#unintentional weight loss

[clatterbane]

One of the things that's actually funny is that I have been eating SO MUCH more sugar (and carbs in general) since I did finally get appropriate treatment, with the supplemental insulin I've needed since at least 2008.

It's extra fun when you already have an ED history, and get plunged into that "you're obviously slowly killing yourself with knife and fork, but what would anyone expect from a lazy fat American?" mentality. Coming not least from the people who are supposed to be helping. The ED brainweasels were certainly having a party for too long, and I probably did my system some extra damage with restriction and overexertion. Whatever I did, it was not going to fix my fucked-up pancreas--and things just kept getting worse as more and more beta cells gradually died off.

I still have to nope right away from too many legit triggering conversations even among people with known autoimmune diabetes. No damned wonder we have like a 30% rate of diagnosable EDs, even on the "I did nothing to cause this, HONEST" autoimmune side of things. (I don't even need to get started on the misplaced Type Wars hierarchical BS again. Pisses me off even worse, as someone who nearly got killed by ending up on the "wrong" side of some terrible assumptions for way too long.)

And that 30% is mostly among people who did not already have disordered eating behavior (or significant scrupulosity problems) going in. It's positively encouraged--again, not least among professionals who are supposed to be helping. While being one of the fastest ways to cause your body serious mischief, especially once you throw supplemental insulin into the mix. If I am never exposed to another word about intermittent fasting or obsessive focus on carb counting with a moralistic tone, it will be way too soon.

Thankfully I have yet to hear one single goddamned word that's not genuinely medically appropriate about my weight or presumed eating habits since I did have that spectacular collapse, and then got to be clinically underweight enough that they have been repeatedly commenting on that--between the mistreated diabetes itself and the resulting GI damage from that final ketoacidosis crash. Regaining some weight and actually feeling hungry again more often, as I keep recovering from that bullshit and am consistently physically able to eat solid food again, has been sort of doing my head in lately. Not least because I do not want to get treated like garbage again, as I do recover and get back to a healthier weight. I have seen how that works, and really do not need a repeat.

There's still too much that's kinda triggering on an ongoing basis, but at least I am quite deliberately telling myself that I can eat whatever the hell I want and mostly actually DOING it. I am now decently equipped with insulin and a CGM to watch my blood sugar levels, and the world is my smörgåsbord at least as much as it is anyone else's.

I may actually go and get some ice cream in a little while. Because I want it, and I do have the technology.

#personal #venting #diabetes #disordered eating #eating disorders #scapegoating #look out honey csuse i'm using technology #medical fuckery #scrupulosity #my immune system is trying to kill me #weight mention #unintentional weight loss #medical fatphobia #alcohol mention

[mathsbian]

I weighed myself again this morning. I’m 7 pounds under what I was when I started seeing a GP again.

I was already feeling down on myself last night because I felt it was necessary to reschedule a meeting with my case manager for today to try to get in contact with my credit card company. And then feeling sick this morning and having another instance of urinary urgency and finding out I’m losing weight again and am even worse than before? Fuck!!

So I’m very weird today. Haven’t gotten out of bed yet other than trips to the toilet. Really, really didn’t want to go to therapy but like. I know logically that is when I need therapy most so I was going to force myself to do that at least. But then my therapist canceled the appointment instead. I could email him about how I’m feeling, but reaching out when I feel like this is so difficult. If I even manage to post this instead of deleting it, it’s a miracle.

I should get out of bed. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to possibly have to interact even just briefly with the roommate who is home right now. My partner is out on an errand for a little longer. But even if they were here to be a buffer I still don’t want to be seen today. I feel awful. I haven’t been crying much but I feel like I must look like I have been. I just very much do not want to exist today thank you, why do I have to have a body that requires things like food and a toilet and water? And god, my fucking medication. I take 5-6 pills every day currently and it’s only going to go up from here.

Why can’t I just. Know what’s wrong? Why am I losing so much weight? What do I need to do to make it stop? I’m so bony that I can’t even comfortably lay on my side anymore because my knees hurt to be stacked on top of each other and if I don’t stack my knees my hips and spine hurt from my back not being straight. And I feel awful even complaining about being skinny on here but like. It’s negatively affecting my QoL, so I’m gonna complain about it. And it’s scary! I’ve lost almost another 10% of my body weight in like 6 weeks! I don’t understand how, because I’ve definitely been eating better with the holidays happening!

And I still have to call the Patient Care Coordinator back about how the surgery referral hasn’t resulted in any kind of appointment yet. The ganglion cyst on my wrist is starting to cause me pain more frequently.

(Very open to suggestions about things I should be asking my doctor to look for at my physical in a couple of weeks, so if you see this and think “hey that sounds like what I/this person I know was dealing with maybe this blogger should ask their doctor to do this test” please leave a reply)

#personal #vent #chronic illness #chronic pain #depression #unintentional weight loss #overactive bladder #ganglion cyst

[invisiblyvisiblejay]

oh yeah i don't think i said this here all my bloodwork came back normal which means i have absolutely no fucking clue what's going on or why im so underweight bc it's not autoimmune and it's not thyroid and it's not literally anything else that would show up in my bloodwork

#i wish house were a real doctor #id let him almost kill me #he'd figure it out #ugh #cw weight #he'd love my case #widespread joint pain #fatigue #sleeping problems #chronic nausea #gastritis #unintentional weight loss #every test comes back normal #perfect bp perfect bloodwork perfect xrays

[onetwobreathe]

I hate always coming here to vent? I know there needs to be an outlet but I'm looking forward to just one complete small victory this year.

