Hey hey hey 10 “You never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you even believe me?” forrrrrr zeviolstair OR pavellan
You always send me prompts that I wind up incorporating into Party Camp I hope you're happy
For @dadrunkwriting and Strange Feelings in the Party Camp, some zeviolstair.
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Violet is laughing, clutching Zevran's arm and laughing through her tears.
"Thank you," she says, wiping one away, gaze lingering on Zevran's still-concerned smile and then flicking over to him. "Maker, this is why I love you."
Alistair catches Zevran blushing, but he backs away and makes room when she says that, as though she hadn't said it to him. Violet grips his arm and pulls him back.
"Love you both," she clarifies, and she doesn't need to look Alistair in the eye for him to believe it, and she knows it, so her gaze snaps back to Zevran, defiant.
"Ah," Zevran hesitates. It's...
Is he allowed to be cute?
Alistair thinks it's cute, how he hesitates.
"I... thank you."
Violet's eyes narrow. Alistair almost laughs. Wrong choice, he thinks, that isn't what you say back when Violet Cousland tells you she loves you. He would know.
"You don't believe me?"
"Mi amor, of course I..." Zev swallows like he's choked on the Antivan phrase he's just spun. He says that all the time, mi amor, and Alistair knows just enough Antivan to know it means 'my love', and more than enough about Zevran to know that it's not really supposed to. Except it does.
He's always meant it, just draws it out and purrs over it and spreads it around, thinks they won't notice if he does it like that, which is precisely why he can't say it now.
"We both do, Zev." It's a rare moment for him, to be able to say something so succinct and just be done with it, but that sounded right. His own voice dips low and quiet, both his and Violet's eyes land on him, and he just lets that hang there. He takes Zev's hand. "You know that."
Zevran pulls his hand back. Alistair's never seen him blush so deeply. "Do I, now?"
He's doing a bad job of playing this off. Violet giggles.
"Mm, well, you ought to." Violet bumps her head into his shoulder.
Alistair crosses his arms and nods in agreement. "Sure, we say it enough, right Vi?"
"I've said it," she agrees, kissing Zev's cheek. "And we had that long talk, me and you."
"Mhm," Alistair nods.
"Aye, you've said it..." Zevran sighs like he's contemplating some difficult lock. "When was this talk?"
Alistair shrugs. "Week ago? Days are running together."
"I told him I loved you still, asked if it was alright."
"I just laughed, I was so relieved," Alistair adds in.
"And then we went on about him, didn't we?"
"Oh, into the night."
Zevran looks between them, skeptical eyebrow raising, defensive smirk forming, something almost like annoyance in his eyes, under it all. Alistair's heart sinks just a little, and he does a similar-but-different kind of not showing it.
"Ha ha, very funny," Zevran retorts, sarcastic and a smidge too defensive and so far off base it pangs in Alistair's sinking heart.
"Didn't I tell you he'd never believe you?" Alistair shoots Violet a raised-eyebrow and a look she'll know what to do with.
She nods, and her smile is the only one of theirs that isn't hiding something. She can get through to both of them like no one else can.
"Zevran, look at me," she says.
He does. She doesn't even say anything, and his eyes well up.
"Maker," Alistair sighs into a real smile and just collects him under an arm, draping his weight across Zev's shoulders and taking in the scent of his hair. "Finally."
"I -- this was not to be about me -- I do not need you two to - to..."
"Love you?" Violet finishes for him, not what he was going to say, Alistair knows, but absolutely what he was going to mean. "We've only tried to tell you half a million times each."
"You have not!" Zevran protests.
He's said it plenty of times, actually, thank you very much, Alistair thinks. Zev's just never heard him.
He said it after the very first time he'd ever buried himself inside him, and fine, he supposes he understands why Zev might think that one didn't count. Supposes he gets why Violet mumbling it out sleepily into his naked chest didn't register, either. He's said it when they're both in his arms by the fire, and maybe those times Zevran sat there obliviously considering himself an accessory to it all, but Violet's the one of the two of them that's really shy with the word. Because Alistair? Alistair says it.
He says it when Zevran cooks and brings him a bowl of something that actually tastes like food. He says it when Zev's got him bent forward and cramping with laughter. He says it when he pulls him up after a hard fight, checking him for injuries before letting the rest of his adrenaline out in a crushing embrace.
"Oh, thank the Maker," he remembers saying breathlessly, pulling Zev up from a muddy pit of a narrowly-missed ogre-stomp, just the other day, "Maker, I love you too much for you to get smushed by some giant stinking foot. Don't scare me like that."
So he shoved him after, didn't make it less true.
"You never believe me," Alistair corrects, jostling him now as well, still pulled tight under his arm. "If I told you right now that I loved you, would you even hear me?"
He can't do it quite like Violet does. Whatever surety she puts in a look, he's never had that. He has a goofy smile, eyes that don't like long, important looks into other eyes much. But he presses a rough kiss into the side of Zevran's face and feels just how hot his cheeks have gotten, and he's pretty sure it gets through.
"Mi amor," Zevran breathes. "I... my apologies."
"So we all agree?" Violet asks hopefully, scooching her way closer on the bench to get wrapped up under Alistair's other arm. She pushes her head into Zev's shoulder again.
"It appears that way," Zevran mumbles, and Alistair tastes the salt of his tears when he kisses his cheek again.
"I love you, Zev," Alistair closes his eyes and whispers it into his soft hair, this time.
"We both do," Violet concludes.
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27 from the artifacts list!
