#she suffers

[jonathanbyersphd]

At least once while high Jonathan told Argyle that he wanted to shrink down so Nancy could carry him around everywhere

[paddysnuffles]

My dog: *is mildly inconvenienced about anything*

My dog: I have the hardest life anybody has ever had in the history of the universe.

-=-=-=-=-

Note: She would usually grumble and moan unhappily the most while laying so relaxed on her bed that she was almost liquid from relaxation.

Like this:

And the more we agreed and commiserated with her the louder and more dramatic her complaints got.

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 11: "Why would you even say that?! (Truth Serum)

@ailesswhumptober

T/W: Captured, Interrogation, Truth serum, Pain, Ladywhump, referenced incarceration camps

"Any luck?"

I barely hear the gruff voice of Leader over the persistent ringing in my ears. Rough gravel digs into my cheeks painfully. The world lurches violently as I attempt to sit up, gasping in pain.

"Nothing so far. She's a tough nut to crack."

"Every nut has their weakness," he murmurs darkly. "Get her up."

I cough. Beads of red soak into my lips. The fresh gash from the metal studs in his glove stings in the open air. The blow was hard enough to send my glasses clean off my face. A sharp crack reveals their location — crushed underneath Leader’s heavy booted foot. As I attempt to pull myself back to my knees, hands rip at my hair.

"Up!"

I yelp as I'm roughly dragged upwards. My feet scuffle against the dusty ground, trying to twist my head around despite the cruel grip on my dark wavy strands. Everything around me is an indiscernible blur without my glasses. 

Nngh, I can barely see anything—

"You're still not willing to talk?" he asks, voice deep and husky, "Not one word?"

I give him his answer with a silent glare of defiance. The other guards flank me on either side, each locking my upper arms in a tight grip. Sturdy power-suppressing cuffs keep my wrists chained behind my back. Cuffs that I'm all too familiar with...

Keep quiet, Cass. You're not going to give them anything.

"...heh. Fine. If that's how you want to play. I reckon you'll be changing your mind in about...ten seconds."

Nothing you do could make me talk… I vow fiercely.

Still, I brace myself, both body and mind for whatever 'persuasion' he has to offer. The only way I can keep calm right now is to imagine written scenarios playing out in my head — all of which end in me kicking them where the sun won't shine. My vivid descriptions are soon cut short by another painfully sharp tug on my hair. 

"Open her mouth."

My heart flutters in dread.

“W-wait—no don't you d—aggh!”

I jerk my head insistently as the hands grab at my face. The ugly one on my left wrenches my jaw open, the second squeezing my cheeks firmly as Leader approaches me. I get a flash of his hand pulling something from his jacket — a tiny capped vial of colorless liquid. Silently, he steps over and unscrews the cap. "The less you struggle, the easier it will be."

"Nnngh!"

I attempt to growl at him, pulling and twisting my head as he starts to tip the contents of the bottle forcibly into my mouth. In a last ditch attempt to avoid it I work up a mouthful of saliva and spit at him. Perhaps that is what prompts them to immediately plug my nose. I choke frantically, struggling to breathe as they keep my nostrils tightly pinched shut.

"That's it. Down the hatch — swallow."

I fight it. I fight it with everything I have — but the instinctive demand for air is stronger. Eventually it goes down my throat. Every bit of his 'offering'. The other two step back, letting my body drop to the floor between them. The dirt stains my torn black jeans as I start to writhe on the ground, coughing. "Good. Now we might finally get somewhere."

Leader crouches down next to me, slowly lifting up my chin with his gloved hand. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? What is your name?"

"Nngh..."

I stare up at him with gritted teeth, flexing my fingers behind my back. I begin to respond with the most stupid name in existence because no way am I telling them my real—

"Cassandra."

Wh-what?!

"...Cassandra?"

"...C-Cassandra Reed...Ghadavri..." I continue, suddenly realising what I'm telling him.

B-but—no! No, I-I didn't mean to—Cass, what are you—w-why would you even say that?!

