#tw mind manipulation

[serashalala]

Generation Loss's Mind Manipulation; A theory by a tired college student

OK. GENERATION LOSS. That was a ride and it’s not even done!

Fuckin loved it, by the way. It was so good. I loved everyone's acting and Sneeg's realization part gave me literal fucking chills as well as Slime screaming and Austin freaking out while Ranboo n Sneeg were just chill.

FUCK that was cool. Thank you @ranboolivesaysstuff for sharing this with us.

Anyway, here’s a nerd dump on the entire mind control thing. I’m not exactly a genius but I’m studying neurosci as one of my college units and this is basically the gist of how I understand the mind control aspect that this is showing.

SO. 

You recognize this? This is the device that we think is controlling Ranboo’s mind. It’s at the back part of the brain, and easily this leads to two possible structures that it can influence: the occipital lobe of the cerebrum and the cerebellum. However, we don’t really know HOW deep this device goes considering Ranboo’s lucious locks of hair covering the rest of the mask and the fact that we don’t know if this is the only thing penetrating the brain.

Anyway, let’s discuss what we know which is that it’s likely latched onto the back part and thus likely embedded onto the cerebral occipital lobe and/or the cerebellum

The occipital lobe is at the back part of the head, and as you see on the picture below, it’s the visual area (mostly).

To make me sound more professional and shit let me introduce to you the brodmann areas. Brodmann areas divide the cerebrum by its function.

Area 17, 18, and 19.

Area 17 is the primary visual area. This is where you see shit. If the device’s influence is only as deep as area 17 then Ranboo is either literally blinded by the device OR the device intercepts what his eyes are really seeing. Damage to this area will lead to literal blindness or difficulty to see.

Area 18 and 19 however are the secondary visual area, otherwise known as the visual association area. This is where you recognize the things that you see. Damage to this leads to dyschromatopsia (color blindness), and visual agnosia (inability to perceive visual stimuli.). 

Basically to explain, as an example you see an apple. That’s the job of area 17. However, you don’t really know yet that it’s an apple. To know that an apple is an apple, you tap into area 18 and 19– the visual association area.

The device LIKELY reaches into this area because the entire time, Ranboo doesn’t recognize that he’s on a show set and he doesn’t see the people on the set like the directors and the staff. What he does see is a 4th wall.

Upon deactivation of the device, only then does he recognize that oh shit, that isn’t a wall. 

Does it stop there? Ok, why not go deeper?

Next to Area 19 is area 37. This is the Facial Recognition area. It's self explanatory if Ranboo's mind control device goes that deep.

How about Area 39 and 7? They're both Someasthetic areas. 39 and 40 specifically have a lot to do with memory, emotion, behavior, sex. rage, fear, and pain.

Area 7 integrates sensory inputs-- it draws upon stored memories of past sensory experiences. This area aint that deep tho ngl, it's basically the part that goes: yo, this fire thing burns you, maybe don't touch it. This can be as deep as you want to interpret it being.

Edit: I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THIS. Ranboo's stream confirms it SCREAMING RIGHT NOW. THEY SAID. "Change someone's perception of reality, and they will act how you want." SCREAMING CRYING WAILING SOBBING. I KNEW IT. The next parts of the theory will be further discussing the things that MAY still apply, alongside the things that Ranboo almost confirmed.

Next suspected area:

The cerebellum. 

The cerebellum is mostly responsible for a lot of important things (as are the rest of the brain but let me get into it)

The cerebellum has 3 main functions: maintenance of posture and balance; maintenance of muscle tone; and coordination of voluntary motor activity. 

You see where I’m going for here?

The cerebellum is a likely attachment site of the device because it is gunning for that motor activity and posture and balance. It controls the agonist and antagonist coordination of the muscles to make sure that there’s no jerky movements going on. As for posture and balance, it can affect your movements so that you don’t look robotic, and so that you don’t have to voluntarily maintain your posture. Maintenance of muscle tone has the same idea.

It is also the best bet because it has its lapses.

While it controls a lot of motor function, it isn’t the only site of motor control in the body. There’s other areas, like the Basal Nuclei, the motor area of the cerebrum (brodmann area 4 and 6) and the spinalcord (though this is more on reactionary shit).

It makes the device fallible where the fine motor movements (such as in the fingertips, where the cerebellum controls less of) is less prone to influence by the device, leading to this nifty clip right here:

And this here too:

They're able to do morse code with his hands, the fingers.

And, chances are, the reason they have a mask in the first place is because it’s significantly more difficult to reach the area that controls the facial expressions since that is a direct connection from the brain to the face via the Facial Nerve that stems anteriorly to from the brainstem. It’d be hard to reach from behind especially. (unless the device yanknow, snuck around the spine or something idk)

So if the connection is posterior, they’d have difficulty reaching that (to a safe extent, at least. We have no idea how deep it goes.

Then again, we don’t know the function of the rest of the mask.

Now for some close competitors of where the mind control device is attached/penetrating!

"But sera, what if it influences at a lower level than the occipital lobe or the cerebellum?"

Cervical spine C1 Level

Difficult to defend. That leaves the problem of Ranboo's speech control. The lower the level the less things it's able to influence. At C1 level, a person's speech, which is something Ranboo's clearly being influenced over, can't be damaged from this level.

"How are we so sure that it's at the back??"

Because it's the clearest shot we've got with that weird circle thing.

Frontal Lobe

This one is a good contender. The Frontal Lobe has the Decision and / or Judgement Center of the brain (area 10, more to be mentioned about this later), as well as the motor areas (areas 4 and 6), and twisting that could lead to being able to change what a person does when faced with a stimuli as well as a bigger portion of voluntary movement.

However, this one is difficult to visually justify.

While it's true that we can't see much behind the mask, we also can't see it penetrate towards the frontal lobe. Let's say it penetrates through the mouth somehow-- how is Ranboo's diction so clear?

But the reason why it's a very good contender is that it could possibly go through the nose. Did you know that the cribriform plate, the part of the skull where the olfactory nerve goes through, is the easiest to break? and thus it's also the easiest to penetrate?

