroro often questions this. his intentions aren't normally depraved. usually, he merely takes off his shirt and slips into bed with you. he pulls your body towards his and allows his mind to relax into slumber. yorknew keeps you busy and you have your own life, so he's used to you being in a deep slumber whenever he arrives. you've given his wandering heart, body, and soul a place to rest and he intends to use it.

when he's occupied with a heist, there's no telling how long it'll keep him. it could be hours, days, weeks, or months. he lives at his own whim just as he’s always had.

still, you keep that window open for him.

it should concern him due to the potential dangers of a young woman sleeping with her window open, but he'd be the first to know if something were to harm you. he's made sure of that, even if you aren't aware of it. sometimes, he's so busy and high off another potential treasure that he can't stay to see you wake the next morning. 

still, you know when he's been there. if it's not the lingering scent of his cologne on your bed or the letter he's written for you, it's the timeless piece of jewelry or framed artwork left behind. sometimes though, sometimes kuroro approaches your neighborhood and knows that you're awake. that you're waiting for him. 

like tonight.

he's thrusting in and out of you, admiring the white lace that adorns your body. he had climbed into your room and was pleasantly surprised by you wearing a vintage night slip with matching lingerie underneath.

you look like a bride on her wedding night. the thought only makes him pump his hips faster into your aching cunt. the squelch of it fills the room. it’s dirty and sinful, and takes nothing from this moment.

“mm—like that, fuck. just like that,” you gasp, raising your hips to meet his thrusts. 

kuroro’s dark eyes drink in the sight of you laid before him. thighs spread with your gleaming pussy sucking his big cock in, soft abdomen flexing as you fuck back against him, tits bouncing with his harsh pace, neck littered with lovebites, and your face. that angelic face of yours flushed—fucked out, and gazing at him with pure adoration. as if he’s hung the stars in the sky.

you may as well be his bride. 

his cock is stretching you open, and you can’t help but relish in the slight pain it causes. your heart is about to burst from the aching love you feel for this man while your body is tightly wound up and ready to release like an arrow. 

“how do you want it, angel?” kuroro murmurs, licking his lips as he locks lips with you briefly in a sloppy kiss. “i’ll give you anything you ask of me, anything. the gem of my heart.”

this is it, you think. this is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. 

you respond without thought. “inside me,” you gasp, slurring in your pleasure. “come inside me, love. wan’ you with me, always.”

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

the rush of love consumes him. it’s exhilarating. kuroro has lived his life seeking knowledge of everything that catches his fancy, and you are at the top of that list. to have you for eternity is to obtain the greatest treasure. 

and he intends to do so.

[another-random-goose]

Fandoms: Empires SMP

Relationship(s): GeminiTay & fWhip, GeminiTay & MythicalSausage, fWhip & Mythical Sausage

Characters: GeminiTay, fWhip, MythicalSausage

What happened leading up to Sausage going to the spirit realm, but with my respawn anchor headcanon.

Fic Tags: wither rose siblings, Wither Rose Alliance, Angst with a Happy Ending, respawn anchor headcanon, Temporary Character Death, i partially just made this so i could talk about my respawn anchor headcanon more, and as always:, goose has no idea how to tag their fics

For those of y'all who can't/don't want to read on ao3:

The morning Sausage and Pearl’s arena battle was scheduled to happen, Gem and fWhip both woke up to a barrel at their doorstep, addressed to them from the King of Mythland. Inside each was a stack of materials, quartz for Gem, and deepslate for fWhip, and a note that was almost identical for both of them:

Dear fWhip,

I hope this package finds you well! If all went according to plan, Gem should have received a similar package. I realize that we are no longer an alliance, but if anything, that should make what I have to ask of you easier. On the back of this note is a map. If you follow it, you should find a chest just outside Mythland that contains something important. I need you and Gem to burn it or destroy it by whatever means you see fit. A lot of bad things are about to happen, and this is how I fix them.

Thank you,

Sausage, King of Mythland

The note was annoyingly vague to say the least, but at least he left a pretty clear map of where whatever he and Gem were supposed to be destroying was. So, fWhip tucked the letter as well as a flint and steel and a bit of TNT into a satchel, flying off to meet Gem on the outskirts of Mythland. When he arrived, Gem was already standing outside the walls. She was fidgeting with a sheet of paper with a map drawn on the back. fWhip pulled his paper out of the satchel and walked up to her.

