#this one dedicated to all the tags that say ‘I love Gale but he wouldn’t find me interesting’ etc

[dekariosclan]

#A short photo essay on why we’ve all lost our minds for this man part 2 #this one dedicated to all the tags that say ‘I love Gale but he wouldn’t find me interesting’ etc #(Spoiler alert: yes he would) #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x reader

[littlejuicebox]

A growing brood.

Summary: Gale has just turned three years old and is adjusting to the idea of becoming a big brother. He and Astarion go out for a walk in the orchard, where the older man gets an opportunity to practice some of his stealth skills.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, Dadstarion, parenthood, babies, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of Astarion’s past and trauma, idk what else

*

Gale is holding a toy sword he received on his birthday as he and Astarion walk along the back grounds of the manor. The child is swinging the wooden object haphazardly as he sings a babbled song his father can’t identify.

Astarion surveys the small orchard as they meander along the dirt path. He’d been sent here with the little boy at the request of his pregnant wife, tasked with determining whether or not the trees were ready to harvest. She currently stood on the balcony of their home, waiting for her husband’s signal. She wouldn’t make the trek out until then; it had to be worth navigating uneven ground and overgrown brush in her condition.

Picking fruit in the orchard had become Tav and Gale’s yearly autumn tradition. The first year they’d spent quite a bit of time introducing the little one to new fruits he had not yet tried.

Pregnant or not, she refused to miss the orchard harvest.

Astarion is secretly relieved when he determines nothing is quite ripe. He felt Tav was pushing herself too hard, going above and beyond to make their first born feel valued as he adjusted to the idea of siblings. But carrying the twins was starting to exhaust her and she desperately needed rest. She’d already overworked herself for Gale’s third birthday party just a week ago, despite Astarion’s protests.

The elf lifts his hand and shoots a ray of frost up into the sky. He knows his little love will see the signal and retreat back into the house. He hopes she will take a much needed nap now that their son is preoccupied with his father.

“CHARGE!” Gale shouts, running forward on two stubby legs with his toy sword in the air.

“Gale, don’t run in the orchard you’ll—“ Astarion starts, but before he can finish his chastisement the little boy’s foot gets caught on a particularly large tree root. He stumbles and falls onto his knees with a soft thud and a grunt of surprise. The toy sword clatters to the ground as Gale’s small hands extend in front of him to break the fall.

Astarion thinks they really need to dedicate outdoor clothes for the child. Traipsing around the orchard in gold threaded finery simply wouldn’t do. The older man’s eyes flutter toward the back of his head in exasperation as he walks over to the three year old calling, “Are you alright, Gale?”

The toddler stands back up, dusting off his hands. His previously pristine trousers are now caked in dirt and grass. He turns and nods to Astarion before responding, “I okay, Papa!”

A brood of their free-range chickens is clustered nearby, bawking as they peck at the ground searching for insects. The noise captures Gale’s attention and he forgets his sword, running towards the small cluster of birds.

“Chickens, guess what! I free years old now!” He shouts, holding his middle three fingers up to show the fowl his new age.

But as he approaches the chickens, they scatter off, deterred by the loud babblings of the boy. Gale huffs in disappointment. And then he shouts, “CHICKENS! Get over here now!”

The chickens bawk and run further away from the little boy, much to his chagrin. His shoulders sag dramatically as he pouts.

“You’d do well to learn that you’ll catch more flys with honey than vinegar, little prince.” Astarion lectures, coming up behind his son after scooping the forgotten wooden sword from the earth.

Gale blinks at his father, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “But daddy, chickens doesn’t fly does they? My book say they doesn’t.”

The little prince was particularly fascinated by birds. At the child’s party a week ago, Gale of Waterdeep had gifted his namesake a set of twenty six children’s books listed A through Z, each covering the specifics of one bird. Astarion had just been held hostage by the three year old and forced to read “C” for chickens twice a few nights ago.

The elf had rushed through the first reading in an attempt to finish quickly and join Tav for a much needed tryst between mommy and daddy. Gale had refused to let him leave until he read the book properly.

“It’s an expression, Gale, it means— nevermind, it’s not important.” Astarion sighs, flailing his hand in a dismissive gesture. He isn’t about to waste his time explaining idioms to a three year old, “But maybe if you approach the chickens more quietly, they’ll come up to you.”

Gale considers this and then nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He begins walking toward the brood, trying desperately to be quiet. He’s just a few feet away when the chickens scatter again, clucking anxiously to one another. The careful movements of a three year old are still too noisy and abrupt for the birds.

The silver-haired boy groans in frustration.

“Watch me, Gale.” Astarion whispers as he hands the toy sword back to his son.

The elf crouches lower to the ground, easily engaging the predatory behavior he hadn’t used since turning mortal roughly four years ago. But the muscle memory alone allows him to silently and efficiently make his way to the group of chickens. Long-fingered hands dart out and quickly retrieve a spotted hen from the periphery of the brood.

Gale cheers before dropping the sword once again as he runs up to his father, wanting to examine the animal more closely. The rest of the flock members instantly run away when the little boy approaches, but he pays them no mind. Tiny fingers come out to gently pet the back of the bird.

“Good job, daddy!” The child exclaims, causing the older man to chuckle.

Astarion finds it entertaining that he is being praised for catching a harmless domesticated chicken. Gale truly had no idea that, only a few years ago, his father easily downed wild boars and a few bears with nothing but his fangs.

They’d purposely bought this estate on the outer edge of Rivington as a way to meet the nutritional needs of the prior vampire. In fact, Astarion had used the wild boar infestation in this very orchard to justify a lower price point from the seller and then quickly turned around and solved the problem with his hunting in a matter of weeks.

One day, Gale will know more about his father’s past.

But not today.

Today, Astarion is just a daddy catching a chicken.

Perhaps that’s who he truly is. Perhaps he doesn’t have to cling so hard to who he thought he was.

*

A light drizzle abruptly ended the walk in the orchard. Astarion scooped Gale up and hurriedly returned to the manor; the last thing he and Tav needed was the little boy catching a cold.

They were wearing a set of matching drenched curls when Astarion plopped his son on the back porch.

“Papa…” Gale starts, looking down at the toy sword he’s fiddling with in his hand, lost in thought.

“What is it, little prince?” Astarion asks as he removes his mud-caked boots before crouching to help his child do the same.

“When my other babies born,” He continues while lifting a leg, trying to help his dad remove the dirty shoes. The little boy had always referred to the twins as “my babies” and his parents simply shrugged it off as one of those strange things kids do, “You gonna love me, still, right, Papa?”

Astarion pauses.

Shit.

This was the type of sensitive, vulnerable, soft stuff that Tav usually handled so smoothly and Astarion felt sure he always fumbled.

The older man slowly places the child’s shoes down and then peers into his son’s round, emerald eyes. Gale was growing to be a much more sensitive and empathetic boy than Astarion had anticipated. The child might be the spitting image of his father, but his disposition certainly leaned more toward his mother.

It was something Astarion simultaneously feared and wanted to fiercely protect.

“Yes, Gale. I will still love you when your little brothers or sisters are born,” Astarion murmurs, bringing his hand up to gently brush it through his child’s unruly, wet curls, “You’ll still love me, won’t you?”

Gale nods and grins at his father as the worry in his little body fades away, “I love you always, daddy.”

The older man pulls his son into a hug, mostly to avoid Gale catching a glimpse of his father blinking back tears, “I will always love you, too, Gale.”

The elf lifts the little boy back up and heads into the house, planning to get them both into a fresh change of clothes.