Issue with that though is that Ranboo has a working sense of smell. The Olfactory nerve (smelling nerve) is easy to disturb.

Anything deeper? More anterior?

Any deeper structures are likely too unimportant-- the diencephalon, pons are all mostly on the hormonal / nonvoluntary actions (breathing, sweat, thirst, hunger, etc). Those aren't too fun to control especially when what you want is a puppet.

The most likely candidate is the basal nuclei, which has a lot to do with movement. However it's mostly useless when you target it because it's goal is to make sure that when you want to raise a glass, you don't yeet it to the sky. It makes sure that you have the right amount of output to the muscle without overcompensating.

So what does the device control?

Both.

Well, not both. All-- err, mostly. Ding ding ding! They're all winners.

Only at its best, though, which was during Episode 1 (when undisturbed)-- NOT episode 2.

At its best, the mask is able to take full function of the brain-- most strongly at where it's sourced, though, which is at the posterior regions. Weaker control is evident when you see the finger taps that Ranboo is still able to do. Think of it as some sort of energy gradient-- most concentrated at the back of the head, and weakest at the front.

At its blinking state, influenced by the outsider, Ranboo regains Control of most of the more anterior parts of the brain, but you'd notice it's still blinking-- it never really fully released Ranboo. Its still got a strong influence at the back portion of the brain.

It takes a lot to rip away its influence from Ranboo, as you can see from what the weird shadowy figure from the TV says in the end where he had to do something to disable it fully before Ranboo breaks the fourth wall.

How do we know that? Let's go back to the clip where Ranboo FULLY 'wakes up':

It took some effort by the hacker to fully release Ranboo, but until that point Ranboo hadn't even seen the 4th wall despite being able to gain autonomy of most their function.

Then let's go back to the part where, when Ranboo's device was 'reset':

You notice how the showbizz person isn't someone they interact with? They don't SEE these people. The device is still on, because it's intercepting with Ranboo's perception.

Let's go back to the announcements then.

We don't get to choose a lot this episode, instead we're subjected to puzzles that have more to do with everyone else BUT Ranboo.

I present to you, Brodmann Area 10

This is the largest area in the frontal lobe, and is incharge of decision making (among other things). We, the audience, can't make decisions as flexibly anymore because they needed a stricter control of the device.

The hacker is able to intercept that flexibility and thus the showfall media reduced the extent of which we're able to control ranboo, taking all that control for themselves. It isn't interactive anymore.

Literally being gatekeeped from the audience, smh.

Now what?

A summary of course.

I suspect that when the lights are on (in the mask), it has a stronger pulse and thus influences a larger chunk of his head, ABLE (but not necessarily) to reach the frontal lobe.

It blinks, then it indicates that its pulse is weaker, but still present (the cerebellum is slightly further to reach than the occipital lobe) which is why his sight might still be influenced.

And lights being gone? That's Ranboo's full autonomy baybee. They're back in business!

As for the others' mind manipulation system, I'm not quite sure yet. Probably could reduce it to having already been subjected to being conditioned, not like our 'fresh' protagonist. I'll probably add onto this when something clicks in the future.

This ended up a lot longer than intended...

Anyway, that’s just a theory, a tired-college-student-from-an-allied-health-course theory. Thanks for reading.

[atlas-likes-writing]

June of Doom Day Two - Double-crossed/Forced to Watch

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Characters: Veritas Ratio, Aventurine, Sunday

Ship: Golden Ratio (Aventurine/Dr. Ratio)

Summary: An AU where Sunday knows about the three Cornerstones during the confrontation between himself, Aventurine, and Dr. Ratio. Chaos, whump, and angst ensue.

Word count: 3,364

Tags: Whump, angst, graphic depictions of violence, torture, mind control, mind manipulation, illusions of pain but it isn't technically real, manipulation.

Author's Note: I don't know how I vomited up over 3000 words for this, but here I am. I hope you enjoy! As always, please comment and reblog as it helps me out a bunch (and gives me a much needed serotonin boost). This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes/goofy pacing.

@juneofdoom

Masterlist | Day One | Day Three

Two men stand side by side in front of huge oak double-doors, both in elaborate clothing; one in green, black, and white, and the other in blue, white, and gold. They are presumed to hate each other. They do not. Far from it, actually. They have found a special kind of companionship during their short period of knowing each other. Who would’ve thought a Stoneheart of the Interastral Peace Corporation and a professor of the Intelligentsia Guild could get along? Especially with temperaments as different as theirs. Aventurine: a “crazed gambler” as the other likes to put it. A man of extraordinary levels of luck and the tendency to value petty bets over his own life. Veritas Ratio: a “stuffy doctor” as the other likes to playfully tease, much to his dismay. A professor of profound intelligence, continually disappointed by the divine entity that refuses to cast THEIR gaze in his direction standing next to the man cursed to withstand the favour of another. Both are pitied. Both are revered. Both are about to stab the head of the Oak Family in the back.  

“Sunday is just beyond this door. Are you ready?” the doctor asks, his head turned towards the shorter man beside him. 

Aventurine’s eyes remain trained on the door in front of him. “Yep. You?” 

“Tell me your plan.” 

“I’ll play it by ear.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“When am I not?” 

“Is that a serious question?” 

“It was a rhetorical question, Doctor.” 

“Mine was nothing of the sort, Gambler. Are you telling me you do not have a plan for facing Sunday?” 

“Three chips will do.” 

After that short bicker, Aventurine winks at the man and steps forward to push open the door. It takes everything in Ratio to not sigh and roll his eyes. Doing so would only encourage the man in front of him further, so he instead schools his expression to one of his usual neutrality and calmly strolls into the room behind his companion. Inside sits Sunday, who raises from his seat on the opposite side of the huge circular table and welcomes the two men with a gesture of his hand. 

“It seems my puzzles are too effortless for you, IPC ambassador,” he begins. 

“I see you put a lot of effort into welcoming me, Mr. Sunday. However, this is no way to greet a guest,” Aventurine replies coolly, crossing his arms. 

Sunday smiles, teeth glinting in the light above him. “Well, this isn’t an invitation, but a summoning. Before we speak, I need to test your character. You understand, yes?” He gestures to Ratio, whose expression remains unmoving. “I imagine this knowledgeable doctor friend of yours has been of great help, hm?” 