“So you got one too?” he asked, holding up the paper for a second before tucking it back in his satchel. Gem nodded before replying.

“Alright, now that you're here, let’s find… whatever this thing is.” And the two of them walked off in silence, following the map. Normally, they’d be cracking jokes, but they both had a bad feeling about this. Sausage didn’t usually write anything as serious sounding as the note he’d sent. What was going on?

They finally found the chest Sausage was talking about. It was half-buried between some dark oak trees, almost completely obscured from view. After getting all of the dirt off of the top, fWhip and Gem looked to each other before lifting up the lid.

Inside, there was a piece of red wool, strands glowing with infernal magic, better known as the flame enchantment. The duo’s hearts both sank. Blood Sheep wool enchanted with Flame? This was Sausage’s respawn anchor, and he was asking the two of them to destroy it.

“Is he serious? We can’t just destroy this!” Gem looked scared, maybe mad, maybe both. “He may be evil, but I can’t just kill him!” fWhip was similarly hesitant, but grabbed the wool out of the chest with a sigh.

“Will you do the honors? Or should I?” He drew the flint and steel from his bag.

“fWhip! You’re seriously going to destroy his anchor?”

fWhip set both pieces of the flint and steel in one hand. “Look, Gem, I’m not happy about this either. It’s stupidly risky, even for Sausage, but I think we have to trust that he knows what he’s doing here.”

“I- but-” Gem tried to find something to say. But he was right. She drew her staff. “Alright. On Three?” fWhip nodded, preparing to strike the flint and steel.

One…

Two…

Three.

Gem cast her spell. fWhip struck his flint and steel. And just like that, it was done. They’d destroyed Sausage’s respawn anchor. All that was left behind was a small pile of ashes on the ground. They didn’t have much time before they were supposed to be at the arena, so they went straight over. Again, they walked in complete silence. Only one way to find out how this was gonna end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gem was never fully sure how she ended up face to face with Sausage in one of her own towers, staffs drawn. What she did know was that Sausage was dead now, and she had killed him. She refused to leave her house for over a day after that. The other empire leaders were asking what happened to Sausage, but she and fWhip didn’t say anything. When she finally worked up the nerve to go see Mythland, she almost couldn’t believe her ears.

She heard a voice: one all too familiar from many schemes and pranks. “Sausage?” She ran through Mythland’s streets, trying to find where the voice was coming from, before finally seeing him standing on the bridge to his house. He was alive. Some way, somehow, Mythical Sausage was still alive. And Gem could not be more relieved. In no way had she forgiven him for any number of the things he’d done these past few weeks, but he was alive, and that was a good start.

[isfjmel-phleg]

@healerqueen replied to your post: reblog and put in the tags one fictional character...

@isfjmel-phleg Did you just mention Constance Savery?? I can hardly believe it! I've met so few people who have even heard of her. She is my FAVORITE. Right behind Tolkien and Lewis at the very top. I had NEVER even heard the title of that one. I mostly read her family stories, but even those are so hard to find. Which of hers have you read?

Savery is a favorite of mine too! I’m also on Goodreads and thought I recognized your icon here as the same as that of a reviewer of many of Savery’s books there. 

This website has a lot of useful information about all Savery’s books, etc. including the more obscure ones.

I’ve read (thanks to interlibrary loan, including having to get a couple from the Library of Congress!)

Dark House on the Moss

Emeralds for the King

Enemy Brothers

The Good Ship “Red Lily”

Magic in My Shoes

The Memoirs of Jack Chelwood

Moonshine in Candle Street

Pippin’s House

The Reb and the Redcoats

Redhead at School

Tenthragon / Forbidden Doors

Welcome, Santza

Young Elizabeth Green

@healerqueen replied to your post: Book stack theme: Colors?

Excuse me, I'm having an emotion seeing The Reb and the Redcoats in a stack of someone I did not know liked Constance Savery (until a few minutes ago). MY FAVORITE. One of the biggest books that describes who I am.