The child may now be three years old and have two other siblings on the way, but whether he is three, thirty three, or three hundred… Gale will always be Astarion’s first baby.

And Astarion will always love his little boy.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fluff #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #papastarion #soft astarion

[grandmother-goblin]

When Soap Isn't Enough

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: No matter how many times Astarion scrubbed himself down, he just couldn't feel clean. So he accepts Cas's offer to help him out.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Hair washing, references to past trauma, non-sexual nudity.

Astarion tilted his head back onto the lip of the bathtub and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the clean water and the soothing aroma of lavender scented bath oil. It was technically his second bath of the evening. The first one had been dedicated to ridding himself of so much filth he was surprised he was allowed through the doors of the Elfsong. The second was just for his own sanity.

As if traversing the sewers beneath Baldur’s Gate wasn’t bad enough, some lunatic had summoned an army of grease mephits and one thing led to another and… well, Gale blew them up. But not before one of them managed to slime Astarion head to toe. Blinded and covered in grease, the little bastard then shoved him into a puddle of sludge. But everyone was so concentrated on surviving the encounter, Astarion did not have time to feel embarrassed about his condition.

The only thing Cas could offer him on the long walk back to the Elfsong was a cloak and a few rags to wipe himself up. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was better than nothing and he appreciated the gesture.

He was also grateful that Cas had gotten them a separate room from the others. It meant that fewer people got to see him in such a state, and he enjoyed the privacy it afforded him and Cas for several reasons.

The space wasn’t very big. Beside the washroom, all their room had was a bed big enough for two and a dresser to keep their belongings. But it was cozy. Rich wood tones and warm lantern light gave the place a very homey feel. He kind of liked it.

Astarion splashed a bit of water on his face. No matter how many times he scrubbed himself down, he still felt the grease. It wasn’t there. He could see it wasn’t there. But, somehow, he still felt like he couldn’t get clean.

“Astarion?” Cas called from the outside the washroom, her voice just loud enough to hear through the thick wooden door. “Do you mind if I pop in for a second? I just want to grab my hairbrush. I promise I won’t look.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, you’ve already seen everything,” he said and picked up the bar of soap again. “The door’s unlocked.”

Cas slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. Though he really didn’t mind if she looked, she kept her eyes off of him. Instead, she made a beeline for the vanity and quickly found her hairbrush. “Are you starting to feel better?”

“Mostly,” he said and began to scrub his arm with soap again. “But I still feel like there’s grease everywhere. On my skin, under my fingernails, in my hair. I’m sitting in water and I’m still probably flammable.”

There was a soft snort of laughter. “Want to try washing with some vinegar?”

The suggestion made Astarion’s lip curl with disgust. “I’m trying to smell better, my love, not worse,” he said and started washing his other arm. “Though if you have any more of that lavender scented shampoo, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Of course,” Cas replied brightly and retrieved the bar of shampoo from her toiletry bag. “Do you have any interest in letting me wash your hair for you?”

Astarion’s brow drew together as his hand paused mid-scrub. “Wash my hair?” he repeated back dumbly. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It feels good and I want to,” she said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “No pressure. Just thought I would put the offer out there.”

“I— Why are you like this?” he asked, making her laugh again. “You know how I feel about you being too nice to me.”

It was a conversation they had countless times in a dozen different ways. The answer was always the same, but he still struggled to wrap his head around it. It was because she cared about him. She cared about him in a way that no one else ever had. With patience and respect, but willing to stand her ground with him when she needed to. Even if she flooded him with sweet gestures, they all came from the heart.

For Cas, one of the main ways she showed affection was through physical touch. Due to his complicated feelings towards sex and other such activities, they decided to have a more caste relationship for a while. Given how frequently they found themselves tangled in blankets during the early stages of their relationship, Astarion thought Cas would have some difficulty with the change.

But she didn’t.

It had been almost a month, and Cas never once tried to pressure him into anything more. Though there were a few instances where their kisses turned a little too heated, she never had a problem with pulling back. Never got upset with him for denying her the physical pleasure she so clearly craved.

Of course, Astarion didn’t hold it against her. She still had certain needs, and he was glad that she didn’t try to deny that for his sake. But he was also glad that she respected his wishes and didn’t try to guilt him over his decision.

Cas held out the bar of shampoo to him and said, “Up to you.”

“Fine,” he replied, sounding about as enthusiastic as a teenager who had been told to wash dishes. “Just try not to get soap in my eyes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to get soap in your eyes,” she said as if he were being completely ridiculous. Then she pulled the stool in front of the vanity over to the tub and took a seat behind him. “Sit forward a bit so I don’t get water outside the tub.”

A little reluctantly, he did as he was told, letting his arm rest atop his bent knees as casually as he could. Yet, despite his outward demeanor, his stomach knotted and his throat tightened. He couldn’t quite place why.

Cas had seen him naked plenty of times between changing his clothes in front of her or when they went to bed together. So it wasn’t his nudity. 

Maybe it was just the position.

Naked, vulnerable, with his back presented to someone seated behind him. His teeth clenched as his fingers dug into his leg, hidden beneath the soapy water. He exhaled, but tried to make the sound seem bored or impatient instead of a calming exercise. It wasn’t Cazador, and there wasn’t a knife. It was Cas, and a fucking bar of soap.

He needed to pull himself together.

“Close your eyes for a second,” Cas said as she dipped a cup into the water.

As soon as he closed his eyes water cascaded over his hair and down his neck. It was warm and soothing. Then she poured another cup of water on him, slowly, until every bit of his hair was dripping wet. 

Ever so carefully, Cas ran her fingers through his hair and pulled it back away from his face. A little smile came to his lips. “How would you feel if I started slicking my hair back?”

“I have no opposition as long as you don’t use so much product that your hair looks crunchy.”

He furrowed his brow. “Crunchy?”

“Like Raphael’s.”

“His hair looks more greasy than anything.”

Cas hummed, sounding skeptical, and lathered up the bar of shampoo. “Take a closer look next time he slithers out of Hell. I bet if you touched it it would sound like a crumpled newspaper.”

“I’m not risking getting grease on myself again to find out what that devil’s hair sounds like,” he said, sounding indignant even as he wanted to smile.

It was funny how that worked. One second he was slipping back into one of his worst memories, and then the next Cas was making him want to laugh. It was so easy. It felt almost natural. That whenever he began to slip into darkness, she was always right there ready to direct him towards the light. Sometimes without trying at all.

Cas tilted his head back gently and began to work her soapy fingers through his hair. She started near his hairline, rubbing her fingertips in tiny circles as she worked her way over his scalp. It felt nice. Really nice.

Soon, Astarion found himself closing his eyes. The smell of lavender, the warm water of the bath, and a soothing massage relaxed the bundle of anxiety in his belly. Most of it, at least. Even though he knew in his heart that Cas wouldn’t take advantage of him, he couldn’t completely suppress that twinge of fear.

Part of him still expected Cas to push him. To trail her fingers down his chest, or to dip her hand beneath the water and tread even lower. Cas had never done something like that, and he didn’t think she ever would, but the worry lingered. That, somehow, this kind and sweet woman he knew was just a facade. That Cas was just like everyone else who wanted him just for his body.

Cas placed her hand just above his brow and said, “Keep your eyes closed.” Shielding his face the best she could, she washed away the shampoo. Between each rinse, she massaged his scalp and combed her fingers delicately through his hair. 

“I think I got all the grease out,” she said and dunked her hands in the water to remove the lingering suds on her skin. “I have a light oil for your hair if you’d like. It smells nice and it’ll make your hair soft and easy to comb.”

