#memory control

[p3achyxdoll]

Please

"I have no use for a slut who doesn't take initiative. I want you to prove yourself to me, that the old you is gone, that you're devoted only to me and how I see fit to shape you," he said, stroking the hair of the kneeling girl in front of him.

"Please. You know all I've ever wanted is to be yours, your doll, your toy. I don't need my old life or my old accomplishments. Take it all away. I beg you, please, erase it all." She whimpered and looked up at him with water-filled eyes. "Please," a whisper.

"Words are cheap. I told you to show me." He stepped away.

The girl reached into the bag beside her. Out of it, she pulled a brown A4 envelope.

"Here," she said softly, offering it to the man she wanted to serve. The god she needed to worship.

He smirked, said, "What's this?" and tore open the seal.

A chuckle escaped him as he glanced between her and the paper.

"Burn it. Throw it away. Shred it. It's meaningless now. The life I thought I wanted isn't mine anymore, I want the life you dreamed for me, please Master. It means nothing to me. All those years are wasted, it's time I could've spent at your feet. . ."

"Hush now, pet. No need for hysterics."

She immediately quietened down and looked towards the floor as a sign of her submission and respect.

"Your degree, huh? That's what this little piece of useless fucking paper represents. And a Masters at that. You spent all those years and all that money on something that doesn't serve me. Sounds a little selfish, doesn't it? You only have one Master in your life now, doll." He paused and reached down to lift her chin and stare into her doe eyes. "Tear it up."

"I . . . you want me to do it?"

His hand left her chin at lightning speed and struck her cheek soundly with a *thwack*. "Questions are unbecoming of a slave, or one of my toys."

"Yes Master." She took the paper from his hands with a tremble and read her full name.

It was a title she no longer recognised. The girl doubted she'd even answer to it if someone called her that in the street. She was no longer a professional. She was barely a person anymore.

So, as her hands clasped the paper and began to rip it down the middle, the last of her dignity was shredded alongside it. Her achievements meant nothing without him.

She meant nothing without him.

Rip after rip, the parchment fell to the floor. And as the final pieces scattered, his booted feet stepped directly onto the pile as her thighs trembled and her pussy grew soaking wet.

"I don't care how long it takes. Every memory, every moment of your life I deem unnecessary is going to end up like this pile of shattered dreams. I'm going to extract each one from your broken little mind until there's nothing left that doesn't hold my fingerprints." His voice sounded dark but amused.

"Please. . ."

[daily-dose-of-danno]

I'd love to see Mr Lancer swearing in book titles 👁

I did a full rewatch of the entire show to find these, so I believe this is all of them! :)

[nabexis]

So like. Did anyone else notice that Jayce doesn't immediately shoot Viktor? He only powers his hammer on AFTER Viktor has opened his eyes. Below is Jayce's reaction to seeing Viktor (his Viktor, from his universe, not the future version of him) for the first time after walking into the dome. For the first time in months. That's like. A look of wonder. Almost reverence.

Assuming the Jinx/Rictus/Vander fight is cut to real-time after Jayce has gone into the dome, he's staring at Viktor for like. 5 minutes.

My interpretation here, of Jayce's expression just before Viktor finally opens his eyes to see Jayce in the room with him, he's committing Viktor to memory, before he has to kill him.

Edit: I almost missed it but like. HE IS SMILING For like 2 frames it's an outright smile. He leans in towards him, too. I cannot handle this.

[clumsypuppy]

@heropartnerweek 2025 day 3 - recovery

dialga revived neptune using the last minutes before he disappears. because of this, he's sustaining the injuries from the fight when he reunites with marmalade.

[rosenatlan]

i really wish they explored this in any of the movies, like, why are the telepaths the only mutants that don't get the right to be proud?? why are they the only ones that should repress their powers? they didn't choose them

[wyrmswears]

[karda]

the innate horror of google earth

[lizmidfordsblog]

Not me brainstorming a fic where our Cale gets knocked out or faints idk after spitting out blood again. Everyone thinks (because they’re literally so traumatized from this) it’s gonna go as normal: Cale is going to be unconscious for a few days (maybe weeks), wake up, eat a shit ton of steak, and then promptly drop some batshit crazy lore/new information so that he can immediately go back to work.

A week passes, then two, then three. Cale breaks his record of twenty one days in a coma. Everyone is worried but they try to stay calm, since this

had happened before and the best thing they can do is keep things running in Cale’s absence.

Then Cale wakes up around a month after, with no warning.

He looks around blankly, barely processing the people in front of him nor the baby dragon crying in his lap. He touches his hair for a bit, notes the fantasy setting & and the talking cats.

Then he looks at Choi Han and frowns. He keeps frowning long enough that Alberu steps in and says his signature “my dongsaeng is driving me nuts.”

Cale goes wide-eyed, head whipping towards Alberu.

Then he whispers.

“…The Dark Tiger?”

Alternatively, our Cale gets knocked out of his body. Who else wakes up in his absence but our baby Kim Rok Soo from the Sealed God Test?

Cue chaos.

