Latest Posts by junko-kat - Page 2

listen to my Voice, hero

TW: mind control, hypnotic induction, intimate whumper, restraints, corruption

Are your bonds comfortable, Hero? I wouldn't want to cause any damage to your precious muscles and nerves. You are the city's shining hope, after all. Or at least, you have been until now.

Good, now we can have a proper chat. You can just listen carefully to everything I have to say. 

Oh, don't glare at me like that. How many times have we clashed now? And every time you manage to resist my lovely compelling Voice just enough to stop my plans, just enough so that I must escape by the skin of my teeth. You must have known it might come to this eventually, a time when my compulsions are too strong for you to fight, a time when my Voice finally brings you to your knees.

I've been training, dear hero, training especially for you. Training for you, because you're really the only one in this city worth controlling. You're better than all of them. We both know that. And I know how you feel about me, because I've seen the look in your eyes when my compulsions take hold of your pretty little mind.

No, no, be quiet. Be quiet.That's it, there you are. Oh, the delicious expression on your face when I use my Voice on you. I'll never get enough of it.

Most heroes look terrified, you know, to have their thoughts pulled out from under them, to find their body out of their control. Terrified, angry, defiant -- that's how the other heroes look. But you're different. In that moment when I weave my spell on you, when you feel your mind go hazy and your body stop obeying your commands, I see something else in your eyes. I see relief. Deep, unmistakable relief.

No, don't try to deny it. I've tangled with you too many times to be wrong about this. You're relieved when I compel you. You'd never admit it, not even to yourself, but you long for the way it feels. You long to have your choices taken away. You long to not have to make decisions. You long to not have to fight any more.

But every time, you fight. Every time, you break free of my Voice. And I can see the toll it takes on you. That's why I've been training so hard, Hero. So that you couldn't resist my Voice, wouldn't be able to break free. So that I could give you what you want more than anything. 

I've seen you, Hero. I've seen you at your best and at your lowest, haven't I? I understand you better than anyone else in the city. You know it's true. And I can see how exhausted you are. How you've been worked to the bone. How you never get to rest, never get a vacation. I even tried cutting back on my evil schemes in the hopes that you'd take a break, but all you did was pursue other villains twice as hard. 

There are deep bags under your eyes, Hero, marring your beautiful face. There's resignation in your tone that was never there before. I can't stand it, can't stand the way the city treats you. You're destroying yourself to save this ungrateful, useless population and all they do is criticize you. It makes me sick.

And I know what you do once you've defeated me and I escape back to my lair. I know you return to your cold, empty apartment, and curl up on the couch with some convenience food, trying to relax. I know how you toss and turn at night, wondering if you're doing the right thing. I know how lonely you are, Hero. I'm lonely too, you know.

I wish you could see how glassy and dazed your eyes are right now. It's beautiful. Listening to my Voice is so nice, isn't it? Yes, that's it, just relax.

Oh, your hair is so soft. I bet you haven't had a tender touch like this in a while. I saw you lean into it before you caught yourself. Let me run my hand through your hair, there's a good, relaxed hero. Is that a sleepy little smile I see? You like that, don't you?

In fact, you like all of this, don't you? You like having no choice but to relax and listen as my compelling Voice weaves a spell around you. You like the feeling as I slowly hypnotize your vulnerable mind, how your resistance slips away little by little. You've thought about this on those lonely nights, haven't you? What it would feel like if I won. What it would feel like to succumb to my hypnotic compulsions. What it would feel like if you stopped fighting and let me take charge of your mind completely.

Oh, don't struggle. Don't struggle. Relax.There it is again, that relief. My Voice feels good, doesn't it? It feels so good to have the fight taken out of you. Don't deny it, it's written all over your face.

You don't need to pretend you haven't thought about it. You somehow manage to always be the first hero on the scene whenever I try anything. Almost as if you're willing to drop anything to see me, isn't it?

But you were scared. I'm a villain, after all. I don't deny it. You must think I might hurt or humiliate you. Well, you can put all of your fears to rest, because I have no intention of that. I respect you far too much. I'm going to take good care of you, Hero. I'm going to give you the treatment you deserve. I'm going to help you relax. I'm going to take all your worries away.  It's going to feel amazing, Hero, I promise.

