Cute Idea: Going On Long Walks Together, Holding Hands! Luckily It's Cold Out And We're Wearing Layers...so

Hope you feel better!!

Mommy is feeling more sick again 🥺 Send help in the form of padded tushes

Hello are you into Abdl or sissy lifestyle

I'm into the Abdl lifestyle, but I'm a woman so I'm less into sissy play as degredation, if that makes sense

Class-D

"Umm....?"

You stare at the affini sitting across from you, who is sipping casually from a large mug of tea.  She had grown close to you over the last year, but the last few weeks in particular had been...more?  She suddenly seemed intent on pushing you towards florethood, and more specifically towards one of the more...simple lifestyles.

'There are as many ways to be a floret as there are florets', as the saying goes.  You considered yourself an outgoing and independent type, one who had (with effort and support) gone far, despite any neurodivergencies that often ground progress to a slow crawl.  But the way Ea would look at you...the things she said...well, like what she JUST said, for example.

"I'm merely suggesting that you give it a try, dear.  No contracts, no implants...unless you want those.  I'm referring to something a bit simpler."

You frown, crossing your arms.  "And what exactly do you have in mind, Ea?"

A brilliantly red flower blossoms before your lips, the needles tip glistening green.  "I give you a Class-D, of course.  One that prevents those pesky inhibitions and falsehoods from getting in the way.  And then you and I can chat a little, and I may ask you to do a few things, to see if they make you feel good.  Is that really so dangerous, sweetie?"

"I..." Yes, of course it was...was what you wanted to say.  But if it really was just a Class-D, then it wouldnt change your mind.  They were there to reveal the truth, and the truth of the matter was that you were capable and competent, and it's about time she figured that out.  Sighing, you roll up your sleeve and extend your arm, wincing as the injection slips into your skin.  The verdant drug travels up your arm and to your brain, and an....interesting feeling seems to settle on you.  Not the fresh-out-of-a-dryer blanket of a Class-A, but a slightly warm sheet, perhaps.  You blink a few times, then look at Ea expectantly.

She gently snaps her fingers at you, then points at the floor next to her seat.  "No no, darling.  We aren't going to one-half ass it here.  I intend to show you what I mean, through actions as much as words."

You gawk at her, blushing furiously.  "But...but I don't want to do that!"

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing!"

Ea tilts her head, a coy look passing through violet eyes.  "The only one who thinks it is embarrassing is you, petal.  No one else in this case will care in the least, and you already know what I think you need." She smiles. "If it helps, just think of it as me...coercing you into it.  If anyone asks, you can explain that you didn't have a choice here."

You squint your eyes at her, but your gaze soon follows her arm down to her pointed finger.  Crumbs, she really was serious.  You look around the cafe again, noting how the others weren't even looking your way.

Blushing, you let yourself go limp, flowing off the lip of the seat and into a kneel as you shuffle towards her spot.  When you arrive, you keep your gaze firmly fixed to the left, your hands grasping themselves out of a need to hold onto something.

You wait for her to speak...but she stays silent.  She waits until you give in, until you sneak a glance at her, and only then does she cup your cheek in one large hand as she whispers, "Good Pet."

"I...y-you...it-" she slides her hand over your mouth, preventing the words from haphazardly tumbling out.

"Sweetheart, I said we would chat.  I never said you would get to use people words~"

The hand returns to your cheek, a thumb gently brushing across your lips as she smiles triumphantly.  "Now then, pet.  You are a wonderfully skilled sophont, make no mistake.  But a trained pet is still a pet, honey.  And not everything trained into you is Good."

You open your mouth to protest...only to let the words die in your throat at the warning in her eyes.  Instead, the softest little slip of a whimper manages to drip from your tongue.

Ea smiles wider, her other hand joining the first on your head as she begins to pet you, long firm pulls of her fingers through your hair.  "You know that you push yourself too hard, don't you?  That you keep moving, because the inertia is part of how you stay upright.  You need the constant motion, because you're worried that as soon as you slow down, you'll topple over and shatter."

You try to deny it.  You try to disprove it.  But in the end, you are forced to admit it to yourself:

She's right.

She gently brushed a tear from the corner of your eye, softer than the petals of her flowers.  "But that needn't happen, honey.  Not if you have an Owner to care for you, and hold you close, and keep you safe.  You know this too, don't you?"

You did.  You do.  And it hurts.  And it heals.

Your eyes make a desperate plea towards her, though for what, you aren't sure.  She seemed to be waiting for it, though, because her eyes glow golden ichor.  "And so, since you are being honest with me, I shall be in turn with you.  I will not wait a single second longer to give you what you want, need, crave.  You are my pet, honey.  I will Own you, I will train you, I will condition away any independence and wrestle your thoughts into simple submission.  And, in the end, you will thank me for it."

Her hand brushes one last time over your head as it makes its way to the back of your neck, tracing a line where you know the implant will soon reside.  You shudder as she presses down, down, Down, pushing your face into her vines as you finally are honest with yourself and admit what you realize you always wanted, always needed.

You surrender.