It sounded wonderful. Especially the thought of her fingers gliding through his hair again as he melted into her touch. But his stomach knotted, and he shook his head. “I think I’m alright, my love,” he said and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

If Cas was at all disappointed by his refusal, it didn’t show on her face. She just gave his hand a little squeeze. Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his damp forehead and said, “Any time.” 

With that, she dried her hands off on a towel hanging over the edge of the tub and put the stool back under the vanity. Then she picked up her hairbrush and started towards the door. “I’ll see you in a bit,” she said and gave him a smile before she left the room.

Astarion sighed once he heard the door click shut behind her. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he already regretted turning down her offer. If her shampooing his hair was anything to judge by, it would have been just as nice and relaxing. Maybe they could even talk about something else as ridiculous as what sound Raphael’s hair would make. Who knew? He certainly didn’t because he had let his fear get the better of him.

Yet Cas was patient and she didn’t seem to take it personally. There was just only so much touching he could handle before his train of thought ventured down a dark path. No matter how he tried to redirect it towards the light, he wasn’t always in control, and his mind went there anyway. As frustrating as it was, and though he knew he was safe (or as safe as he could be) with Cas, two centuries of conditioning didn’t go away overnight.

Still, he was getting better. Little by little. And Cas was there with him for every step of the way.

After he scrubbed his body down with soap one more time, he drained the tub and toweled off, finally feeling like all the grease was gone. His hair especially felt good. His hair was still a little damp when he changed into his pajamas. 

Cas had gotten the pajamas for him as a gift, and thought neither of them slept, they were soft and nice to lounge in while he did his trance. Just simple, loose, burgundy pants and a stretchy, long-sleeved, gray shirt. Nothing fancy, but he didn’t really need fancy so long as he was comfortable. 

When he exited the washroom, he found Cas lounging on the bed clad in her own pajamas, a pencil in hand as she jotted down something in her journal. She glanced up at him and gave him a soft smile. Like she was simply happy to see him. It still felt so strange, no matter how many times she gave him that look. “Feeling better?” she asked, closing her journal to give him her full attention.

The mattress dipped as Astarion sat beside her. He used the movement to tuck her against his side, his arm wrapped around her lithe frame and her head tucked under his chin. “Much better, darling,” he said and rolled onto his back and pulled her fully on top of him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone wash my hair like that before”

She pushed up with her hands on either side of his head, relieving him of some of her weight. “How did you feel about it?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again,” he said as he let his hands wander from her ribcage, to her hips, down to lightly grip her upper thighs. “Perhaps, next time, you might join me in the tub.”

Cas smiled at him. “I don’t think we’d both fit.”

“Not with that attitude,” he said, earning himself a laugh because she was right. Even if the idea sounded nice, there was no way they could both fit comfortably. “I bet this place has a room with a bigger tub. They have to, right? For half-orcs or goliaths or other massive folk. Those would surely fit two little elves.”

She hummed. “If you want to ask the owner to switch rooms, be my guest,” she said, effectively putting the ball in his court. Leaving the decision up to him, with no real pressure one way or another. 

“I bet they’d have bigger beds too.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her down for a kiss. Something chaste and sweet, and he could feel her smiling into it.

Gods. He might very well be in love with her.

“I’ll ask about it tomorrow,” he said. Despite his earlier nerves, it was something he still wanted to do. Especially with Cas. It might be good for him, he thought. Just a small way to be intimate with her that didn’t involve sex.

It would take more than just soap to wash away all of his complicated feelings towards intimacy. Perhaps, he would never be rid of it entirely. But it was a start.

That was something.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 8: Penne for Your Thoughts

Food and shenanigans. Need I say more?

Tag List: @peanut-in-the-goal @whataboutmyfries @raxelle-nite-in-gale @heyoitslysso @spookydiyharrypotterbat

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

@lumosinlove

.

“When you said you were cooking for an entire hockey team, I thought you’d stick to the basics. Maybe a salad appetizer and something easy to make that feeds a lot of people.” Dorcas looked around at Leo’s countertops, which were covered in flour, measuring cups, and homemade pasta. “This seems a little overboard.”

Leo rolled out more pasta dough and mentally took note of the different kinds he’d made so far. Linguine, fettuccine, penne, pappardelle, farfalle…

“Leo.”

“I just want it to be good, ok?” He finally looked up from his dough and rolling pin and stopped cooking for the first time in several hours. “Besides, this is a good outlet for me. If I focus on cooking, I don’t have to focus on-” He cut himself off, then added lamely, “Anything else.”

Dorcas sighed. “That’s not how you face your problems and you know it. Talk to me.”

Leo didn’t even fight back about talking about his problems. That was Dorcas’ first clue about how bad this was.

“I can’t do it.” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “I can’t be ok with being just friends. I can’t be ok with taking a step back and distancing myself. I can’t be ok with trying to get over them. And I don’t know where that leaves me.”

“I only see one other option here. Talking to them.”

“They’re already perfectly happy together-”

“And who says they won’t be with you?” Dorcas demanded. “You’re only imagining two possible outcomes – talking to them and being rejected, or not talking to them and keeping this a secret. But they could also be in the same position you’re in right now. The only way you’re going to know is if you talk to them.”

“I don’t think I can do that, either. Even if they feel the same, that doesn’t change the fact that they are in love with each other. I can’t get between that.” He laughed dully, and the sound tore at her heart. “My mama would kill me if I became a home-wrecker.”

“Who said love is only between two people? Leo, I know you know this. So why is it so hard to grasp now?”

She could see the second he began to shut down and sighed. “I’m going to hug you now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dorcas wrapped her arms around him and glared at the wall. She was ninety percent sure Logan and Finn both felt the same way and clearly none of them were going to bring it up.

So now it was her turn. And she didn’t hold back her punches.

Those two hockey players were going to get a severe talking-to tomorrow.

“You guys have to promise to be more well-behaved tonight.” Logan told the team as they drove to dinner. Next to him, Finn was nearly bouncing out of his seat in excitement. “Please.”

He got several grumbles in response, but no teasing – which was a surprise.

“So are you two finally going to ask him out?”

And there it was.

“Are you guys finally going to mind your own business?”

“Nope!”

“It’s not like we don’t want to.” Finn sighed. “We just don’t know if he’s interested.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s cooking your entire hockey team dinner. That’s dedication right there.”

“Also did you even watch the episodes of your show?”

“You just had to go and run your mouth.” Logan groaned, shooting Finn a look. He just shrugged apologetically as their charter bus pulled into the parking lot.

“Do you know what’s for dinner?” Someone asked from the back of the bus.

“He said it was a surprise.” Finn responded as they all filed out of the bus and inside the restaurant that had been kind enough to host them.

Leo and Dorcas were standing in front of several tables covered in food, which took Finn back to three months ago. He smiled broadly and waved at the two of them. Leo waved back and waited for everyone to settle down before explaining dinner.

“I figured a build your own dinner was probably the best idea for so many people. I hope pasta’s alright with you guys.” Leo said, then began pointing to each variation of noodle as he explained, “We’ve got regular noodles, gluten-free noodles, and then some cauliflower noodles for y’all to choose from. Then we’ve got sauces and proteins to choose from, including some vegetarian and vegan options. Everything is labeled, so go ahead and grab a plate and help yourselves!”

Everyone clambered to get in line and grabbed portions that were way to big for the day before a game. Their nutritionist watched on in horror.

Finn was watching Leo talk to Loops when Logan nudged him with his elbow. “Finn, look.”