The Reb and the Redcoats is so good! Definitely one of Savery’s best.

@healerqueen replied to your post: Title themes: royalty, because I had a lot of...

If the book is the book inside, it's fine. With out of print gems, you gotta take what you can get. Very impressed you found it at all. I didn't like that one enough to NEED to own it, but others...I do and I can't and it's sad. (Still so glad to find you're a Savery fan!)

Most of the Savery books I own were fortunate Ebay finds. I have a saved search for Constance Savery books there and keep an eye out for anything affordable that comes up. Bookfinder is also a useful place to search for any available copies of a given book across various online book vendors, if you’re ever looking.

@healerqueen replied to your post: Book stack themes: siblings?

The Melendys forever!! And most of all ENEMY BROTHERS! You have a first edition! That was my favorite book from the time I read it when I was 10, and it always has been. I think only LOTR and Narnia are above that one, and maybe it's tied with Eagle of the Ninth.

Enemy Brothers is tied for my favorite of Savery’s books. The characters and relationships and the redemption arc are all amazing.

The reissued edition has some (minor) differences in the text from that of the first edition. More about that here.

@healerqueen replied to your post: Title stack theme: "Persons Who Shall Remain...

Thank you! So do you! And our taste overlaps a bit. :) Oh my goodness!! I didn't check my notifications till now, after logging out for a week and then checking my feed first. I did NOT notice Enemy Brothers in the middle! It was camouflaged, and I was looking at the horizontal books.

How did you know that Enemy Brothers is my favorite historical novel of all?? It has been hugely influential in my life and remained in my top three or four favorite authors. I started seeing Savery in your bookstacks today, but I didn't realize I had a chance to see it last time, in this post! I'm amazed that you knew I'd read it, without being told. I'd love to hear more about which Savery books you like and why.

My other favorite, besides Enemy Brothers, is Tenthragon (the revised US edition of the book published in the UK as Forbidden Doors). This is one of Savery’s earliest books, and unusual for her in that it is a book for adults, although the protagonist is a seven-year-old child.

It has a fantastically Gothic premise: an apparently orphaned boy goes to live with his mysterious guardian (an adult cousin) in a large, creepy house with locked doors that connect to an adjoining house. The boy is forbidden to open the doors and comes to imagine that a dragon lives on the other side. Although his cousin is kind (though a bit distant) to him, he’s also nebulously afraid of him and terrified to disobey. But one day he mistakenly knocks on the door of the wrong house, and then his troubles really begin...

Without spoiling anything, this is a story about family relationships, revenge, and forgiveness, and I first devoured it in less than twenty-four hours, on edge the whole time. It does have a very tense, suspenseful tone throughout. The child protagonist seems to have clinical anxiety (for understandable reasons), and Savery’s depictions of the psychological terrors he suffers can be painful. There are themes of physical and emotional/psychological child abuse that are pretty intense too. But Savery’s Christian themes shine through, subtle but clearly present, and there’s a very satisfying redemption arc, although the ending is a bit ambiguous. A conflict between two brothers with wildly differing priorities and mindsets is central, somewhat reminiscent of Dym and Tony’s conflict (minus the political ideology angle, obviously). And the characters are fantastically complex.

It’s very difficult to find, but you might be able to get it through interlibrary loan. There are a few libraries in the US that own it that lend for free. 

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XV — masterlist

concept: the three times chris comforted you, and the times you returned the favour. the slowest of slow burns, the angstiest of all angst. part sixteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3,8k

warnings: drinking, so much fluff, heartbreaking angst

author's note: this one, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, is for @fangirlovestuff because it's her BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABYYYY (and i'm sorry in advance). the songs are linked, so if you don't know them, you can check 'em out :)

In your ten months of knowing him, Chris had always known how to cheer you up, irregardless of how big or small the issue was.

You would even go so far as to call him a master of distraction – because by the end of the day, you wouldn't even have known you'd cried at all.

You could recall three times he had been there for you, and the two times you returned the favour.

The first time he had seen you cry – about three months into your living situation – he had been by your side immediately, pulling you flush against his body. He held you in his big arms for the longest time, and just waited the sobs out.

