#inspired by my ibs

[its-hitoshi]

sevika and her gut instincts

you'd say at the end of season 2, sevika, in a way, won. she didn't die -- only lost an arm while finally uniting zaun in some capacity, and becoming its representative to piltover.

sevika has always trusted her gut. it's never led her wrong. however just because she trusts it doesn't mean she's listened all the time

tw: disordered eating, emetophobia

luckily for her parents, sevika was never a sickly child. though the Grey affected her, as it did everyone in zaun, sevika never had a cold that lasted too long. never had blood or grey tints in the phlegm coughed up. what she always had problems with, however, was her stomach. it started when she was small -- when her parents started arguing. though she'll never admit it, one of her first memories is curling up against the leg of the family dinner table -- shoddy and rough with future splinters -- as her parents shouted at each other. now sevika knows that the rent was going up despite wages the piltie owners meted up stayed steadily low. whether that was a result of their zaunite proxy being greedy or the pilties being out of their goddamn mines, sevika still doesn't know. she'll say her stomach hurt from hunger -- which wasn't a lie. but she's long forgotten the stress her tiny body felt as her parents' voices warred against each other. she shrank smaller and smaller until all the stress could go was to her center -- her stomach. it ached.

as she grew older, the same story rewinded. hunger. anger. ache.

when she grew of age, finally, to bleed, it hurt so bad. her parents didn't want her to, but she worked in the mines. it was safer to work than to play and be stolen away, after all. organs were needed in piltover. extra workers were needed in mines that were known to have even worse conditions than this one. she worked and worked and worked through the pain -- swung her pickaxe into the rock. shimmied her way through tunnels far too small for the her of today to fit both arms (metal and flesh) into.

black dust tints whatever she coughs up now. it's like a rite of passage, spitting grey onto the already stained streets. it was only when she was walking home did she feel the warmth between her legs. how it felt wrong, like a knife slowly shoving into her despite how she knows something is coming out. it was the beginning of the last times when she hugged her mother, who explained to her quietly that she was growing up now. she's turning into a woman. it's normal. it'll hurt, but that'll go away (she'll get used to it. she won't bleed very often, especially if there's not enough for her to eat... her mother's heard of the layoffs coming up in the next few weeks. this is their only blessing)

sevika is sixteen when her mother dies. her mother's hope was right. her bleeding came and went. sometimes after one month, sometimes after nine. in time, sevika would realize her body always gave her a warning, as she woke up with her gut cramping up. she can't eat the day she finds out her mother has died. it was a cave-in. it killed all 26 workers of that tunnel. sevika had been in the next one over. her mouth is dry, yet she doesn't get a glass of water. doesn't want any despite how lucky she is to live in a miner's house, one of the few types of houses in zaun that have running water.

the funeral happens quickly. sevika's father says, abruptly, that they need to burn her mother. it's part of her culture. sevika wonders what this culture is -- still does. she was never taught. all her mother ever told her was that her name means servant of god in the language of her mother's homeland. well, the homeland of her mother's mother. she never learned much either. simply bits and pieces of the language. as she breathes in the smoke from the fire, feels its warmth, she wonders when was the last time her mother held her. maybe this was one last goodbye.

the first meal she has after that whole ordeal -- when was the last time she had eaten? 48 hours? 72? maybe more? -- sevika throws up. her father realized at some point that they should eat. he left once he gobbled up what amount was on his plate. left only enough money for their upcoming rent. sevika, instead, ran and threw up outside the house. all she can think of as she stares at the barely digested food is what a waste of money.

her father comes back, reeking of alcohol. the scent stings her nose. sevika has seen the way the winds blow. janna's protection could only last so long for the children of zaun. her luck's run out.

without her mother, the work needed to meet the rent has only gone up. her father's drinking doesn't help either. sevika finds it easier on the body to simply not eat as much rather than take up even more extra shifts. in her free time, she steals. piltover takes all their money -- them and their wannabe zaunite proxies in charge of the mines and and who want to be in charge the lanes because of piltover's greed -- it's only right that she takes some back.

her gut feels weird one day. doesn't hurt, just... weird. though she's seen that the streets are empty, sevika stays in her spot. she realizes she hadn't been aware enough as an enforcer stalks his way down the street where she would have landed.

