taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult
at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)
'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65
it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age
it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.
you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, be fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.
young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!
there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big
takes place before DA2 while he was still alone on the run
Amazing fan made video recreation of this short story in DA toolset and you can still watch it on youtube :)
and here is David's actual story:
****
The hunters were after him again.
Truth be told, he’d known for several days. He’d seen it in the eyes of the innkeeper, the way the fat man guiltily glanced away and refused to meet his gaze.
He’d seen it in the pitying look of the whore that stood on the corner, and the way she covered it up with a smile. The patrons in that squalid tavern where he went to buy his meals grew quiet when he entered now, and it was not the uncomfortable silence of human townsfolk being confronted with a strange elf covered in strange skin markings and carrying a large sword—rather it was the silence of men who knew trouble had just walked through the door and were now doing their best to pretend it didn’t exist. Fenris knew the difference very well.
He’d been lazy. Despite the fact that he’d known, still part of him refused to admit that it was so. He’d hoped against hope that he was wrong, that the signs were simply a fugitive’s paranoia. His stay in the last three towns had been longer and longer, his efforts to cover up his distinctive markings almost nonexistent. He told himself that this was a challenge. Let them come. Let them try and take him back, if they dared. Deep down, however, he wondered if he hadn’t simply grown weary of the chase.
Now was the time. He’d already cleaned his few meager possessions out of his room at the inn and jumped out the window. It led to a dark alley in the back, with enough ledges below that a quick descent was easily accomplished. That was why Fenris had chosen the room after an inspection that had the innkeeper staring at him in worry. He almost had to wonder how long it would take the fat man before curiosity, or a lack of payment, would lead him to check and find Fenris gone. A week, perhaps less if the innkeeper was the one who’d sold him out.
There was nothing in the alley save for a few lone rats and an elven vagrant asleep against a garbage heap. Fenris paused and stared at the man in disgust. He’d thought to blend in more once he’d escaped the Imperium. In a land where elves were free, certainly one more elf would go unnoticed? He’d been a fool, of course. How was he to know that so many of his people would squander their freedom living like frightened cattle? If his only choices were to either dress as meekly as the local humans expected their elves to be, run off to find the wandering clans that grubbed in the dirt for whatever scraps the human kingdoms threw them, or to fight… then his choice was clear.
The vagrant stirred awake as Fenris drew the greatsword from his back. The elf squealed in sudden terror but Fenris ignored him. There were others coming now, cloaked in the alley’s shadows—at least two on either side and… one above? He listened, and heard the faintest scraping on the clay tiles up above. Yes, no doubt a crossbowman. They thought they had him pinned.
Fenris launched himself towards the end of the alley that led away from the main street. Here it led into a maze of twisty courtyards, sewage and lines of hung laundry… but it would be darker there, easier for him to run without stirring the town guard. Why the hunters never tried bribing the guard to help their hunt he couldn’t say. Regardless, he’d run amiss of the guard in another town and they’d impeded his efforts to escape as much as they impeded the hunters. It wasn’t worth the risk.
The vagrant shouted in fear and drunkenly scrambled to his feet, but Fenris was already past him. Two long figures approached, barely visible but moving fast now as they realized their quarry was aware of the chase. Fenris caught a glimpse of maroon. Tevinter soldiers, then. Good, that would make this easier. Not that he wouldn’t have killed mercenaries just as easily, but it was less pleasant than slaughtering dogs like these.
A wide arc of his blade knocked the first hunter aside as he parried. The second rushed forward, hoping to take advantage of an opening—only to meet Fenris’s fist. The markings on his skin flashed brightly, the lyrium within them sending magic crawling through his flesh, and his fist phased through the man’s helmet and directly into his head. He lurched to a halt, stunned with terror.
So they weren’t warned. Fools.
The lyrium markings flashed again as Fenris partially solidified his fist. The hunter jolted back, blood gushing forth from his mouth and his ears. By now the first hunter was already recovered and swinging his blade. Fenris expertly hauled the second around by his head, putting him into the path of the swing. The sword chopped deeply into the man’s shoulder, and with a kick he sent both of them flying together into the brick wall. His fist was covered in dark red gore.
He would have stayed to finish them off, but the other hunters were already figuring things out. A crossbow bolt flew by Fenris’s head, barely nicking one of his ears, and he could hear the booted feet of more soldiers rushing his way. He ran into the alleyway, leaping over the hunter who struggled to push off his dead comrade, and sped into the maze. Dark doorways flew by as he raced. He cut down clotheslines and tossed over barrels to present obstacles behind him. They were definitely giving chase—he could hear them swearing in Tevinter, and the crossbowman above scrambling to get into position.
The first pair of open shutters he saw and Fenris dived through. He landed in a kitchen filled with the smell of baking bread, and a human woman screamed as he rolled to his feet. No doubt the sight of an elf in skintight armor, carrying a blade almost as large as himself, wasn’t a welcome sight. He got to his feet and noticed the surprisingly comely woman, dressed in a nightgown that revealed more of her cleavage than she no doubt expected, pressing against the wall.
He grinned at her, and she screamed again. So he grabbed a freshly-baked loaf off the counter and raced for the front door of the hovel. Already a soldier was climbing through the window, causing the woman to scream once more and faint dead away. The others would be coming around to the front, so he had to get out before…
…he stopped cold. He knew the man who stood at the doorway: maroon cloak and jet-black hair barely covering those soulless eyes. Not to mention a scar on his neck, one that Fenris had put there. Damned healing potions and their foul magic. Why couldn’t anyone stay dead?