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

One of the best parts about hypnosis is that you can turn any fun game into something completely incredible by just sprinkling a few trancey elements into it.

Take HypnoChess, for example. It's just regular old chess, but every piece you lose makes you dumber, dizzier, and less focused. This one change alters a game of wits into a game of defense, where trades of pieces are incredibly risky at all times, while also turning losing from a frustrating result to an arousing one.

Or we can look at Hypno Truth or Dare. It has all the elements of regular Truth or Dare, mixed in with dirty questions about hypnosis and dares to go deeper, listen to files and to obey without question~

And the best part is that this change is incredibly easy to do. Any game can be made more fun with hypnosis if you alter a few rules. You can replace boring punishment cards with suggestions to stare at a spiral, or to become another player's toy for x ammount of turns.

You can make it so that the closer you get to the finish in a game like Snakes and Ladders, the emptier you get, and the more addicted you become to the thought of sabotaging yourself going back to the beggining.

This does not just apply to physical games either. Video games lerfectly lend themselves to hypnosis. A lot of them feature very rigid gameplay rules and repetitive gameplay, so, in theory, you could make a very mindless task like farming for a certain item or mining for a certain ore condition you deeper, every level gained and block broken drilling in the suggestion of your choosing into your already focused head.

I'm sure that there are a million other examples, ranging from simple to extreme, but I'm going to let you readers share some of yours~

How to actually train a submissive, a how to guide

+Thoughts on the pervasive misinformation surrounding punishments and their usefulness.

Step 1. Make sure your submissive actually want to be trained. I'm into dom breaking, I'm into kidnapping, I'm into all types of situations where you forcibly change a person into the perfect submissive. But that's all fantasy, and they're fun fantasies to play out with willing participants. (Yeah i know this is pretty obvious stuff, everyone should know this already, but it is an important first step and it cant hurt to repeat)

Step 2. Pick a goal. The perfect example is getting them to take their pills at the same time each day. Its something they already want to do, its something that will benefit them greatly, its something that's very obviously pass/ fail, and its simple. Those are the criteria for a good behaviour to modify (with "want to do" flipped to "don't want to do" if its a behaviour you're trying to stop). The fewer of those things are true the more difficult its going to be to get the desired result, not impossible mind you but more difficult. As you and your submissive gain experience and become more comfortable with this process you can begin to modify more complex behaviours, but keep it simple to start.

Step 3. DO reward success, DO NOT punish failure. I'm gonna let myself rant about this at the end of this guide but for the moment just believe me when i say punishments are not a useful tool in training. So reward them every time the succeed. The best rewards are small things that stimulate the pleasure centre of their brain. Praise is a great place to start, stickers, snacks, tiny animal erasers, maybe shiny treasures if they have corvid like proclivities. Whatever it is make sure you give it to them personally, make sure you show you're genuinely happy with them, and make sure its something they cant get or aren't allowed to have otherwise. If the do fail (and they will sometimes) don't reward them, don't punish them, and don't let them punish themself. They want to be good for you, they will take failure hard. You need to make sure they know failure isn't a bad thing, everyone fails sometimes especially when starting to learn something. You need to reassure them that you're not angry or sad or upset and especially not disappointed.

Step 4. Be consistent. Reward them every time until they have a perfect record for a significant period of time. The specifics of this depend too much on the specifics of the behaviour and the reward so i wont try to give guidelines. Once they have that perfect track record start reducing the frequency of the rewards, stress to them that this isn't a punishment this is a really good thing. It means the training is working and they should be proud of themself and you are proud of them. Once you've weaned them off of the reward all together give them a big reward as a congratulations. And then sporadically reward them as a reminder that you're proud of them and to keep the habit strong. If the behaviour begins to drift you might need to go back and start rewarding them again, this shouldn't be seen as failure, its a normal part of training.

Step 5. Start again. Do they still want to be trained or are they happy with where they are? Is there another behaviour you want to modify? Is it time to try a more difficult modification? Do you need to switch up the reward to keep them motivated? Do you have the bandwidth to be consistent?

A note on brats. Specifically type 3 brats as described in THIS post. None of my advice changes. They still want to be good for you they just also want to play a fun game with you. Enjoy the fun game and train them to improve their lives. Just, don't try to train them out of being a brat, they're enjoying their game don't take away something that they enjoy, if you don't want a brat don't get with a brat.

Finally here is the as promised rant about punishment.

To the submissive reading this. You don't deserve to be punished, you never deserved to be punished. Even if you were a "problem" child you didn't deserve to be hurt for it. You still don't deserve to be hurt in ways you don't want to be. To the dominant reading this, yes you can rule through fear it is possible, but gods why?! If your ultimate goal isn't for your sub to be as happy and self fulfilled as possible, whatever that looks like for them, then what the fuck are you doing. And aside from that punishment isn't even an effective method of training. A dog kicked whenever it barks will learn to fear you and wont bark around you. A child spanked whenever you feel they've done something wrong will learn to resent you and will hide everything from you. An adult punished for stealing will learn to steal more effectively. Your submissive is no different from any of those examples. Kill the cop in your head, stop thinking of punishment as a legitimate means of control.