My mental health has been slightly better! The venlafaxine has evened out my panic attacks and I'm not bursting into tears randomly on a daily basis, but the whole social interaction thing has fallen off in the past month or two. I'm always so tired and needing me time (fact that the only close person I have only calls when she needs something doesn't exactly help~), but postponing support workers and therapists is something I have/need to stop. I'm reverting to loving being in my own company once more.

Physical health has taken a battering. I don't want to go into details but currently being tested for a variety of stomach issues, including IBS, Chron's, and Celiac disease, and like I said I'm always tired. Both mentally and physically. I nap at least three times a day at the moment. That could be due to having to severely limit calorie intake so I'm not in the bathroom 23 out of 24 hours and not in constant abdominal discomfort or pain. I think I average around 600 calories on a good day. Bad day? Maybe 300. And no I don't have an ED. Since the start of July I've lost almost 20kg. I just need answers now. If I have to cut out favorite foods, I'll do that. Need to go gluten free even though I'd have consumed it daily before all this? Fine. Just let my digestive system go back to normal please. I'm starting to forget what a full day without feeling nauseous is like.

Oh, and I'm fretting over losing a 3 year long hyperfixation at the moment. I feel it slipping away, as others have in the past, but it's more intense right now. I'm upset by it. Another has taken over completely and makes me so giddy and light that I actually feel guilty? I'm feeling things like hell. I always have but. Idfk.

Anyway. I'm going to make a point of popping in here to add things I've done that I'm happy/proud of, or just make me happy in general! And the first is the decision to start writing again! I need all the luck I can get to actually start, though. 🤭

#cariad.txt #stomach issues #hyperfixations #isolation #unintentional weight loss

[diseaseinfohub]

Metastatic breast cancer, also known as stage IV breast cancer, is an advanced form of breast cancer that has spread from the breast to other parts of the body. The symptoms of metastatic breast cancer can vary depending on the organs or areas affected by the spread of cancer cells. Common symptoms may include persistent and unexplained bone pain, shortness of breath, coughing, headaches, weakness, unintentional weight loss, and jaundice. In some cases, individuals may also experience swelling in the lymph nodes or other areas where the cancer has spread. It's crucial for individuals with a history of breast cancer to stay vigilant for any new or worsening symptoms and promptly seek medical attention for early detection and appropriate management.

#Metastatic breast cancer #Stage IV breast cancer #Cancer spread #Bone pain #Unintentional weight loss #Lymph node swelling #Early detection #Cancer management

[ehditaan]

Content Warning: Negative body image, chronic illness, unintentional weight loss, gender dysphoria

I just need to vent somewhere safe but feel free to keep on scrollin loves.

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Trying to put together a fancy, sexy outfit for the first time after 3 years of serious illness is... not super fun.

I’m so grateful that I’m finally well enough to do something like go out for someone’s bachelorette party (provided I recover from Covid by then and have an ok body day). I’m really looking forward to it, I love the people involved, and I mostly care about being present, enjoying the hell out of myself, and making sure the bride has fun.

But man, we’re going someplace fun, everyone is dressing to the nines, I want to look and feel sexy af. But my body has changed so so much since I last tried to wear any of these clothes. I’m in the mood to go femme but my curves aren’t nearly so pronounced. I can’t fill things out the way I once did. But my gut is constantly totally bloated and distended and I feel like everything that once made me feel hot now highlights that. I feel diminished and fucking sickly. And the fact that I am sickly and worried about what I’m gonna eat on this night out and how it’ll make me feel doesn’t help.

I wish I just carried more weight everywhere. But I could never really put it all back on after I lost so much it was scary.

And because I’m sick I don’t have the time or energy to shop for something new. I’m not really any standard measurements and ordering online is just a recipe for missing my return window.

I’m just frustrated and sad and still grieving the life and the body I had, the life and body I feel like I never took the time/had the energy to actually enjoy. And I’m fucking horny damnit! And worse I’m both horny and craving connection. Which I never expected to find on a night out dancing at a bachelorette party but feeling smoking fucking hot would have been a nice consolation prize ok?

#chronic illness and body image #chronic illness #bloated #so bloated #ibs #eds #disabled #bachelorette party #fashion #any suggestions welcome #negative body image #self concious #unintentional weight loss

[findinglittleone]

#unintentional weight loss #spoonie #spoonie struggles #struggling #don’t know how to do this #I want to feel at home #needing to feel whole #can’t keep up #Spotify

[mirajanefairytailmage]

Personal Rambling (05/31/2022)

⚠️TALKS OF AN EATING DISORDER!! UNINTENTIONAL WEIGHTLOSS!!⚠️

Today, I had dropped my friend off at home, after she had spent from Saturday (05/28/2022) until today at my place. I stopped inside to say hi to her Grandma. It wasn't until this moment that I noticed how uncomfortable I become when my weight loss gets mentioned. Because this weight loss was unintentional. Her comment about my weight was mentioned after she had told me that my shirt is cute. She had something about how it looks like I had lost a lot of weight recently. I ended up lying and telling her that I lost the weight due to physical therapy. She ended up making a comment about how I'm at the age that I can work the weight off my body and not have to starve myself. I had to bite my tongue because, I wasn't ready to explain to her that starving myself is exactly what I had done. I had done all of it by accident.