Aventurine’s faux smile matches the man in front of him. “Certainly. You ought to know this better than I do – he has already faithfully fulfilled his duties, hasn’t he?” 

“Yes. The doctor has assured me of your noble character. He considers you, like himself, a virtuous person who can be trusted by The Family.” Ratio is getting a little sick of being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He doesn’t let that show on his face, of course, but he can’t help but feel a little irked. 

“You don’t look too well,” the ambassador suddenly states bluntly. “Am I making you anxious? If not, then it means I’m on your side.” 

“You’re a wise man, Aventurine.” The Halovian places his hands behind his back – the image of grace. “My only concern is that you’ve used your wisdom at the wrong time to meet the wrong person and put yourself in a situation where you shouldn’t be.” His sister’s death. “If I wasn’t mistaken, you have just made a serious accusation against The Family.” 

“You are not mistaken. Depravity is creeping in around you, Mr. Sunday.” This is certainly not how Ratio would go about this. This is creeping into increasingly dangerous territory. “There’s no need to be evasive. Let’s talk about your sister, shall we? Many suspect her death to be the work of outsiders, but I know you are of a different opinion.” 

Ratio can’t tell for sure at this distance, but he could have sworn that Sunday’s posture tenses. 

“Now, your noble status has become a shackle, preventing you from apprehending the murderer and avenging your sister’s death. You’re feeling anxious because you’re out on a limb. But don’t worry. I am on your side.” 

Despite the tightness of his shoulders, Sunday’s voice betrays no such tenseness. “I’m immensely honoured by your concern for me, Mr. Aventurine – since you’re so selfless and generous, I believe you wouldn’t ask for anything in return, would you?” 

“Naturally, you wouldn’t incur any loss from this. I simply want to reclaim what is mine: my liberty, and my personal items under the Family’s custody – the bag of gift money, and-” 

“The Cornerstone and the box that it inhabits.” 

“That’s right.” 

“A treasured asset of the Strategic Investment Department, a sacred stone that seals the Emanator of Preservation, granting significant power to each of the Ten Stoneheart's, yes?” 

“You would be correct.” Where is this going? This is like an elaborate chess game, two players taking the other’s pieces for their own gain. For all his intelligence, Ratio can’t figure out who has the most pawns at their disposal. He knows he is one of them, but his move has already been made. 

“For an object so precious, it probably comes at an even higher price than other forms of recompense.” 

Aventurine frowns – a performed frown – but a frown nonetheless. “I’m sure you’re aware of the high level of risk I’ll be undertaking to bring the truth to light-” 

“Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday starts, raising a hand to silence him. “When you’re out and about, do you always make adjustments to your appearance? Your tie should be on the centre line, your shirt must not protrude from your vest, your trouser creases should be perfectly straight, and always aligned with the tips of your shoes.” 

The blonde nods. “Of course.” 

“I don’t, because it is not appropriate to do so in the company of others – you should make sure you are presentable and in order before leaving the house. Unlike you, I’m not the kind that takes risks. The Cornerstone must remain in the custody of The Family.”  

Looks like the first piece has been taken. Aventurine sighs. “...No room for negotiation?” At this, Ratio moves from where he stands next to the IPC ambassador to the bookshelf closer to Sunday. Ratio must admit that he is a pawn to both players. He doesn’t like it, but it’s a necessary evil. This room is a giant chess board, and he just took his turn. 

Sunday shakes his head. “Please don’t let me turn you down twice.”  

“...Fine. The gift money is fine. I suppose you wouldn’t mind that, yes? After all, a businessman can’t function without a bargaining chip.” To that, Sunday lets himself raise an eyebrow. 

“You compromised quicker than I thought you would,” he notes. “Unfortunately for you, it is a gambler that needs a bargaining chip, not a businessman. I have no qualms in giving you your gift money, but before that, I need you to tell me-” 

Suddenly, Aventurine gasps and takes a step back. His eyes glaze over, and he looks at the Halovian in confusion. It’s a look that appears real. Sunday’s halo glows a myriad of psychedelic pinks and blues and yellows and greens. Ratio must turn away to prevent his distaste from becoming apparent. Sunday is using the power of the Harmony.  

“What exactly is in the box that you have decidedly forsaken?”  

Sunday raises his arms reverently and looks to the ceiling. “Oh Triple-Faced Soul, please sear his tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.” 

“...What is this?” Aventurine shoots a glance towards Ratio, but sees his head turned. 

“Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I’ll ask you questions on THEIR behalf. You have two minutes to prove your innocence and gain my trust.” 

“...And if I refuse to answer?” 

“You can certainly try – at your own risk, of course.” Sunday grins. “We’ll see if the Harmony rejects you.” At Aventurine’s decided silence, the sky-haired man begins his interrogation. Ratio turns his head back to the two men. Despite his disgust, he cannot help but be a curious man, so he watches. 

“Question: Do you own a Cornerstone?” he asks. 

“Yes.” The answer is immediate, almost as if it escaped Aventurine’s mouth before he had the chance to think about it. Not good. 

“What a simple answer,” Sunday states, nodding in faux approval. “You, too, understand that nonsense leads only to your expense. Let us continue.” 

“Did you hand over the Cornerstone to The Family when you entered Penacony?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does the Cornerstone you handed over to The Family belong to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is your Cornerstone in this room right now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you an Avgin from Sigonia?” 

What has that got to do with the current circumstances? 

Aventurine falters slightly at the question, clearly taken off guard. “Yes. Why do you know that?” 

Sunday ignores his question. “Do the Avgins have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one’s own or another’s mind?”  

“What?” he barks out a laugh at the apparently ludicrous question. The action makes Sunday’s halo brighten and Aventurine winces before answering properly. “No. Does it matter?” 

“Do you love your family more than yourself?” Sunday asks, tilting his head to the side. These questions are getting weirdly personal. Ratio crosses his arms. 

“Yes.” An immediate answer. 

“All of the Avgins were killed in a massacre. Am I correct?” 

“No.” 

“Are you your clan’s sole survivor?” 