Three kinds of whumpers in Pet Whump…

Post 1/?

See [Next] Ex. 2 - Conservation Efforts -IN PROGRESS-

Type 1: Carewhumpers

Carewhumpers in pet whump are commonly found in places where pet whump is systemic. These are the ones who “don’t know any better”. In fact, they’re pretty sure it would be cruel to make a pet act like a human. They know the proper way to treat a pet, and they take pride in being a good owner. They’re always ready to “help” a pet in need. Their whumpees can’t be “dehumanized”, silly, they’re not humans! [Alternatively, in fantasy, it’s precisely because they’re humans that they should be treated as pets!]

Ex. 1 - Flight Risk

CW: systemic pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashed/drugged/conditioned whumpee, nonconsensual (non-sexual) touch, praise

Inspo: These posts by @sowhumpshaped & this post by @oliversrarebooks

"Honey can't go in the cargo hold! She's too delicate. Look, I have a pet ticket, I bought an extra seat!" Luce holds up her phone, swiping to show the gate attendant the extra ticket code. She keeps one hand on the back of Honey's short hair, tugging at the strands as if to calm herself. Honey's knees begin to ache, a feeling she thinks she'll never get used to. At least she isn't made to crawl everywhere like some fancier pets she's seen. Luce always says those pets look ridiculous, and whoever their owners are must have too much time on their hands. Still, her back aches from the hunched, submissive gait she's been trained to employ.

"I see that ma'am," the man replies with careful professionalism, "but unfortunately the flight has been overbooked. We're happy to offer you a refund for the seat and a comfortable cage for your pet, and we may be able to offer upgrades to our service on the flight. But unless you agree to place it in the cargo hold, I'm sorry to report that we'll need to transfer you to another flight."

"It doesn't matter if the cage is comfortable," Luce hisses, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She can't miss this flight, and have her dad bug her about what an impulsive brat she'd been, adopting a barely trained pet so soon after getting her degree. Spending all her savings on some rescue mutt. She couldn't miss his retirement party, especially not over this. "It's cold down there. Honey has issues with her circulation. Why can't you ask someone else to move flights?"

Luce breathes out heavily and smoothes the hair she'd gripped too hard, scratching her nails over Honey's scalp in apology. A faint memory plays in Honey's usually quiet headspace: long, long wavy hair, and intricate braid patterns pulled up on a phone screen. Honey's own eyes in the mirror, younger then... Luce tugs again when the attendant sighs.

"We have asked for volunteers. Unfortunately no one has offered, and our policy is that pet seats be deferred first to make room for other patrons. And your pet's tag shows that it hasn't completed recommended trainings, beyond the basics. So we're asking you before we ask owners with more compliant pets."

Luce hears her dad's voice in those statements, and she can't argue with that. She looks to Honey, who is sat staring at Luce's sandals like they're the most interesting thing in the world.

"I- Look, I need to be on this flight. Is there anything you can do to make it... more comfortable? She's always been nervous about traveling. I just... I don't wanna traumatize her, you know?" Luce shifts the leash between her hands, trying not to think about the news she saw a few months ago - a pet dying in the cargo hold.

In reality, Luce is the one who was nervous about travel. She had imagined Honey would spend the flight beside her, warm and calm, being that comforting, familiar weight on Luce's shoulder. She wants to tell the man she needs Honey. But she isn't going to be like those annoying owners who claim their pet is for "emotional support", without any sort of training to back it up. Besides, he's looking at Honey's ID right now. She's barely trained enough to board the flight.

"We do offer a complimentary Cozy-Dose. It's a pet-safe anxiety suppressant, a little stronger than the drug store ones. Does it have anything in its system?"

"Just some pet-nip for the ride over." Said pet-nip is currently wearing off, Luce thinks, watching Honey lift her head to look directly in the attendant's eyes, her browed furrowed in that adorably vague but defiant expression. Luce presses her hand against Honey's head, pushing it down to lay still at the side of her knee.

"Should be fine," the attendant is saying. "Do you have anything you'd like to leave with her? A toy, or a blanket?"

Luce has tried to get Honey to play with toys. On Honey's best days she ignores them. On her worst, she touches them with her hands, and Luce has to discipline her accordingly. Luce knows pets don't understand the dangers of playing like humans. Often, they don't know their own strength, and can break things or hurt themselves. But it seems Honey doesn't yet know what to do with a toy otherwise, so she has yet to find one she likes.

Luce looks at Honey's thin sweater dress, the green fabric stopping just above her knee. Perfect for playing and walks in the new spring heat. Not so good for a cargo hold. She shrugs out of the pale orange flannel she wears over her tee, much to the surprise of the attendant, and draped it over Honey's shoulders. Her pet presses her nose into the warm fabric, leaning more heavily against Luce's knee. Luce feels pride and affection well in her heart at the sight.

"Maybe she's ok without the Cozy-Dose," Luce murmurs, hesitant to drug Honey when she's being so sweet. The attendant shakes his head.