"Tell us, Cassandra, do you happen to go by any other names? Any...illegal aliases?"

I feel my eyes slowly widening. The words bubble up through my throat. I have a horrible feeling that it's to do with whatever stuff he just forced down it

No — fight it, FIGHT IT!

I try to. I honestly try to. I even resort to biting on my tongue but then — the pain hits.

"I-I— no—nngha!"

I choke, lurching forward. Electrifying spasms shoot across my body, burning my nerves. Fire radiates in my chest. My forehead pounds. I find myself uselessly writhing in a desperate effort to avoid the pain. My tongue bleeds as I harshly bite down on it, shuddering on the ground.

"The more you fight the truth, the more it will hurt," he declares callously, watching my whimpering form without mercy. "Definitely less messy than a traditional interrogation, wouldn't you say?"

"Hnnk! S-stop—nngh— K-Kin—et—ica...!"

The name is dragged from my lips with a small sob. "K-Kinetica...former...side...kick..."

The words are an effort to get out seamlessly through my gasps of pain, but it's enough to satisfy them.

"Sidekick? So you're a 'sigma'?"

"Nngh...y-yes..."

"And your powers? What are they?"

I cough, shivering from the prickles raging all over my skin like little needles. 

"I-I...t-tele...kinesis..."

My captors murmur together quietly in response. I barely catch what they're saying. Not until Leader reaches out to pat my head. 

"I see — and what were you doing out here on your own?”

He suddenly yanks on my hair with a growl. “Spying on us for them, were you?"

"Gnngh...them? Who—"

"Who else could I possibly mean?" he snaps impatiently. "The Pheno Group —  the Government — well, were you?!"

I blink at them tearily, shaking my head desperately. 

"N-no...I-I don't...work for them. W-we were just...trying to find shelter from—"

“‘We’?”

A guilty sob escapes me.

N-no—

"Who else was with you? Give us their names."

When I don't answer immediately, he uncorks the vial again, bringing it to my lips. "Alright. Looks like you need another dose already."

“N-no!” 

I cry out in panic, trying to shuffle away, but they pin me in place long enough for him to pour the rest of the liquid down my throat. I gag on it pathetically, coughing and spluttering until the waves of  agony return. It's enough to knock me onto my side, curling my legs into my stomach to protect myself. My strained shrieks of pain soon morph into helpless sobs as nothing takes the torturous sensations away. Nothing...except the truth.

"Nngh—E-Ec—lipse—" I grind out, tears spilling down my cut cheeks, "B-Bore—alis...P-Phoe—nix—nngha..."

One of them scribbles the names down frantically as I squeeze my eyes closed. "W-we're all...trying to fight them. Th-they took our friends...we had no choice but to…t-to run or we'd...p-please...don't hurt them..."

Another wavering cry of pain. Leader's expression is difficult to read.

"So...you're fugitives then? And they're after you?"

I merely nod my head in response, unable to meet his gaze. Silence falls between us. After a few moments, he speaks up again. "...good girl."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Thanks for being so honest, Cassandra. No further questions for now. Just keep telling us the truth and that serum won't come back to bite you. Easy, right?"

"Gnngh..."

Forcing my eyes open, I stare at their blurry forms, ignoring the tears trailing down my face. "S-so...what now? Y-you call the Dog Catchers to take us to the camps?"

"No. Not planning on it."

Even in my current state, his answer takes me aback.

Wh-what did he just—

"They'd just come and arrest us all anyway, so no. You won’t be going to the camps yet. Instead, you’ll be staying right here whilst we go and round up your little friends — all we gotta do is plug their names into the database and we'll find them soon enough."

I grit my teeth weakly. I try to drag myself up again, but my body just flops against the ground uselessly. All I can manage is a helpless shake of my head. 

"D-don't hurt them..."

"That entirely depends on how cooperative you all are. On our turf, you play by our rules. If you don't — things get messy."

He turns on his heel. "Keep the cuffs on her, just in case. I'll go and inform Mother. She'll want to know about our latest catches."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Rest up, Cassandra."

