#Yes there's a typo in card C - please ignore it

[gallavichthings]

Gallavich Week 2024 - bingo edition

Hello, lovelies! It's time for another Gallavich Week. This time: bingo edition!

The 2024 Gallavich Week will be held between June 24th and June 30th. As this time it's a bingo, there will be no assigned theme for each day, meaning you can post your works on any day during that week.

Guidelines and cards after the read more because this post ended up way too long. ^_^

Some general rules:

There are four cards (at the end of this post): one/two-word prompts, dialogue prompts, tropes, and art and other medias. You can post something from just one or all of them. You can also use more than one prompt in the same work. There's no minimum or limit to the number of works you can post.

All kinds of fanworks are accepted (fic, art, videos, gifs, analysis, crafts... anything), as long as they're original. (Unless they're a re-imagining of another work, in which case please also mention it when you post and get authorization first if the original isn't yours.)

AI is not accepted!

No sign-ups required. Just post and tag me. :)

Here is the AO3 community, for those who wish to use it.

Don't forget to tag me using @ at the body of the post so that I can see it and reblog it (you can do it after a read more or by reblogging if you wish to "hide" it). Also, please indicate clearly which prompt(s) was/were used.

Some suggestions, which are not rules but do help with posting:

If you're posting a long fic in its entirety here on Tumblr, please use a read more and/or tag it "long post".

If you're posting nsfw art here, please use the community guidelines to inform so.

If you post more than one work on AO3, I suggest making different works, and not just different chapters of one single work. This helps with tagging, both for those who want to find your work and for those who might want to avoid something. It also helps when people don't have to comb through several chapters to find what they're looking for. If you want to connect your works, you can put them all under a series. And yes, this is also valid for drabbles and art.

There are no prizes for this bingo, but those who make a bingo get bragging rights (and a special shout out - just let me know you've done it because I'm likely to miss it).

BINGO: 3 cells in a row (vertically, horizontally, or diagonally).

SUPER BINGO: 3 cells in a row in two cards.

ULTRA BINGO: 3 cells in a row in three or four cards (are you ok?).

UBER BINGO: All the 9 cells of the same card.

SUPREME BINGO: All 9 cells of the same card in two different cards (good luck with that).

EXTREME BINGO: All 9 cells of the same card in three different cards (seriously, are you ok? Is this worth it?).

ULTIMATE BINGO: All 9 cells of the same card in ALL of the four different cards (you get ALL the bragging rights!!! But also, please rest).

And now, the cards:

EDIT: forgot to mention, by Taste of Chicago I mean this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taste_of_Chicago

And Starry Night is, indeed Van Gogh's painting. And yes, Final Fantasy the video game.

I think the rest is quite obvious, but let me know if you have any questions.

[hawkbucks]

It’s my fanfic blog and I get to choose what fandom to do fic for. 

DA:O, Julien Tabris/Zevran, sort of Alistair’s P.O.V. Let it be known that I would gladly die a thousand deaths for my Best Boy Ali. Many typos, probably. 

“You and Zevran earlier--” Alistair leans against a tree; they’re far enough from the main camp that no one would be able to hear their conversation, especially considering the hushed tone that Alistair is speaking in-- “what was that all about?” Although he and Zevran do get along quite a bit better than they did before, he’s never been too... fond of his and Julien’s relationship. It just seems too convenient in his opinion. Zevran was originally sent to assassinate the both of them, after all. All Julien needs to do is turn his back for a second too long, sleep for a minute longer than he usually does... not that Alistair would actually voice these concerns of his out loud. 

Well, actually. He did. Once. That got him a pissed-off Julien telling him to mind his own business. He can’t really help it though, can he? Julien has quickly grown to become one of his closest friends--being the only survivors of a terrible betrayal tends to build camaraderie. Add that to the fact that it’s painfully obvious that this is Julien’s first real relationship and you’ve got a good reason for Alistair’s “big brother instinct” to shift into overdrive, only made worse by the small scene they have caused a few hours before. Rapid whispers were exchanged, then Zevran left for his tent in a huff, shoulders tense, leaving Julien awkwardly standing there before joining Leliana in cutting up some vegetables for tonight’s stew. 