Aventurine hesitates. “...Probably.” 

“Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?” 

A second hesitation. “No.” 

“Alright. Final question: Can you swear at this very moment, the Aventurine Cornerstone is safe and sound in this box?” 

A third. “Obviously.” 

Sunday nods. “Very well. I have no further questions.” 

Ratio gives out a silent sigh of relief. Sunday moves around the table and strolls towards Aventurine, his halo is so bright that even Ratio can feel it. The atmosphere of the room is suffocating in the will of the Harmony. The high-inducing rainbow of colours escaping from behind the head of Sunday is becoming overbearing for the doctor, let alone for Aventurine. He can’t help but feel pity for the Sigonian.  

Sunday halts a few steps away from the Stoneheart. He taps his finger against his chin as if pondering something. “You know, if there could only be one thing I detest in this vast Universe: it would be dishonesty, Mr. Aventurine.” 

Wait, what? That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Ratio can’t stop himself from shooting a glance towards Sunday from where he stands behind him. 

“I- I beg your pardon?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You have been lying through your teeth ever since you stepped onto this planet.” 

“Well- yeah. I haven’t exactly tried to hide that. Isn’t that what your mind-fuckery is all about? To get me to tell the truth? Or are you just trying to show off?” he asks, subtly glancing at Ratio. “Or does your ‘power of the Harmony’ not work?” 

“I can assure you, the Harmony influences all. However, I will admit that I have hidden something from you, Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday replies, his wings pitching downwards a little. 

“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” the gambler retorts, evidently filling his words with as much sarcasm as he can muster. His knees buckle slightly, clearly struggling under the weight of the Emanator’s gaze. Ratio can’t look away. 

“While my powers of persuasion have every capability of forcing the truth out of your lips, I decided to do a little experiment to see if you’re capable of honesty of your own volition,” the angelic man says. “You apparently are not. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Aventurine stays silent. 

“I’m saying that I know that you’re lying to me.” 

Throughout this entire negotiation, this is the first time Veritas has felt fearful. The room becomes even more suffocating, if that’s even possible. He forces his own face to remain neutral. He plays the role of traitor in this grand play, after all. He must see it through for his companion’s sake. 

From where he stands, he can see Sunday’s shoulders shake. He’s laughing. He’s enjoying this. 

“I know about the Topaz Cornerstone. I know about the Aventurine Cornerstone. And, as similar as it is to your own, I know about Jade Cornerstone.” 

Oh. Shit. 

“How you managed to sway not one- but two individuals from a group as discordant as the Ten Stoneheart's to go along with your terrible plan is beyond me.” Sunday barks a loud laugh. “Truly, you are too much of a risk-taker, Mr. Aventurine. Now-” the man lifts an arm out in front of him, as if reaching for Aventurine from a distance. Ratio can’t stop himself from taking a step forward. He can’t let the man he cares for break in front of him. 

“Kneel.” 

His knees hit the floor, the full force of the Harmony crashing down on him. The scolding feeling of something forcing itself into his brain causes him to squeeze his eyes shut. He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s as if his throat has closed. Useless and silent. 

“What on earth are you doing?” The other man looks on, frozen. 

“You are not the only liar in this room, Aventurine.” He turns. “Come here.” 

He leans forward from where he kneels and falls onto his hands and knees. He crawls over to the Halovian, stopping only when his head almost hits Sunday’s thigh. He falls back onto his calves, looking up at him in pure disgust. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” His face is forced into neutrality against his will. “Let’s play a game, Aventurine. Tell me what your plan is and what Ratio has to do with it, and I’ll let him live.” 

From where he kneels, Ratio turns his head to gaze at Aventurine, unable to look at him in any way except for indifference. He’s fucking terrified, but he can’t make that obvious no matter how much he wants to. 

“Can’t you just force the truth out of me? Why not do that instead?” he asks, looking at his companion on the floor with an expression Ratio wishes he could mirror – fear. 

“That’s boring,” Sunday replies simply. His calm demeanour is steadfast but with a smile that is growing wider with every passing second. “I find this maintains much more efficiency.” 

Aventurine scoffs, still attempting to keep his act. “What does killing an Intelligentsia Guild member do for you that maintains efficiency? You’re mad.” 

“It maintains efficiency because you care about him, Mr. Aventurine. I see all in the Dreamscape. I see the looks shared between the two of you. The companionship you fostered in the short time of knowing each other. You may think you’re able to disguise your relationship with insults and petty arguments, but you cannot. It is frightfully obvious. Besides, you’re more likely to answer truthfully if the life of someone you care about is at stake.” 

“This is pathetic! He has done nothing to you.” It’s obvious that Aventurine is grasping at straws here. 

“You’re right. He has done nothing to me. He has lied and told falsehoods but only because you told him to. I have no reason to do this,” Sunday shrugs, his grin becoming a little too wide. 

There is an oppressive silence that follows. One that draws the line between predator and prey; master and slave; the controller and the controlled.  

“I’m doing this because I hate you, Mr. Aventurine. And you love him.” 

With that, an excruciating pain sets Ratio’s nerves alight. It rips through his mind and tears into his heart and lungs and stomach and extremities. His back hits the floor and he spasms where he lies, agony devouring his senses. 

Veritas Ratio screams. 

He is not a man that screams. Not usually. At pain he normally gives a small grunt and gives a debilitating glare to whomever or whatever caused him harm. Anything more would infer a weakness he doesn’t have. Not here. Here, his voice is guttural and raw and pitched and agonising. It echoes around the room and rises above the Choir of the Harmony that deafens everything else. His eyes snap shut so tightly that he sees stars dotting around in the darkness of the underside of his eyelids. 

“Open your eyes,” several cacophonous voices demand. 

He does, his eyelids shooting open through a compulsion that makes him sick. The psychedelic neon colours of the Harmony streak across his vision and blind him. He continues to convulse on the floor. The pain causes him to double over as stinging tears rip themselves from his eyes and smudge the red under his eyes. 

“Look at him.” 

