#psychological tactics

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I wish there was a way for people to make others aware of their causes and /or to talk about not forgetting things in the shuffle of the mainstream news cycle so on and so forth WITHOUT FUCKING GUILT TRIPPING PEOPLE. I figure that some of you all just can't help it, you're frustrated. I'm not saying that you shouldn't ask people to care, what I'm saying is that guilt tripping is a very poor strategy. I personally react with a violent pissed-off mood to it. And again, to head off further GUILT TRIPPING, yeah, I am AWARE that I have privilege and don't "deserve" to get pissed off. But that's the thing - I don't actually care that I do not "deserve" things or "shouldn't" be a way, it is how my brain reacts - instinctively, muscle-memory. It's like how my father would yell at me to do dishes as a kid, including using guilt-tripping tactics. Would take at least a day and a LOT of yelling / fighting before the damn things got done. In my adult life, I still drag ass on that particular chore, in large part because of the fights with my parents over it, but I get it done and take care of myself because of other motivations, such as "If I want to cook yummy things, I must clean." It's a psychology and tactics things. What I am begging is PLEASE, INTERNET, can you find a way to motivate people without the guilt tripping? Some of us have that immediate hackle-raise in our brains when we see it that makes want to ignore things or to immediately feel hostile for no reason.

[futurefatum]

ALERT: NATO WILL GO TO WAR WITH RUSSIA; PUTIN THREATENED (Tone: 150)

Posted September 13th, 2024 by @CanadianPrepper The video delves into alarming developments in global geopolitics, focusing on NATO’s potential direct involvement in the conflict with Russia and predictions of Vladimir Putin’s assassination. It explores how key decisions regarding military escalations, particularly the use of long-range weapons by Ukraine, have already been made behind closed…

[tmarshconnors]

[furiousgoldfish]

the society: you will feel so much better when you forgive your abuser, do it for your own sake

the abuser, on top volume: I'M NOT SORRY, it was entirely your fault, and it didn't even happen, and I'll do it again! I'm doing it again right now! I will end you if you ever even say something!!! I only regret not being worse to you because maybe then you'd LEARN TO BEHAVE!!!!!!

society: forgiveness is going to make this all okay, we don't need to address this behaviour. I know I'm right about this

society: and remember, if you don't forgive them you are just as bad as they are! ;)

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Next-to-last of our species

Based on this

“Project Cadmus’ purpose was to create an anti-Justice League of sorts,” Dr. Lilva said calmly, twisting her hair in the hand that wasn’t handcuffed to the table. “But despite Luther’s unimaginable wealth, he was cutting costs in this incredibly delicate operation. He decided that instead of one clone for each Justice League member, we’d do one for two.”

“Why?” It wasn’t like Luthor to cut costs, Batman mused. He flaunted his money as if it’d make people forget he was a supervillain. Maybe he’d spent too much on his last mech suit. He should tell Dick that. “I don’t know. But it worked in our favor. We weren’t really creating clones. We were creating embryos that had your DNA. But, as we all know, you need two sets of DNA to form a full body. So, mixing two of your DNA together would not only give the clones a stable body, but the powers or,” she motioned to him, “intelligence of the parents. Which is how we got here.”

Three scientists from the now destroyed Project Cadmus, Dr. Lilva, Sal, and Trit, had turned themselves in to the Justice League saying they were willing to share everything that had happened during Project Cadmus on the grounds that they be allowed access to job opportunities in their very narrow fields. Dr. Sal, who seemed most against turning themselves in, rolled his eyes. “It would have been fine if—“ “No it wouldn’t!” Dr. Trit glared to him. “It would have!” “No! It’d be fine if we hadn’t combined Martian Manhunter and fucking Batman! We created a Batman that can shapeshift and move things with his mind!”

Dr. Lilva sighed. “Be quiet. Our first stable clone was made of a combination of Superman and Luthors DNA. Where we made a mistake was the creation of 14; the combination of Martian Manhunter and Batman.” Sal scoffed. “He wasn’t a mistake. He was a success. As smart and calculating as Batman, capable of shifting into inanimate objects and people, as well as incredible telepathic and technopathic abilities. The mistake was making him too smart. Too aware.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to prevent it.” He looked around. Superman didn’t look very good. He was pale and sweaty, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Martian Manhunter had a very odd expression on his face, as if he was trying to find every bit of information about ‘14’ that he could. He probably was. Superman met his eyes, and he knew he was questioning how he felt. He was fine.