He wasn't the type of person to press, and he knew you'd tell him what was wrong if you wanted.

Instead, he asked you what you wanted.

You were lightheaded and cry��drunk, so it took a moment to come back to yourself. "Huh?"

"Do you want to be quiet or loud?"

"I just..." You struggled to find words that didn't make you sound needy, but you found none. "I don't want to be alone."

"That's out of the question," he smiled knowingly. "So, what will it be, {your last name}? Quiet or loud?"

He had a twinkle in his eye, one that suggested his question delved deeper than the words implied.

"Quiet."

And then he was pulling you up off the couch and out the door in total disregard of your chosen attire.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Chris, I'm literally in my pyjamas–"

But he was already opening the garage, the creaks of the gears overshadowing your weak protests.

"You're wearing pants this time," he winked at you. "So we have that going for us."

And then you were in the car, location still a mystery.

Any attempts to get a modicum information was shut down with a simple "it's a surprise."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise."

And you were glad he hadn't told you, because soon, you were pulling up outside a place you hadn't been to since you were a kid and going on school trips. You'd never been to any L.A. ones, having moved there only half a year ago. But the way your whole body immediately was overcome with such calm...

It was like you had been hoping to come here since you'd woken up that morning, and had received the news of your grandfather's admittance to the hospital earlier that night.

But there was no way for Chris to have known that your grandfather had taken you to the aquarium when you were young, telling you about all the fish, helping you make up increasingly bizarre backstories for them.

He just knew you had to leave the house, and go somewhere quiet.

And it was a weekday, so the chances of kids screaming and running through the aquarium hallways were slim to none.

So while you walked in the tinted blue light, eyes scanning over information plaques and watching the multi-coloured aquatic animals lazily drift past the glass panes in a comfortable silence, you reached out to give his wrist a gentle squeeze.

His hands had been sitting in his pockets, giving you your space, but hovering close enough to you to let you know you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you croaked out softly.

When you turned your head to look at him, he had been looking at you, a smile of heartwarming endearance on his face.

If you hadn't been so consumed by the exhibits, you'd have known that he hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, and you'd have known he also hadn't stopped smiling. Smiling at you, seeing just how happy you were, even though your eyes were still watery and worry was still thick in your throat.

He slid his hand out of his pocket easily to lace your fingers together, loose enough for you to pull away if you had wanted, but tight enough for you to know that he had no intention of letting go first.

But you didn't pull away, instead strengthening the intwining grasp.

And so you continued, walking through the aquarium in that comfortable silence. And at some point along the way, you found laughter again, pointing out the ugliest fish and saying it was him, only to have him gasp in mock surprise.

"My God, you're such a flirt," he'd say.

And then he'd point out the most beautiful fish he could find.

"That's you."

——————

The second time was a week later.

It was your grandfather again, but the issue had been more serious than any one of your family members initially believed.

You didn't cry this time, but Chris could sense the immeasurable sadness in your posture, the way you sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

He came to stand in front of you, and gently knelt down so your eyes would focus on his. Everything about his stature screamed concern as he caressed the hair away from your face.

"Quiet or loud?" He had asked so softly, so simply.

"Loud."

He helped you up, careful with your fragile state. He walked you to your room, into the bathroom, and left you to take a calming shower by yourself.

When you'd gotten out, gotten ready for whatever surprise excursion was next – dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, scuffed sneakers on your feet but Chris would claim you looked prettier than he'd ever seen you – Chris was waiting for you by the front door.

You knew better than to ask him where he was taking you this time. And honestly, you were too drained to even muster the words.

You wanted loud, to drown out the misery.

And you got what you wanted.

Chris had taken you to a local pop-up carnival, and in spite of the cloudy weather mirroring your emotion, threatening rain, it was filled with screaming kids and the sounds of joy.

"They come by once every six months," he explained while you waited in the line to enter. "I wanted to take you under different circumstances, but..."

"It's wonderful," you assured him, although your tone didn't sound like it.

He paid your entrance fees – buying a large roll of game tickets for the both of you – and with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, he guided you inside.

Your smile first came when you were on the ferris wheel, and it didn't fade until you were back home, saying good night.

You had spent the whole afternoon there, and even most of the evening, until around ten, when they had begun to take down the stalls and unpitch their tents.