His head snaps up and his eyes meet Aventurine’s. He’s frozen in place and looking at him in pure horror. Undoubtedly, he has been compelled to stay where he is, made obvious by how much his legs shake and his fingers twitch in futile attempts to reach Ratio. The doctor’s breaths come out in short wheezes, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as panic sets in his bones. While he is not a man to scream, he is also not a man to panic – it is a brief episode of intense anxiety that the brain concocts and transforms into a physical response. Ratio is a man of knowledge and has ways of stopping panic in its tracks before it takes root. In this case, however, knowledge is stripped of him and thrown out of the window. In a small corner of his mind, Ratio knows that this onset of fear and panic is caused by the effects of the Harmony. It is superficial. It is not real.  

But Aeons above – it fucking feels real. 

It carries on for what feels like hours. For all Ratio knows it could have been. If he was more cognizant, he would wonder what Sunday’s goal in this endeavour is. Is it to drive Aventurine into telling the truth? To prove a point? The answer to that is between Sunday and his Aeon. 

He’s sure he blacks out every now and again, the pain writhing across his spine easily becoming too much for his body. He faintly hears the calm voice of the Halovian above him standing resolute as he speaks to Aventurine. He can’t make out coherent words, but by what he can tell from the Stoneheart’s expressions it’s nothing good. He should have been sent to the waking world by now, right? That’s what everyone in The Family says happens. If you want to leave the Dreamscape, you can. You can wake up in your designated Dreampool whenever you want without hindrance. Or is Sunday stopping that as well? He doesn’t know if that’s even possible.  

It’s only when he is once again on the edge of falling out of consciousness that the power of the Harmony lifts from his trembling and fragile body. It isn’t slow like he expected it to be – but rapid. It is immediate and the loss of such a suffocating presence is almost as painful as it was before. He quickly feels arms wrap around him from where he lies limp on the floor, the familiar fluff of the collar of Aventurine’s coat warming his cheek.  

“I’m sorry, Veritas,” he whispers in his ear. “I should never have let this happen to you.” 

Faintly, the doctor hears the wooden door of Sunday’s office click shut. It’s then when he realises, he has been picked up and brought out of his room. Through pained eyes, he gazes at Aventurine. He then lifts a heavy arm to cup the man’s cheek, before slipping into unconsciousness for the final time. 

[moondragon618]

I really haven't talked abt Divine c!Prime at all lmao

Anyway while I played around with the idea of c!Dream being able to hear c!Tommy's thoughts and sense his emotions in that thing I wrote, that doesn't really even scratch the surface of the absolute horror that is Literally a God c!Dream.

He could instantly erase c!Tommy's free will entirely with just a single thought, but He chooses not to because where's the fun in that? Would he even still be His Tommy, then? :)

And not only is He able to sense Tommy's emotions, but He can also fully control them whenever He wants, elevating them to the point where Tommy is pleading for Him to stop or suppressing them entirely until he feels completely numb and empty.

He can also make Tommy feel His emotions if He wants, sometimes to comfort him (because what better way is there to show Tommy how much He cares?) and sometimes to torment him by letting him feel exactly how much fun He's having while putting him through agonizing pain :)

He can hear Tommy's thoughts and can communicate with him telepathically. He could take control of his body or even just completely mind control him (but it's less fun if he's not aware). He can alter Tommy's body at will, like when He made him into an angel. He can control dreams. He could kill Tommy in an instant without even touching him but He prefers to do it the old fashioned way (with his axe) because that's more fun :)

Like He can just literally do anything it's horrifying.

And a little bit about c!Tommy as well:

His halo is basically like a little piece of his limbo, hence why it's void black and feels like nothing when you touch it. And yes it is somewhat of a physical object as well as a part of Tommy's body- he can even feel when someone touches it. He hates it though because it's weird as hell to be able to feel something that's completely detached from his body lol.

You also could try to grab it and pull on it but that would just cause it to shatter, which is extremely painful for Tommy. It regenerates after a bit but until then it remains as a ring of shards in a sort of immaterial state.

He recites his prayer to Dream to himself as a way to calm down because after being conditioned to do it for so long, he associates it with mercy and being comforted :)

And he's always struggled with feeling more like an extension of Dream than his own separate person ever since they became immortal, but after the mental and emotional horror that Dream is able to inflict upon him after attaining godhood, it gets like a million times worse to the point where he can barely tell where the line between Dream and himself even is anymore :)

[the-one-who-killed-the-radio]

“Hrm- Mr. Vox? If they’re gettin at what I think- have ya messed with Roxxy..? Ha- have you fucked with my head that I ain’t know about?”

@a-hazbin-spider (?)

"...Your head? No. You're not mine-- Don't think Val would appreciate me doing something like that without his order or permission...as far as far as Roxenne is concerned... Consider it me doing her a fucking favor-- She was a mess-- literally-- most sudden trauma deaths are."

He says that...but it's not like there's no ulterior motives there...

He has his personal reasons...but also--

He's gotta keep a level of control over the souls he owns.

[eilidh-eternal]

John gets your mail by mistake.

You forgot to change your address when you moved flats. He didn’t think people still sent letters—a nasty letter from an ex, no less, complete with illicit photos of yourself in compromising positions, and threats to spread them if you don’t come back to him. John does the proper thing and takes the rest of the misplaced post down to the landlord to forward on to your new address (and nicks that little tidbit for himself, along with the mention of how sweet you were; “good little tenant, too; was always fixing things so I didn’t have to. Really loved that flat of hers.”).

The letters aren’t doing the job so your ex starts calling you at work, resulting in your termination. Your friends encourage you to go back to bartending (“you used to love it!” “You’ve still got the looks for it!” “All you have to do is look pretty and make drinks—how hard can it be?”) and you do, begrudgingly. It’s not terrible, though. You settle back into the late nights and inconsistent schedule well enough.

There’s one regular—a little older; a little more… attentive—that’s branded his name into the cracked faux-leather barstool near the till during your shifts. Who always has a kind smile and no shortage of conversation for you between the leering gazes and filthy comments the boys from Uni toss over the bar in hopes of reeling you across the street and into their beds. You’ve taken to spending your breaks with him; tucked into the corner booth on slower nights, and leant up against the paint-plastered brick in the alley out back when the air is too hot and thick, bar packed with jerseys and jocks. He smokes, occasionally. Covers the stench of rubbish and piss with the whisper of tobacco and vanilla that clings to him, warm and sweet.

