psa if you send me an ask and it never sees the light of day, please don't take it personally. i read every single message (i crave them. i yearn) but when i say i don't like spamming my dash i am anxiously serious. i hate posting a lot at once, have a visceral aversion to long posts (despite tumblr giving us a perfectly good J key), and don't like to speak if i have nothing to say.
then i feel anxious about 'ignoring' people thphtfdsj it's a lose/lose i'm sorry i'm a nightmare to engage with
if you send me a compliment or reaction to a fic chapter, i will adore it but probably won't post it (unless i can reply privately).
if you send me something long with pictures and paragraphs, i will adore it but feel anxious about posting it, then put it off for so long that it just stays in my inbox forever.
if you send me a question but it's buried under paragraphs, i will also feel anxious about posting it if i've already posted a lot that day, so i might take a few days to answer
but if you've sent me a question (especially an advice one) and i don't reply immediately, it's 100% because i'm intending to sit down and give it my undivided attention, and am just waiting for a day that i can spend on it
i know tumblr isn't meant to be a neat minimalist gallery viewing experience, but i am a naturally quiet person who flusters in messy conditions and worries about being too loud, even in this silent text based format.
it's not just asks: my queue is limited to twice a day (just bumped it to 3, since the end of the queue was due for MARCH) and i have over 100 posts in there just because i don't want to spam when i'm online. is why i live in the tags. and even though i reblog things willy nilly, i'm adamant to tag all my original posts (whether it's wips or personal or selfies) so the knowledge that they're easily blacklistable makes me feel less guilty about babbling.
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ANDERS: [set up to sound like an afterthought, but slightly too forced for one] You should take Sebastian with you today.
KEIR: [pauses in the doorway] Sebastian.
ANDERS: Is that so unlikely?
KEIR: Coming from you?
ANDERS: Well. As much as I hate to admit he’s of any use, he’s Elthina’s. Meredith would hesitate, if it came to it.
KEIR: I’m not headed for a fight.
ANDERS: Oh, no, just the Gallows. No need for me to worry, right?
KEIR: [affectionate] I’ll take him.
ANDERS: Thank you. I love you.
KEIR: You know how I feel about getting him out of the Chantry. Doing him a favour. [feels something is being left unsaid, not sure what] You keep writing and we both know I’ll be home safe before you look up and realise I’m gone.
ANDERS: I think I’m finished with the writing, for now.
KEIR: Heading to the clinic?
ANDERS: …
KEIR: Anders?
ANDERS: The real work has to be done sometime, right?
KEIR: Don’t burn yourself out.
ANDERS: [non-committal hum] I’ll see you when it’s over, love. Speaking of which, aren’t you going to be late?
KEIR: [glances at the sun through the window, realises the time] Oh, Maker’s bloody mercy— [Leans over, presses a very quick kiss to the greying hair at Anders’ temple, grabs his weapons, starts to leave, talks fast as he goes.] Eat something, for my blighted sake, and tell the Darktown lads from me, they walk you home or they never fucking walk again, I’ll swear to it—
ANDERS: Hawke—
KEIR: [already gone, shouts as he leaves the hall] Bodahn, make sure he eats!
BODAHN: [from a distance] Yes, messere!
[The front door slams.]
conversations had on the morning of the day of the chantry explosion
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