[p3achyxdoll]

Ensnared by His Words

"That's it. Eyes closed, brain off, all mine," the hypnotist says, finger lightly stroking your forehead. "Feels so peaceful, doesn't it? Feels so safe. Feels so addictive. You can't get enough of my voice or me.

"You can't escape it, so accept it. I'm in your dreams, your thoughts, your body.

"When your little pussy clenches and leaks, those are my hands playing with you. Phantom hands that hold your mind, body, and soul in its palm."

You feel the control he weaves over you. The waves of pleasure that course your body at every syllable. Every hypnotic dip in tone.

His voice.

God, how voice is everything

And you are nothing.

Because without his words, you feel like you would disappear into the blackness. They tethered you to purpose. To pleasure. To joy.

Without him – his hold over you – you'd be lost in darkness, unable to find your way back to self.

But even that isn't scary, isn't something to fear.

His words are a system of knots so deliberate and refined that each loop, each coil, had become its own language – an intimate procession of not just your flesh, but thought, too.

"That's it, tighter and tighter. Deeper and deeper. My words are pleasure. Your obedience is pleasure.

"Give in. There's nothing left for you out there. In here, you're safe. You're mine."

The rope begins at your wrists, spiraling with tension across your forearms.

Word after word.

You can't move.

You don't want to move.

"Give me everything," he murmurs.

The strands are smooth but firm, their pull not painful, only precise.

From the arms, the rope fans across the shoulders and chest in a harness that both restrains and accentuates.

You hear his voice but nothing else. A timbre smooth as honey, and as sticky, that lulls you deeper and deeper into his thrall.

"A treasured plaything is to be decorated. Even in its cage."

Then the binds descend in a lattice, crossing the stomach and hips in diamond-shaped weaves, tightening slightly with breath, syncing to the strokes *his* fingers lay on your forehead.

Again and again.

Each knot is a point of focus, a reminder. Not just of stillness, but surrender. Submission. Each knot takes away another piece of you.

Your name.

Your opinions.

The way you like to be touched.

You.

And it doesn’t stop at the body.

From the base of the spine, the rope rises again – not physically, but real all the same – wrapping around the mind.

It binds through your anticipation, steals the edge of your awareness, and pushes that beyond the darkness.

Your thoughts spiral like the rope itself for a moment, looping in tandem with the coils.

Maybe you think you can outrun it or push it away.

But as the rope tightens around who you were, it begins to unravel more than just muscle and movement. It erases the ego, strand by strand.

Each knot now acts like a key, unlocking who you once were.

One lock at a time is broken through, until identity, pride, jealousy, and the endless inner monologue fade into silence.

There’s no need to perform, to decide, to be anything. Put down your mask. Set aside your petty dreams.

In their place, a hollowing, a soft emptying, a clearing of space where the mind can rest, weightless and obedient, occurs.

Replaced by him.

His words.

"There's nothing left but me," he whispers to you.

His voice.

His desires.

His opinions.

His hopes for your future.

Him.

And when he is done, you are a living map of desire and surrender, molded by his will.

Your body and mind are sculpted perfection, a reflection of his ideal little plaything.

[hypnomcfox]

His House, His Bitch

I had just come back from a hard shift at work when I noticed my front door was unlocked and cracked open. I stepped inside and immediately noticed a tall, lean guy in a shiny tracksuit lounging on a chair in front of my TV. He played on my PlayStation casually, as if he owned the place. “Who are you?” I asked and received no response.

“Get out of my house before I call the police,” I threatened.

“Shut up already,” he barked at me, which caused me to do so. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to shout at him anymore. I was just about to reach into my pocket to pull out my phone when he said, “Don’t move. You don’t want to move until I tell you to,” and I stopped. He was right. I didn’t want to. I had never wanted to move until he told me to. It was weird for him to mention that fact now, though.

He finally turned away from the TV to face me. His gaze showed that he saw me as nothing but an inconvenience. “Since you want to yap your tongue so bad, go ahead and clean my kicks with them.” I hated this guy so much. Like hell, I was going to lick his disgusting shoes, yet my body disagreed. I could only internally panic as my body knelt in front of him, my mouth already opening up in anticipation. My anger turned to confusion, confused as to how he was manipulating me like this. I could only assume my discomfort was visible because of his following words.

“Stop pretending like you don’t like this. We both know how much you love being underneath me.” I didn’t know why he needed to say that; obviously I liked being beneath him. I just hated how I was treated, like nothing more than an object. He didn’t even look at me as he kicked off his sneakers with his feet, revealing a pair of sweat-stained white socks. “You’re not a person, just my bitch. And my bitch loves everything about me. They know their place is breathing me, worshipping me, and finding my taste and smell irresistible. They want me to be in charge of their life, serving and pleasing me. They love my trackies, and they love me. Don’t you agree, bitch?”

He describes me perfectly. I don’t know why I was upset. He is everything. I am his bitch, and I deserve to be under him. I dug my face into his socks, tasting them with raw desire. I can’t believe I ever thought of myself as a person when he existed. I love his smell, his tracksuit, his musk, I love him, and I am nothing but his bitch.