I'm sorry, were you trying to say something just now? Still trying to fight it? You'll have to speak up, it's too hard to hear you when you're so out of it.

"It's wrong"? Is that what you said, Hero?

No, what's wrong is how little reward you get for everything you do. That's why I had to do this, had to train my Voice to be strong enough to be irresistible even to you. Now I can reward you. I can give you everything you want, everything you need, beginning with the beautiful, relaxing oblivion of total and complete obedience.

You'll get other rewards, too, of course you will. Together we'll share in the riches of the city, bend everyone in power to our wills. It's what we both deserve. But this is your first and most important reward -- obedience. Nothing is more calm, relaxing, and peaceful than knowing you have no choice, than having every decision made for you.

And all you have to do is listen. 

I'm too strong for you now, Hero, my Voice too compelling. You're almost entirely under my spell, aren't you? I can see how drowsy you are, how my compulsions are putting your conscious mind to sleep.

Yes, that's it. You're too exhausted, Hero. Too tired. Too many nights with too little sleep. You need to rest. You need to stop fighting. You need to surrender.

No one will think any less of you. They'll see how powerful I've become, how easily I can command even the strongest and smartest. They'll realize you had no choice, that it was out of your hands. You won't need to feel guilt or shame. Everyone will know this wasn't your fault, that there was nothing you could do to prevent yourself falling under my villainous control. 

And the fact that you actually enjoy this, the fact that you long to give in so badly and fall under my hypnotic trance? That can be our little secret, Hero.

There we go. That's it, just a little more. Look into my eyes. Look nice and deep into my eyes while I stroke your hair and talk you down softly. Just like you've always dreamed of. No more fear, no more pain. Only sweet restful sleep and deep hypnotic trance. 

That's it, Hero. It's too late. You're too tired, too drowsy, too captured in my Voice to fight it. There's nothing to do. Nothing you have to do. Just feel yourself growing oh so dazed and sleepy as I weave my Voice around you. So comforting. So right. Exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you needed. Exactly where you belong. 

Tell me, Hero, tell me you want this.

That's it, that's it! Oh, how I've longed to hear those words from you. Tell me how my Voice makes you feel. Be honest.

Oh. Oh, my. That's... that's even better than I expected. Far, far better. You love my Voice that much? Oh, Hero, dear Hero, why didn't you say so before? You could have had this any time. I would have been more than happy to bring you to my lair and give you the hypnosis you deserve. You could have been listening to my Voice all day.

Well, it doesn't matter now, because now you can have my Voice all you want, stronger than it's ever been. Isn't that nice? Oh, look at you bob your drowsy head. I don't even need to compel agreement out of you. You're so deeply hypnotized, aren't you? Good, good. Good hero. 

My hero.

Now, why don't you go all the way under? Just keep listening and let your eyelids grow oh so heavy. Let those heavy eyes close. Don't open them again. That's a good hero. So obedient and docile. You're so, so beautiful to me, my drowsy, docile hero. 

Yes, docile. That's what you are, deep down inside. All your strength, all your determination to do the right thing, all of that is a mask that conceals who you really are. A docile and obedient little lamb. And no one needs to know that but me. I'll fulfill your deep craving to be hypnotized and controlled, and you can still be every bit as strong and determined when you're working under my orders. Doesn't that sound just perfect for you? 

All the way under, now, deep into hypnotic trance. Let your resistance fade, my hero. Let your mind fog. Let your mental defenses fall.

Surrender. Surrender and submit. Submit to me, just like you've always wanted.

You can finally feel that relief. You can finally take that rest. Because I have you now. You're mine. I'm in complete control now, my docile little hero. 

And I order you to feel nothing but bliss.

Masterlist

If you like this, you may like "the defiant princess" for more gentle, slow induction on a resisting subject.

Conversion/ The Box

In one hour, I will be put in The Box.

It has a much more complex and scientific name, of course. But those of us in the system for preparation for it simply call it that. 'The Box', like a device of torture that must not be named.

I've been on the list for some time now. Conscripted, analyzed, prepared, preplanned. While I'd expected something, I doubt I could ever be prepared enough.

We would comfort each other as much as possible. Talk over our worries, assure each other. It was tough to contact the ones post-op, but the ones who did helped explain the procedure.

