The moment where Solas realizes that he’s gotten a bit too deep in this parody of a relationship with Thema. Also, contains Thema backstory.
Warnings: Suicide mention, lots of backstory
It took time for them to settle into whatever this was they had. Arguments still raged, but not nearly as volatile and potent as they had once been, when anger turned into lust and adrenaline swept through their bodies. Unspoken rules confined their need: no holding, no talking, and above all, no kissing. They were easy rules to hold onto.
At first.
Then things started to change.
Solas was the first to realize it, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. The grip of his teeth had softened in her skin, along with the hold of his nails, and lust was being traded for comfort. It was comfortable to seek release with the elvhen woman, comfortable in their routine of fighting and sex. Sometimes he sought her out, surprising her to bypass traded words just for the high of physical contact. That didn’t mean he broke the rules, but he bent them sometimes.
He knew exactly where the change had started and he blamed her entirely for it.
Thema had come to him that night, more bottles of wine in hand, but she had seemed… scared, distant; the look in her eyes almost pleading for help. That look scared him as well, the word ‘no’ dancing on the edges of his tongue. Yet damn him, damn him to the Void and back, he couldn’t turn her away.
Solas had expected fear of the role she’d been thrust into, fear of the anchor. What he wasn’t expecting was her story, the answers to how she’d known who he was, what his plans were, and even the story of how she came to be here.
A shared dream with hundreds of thousands of others, a ‘global network of consciousness’ she called it, all taking different paths through Thedas, each a different Inquisitor. The blood in his ears was like the blacksmith’s hammer when she said that they all knew the truth of him, that some wanted to kill him, that some would be very willing to join his armies. Half of the bottle of wine she’d given him had disappeared after that, his mind trying to wrap around the information she’d thrown down on the table. Her world must be more like Arlathan than he would have guessed.
Thema let him try and reconcile her words before launching into the second part of her tale. Her own meandering journey into this world.
There was a little backstory on her world, the lack of magic, what science was, that there was nothing but humans on the round rock called Earth. She had been one of them, a bit similar in looks to the body she wore now, but about as tall as him, with darker skin. Once she started on her life it all spilled out, the chaos of her family, running away from them, fighting in back alleys and throwing herself into drink and the beds of strangers.
That brought back quite a few memories of his own and they shared an awkward chuckle.
She had grown ill. Her arm had broken, and a trip to the healer had uncovered corruption in her bones, what she called ‘cancer’. It was advanced, and that callous man told her she had three weeks to live and left the white room. Solas tempered his anger, watching her face as her bottom lip quivered yet she tried to seem unaffected by the retelling. A second opinion was sought, from a kinder healer, but the verdict was the same: corruption of the bones and not long to live.
He would never forget the shaky breaths, the deep drain of wine and the barely concealed sobs as she forged further. This was not what he was expecting, that he would be the one she would tell this to – but who else could she tell? - and that he would react with emotion not as detached as their sex was. That he wanted to reach out a hand for her to hold, to steady her as she faced demons she hadn’t yet faced. He wanted to run form this but his feet wouldn’t move.
There were painkillers given to make the pain in her bones bearable and instead she had…
Bitter laughter wrapped around her words. ‘I can remember looking down at my body on that backwoods path, wondering what was going to happen now.’
When the Conclave had been destroyed and the Breach opened, it had reached her world as a tiny green speck. She had touched it, been consumed by it and thrown into the Fade. At her feet, the dying Lavellan, Divine Justinia trying to save the elf. Thema had stepped into the body just as the other left it, the flesh still alive but the shape all wrong.
Now he knew.
Now he knew why her spirit seemed to extend beyond her body, why it felt malignant and erratic. It didn’t belong here. Her spirit was trying to adapt to the new body, to the magic around it, and her spikes of anger, the arguing, the emotional instability made sense. Top that with the cherry of her death and rebirth, missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place. His curiosity was spiked, the anger over the bridge incident fading, and he felt more like himself, in control and seeking answers.
He could help, possibly having to do so without her consent, with the aid of the Fade. A spirit was a malleable thing, it could conform to situation and necessity like water filled a pitcher or a glass. A nudge and guidance were all it needed.
That night they had parted ways without touch or unkind words. She needed to rest, wobbling on her feet from alcohol and the release of memory, and he needed to search the Fade for answers and solutions.
That’s where the change had started.
He watched her, prodding from a distance with the knowledge he’d gleaned, molding like a gardener guided trees and plants into shape. Soft touches, trying not to change who she was, always keenly aware that a push too hard could either destroy or change her beyond recognition.
