i was training a young person at work, and she referred to sexual assault as "SA" out loud, and i immediately was like, "no, it's sexual assault, call it what it is," bc idgaf if the algorithm overlords have taught y'all that you should fear direct language, how tf do any of you expect to ever address real issues with any amount of seriousness if you can't even say the words? imagine an advocate looking a sexual assault survivor in the eyes and asking "did he grape you?" it's absolutely fucking absurd, but these young interns and new hires are coming into an environment where we deal with survivors of all different kinds of abuse, and they're coming with the mindset that the words are as bad as the actions, and that makes them shitty at the job and look juvenile af
i HATE self-censorship for a lot of reasons, but being in crisis work makes it even more frustrating. who are you censoring for? like i am being so fr, WHO are you censoring for? have you even thought it through? people who have been raped know that they have been raped. if someone attempts suicide or is grieving someone who did, saying "sewer slide" isn't going to protect them from any of the feelings. a murder victim's family isn't going to feel better bc you said "unalived" instead of murdered. if anything, it's just extremely invalidating and othering. it's saying "what happened to you is so bad that i won't even say the word," which is NOT trauma-informed care. you are not protecting survivors/victims when you self-censor. the ONLY things you protect when you self-censor are the puritanical ideologies that are being encouraged by rich fascists who want your money and obedience
say the fucking words, guys. just say the goddamn words before i go insane!!!
On any given day, it's an internal, 3-sided coin flip. This fic, this fic, or this original story? Then I just swap between tabs when the mood for one or the other strikes. Is it the best method?? No, no. No. Not at all. Sometimes i forget who I'm writing or what's happening
23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?
I had to really think about this one! For tropes, there aren't a lot of the well-known ones i haven't done that spring to mind, i.e., friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, friends to enemies, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, etc. I think i microdose tropes and sprinkle them through a fic or a story, so i cover a lot of ground that way.
For AUs, however, I saw a post a while back of a modern Europe-equivalent Fenhawke mafia au situation and I'm not one for aus except within the parameters of the established universe, if that makes sense. But that one snagged my attention, I might have to do some research on the mob in 40s Europe 👀
And concepts, I like a fairytale retelling, or a Shakespeare or Jane Austen reimagining, but a subtle one. I think it'd be so fun to try my hand at one of those. I read a short Rogue Trader fic the other day where the character Heinrix was a Fitzwilliam Darcy stand-in with extra steps on purpose, and it tickled me so much, I loved it.
34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?
Call this one starburst cuz it's juiccyyyy ok so I've been pretty open about how a lot of Alice's internal struggles are reflective of my own, but i also inject a lot of my real-life hurt and confusion into scenarios in my writing, either directly or through metaphor. A lot of the imteractions i write between Alice and Leandra or her and her siblings is directly taken from my relationships to my mother and brothers and sisters over the years.
It's not all negative! I have an original story very dear to my heart where my protagonist presides for a while in a beautiful mountain village inspired by my very real obsession with the Rockies and my time in Colorado, as well as her rise from a loser nobody to someone who believes herself worthy of good things and capable of hope.
I miss when ads were a single click and then they’re gone. Now every ad has a minimum of three phases where you watch a video, exit the still frame of fake gameplay, and then exit the app download. That doesn’t even touch on the ones that forcibly take you to another app after opening a tab in safari without you ever touching the screen.
I hate advertising. I hate that you can’t do anything without companies jumping down your throat with mostly bullshit ads. I hate that billboards exist. I hate that every company unanimously decided to make their ads longer and longer. I hate that ad blockers try to charge you money and there are in app purchases to remove ads. I hate that my attention has become commodified. I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it.
a collection of questions i, as a writer, would love to be asked !!!
1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)
2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?
3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?
4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?
5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!
6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?
7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?
8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?
9. How do you find new fic to read?
10. How do you decide what to write?
11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?
12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?
13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?
14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?
15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?
16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?
17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?
18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?
19. If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?
20. If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?
21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?
22. Who is your favorite character in [insert fic] and why?
23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?
24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?
25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?
26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?
27. How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.
28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?
29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!
30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?
31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?
32. What’s your ideal fic length to read?
33. If you write chaptered fics, what’s your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?
34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?
35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?
36. Do you visualize what you read/write?
37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?
38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?
39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?
40. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?
41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”
42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?
43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?
44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?
45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?
46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?
47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.
48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?
49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!
50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!
Fenris tries to figure out how to help Hawke after her mother's death.
"I hear a voice calling, calling out for me. These shackles I've made in an attempt to be free." ~ My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit
***
In the face of immense tragedy, Fenris froze. Hawke was slumped over what was left of her mother’s body, sobbing, clinging on, and refusing to let go.