Mind you, ever since I was eight years old I've always been on the thicker side of the body image. Back then I wouldn't accidentally starve myself. Suddenly two years ago, I started to starve myself. From what I've noticed it's not because of my body image. It's more because I'll get so focused on something that I'll skip meals. Or I don't have the energy to make myself something to eat, so I decide to not eat. I have no idea what kind of eating order this would be considered. But there's been such a significant amount of weight loss due to this habit that my doctor has recommended counseling. Which is understandable because I had gone from weighing 223lbs to 203lbs to 198lbs in the span of three months.

I rarely talk about this because I've no idea how to. I openly talk about all of my other struggles, but this one, seems to be the biggest struggle. I'm starting to realize that this struggle is also starting to turn into one of my darkest secrets. 😕 I'm working on correcting this before it's too late. I'm a work in progress and it's a real struggle, that I had never meant to get myself into. Correcting two years of this mistake is going to take A LOT of patience with myself. I hope that one day, eventually, I'll be more open about this to those I surround myself with.

#personal #trigger warning eating disorder #eating disorder #eating problems #unintentional weight loss

[pumpking64]

can i just share how proud i am, i just made a big portion of healthy, filling dinner that will last me tonight and tomorrow and the day after, which is good as i don’t have much time for making food those days. AND i baked breakfast buns as well tonight, so now i have delicious food readily available for breakfast as well

#own post #went to the doctor today and well. he weighed me because I told him I’m concerned about my unintentional weight loss #and yeah….. i was a but chocked at the result. the weight itself is not worrisome but the weight loss needs to stop before it gets worse #so I’m really proud to have made large amounts of healthy food that I have appetite to eat #this batch will last me until Saturday evening which is pretty optimal to be honest <3

[sing-you-fools]

I hate how impossible our society makes it to complain about anything related to weight loss. and if you do you have to justify it by having some horrible illness. anyway I'm gonna do that, so if it's a trigger for you or if you're gonna be all "you're so lucky" about it, please scroll on. anyone else, it's behind the cut.

am I allowed to have neutral/complicated feelings about my weight loss itself and not want to talk about it or hear how people wish they had my problem or whatever and still be annoyed that nothing fits and it's a sensory nightmare and buying new clothes is expensive and i don't even know if i should replace much because what if i lose more weight? and that suddenly the weird positions I like sitting and sleeping in make my arms and legs fall asleep? or that I'm always so fucking freezing cold, like i'm wearing flannel pants and sweatpants and two sweatshirts under two warm blankets in a house set at 67°F and i'm still shivering? that i'm really dysphoric about how much more noticeable my tits are without more belly filling out the shirt under them and I can't really bind and it sucks?

and I'm not even all that skinny. not anywhere near enough that I need to worry and do something about it, just... some side effects are annoying, to varying degrees. I'm sure I'll appreciate the temperature difference in the summer, if I notice it, you know? but some stuff, like the limbs falling asleep? is that gonna get worse if I lose more weight? will it chill out a little after a while or is this my life now? I can't sit like a straight person forever! also what happens to my family when someone congratulates me and I get arrested for ripping their head off and throwing their corpse out the window?

#please just let me vent here #i despise talking about weight with my entire soul this isn’t about weight at all just the annoying side effects #in case that wasn’t already extremely clear i just hate everything about this #tw weight loss #tw weight #tw unintentional weight loss #sing-you-fools

[bigothteddies]

first time putting on my jeans since all the events of the past few weeks and they’re literally falling off me now I hate this 😭

#unimportant thoughts #fucking unintentional weight loss man #also sorry for being like #chronically online right now #shit happened and i have a lot of time on my hands and not a lot to do with it so #this is whats happening

[arctic-hands]

Someday I will learn that even if I am a genetic hoarder in all things material and a nice KonMari is every now and then is good for my soul (and roommates, who are sick of my shit everywhere), I am a genetic hoarder with a weight that is constantly dropping or ballooning up depending on what's flaring when it's flaring and what meds I'm on or not on at the time and I should stop throwing out perfectly wearable clothes just because I am currently either too fat for them or because I'm too skinny for them because my meager pittance of an SSI really doesn't allow me to go on a much-needed shopping spree every eight months to a year or whenever as such to get clothes that fit also #RIPSparklePants 😔

#literally gave Sparkle Pants away 3 months ago before the big move thinking fitting into them again was a pipe dream #AND THAT'S ALMOST EXACTLY WHEN I STARTED DROPPING WEIGHT FROM THIS MYSTERIOUS DUODENUM BULLSHIT #😭 #all this is unintentional btw i am really. really sick right now #weight loss tw #weight talk #just chronic illness things #I'm gonna have a heart attack some day with all this yo-yoing #i don't mind being fat i just want to be consistent

[cowboybuckleys]

gotta say, a little annoying that my brain still reacts to stress and anxiety by making all food sound unappealing.

#ignore this #tw #the unintentional weight loss is also absolutely not helping

[wild-houseplant]

ZevWarden Week Day 4- AU

Well. WELL. It just so happens I’ve got like... 80k worth of futuristic AU material from one story I started bashing out ages ago. I’m publishing about 40k of that now, and since we all know I’m not capable of doing anything succinct, fair warning: it’s going to go on for bloody ages. All six chapters so far available on AO3 here. Content warnings for this chapter: passive suicidal remarks in the first chapter, unintentional weight loss. Other cws for later chapters on AO3.