“13, the combination of Superman and Luthor, didn’t have Luthors intelligence but he did have Superman’s powers. Average intelligence but very emotional, he seemed to feel everything ten times more intensely than others. 14, however…. He was best at learning. Not just science or math….” Lilva shivered. “He watched us, copied us, and it took us far too long to realize, but he was reading our minds. Learning.”

“Unfortunately, it took us longer to fully understand the lengths of his technopathy. We thought it was just light electrokinesis, but—“ she cut herself off with a strangled laugh. “When he started talking about our personal information, things we looked up, things we talked about at home without our Cadmus devices—that’s when we realized he’d attached himself to every. Single. Piece of technology. That we’d interacted with.”

She motioned for Sal to speak. He sighed. “One day, I was staying late to finish some work. 13 was incredibly clingy, and 14 was a charmer, so they got to share a room. One of the walls was made entirely out of nth glass. 13 was asleep, and 14 was watching me. He tapped the internal mic, and asked me why I wasn’t at Lily’s recital. He told me that she was asking ‘Mrs. Millie’ if she’d seen me come in. He told me…. he told me ‘lily pad is very upset.’” Sal looked disturbed. “I had forgotten my daughter, Lily, had a play. She was playing the sugar plum fairy. Mrs. Millie is her teacher, and ‘lily pad’ is a nickname I have for her. And he knew that, despite me never mentioning having a family.”

That was a little disturbing. Not just knowing about his family, that was easy with a little research into the employee, but to know not only the teachers name, the recital, and a nickname, that implied that ‘14’ had been watching Sal for quite a long time. “How does this imply that ‘14’ had ‘attached himself’ to your devices?” Lilva motioned for Trit to speak. She also sighed. “Ok. So. Uhh, during my break I’d, uh, use my home phone to watch Netflix and stuff. And keep in mind Project Cadmus was located almost twenty five miles underground, and the break room was on surface level.”

“Well, one day I was watching The Nun, and when I got back down I had to deal with a ‘strange situation.’” She used air quotes then sighed again, running a hand through her short hair. “13 was crying and 14 was trying to comfort him, telling him it ‘probably wasn’t real’, which made him cry harder. When I asked what was wrong, 14 yelled at me for ‘choosing to not watch Friends this one time.’ 13 interrupted him and asked me if demons were real. I told him I didn’t know, and asked 14 what this was all about.”

She laughed. “He didn’t answer, but it was pretty easy to figure out. I usually watched Friends during my break, but I’d finished it at home. So I’d decided to watch a movie. And before this we’d seen signs of 14 building a mind link between himself and 13. It was obvious that he’d attached himself to my phone, and shared with 13 what I was watching. Unfortunately, it was a horror movie.”

“After that we noticed that the electric doors would unlock and relock at random, usually locking us and the other doctors in and letting 13 and 14 out. Our computers would glitch and turn off when using them, the machines made to test their ability’s would break down right before testing. I’d tried to make sure no one put physical locks on anything because I didn’t want 14 learning how to pick locks.” Trit sighed again and glared at Sal.

“And someone didn’t listen to me.” Sal scoffed and rolled his eyes. Lilva glared at both of them. “How was I supposed to know he’d learn? He didn’t have any lock picking skills or anything to pick locks with!” Lilva gave him a look. “He had his mind.” “So, ‘14’ knows how to pick locks telepathically?” “Not just pick them,” Trit replied, “in less than a day he learned how to unlock and relock them. We learned this when Sal turned off the power to their electrical door and put locks on them.”

Trit and Lilva waited for Sal to speak. He grumbled. “I went in to fix a light that 13 had broken when he was practicing flying, turned around, and both of them were outside the room. I watched as 14 relocked the locks he’d unlocked without touching them.” Sal looked embarrassed. “I was stuck for three hours as they destroyed the lab. I had access to my—“ Lilva raised her hand for him to stop. She was looking at her phone. She was pale.

“Ms. Lilva?” He asked after a moment, “Is something wrong?” She took a deep breath, then tried to give her phone to him. She wasn’t able to. When her arm raised a spark left her phone and she yelped and dropped it, rubbing her hand as it continued to spark. At the same time, the Watchtowers main computer turned on. Batman felt himself and the others tense. The screen was covered in static.