“Hmm?” He asked, turning back around to look at what Logan was pointing to. There in front of them was a pot full of creamy white sauce, bacon, and sausage with a little label that read: carbo’hara.

Finn melted.

He’d told Leo that joke during their first conversation and how he and his brother would have it the night before every hockey game as kids. And he had remembered.

“Logan.” Finn said, not bothering to hide the yearning in his voice.

“I know.”

Dorcas was watching all of this with growing frustration. Were they blind or were they just stupid? All of this could be solved so easily with a single conversation, but none of them were willing to take that first step.

She really shouldn’t get involved. It wasn’t her business. But-

“It’s painful to watch, isn’t it?” A stranger’s voice asked. Dorcas turned to look at a girl with blonde hair and mischievous brown eyes. She stuck her hand out.

“I’m Marlene. And I just want to say that I am so sorry you’ve had to deal with the three of them for months now.”

Dorcas smiled and shook her hand. “So you’ve noticed, too?”

“I think everyone has.”

“True.”

“You’re thinking about interfering?”

Dorcas shrugged. “It’s either that or waiting for them to get their acts together.”

“And who knows how long that’ll take?”

Dorcas laughed, looking appraisingly at her new companion. “I like you already.”

The other girl grinned. “I told Leo when he was in Gryffindor that he should introduce us. He said it was a terrible idea.”

She smiled back. “He was right.”

“So I’ll take Leo, you take the other two? I’m assuming you’ve been trying to talk to Leo but haven’t had any luck.”

“He’s being really stubborn about the whole thing.”

“From all the complaining I’ve heard from the team, so have Logan and Finn.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “After dinner I’ll talk to them. Normally I wouldn’t interfere, but this is ridiculous.”

“Agreed. Good luck.”

“You too.”

“Hey,” Marlene spoke up, “Can I have your number? You know, for meddling purposes.”

Dorcas grinned. “I really hope that’s not the only reason you’re asking for my number.”

“Guess you’ll have to see.” Marlene said with a wink.

Oh, boy.

Dorcas was in so much trouble.

But she had other things to focus on right now.

She marched over to Finn and Logan and stated firmly, “You two. We need to talk.”

A dark-haired guy in glasses sent her a wide-eyed stare. “You’re terrifying.” He looked to his teammates. “What did you guys do?”

“Now.” Dorcas said, ignoring the others entirely.

“Rest in peace.” Glasses guy said solemnly as Logan and Finn got up nervously. “It was nice knowing you.”

Logan shared a worried glance with Finn, but they both followed her to a quiet hallway where she turned to glare at them.

“Are you two actually interested in Leo or are you just stringing him along? If it’s the latter I won’t hesitate to punch you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Logan asked, then frowned. “Fuck, does he think we’re stringing him along?”

“So you are interested?”

Finn looked confused. “I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s the holdup, then?”

“We’re not sure he’s interested.” They shared a sad look. “He’s never given us any reason to think so.”

Dorcas pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh my god, you three are so stupid. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, trust me – he’s terrified. Think about it. He likes two guys who are already in love with each other, which would be daunting for anybody. And he’s worried that if one of you didn’t feel the same he’d come between the two of you and ruin everything. Not to mention that if he got rejected he’d be rejected not once but twice.”

They stared at her, then turned to stare at each other.

“Fuck.” Finn stated simply.

“Fuck is right.” Dorcas agreed. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

***

“You were so wrong when you said introducing me to Dorcas was a bad idea.”

Leo laughed and turned to face Marlene. “Hello again.”

“Hey, cooking guy. Anyways, I’m in love.”

“Oh, really?”

“She’s awesome. And terrifying. And I really want to take her out on a date.”

“If you hurt her-”

“Oh my god, are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“No. All I’m saying is that we had entire class of knife skills in culinary school. She knows how to properly butcher things. You hurt her, you’d better prepare for the consequences.”

Marlene blinked, then broke into a dopey grin. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Leo laughed, shaking his head a little as he grabbed an empty pot and brought it back into the kitchen to clean. Dinner had been a huge success – almost to the point of them running out of food. Leo had noticed the nutritionist shooting him glares all night and made a resolution to send him an apology letter. He just hoped it didn’t affect their playing too much tomorrow.

He was scrubbing the pot down when another pot was set down on the counter next to him. Marlene shoved his shoulder to get him to move to the side a little. “Figured you could use some help.”

“Thanks.” He said with a smile as she grabbed a sponge.

“So,” She started, and that’s when Leo knew he was in trouble. “I know Dorcas talked to you earlier. And I’m sure you don’t want to hear any more of that, but I wanted to let you know that no matter what happens, it’s going to be okay. I mean, yeah, it might suck for a while, but at the end of the day wouldn’t you rather know than be left guessing forever?”

Leo stopped cleaning out his pot and looked at her, surprised at the turn this conversation took.

She shrugged. “Just a thought.”

He’d never really considered it that way before.

There was a knock on the doorframe, which startled them both. Leo turned around to see the head coach standing there.

“We’ve got to head out soon to get to our hotel at a decent time. Thank you so much for dinner! My guys will be talking about this for months.”

“I’d be happy to do it again sometime.” Leo said, then winced. “Maybe something with a more controlled portion size, though.”

The coach laughed. “That might be for the best.”

After all the goodbyes, Logan and Finn were the last two inside, seemingly reluctant to leave. Leo took that as a good sign.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Logan asked, green eyes hopeful. “At the game?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” The bus driver honked the horn, clearly fed-up with waiting. “You’d better go before they leave you behind.”

Logan and Finn gave one last wave before heading towards the door while Leo began making his way back to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Logan called suddenly. Leo turned back around to look at them. “Can we take you out to dinner tomorrow? After the game?”

Leo’s stomach churned at the wording. He gathered up all his courage, took a deep breath, and asked, “Is this a date?”

Finn and Logan beamed. Leo’s heart skipped a beat.

“I sure hope so.”

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #o'knutzy #chop it like it's hot

[everlarkficexchange]

lying in the bed we made (if it wasn't us)

Written by: @archersandsunsets

Prompt 26: the night before the Quarter Quell, in the sleepless dark, Katniss and Peeta allow themselves to indulge in the bittersweet dream of a future they’ll never have together (“if it wasn’t us, what would you do?” “I’d want to marry you” “tell me”) [submitted by @rosegardeninwinter]

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Word Count: 2,918

Rated T.

Author’s Note: Dedicated to the lovely Cate, who has become an invaluable friend over the last few weeks. This is for you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Title from the song, Lying in the Bed We Made by Arrows to Athens. I’d highly recommend listening to it while reading, volume low—it’s very Everlark.

She refused to let go of his hand, insisting he could shower in her room. Convinced that if a door shut between them that night, it would lock and she’d have to spend the night without him.

In return for his obligation, she let him shower first, after he helped her out of her dress. Then, she sat on the bathroom counter in her slip, watching the steam curl towards the ceiling. While Peeta shampooed, they chatted idly about the reactions of the Capitol citizens to the baby bomb like it was a conversation mundanely brought up over breakfast.

“You really think they bought it?” 

“Of course,” Katniss replied, picking at the pins in her hair that were holding her elaborate updo in place, “I’m pretty sure you could convince Effie that a potato sack was fashionable if you really tried.”

Amidst the patter of the water, she heard him snort. “You give me too much credit. Effie would never wear brown, unless maybe it was mahogany.”

A smirk turned her mouth at his joke, and a thought slipped into her mind.

Is this what it would be like, if we got married?

Katniss’s hand stilled on the pin just above her ear she was toying with.

