OKAY I see I have several messages in my inbox and I know I also have several replies also that I need to get to, but today has been beyond busy with the church’s choir special for the 115th anniversary first thing this morning and then the celebratory lunch thing where I spent a lot of time talking with (well-loved!) people I haven’t seen in years but a lot of talking is the point, and then I had to drive two hours to a dear friend’s baby shower and then back again and it is already 8:30 at night and I have zero brain left, SO.
I will get to them when I can, I promise! Right now I am going to eat and be alone and still and quiet. Mm, food.
To the shy anon who sent me the message about their deviantart:
Q:One of my favorite Fenris writers
You are definitely another of those names that always makes me happy on my dash, and I’m so glad you like my iteration of him! Thank you, lovely. <3<3<3<3
Q:Jade's bff, YOU WRITE VARANIA YASSSS ASCENDI IS MY LIFE IT'S SO GOOD, also a bit rude, because you write AND draw amazingly well and that's just not polite :/ (also fenris/hawke I guess, but I don't think anybody really follows you for that)
I will love Varania until I die yolo
also I am ngl your parenthetical made me laugh so hard.
Q:Uber-talented writer and artist. (Seriously how do you pack so much brilliance and awesomeness into one person?) Very valuable treasure in the fandom who must be protected at all costs.
BLESS YOU CLOUD. Ever since that one day a while ago where you went through and liked basically my entire blog it had made my day to see your name on my dash. You are such a delight, goodness.
Guys, I’m sure I have a reputation somewhere in this fandom: So what is it? Leave that in my ask box as I ponder over this.
Blue Hawke calls it their diary
Red Hawke calls it, flatly, a journal
Purple Hawke calls it A Detailed Accounting of the Rigorous and Remarkable Struggles Faced by One Fereldan Refugee in the Singularly Capricious City of Kirkwall, as Experienced by the Illustrious Author
4th Harvestmere. Rained this morning. Everything on the Coast was ankle-deep mud. First time it’s felt like home, really.
Seventy-two sovereigns. And sixty silver pieces and three coppers, one of which is bent and has an M scratched into the face of it. I’ve never seen so much money in my life; every time I even look at the satchel my palms start to sweat. I’ve taken to sleeping with my arms around it just to be sure no ghosts come in the night to pilfer the idiotic thing.
It saddens me to report that coin makes for a very poor bedfellow. It’s hard and lumpy and has very little interest in cuddling despite all offers, and no matter what I say it refuses to kiss me goodnight.
Oh, I’ve made myself laugh. Carver’s annoyed again.