"I may have misspoken. The Cozy-Dose is complimentary, of course, but with the level of training..."

"Oh," Luce says. "Oh, okay then that's... fine. You'll probably just go to sleep, and we'll wake up at dad's house, yeah?" She coos at Honey, who doesn't bother to look up. Luce's hand finds Honey's hair again, wanting the hit of dopamine only her loving pet can provide. But before Honey can respond to the tug, the attendant is on the move.

"Alrighty. I've got it logged in our system. Again, we do apologize for this inconvenience, but we'll pride ourselves on our safety and pet specialists. Boarding's in about twenty minutes, so let's get Honey secure and comfy, yeah?"

Luce nods mutely, and hands over the leash.

━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━

Honey doesn't like being away from Luce, in a strange back room near the boarding gate. She doesn't like the "pet specialist", Carson, and she especially doesn't like that Carson removes Luce's flannel and Honey’s pretty green collar. He makes her crawl as soon as they're behind the door.

Honey wishes she had spent more effort learning the gestures Luce tried to teach her. Things like "Food" and "Water", "Bathroom" and "Bed". She heard Luce on the phone with her father once. He seemed to be yelling about Honey's adoption - Untrained stray. Irresponsible. Hopeless. Luce gave up on the lessons for a while.

If Honey could tell Carson anything right now, it would be a toss-up between how ugly his shaggy hairstyle is, and how confused and afraid she is about the whole situation.

"Up," the man says when they reach the center of the room. A table with a leathery top and a long banner of thin paper sits there. Honey gets unsteadily to her feet and climbs atop it. The crinkle of the paper beneath her reminds her of something, and she absently tears at it. Smack. Carson's hand leaves a faint red mark on her own. Honey releases the paper and brings her hand to her mouth, looking up at the man with an indignant gaze. She fights the snarl pulling at her lip. Thankfully Carson busies himself with at a computer screen, and doesn't see. Honey watches the man click the mouse and raise his eyebrows. He turns back to Honey.

"Lie down," he says, putting his hands on his hips as if he expects Honey to disobey. Honey almost scoffs. She knows how to obey a simple command. She's very obedient, in fact, despite everyone telling Luce otherwise. She eyes the orange flannel, slung over the man's shoulder, as her world tilts and she dutifully lays on her side.

Carson comes around to the head of the table, and forces Honey's other shoulder down. Honey squirms as the man positions her flat on her back, a familiar sense of vulnerability spiking in her chest.

"Why do they always give me the troublesome ones," Carson mutters, taking something from the underside of the table. Honey flinches when she feels the buttery smooth grip of a cuff on her left wrist.

"At least they gave you Broca's. I suspect you'd be a whiny thing otherwise."

Broca's? Like Broca's aphasia? We learned about that in-

The moment gets away from her. Cuffs on both wrists, both ankles now. Carson is looking at her like he's surprised by her compliance. Honey pulls at the cuffs then. They're not painful, but they hold her tight. Her knees and shoulders pull together instinctually.

"Ss... Ssst-mm" Is all that comes out of her lagging mouth, before she hums a whimper instead. Don't like this. I don't like this. I don't...

"Thought so. Expensive little pooch aren'tcha? Usually they just trim the hyoid a little, but they don't like how pets choke on their food after that," Carson mumbles. More to himself, of course.

"Nice your owner could afford it. Irresponsible not to train you though," he grunts, seemingly irritated at Luce. A clinking sound comes behind her when Carson circles the table. Honey focuses on his words. Her owner... irresponsible. He sounds like Luce's father. But why would anyone be mad at Luce? Luce is wonderful. Carson still has Luce's flannel. He doesn't deserve that.

Honey tilts her chin up to look behind her, wondering if she can take it from him with her mouth. The tap-tap-tap motion of a syringe against the palm of Carson's hand meets her eyes. Honey's body tenses, and a whining starts up in her throat.

"Frank, come help me with this one," he calls when Honey begins to toss. She's trying not to, she really is trying to be good and still, but it's hard to do that when she knows what's coming next.

"Aw, poor girl," comes another man's voice. He pauses beside the table before coming closer. "Honey is it? Shh, shush now. You're okay, Honey," he says in that voice that people use with good pets. A soft emotion fills Honey's chest at the sound despite her fear. He places a firm hand on one shoulder, the other in her hair, soothing her with his thumbs as he holds her still. He presses her head to the side gently, all the time cooing in that same voice: "You're a good girl, yeah? It's scary, I know. You'll feel nice and calm in just a minute."

"Stay," Carson's voice, a jarring, commanding tone, stills her body in the way she's been trained. The impulse lasts for just long enough that the bite of a needle somewhere below her ear comes and goes without objection. Frank is there to sooth the sore spot when it's over. The cuffs are removed, and she curls to the side, a tear falling as she noses Frank's abdomen. He continues to stroke her hair, rubbing her ear between his fingers, and her thoughts calm and fade away one by one until she doesn't feel the need to cry anymore. She hums at the pleasant sensation instead.

"Fuck dude, you never cease to amaze me. Sure you don't have food in your pockets?" She hears the other man chuckle.