Julien crosses his arms. “Zevran offered me his earring. I said no.” 

If there’s one thing that Alistair likes about Julien, it’s his straightforwardness. No having to decipher any insufferably vague sentences or tying him down as he’s beating around the bush. “His... earring?” Alistair’s head tilts towards the side. “I didn’t know he actually took those off, honestly. Why’d you say no?” As far as he’s concerned, they’re both head over heels for each other. There’s seemingly no reason for Julien to have rejected anything coming from Zevran. 

“I told him that I didn’t want it unless it meant something. I want commitment. I don’t want this to just be bodies warming each other because of the Blight, because there’s no one else available.” Julien gestures at Zevran’s tent, looking like a mere blob of cotton awash in yellow-orange light. Zevran hasn’t exited that tent since their little tiff. “I... like him, Alistair, but I don’t know if he likes me the same way. He got shifty when I asked him about it, then he took it away from me.” He looks away from Alistair at that point, gaze turning down onto his boots. “I know it’s partially my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to rush him like that. I know about his past relationships; commitment wasn’t exactly a prominent part in any of them.” He drags a single hand down the side of his face. “I’m an idiot.” 

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Alistair chuckles. Then, after a moment’s silence, he sighs, shaking his head. “I think you guys’ll be fine. Just give Zevran some space. Maybe try not to mention the c-word next time you guys talk.” He reaches over to pat Julien’s shoulder. “He cares for you, you know. I doubt he can stay mad at you for long. You guys will bounce back from this.” 

Julien manages a small smile at that. 

Alistair can’t help but to watch as Julien and Zevran have yet another conversation by the bonfire in the middle of camp. He’s seated next to Leliana, the both of them playing a game of Diamondback. 

“We’re five hands in and you haven’t even made a joke about how the Priestess card could poke an eye out with her crown,” Leliana comments. “It’s your turn, by the way.” 

“The Priestess card could poke an eye out with her crown.” Alistair exposes a card of his own. “Sorry. I’m... distracted.” 

“You’re watching them, you mean.” Leliana places down a Magician card to complete her Priestess play, winning the game. “You know, you’re usually better at this. But I suppose I can see the entertainment in watching our resident couple.” 

Alistair’s cheeks flush and Leliana titters, hiding her mouth behind the tips of her fingers. “I mean--” he frowns and gathers up his cards-- “Julien’s my best friend. I want to watch out for him.” 

Leliana hums as she takes Alistair’s cards and reshuffles the deck with the grace of a Bard. Her hands are a blur and, honestly, Alistair is starting to get a headache just looking at it. “You’re cute,” she teases before dealing the cards back out. 

Alistair grumbles something, then he catches Julien drawing Zevran in for a kiss out of the corner of his eye. He fully turns away. He can give them some privacy in that respect, at least.

“I’m engaged.” Julien drops this bomb as he walks up to the simmering pot.

Alistair snorts his drink, eyes watering at the burn. “You’re-- shit-- fu-- you’re what?” he splutters. Is he hearing correctly? Did Morrigan slip something into his water? His porridge? Maybe the Taint’s caught up with him? 

“Zevran offered me his earring again.” Julien ladles out some porridge into his own bowl, eyes squinting and hair still bedraggled, before sitting down next to Alistair. It’s dreadfully bland, something that Zevran has complained about time and time again, but they don’t have the luxury of spices when they’re constantly on the road trying to save the world. “It was a proposal. He was... trying to propose to me the first time, he just didn’t know how to say it.”

“Someone that has been through the stuff he has, I’m not surprised. I don’t imagine that he’s had plenty of experience in that area.” He’s overheard some of their conversations. Zevran’s prone to some flowery language, but all in all... he understands. Perhaps he judged Zevran--and by extension, his and Julien’s relationship--too harshly. That’s something to reflect on when he’s lying in his tent and trying to ignore the cicadas outside. “At least it worked out.” 

“Yeah.” 

They continue eating in relative silence. Alistair makes a mental note to pick up some pepper the next time they pass by a city no matter how expensive it might be. 

“So...” Alistair sets his bowl down at his feet. “I can be the best man, right?” 

“As if I would have anyone else.” 

“Alistair.” Zevran pops up beside him.