Nodding gruffly, he sweeps out of the tented area, glancing over his shoulder at my sprawled shaking form in the dirt. "Welcome to Tartarus."

[effrvsnt107]

Just because I want to write what I know I’m making Bella Swan take photography and art and die and absolutely hate her photography teacher and do a me and pull of about 4 things before an exam the next day

[highlifeboat]

Melony living life like

[prouvaireafterdark]

listen I know it's heartbreaking that Claudia dies and it's understandable to wish she didn't, but let's please not accuse the writers of fridging her. to do so is a fundamental misunderstanding of the story and is frankly insulting to the intelligence and skill of the writers of the show.

Claudia's death, and the overwhelming grief and regret her parents experience because of it, is quite literally the point of the entire story. she dies because Anne's daughter Michele died of leukemia when she was five years old and there was nothing she or her husband could do to prevent it.

writing IWTV was how Anne coped with the unimaginable loss of a parent losing her child. she created a story about a little girl that could not die and then killed her anyway. Claudia's death is a senseless, unavoidable tragedy, just like Michele's was. the grief that haunts Louis and Lestat for the rest of their lives is the same grief that haunted Anne and her husband.

so when you're accusing people of killing Claudia off to benefit a story about two men, please remember that in real life sometimes parents lose their children. please remember Michele Rice.

she's the reason Claudia exists.

she's also the reason Claudia cannot be saved.

[mugentakeda]

I feel like modern au zuko can drive, is very good at it, has his license, and will get you where you need to go but like. with very dangerous efficiency. he drives like Evel Knievel. he drives like a bat out of hell. he whips the wheel hard as fuck and you will see Jesus even if the drive is from your house to the corner store. his car is used and like 10 years old but she is strong and loyal just like her master and wont break down for anything. she'll tear over anything in her path. zuko has given iroh so many mini heart attacks while driving him around (<- because iroh does NOT have his license). worst of all is that zuko does NOT talk or road rage ever when he drives he's DEAD SILENT and simply blasts the radio. and its always either terrifying Chinese opera or crazy shit like Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

[zipsunz]

being persona is suffering

(based on this)

[eskildit]

In a better kinder world. Gideon nav would have been at the club.

[gimpwithoutorgans]

Saw this on iwtvtwt and started losing my mind

The eyes of a boy who knows no one in that room loves him (himself included).

[jq37]

It's super funny to me that, in Suffering, the Siren answers Odysseus's question about how to avoid Poseidon completely truthfully even though she was planning on killing him at first opportunity. It didn't even ping her radar as a suspicious question to ask. It's like her day job is drowning mortal men but her nerdy hobby is nautical navigation and she couldn't help herself. She did NOT have to give him any info but she was like, Ooh fascinating hypothetical question! Here's my analysis on the best way to survive. Anyway, get in the water silly :)

[huachengsromcom]

People call Heaven Official’s Blessing / TGCF a slow burn but Hua Cheng is literally courting Xie Lian like they are DATING. Slow burn who??? They’re sleeping next to each other on straw mats and Xie Lian’s offering to cook him dinner and they’re bantering across THE HOME THEY SHARE like a bunch of desperate hussys

San Lang LEAVES XL WITH A KEEPSAKE OF THEIR TIME TOGETHER SLOW BURN WHOMST

They have A DATE in HC’s armoury where they HOLD HANDS and XL pets San Lang’s quivering sword I-

Hua Cheng basically throws himself at this man he’s like you want a sword?? All of them ?? You want ALL THE SWORDS?? Fuck it take the whole room THE WHOLE ROOM JUST COME VISIT I WILL CLEAN THEM FOR YOU

Like he isn’t the king of a whole realm with shit to do

And this is just the first half of the first book—again I ask the world SLOW BURN WHOMST

[sillysiluriforme]

everyone is in love with marinette for her selflessness and her ability to get smooshed like a bug literally whenever

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[bluegiragi]

limitations (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

aoi projecting her period pains onto togami (2024, digital)