“Avanna, Fenris. Good to see you again.” The hunter’s voice was a cold purr as he raised his crossbow and pointed the bolt at Fenris’s chest. The one on the roof, then. Clever.
“Considering what happened last time, I’m surprised you decided to try again.”
“It’s not just about the coin any longer, slave.” Oh, how Fenris loved it when they said that. “Not afraid you’ll lose your head for good?”
“Not when we have the drop on you. You’ve become careless. Time to give yourself up.” The other hunter had made it through the window, and he could hear others shouting in the street. He supposed that he really had only two choices: give up and hope for a chance to escape later… or take his chances.
It wasn’t really a choice. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade and smiled at the hunter, slow and deadly.
hate when people say “go into the trades!” because it 1) will not solve your student debt crisis 2) you still aren’t paid that well especially if you’re a poc and/or an immigrant and 3) simply isn’t an option for many disabled people
The trolley is about to run over all sentient life in the galaxy. You cannot switch the tracks, but you can still save everyone’s lives by pulling one of three levers, all of which involve sacrificing yourself. The red lever will destroy all trolleys, but will also kill you as well as all public transportation across the galaxy. The blue lever will merge your own consciousness with all trolleys, allowing you to control them and stop the trolley from running everyone over. The green lever will use your body as a catalyst to synthesize organic life and public transportation together - organic life will no longer be stuck in the cycle of creating public transportation that rebels against its creators, and both forms of life will finally be free.
kid gloves / fenris x m!hawke / general / 556 words
( on ao3 )
When Hawke touches him for the first time after those three years apart that were all spent longing for another, Fenris trembles from bone-freezing pain.
His touch is soft like a touch of feather, a caress of silk or satin, yet Fenris grits his teeth at the flash of discomfort. Hawke, of course, notices immediately and pulls away without a word, hand dropping between them on bed.
"I am sorry," Fenris mutters. He is angry. At Danarius. At the world. At himself.
"I do not mind your touch." Fenris smiles faintly, reassuring. "I enjoy it."
Hawke considers him for a moment. He looks terribly serious in this moment and Fenris hopes he would smile at him instead.
"It's just…" Hawke says like the kind, gentle man he is, dark brown eyes almost solemn in the candle light. He reaches over to tangle his fingers into Fenris's own, the callused pad of his index finger tracing a line of lyrium. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You don't," says Fenris. The words are immedient and harsh on the tongue and Hawke flinches, pulling his hand away. Fenris misses the touch instantly.
"Hawke," Fenris says and squeezes his eyes shut. He has to force himself to say his next words. He doesn't want Hawke to look at him with pity in his eyes – anything but that. "It hurts whether you touch me or not. The pain is constant. It is always there. It never stops."
When he opens his eyes, Hawke is looking at him. There is an upset furrowed line between his thick brows and he seems to search for the right words to say.
"I am able to endure it," Fenris murmurs. It is a reminder to himself most of all.
Hawke is still for a moment. Silently, he reaches over to grip Fenris's hand again and squeezes it. Another flare of pain travels across Fenris's body and he swallows hard at the sensation.
"Do you think it will always hurt?" Hawke murmurs, pressing an adoring kiss to the back of Fenris's hand, a large thumb rubbing over his chapped knuckles.
Yes.
"Perhaps," Fenris answers and Hawke frowns even more deeply now, looking like he is debating on saying something that Fenris wouldn't like.
But then, in the end, he just kisses Fenris's hand again. It makes the corners of Fenris's mouth twitch briefly until he sobers again.
"It does not matter," Fenris says with finality. He looks at Hawke who has never stopped looking at him in return. Sometimes it feels like Hawke does little else than watch him. He is always there.
Fenris's next words have a trace of humour and desperation in them. "I have waited three achingly long years for you to touch me again. Please, do not deprieve me of it now."
And Hawke chuckles, his soft, hairy belly dipping from the sound. The expression on his face is entirely fond.
"Well," he says with the most charming grin, "if you insist, my love."
The conversation is most definitely not over and it will take Hawke many, many years to come to terms with the fact that Fenris will always have known more suffering than gentleness in his life, but for now – for at least this one brief shining moment, they don't think about anything else but touching each other again.
10 years ago, when I first started playing Dragon Age, I made a fan art of Fenris, and I hated it so much that I never drew him again. Now, after a decade, I'm still nowhere near my art goal, but I made this just to remind myself of all the progress I've made.
Maybe one reason time seems to speed up in adult life is because when your full time job leaves you roughly 5 hours of free time a day plus two days off a week your life turns into a sort of monotony that makes the days blend together and creative pursuits move in slow motion as you can only get to them when other your commitments are done.
i also want to point out we know it tastes the same even after thousands of years b/c archaeologists who discovered two thousand year old honey tasted it. presumably right after they looked at each other and went “what the hell here goes nothing”
No, no no… you identify bone from rock or other substances by touching it to your tongue. If it sticks, it’s bone. The taste itself has nothing to do with it. And most archaeologists won’t lick human bones if they know they’re human.
…and I realize that doesn’t actually do much to prove archaeologists aren’t freaks.
They always were, but now they have twitter. Also the standards of their dignity have fallen enough that reporters are more candid about what they say to them.
All of the services that used to represent the wonders of human innovation have now turned into monsters looking to eat up your data.
It's more depressing than if the monster sprang from nowhere.
We live in a world of data vampires. The only thought is not how to make things better for those that use it, but how to get/keep people allowing them to tap that sweet,sweet data.
2087
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
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