she listens to this weird, odd feeling. it's somehow always right. it serves her well. she felt it as she walked away from vander. it was with her as finn's voice grated at her ears. what she doesn't listen to is how her stomach screams for sustenance, at times. sometimes food, sometimes for acknowledgement of hurt like it did the first time her father threw a beer bottle at her.

it's easier to drown out when she drinks -- just like her father did. perhaps that's what else she inherited from him. he used to say she was all her mother. all she had from him were her eyes.

smoking comes naturally to her -- what was there to worry about? her lungs shriveling like some silly piltie claimed would happen? it was a 'healthcare' campaign of some sort spearheaded by a rich, spoiled brat. whatever of her lungs the Grey and coal dust didn't already ruin deserved to be dusted with ash she decided to grace it with. (it numbs that ache in her stomach too, which somehow continues to hurt despite how old she's grown.)

her father's dead now -- she let his body float into the river. strapped a bottle of alcohol to his chest -- better quality than what she knows he'd usually drink some days she finds herself on the verge of vomiting even if she eats nothing that day. she doesn't waste her money frivolously at the bar. smokes cheap cigarettes filled with who knows what. she's met vander and silco. they're kind people. they share. she doesn't have to be hungry anymore. she steals enough to sustain herself as most of the money goes to rent. the rest to food, obviously. yet still, her stomach quietly aches.

[xxacidnekoxx]

Really fast practice art because I want to make an overgrown museum environment

[dailydigidraw]

Warning: Bright colors! ... and Keramon. Keramon is its own warning.

[commanders-sole-braincell]

Do you think certain scented sylvari have to combat the pavlovian reaction to their scent?

Like lavender sylvari adapting shouting and wearing the most noisy, obnoxious jewellery cuz they walk into a room and half the people in there start to drift from using lavender sleep aids?

[mlpoutofcontext]

[lexosaurus]

I think, genuinely, the coolest part about being in this phandom for so long and semi-consistently putting creative projects out there is that I can look back over the years and see how much growth I've made in all areas of my creativity.

Like, I'm writing things now I wouldn't have even dreamed of years ago, and I'm composing music that past me would have been shell-shocked to hear. And I can see with each new fic I put out, each new song I make, how much better I'm getting. And it's not to say that I've mastered the art of writing and composition, but I've certainly improved a fuckton since like 2017 or whenever the hell I made this account.

Damn, y'all. It turns out that all the experts were right and skill is just a LOT of practice over a long period of time.

[stargayzerlily03]

♡♡♡

Shoutout to selfshippers with IBS! Your f/o would never think of your stomach problems as "embarassing" or "gross" and they would never tell you to hurry up or complain "really again?" when you're having an IBS attack. They would offer comforting words and water to drink for the dehydration after that and perhaps a cup of green tea to soothe your stomach and they would understand if you need to lay down for a while after an unusually bad episode. They would totally understand why you can't eat certain foods due to your stomach reacting badly and they would gladly let you pick the restaurant that has all your safe foods in the menu.

♡♡♡

[darlingcloudie-9]

miscellaneous doodles ft. the duo of all time

[grimmzmoth]

forgo to post this one too which ACTUALLY TOOK 5 HOURS AND SOMEHOW IS LESS TIME THAN THE BILL ONE OMG IM. SUEING

[meowzerswowzers]

What you took from me is mine.

And what is mine I'll never give.

Sketch vs. Final.

[tiredsn0w]

IB "moodboard" but it keeps getting worse and worse

[n0vatsu]

everyone in my school(even the teachers) talking abt the fnaf movie

Me who can’t watch it cuz my parents would think it’s too violent:

[m4ggotm0ld]

im killing my self

[tkrpgs]

Inside this frame, I've been living for a millennium!

[anotherquirkhelpblog]

Control

Emitter

Allows the user to the physical movement of anything they touch. The user can control up to ten things at once, as they must use a different finger for each thing they want to control. This quirk is not limited to inanimate objects. The user can manually stop controlling objects by touching the associated finger to their palm.

[crabussy]

RRARAAAAAAAAAUUAUUAAGHHHHH