"I'm totally going to crush you at this," you had grinned at him at some game or another. And you did, but only because he wasn't entirely focused on the game, but watching you.

He would tell himself later, as he lay in bed, the reason he couldn't take his eyes off you was because he had wanted to make sure you were alright, and having a good time. But that was a half truth. The full truth was simply because he couldn't stop looking at that smile he loved so much, on the girl he loved more.

A sense of pride would swell in his chest at the very thought of him having played a part in your happiness.

And so you did absolutely crush him. But only because he'd been distracted, and, if truth be told, because he let you.

You held your prize – a hilariously massive teddy bear, drowning you in its fluff – with both arms, laughingly taunting him for his loss, which had got him a much smaller bear (a participation trophy at best) which he carried in one hand.

You had also gone to the circus they had there, your teddy bear seated beside the two of you, taking up a whole seat by itself. You marvelled at the trapeze artists, the charisma of the ringleader, the fire juggler from Prussia, and even found it in yourself to giggle a little at the clowns who you thought you'd be irreparably prejudiced against since you watched Stephen King's It.

And if you were to now scroll back in your camera roll, you would find the hundreds of pictures you had taken together in the hall of mirrors, and the beautiful twinkling lights of the distant city that sparkled like their own constellation from your view at the top of the wheel.

But you wouldn't scroll back now.

Not now.

———————

The third time had just been a bad day.

Nothing set it off, but you'd woken feeling like trash, and it really didn't sit well with you.

It had been post kiss, post Vegas, in that week Chris had returned, and he could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen.

His usual morning greeting of "good morning, Sleeping Beauty" fell short on his lips.

"Both," you said to him, already knowing the question he was going to ask.

You had managed to get yourself dressed that day, thinking that that one step into productivity would pull you out of your slump. It hadn't. So you told him "both," and he immediately complied.

Setting the mug down, coffee unfinished, he grabbed his keys off the counter. He called for Dodger, and you were in the car again.

This time, you already knew where you were going. It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve, especially with Dodger there with you.

And your suspicions were confirmed when he pulled up to a remote beach, a hidden gem that only locals would know about.

And in the secluded bay, you walked alongside each other, Dodger prancing ecstatically into the water and darting across the sand.

You watched him greet other dogs, tail wagging. You encountered very few people, giving them a greeting smile in passing.

It really was the perfect mixture of both – serene in the best way possible, ocean waves loud in their crash on the shore.

Chris made no effort to hide his gaze on you this time, aside from a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, obscuring his eyes.

"Why are you wearing those?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"You're wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Did it not come with instructions or something?"

"Oh, that," he grinned. "I wear the cap for the aesthetic, sunglasses for the disguise."

You had to reach up on your tippytoes to do what you did next – which, if you were so inclined, could be referred to as theft in the court of law.

You easily snatched the cap off his head, and, dancing out of his reach, put it on. It was a size too big, and dipped into your eyes, making him laugh through the stern demeanor he was jokingly putting on.

"Give that back," he warned. "You're ruining the aesthetic."

You repeated him mockingly, and then he was chasing you down the beach, your squeals of delight interrupting the peace and grabbing Dodger's attention.

You weren't being chased down by one Evans anymore, but two, and hoping to find sanctuary, you made your way into the water.

The sea lapped eagerly at your knees, stray droplets clawing to soak into the frayed denim of your shorts.

Chris had been wearing jeans – not exactly intending for a beach day that morning – and you'd hoped that would be enough to halt the attack.

"If you think that some water is gonna stop me from righting this injustice," he began, equally as out of breath as you were. He had been holding himself back from outright catching up to you, and you knew that – Chris was the epitome of fitness. What did you expect? To outrun Captain America? – "nay, this crime, then you are dead wrong."

"I'm in international waters!" You called back, flicking the peak of his cap teasingly. "I'm out of your jurisdiction!"

"Fuck jurisdiction!" He yelled out, and then he was wading towards you.

Water slowed both of you as you tried to keep out of his grasp, but he had the benefit of being naturally quicker. He had you in a bearhug, trapping your body against his as you struggled to break free.