"Pets don't understand what's going on, man. It just needed to feel safe. We took the same courses yeah?"

"Yeah man, but I'm the one who has to strap 'em to the table and stick 'em, you get to be mister nice guy."

Frank steps away and Honey's head raises to find him. But the room is getting a little fuzzy, and the lights are too bright. Arms find hers and prop her upright before pulling her to slide to the edge of the table.

"I get my cert in a few months, so we'll see if they still like me, yeah? I'll grab the cage."

To be continued?

Here we go!

Okay So... I've been recommended to listen to this (Dolly Dreaming, Obedience induction, Ep. 01) file! I'm going to play it twice a day for this week and I'll let you all know how it goes!

happy to help

Just indulging one of my favorite tropes ever - the disaster genius with the hypercompetent, put-upon assistant. Especially with mutual pining. Especially if they aren't aware they're pining.

Masterlist

tw: hostage situation

"Screwdriver, size 1," said Aurora, absently holding out a hand while staring down at a stubborn part. It took her nearly a full minute to realize that her hand still held only air, no screwdriver forthcoming. "Screw -- oh. Damn it."

Just one more reminder that Gabriel, her trusted assistant, wasn't here. Gabriel would have pressed the right size of screwdriver into her hand before she even finished asking for it. Gabriel would have given her the right size of screwdriver even if Aurora accidentally asked for the wrong one.

But Gabriel was god knows where, and as a result, the screwdriver Aurora needed was also god knows where. The tiny workroom she'd been imprisoned in was an utter disaster zone, tools and parts strewn everywhere. Aurora spent over fifteen of her precious remaining minutes searching for a screwdriver she'd literally just held in her hand, cursing the entire time, until she finally realized that it was in her pocket.

And it was the wrong size anyway.

Fiddling with the screws was a pointless endeavor anyway, just a way to try and quiet her mind so she could figure out the real problem -- in layman's terms, the math wasn't mathing. She swiveled her chair around to stare at the whiteboard covered in diagrams and equations, going over the plans one more time, hoping that this time she'd figure out the flaw.

A little over two days ago she'd been kidnapped by some shady criminal group -- she wasn't sure which one, they all tended to blend together for her. They demanded she build a superweapon to their specifications in three days, or else they'd start killing hostages until they got what they wanted. The superweapon itself was simple, really, and she'd worked out a plan for it in just a few hours. It hardly worth kidnapping someone of her intellect for. If she were the kind of engineer willing to silence her pesky conscience and hand over a doomsday device to some organized crime goons, knowing it'd be used to kill and terrorize countless innocent people, she'd be finished already.

No, the difficult part was coming up with the precise sabotage needed for the weapon to work in tests and fail when put to use against actual civilians. It was a tough needle to thread, and it was what Aurora had spent most of the last two days trying to figure out. And she was so close to an answer, so goddamn close, except the math wasn't working out.

Gabriel would know exactly what was wrong with the equations on the whiteboard. He'd look it all over, silently pick up a whiteboard marker, and issue a correction, shooting Aurora that look that meant "how can someone so smart be so dumb?" The kind of sass she only ever tolerated from him, because he was the only one who could ever keep up with her.

Aurora softly pounded her head against the whiteboard, reminded once again that Gabriel wasn't here. In fact, she didn't know where he was. He wasn't one of the hostages, so he must have escaped -- after all, he always figured out a way to get them both out of the tight spots Aurora was good at putting them in.

He'd definitely escaped. He definitely hadn't gotten caught in the explosion. Gabriel was too smart and too stubborn to die, and besides, it would be incredibly rude for him to die when Aurora needed him so badly. He was the only one who knew where half the things were located in Aurora's lab and the only one who made her coffee the way she liked it.

So he couldn't possibly die. He was absolutely fine. Anything else was unthinkable.

Frustrated and exhausted, Aurora backed up against the wall in the stifling workroom and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. She'd had the bad luck to be kidnapped while in the middle of a multi-day inventing bender, so she hadn't slept at all in at least four days, and it was definitely catching up to her. The numbers on the whiteboard seemed to swim and dance before her eyes, taunting her with the flaw she couldn't seem to detect.

The metal door slammed open, startling her out of her skin as she scrambled to her feet. "What the hell is that for?" she said. "Don't you know I'm trying to concentrate?"

"I just need to make sure you're working on my new little toy." It was the guy in charge, whose name Aurora couldn't remember. She was terrible with names. Gabriel always remembered the names for her. His eyes swept over the cluttered workspace, his hand on the gun strapped to his hip. "None of this looks like a weapon, doctor."

"You told me I have three days. It's not three days yet."

He pulled out the gun and made a show of inspecting it, pointing it right at Aurora as he did. "I don't have a lot of patience, you know," he said. "If you haven't delivered me a working prototype in the next twelve hours, I'll have no choice but to relieve my stress by killing off some of the hostages. Maybe I'll start with the children, let you listen to their screams. Might be a good motivator."

"Are you finished with your monologue?" said Aurora, trying not to betray any emotions on her face. "Because some of us have actual work to do."