Now, brief premise before I start the chapter: On 2170s Earth, a morally questionable blip in space where, thanks to unusual technological advances, fiction no longer exists and every Earth-born individual (in theory) has the right to summon one person to join them on the planet. In a moment of sympathy during her teenage years, Vin Amell illegally summoned Zevran. Ten years on, he’s arrived, and it’s on Vin to bypass the authorities and find a way to settle him in– if he’ll let her.

Chapter 1 of Your Personal Hero begins here, rest under the cut. Happy Day 4 of ZWW!

                                                            §§§

It’s a cracking afternoon.

The sun’s out, clouds at a minimum, and the air’s pleasantly warm. I’ve packed a basket with my favourite foods and drinks, and there’s the promise of consuming it with an uninterrupted view of the sea once I reach my vantage point at the top of the bluff. 

It should be enough. A Sunday on la Grande Jatte kept Georges Surat busy for two years. One little snapshot of a nice moment, and he spent two years on it. Two years! And artists, if the rumours are true, eke out an existence of grinding penury between commissions. Not usually the best conditions for kindling optimism. And yet somehow they sustain themselves on snippets of happiness, stretch them out a millionfold. God throws them a splinter, they call it a bone.

It might be enough for me, too. All these grim thoughts about hating life and wanting to die really aren't my cup of tea. When the big wins are hard to get to, though, and your little wins are getting thin on the ground, the pro- nonexistence arguments speak to one more. But then as Mam was wont to say, hope runs on the smell of an oily rag. We'll see about that.

When I'm halfway up the trail, off to my right I catch a pair of bronze, sinewy legs in leather boots sticking out from a patch of tall grass. I set the picnic basket down and jog over, clearing the grass away and sighing with relief upon seeing that the legs are attached to a body covered in leather armour. The owner of said body groans softly when my movement casts a shadow over his eyes. 

As I look at his face, I spot a pair of pointed ears and a wavy tattoo on one cheek, and my mouth falls open.

“I don’t believe this,” I murmur, before a loud, astonished laugh tumbles out of me. “I don’t fucking believe it!”

His eyes flutter open and dart up to me, and another groan ensues as he forces upright. I step on the grass nearby, flattening it under my feet as I squat down near him. 

“Wow!" I say. "You make more noise sitting up than most old people I know.” I don’t know what greeting people usually give their summoned person, but that probably isn’t one of the top 100. 

My wisecrack earns me a raised brow, and he scans me from top to toe before saying anything. 

“You are… not particularly well-dressed for a Blight,” he remarks before giving a hollow chuckle. “I am not complaining, of course. Do other mages show off as much skin as you do when the robes come off?”

I glance down at myself. I’m hardly what you'd call scantily clad; with my t-shirt and knee-high denim shorts, my outfit is quite a reasonable one. I’m even wearing shoes, which goes above and beyond the dress code in this town. 

“Not a mage, so I couldn’t say, I’m sorry,” I answer with a shrug. “So you just woke up, huh?” 

I cast my eyes over his face and ears. No bleeding, no leaking cerebrospinal fluid. He’s awake, talking, and moving. So far, so good.

He nods. “Mmm, so it seems. I took a hit to the head with a wooden shield. The Templar, where is he?” He looks behind me; I'm drawing on ten-year-old knowledge now but the whack must have been Alistair's doing.

I shake my head. “No Templars here. No Blights or mages or rogues, either.” I gesture at him. “Present company excepted, of course.”

The eyes watching me narrow just a little before his entire face becomes impenetrable. “So I have been kidnapped then, I take it.”

I frown and rub my chin, helplessly observing my dignity take its hat and coat and leave. “When you put it that way, I suppose you could say that, yes. Well, you’ve been abducted, at the very least.” 

This is met with a surprisingly accepting nod from my apparent hostage. “Well, I have presumably been kept alive for a purpose, so if you tell me what it is, perhaps I could be of more assistance to you.”

That sphinxlike expression of his falters a fraction when I struggle to find a response. 

“Oh. I… ah... “ I rub my neck. “I wasn’t working in conjunction with the Wardens. And I’m not really keeping you alive-- not that I’m planning to kill you!” I touch my hand to my forehead in exasperation. “Look, I doubt there’s anything I could say that you'll believe, so I’m trying to find a way to put all this to make it plausible.”

“You could try telling me something implausible,” he offers, all insouciance. “At this point, every minute I have is borrowed time until you change your mind and kill me.”

I huff a laugh, which takes him aback again. “Kill you? Oh, Zevran, no.” I shake my head, laughing again as his eyes widen at my use of his name. “I’m not interested in harming you, and I have no weapons on me. I’m the easiest prey you’ll come across bar none, but I trust that you won’t do anything. And if you prove me wrong, well,” I shrug. “It's been a shit time lately anyway.”

I've said too much, and Zevran says nothing at all. It's a hideously uncomfortable balance. Naturally, I continue. 

“Look, I know why you took the mission to kill the Grey Wardens,” I begin carefully, giving a sad nod as his body stiffens and his eyes narrow. “I won’t say her name, but I know what happened to her. Truly, I couldn’t be more sorry that you want to die, especially for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Zevran’s nose wrinkles into a soft snarl; he looks ready to cut my throat and then cut his own.

I hold up my hands to bring some calm back into things. “I would like, if I may, to make a suggestion.”

His face smooths out again somewhat, and the nod he gives is a reluctant one. 

“There are a number of things we could do," I say. "You could kill me. I could, unlikely as it is, kill you. We could kill each other, we could chuck it all and kill ourselves. Or,” I hold up a finger, a flicker of hope threatening to force a smile on me, “We could spite death and press on a little longer.” I shrug. “At this point, what do we have to lose? It could be fun.”

