#i answer things!

I’m sorry this took me literal months to answer ;—;

Evvie belongs to @berriku

—

There weren’t many jobs where Evvie and Ien got the chance to stow away the blasters and bravado and dress up. Blasters, of course, were still on person, and the bravado was shifted to charm, but instead of strapping weapons belts and blaster proof jackets they were donning evening wear.

This was formal even for one of their jobs, akin to the sort of networking he’d do on Csplar from time to time. Instead of the frigid chiss of Csilla, they’d be rubbing elbows and getting big credit jobs with the high horse types of Coruscant. While less exciting, it was a welcome change of pace from the threat of injury and death that made Ien’s heart pound—and not from excitement—on their typical platter of jobs.

Running his hands through his hair, trying to convince the cowlicks and waves to stay down with putty, Ien caught his wife’s eyes lingering on him in the mirror. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, mostly dressed already in a stunning dress, fiddling with some jewelry in a box. Her eyes darted away when’s he caught her, but she was smirking and before long he caught her eyes roving over him slowly again.

“I saw that,” he said. Without shame she brought her eyes up from his rear, blinking in owlish innocence.

Everything about her bled too much innocence, every single syllable, “Saw what, my love?”

“You,” he turned, pointing at her. She took the oppurtuity to let her eyes wander over his front, from the black button up undone at the collar to the dark jacket he wore over it and further down. “Just checked me out.”

She didn’t try to hide it, but her smirk did turn into a pleased grin and she hummed in agreement, “Astute observation. You do look quite dashing, I can’t help it.”

Evvie waved her hand at him flippantly, “Besides, it’s payback for earlier—I saw your eyes on me all while I was getting ready.”

He couldn’t deny that; in fact he wouldn’t even try to. Trying to act coy about how much Evvie enraptured him was simply a pointless task. Instead he chuckled, low in his throat, and wandered over to her. Resting his hands on her thighs and sliding them up as he leaned over to kiss her, the silky fabric bunching under his hands, he paused just before their lips met:

“Yes, and?”

Evvie tilted her head back to brush her lips across his, grinning, “And I think you should kiss me in repayment for that.”

That illicted another laugh from him and he kissed her in earnest. She sighed happily against his lips, deepening it for a moment before pulling back to study him with eyes hooded under thick, dark lashes. Then they widened and without warning both her hands seized his cheeks, “Where are your freckles?!”

Surprised by her grip, Ien startled, “Uhm, on my face?”

“No shit,” she sent him the kind of look that suggested he was intentionally missing her point, “I know that. Then why can’t I see them?” Her thumbs brushed across his cheeks, over his nose, and up his cheekbones where they were heaviest.

He caught her hand as it wandered down to his jaw again, pressing a kiss to her palm, “I concealed them; you didn’t see me doing that?”

“I was a little distracted by your ass—“ she started to say before Ien interrupted her with an amused,

“You were staring at my ass that whole time?”

That earned him another look and a muttered, “You have a nice ass.” Before she continued, “But anyway, why’d you cover them up, I like your freckles.”

As if to punctuate a small pout pursed her lips and her fingers brushed over his cheeks again.

Ien paused—in truth it was a muscle memory driven habit. At every gathering he’d been forced to go to on Csilla he, and his siblings, had been told to cover up their freckles and any other blemishes. It was the same rhetoric that had Ien dying his hair inky black for years. In truth, when he’d taken this job opportunity, he’d spent far too long staring at the boxes of black hair dye on his last supply run.

“Force of habit.” He said simply but Evvie was quick to connect her dots. Her eyes narrowed and her hands slid up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him in for another kiss. Not one to avoid a kiss, he relented. Only for her lips not to find his, but press hard against his cheek.

Then again to his other cheek, then his forehead, and anywhere that Evvie could reach until the brilliant red lipstick she favored was faded from her lips and transferred onto his skin and he was laughing.

“Oh no,” she said with the same faux innocence. “I’ve missed. I think you should go wash your face before we leave.”

She couldn’t surpress her grin and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I love you,” he said and her grin widened.

1. favourite place in your country? 

Poland- it’s a tie between Gdynia (The entire Tri-city is beautiful but Gdynia gave me massive emotions) or Krakow (I visit every year and it holds a special plave in my heart

Ireland- Not yet been!

UK- Walthamstow Wetlands

5. favourite song in your native language?

I was brought up learning English as my native tongue since both parents grew up in different countries, but it’s really common (esp in Europe) to listen to songs in other languages (one of my favourite singers- Eivor- sings in Faroese, for example), and sadly Ireland doesn’t really release songs in native Irish (those that do tend to be “Elven mystical fantasy Celtic Gaelic mood atmosphere” songs, which I don’t really listen to, despite my music preferences being 90% lyricless musics). 

Polish- Any piece made by the composer Zbigniew Preisner, tbh. Especially his bits for The Secret Garden fllm, or Le Double Vie de Veronique.