Where had that come from?

Distantly, the water cut off in the shower, but Katniss didn’t look up until she heard the curtain slide back. Peeta had fastened a towel around his waist, and, balancing on one foot, was reaching for his prosthetic. 

“Do you need help?” It felt like a stupid question the moment it left her, but it was either that or stare into space thinking… about her own thoughts. Or, stare at Peeta. None of which were her first choice.

Not that there wasn’t something to stare at regarding Peeta. And if they were actually getting married, she’d have an excuse to.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it.” He smiled sweetly at her, and she watched while he easily attached his prosthetic and stood. All without losing his towel.

She’d asked him countless questions about it before, the nights they’d spent on the train and the mornings after, but Katniss found one she hadn’t asked yet. “Do you miss it?”

His eyebrows crinkled, confused. “What? My leg?”

“Mmhmm.” Katniss’s hand found its way back into her hair. Back into the damned pins. 

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “After the first Games, I… missed it a lot, I guess, because it hurt a lot. Phantom pain, they called it. Because my body wasn’t adjusted to losing a part of itself. But now… it’s just a leg, really. And losing it kind of saved my life.” He winked at her. “Someone decided they couldn’t live without me, I guess.”

For some odd reason, Katniss laughed at that. “Oh, that’s the reason, huh?” She’d missed this side of him. Even if he was technically making her laugh at his expense. Not that she blamed him for that, given the circumstances.

Peeta stepped over to stand in front of her. “That’s what I’ve been told. By our fans.” He was still joking, still lightening the mood from her dark question. From the darkness of the night ahead.

He adjusted his towel and then took her hand, entwining their fingers. He nodded towards the shower. “Your turn. Do you want me to stay?”

Katniss didn’t think about it. She nodded.

“I just have to get these out,” she complained, using her free hand to pull at one of the pins. “You’re lucky all they have to do to you is put some gel in.” She ruffled his wet hair, which was already beginning to dry in ringlets from the heat in the room.

Peeta chuckled. “Let me.” He reached into her hair, and with one tug a lock of her hair fell from its hold. Then another, and another, until the hairstyle had been reduced to a pile of pins on the counter, and her hair fell in a dark, wavy curtain down her shoulders.

When Katniss looked up, she found the expression on Peeta’s face to be unreadable. This time, he was the one staring, eyes wild in a way that no one had ever looked at her with before. But still, underneath it all, she saw the familiarity of his love for her.

It didn’t make her squirm this time. Instead, it felt right.

“There,” he said, voice low and soft. “Much better.” He allowed himself to twist a piece around his fingers before dropping it. He seemed to come back to himself, because he blinked and straightened. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m just going to… get dressed really fast. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Katniss replied.

“Okay,” Peeta echoed, then he disentangled their hands and left the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

In the steam of the moment and the room, Katniss remembered what Haymitch said Peeta had done for her by confessing his love before their first Games. What felt like forever ago now.

“He made you look desirable!”

To the people of the Capitol, of course. But to Peeta…

She already had been.

…

Hands entwined, they laid in the darkness. Silent, in case the other was able to get even a little rest tonight, though that was impossible. 

Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of their lives—and if either of them had their way, it wouldn’t be both of them leaving that arena.

Just one. 

Once again, their greatest ally was also their greatest enemy: each other.

At first they lay on their backs, their hands in the space between, both lost in thought. Then Katniss rolled over to look at him. 

His eyes were closed, but he was clearly awake. The flare of his nostrils on an exhale was proof. Still, Katniss didn’t look away. The moonlight from the open window spilled grey across the room, the sky’s hue casting bluish shadows over everything. Over him, too.

She let her eyes trace the outlines of his face. The slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. His eyelashes. The freckle underneath his eye. The wrinkle in his brow. She knew without asking that he was deep in thought.

A small, nostalgic voice inside her whispered, “I wish we had more time.”

As if on cue, Peeta’s eyes blinked open. Then his attention was on her, and Katniss shifted to accommodate him while he turned onto his side, mirroring her. Without speaking, they switched hands, curling them up between them.

He dipped his head down to brush his nose against her forehead. Then she felt his lips there, and heard his sigh as he settled, eye level with her.

His voice was ragged and sad when he whispered, “I wish we had more time, too.”

Katniss blinked. Had she said that out loud? She must have. Somehow, it wasn’t as embarrassing, here in the dark. Here, so close to him, with no guilt to feel about Gale, no more goodbyes to say.

It was just… true. Because even if her heart wouldn’t allow her to admit it, she loved Peeta Mellark in her own way.  In whatever way she could. She always had. She always would. 

Until her last breath.

Even if the idea itself scared her to her core.

“If it wasn’t us, what would you do?" 

The question spilled out.

There was a beat of heavy silence between them before Peeta spoke.

“I’d want to marry you.”

Somehow, his answer didn’t surprise her. She had known he would have wanted to be with her, that he was someone who still believed in marriage and happily ever after and sunsets and hope. That much was obvious.

It was that fact that kept her sane, now, so close to the end. Something to cling to in her final moments, maybe. The idea that he would live out all of those wonderful things with someone else. With anyone at all. Because he would be alive.

Usually, the idea would bring an unwarranted frisson of sadness over Katniss at the thought of Peeta with another girl. Not for any particular reason than that she would be sad to… miss it. Then, the swift return of duty and obligation would follow, because she owed that to him, owed him a life and so much more, for his loving her and saving her. But not now.

Instead, Katniss felt something else at Peeta’s simple declaration.

Curiosity. For a life she would never get to see, would never admit she wanted to know about except for here in the darkness, lying in Peeta’s arms.

“Tell me.”

His hesitation spoke to his surprise. “Really?” His lips turned up slightly at her soft spoken request, the tone of his voice rising in disbelief. And teasing, she noticed, but regarded with the same familiarity as on the Tour; she was used to it by now. “You want to know a besotted school boy’s fantasies about marrying the love of his life? With you as the bride?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded. “I do.”

“Wow, you’re serious.” The humor faded from his voice. And, because Peeta could never deny her, even if he didn’t understand her, he said, “Okay.”

Katniss waited for him to begin. Patient, she took her time watching him while he gathered his thoughts. He had the same wrinkle in his forehead as before, but the lines were softer. His ideas, surely were lighter than whatever he had been pondering before the start of their conversation.

“Well, for starters,” Peeta said, “You wouldn’t wear a thirty pound wedding dress made of pearls and feathers that catches on fire when you twirl.”

A laugh made its way out of Katniss’s throat. “How kind of you. What would I wear, then?”

“Anything you want.” A pause. “You’d look beautiful no matter what.”

It was the kind of comment that on any other night would have made her uncomfortable, or wish he’d take it back. Because it wasn’t true, and because by saying it out loud she was hurting him. But tonight, she allowed herself the absence of guilt that would usually accompany her blush.

Tonight, she let him see her in a way she’d never seen herself. Despite the ways she’d wronged him in the past.

Worthy of his love.

“Sorry,” Peeta’s apology brought her back. Probably because she didn’t say anything.

“Don’t apologize,” she told him. “It’s okay.” She squeezed his fingers. “Then what? Go on. Keep talking about our wedding.”

He rubbed his thumb over her hand. “Alright. If you say so.”

“I do.”

The words echoed in her head when she said them, their significance revealing itself. All this talk of weddings… 

I do, I do, I do.

A beat passed between them before Peeta picked up where he left off. “Of course, we’d go to the Justice Building and sign papers. Prim would be there, and your mother. My family… probably wouldn’t attend.” He sighed. “Except maybe Auric.” The middle Mellark brother. “Delly would be there, too.”