"Give it back," he playfully growled into your ear.

"Never! You'll never take me alive!" You fought the words out through your laughter.

And then Dodger was there too, all but pushing you over into the shallows of the shore.

You both lay there, allowing yourselves to be drenched, through and through, Dodger licking your faces excitedly.

And as the laughter slowly subsided and the cold the breeze introduced to your wet forms finally registered, you both got up.

"Alright, have your stupid hat back," you sighed, moving to take it off.

He captured your hand in a lightning quick grip, stilling your movements. "Keep it," he smiled. "Looks better on you anyways."

You smiled back sarcastically, rolling your eyes, before pushing him back down onto the sand playfully. "All this?! All this for me to keep it?!"

He propped himself up on his elbows to peer up at you, sunglasses knocked askew.

"Dodger, as my head torturer," you said to the exhilarated mountain of a dog. "I command you to execute this man."

———————

It was hard to watch a strong man crumble, and there were days when that happened, too.

It was the day of Dodger's operation – a hip surgery, nothing too life threatening – but Chris, with all his quick wit and charming smiles, was a shell of himself.

Of course, you were worried too. But Chris needed you more than you needed him, and so, in the mournful silence of the waiting room, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched a little at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away.

"Quiet or loud?"

In all definitions of the word – in the hour he had been in that waiting room, leg bouncing – he never thought he could hate quiet as much as he did now.

"Loud."

It took some effort to tug him to his feet, his body sluggish with worry. But he was up, and you were guiding him to the door, leaving your number with the vet secretary for any updates.

You didn't want Chris to be worrying and checking his phone every five seconds, because you knew how that dread felt. No, he needed a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

You had never understood why Chris enjoyed doing that to you, never telling you where he was going to take you, but with the thrill of him not knowing, you got it. Spontaneity ran in his veins, and he didn't press like you so often did in the past.

You had been in L.A. long enough to find your own little secret spots, and to know exactly where you were without much guidance.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really know where you were taking him until your legs had absentmindedly taken you to an old vintage diner you knew had once been the talk of the town – filled to the brim with hipsters – before once again slipping into obscurity.

It was late into the night, but the diner was open 24/7, and you knew Chris hadn't eaten in a while.

When the bell jangled upon your entry, the waiters jolted, having taken to sitting down in the vacancy of their restaurant.

A few customers lingered here and there, club goers drunkenly scarfing down fries to try and sober up a little before hitting the next party and insomniacs downing their third cup of coffee that hour.

But for the most part it was empty, and, unfortunately, quiet.

"You here for karaoke night?" A bubblegum popping waitress asked. It really felt like the cliché, but it weirdly added to the charm. She stood, perched on the rubber stop of her roller skates, waiting for your response.

"Oh, hell yes we are," you grinned.

She took you to a table situated in front of a makeshift stage, a jukebox-karaoke machine hybrid standing proudly to one side.

Chris sat down, anxiety still heavy in his bones. You quickly ordered – two burgers, and a milkshake to share – before you were shedding your jacket and making your way on stage.

You didn't care about making a fool of yourself. The only thing you cared about was seeing Chris smile again, and in that moment, you'd do almost anything to make that happen.

You hummed in thought as you perused the songs available to you. You didn't expect much from the collection, given that the whole vibe of the diner was 50's through to early 90's. A total pocket dimension in time.

A song caught your eye and you grinned, selecting it immediately. Chris didn't want quiet – and you were going to be the loudest bitch here.

You could hear the whir of the machine as it came to life and you made your way to the vintage microphone. It crackled and whined when you pulled it closer to yourself.

You had caught the eye of the sobering-but-still-quite-drunk party animals, and they had come over to investigate.

"Sorry," you winced, voice booming on the mic. "This song goes out to my good friend Chris."

And then the music started to play, and he groaned. He knew the song decently enough, it having been one of your most replayed disco bops of the week.

"This is Sunny, by Boney M," you said over the intro. "Hope you enjoy."

And then you started to sing, intentionally bad at first to wheedle that cry strained laugh from Chris, and then finishing off in that voice he knew you had.

Every time the song mentioned "Sunny," you'd look directly at him, giving him an exaggerated wink. And at "I love you," you'd point at him, smile growing on your face as you danced ridiculously with the mic.