That earned Aurora a gun barrel pressed up against the bottom of her chin, and she knew she was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her fear.

"You don't look like you've been doing any work to me," the criminal goon hissed.

"I told you, I need my assistant. I can't get work done without him."

"Then you're going to have to fucking figure that out, aren't you? You're supposed to be a genius. Start acting like one." He finally moved the gun away from Aurora's face. "I'm coming back in, oh, four hours, and if I don't see most of a weapon by then, I'm gonna have to give you some more incentives. Understand?"

"Crystal clear," she said, mouth dry.

He slammed the door behind him as he left, the sound rattling several loose tools off the nearby workbench. Aurora sank back onto the floor.

Oh, she was so fucked. If she couldn't figure out what was wrong with her math in time, people were going to die. Die because of a stupid mistake, die because she couldn't pull it the fuck together.

They'd die because she'd taken Gabriel for granted. If she hadn't treated him so thoughtlessly, if they hadn't had that argument and become separated, then he'd probably be here with her now. He'd figure out the flaw in her designs and a way to escape to boot.

But he wasn't here, and the thought that she might never actually see him again was scarier than the gun that'd been pressed to her throat.

"God damn it, Gabriel," she said, knowing no one would hear it besides whoever was monitoring the security cameras. "I'm sorry, all right? I mean it. I really am sorry."

The door slammed open again. "I found this little rat skulking around. I believe he belongs to you," said the man in charge. A couple of suited goons tossed a squirming and very familiar bundle into the workroom. "Don't say I never did anything for you. No more excuses now."

As the door closed, Aurora stared down at the man pulling himself up off the floor, certain she must be hallucinating. "Gabriel?"

"Hello, sir," he said, brushing off his impeccably starched pants.

"How… how are you here?"

"I broke in, sir."

Hope swelled up in Aurora's chest. "To rescue me?"

"No, of course not. Have you seen how many guards they have out there? I have no idea how to rescue you. Not yet, anyway."

"Then why…"

"I thought you would need assistance, sir, so I broke in and let them capture me, figuring they'd take me to you." He glanced around the disastrous room. "It would seem my assessment is correct."

He was here, he was unharmed, and he was real, right down to the polished dress shoes and oversized glasses. Aurora couldn't hold it in a minute longer. "It really is you, Gabriel," she said, nearly knocking them both over with the force of her embrace. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Well, you're seeing me now, sir."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I really am. I'm not just saying that because I need you to pull my butt out of the fire, even though I do really need you to pull my butt out of the fire. I'm really, truly sorry for how I acted, and I'm sorry I'm always taking you for granted."

"That's very touching," he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. "But is now the right time to have this conversation? We're on a bit of a tight deadline, aren't we?"

We. It wasn't just Aurora's problem, now.

"We are," she said, walking over to the whiteboard. "I have the basic plan for the weapon outlined here, but I'm having trouble with…" She tapped the part of the plans related to her sabotage. They'd been disguised and coded so that the goons watching her wouldn't realize what it was, but Gabriel would know.

Aurora watched as Gabriel's eyes scanned the whiteboard left and right, up and down. His brows furrowed, gears turning in his head. "Interesting…" he muttered.

"Do you get the theory behind what I'm trying to do here?"

"I think so," he said. "But I'm not sure about this part." He picked up a marker and struck out one of Aurora's numbers, writing in his own.

Aurora stared, going over the calculations in her head again, this time substituting in Gabriel's suggestion. "That can't be right, can it?"

"Perhaps not. I'm only trying to make sense of it, sir," he said with a shrug.

"Wait… wait a minute… if we… and then if we…" Aurora's hands were flying now, replacing her numbers as she worked out the ripple effects of the change. "Hold on. Holy shit, that is it, isn't it? That's exactly it."

"Well, you made three more errors, but somehow still came up with the right answer," said Gabriel. "You haven't slept since Tuesday, have you?"

"I have not!" said Aurora gleefully, already giddy at the prospect of sabotaging those rotten bastards that'd dared to kidnap her. "I can sleep once I get this thing done. Can you hand me the --" A screwdriver was pressed into the palm of her hand before she could finish. "Thank you."

His eyes widened. "You never thank me, sir. That can't simply be sleep deprivation. Have they drugged you? Is it mind control? Possession?"

"Is it that hard to believe I appreciate you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I do. And I'm glad you're here. Well, I mean, I'm not glad you got taken hostage -- you know what I mean."

"I suppose," he said. "And for what it's worth, I am glad that you're in one piece. It would mean a lot of extra work for me if you weren't."

For a brief moment, Aurora thought she saw a smile flicker on her long suffering assistant's face. Probably just a hallucination from sleep deprivation.

Masterlist

corporate retreat 2/4

Prev - Masterlist - Next - Picrew

"We're going to be performing your induction in one of the private rooms," Dr. Moon said. "Less distractions will help us gather better data. Besides, we had one free, and I always work better there."

"Sounds good," said Quinn, genuinely. If they had to undergo this procedure, they'd rather do it in a more private setting.