Alistair is pleased to say that he didn’t scream. Much. Morrigan gives him a dirty look. “Maker!” He clutches the shirt that he was folding close to his chest. “Would it kill you to make a little noise? I could’ve had a heart attack!” 

“Ah, but you didn’t!” Zevran gives him that shit-eating grin that he’s so used to seeing. “I came here to thank you, my friend. I was also going to ask you to be my best man, but it appears that I am too late as you have already offered to be so for Julien.” 

“You were going to ask me to be your best man?” 

Zevran waves a hand. “In case you did not know, all of the people I could have asked are dead. And, excuse me, but I doubt Oghren or our stoic friend Sten over there would be up for the task.”

Sten grunts in agreement. 

“But, yes. You have grown to be a good friend, Alistair. It brings me great joy to be able to fight by your side. And, you know, if you ever want to join us...” 

Zevran cackles out loud as Alistair buries his face in his shirt. 

“This is Alistair,” Julien says, gesturing at Alistair. A female elf--Shianni--stands in front of them, her red hair kept bobbed with a couple of decorative ribbons tied around a handful of locks. “This is Morrigan--” Morrigan simply quirks her eyebrow up-- “and this is Zevran. My fiancé.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Zevran bows. “I see beauty runs in the family.” 

“Wow.” Shianni looks at Julien, both of her eyebrows raised. “You’re already engaged again?” 

“Again?” Alistair blurts out. Zevran himself turns to Julien with a questioning look. 

Julien shakes his head. “It’s a long story. Not one you would want to hear.” 

Alistair is pretty sure he’s sweating buckets. After an arduous trial in the Alienage (during which they met Julien’s father, a lovely man who offered Alistair a cup of tea) and the rescue of Queen Anora, he’s watching as Julien duels Loghain--the entire reason they came to Denerim--for the throne of Ferelden. 

Julien’s not going to be the one on it, no. 

Alistair is. Julien’s fighting for him. His entire destiny rides on his friend’s blade. 

“He’ll be fine,” Zevran says. “You are worrying too much.” 

“Maybe you’re not worrying enough,” Alistair bites back. 

“Nonsense. Julien’s a fine fighter. I taught him some tricks, and I’ve heard from him that his mother was no slouch either.” Zevran clasps his hands behind his back. 

Alistair takes the time to scrutinize Zevran a bit: his back is ramrod straight, perspiration forming on his brow as the corners of his mouth are dragged down. He might not be saying it, but Alistair knows that Zevran is just as nervous as he is. 

The sound of metal hitting stone reverberates around the entire room as Loghain collapses on the floor. 

Julien’s eyes look extinguished of all light, a brand new gash on his cheek that’s more than likely going to scar. He picks up Loghain’s sword and tosses it at Alistair, who fumbles before catching it in his gloved hands. 

“It’s your turn,” Julien says, “Your Majesty.” 

Anora glares at Alistair, tears in her eyes, as he brings the sword down on Loghain’s neck. 

King. It still seems wrong on Alistair’s lips. His words can’t wrap around the syllables just yet. He’s king. He got his revenge on Loghain. For Duncan. For all the other Wardens needlessly killed after that coward pulled out.

He watches, like he usually does. He watches as Julien takes Zevran’s hand into his own and kisses the palm, both of them illuminated by the moon. 

A sudden longing makes itself known in Alistair’s chest. He’s not interested in them, per se, but rather what they have. Julien is his best friend, yes, and Leliana always listens to him whenever he needs her, but he doesn’t have anything like that. He doubts he ever will. 

He’s covered in blood. There’s a darkspawn corpse at his feet. Even more are littered behind him. The air stinks of corruption and decay, questionable liquid flowing in between the cracks in the ground. 

He thinks about what Morrigan told Julien before she ran off. About how a Warden must die in order to kill an Archdemon. There was a... ritual that she said she could perform to stop this from happening, but neither he nor Julien wanted to be a part of it. When the time comes, he’s more than willing to be the one who strikes the final blow. 

This is a Grey Warden’s duty. In death, sacrifice, right? He knew what he was signing up for. 