11. favourite native writer/poet?

Irish- See above

I mean “the living” is definitely. not meant to mean “those who are alive” so much as “the way people live” slash “the way people make their living” so…

Yes, the change from ‘’Don’t mock the living’’  to ‘’Don’t scoff at how folks lives’’ isn’t that different. The official english translation is indeed probably closer to what Narita meant in the first place with that line. 

It doesn’t change much, so little in fact, that I didn’t even notice the difference when I first read this passage. I’m sad that such a badass line like ‘’Don’t mock the living’’ wasn’t kept in the long run, but I can accept it.

In fact what really made me stop was the second line that Keith says : ‘’No different. They’re hoods... just like us.’’ It’s actually that line that made me stop and realize that this exchange was different from what I remembered and say to myself : ‘’Wait, what?’’

I know the difference from ‘’villains’’ to ‘’hoods’’ isn’t that different either, but the word ‘’Villain’’ seemed a lot more effective to me in the fan translation. That’s what made me stop and realize that there was actually a different in the first place. (Also, take note that English is not my first language so when I hear the word ‘’hoods’’, I first think of the clothing piece and not ‘’criminal’’)

Have fun <3

Oooh! Okay! :D 6: Vaguely spoil one of your fics without telling which one it is:

Bakura has a black maine coon named Zorc Necrophades :3c And he is a field hazard during board games because he likes to play with the pieces. 16: What is one of your favorite words / phrases to use in writing? Oh man, I have a lot of those. Uhhhhh..."Sir, stop X, that is bad for X's X." Because I use that more often than I'd like to admit. 39: Pick one of my fics and upload an image to go with it. Okay! This is a work in progress that is actually still untitled (because this thing keeps evolving on me. @antaresr hears all of my screaming about this fic and can attest to this), but this is a good image for it.

Thank you for the ask!! This was so much fun and while this isn’t as clean as I usually draw, I really wanted to try and capture emotion and grief for Raenor (as this is probably after he’s lost Wulfwryn)

Thank you for the ask @anchanted-one!

--

The to-do list for Ferelden’s heads of state never ceased to stop growing. For every task they completed three more sprung from it, like a mythical hydra of stress and “wait one more thing!”. 

That ever growing list of tasks ran through Alistair’s head as he stared at the ceiling. Which truly was not all that interesting to be staring at--for all the bold streaks of golden sun starting to sneak through the curtains, it didn’t do much to add any spice to the wood panels above him--and yet he didn’t dare move. 

Nor did Ailwife, the old mabari hadn’t even lifted his graying muzzle when Alistair’s usually rising time came and then ticked by. The honey-brown wells of the dog’s eyes shifted towards him with a perking of his ears before settling back closed. The old war-dog wasn’t going to be waste not being told to get off the bed for the morning. 

No, Alistair didn’t plan on moving either. Not while Baraneth was still fast asleep. He made the mistake of rolling on his back sometime in the predawn hours, and his wife had seized the opportunity in her sleep to tuck herself against his side and pillow her head on his chest. With her legs tangled around his and her arm secured across his stomach with a surprisingly unwavering grip for being in the throes of sleep, he was stuck. 

And really, who was he to pass up the chance to wrap his arms around her and soak in the feeling of her being here? After the nearly two years they’d been apart, when the world was falling to pieces with impending war and the hole in the sky. Even now there were threats abound, of ancient grudges and elven matters that the Inquisitor was insistent on dealing with with the scattered remnants of the Inquisition. 

The hollowness was starting to fade from Baraneth’s cheeks now, their closest staff in the kitchens stuffed her with more food than a mid-autumn’s turkey, and she was starting to lose the pallor that had turned her face grey. Her body was still sickly, where there was usually a strong warmth of study muscle, she now huddled close to ward off a bony chill. 

Whatever she had found for the Cure, and foolishly tested it herself--after all these years, despite her role as queen, she would still die, quite literally, before she let any harm come to someone else before her--had taken its toll on her. Alistair still shook at the thought of what she had gone through. 

She had barred him from doing it for sometime yet, she and Ruinel both, and when the Warden Commander herself went through it he understood why. The fear in Baraneth’s eyes when telling him to wait had been too real for him to really argue and seeing Ruinel laid prone on a bed, mumbling incoherently and wracked with a fever that burned hotter than anything their healers had seen before had been enough to put his eagerness to rid himself of the Grey Warden’s curse on the back burner. 

There were some risks that they simply couldn’t afford right now, that was a hard learned lesson in the years since the Blight. He learned over the years that there were some matters where he had to put Ferelden first--and his own being was one of those matters. 

But there were some things that he couldn’t even put Ferelden in front of, and Baraneth fell under that. 

He sank back into the pillows, trailing his hand across Baraneth’s back. She didn’t stir, but a little content sigh that melted his heart escaped her. 

Alistair let out a sigh of his own, yes there was no way that he was letting her go. A few more moments wouldn’t hurt anyone.