Varric and Isabela had run to fetch more of the guard while Fenris, Aveline, Merrill and Anders had stayed behind with Hawke.
In a display of tenderness that was unlike the Guard Captain, Aveline sat with her arm around her friend, allowing Hawke to sob into her shoulder.
As long as he’d known her, Hawke had hidden her sadness away from prying eyes behind a mask of cheer, rarely, if ever allowing anyone to see her vulnerable.
Years ago, she’d allowed him to see beyond the mask, when Carver joined the Templars. Hawke had showed up at his mansion, drunk and halfway to tears.
At that time, he’d been confused why she’d chosen to come to him, they’d grown closer over their time in the Deep Roads but not as close as she was to Varric, Aveline, or even Anders. But he’d allowed her in, ignoring the blooming pleasure he’d felt at being chosen.
Beside his fireplace she’d told him about Carver leaving to join the Templars, explaining how it was her fault for pushing him away and making him feel small.
Eventually, she’d told him good stories of her brother, and even some rare stories about Bethany; they'd both laughed over Hawke’s colorful narration as she told tales about her younger siblings' antics.
Even so early into their friendship he’d felt a great sense of privilege getting to see this side of Hawke. She’d fallen asleep on the floor in front of a dying fire that night, and woke up full of apologies and bad jokes, revealing that she’d not cried in front of someone else since her father’s death.
That night the tears were delicate tracks down her cheeks, that reflected the firelight, as she talked about her brother.
This was different, it was the sounds of a broken woman, and it scared him.
Leaving the others to comfort Hawke, he’d paced behind them, throwing worried glances at the object of his affections as they whispered words of comfort to her.
But there were no kind words that would help, what difference would it make if he crouched alongside the rest of them?
Would she even want him trying to comfort her?
It was a cowardly question, he knew she wanted him there. Possibly, wanted him there more than anyone else, but he couldn’t do it.
Finally, the guards arrived and they got Hawke to surrender her mother’s corpse and start the journey home.
By that point, Hawke had grown fully silent in a way that was almost as disturbing as the screams of grief.
Hawke was never quiet.
The rest of the party gently cajoled her, trying to convince her she should not be alone, but she hardly responded to them.
In the end, though, Hawke would not stay anywhere but her home and would not allow anyone to stay with her.
By the time they were in Hightown only Fenris, Varric, and Anders remained.
“Thank you,” Hawke said on her doorstep, pulling on her usual mask of genial reassurance, “I’ll be fine. I won’t be alone, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana will be about if I need anything.”
“They’re your servants Hawke, you need your friends,” Anders reasoned, reaching out and taking hold of her hand.
The gesture sent a spike of furious jealousy through Fenris followed instantly by guilt.
She deserved better than his pettiness at a time like this, but the mage’s obvious affection towards Hawke had always irritated him.
Hawke squeezed Anders hand and let go.
“I’d rather be alone.”
Her eyes skittered to Fenris, where he stood to the side, trying to blend into the shadows. As quickly as they’d landed on him she looked away, but he’d seen it.
He felt hollowed out.
“Please, just send a messenger if you need anything, alright?” Anders said, squeezing her arm.
She gave him a hug and Fenris had to look away, fighting the instinctual possessiveness that sprung up.
“I’m sorry Hawke,” Varric said, “Just- take care of yourself ok? I’ll come back around tomorrow to check in.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a hug as well.
On his way past Fenris, Anders shot him a glare that was readily returned.
But Varric leaned in and whispered to him, “Don’t let her be alone.”
The dwarf continued past him as if he’d said nothing and Fenris looked after them, feeling a bit helpless.
When he turned around Hawke was leaning against the door frame, exhausted, eyes turned to the ground.
Unsure, he started to fiddle with the scarf on his wrist before quickly dropping it.
“I’m sorry we could not save her, she seemed to be a good woman.”
His words hung in the air around them, hollow, true, but not enough.
Hawke nodded, eyes still on the ground.
“She was,” she sighed, “she deserved better.”
Deserved a better daughter, her haggard tone and expression screamed.
“Goodnight, Fenris. Thank you for your help tonight,” she said, and quietly closed the door.
Before he knew it, he was alone, and unsure if he felt relief that she didn’t ask him to stay or fury at himself for failing her yet again.
Surly Hawke didn’t want whatever paltry comfort he could offer her, after what he’d done. He was lucky she even still glanced his way.
As he trudged home he thought about what it would be like to follow her inside and wrap her in his arms.
He didn’t know what to say in the face of such loss, but he could hold her, let her know she wasn’t alone.
But no, it was a bad idea all around. What if he did go to her, hold her in his arms, kiss her, tell her he loved her…
Fasta vass!
He needed to leave her be, he’d been the one to walk away, it would be wrong to continue to confuse their relationship.