They were led into a small room that reminded Quinn of a particularly sinister dentist's office (which was saying something, considering Quinn thought all dentists were a bit sinister). The plush recliner was in the middle, surrounded by the usual array of screens and tools and drugs. A couple of department workers, lower ranked than Dr. Moon, were standing by. They both looked at Quinn expectantly, and they realized that they weren't really getting as much privacy as they had hoped.

"Have a seat, please, and we'll go over what your induction will be like," said Dr. Moon, gesturing to the chair.

Quinn only hesitated for a moment before sitting down in the imposing device. It was just as comfortable as they imagined it might be -- they'd never wanted to risk sitting in one just to see what it was like, lest it whir to life and trap them. They felt like they were sinking into the soft cushions, like it'd be hard to pull themselves out if they needed.

One of the assistants stuck a couple of electrodes on their forehead, which Quinn accepted without complaint. The other assistant picked up one of the restraining straps. "Is that necessary? I'm being compliant," said Quinn.

"You can be left unrestrained for now," said Dr. Moon. "But if you fight the procedure, we might need to strap you in for your own safety."

"Sure." They didn't have any real intention of fighting physically, at least.

"First, we're going to give you a few cognitive tests," Dr. Moon explained. "Then we'll begin administering a moderate sedative through this mask." She holds up a black rubber face mask. "This will make you feel very drowsy and soften your mind for the induction. We'll repeat the cognitive tests to see how you're responding. We'll be putting you in a state of twilight sleep where you'll be deeply sedated but still able to respond to stimuli. This gives us a chance to monitor your brainwaves and responses and tailor the procedure specifically to your brain."

"Okay," said Quinn, trying to push down their anxiety over being put helplessly to sleep.

"Once you're at the target level of sedation, we'll use an IV line to administer a mixture of sedation and our proprietary brainwashing formula. It's a very pleasant cocktail of medication, and very potent." 

"Lovely."

"Once the medication stabilizes, we'll wake you up enough to ease you into a deep hypnotic trance state. Then you'll be completely under our control, and you'll get to relax for a while in the chair watching a hypnotic program on the screen, one which you'll find intensely fascinating once we have you properly medicated. How does that sound?" 

"...Terrifying, mostly."

Dr. Moon laughed. "That's a common reaction, but believe me, you're going to be incredibly relaxed before long."

"Do you always tell your subjects what you're going to put them through?"

"Generally, yes. We find it increases the success rate of the procedure."

"That's fair enough, I guess."

"Oh, one more thing -- my assistant here is going to be taking audio notes on your condition as you progress through the stages. I hope you don't mind."

"Why would I mind someone commemorating this experience by recording down every embarrassing thing I do?"

"Great, I'm glad it's not a problem," said Dr. Moon, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm.

"Start record," says the assistant into a little silver gadget. "Begin initial induction of subject for brainwashing procedure H800. Administering cognitive tests."

"First, we need to check your initial responses. Watch the penlight with your eyes, please." She waved her penlight across Quinn's field of vision, up and down, side to side, in diagonals and circles. "Reaction time within normal parameters. Pupils slightly dilated. Subject displays signs of anxiety."

"I can't imagine why," Quinn commented.

Dr. Moon held up a large flash card with simple math problems on it. "Solve these problems, please."

"Three. Seventeen. Eight. Uh, negative four. Forty-one."

"Count backwards from one hundred by sevens, please."

"Ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two..."

"Subject is fully awake and alert," said the assistant. "Subject shows little hesitation in providing the correct answer to cognitive tests."

"We can start sedation, now," said Dr. Moon to the other assistant. "Put them on 50% Lullaby to start."

"Lullaby?" asked Quinn.

"We have code names for our drug formulations, so we don't reveal too much information about our methods to our subjects," Dr. Moon said. "We call it Lullaby because it slowly sings you to sleep. The effect will be subtle at first, but we'll have you nicely sedated in no time."

"...Great." Quinn tried not to flinch away as the assistant sealed the black rubber mask around their mouth and nose, securing it behind their head with a strap. The other assistant reclined the seat slightly so that they were laying comfortably at an angle.

"Beginning sedation of subject with 50% Lullaby. Subject is compliant and breathing normally. Heart rate is somewhat elevated."

"We'll give you a bit of oxygen before starting the drug, so just relax and take deep, even breaths, okay? The entire process takes a bit of time to make sure the subject is completely under, but just be patient and you'll be absolved of the need to think before you know it."

Quinn wondered if that was supposed to be comforting. They took a breath, and could smell something sweet, floral, a little chemical. So it was happening -- from here on out they'd be drugged and hypnotized and more than likely be the Brainwashing Department's plaything for a month at minimum. With any luck, they wouldn't be able to remember most of it.

Well, no use worrying about it now. They lay in the chair, trying to stay calm, wondering when the drug would kick in and watching the various monitors that they supposed must represent their brainwaves. They were colorful and rhythmic, and they had no idea what it all meant, but Dr. Moon was certainly interested.

Maybe they could just... take a nap...