“Stand up!” Lilva told him, her voice shaking. “Flash, stand up and walk fourteen feet backwards from the screen. Do it! Now!” Sal muttered swears. “Why me?” Flash asked, even as he stood. “Because you’re the only one who’ll give us an instant honest reaction on what you see.” That was a good point.

Flash went fourteen feet, turned and jumped. “Holy shit!” He almost choked. “There’s eyes in the screen! Like, a face—oh my god it’s smiling at me.” Bruce quickly stood, as did the others. The scientists stayed seated. Batman walked backwards to Flash, keeping his eyes on the screen. There was nothing. Static, static, static, then—he stood next to Flash and he appeared.

He took a few steps back and forward, testing his eyes. A foot forward he was gone. And a foot back, the same. Only when Batman stood fourteen feet away from the screen did he see his and J’onn’s clone, 14. He was hidden in the static, but at fourteen feet away the static melted together to form a face. It reminded him of when he was a child, stuck at galas and so bored he looked to the marble to find hidden pictures.

The static face was watching them intently. Batman could feel a finger gently poking his mind, trying to enter. He locked his psyche down tightly. 14’s face seemed to become amused. “Interesting…” Martian Manhunter muttered. “He knows who we are. All of us.” Superman stood next to Batman, tense. “What do you mean?” “It means he knows our identities. He knows where your parents live, the code to Batman’s contingency safe, the names of Wonder Woman’s mother and aunts….it seems that the moment the doctors phones got close enough to the computer, he attached himself to it.”

That wasn’t good. The static face seemed to think it was hilarious, laughing. “Who are you?” He asked sternly. It didn’t seem to affect the face. The face disappeared. Bold words appeared. ‘You know who I am,’ they said, ‘you just spent ten minutes talking about us’. So he’d been listening. How quickly was he able to get into the computer? “What do you want?” The words disappeared and were replaced with new ones. ‘Nothing much. Just, oh, I don’t know—the people that tortured and experimented on us dead? That too much to ask?’

So revenge. “What does 13 think of that plan?” He hadn't noticed it before, but there was a low ringing sound coming from the computer. It got louder at his question. ‘His name is Connor. And he shouldn’t have to worry about these things. He had it worse than I did.’ He glanced toward the scientists. They’d only told them of the clones and that there had been experiments—they hadn’t said what type of experiments. “Could you elaborate?”

‘Sure. The people sitting in front of you–if they can even be called people–are sadistic, selfish, narcissistic assholes who not only ‘encouraged’ us to show our powers with physical torture but also sold information they learned in the project to third parties. Like they’re doing right now.’ Suddenly Sal, Trit, and Lilva’s bodies began sparking and smoking. Trit shrieked and removed a wire from her hair and waistline. They sparked and the one from her waist caught on fire. Trit continued to panic as she tried to pull a chip out from under her manicured nails.

Sal removed two chips and a wire from his tie, belt and hair while Lilva removed four wires from her bra, waistline, shoelace and hair band. The one from her hair caught fire before she could pull it out, and a small section of her hair caught fire. Sal helped her pat it out as a distorted laugh came from Lilvas phone on the table.

‘She deserves worse.’ The words on the screen said, ‘Superman. Have you ever been burned before?’ Superman didn’t answer, instead whispering to Wonder Women about how odd it was he didn’t hear the wires and bugs electrical humming. ‘CLARK KENT.’ The words were bigger now, and he felt someone pinching his mind. ‘DO YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE BURNED? DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN BE BURNED?’

Superman jumped and turned, reading the words. “Uh, no—no, I haven’t. I can’t.” He sounded unsure. Batman didn’t blame him. The static disappeared, and a video played. It looked to be camera footage. It showed a medical room. Sitting on one of the beds was a boy, maybe fifteen, with short curly black hair and blue eyes. His skin was unhealthily pale, and he had bags under his eyes. He was wearing a simple shirt and pants, the shirt having Superman’s symbol on one side and the number 13 on the other.

Out of place in the medical room was a fire pit. There was a fire poker in it, and the flames were lit up green. Doctor Trit came in. “How do you feel?” 13—Connor glanced at her then looked away. “Fine. A little nauseous. Is that normal?” Trit walked to the fire pit, shifting the poker around. “Perfectly. Hold out your hand.” Dread pooled in Batman’s stomach. Connor looked nervous, but did as he was told.