But the sounds of Hawke’s cries echoed in his ears all the way through Hightown, up the stairs to his room, as he took off his armor, and finally as he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling.
Crystal clear, a memory of Hawke from years past came to him.
Hungover, wearing a tentative smile she’d said, “Thanks for putting up with my blubbering,” she bit the inside of her cheek, a charming blush setting in, “I promise I’m usually more mysterious and alluring. I don’t think I’ve cried in front of someone else since my father died,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “keep it under wraps, can’t ruin my image.”
He didn’t know what he’d done that night to make her feel better, but it had worked. She’d left his home with a smile that was more genuine than he’d ever seen from her.
The memory of whatever he’d said to comfort her was lost to time and wine but he had helped her once, perhaps he could again.
Growling, he tossed off the blanket and began to pull on his armor.
Then, he took some time to pace around, pulling at his hair, swearing up a storm, before trudging out of the mansion.
If she turned him away then so be it, he would leave, but if he could ease some of her pain he had to try.
Despite his conviction, when he reached her door he just stood there staring at the ornate wood, suddenly forgetting how to knock.
He’d need to think of something to say to her, but what was there to say?
Hawke was blaming herself, but she would do so no matter what any of them said, it was her way. Her life would never be the same and there were no words to change that.
It would come to him. He hoped.
His knock was almost too soft to hear and when there was no response he groaned and knocked again, slightly harder.
Bodahn came to the door, eyes red and puffy, handkerchief in hand.
“Oh Messere Fenris,” the dwarf said, shuffling his feet a bit at his late and unexpected visitor, “my lady has said she will take no visitors, I’m sorry.”
The servant did seem sorry, and conflicted.
“Do you believe that is what is best for her?”
Bodahn looked back into the mansion, as if Hawke might be standing behind him, and sighed.
“It is what she asked of me, ser, I do not want to disobey her at a time like this,” the man looked defeated, heartbroken for his employer who he cared for so deeply.
“Bodahn, she will not blame you. I must see her.”
Fenris tried to sound gentle, but his voice came out rough and desperate.
“Alright,” he said finally, moving aside to let Fenris in, “but please ser, she cannot take more sadness.”
The dwarf’s words stung; he wasn’t surprised that Bodahn knew of his early morning escape from the Hawke mansion, but his ears grew warm at the kind reproof.
Nodding, he made his way to Hawke’s room, stopping in the foyer to remove his armor.
He’d been to the mansion since their night together, but they’d been in the study.
Walking to her room brought to mind the last time he’d lingered on those stairs.
Pressing Hawke against the railing, lips on her neck, hand on her breast as she whispered that they needed to keep moving to her room only to be silenced by more kisses.
Fenris hesitated, pain and arousal intermingling followed by a good amount of shame.
Here he was lusting after Hawke, while she mourned her mother a few stairs up, he needed to pull himself together.
The walk to her door felt too long and doubt began to take hold, but then he was at her door, and could not turn back.
At first he reached for the knob, but decided better of it and knocked.
“Thank you for your concern, but you can go to bed. And please sleep in tomorrow.”
Hawke’s reply drifted through the door, gentle and reassuring.
He sighed and walked in.
When he entered, she was staring at her hands, face blank, but her eyes and nose were pink from crying. He desperately wanted to hold her.
“I don’t know what to say,” he started and she turned eyes wide, “but I am here.”
“Fenris…” she whispered, eyes full of so much affection it nearly knocked him over, “you didn’t have to come.”
“I could not stay away,” he replied truthfully.
“Thank you.”
Choked up, Hawke didn’t seem capable of saying anything more for the moment, but she scooted over on the bed.
He stared at the vacated spot, not sure if he wanted to run to or from her.
But she didn’t pressure him or even seem to be waiting for him to sit, she just stared into the fire.
When he sat, the bed didn’t turn him into stone or break him into a million pieces, as he worried it might.
They stared at the flames in silence for a time, it wasn’t awkward as many of their silences had been lately, but it was suffocatingly heavy.
“My mother taught me how to play the lute,” Hawke said without preamble.
Unsure what to say, Fenris simply looked at her, giving her the chance to continue.
“I was a terrible student, when I didn’t learn a chord as fast as I’d like, I’d quit. Of course I would come right back to it after a few minutes. But she’d never lose her patience with me.”
“It sounds much like how our reading lessons go,” Fenris said lightly.
Hawke’s laugh was watery, but real, and he felt relieved at the sound.
“Oh, you’re much meaner than I ever was,” she joked, nudging his shoulder with hers.
The brief pressure of her touch reassured him, he smiled at her.
“We used to play together in the evenings, some days I’d come home and be too tired to move but I’d never miss our little recitals,” her smile faded, “when father died she never touched her lute again. I didn’t understand how she could just give up something she loved so much.”