“Delly?” Katniss asked.

“Yeah,” Peeta replied, “I’ve known her a long time. We used to play together when we were kids. She used to tell people I was her brother. She’s one of the only close friends I still have.”

One of the only close friends I still have. Katniss thought for a moment about Gale, nostalgic. Wishing they would have been able to maintain what they had. Wishing it wasn’t so complicated. It wasn’t hard to imagine why Peeta would have lost friends. But she didn’t want to think about it. Peeta was so kind. For greed and self-righteousness to steal his friends, was cruel.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Peeta shook his head at her. “Don’t be. They weren’t real, anyway. Delly is. That’s why she stuck around. Now, where was I?”

“We just signed papers at the Justice Building,” she supplied.

“Right, right.”

“What happens next?” 

Peeta shot her a look, one that asked her if she was serious. “You know what happens next.”

Katniss resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What?”

“A toasting.” Peeta’s voice went soft, dreamlike. “We have a toasting.”

And suddenly, Katniss wasn’t a seventeen year old girl being sent to her death tomorrow morning for the second time. She wasn’t an instigator, forced to torture the boy that was in love with her with Capitol engagements in the slim hopes it would appease the rioting districts. She wasn’t the girl who had volunteered for her sister in a fight to the death.

She was no one. She was eleven years old, watching Peeta Mellark take a beating to give her some bread. To save the life of a dying girl.

She was cold, soaked from the rain and the memory, remembering the loaves as they landed in front of her. Remembering the heat that scorched her underneath her coat when she picked them up. 

“A toasting,” she repeated in a whisper, voice hollow and haunted.

“Yeah,” Peeta said, and he must have noticed the change in her demeanor, her body language, because he pulled his hand from hers to run it down her arm. “Hey.” He tilted her chin up, and she let him.

A shiver passed over her body.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” he said, “if it makes you uncomfortable. I know…” He took a deep breath, “I know you never planned on getting married.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” She didn’t even think before she spoke. “I just…” She felt incredibly stupid, because here he was comforting her when she was the one who made him talk about his dream wedding—which would never come true, now.

What kind of monster was she?

“I was thinking about the bread,” she whispered.

“Oh,” Peeta said, realizing. “Katniss, you know… we’re even. You don’t owe me a debt, or anything. I’m serious.”

“I know.” She wasn’t sure she agreed with him completely, she would always owe him in her mind, but she knew he was too kind to collect. Too in love with her to do anything about it. How could you repay someone for saving your life? But, it wasn’t about the debt. It was something else. And she didn’t know what. She didn’t have the time to figure it out, either.

Silence bridged the gap between them, while Katniss tried to wrap her mind around her emotions. No words between them. But she felt Peeta’s eyes on her. Soft, understanding. Waiting. He was always waiting, for her.

“Peeta…” she began. Barely audible.

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thank you, for saving my life, with the bread. I have to say it, even if…” Even if we die tomorrow. Even if I die. Even if you live. Even if, even if, even if.

“Shh, hey, Katniss—” Confusion colored his tone, but still, he tried to reassure her. Like he always did.

“—And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you don’t get to have your dream. That I can’t love you the way you deserve. That I’m—”

In a brush of movement, Peeta had moved, until his forehead pressed against hers. Katniss thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, his lips moved an inch from her own, his voice came rough and trembling, he cradled her face.

“Please don’t say that,” he said, soft and pleading and pained. “It’s not your fault.”

“You deserve better.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! You deserve everything, Peeta Mellark.” And I can’t give it to you. I wish I could. I wish… She couldn’t bear to look at him, but couldn’t bear to pull herself too far away from him, either. 

Because she needed him. In more ways than he would ever know. She pulled back, and closed her eyes.

His hands still held her tenderly, though their foreheads were no longer pressed together. “I have everything I’ll ever need right here.” He didn’t miss a beat.

Katniss couldn’t say she was surprised. Or that his sentiment didn’t flatter her—or didn’t sting, because he was talking about her. In a way no one else had ever talked about her. In a way no one else ever would.

Not after tomorrow.

“Katniss, look at me.”

She did.

“You…” For a moment, it seemed as if the eloquent, sweet, Peeta Mellark had gone speechless, until: “You are everything. I love you.”

Even if, even if, even if…

I do, I do, I do…

I wish, I wish, I wish…

I love you, I love you, I love you…

All the words she could never say. Could never mean. Could never…

“I know,” she told him. The fight went out of her, and she opened her eyes. Her voice was nothing but a whisper. “I know.”

When could she stop hurting him? When could she give him something other than phantom pain—pain for parts of himself, gone forever. Would it hurt less, when she was gone?

With the conversation over, they shifted into more comfortable positions to try and get some rest, to hold each other. As Katniss lay her head on Peeta’s chest and he wrapped his arms around her, as they clung to each other in the silent, deadly dark, Katniss allowed her mind to wander.

One last time. 

Would this have happened anyway? she wondered. An echo of everything Peeta ever wanted. An echo of desires she wasn’t allowed to have.

It was a strange thought, disconnected from reality, barely formed.

Would we have happened anyway?

She knew that now, she would never know.

#Springtime Edition 2020 #archersandsunsets #rosegardeninwinter #prompt 26 #submission

[tenroseforeverandever]

The Cupid’s Arrow (Revised Edition): Chapter 1

Characters:  Nine x rose; Original Character

Rated: Teen-Adult

Tags: Fluff; Angst; Humour; Aphrodisiac

Summary: Rose convinces the Doctor to take her to "Planet Valentine" for a lark.

Notes: For @caedmonfaith, who has told me this one of her favourite stories of mine. ((((hugs)))) darling.

I have been meaning to tidy this story up for a while now! What better occasion than this year's Valentine's Day. (No major revisions; just housekeeping.) The original will stand as it is, as part of my Domestic Bliss series.

Second half to be posted tomorrow!.(This revised edition will only be posted here, on AO3 and on Tumblr.)

Also read at: AO3

The Cupid’s Arrow (Revised Edition): Chapter 1

“Honestly, Rose! The things I do for you! Your Nan’s birthday!” the Doctor whinged.

“Well, you could just drop me off, and come back for me later…,” Rose nervously fingered her cheek, “but I wouldn’t mind the company. ‘S not exactly gonna be a wild party.” She rolled her eyes. “And it would be better with two.” She coyly bumped her shoulder against his leather-clad arm, and flashed him her Rose Tyler-patented tongue-touched smile.  

“I suppose…” he began, and Rose’s grin widened significantly. She had him: hook, line, and sinker. “But I’m not going to sit there and listen to some old biddies prattling on about their knitting patterns or what happened on EastEnders yesterday.”

“Nah, don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll lay low, yeah. And we can play that game.  You know, the one we played at that booooring convention on Mugwarf:  “Guess the Alien”. I’m sure loads of Nan’s friends could easily be mistaken for aliens. Very dangerous, old ladies are… There’s one – oh my God! – I swear she’s a Raxicori… um Racico… Slitheen! I’ll be lookin’ for the zipper, I will!”

“Hmmph,” he grumbled grudgingly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Rose Tyler,” he performed his dance around the TARDIS console flipping switches in a seemingly random sequence as she watched, bemused, “I will never quite understand the human proclivity to commemorate certain dates! You lot and your need to compartmentalize everything into neat, little categories!  A lot of fuss over nothing, if you ask me!”