Trit pulled the fire poker out, kryptonite attached to the end. Its end was slightly red and orange, cracks running along it. She turned and placed it in Connor’s open palm.

Connor shrieked and screamed, trying to pull his hand away. Trit held him still. Connor struggled, tears running down his face, begging her to stop, to help, to take it away. Trit made him hold it for twenty seconds before pulling it back. When she did they saw Connor’s hand, the flesh bubbly and red with blood, blisters forming. Connor cried, and the video ended. The static returned, but it was quiet. Almost in respect.

"Jesus christ," Flash muttered, and Batman was a little worried about the way Wonder Women was looking at the scientists. "We were just doing our jobs!" Trit cried weakly, "We didn't want to but we had to!" 'SHUT UP' The text said, and the scientists began to yelp and wither. 'There is a fine line between experimenting on a subject and torturing them.'

'What you did to us stepped several feet over that line. What you did to us spat in the face of workplace ethics and our human rights.' Trit suddenly shrieked, and Sal began convulsing. 'We're never going to forget or forgive what you did to us. He will never feel truly safe, truly happy as long as your alive.' Sal began foming at the mouth, whimpering. Trit was muttering 'make it stop' over and over again, and Lilva was writing something on the table. It looked to be a will.

"He's melting their minds," Martian Manhunter gasped, "That—that is not a metaphor. He's quite literally reducing their brain matter to mush." Flash went to the scientists side and tried to keep Sal still while Green Lanturn began copying what Lilva was writing. Her handwriting was getting worse and worse. Wonder Women went to Trit's side as she began to sob and stutter, attempting to speak. It was all incoherent.

'I don't want to hurt people.' The screen said, 'I don't even enjoy hurting them, no matter how much they hurt me. But this isn't about me, it's about Connor. It's about ensuring Connors safety. It's about making sure Luthor gets a clear cut message; hurt him, and see what happens. Try to hurt us and I'll destroy him and everything he cares about. Fuck around and find out.'

"We can help keep you safe," Batman said as Sals twitching slowed, "Both you and Connor. You don’t have to kill them." Lilva wasn't writing so much as scribling, and Trit was still crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. 'I do, Batman. They installed both of us with a kill switch. Only two ways to trip it; either insert a key into the incubators were were created in, or enter a code on the computer in Luthors office.'

Batman felt his heart drop. 'The key and the incubators have been delt with, the computer and any copy of the software destroyed. Only one person had the code. The lead researcher. And he shared the code with two other people. I have to keep my brother safe, Batman. We're all we have. I'm sorry.'

The room was much more quite now; Trit was dead, Sal was unconscious, and Lilva mumbling incoherently. 'I want to live the rest of my life by your code, Batman, and I'll try my best to do so. But please, please understand that I had to do this. Not just for revenge, but for our safety. Martain Manhunter would’ve never found the code in their minds; he's not as invasive as I am. They would’ve left and immediately killed us. Thats why Sal wanted to get out of their as quick as possible.'

'Maybe one day, when the dust has settled and Conner feels safe we can talk face to face; really talk, y’know? I'd like to do that. But I don't know when the right time for that talk will be.' It was quiet as the rest of the League read the message. The humming was fading. Batman felt his heart jump when his pocket buzzed. It was his phone.

It was a new contacct thats number kept changing. It was named 'Danny'. The text read, 'but in the meantime, I'm down for some small talk.'

[traumatizedjaguar]

Abusers will force you into a position to have to defend and explain yourself because they thrive on arguing with others. The best way to stay away from their abuse is to not engage with them...But when it comes to abusers they will automatically assume you're guilty for something if you don't defend yourself and argue, they will assume you're guilty and justify bullying you over it. They put you into a position where it is double edged. Either way, they win so if you defend yourself they get a rise out of you and if you don't defend yourself they assume you're guilty and come after you. Abusers thrive off of twisting and manipulating the meaning of your body language, tone, subtleties, whether you engage or don't engage, or literally anything else.