All of their breaths come ragged. After a simultaneous fight with two ogres and a particularly hardy Hurlock mage, they’re not in the best shape right now. Alistair winces as he rubs a poultice on one of his bruises, and Wynne is chugging lyrium potions like there’s no tomorrow--and there very much could be no tomorrow if they don’t succeed right here, right now. 

“I love you,” Julien whispers to Zevran. 

Alistair can’t help but to eavesdrop. They’re so bunched together after all, there’s no way he can avoid overhearing their conversation. 

Zevran responds with a kiss.

Alistair turns away once more. 

“Promise me you’ll protect Zevran,” Julien says--no, he demands. He’s bleeding from the temple. Another cut recently joined his face after a Genlock slashed his upper lip. The Archdemon is lying weakened behind them, body shuddering with each breath. There’s no way it’s going to get up anytime soon. 

This is it. 

“Julien--” 

“Promise me.” There’s a wild glint in his eye. His grip on his dagger gets tighter, knuckles turning white. 

“I can do it,” Alistair counters. “I’m a Grey Warden. It’s my duty.”

“We’re both Grey Wardens. It’s as much my duty as yours. Plus, you have a kingdom to run.”

“Does Zevran know?” 

Julien flinches. 

Zevran looks at the both of them as he’s helping Wynne up to her feet. 

Alistair levels Julien with a look. “Let me do this. What could a better first act as king be besides stopping the Blight? I die, so what? Ferelden still has Anora.” 

“You’re the one that wanted to be king, Alistair,” Julien shoots back. “I fought so you could become the damn king. I can’t let you do this. I’m sorry.” 

Alistair’s hand reaches out to grab Julien’s wrist, but he’s a millisecond too late. He runs after the man, wide-eyed, but there’s only so fast he can go in his clunky, heavy armor.

“What is going--?” Zevran takes in Alistair’s panicked face as the man draws closer and his head immediately whips towards Julien, his breath catching in his throat. He starts to take off, Wynne standing in shock behind him, but he’s stopped by Alistair’s hand closing around his elbow. 

“He wanted to do this, he wanted to do this,” Alistair says, sounding more like he’s reassuring himself than reassuring Zevran. “He told me he wanted to do this.” 

“Alistair! Alistair! ” Zevran tries to rip himself away from the other man. Once he realizes he won’t be able to get out--stomping on Alistair’s foot would do nothing considering the armor and he’s not tall enough to be able to headbutt the man--he goes slack. “He is going to die, isn’t he?” he sounds uncharacteristically quiet. Despondent. 

Alistair stays silent. 

“Bastard.” 

Julien regards them with one last look, one last I love you to Zevran. He raises his dagger--

Zevran reaches out. 

--and swiftly brings it down on the Archdemon’s head. 

Wynne gasps as a column of bright light immediately shoots up into the sky. Julien screams in pain, writhing, but unable to let go of the dagger. 

Alistair feels Zevran’s body shaking. 

He looks away. 

Alistair lays down a few flowers near the statue. It’s been a couple of years. The statue of Julien--the Hero of Ferelden--has just been completed. Its bronze plaque shines in the morning sun as it stands proudly in the middle of Redcliffe. 

Being king hasn’t been easy. He’s been dragged here and there and here and there and he’s never really had the patience for all of this politicking and cursory smiles. Still, he has a job to do and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it well. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice says. They sit down on the base of the statue, swinging their legs. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the castle, Your Majesty?” 

The corner of Alistair’s mouth quirks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be hunting down your fellow Crows, ser Arainai?” 

“Ah-ah-ah.” Zevran points a taloned finger at him. “I am not a Crow anymore. Not since...” not since he threw himself into the assassination mission, fully expecting to die, not since he ended up making friends among the others, not since he and Julien got together, not since he finally told Julien he loved him, not since, not since, not since. “It has been a while.” 

“I bet.” Alistair smiles at him. “But you’re... are you doing alright?” After Julien’s funeral, Zevran worked for the throne for a mere year before the Crows found him again and he was forced to leave. Alistar’s heard a couple of their master assassins have gone missing. Zevran’s doing, no doubt. 

Zevran shrugs. “Some days are worse than most, but I do believe I can live with it. By the way, your sculptors got his nose wrong. The nose tip--” Zevran clicks his tongue-- “it was wider.” 

Alistair laughs.