Quinn shook themself, realizing they had fallen into a bit of a daze. Was that the sleeping gas starting to take effect? It was hard to say because they were pretty much always exhausted, but the urge to suddenly take a nap was unusual. Perhaps it was just their imagination, but their eyes did feel unusually tired. Like they'd feel better closed. The lights in the room were bright, and shutting their eyes would feel nice.

They yawned involuntarily and jerked themselves awake. They'd started to drift without even realizing how drowsy they'd become. The effects of the gas had crept up on them and made them so sleepy, their eyelids thick and heavy, their thoughts slowing. Now that the sedative was definitely working on them, they couldn't help the urge to fight against it, to try to keep themselves awake.

"Subject displaying signs of relaxation and sedation," said the assistant, as if to confirm Quinn's thoughts. "Heart rate has slowed. Breathing deep and even. Eyes are unfocused and glassy. Eyelids drooping involuntarily."

Quinn tried to open their eyes wider, but found them shutting down all by themselves a moment later. The gas really was putting them to sleep now. All they could think about was how tired they were, how much they'd like to go to sleep, the threat of brainwashing becoming more distant and hazy as their eyes slowly closed and their mind began to doze off.

"Can you open your eyes for me, please?"

They dutifully opened their eyes at the sound of the doctor's voice, blinking away the heavy weight of sleep. 

"Subject has clear difficulty with opening their eyes. Alertness greatly reduced. Subject still able to respond to sounds."

"Follow the penlight with your eyes for me."

They tried. The penlight seemed to leave trails behind it, and it was hard to keep up with the quick movements. Their eyes really wanted to shut down again. They yawned in a vain attempt to try and become more awake.

"Solve these problems, please."

It was another flashcard of simple, grade school math problems, but this time the numbers seemed to swim and dance before Quinn's eyes. The problems should've been easy, they should've been able to answer them quickly and get back to sleep, but their brain was refusing to focus. Ten minus three. They knew this. Ten minus three... ten minus three...

"...Seven," they finally said. "And the next one is... four. And then..."

Two two-digit numbers. That was too many digits. Forty-six plus twenty-one. They knew this. They knew this! But the numbers just wouldn't stay in their drowsy head long enough to produce an answer. Sleep... they were so, so sleepy... their eyelids were drooping shut again without their consent.

"Quinn? Can you solve the problem?"

Quinn struggled to get their eyes back open. They had almost fallen completely asleep for a second. They stared at the treacherous numbers, trying in vain to make their tired brain function.

"Subject is slow to produce answers to basic math problems," said the assistant. "Subject shows clear signs of severe cognitive impairment while sedated. Subject is frustrated but compliant. Subject's eyes keep closing even when the subject has been instructed to focus."

"Too sleepy for math, huh?" said Dr. Moon in a mocking tone. "That's fine. You're progressing very nicely. We'll be able to start the next phase soon."

Cognitive impairment... too sleepy for math... Quinn burned with embarrassment. They didn't like this, being too sedated to answer the simplest questions while being observed and teased. They didn't like having to fight their leaden eyelids so hard just to keep from falling back asleep. They didn't like the feeling of being so heavily drugged and drowsy and out of it. Was this what it would be like for the next month?

In a half-asleep haze, Quinn tried to reach for the mask over their face, the one pumping the artificially sweet sleeping gas into their system. If they could just get some fresh air... But their arm felt as impossibly heavy as their eyelids, and they could barely manage to clumsily paw at the mask.

"No, no, no resisting," said Dr. Moon, easily grabbing their wrist and pinning their arm down to the armrest. "Let's give the subject 30% Somnolence with the Lullaby. Shift their brain fully out of gear."

"No," Quinn protested weakly. That was exactly what they didn't want, but they were too drowsy to put up any meaningful resistance. They could smell something like lavender, which they assumed was the new drug mixing in. There was a strange tingling right at the base of their skull, and a few seconds later, they couldn't think. If the other gas was a Lullaby, this was more like a hammer to the brain. Any fight was instantly drained from them as they sank back into the chair, letting their heavy eyes close down and slipping away into slumber.

They weren't sure how long they spent drifting in and out of consciousness. Dr. Moon was talking, they thought, but they sounded so muffled and far away that it might have been a dream. It felt like they might sleep like this forever.

The voice grew louder, more insistent, and Quinn tried to focus on it. "Quinn? Quinn, are you with us?"

"Mmm," they said.

"Can you squeeze my hand? I'm holding your left hand right now."

Quinn furrowed their brow. They seemed so disconnected from their body that the task seemed impossible, but they tried, and found that they actually could feel a hand holding theirs.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

Where they were... They did know that, but the answer floated away from them when they tried to grasp it. "...sleeping...?"

"Yes, you're in a state of twilight sleep right now. Not that you can probably understand that. Do you know where you are?"

"Work...?"

"That's right. And what department...?"

"I work in IT," they mumbled.

"Close enough. We'd better reduce the gas a little bit. We may have overshot."

Quinn was just glad that the interrogation had stopped and they could go back to floating in a sleepy fog. 

Prev - Masterlist - Next - Picrew