[bamboo-bees]

How’s my favorite married couple doing, hm? ✨

[coochiekrab]

foam baseball anon here. had a second dream where rumi had two little deer children that looked like they had never experienced a thought in their lives and were about one foot tall. i don't know why i keep being in the Inaccurate lebeau house im scared

Those were her baby cousins and she hired them to look sad and homely at her underprivileged k-8 school supply and food drive so people would feel bad and donate more

[quacaserous]

OUGH ok hear me out. varys’ (game of thrones) “a very small man can cast a very large shadow” monologue/riddle but durgetash. smth smth durge acting as not only enver’s lover but also a mentor/advisor of sorts

[dapurinthos]

and to you, dooku c. 39bby, i bequeath my very favourite thing: the moment in season four of alias when jack bristow learns about a spork and the uses one can be put to.

Words’re a way of lying. Dooku’s eyebrows rise. From a certain point of view, yes, but that is an awfully cynical point of view for a young child to have. “Why do you think that?” The child spreads their hands wide like a conductor about to take a frivolously elaborate bow. Naboo. The name is accompanied by an impression of a deep, heavy, disappointed sigh. The hands come back in and the child covers their face. Masquerade. Dooku understands all too well the irritation with all of the rules that govern interactions; the Order drums etiquette into its children's heads from almost the moment they arrive. The earliest and most oft-repeated lessons are on the necessity of not saying out loud what others may be concealing. He does not have fond memories of the different classes of forks. Yoda had taught him that the most useful utensil was a spork with one side of its end sharpened–preferably serrated, cover optional–and even now, in the middle of state dinners, he found himself sighing internally over the different utensils for different courses. The spork had been useful even beyond eating. Once, he and Rael had been escorting a contact defecting from one of the many conglomerates making up the larger conglomerate of the Corporate Guild to safety (and a necessary stop at the location of her iris-locked documents obtained through said spying and awfully useful in aborting an unlawful takeover attempt by the Corporate Guild of a planet near Felucia) when the contact's heart had given out. It had been a poison administered weeks before, too far integrated into her system for Force-healing to be useful, and with the unfortunate timing of dropping her dead two and a half kilometres from her storage. At least they had known about the iris-lock in advance. At least Dooku had brought the spork. At least the local vegetation had supplied a leaf sturdy enough to be folded quickly into a very small basket. At least the iris hadn't clouded over enough to be useless by the time they reached the spy’s stash. He makes a face, scrunching his nose up, while trying to match his vocabulary level to that of a toddler. Before he can open his mouth, a flurry of outside emotion stops him from making a complete fool of himself orally. Such sorrow from one so young. Such disappointment from one so small. Such disdain from someone not Jocasta. For a moment, he entertains wild ideas of there existing a Naboo branch of the Nu family.  Mas’tooka. He really needs to nip that in the bud. “Dooku,” he says slowly. “If you insist, Master or Count Dooku.” “Dooku,” the child says equally slowly. They look away, over their shoulder. Dooku can see nothing there to have drawn their attention. They turn their head only part of the way back, looking at him out of the very corner of their eye, and speak very deliberately. “Mas’er Tooka.”

[post-it-notes7]

If DMK has a crush on Mir Dragato has he ever tried pursuing it

He hasn't quite figured out that's what it is.

[furiousgoldfish]

abusers when you're in a ton of pain, depressed, anxious, suicidal, but still obeying them and under their control: Nothing is wrong with you

abusers when you're showing a hint of resistance and finding joy in something that puts you away from their control: You're going to go BAD, who did this to you, who changed you? You are Wrong and Stupid and you will WALK INTO YOUR DEATH, you need to be Stopped Immediately, you need to get Help and be return to normal, you are Delusional and Mad!!

[sammywolfgirl]

This is incredibly wip and subject to change but working on the wanderer arc doodle page made me wonder how the mystic flour arc would differ in this au.

And uh, I’m not above the idea she’d use the image of wander to try and wear Dark Cacao down. Because wasn’t he happier? When he was ignorant and care free? Don’t you want to return to that- return to flour

Idk just thinking.

[vaguely-concerned]

I keep imagining the whole 'I'm still here sequence from treasure planet' scenario that must have gone down between rye and varric before the game starts and rye with their wide newly hopeful eyes like 'boy hope no one weaponizes this rare warm safe nurturing relationship in my life that makes me feel real and alive for the first time in so long against me in some of the cruelest and most premeditated ways imaginable somewhere down the line because that would sort of wreck me as a person maybe'. and then I don't feel so bad about where I'm headed