Another silence lingers between us, and sick of squatting, I let myself fall back onto my bum, crushing the dry, prickly grass under me. My legs become irritated immediately, and I start scratching at them. “Whatever you decide, I hope you’ll do it quickly, because I don’t want to carry out a life sentence itching to buggery while you make up your mind.”

I must look absolutely ridiculous, sitting here and scratching at my thighs like a monkey that fucked around and found out with a bag of itching powder, but Zevran devotes his attention to fingering the pommel of the small dagger he has now unsheathed from one of his boots. 

“My options are limited, my dear," he says offhandedly. “I have failed to kill the Warden, who is no doubt well on her way now with her merry band of misfits. My life is forfeit. Even if I somehow catch up to her and succeed the second time, I imagine the Crows will kill me on principle.”

“Oh, my, do I have news for you,” I say through a broad grin that makes him look at me like a crab just scuttled out of my nose. I shake the smile off upon realising how disturbing it must look. 

“Sorry. Ahem. There are no Crows here. You're not in Thedas any more. The only way any of the Crows can reach you is if they’re summoned, and no disrespect meant, but you’ll be very, very hard-pressed to find anyone here who’d consider it worth their while to summon even one of them. So in that regard, you’re clear of them.” I shrug. “Well, unless you decide to go back to Thedas, of course.”

For the first time, Zevran obviously examines his surroundings. “This… is not Thedas.” It sounds like both a statement and a question. Still clawing at my legs, I shake my head. 

“No, it’s not. This planet is called Earth.”

“... Earth,” he repeats, rolling the r and dragging out the th . “As in the dirt.”

“Mmm. Don’t blame me for the name, it was like that when I got here. Ugh, it's too itchy here. I need to get up.” On my feet again, I dust myself off and look down at him. “That’s not to say you’re entirely free of troubles here. The authorities don’t take kindly to people who've committed murder, even as part of a career they had no say in pursuing, and they’d see through any lies you tried to tell to cover it up. They wouldn’t kill you, though, probably just imprison you for some twenty, thirty years. I can help you evade them easily enough until you get settled here legally though.” I put out a hand to help him up. “No strings attached. What do you say?”

He nods and accepts the hand almost immediately, wincing a little as he stands up. “Then I am your man without reservation until such time as you choose to release me. This I swear.” He rattles that off like he’s said it a thousand times.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not my man, and I meant it when I said no strings attached. I don’t own you. Ii just summoned you here, which is completely different. But look, before we get into that, I need you to try walking for me. I want to check if you sustained any injuries from that knock to the head. If you don’t mind, walk heel to toe, just a few steps.”

The abrupt change of subject appears to be accepted quite well, and Zevran complies with my request. 

“I do not know what this will achieve, my dear,” he says, looking rather amused as he steps carefully. “I move much faster when my feet aren’t touching.”

“I’m checking for damage to the brain. Try walking normally?”

He does, and his gait is smooth. So far, so good, but he'll need to be looked over properly.

“Good, thank you.” I nod and walk over to him. “Well, I’d like to introduce myself, as an introduction is long overdue. Van is my name. Van Amell.”

“Amell, you say?” He squints at me. “You said you have no connection to the Warden, and yet she was an Amell.”

“I didn’t say that,” I point out. “I said I wasn’t working with her, or the Wardens, which is true. I’m a doctor… uh, physician, you might’ve called them. The only thing she and I have in common is the last name, and in fact, our shared surname is the only way I managed to make contact with you at all.” I gesture back down the dirt road. “Walk with me? My house is down this hill.”

He nods and falls into a step matching mine as soon as I move, and I swipe up the picnic basket on the way.

“This… realm, I s'pose you could call it, there’s no magic in it. Strictly speaking. It's all down to luck and science for us. Until recently, anyway.”

He says nothing, merely keeps his eyes on me. You can practically see the wheels turning in his mind. 

“We had a breakthrough about fifty, sixty years ago in the physical sciences and… ah…” what would you call IT in medieval English? “Intelligent machines. Machines that can think and follow commands. There’s a theory that when this world, and the system in which it exists, called the universe, was made, it started with an enormous explosion. And because the universe is infinitely large, it continues to explode outwards, and other small bubbles like the one we live in here are being formed, with completely different conditions to our own life here." 

I catch myself starting to gesture as I talk, and I’m too excited to curate it. It’s incredible to think that paying attention in high school Modern History class has paid off like this. “The breakthrough came when the theory was taken a step further, that anything could exist, because if the universe is infinitely large, there is an infinite number of different universes, like the one you were born in. And that when we made works of AU-- Alternate Universe, the word fiction is no longer used,” I explain hastily, “it was no longer just a story. We're given a concrete outline of another world.”

“And the second breakthrough?” Zevran’s face is impassive, but his eyes are glued to me. 

“Well, around the same time, people studying intelligent machines had refined portals-- doorways you can walk through that take you to somewhere else. You could step through a door in… what was the name of your country, Antiqua--”

“Antiva,” he suddenly corrects me, and looks surprised to have done it.

“Right, sorry. In Antiva, and if you stepped through the portal you could end up, say, in the Korcari Wilds. Depends on where you told the portal to go. What they found was that having a sufficiently-constructed alternate universe gave the portals enough information to find the places we had in our stories!” 

I clutch my hand into a fist, enthralled with how clever it all sounds. It fills me with pride, even though I hadn’t done anything to help its creation. 