He’s there when your ex eventually finds out what bar you’re working at. See’s the way you lock up, hand gripping the tumbler full of scotch you’ve poured him hard enough to crack. He’s there when your manager can’t—won’t—send you home, leaving nothing between yourself and the embodiment of your fears but the chipping lacquer of the well-worn bartop.

He isn’t, however, there for your break. You don’t sit with him or abscond to the alley, hiding out instead in the kitchens. But if anyone minded the grainy feed on the back door camera in the office, they’d see him there, adding a fresh smattering of red to the graffitied walls.

He is there when you return—all night. Doesn’t leave his post at the bar, watching how you tremble through the remainder of your shift, getting orders wrong and dropping glassware. He’s there until close, waiting outside for you to lock up, and draping the leather bomber that smells like tobacco and vanilla over your shoulders as he guides you to his car.

He’s taking you home. Not to that shifty little place you let month-to-month; home. To the flat where creased, sticky photos of you, handcuffed to the bed his now sits in place of, are tucked away in his nightstand.

[starsub]

imagine someone making you so fucking confused… even when inside you know you’re right and they just say “no baby, it’s okay to be confused you don’t need to think about that, you’re too small to understand..” 🥺🥺 then carry on gaslighting you like it’s nothing

i need

[diejager]

[a portal opens and i crash onto the floor, looking nauseous. i get up and weakly raise my hand:]

requesting.. your… makarov headcanons… pleaseee- AaHHHH-

[another portal opens and i fall into it, disappearing]

Vladimir Makarov headcanons

Pairing: Vladimir Makarov x reader

Cw: manipulation, kidnapping, obsession, DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, mind break, physical abuse, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 854

As I’ve said previously, I doubt that Makarov knows how to love. He can’t love because it isn’t necessary for his cause, to provide him with something useful in his steps towards his purpose. He does not need something useless —something that’s lost its use over the years, that’s why he sees no problem with disposing of his helpers after they failed or disappointed him. 

If he has no use for something, he lets them go. If you plead your case enough and prove to him that you still have some usefulness in you, he’ll keep you for the time being. He has many enemies, much more than allies —those he considers allies. 

He, however, is still a man under his acts of terrorism and infamous image. Makarov might be busy, but he still has time for his needs, especially after spending four years in prison. He, however, has expectations, he likes challenges as much as he likes winning, and he wants something he can control, manipulate and order around. Makarov wants something easy enough to influence and exploit, and who better than a soldier stolen from his enemies —you.

He takes per quality. He prefers quality over quantity for the things he keeps close, for simple soldiers he employs for Konni, it’s all about quantity, a number high enough to overwhelm the people, but qualified enough to work. You’re the only thing that isn’t from the old Soviet Union in his organisation, little you who came from outside his precious Motherland. 

You’re feisty, you bite back like a feral dog he picked up from the streets, unruly yet smart. You see through some of his tactics, but miss others, falling straight at it and ending up skimming under his boot, wounded and yelping. 

He likes hearing you yip and bark, snide remarks turned to tearful mewls. He doesn’t harm you, he leaves that to his men until he comes to stop them, posing as your saviour. He specialises in psychological warfare as well as guerilla warfare done on a grander scale, breaking down the morals of his enemies and causing a break in their mental fortitude with his cruel and sudden attacks with little to no care about citizen casualties. The more chaos he causes, the better.

You power through his manipulation and control of the scenario for a while, seeing through his saviour charade and hissing at him, backing away from his touch. He likes that fight in you, mind overheating like the engines of old cars, working to find the gaps in his plans, the small mistakes you could use against him. But he had none, he accounted for everything to keep you.

Makarov won’t force himself on you, he’s subtle, making you ask for it, making you think it was your idea. It might take a month or two, but he’s a patient man, waiting for your mind to confuse reality and delusions, push you to think that he truly cared for you. Look at what he did for you, he took you away from death, the danger of fighting on the front lines and the danger of men and women who might want to take advantage of you. 

He’s your saviour. He gave you a house to live comfortably, a big bed where he could hold you after being cornered by his men, he handles you so gently and he cares for you. Where are the friends and family you spoke so fondly about? He’ll berate it into your mind that they never came, they thought that you were dead and never searched for your body. You were forgotten, a buried memory that he replaced with another so quickly that it insulted him. 

What he doesn’t tell you is that he faked the body, planted your dog tags on the unidentifiable body and left it for them to find. That didn’t stop them, they were determined to get you back, but he thwarted them at every step, stopping them from finding you and taking his new obsession away from him. He’s a possessive man, he takes care of what he calls his as long as they’re useful. 

And when you let Makarov in, it’s the best moment in years, everything he put into you, the time, the effort and the scheming, finally came to fruition. You’re teetering on the edge of oblivion and subservience, you’d forgotten the world outside of your relationship with him, content with being under his warm body, leaving yourself to his pleasure.

Give it a year and he’d have you eating out of his hand, becoming an asset he could trust to send out and come back home bruised and bloodied, hair matted and bags under your eyes from exhaustion, but you’d be successful, holding the head of your target in hand as proof of your success. 

You were more than just an object of pleasure and assassination, you were his doll, a puppet on strings that he controls. He dictates every step, he chooses every decision and he makes every plan. You are his to control and to own until you lose your functionality. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders

[guardian-angle22]

911: Lone Star | TK Strand & Carlos Reyes in S4E12

[tokintormin]

tw for mind control

[illyabata]

why do i get attracted to fictional men i know would manipulate me and why am i okay with it🧚‍♀️this post is about sunday from honkai star rail

like imagine him telling you you have to stay with him because the strong (powerful?) protect the weak or whatever he says with his philosophy. like it sounds chivalric and stuff but also we all know hes kind of a lunatic and whatnot, so he’d use it solely to convince you that you need him, you weak little thing—you would not survive if he didn’t keep you safe.

you’re just like the little baby charmony dove he and his sister nurtured in their youth: a precious, vulnerable thing without the ability to fly.

sunday had seen that baby bird try with all its scarce might to learn. he had then seen it plummet to its death. he had picked it up, had watched it writhe pitifully in his palms before it breathed its last breath; if only he had kept it safe and sound. if only he hadn’t let it try what he knew it could not do.

that baby bird was never meant to fly. and neither are you, darling.

but like omgggg giggling and kicking my feet. scary powerful morally questionable man who provides protection 😍 😍😍😍😍 he can lock me up idc i love him

[lilacpaperbird]

dean; one night in the late 90s, in the middle of nowhere, america.