Her eyes strayed to her lute sitting next to the bed.
“I understand now though, all the love songs she’d written for father, the songs they’d sing. So many memories wrapped up in it. It’s too painful,” her face turned back to him, “I want to burn the damn thing.”
The recollection of Hawke’s clear high voice and quick strumming fingers danced through his mind and he shook his head.
“Do you think it made her happier to stop playing?”
Hawke seemed to truly consider the question.
“I’m not sure if my mother was ever truly happy after he died.”
“Perhaps that is because she gave up on living.”
Her eyes grew wet and she looked away.
“You are just full of pearls of wisdom tonight.”
Elbows on her knees, Hawke dropped her head into her hands, not crying but certainly stewing on an unpleasant thought.
“Am I to blame for not saving her?”
She said it so softly that Fenris almost didn’t hear the question, he wished he hadn’t.
It was the question he feared she’d ask. Silence lay thick between them as Fenris tried to find the words he needed.
Finally, he spoke, “I could say no, but would that help?”
Wet blue eyes met his, sad but attentive.
“You are looking for forgiveness, but I am not the one who can give it to you.”
Taking this in, Hawke's eyes drifted from his face.
“Will you stay?” she asked, in the same too soft tone.
“Yes,” he replied before his mind could catch up.
Hawke laid her head on his shoulder, just a small touch. He ached to pull her closer but resisted, instead he leaned his own head against hers.
After some time wordlessly watching the fire, Hawke felt heavier at this side, she’d fallen asleep.
Slowly, he moved her into a lying position, and took a moment to examine her face, brushing an ebony lock of hair from her forehead.
In her sleep her face was untroubled, free of her war paint and make up, she looked younger and so vulnerable.
It wasn’t a word he’d normally use to describe Hawke, his heart squeezed.
He’d told her he’d stay, but he didn’t know where his place was.
Her bed… Well, it was a little too tempting.
In the end he wasn’t able to resist his own instinct to lay beside her, though he tried to keep as far to the other side of the bed as possible.
“Thank you,” Hawke whispered, startling him.
She curled onto her side facing him, eyes still closed, half asleep.
The sight of her weary, tear stained face broke down his last wall of resistance and he scooted close to her, drawing her against his chest.
Wrapping her arm around his waist, Hawke didn’t resist his comfort and buried her face against his neck.
It felt so right, like he was always meant to spend his nights in her arms.
Tomorrow, though, he would have to leave.
It was too soon, he couldn’t be with Hawke until he was fully free of Danarius.
Until then, the darkness inside would always threaten the shining beacon that was Marian.
He pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the feeling of Hawke’s warm breath on his neck.
It didn’t take long to fall into a quick and peaceful sleep, filled with dreams of Hawke singing to him, wearing a smile that could not be wiped away.
Everyone always turned to stare at Hawke when she walked into the room. That’s just the kind of person she was, even before the stories started to get out. She had a presence, something that went beyond the face tattoo and the lip rings and the eyes that you swore could glow at you in the dark. It’s why there were stories, after all. All of Kirkwall could tell that a woman like that was one in a million.
The way the elf stared at her, though? Well, that was different.
When Fenris stared at Hawke, you felt like you were seeing something private. It would’ve been less scandalous to walk in on the both of them naked, honestly. We all could tell something changed overnight, even without that scrap of red silk he started to tie around his wrist all the time. The first time he showed up at the Wicked Grace table with that thing on, everyone stopped talking.
Everyone but Hawke, that is.
“Silver to buy in,” she said, cheerful as ever. She scooted over on the bench to give him room, and he sat down at her side, and everything was just like normal. Only the sharp-eyed observer would have noticed that she sat up a little straighter, that he held himself a little too carefully, and that the steps of their practiced little dance were too practiced.
Sometimes, you might feel far from God. In those moments, you have to remember that you can't go by how you feel. You gotta go by what you KNOW.
The Bible tells us in Deuteronomy 31:6 that God will NEVER leave us nor forsake us.
Believe that!! When thoughts like "God has left me" and "God is far from me" pop up, immediately hit them with Deuteronomy 31:6. Don't even let them dwell in your mind! If you let them linger on, they will get stronger. So shut them down with the truth of what The Bible says because what God says triumphs over everything!!!
It's my first piece for the @fenhawke-week 2026
The prompts were Hawke's Favour | Longing
I chose longing because I had a balcony scene in my head, together but still apart. Hawke having to partake in Kirkwalls high society and Fenris being close just to make sure she is safe. Or give her an excuse to leave the party early.
Sulfur combusts on contact with air to create stunning blue lava-like rivers of light in the Kawah Ijen crater on the island of Java | Ph: Olivier Grunewald
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