“I did not walk through a portal to come here, though,” Zevran points out. “I was knocked unconscious, and then I woke up in the grass where you found me.”

“Wait, wait, I’m getting there,” I wave my hands. “In theory, the AU portals were a huge success. There was no need to research for knowledge any more. All we had to do was get writers to construct the worlds, we would give the information to the machine, and it would simply open it up and we’d get what we needed, maybe give something back if they had use of it.”

I shake my head. “What ended up happening was utter fucking chaos. People were leaving en masse or ducking through the portals and bringing back dragons, villains, dangerous people, races that weren’t built to survive in our conditions who died in terrible pain. Cities were crumbling, nations collapsing, all that shit. We weren’t ready for what it really meant. So what was left of the governments put a strict lockdown on the portals, hiding them everywhere and forbidding people from crossing them. The latest models are one-use portals that open up, drop you, and disappear. Now, you came through the portal because I invoked my Summoning right.”

“... Summoning right?” he echoes.

“Mmm, this is the bit where you come in,” I nod, sighing. It’s going to be quite awkward explaining this to him, and truly, I’m embarrassed enough now that I’d rather not. But he’s watching me so intently, and well, I’m responsible for dragging him out of Thedas. He at least deserves to know how that happened. 

“The world is crawling with stories, right?” I try.

Zevran nods slowly. “Mmm.”

“Yeah. Well, they made a rule that for everyone born on Earth, you have permission to… uh… ‘summon’ one person from another to here.” I hold up one finger. “One person per lifetime, that’s it."

He squints at me, lips peeling apart as his mouth opens slightly, and my stomach turns. The silence is broken as he gives a scoff. “And I am to believe that of all the people you could have summoned, you chose me?”

I shrug, feeling incredibly awkward now. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? I mean, I’m not going to tell you what to believe. It’s happened, whether you believe it or not.”

He goes to speak again, and suspecting that he is about to ask why I chose him, I cut him off. “But you don’t have to be here, if you don’t want to. There's a centre close by for unwanted summons, and all you have to do is step back through the portal and you'll return to the last place you were in Thedas, no questions asked.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment. I can’t tell if he wants to go back but is trying to be polite, or if he doesn’t want to leave and is trying not to say anything. It has to be one of the two; he looks uncomfortable as he chews on his lip, fingers slowly tapping his thigh. 

“You don’t have to decide right away, of course,” I continue, almost at a babble now. “Normally, when someone sustains an injury bad enough to knock them out, it’s best to have a doctor do a proper examination.” I point at myself. “I can’t be the one to do it because I summoned you, but I have a colleague close by who can help.”

I’m given a polite nod and a quiet issue of thanks.

"We do need to get you out of this armour first, though," I muse as we reach the dirt road that leads back to my house. 

"Oh?" Zevran raises an eyebrow and gives me a wry smile. "Is having your way with me the cost for a check-over? I believe I can easily pay my way for that.”

His smile slips for a second as I turn my head sharply, but then re-establishes and consolidates with a visible firmness. 

"You look positively stricken , my dear," he croons. "If you have not summoned me for my services in that regard, I cannot imagine why else I would be here. Unless you have someone who needs assassinating?" 

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. That hit harder than I expected; is that really all he thinks he can offer?

I clear my throat, "Ah, no. No, I'm not looking to kill anyone, thanks. And no doctor worth their salt accepts sexual favours in exchange for medical attention. It's so unethical it makes my skin crawl." I shudder, rolling my shoulders back to dislodge the revulsion. 

But what is a perfectly reasonable response on my part appears very much not to be to Zevran, who regards me quite strangely now. Which I should have expected, but god, I haven't played Dragon Age for about ten years now. I cut myself a little slack so I have enough room in my head to press on. 

"No, we need to go back to my house and get you suitable clothes so you can blend in a little more." Granted, there's only so much 'blending in' one can do in a small town like this, but it'll have to do.

He accepts my explanation with a nod, and as we draw up to my small hardwood house, I point at it. "This is my place. Not particularly fancy or anything, but you're more than welcome to stay here with me while you make up your mind." 

I can hear the hope in my voice, and I don't think Zevran likes it. He raises an eyebrow at me, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. But he doesn't run, doesn't lunge for me. Just matches my pace, calm as you like.

"Maybe you could see your room first before you decide if you want to sleep there, hey?" 

I turn the handle and open the door, stepping into the kitchen and opening the fridge door. "This is a box that keeps food cold so that it stays fresh for longer," I explain as I transfer everything out of the picnic basket. 

Zevran walks up beside me and peers in the fridge. The light catches his attention, and he touches it before withdrawing his fingers again. 

"The light is cold," he murmurs. His inquisitive glance at me turns his statement into a question. 

I nod; there will be a lot of this if he decides to stay, and though it doesn't trouble me, I do wonder how I’ll explain much of anything concisely. 

"We use electricity-- trained lightning-- instead of physical effort to power our machines."

His eyes widen for a moment, gaze dropping to his fingertips. "I was not struck, even though I came so close."

"No, the casing material- plastic, it's called, stops the electricity from escaping and harming us," I tap the plastic coating with my finger. "We have electricity passing through a thin strand of wire, and it heats it up hot enough to make it glow, and that is what you're seeing here." 

"Very clever," he murmurs, not even begrudgingly. 

"We have some very smart people in this world," I agree with a nod. I close the fridge. "Come on. Your room is up here."