"shhhh go back to sleep sammy"

"just the tip, I promise"

"don't worry baby it'll hurt only for a second"

"sammy you gotta be quiet okay?"

"it's okay I know you can take it, you can do that for me"

"c'mon baby don't cry, you know it makes me so hard"

"fuck, you look so pretty"

"everything I've done for you sammy, you owe me this"

"I won't come inside, promise"

"don't hide, I wanna see you"

"christ look at you just taking it"

"that's my boy"

"I'm sorry sammy, you feel so good I can't help it"

"fuck. look at my come dripping out of you"

"I know baby I know, you're tired. one more then you can go back to sleep, promise"

[the-one-who-killed-the-radio]

You mess with people's minds!? That's horrible! You're a horrible awful person how could you manipulate so eone like that!?

"Uhh, Yeah-- Hi? Hello? My name VOX. A Tyrannical Overlord of Hell."

"D...Do people REALLY think I never took advantage of my skill set? How the fuck do they think I got to where I am? Asking politely? "

[starsub]

i would love for someone to secretly hypnotise me, gaslight and manipulate me into thinking it’s normal to feel all fuzzy and full of cotton… that i must be not thinking right and i need help…

[doki-doki-imagines]

Dark contend ahead! TW: manipulative!reader, mindfucked!sae itoshi

Sae Itoshi poor boy that doesn't know anything outside football. Maybe if he pulled his head out of his ass sooner he would have noticed how you played with his pretty little head. But there is no way the icy prince Sae wouldn't notice something like that, such a good player must be clever too. So when you told him countless lies about people next to him "They all want your talent and fame Sae-chan~ They can't wait to stab your back, your little bro included. In this world we are the only people of value" it didn't cross his mind that you were playing with his heart and mind, using him as your fave puppet. But how could he suspect you when all he could see were exactly the scenarios you always described him? Everyone is shit, every word is poison, every person he knows want his fame and success, they are all reject. You are the only light, you are the only person he can feel at ease with, you are the only person Sae desires. And know here he is, crying and biting into his pillow because his team lost and he didn't score any goal, but worse than everything, you won't love him anymore, because it is impossible for such a divine creature to stay with a loser like him "Sae~ have you heard about this Michael? He play in Germany, journalists say that he's gonna be the best player ever!" and Sae see all the likes you give at his photos and now you even have his number! You can't leave him, you are his safe place, he MUST be the best or he won't be able to have you anymore, hold you, taste you. Sae is hallucinating, he can hear your voice, your fingers on him, your taste and it takes very little to start humping the pillow, now placed between his legs. He starts to imagine what you would say to him, in such a miserable state. Nothing, you would say nothing, just step on his chest and spit on his mouth; it would taste heavenly. Just like that Sae cum in his pants, snotty nose and eyelashes soiled with tears. Truly miserable. "Sae-chan~ you really can't do anything without me anymore mh?" He can't.

[black-aurora-nora]

Irreplaceable Pt. 2 | Yandere!Avengers x Reader

It'd been about three weeks since you'd had your life taken away from you.

You'd been living in the Avengers Tower seeing as you had no where else to go.

When you tried to call your parents the first week, Natasha was the one that decided to tell you that they'd been arrested by SHEILD for having relations with HYDRA.

You didn't believe her, but she was quick to bring you to their holding cells.

You and your parents both knew that it was the Avengers doing, but had no power or evidence to show it.

You'd wept for days after that.

Your ex-friends had really taken everything that had meaning to you.

And now, you were laying across one of the many luxury couches in one of the many common rooms of the tower.

You would much rather be in your room, but Tony made sure that Jarvis locked you out after 9 o'clock. He believed that forcing you out to hang with everyone would get you back to how you used to be. Or at least somewhere close to it.

Sooner or later, you would realize that all of this was for you.

Natasha was sat beside you, legs crossed with wireless earphones in, watching whatever on her phone.

There was always someone with you once you were forced out of your room. You barely got any time alone when you were awake.

Hell, you couldn't even get any time alone at night anymore. The anxiety from having your life taken from you made it impossible to sleep and Tony was quick to get you medicated to help out with that.

You still felt like shit either way.

Steve came strolling into the living area, bidding you both a good morning.

You gave no kind of response, staring forward at nothing in particular, wrapped up in a light blue, fleece blanket that you'd received as a gift from a friend when you'd first gotten ownership of the library.

"Hey, (Y/N), did you eat this morning?" Steve asked, at your lack of answer, he sighed exasperatingly, "Come on, (Y/N), you know that you have to eat. You'll never feel better if you just lay around all day."

Natasha began to stroke your head, trying to get you to pay attention but you quickly slapped her hand away and pushed yourself up into a sitting position.

"I'll never feel better. You guys can sit here and pretend that we're one big happy family, but I'm not playing." You started, voice shaky with anger and sadness, "You never supported me and abused your power to take away my life and made me dependent on you guys. And now you guys want me to be happy?"

Steve and Natasha only stared. Were they taking in your words? Who knows. You didn't care.

"No. I will not give you my happiness or my willing compliance. None of you deserve that part of me anymore."

"I have brought poptarts for Young (Y/N)!" Thor's boisterous voice boomed, a warm plate of freshly toastered poptarts in his hands for you both to share.

At the sullen atmosphere, Thor looked between his friends, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, Thor. (Y/N)'s just a little hangry. Thanks for bringing the poptarts." Natasha answered for you, gesturing for the god to come over, "You guys eat while Steve and I go find the guys."

You watched the two leave and pushed the plates of poptarts away from your person, leaving Thor in the dust and hiding away in the bathroom, ignoring his calls for you.