“Yeah, well we like it,” she proclaimed.  “Gives order to things. This travellin’s excitin’ and all (I love it, Doctor!) but it gets so… timeless sometimes, yeah. Now and then I feel like I need somethin’, you know… real to hold onto… to keep me from goin’ spare.”

He responded by grabbing her hand, entwining their fingers. “You have me.”

“Yeah, I do,” she beamed up at him, stunned by his rather significant little statement, and pressed her cheek gently against the cool leather of his sleeve, breathing in the comforting scent of him.

“Hold on tight, Rose,” he warned as, still gripping her hand, he flipped the final lever that sent the TARDIS spinning wildly through the vortex.

--oOo--

Several hours later, hands swinging, linked between them, they walked back to the TARDIS from the Tyler flat, chattering cheerfully to one another. “Blimey, Doctor! I nearly weed myself when old Tessie pinched your cheek and told you what a handsome young man you were!” Rose burst into gales of laughter. “If she only knew!”

“Oh, laugh all you want, little ape.” His expression suddenly sobered. “I’m just relieved Jackie didn’t have a go at me.” He subconsciously lifted his hand to his cheek.

Rose just laughed the louder, taking advantage of his insecurity. “I swear Tessie fancies you! And it’s nearly Valentine’s Day, Doctor,” she sing-songed. “Maybe she wants you to be her Vaaaalentine, yeah? What d’ya think, Doctor? She’s nearly your age and all!”

“You can shut up now, you!” he reproved with a growl, dropping her hand.

Rose felt her heart sink at the loss of the strong, reassuring grip, an enduring symbol of their friendship since the first day they had met. She was silent for a long moment, her mood turning sullen. When she finally spoke, it was in a sour tone: “Now there’s a rubbish celebration…” The disagreeable subject fit rather well with her change in mood.

“What’s that?”

“Valentine’s Day! One human date we could very well do without commemorating!” she huffed, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“Why’s that, then? Ricky forget to bring you chocolates and flowers?” he taunted, a possessive smirk curling his lips. He reached for her hand again, and gave a disgruntled snort when he found it absent. Rose kept it pointedly tucked in her jacket.  

“It’s jus’, ya know, it sets people up with a lot of false expectations. It’s forced.  It’s fake. And all the pressure: what to give; how much to give; and who really wants chocolate and roses and dumb poetry anyway? And, then, when you don’t have someone to celebrate with… it’s so lonely, yeah.”  She pulled her hand out and linked her arm through his, her lips twitching up a little when she heard him release a self-satisfied sigh.

“And to think, your lot created a planet entirely dedicated to Saint Valentine and his day.”

“No way! You’re takin’ the mick! Really?”

“Oh yes, Rose. You intrepid little humans, you forge your way out across the galaxy, bringing all of your traditions and customs with you. There must a special planet for every Old Earth holiday, and then some! Species from all around come to partake in human traditions! It’s a huge tourist industry. Just imagine!” He pulled out his key to open the TARDIS door, and let Rose step in ahead of him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yup!”

“Prove it.”

“What? Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Nope. You?”

“Of course not, Rose. Time Lord, remember?”

“Well then, Time Lord… take me to this Valentine’s planet.”

“Thought you hated Valentine’s Day.”

“I do. But this might be good for a lark.  Could be fun: people watching. Guessing what their relationships are, yeah.  Married; first date; newly-weds. Like that!”  

“Rose Tyler, you and your games! Alright, then, you asked for it.” He strode to the console and began to set the coordinates. “But I’m warning you. Stay away from love potions and aphrodisiacs of any kind. Let me taste anything you plan to eat. My sensitive taste buds can detect any of them, and,” he grinned cheekily at her, “my superior physiology can neutralize them in record time!”

“You really think you’re so impressive, don’t you?”

“I am!  And most importantly, no wandering off. All I need is a lovesick Rose Tyler on my hands. Bad enough as it is, sullying the TARDIS with all your domestics: trips home to see Mummy; grocery shopping; laundry…”

“Oi, you invited me! Twice!”

“All I’m saying is that I want you to be safe, Rose.”

She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “I know, Doctor. Let’s go, yeah?  I’ll be careful, promise.”

--oOo--

Rose poked her head out the TARDIS doors. “Doctor, this is soooo cheesy! Raining rose petals? Really?”

“Not too late to turn back…” The Doctor peered out distastefully at the red, pink, and white glitter that was Planet Valentine.

“No chance! This is brilliant!” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the shower of drifting petals. Letting go of him, she twirled around ecstatically in wonder. “Doctor, this may just be enough to make me see Valentine’s day in a whole new light!” She stopped spinning to face him, and found him with an incongruous grin brightening his face. She swore his eyes actually twinkled at her. “W’at? W’at is it Doctor?”

“Oh, c’mon, you.” He switched rapidly to a more surly expression, as was customary when he had been caught looking at her. “Let’s get this over with.” He took her hand again and directed her to what looked like the main street, filled with throngs of creatures representing species from all across the galaxy, although the majority appeared to be human… or human-ish.

Rose observed most of the planet’s visitors walked around in pairs, although a few individuals strolled about, either procuring gifts for a significant other or perhaps seeking companionship.  Then she saw something remarkable: “Doctor? Those blue, glowing people over there… do you see them?”

“Those are Trinitarians, Rose. Their skin begins to glow like that at the peak of their reproductive cycle. Truly beautiful species.”

“Yeah, they are,” Rose sighed in awe at the tall, slender, willowy forms whose skins seemed to dance with shimmering blue radiance. “But there are three of them? Do they need three to reproduce?”

“Blimey! Aren’t you perceptive? Clever!”

“No need to sound so surprised.” Rose couldn’t help but feel miffed by the Doctor’s double-edged compliment, and let it show in the tone of her voice.  

She was aware of the Doctor glancing warily down at her as he forged ahead on the topic of the Trinitarians: “There aren’t many species that need three participants for procreation, but they do. There are a handful of others, too. Mind you, it’s not the most complicated mating system out there. Now, take the Spredifriat-mwooguds from the Delta-Frimori Sector! They–”

“Blimey, that must be a difficult relationship, yeah? Imagine how hard it is, even for us humans. I’ve been searching for ages just to find one decent bloke out there. I can’t imagine how complicated it would be if I needed to find two!” She nestled into his arm again, suddenly needing the comfort of his presence.

“C’mon. How about some hot chocolate?”

“You buyin’? ‘Cause I don’t have any credits.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Still owe you for those chips, don’t I?  If I remember correctly, there’s a little shop just down the street that makes the best hot chocolate in the galaxy. They even put heart-shaped marshmallows in it!”

“So, you come here often, then? To the Valentine planet… the planet of loooove,” she ribbed him.

“Very funny.” He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, and glowered at her. “It just so happens that I’ve had a sweet tooth… in the past. And if you want a chocolate fix, ‘The Cupid’s Arrow’ is the place! They specialize in exotic chocolates from around the universe. Bon-bons and fudge and… ah, but, you mentioned earlier that you didn’t really care for chocolate. I’m probably just wasting your time taking you there.”

“I never said I didn’t like chocolate!” Rose blurted. “Just think they’re a rubbish Valentine gift, s’all.” She flushed at the sight of the smug grin that spread across his face. “Oh shut up and get me some of that hot chocolate. And just for givin’ me that cheek, you can spring for a nice, big piece of fudge, too.”

“Done!”