I lead him down the hallway and up the stairs, very pleased that I had actually put in the effort to do up the guest room. It's about the same size as my own room, decked out with my most impressive finds from secondhand shops: a huge purple moon chair, a four-poster bed, an open bamboo wardrobe. Oh, and the centrepiece: a battered IKEA bookshelf. One that was lovingly redecorated, so Howie the shopkeeper had told me, by the donor’s toddler, who had snuck into the study armed with a handful of very colourful, very permanent markers. Absolutely none of the decor matches style-wise, but it all blends well enough in terms of the colour scheme. 

Exactly what Zevran thinks of the room is unclear to me as he steps in and surveys the interior. I have no desire to hover awkwardly while awaiting his decision, and so I excuse myself to go into my own room across the hall and collect some clothes for him. 

It seems rather more gallows than humour when I laugh to myself, thinking it fortunate that my appetite has all but disappeared these last months and shrunk me down like a sponge out of water. Clothes that were loose then and swim on me now should sit quite well on Zevran. 

I fish around in my drawers and pull out a dark green t-shirt and a pair of jeans I hope will conceal his leather boots; his feet are undoubtedly bigger than mine, so loaning shoes is not an option. A button-up shirt to throw over the top in case he wants to conceal any tattoos comes out as well, and before I can close the drawer, I hear his voice at the doorway. 

"Are you quite sure you put me in the spare bedroom, my dear?" 

I look up. Zevran fixes me with a smirk that doesn't match the suspicion in his tone, and my heart sinks in embarrassment. 

"Yes," I reply with a nod and an attempt at a droll smile. "I've lived here for a few years now. Took a while, but I eventually learned my way around my own dwelling. Yours is definitely the guest room."

He scoffs at my sarcasm and folds his arms, gesturing around my pathetically empty room with the least-concealed of his hands. 

"And my gracious host sleeps in a room whose only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a small commode." Another half-question, half-statement. It's frustrating when they're being used to prove a point I'm in no mood to acknowledge.

I shrug. "I put off redecorating because I wanted something to look forward to." That is an honest answer and the only one I’m willing to give when feeling so put on the spot. 

I get to my feet and hold out his clothes before he can wipe the bemused look off his face and ask anything more. "Here, put these on in your room and then we can go to the clinic." 

He raises an eyebrow at me, an awfully bold move for a man who thought I was going to murder him ten minutes prior, but then he takes the proffered garments and disappears again, closing the door behind him. 

"I'll wait for you downstairs," I say through the door before I make my way back down to the kitchen, taking out my phone to call Tamika, the resident neurologist at the town’s assisted living facility.

“Hey Van, what’s happening?”

I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I take some gauze from the first aid kit sitting on the microwave. “Tamika, hi. I’m sorry to bother you so late in the afternoon, but a good friend of mine’s taken a knock to the head and I’m a little too shaken up to check him out myself. Are you still at work?”

“Oh, wow! He conscious?”

“Yeah, up and moving, talks, no real outward signs of any issues. I just found him unconscious and neither of us know how long he was there for.”

“Mmm. I’m in town right now. I can assess him in your clinic?”

I sigh with relief. “That sounds great. We’re at mine right now, so we’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” After thanking her again, I hang up and finish taping the gauze patch together. It should be long enough to cover Zevran’s facial tattoo so that he doesn’t stand out to any plain-clothes authorities. 

With the kitchen still to myself, I knock back half a glass of water before I stop and grab a spare glass, unsure of how to convince someone who deals with poisons on the reg how to accept a glass of water-- or any fluid at all, when it comes to that. 

A cleared throat announces that Zevran has entered the kitchen. He looks like a lean, athletic person in snug-fitting clothes. The button-up shirt helps to conceal his tattoos. It also helps him to look like the love child of a lumberjack and an early 2000s emo, but that's by the by at this point. In all, it's quite a suitable emergency outfit. 

I hold up the glass I got for him. "Are you thirsty? My house has plumbing, so you can get water from here." I indicate the kitchen taps, and when Zevran comes over to accept the glass, he momentarily squints at me. 

"Thank you," he says, politely taking the glass and easily turning the tap to fill it. 

I die inside. "You have taps in Antiva, don't you?"

He bites his lip, the lines around his eyes deepening, and he nods. 

"Marvellous." I rub my brows with the fingers of one hand. "Don't mind me, I'll just die internally over here." I take a couple of steps away.

Zevran gives me a brief, low chuckle that sounds halfway genuine. "Do try not to. I thought we were meant to visit your clinic?"

"Yes!" I seize the opportunity to shelve my hideous embarrassment and snatch up the gauze. “But here, quick, we need to get this on your face to cover up your tattoo.” 

I’m not sure doctor’s tape or any kind of adhesive backing is a thing where he’s from; I'd guess not from the way he runs his fingers back and forth over the smooth side of it once it’s on his face.

"All done," I say. "Now, if you decide to stay here, we can eat when we get back home, all right? If you'd rather stay somewhere else, we can buy food while we're out." 

"I doubt I would be able to pay my way for lodgings here," he replies, pointed but not unkind as we step out of the house and make our way to the car. 

I can't help but feel a little sad at that, but what was I expecting? Who on earth would he feel able to trust? Certainly not me. 

"Oh, that isn't a problem," I say with a small smile that I immediately drop when I realise it probably isn't helping. "I'm the one who brought you here, so it's on me to keep you comfortable. That's only fair. If you want to stay elsewhere, I can easily arrange it." 