You lowered yourself to the cool tile, gripping fistfuls of your hair.

Why?

Why did this have to happen to you?

Why did they do this to you?

You wished there was some way to get out of this, but... where would you even go?

You couldn't survive homelessness in New York. And it'd be increasingly hard to find a job now that you had a criminal record due to your 'friends' planting confidential information in your library.

And even if you did land a job, it wouldn't provide you with a livable wage. You'd be barely surviving.

And could you ever really escape the Avengers?

Though the better question was, could you survive playing family with them? You doubted they would ever grow tired of you.

They really made sure that you had no other choice.

A knock on the door jolted you from your spiraling mental, "(Y/N), what did I tell you about hiding in the bathroom?!" It was Tony, the one you hated the most.

You could feel something in your mind cracking again, somehow worse than when your library was taken. Everything was really starting to close in on you.

These bastards... these bastards really wanted you to be happy for them... like some kind of fucking dog they found abandoned in the freezing cold.

Tony knocked more and you could hear Bruce telling him to ease up, "You're gonna scare them. They'll open it when they're ready."

Oh, but you'd never be ready.

The knocking stopped and you continued to stay seated on the ground, staring at the tile and hands tightly gripping your hair.

Why couldn't they have just left you alone like you'd asked?

You were left alone to your spiraling thoughts, your breathing growing more and more intense. Your heart beat through your chest, screaming and riving to be let out.

Your vision was starting to go spotty. Nothing else mattered but how angry you were. All you could see was bright red.

A scream ripped from your throat, splattering the confined walls of the bathroom and spilling out through the crevices of the closed door.

Pain began to blossom on your head, but you didn't care. You were too angry to care about physical pain.

Why and what were you being punished for?

Why had these demons, calling themselves angels, from hell do everything they could in their power to knock you down to try and piece you back together?

What gave them the right?

Now you were on the bathroom floor losing your mind when you could've been helping a young woman find a good book to check out or having a bagel from across the street while you read at the counter.

"(Y/N)! Goddamnit! (Y/N), STOP!" Bruce was on your back, desperately trying to grab your hands.

You fought against him, screaming to be left alone but he didn't. He just kept your hands away from your head and instructed you to breathe.

Once your breathing was under control, you noticed that something was in your hands and slowly glanced over, whimpering when you'd noticed what you'd done.

Thick clumps of hair were gripped tightly in both your bloodied fists. And there were plenty more strands and clumps decorating the tiled floor around you accompanied by droplets of blood.

You tried to stand up but Bruce kept you on the ground and you growled, "Get off! Let me see!" You snapped, tears welling in your eyes.

"No!" He snapped back, "It's not bad... there's no need to look."

"You're a fucking liar." You sobbed, "All of you are liars!"

Once you'd wept yourself to sleep and had been put to bed early, the team decided to have a late night meeting.

Tony took a swig of his scotch. He rubbed a hand down his face. Everyone was silent, waiting for someone to speak up.

"Ok, they're not adjusting. I admit it." Tony spoke.

"Yeah, just like I'd warned." Natasha reminded coolly.

"We should've went about this more slowly. (Y/N) could've easily been coaxed to live here." Clint added, arms crossed.

Steve shook his head, "No, they loved that library way too much... worked too hard to get it. They never would've left that library for us."

Bruce tapped a finger against the table impatiently, "We have to do something. We can't carry on like everything's normal," He had a hard frown stuck on his face, "(Y/N) is not ok. We brought them here for their own good and they seem to be doing worse than ever."

They all went silent again. What were they going to do?

Natasha's eyes sparked and she looked over at Clint with a knowing gaze, "Clint, isn't there an agent with memory-altering abilities?"

Clint visibly brightened at that, "Agent Keller."

_______________________________________________

"(Y/N), it's time to wake up. Steve is almost finished making breakfast downstairs." JARVIS spoke calmly.

With a big stretch, you yawned and rolled out of bed. A dull throb throughout your head made it's presence known and you winced slightly, making your way to the common area.

"Hey, everybody!" You called out.

"(Y/N)!" Steve greeted, "You made it just in time. I just finished the banana pancakes, you want any eggs and bacon before they get taken?" He asked.

You shrugged, nodding tiredly, "Yeah, I'll have some."

Everyone began to make their way to the table, plates stacked with food.

Tony was the last to arrive, smiling at you carefully, "How's your head feeling?"

You smiled back, a fond smile, "A little sore... but the medicine you gave me is making it manageable."

Clint nodded at that, "Yeah, having your hair ripped off by a beggar will do that." He teased.

You chuckled back, "Yeah... also... I had a crazy ass dream last night. I was a bookkeeper with a whole book store. A bookkeeper, can you guys believe that?" You ate a bite of eggs with a thoughtful gaze, "But... it was so nice."

Natasha hummed at that, her chin resting in her hand as she stared at you quizzingly, "But not as nice as being here with us, right?"

You shook your head, "No, I suppose not."

[serickswrites]

I Would Never

Warnings: gaslighting, manipulation, domestic violence

"I would never lie to you, Whumpee," Whumper said as they stood, arms crossed tightly across their chest. "You just seem to either be very forgetful or not care about what I have to say." Whumper's lip quivered at the last.

"What? No! No! Of course I care what you have to say, Whumper, I love you. I just...I just am distracted I guess. I'm sorry I accused you of lying," Whumpee added quickly.

Whumper turned away. "You're just so mean to me, Whumpee. So inconsiderate. Everything I do is for you! And you aren't even grateful."

Whumpee rushed to Whumper's side, turning Whumper to face them carefully. "Not at all! I am so grateful. I love you so much! I am so sorry. I...I won't go see Caretaker today. I can always see them another time. I know how important the movie is to you, Whumper. Let me go and get your favorite snacks. Please?"

Whumper nodded. They waited until Whumpee left the room to wipe the crocodile tears from their eyes. They smiled to themself as they realized their plan was working without any issue. Whumpee was never going to see Caretaker again. Whumpee was only going to do as they wanted. And when Whumper had finally tired of this charade, then the real pain would begin.