Artifacts of Thedas prompt list
I went with a banter format for this one.
27. A small pot of kaddis, partially used
Alistair: Uh… Ariel, what happened to your dog?
Ariel: What do you mean? He’s fine.
Alistair: I don’t know if you noticed, but he looks like a fancy cake.
Zevran (if present): Oh, good. So I’m not the only one who was seeing that.
Morrigan (if present): He certainly does not smell like one.
Ariel: He does not look like a cake.
Leliana: (chuckles) The swirls around his neck do remind me of my favorite frosting.
Ariel: Those are the rays of Elgar’nan! It’s a warrior’s pattern!
Leliana: Ariel, I’m sorry for earlier. Fen’Falon’s war paint looks lovely.
Ariel: Thank you! It took me an hour to paint all of him.
Leliana: He’s so cute! Festive, even.
Fen'Falon: (happy bark)
Ariel: He’s not - oh, Fen’Harel take you all. I’ve got a steady hand for shooting, not for art.
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Happy Friday! For DADWC: "Caretaker desperately shaking whumpee awake, calling their name over and over" for any pairing you want. Give us the sweet angst 🤭
Happy Friday! Thank you so much for the prompt ^_^ @dadrunkwriting
Rated T for whump. Kallian/Alistair, ft. Wynne & Shale. 812 words.
The aftermath of the fight with Flemeth.
➴ ➴ ➴
The dragon that was Morrigan's mother lay dead at last. Shale stood quietly, some of their crystals cracked or crushed to dust in the fight. Wynne was a wreck. Her white hair was messy, sticking out and framing her sickly-pale face; a stark contrast to her usually immaculate appearance. She was on her knees next to Kallian, who lay bleeding and unconscious.
"Perhaps the fussy mage should take some lyrium," Shale said quietly.
"None left," Wynne rasped in reply. She reached out her shaking hand, found Kallian's deepest wound, and pressed her fingers into it. In some ways, it was lucky the Warden wasn't awake to feel the pain. In many others, it was not.
Blue light flickered desperately, the low whistle of Wynne's magic quiet and unsteady. She grunted in effort, leaning forwards, pressing harder, and the light held.
Kallian came to with a rattling inhale, jolting away to cough up some blood. Wynne sat back, swaying, her eyes drooping.
"Al," Kallian wheezed as soon as she realised where they were. Shaking, she pushed herself up to look around the impromptu battlefield.
Shale stared at Wynne, who usually would have told Kallian off for moving too hastily by now. Instead, she looked barely focused. How many times had she healed them all during that fight? Brought them back from the brink of death? Shale tried to remind themselves that they didn't care.
Alistair was sprawled on the ground far too close to the dragon's corpse. He wasn't moving. Kallian had been knocked out before she'd seen what had happened to him.
"Al," she croaked again, dragging herself to her feet and stumbling towards him, wincing at the pain that still wracked her body.
He looked dead. He was covered in blood, so much so that it was hard to tell where his wounds even were. His leg was broken, twisted at an odd angle, and too much blood pooled underneath his head.
"Wynne!" Kallian screamed, dropping to her knees and fumbling around her belt for a poultice, elfroot, anything. But it had all gone.
Her hands hovered over him uselessly for a moment, and she started to cry. She was almost afraid to touch him, as though that would be the thing to tip him over the edge.
"Al," she whispered, gently touching his cheek instinctively. She couldn't hear his breath.
"Alistair," she repeated, hastily unstrapping her gauntlets to cradle his bloody face with her bare hands.
He didn't respond.
"Wynne!" she called again, panicking. She turned to see the old mage struggle to get to her feet, leaning on Shale for support. She took one step and fell.
"No, no, no," Kallian muttered, brushing Alistair's sticky hair back. "Come on, Al, please, come on. Wake up. Don't be silly, wake up."
Her tears fell, leaving tracks on his dirty skin.
Behind them, Wynne was desperately trying to hold her fractured body together. The spirit kept her alive, but it had made no promises to keep her conscious.
"It is not able to–" Shale started, but soon cut themselves off when Wynne tried to get to her feet again.
With a grunt of frustration, the golem picked her up, and carried her over to the Wardens with a gentility they had yet to show.
They placed her down, and it took a moment for Wynne to orient herself, but when she did, she immediately set to work. She pulled a waterskin from her robes, and used the last of it to wash Kallian's blood from her hands as best she could. It would have to do. Delicately, she wormed her hands beneath Alistair's head, too exhausted to lift it or move him.
"Please, Wynne, please, please, please," Kallian babbled, never letting him go. She could feel Wynne's magic, an ice-cold aura pitifully trying its best. It had to be enough.
Wynne was bleeding. Sweat plastered her skin, and blood dripped from her nose, down into her gritted teeth. With one final push, the glow burst out of her, showering everyone in snowy crystals for just a second.
Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed backwards onto the ground.
"Wynne!" Kallian cried, frantically looking between her and Alistair. "No... No, no, no. Shale, what do we do?"
"I–" the golem started quietly, before turning to eye Flemeth's old hut. "There must be... something."
They gently lifted Wynne again, setting off at pace towards the little cabin.
Kallian stared at Alistair. Nothing had changed.
"Alistair!" she shouted, grabbing onto his shoulders in a panic and shaking him. "Al! You have to wake up, come on, please, Al!"
Nothing.
"Alistair," Kallian sobbed, dropping her head to his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't say it back. I should've, I wanted to, I was scared, but I... I do. I do. Please come back. I lo–"
Alistair took in a deep, shuddering breath.
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