We wouldn't be aware for most of it anyway. Surgery tended to work better when the patient was unconscious. We'd be put inside, The augments and cybernetics would be applied and attached, our minds would be scanned and be acclimatized to the systems. afterwards we would be in treatment for another 5 weeks as we adjusted to the systems connecting to our synapses and nerves.

Some of us worried of ego death. The ones we could talk to spoke about it like rebirth. Not that they were very vocal. Their handlers tended to translate for them where able, or willing.

And The Box would be where it happened. Keeping our vitals stable while keeping us unconscious, unaware, and deprived of all sensation.

I was scared for a while. Of course I'd be, when described like that. But after some time with those who came out after, the Mech Pilots, the Dolls, the Drones, I'm excited. I think I understand what they mean, if only somewhat.

That's likely part of why I was chosen for this in the first place. Freedom from burden, from worry of choice and blame. Freedom from my slowly breaking body. A chance to find happiness and fulfillment where I couldn't anywhere else. I'd be a weapon, a tool, and that was enough for me. whoever takes the role of my handler will manage the day to day, and if I don't like it (if I even can still dislike it), I could always do what I've heard the first few did. I will be a carefully honed weapon. A tool for greatness.

I will be in The Box soon. and while I'm nervous, I cannot wait for my rebirth.

JuneofDoom Day 8 - “This is your last chance.”

@juneofdoom

Content: Vague facility stuff, threat of brainwashing, recapture

“No— no!” They screeched, being hoisted up by their arms.

They were so close —

The guards dragged them back into the facility, kicking and screaming until their throat hurt, thrashing.

When they entered the facility, they knew exactly where they were going.

The reprogramming room.

“Let go — let gO-!” They protested in vain.

The guard positioned at the large metal doors of the reprogramming room graciously opened them up for the ones restraining them. With one swift motion, the guards thrust them into the room, locking the doors behind them with a thud that reverberated through their body.

For a moment, all was still.

Silent.

Then they threw themself at the doors.

Their side slammed into the thick metal, and they rammed themself back against it repeatedly to no avail. Over and over and over again.

Their body began to hurt, and after a while, they crumpled to the ground, their back against the doors.

“Dammit—” They choked out, voice breaking.

The reprogramming would start any time now. And then … and then they would be … gone.

The speakers crackled to life.

“Ah… number thirty-four. I expected you would do this eventually.”

They jumped at the sound of the voice.

Shut up, shut up —

“Such a shame. Other than these … problems, you’re doing so well.”

They breathed hard, shallow and raspy.

“That was your last chance. I won’t let this continue.”

Frantic, they began to plead. “No, no, I’m sorry! Please — please don’t!”

…

There was no response, save for the lights in the room flicking off one by one … plunging them into darkness, ready for the process to begin.

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?

I Will Not Apologize

Happy Pride, ya'll.

$3 download (includes version where you can color in your own Pride flag. Limited restrictions, mostly don't be a fascist or major company: https://ko-fi.com/s/ac6c284e8c

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Obsessed with the very concept of mech pilots having handlers; and specifically the usage of the term. They aren't a navigator or support, they're a handler. Mech pilots may be unparalleled agents of war on the battlefield, but they're raw, uncontrolled. A pilot needs a handler to point it to what to shoot, because otherwise they just don't know what to do. Brains so melted by their training, overwhelmed by neural linking, that they need a voice they can latch onto and follow unconditionally. An unconditional obedience that carries over outside their mechs, where they're oh so weak and broken. Where the veil comes down and the true power dynamic reveals itself. A tool that follows orders without thinking, and the one who wields them.

corporate retreat masterlist

part one in which Quinn gets voluntold to sign up for brainwashing

part two in which Quinn gets put to sleep

part three in which Quinn gets hypnotized

part four in which Quinn gets their reward

picrew

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

corporate retreat part 1 / 4

I went into a fugue state and wrote nine thousand words about an overworked corporate drone being brainwashed for their own good.

tw: brainwashing, conditioning, dehumanization, drugging, humiliation, hypnosis, restraints,  corporate culture, weight insecurity mentioned, a little kinky

"Welcome to the Brainwashing Department! You must be today's test subject. We're happy to have you!"

Quinn stared in disbelief at the receptionist's guileless and strangely familiar smile. "You're awfully cheerful about this, aren't you?"