--oOo--

Hand in hand, they walked into the shop. The décor was flamboyantly tacky: walls, ceiling, and floor painted in a trompe-l’oeil chocolate bar motif. Tables for two hovered on micro-gravity platforms, showers of heart-shaped confetti sprinkling down in a twinkling column over each red and white laced tablecloth. Ultra-high definition holographic cherubs darted around the tables, shooting little holographic arrows at seated customers. Against one wall was an enormous display cabinet with the largest assortment of chocolate sweets Rose had ever seen. Several customers were buying the confections to take away in shiny heart-shaped boxes wrapped in extravagant glittering tulle ribbon.

Rose fought to supress the giggle that threatened to erupt from her throat. “Oh, this place is just so… you!” She broke into howls of laughter, unable to hold in her mirth any longer.

“Just you wait, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor responded with his see-how-clever-I-am smile. “When you taste that hot chocolate for the first time, you’ll understand why I am able to put up with all this. I’ll be waiting for the apology.”

“You’ll be waitin’ a–” Her tart remark was cut off when a tall, wispy alien with purple skin, and a towering, domed head approached them.

“Table for two?” He spoke in a high-pitched, reedy voice, accompanied by a distinct roll of his emerald-green eyes. “As if it would be anything else around here,” he remarked disdainfully.

“Yes, please!” the Doctor chirped, seemingly oblivious to the Maître-d’s acerbic comment.

Rose goggled as the Maître-d’ punched some codes into a touch screen device and led them to a table that descended, confetti stream disengaged, ready for them to board. He pulled a chair out for Rose, and then one beside her for the Doctor. “Please place your order from the menu on the touch screen in the centre of the table. When you wish to disembark, just notify me by tapping the red heart at the top of the screen. Enjoy your stay at ‘The Cupid’s Arrow’. Please leave smitten.”

“Oh, we’re not together… not like that,” Rose announced, sitting down. “Just mates, yeah.”

“Pffffft,” the Maître-d’ hissed, “of course you are. Just look at the two of you! Just like every other couple that comes in here. Sickening really,” he added under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Rose bristled at him. She felt the Doctor tense up in the chair next to her.

The Maître-d’ gave a thin, squeaky gasp, “My sincere, apologies, Miss!”

“’S all right, mate.”  She forced herself to relax and smiled warmly at him. “Sounds like you need a vacation. What’s your name, then? I’m Rose, and this is the Doctor.”

“Hello!” The Doctor waved cheerily.

“I am called Zoorgraps. Please enjoy your refreshment. In just a moment, your table will ascend, and you may place your orders.” His expression, Rose noted, still seemed perturbed and angry, but maybe that was just the way his species was. “If you’ll excuse me…” he whiffled, and drifted off to greet another couple at the door.

Rose opened her mouth to comment on Zoorgraps’ attitude to the Doctor, when she suddenly found herself gripping the sides of her chair in momentary shock as the table began to rise up off the floor. She glanced at the Doctor, a little peeved at his nonchalance, and quickly schooled her features to one of casual indifference. The confetti curtain (holographic also, she noted) resumed its descent around the table. She tried to pass her hands through it and was startled when a mild buzzing resistance impeded her.

“Forcefield,” the Doctor smirked at her, “to prevent us from tumbling to our doom.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” She flushed at her naïvety and quickly changed the topic. “So, what are you having?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.”

“What? You’re going to watch me stuff my face? I don’t think so! Please, Doctor? Anyway, I thought you said you had a sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, not so much this time ‘round.” Rose was perplexed by his choice of words, but immediately dismissed it to a place at the back of her mind as he continued to speak. “But, I suppose a banana hot chocolate with whipped cream would provide a nice boost of energy.”

--oOo--

While the Doctor placed the orders, Rose became engrossed in observing the customers at surrounding tables. “Look at those two, Doctor! What ya think? They’re way beyond first date. I bet they just got engaged! Oh, my God! They’re feeding each other!” She began to laugh, wrapping an arm around her stomach in a hopeless effort to control herself. “Definitely.  Engaged! Or about to be…”

“I dunno, Rose,” the Doctor looked up, having finished placing their order, “I think they might be beyond engaged.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Because Rose,” he gestured with a nod of his head at the couple in question, “while he’s feeding her with one hand, the other hand is occupied in a much more entertaining activity.”

“You’re havin’ me on! Oh – my – God!” Rose felt the heat of a blush redden her cheeks as she glanced under the couples’ table. “Well that explains why she looks so dreamy and flushed, then. I am officially upgradin’ their status to newly-wed!”

“That seems more appropriate, I’d say,” he agreed, infuriatingly unflustered by the activities at the next table.

“’Course, could be anything… they’re probably just randy, or this could be... normal behaviour for the, what was it? 47th Century…?” Rose’s attention was (thankfully) soon diverted by the arrival of a tiny flying droid. Its body was a sparkly fuchsia, and its heavily lashed eyes were bright red, heart-shaped deely-boppers. Rose sputtered in shock as it delivered their food, confirming their order in a sultry voice.

The Doctor chortled at Rose’s bemused reaction. “It’s all jus’ a lot to take in, ya know,” she stammered, “what with Mr. Happy Hands and the wife sittin’ next door, and Lou-Lou the Love-Bot delivering the–” She was interrupted by a muffled, impassioned cry from the woman at the next table, causing Rose to roll her eyes in an attempt to affect disdain and indifference.

The Doctor simply chuckled harder. “Keep up, Rose! I thought you’d be over the culture shock, by now,” he teased mercilessly.  

“Shut up. ‘S not like that stuff didn’t go on ‘round the Estate, but it wasn’t done out there for everyone to see: usually down some dark alley… or on the dance floor at one of those seedy clubs. And the robot’s just daft! Besides, you’ve had nine hundred years to get used to all this. I haven’t even had nine months!”

“Still, Rose…” He gulped down his mug of hot chocolate in one swig. “Oi, what’s goin’ on down there?” he asked, responding to the noise of shouting rising from below.

Rose craned her neck to give her the best view of the floor of the restaurant through the confetti forcefield. “Looks like our friend, Zoorgraps, has gone completely bonkers, he has! Right cheesed off about somethin’. He’s natterin’ on about how unfair life is, havin’ to work here. Doctor, he’s getting really worked up… Doctor?”

Rose looked across at the Doctor. He was leaning on his elbow, chin in his palm, gazing at her dreamily. “Doctor?” her voice rose in alarm. “Earth to Doctor…” She waved her hand in front of his face.

“Right here, Rose. Don’t worry, love, I’ll never leave you.”

“Right comforting, that is! Not quite relevant, though, Doctor.  Wait… did you just call me ‘love’?” She felt a strong prickle of concern rush over her. “Doctor, could you answer me a question, then?”

“For you, my Rose, I would do anything.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that… Did you happen to detect an aphrodisiac in that hot chocolate of yours? Just guessin’… on the off chance… that you did, yeah?”

“Oh, yes! There was enough potion in there to make a Geruhundian Greehog fall in love with an Ooktee.”

“Thought so.” She wrinkled her nose in trepidation. “And your superior physiology…?

“Still superior, but that was a rather large dose... You know, that’s what I love about you, Rose! So observant! So beautiful… and not just for a human.” He snatched her hand from where it lay across the table, pressing his lips to the back of it.  

Rose shivered, and quickly turned away from his piercing stare. She was about to suggest that they get back to the TARDIS post-haste, when she became aware of an enormous commotion, not just from Zoorgraps at floor level, but also taking place in the air all around her: it seemed the holographic cherubs were continuing to fly about, shooting arrows at customers, but the arrows were no longer holographic recreations. They were very real and very dangerous.

#valentine's day #nine x rose #ficandchips #angst #fluff #aphrodisiac #humour #caedmon #the cupid's arrow #tenroseforeverandever's fic