That constant observation also made him notice little things: her pointed ears hugged her head in a way that was considered unattractive but he liked it, she had freckles hiding in the tone of her skin, the way she walked that made her hips sway – even more exaggerated when she noticed him watching -, that she actually cared about the people around her. Thema could be found playing with the few children in Haven, curious in the way the town ran, and even though she was blunt and callous with little patience for idiots, she was willing to listen to those worth her time.
The more he noticed, the more he started to care.
They still fucked, of course, but the anger was gone now. Why they still continued was a mystery, perhaps because they were two strangers in the same world.
It was when he studied the marks on his body in the mirror of a stream that he really knew everything had changed. She left red curtains of nail marks on his shoulders and hips, bruises on his neck and shoulders from her teeth. They had never bothered him before, more badges of pride and pleasure in the little sparks of pain, but now he enjoyed wearing them. People could see them above the collar of his wrapped undershirt, and the growing ‘Inner Circle’ knew that they were having sex, something that had stopped bothering him quite a while ago.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning under his breath. The path had been tread too far to stop now, and he wouldn’t stop even given the choice. Something would need to change in their arrangement and soon.
Anxiety is not fun But I’ve learned to live with it
I’ve learned to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest when someone tell me ‘’You know you’re just repeating yourself?You already said all that'' making me realize I've been rambling again about something I care about. Again.
I've learned to deal with having to count my breathing to calm the wave of fear that is overwhelming me, right into the middle of a cinema. Not wanting to get out to not draw attention on me, and not knowing why it happened; it was just a normal movie, it was just a normal movie, it was just a normal movie, it was just...
I've learned to calm myself and silent my mind as I'm sending a text message. I've learned to keep a stoic face when I hit [send] as I hear those demons, whispering on me shoulder ''They don't care about you, you're annoying them, why would they care anyway? They must wonder why you keep texting them, they probably wish you would stop being so annoying by texting them''
I've learned to distract myself from the heartache and the cold fear that spread through me as I see [✔seen] but no response. I've learned not to let the fear of being ignored and abandoned overwhelm me. And I've learned not to look too much relieved when they answer something like ''sorry I didn't answer sooner, my internet crashed :/ ''
I've learned to say ''yes'' when someone invites me somewhere, ignoring all the bad scenarios playing in my head.
I've learned not to look too afraid and needy when I notice a change in somebody's behavior towards me. I've learned not to ask ''what's wrong?'' or ''Did I do something bad?'' when I notice the changes, as I know that, there are no ''bad changes''. People aren't graved in stone and don't act forever the same way, change is not a synonym for problems or bad things happening.
I've learned not to be too afraid or too hurt when someone looks angry as I'm around them, especially if I know they looked angry before I was around. I know now that I'm probably not the reason for their anger and being scared of them being mad at me is not helping me, and that fear...that fear is unfounded, and I need to overcome it.
I've learned to calm nausea and the fear from affecting me whenever my anxiety decides to show up.
Anxiety is not fun. Being afraid of everything and everyone is hell. Being afraid of myself and being scared that my anxiety will show up when I'll least expect it is a weight on my life.
But I've learned to live with it.
And I'm still learning.
I'm processing.
I'm dealing.
I'm healing.
.And one day, I won't have to deal with it anymore. Healings happen and life goes on. Don't worry, it gets better.
Anything that talks about the future and past in a certain way - like anything that sounds like this “sometimes i realize there are so many things i won’t remember in 50 years like the way the sky looked this morning and all the dogs” (I have the whole post blacklisted so I haven’t just read it)… Of course, anything to do with self harm, such as blades, scars, cuts, etc… Anything to do with disordered eating like “thinspiration”, body/fat shaming, excerpts from books like Wintergirls, someone talking about how they haven’t eaten or how they’ve only had x amount of calories in a certain tone. And also usually anything to do with trypophobia, I’m okay with things like beehives and coral but say it involves insects, or a lotus seed pod has been photoshhopped onto a part of the body then I can’t deal.
I don’t ask for anyone to tag their stuff because I can easily blacklist or block the post.
I romanticise about the future but I don't want to grow up, at all. I want to go back to when I was 5 and stay that way forever. I don't want to grow up. I don't want to be an adult. I don't want to have to support myself. I don't want any of that. I don't want to say goodbye to people. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to die. I don't ever want the people I love or my animals to die. I don't want to grow up. I want to stay young forever. I don't want things to change. I don't want to see what the world is like in the future. Why am I so self centred and self aware? Why can't I ever accept loss and change? I'm scared of what will happen to my belongings from my childhood in the future. I feel like I'm on the verge of having a panic attack.
I am gross and disgusting and ew, and I can't stop eating and I can't stop gaining weight. I was almost 10 lbs lighter this time five months ago. Ugh, I just want to be a lot smaller than I am now.