"Well, I love my job," he said without the slightest trace of malevolence. "As I'm sure you know, the Brainwashing Department is critically important to the organization. Without us, we wouldn't have sleeper agents, puppet politicians, memory erasure... and it's interesting work, too. No two subjects are the same." He glanced at Quinn's badge and then at their face. "Say, I recognize you. You're from IT, aren't you? You're the one who always unlocks my laptop when I forget my password!"

Oh, shit, that's where they remembered this guy. Quinn wasn't sure what they found more mortifying: the fact that they'd been recognized, or the idea of letting a guy who obviously didn't know how to work a laptop be in charge of human minds. Maybe he'd been a test subject, and it affected his brain... although considering what Quinn had signed up for, that wasn't at all comforting.

"Yeah, I'm from IT," said Quinn. "Can we get started? I'd prefer to get this over with."

The receptionist laughed. "You seem like you could use a vacation. Good thing you're here. No better vacation than a vacation from your thoughts, right?" He pushed a button on his phone. "Dr. Moon, your test subject has arrived."

Quinn played with their phone and tried not to look like an anxious wreck as they waited for the doctor. This was such an awful idea, but they didn't have much of a choice. 

---

"You used to be my favorite minion. I hate to see your potential go down the drain, and I'd really, really hate to have to put you on a performance improvement plan," their boss had said. "You know, just because we're in the business of underground supervillainy doesn't mean we don't value our employees' mental health. You should take a vacation, recharge yourself."

"I'm out of PTO," said Quinn.

Their boss leaned over her desk with a frightening look in her eye. "Have you happened to see the fliers the Brainwashing Department has been posting?"

Oh, they didn't like where this was headed. "The ones looking for compliant test subjects? The ones promising a $5000 bonus and a month of PTO?"

"Exactly! Doesn't that solve your problem?"

"The month of PTO is just the month you spend as their brainwashed test subject."

"Details," she said with a handwave. "You get PTO and a chance to relax --"

"-- by being drugged and hypnotized out of my skull --"

"--and you'll come back refreshed and ready to work."

"Presumably because you'll get them to brainwash me to be a better employee."

"See, everyone wins!" she said. "I highly recommend that you volunteer."

And that was that. Quinn certainly didn't have the clout to argue, especially when they were at risk of being at the bottom of the stack ranking. You didn't want to get stack ranked in this organization. It usually involved poison in your cafeteria rations.

---

"Quinn? You're a volunteer for brainwashing testing, right?"

Quinn looked up to see a middle-aged woman wearing the aquamarine jumpsuit of the higher-status employees, along with a lab coat and a pair of enormous round glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she had a strangely warm smile given her profession. 

"I'm Quinn, and yeah."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr. Moon," she said, holding out her hand for a shake, and her hands felt warm as well. "Thank you for volunteering. It's critically important that we have adequate testing subjects for refining our process, before we have to use the techniques on important targets. So many employees are frightened of our department, even though our work is really quite pleasant. You don't have anything to worry about, though. I promise that your mind is good hands here."

"Good to know," they said. "Hopefully I can give you some good data." It really wasn't the competency of the Brainwashing Department that worried them -- they'd seen their results firsthand. If anything, they were perhaps a little too competent.

"I'm sure your data will be invaluable. Now, if you could follow me..." She turned and swiped her keycard at the double doors next to the reception desk, ushering Quinn inside.

They stood in a short, sterile, and blindingly white hallway with several doors on each side and another large set of double glass doors at the end. "Those doors lead to the primary brainwashing floor," Dr. Moon said, gesturing to the end of the hallway. "But first, I'm going to have you go into one of our prep rooms." 

She slid her keycard on one of the side doors, which opened up to a small room with some lockers, a shower, and a bench. "Put your uniform and any personal effects -- except your glasses and anything medically necessary -- in the locker. Then, take a shower using the provided soap and dress in the clothes you find in the locker. Make sure you clip your identification tag to the gown, so we don't lose you."

"Wouldn't want that to happen."

"When you're done, just press the button and I'll be back to guide you to the next phase," she said. "Take your time. We're in no hurry."

Quinn shut the door behind them. They stripped off their sneakers, a pair of socks adorned with little green alien heads, and the gray jumpsuit that marked their middling status in the organization. The hot water felt great as they stepped into the shower, and the soap was pleasantly scented with lavender. It would've been relaxing if the shower hadn't given them a chance to be alone with their own thoughts.