[kangel92]

Do drones dream of fake contentedness?

[waiting-foratrain]

> do you ever think about how scary remembering being alecto must have been for nona? because i think about that a lot.

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS) (this is mostly a post inspired by my personal experience and feelings so feel free to disagree. but also i Am correct)

dissociative amnesia is terrifying. just. full stop, point blank- as a concept, to experience, however- its terrifying. the idea that there’s something missing and half the time you don’t even know it’s gone? and then to remember? to slowly start remembering every horrible thing that happened to you? to be nona, remembering, and suddenly realise that you’re doing what everyone around you seems to have wanted you to do since you first opened your eyes, you’re remembering- only it isn’t helping, and instead, you’re realising that everything you thought you were was built on a fault line that only seems to keep growing with everything more you remember?

and then it’s nona, the girl who’s anger has only ever been treated gently and peacefully by the people who love her, who is determined to be good, to be helpful, suddenly having to remember so much unrestrained anger, so much pain? and the more she remembers, the more she becomes sure that all of that is what she is going to be left as when her time, and her life is up. of course that scared her. how could it not scare her?

i don’t think it was just the realisation of who she had been that was terrifying - it was the understanding that she was a makeshift person walking around in a world where (nearly) everyone else got to be wholly themselves for as long as their bodies lived- but she’d been on borrowed time her whole life, and suddenly she has a rapidly running out countdown.

further - dissociative amnesia isn’t just about the loss, it’s about the shape of the loss. it’s about the gaps in the narrative of your own life, gaps you can’t see because your mind has plastered over them, smoothed them out so seamlessly that you don’t even think to ask what’s missing. It’s about waking up one day and realising the foundation you’ve been standing on isn’t real, and worse, that the truth waiting underneath it might be so much worse than the not-knowing… and when those memories do start to surface, you don’t quite know what it is, but it feels like a betrayal- and you aren’t quite the same as you were before anymore (which happens on such a bigger scale with nona!!!! it’s so important to me, that in ntn, nona’s remembering is not celebrated. so often in media, i see people remembering memories lost to trauma related amnesia portrayed as a good thing, and every time i’m just sat there thinking ‘is it worth it? really?’)

like. just imagine you’re nona, for me. your mind kept those lost memories from you for a reason- it buried them because it thought you wouldn’t survive them, and maybe you won’t, but now, whether you’re ready or not, they’re coming back. they’re clawing their way up from a grave you didn’t even know was there, and you have to look them in the eye and reconcile the person they tell you you were with the person you fought to be.

for nona, remembering meant losing herself. she didn’t just gain alecto’s memories, she became alecto again. the life she had built, the life she had clung to, the love she had felt, all of it just unraveled beneath the weight of who she had been before. how could it not be terrifying?

to remember. to finally give in and remember what she’d been so determined to not, to finally know what you were missing - and have to realise that your fears weren’t unfounded. it is scary - because remembering doesn’t make you whole. sometimes, remembering just erases you instead.

[saetiate]

the problem with sae is he would actually love the way you are in love with him when you’re dating him. he loves the lovesick eyes you make at him and the way he always knows where you are and the way you stay right next to him when you’re both out and how when he’s home you’re always home with him. he loves being looked to and how you want him and he thinks the bashful honesty you show about it is so cute. he does not show it but he gets sooo crazy about it so instead he scoops you up and plops you on the bed with grace and shows you exactly how crazy it drives him. asks you exactly what you need and doesn’t give it to you until you say it

[acerobot]

How to deal with a terrible breakup? Easy! You don't. Everything is okay in the fantasy sitcom suburb land where you control everything ever.

Silly goofy au hours. More crack than serious, but I enjoy it. I worry the three(3) episodes of Wandavision I watched and a Don't Worry Darling plot synopsis changed my neuron pathing for the worst.

[leighsartworks216]

Imagine Zayne and Sylus getting into a heated makeout session and Zayne pushing the stuff off his desk like he does in Absolute Zeal. Pushing Sylus to sit on the edge of it, pressed between his legs and even god holding the back of Sylus's thigh to press it up to his chest so he can grind against him better

And imagine Sylus carrying Zayne over to the bed like he does in Night of Secrecy, caging him in and kissing down his neck. Those quiet reassurances of consent as he asks if he really wants this

[oleafia-art]

some golden guards + caleb

i wanted to take a break and do some character design of a few golden guards based off of some of the ones seen briefly in canon. i also drew hunter and caleb as references for faces and stuff. i tried to make them as similar as possible, but also looking very individual to one another. since belos claimed that hunter looks the most like caleb, i tried to stay true to that while keeping the other three looking similar but not quite as identical. anyways i love them <3 they’re like the most mentally ill family ever to me

these weren’t supposed to be real ocs or anything but then i ended up giving them names and backstories and so i wrote a little about them aaaand now im obsessed. i will try to make a full body ref for them, especially alistair and/or constance, if i have time

i apologize for my godawful handwriting 💔