He was laughing, whole body shaking at how over-the-top you were being.

And when the song wrapped, you whooped into the mic, feedback squealing. "Thank you, everybody!" you panted.

The club goers applauded, screaming their drunken praises.

"YES, QUEEN!"

"YOU GO, BABY!"

"FUCK YES!"

"BEYONCÉ WHO?!"

That last one earned some shocked gasps and scolding. "Woah, dude. Too far."

"Thank you, thank you," you grinned, feeling alive. You could see the laughter starting to fade from Chris again, and so you moved to put on another song.

"This one," you whispered into the mic, "is a duet. So, please. Good friend Chris, wouldst thou riseth to the occasion?"

He shook his head, cheeks flushing at being called out.

"Oh, come on," you whined, the music already beginning to play out the intro. "For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, already smilingly weighing the pros and cons of his embarrassment. You batted your lashes. "I know you can sing, Evans. Don't start this shy shit now."

"COME ON, CHRIS!"

"YEAH, COME ON CHRIS!"

"Give the people what they want," you wiggled your brows.

He shrugged, muttering "fuck it," and reluctantly rising from his seat, he hopped on stage with one jump.

"You were working as a waitress at a cocktail bar, when I met you," he started singing flatly, eyes on yours, letting you know how much he didn't want to be up there. You arched a brow, pushing him let loose.

Slowly, with the encouragement of your smile, and the cheers from the drunk, he lost himself in the performance of "Don't You Want Me" by The Human League, even taking to dancing at your part of the duet.

And that's how you spent the rest of your waiting period – singing bad karaoke, shovelling food into your mouths between songs, and returning the favour of cheering on the clubbers when they had resolved to stay and sing because they decided the best time they were probably going to have that night was in that stuffy little diner on a street they probably would've walked right past on a regular day.

And when your phone rang for Dodger, you paid your bill, leaving a hefty tip in apology to the staff for having to endure your wailing. You said your goodbyes to your newfound friends of the night.

And Dodger was fine when you took him home.

And Chris was smiling again.

———————

You couldn't bare to dwell on the second time you took it upon yourself to cheer up Chris Evans, because the fact of the matter was, that just reminiscing about those other four had you muffling sobs all over again.

You thought about that day – the road back from Vegas, pulling off to Route 66, taking him to the food truck park – and the alcohol you urgently gulped down did nothing to numb you.

You had often looked back on those memories fondly. But now it was a gaping hole in your chest.

You were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the beach. In the distance, under moonlight, you saw a couple walking hand-in-hand, and you knew it was them.

"Thought I'd find you out here," a familiar voice said. It wasn't Chris', and that had you swigging another shot from the near empty bottle in your lap. "You holding up okay?"

"Ask me again in a month," you stated blankly. You hadn't even moved to address the newcomer, nor had you shifted over to make room for him. He sat all the same. "If you want to put a number to how long it takes to move on, ask Chris. The answer is a month."

It had taken a month for him to move from you to Lily. But it wasn't exactly like any of you had made your feelings and intentions known, aside from a kiss that you had claimed you'd been drunk for, and a confirmation of friendship.

If you let yourself think about it too long – which you had, on more than one occasion, this one specifically – it was your fault.

Sebastian reached over and gently pried the bottle from your iron grip. He looked at how much was left, surprised. And still, you gazed numbly ahead.

"This is how day one looks, huh?" He attempted a joke. Even he knew it fell flat, and instead took a sip to ease himself.

"The alcohol content in that bottle is directly proportionate to how many fucks I have left to give," you shrugged, voice monotonous.

"How much more are you going to put yourself through before you've had enough?"

"I've had enough," you sighed. "But I'll probably suffer a little more."

"You have more strength than I do, then."

His sympathetic arm wrapped around you, and you melted into his side, the comfort another person brought acting as a placebo salve to the pain. Like an ice pack on a shattered femur.

And you realised why you were so sad. Those memories meant nothing to you now.

They had lost their meaning because he wasn't there with you, on this roof, asking you that question when you needed it asked the most. Quiet or loud.

He wasn't there, and the taste of whiskey was chased away by ash.