We stop beside my car, and the silence grows heavy as I fish through my pocket for my phone to unlock the car. I mumble something about 'where is it' to try and take the edge off the awkwardness, and to my relief, Zevran speaks. 

"Normally, where assassins go and where they stay, such things are decided by others," he says in a tone that's far too off-handed for such a long pause. 

"This is a place where you can make that decision yourself. You're free to be your own person here. If you are happy to stay here on Earth, even if only for a while, I ask only that you let me stay in your life at least a little longer so that I can help you to settle in and navigate the basics of life here. After that, you don't ever have to speak to me again, if you don't want." 

Zevran appraises me carefully, and I try to keep my face as readable as possible. Whatever he's looking for in scanning my face, he either finds and is satisfied with, or he doesn't find it and accepts that there is no better answer to be had, because he gives an acquiescent shrug-nod combo.

“In which case, perhaps I could stay with you. It will save you money, and you will find I am quite a useful house guest. I can offer protection, chop wood, shine armour, warm your bed…” he flicks his eyebrows and fixes me with a winsome smile. 

I smile back and shake my head, having finally found my phone. “That’s kind of you, but unnecessary. Besides, I can almost guarantee you won’t have time to do any of that while you learn about how to get on in this place.”

Doubting his ability to do a handful of things at once seems not to be the way to thaw this man out, judging by the cynical look he’s fixing me with, but when I turn my phone’s screen on, Zevran’s eyes go straight onto it. An opportunist at heart, I seize the chance to distract him with both hands.

“This is called a phone. One of the intelligent machines I mentioned before. It has a lot of functions, one of which is allowing us to power and use our vehicle, known most commonly as a car,” I point at the car. I enter the pin code on my phone and let the camera scan my face. A small, bright tone ensues, and the sensor buttons on the side of the car light up, which has Zevran’s eyes darting from place to place like he’s at Wimbledon. 

“Press here to open the door,” I gesture at the green circle. He does, and jumps back as the door slides out and then up, exposing the interior of the car. I grin to myself as the impenetrability of his gaze slips, giving way to open, if cautious fascination.

“This vehicle,” he sticks his head inside and glances around, “where do you keep the horses to pull it? Or do you have other beasts?”

I go around to the other side and sit in the driver's seat. “No animals. I’m not very au fait about mechanics, but I think this thing runs on a combination of electricity, like the light you saw, and magnets.”

“... you do not know, and yet you use it?” Zevran's head is going everywhere as he perches on the edge of the seat, eyeing all the buttons and keeping his hands in his lap. “Where in this contraption is safe to touch?”

“All of it. This is very safe.” I make my nod extra confident. “You need to pull it apart to get to the electrical bits, and even then, the car is turned off--goes dormant-- so you can work with it safely.” 

His shoulders un-tense, and he shuffles back until he’s sitting properly. 

“We move fast, though, so you will need to strap yourself down,” I gesture at the seatbelt beside him and grab my own, slowly pulling it down and buckling it so he can replicate the motion. 

He squints a little. “... How fast?”

“Faster than a galloping horse, that’s for certain, but only if I ask it to. We shouldn’t go much faster than a gallop, though, and you’ll find this is much smoother, and safer, than any horse.”

The colour is draining from his face, but he nods and buckles his seatbelt all the same. Honestly, hats off to him for trying to take this all in his stride.

“Then we’re ready to go!” My mouth pulls in a genuine grin; I can’t remember the last time I smiled this widely and meant it. “Would you like to press the button to turn on the car? Everybody likes to press the button.”

#ZevWarden Week 2022 #cw passive suicidal remarks #cw unintentional weight loss #Vin Amell #Your Personal Hero #YPH #Dragon Age #Future AU

[kalach-cha]

thinking about that sandman post about dream gaining weight throughout the season being symbolic of his return to power

#like YES YES we need more media like this #but also it hurts my soul to look at tom sturridge for too long. like genuinely i hate it when actors starve themselves for roles #like i UNDERSTAND how it was important because he needed to look inhuman to a certain degree #but it’s like a pet peeve of mine because weight loss?? isn’t always a good thing?? and it just seems like actors doing it for roles #kinda glorifies it in some respects even if the characters they portray are clearly unhealthy #also some of my own baggage surrounding weight loss is thrown in there. i never had an ED but plenty of my friends did growing up #depression made me completely lose my appetite and i lost a lot of weight unintentionally because of it #so it hurts to see people at a healthy weight to start try to lose it? #my story isn’t a pretty one even if it was unintentional. so seeing it really stings #the sandman

[riverofrainbows]

My father: you need to build more muscle

Me (paraphrasing): Yeah no shit, i would if i could

My father: you don't know if you can't, you say that but you won't know until you tried. But let's not start this discussion right now

?????

It wouldn't be a discussion if he just believed me about my own body?!?

And i am working on building more muscle. I try really hard to eat enough, and even plenty, of protein. I try to be more active and use my muscles in varied ways.

Also thanks a fucking lot for pulling attention to my thin as fuck arms and wrists, I don't have dysphoria about them or anything.

#own post #“tw for my tags: i talk about specifics of how my arms look which is as mentioned thinner than i want it to be” #due to severe muscle deterioration plus unintentional weight loss and my frail bone structure my arms are the size of a 12 year olds #btw i got the bone structure from him #i actually really try to gain muscle and substance on my underarms and arms in general and i Have gained muscle there #i have a a lot bigger and consistently and easily solid biceps/tricpeds #my underarms have gotten a lot stronger and a little bit bigger like there is a bit of muscle around the bones