Were they really going through with this? They could've told their boss no, but that would've just ended badly. The terms of the test subject agreement guaranteed that the process would be reversed at the end, but it wasn't like they trusted that. They knew what the Brainwashing Department was capable of. They could wipe any memories they didn't want them to have, they could implant suggestions of being more loyal and eager to work, they could humiliate them in so many ways, they could simply leave them brainwashed permanently... 

Quinn sighed. This was absolutely going to suck, but there was no use worrying. It wasn't like they were going to turn back now.

The provided outfit was a soft blue cotton hospital gown and padded socks. They were quite comfortable, but made Quinn feel entirely too exposed and vulnerable without their familiar jumpsuit. The badge they clipped to the gown had their name, picture, subject number, and a series of codes designating the brainwashing procedures they were going to undergo. Quinn didn't know enough about the department's work to know what the codes meant.

They pressed the button.

A few minutes later, Dr. Moon entered the room. "I hope you had a nice shower. Let's get you into the other room to do a few necessary checks."

The next room was a bit like a doctor's office. "I'll need you to stand on that scale, please," said Quinn.

"Is that really necessary?" They fucking hated this part of the doctor's visit.

"It's not for judgement or shaming, really! We just need accurate weight to make sure the medication dosage is correct. It's for your own safety. You don't even need to look."

Somehow, even the idea of being weighed for brainwashing drugs was preferable to being shamed again. They didn't look as they stood on the scale, and Dr. Moon made no comment.

"Now, if you'll sit on the table for a minute, please," she said. "Let me just check your breathing... your eyes and ears..."

Quinn sat as still as they could as Dr. Moon pressed a stethoscope to their chest and shined a light in their eyes, but they couldn't keep their knee from bouncing.

"Any vision or hearing problems, other than your need for glasses?"

"No."

"Any disabilities we should be aware of? Here in the Brainwashing Department, we pride ourselves on our commitment to diversity. We'll adjust our procedures to accommodate any disability, mental or physical, to ensure that everyone can safely and easily fall under our control."

"Uh. Not that I know of." Quinn most certainly was not going to spill their mental health difficulties to this woman. She'd probably have access to all of Quinn's secrets soon enough... ugh, they'd rather not think about that.

"All right, then. If you're ready, I can lead you to the brainwashing floor and we can get started on your procedure."

"I'm not sure I can be any more ready than I am right now, so..."

"I know it must seem nerve-wracking, but trust me, once we get started you won't be worried at all."

"That doesn't especially ease my worries."

They followed Dr. Moon through the double doors and into the main brainwashing floor. Here, thirty of the organization's brainwashing devices were arranged in neat rows, big plush reclining chairs with restraints and screens and medical tools. They were all currently occupied by people of all ages and types undergoing procedures. Most of the people were half-asleep and watching hypnotic screens, mouthing words under their breath, hooked up to gas tanks and IV lines containing the drug cocktails that made them docile and malleable. Some were being induced, surrounded by staff monitoring their vitals as they went under. Others had a staff member drilling commands into their minds. One woman at the back was thrashing and fighting as the department staff wrangled her into restraints and into a mask.

Quinn had long been desensitized to the brainwashing floor. After all, when you worked for an organization like this one, morals flew out the window with your first paycheck. The work they did was necessary to keep the organization going, and honestly less messy and more humane than some of the other departments. Quinn had had to come here plenty of times to help troubleshoot problems with the machines, and had swiftly learned to tune out the droning hypnotic inductions and sounds of quiet struggle.

But it certainly hit differently now that Quinn knew they were destined for one of the devices. They couldn't help but imagine themselves in a chair, watching a hypnotic screen with a dazed smile and glassy eyes. The idea made their skin crawl with the fear they'd been shoving aside until now. They hated the idea of not being in control, and especially the idea of other people seeing them helpless and vulnerable. But that fate was now inevitable. They weren't kidding themselves about their ability to resist. Dr. Moon would probably turn them into a drooling, tranced-out mess by lunchtime.

At least they'd get some good sleep for a change. Chemically-induced sleep with a side of mind warping, sure, but sleep nonetheless.

i think a lot about the "brain hacking" aspect of mind control

i don't just mean tech control and brain chips and stuff, although those are super fun!! but it's more like... the idea that you can exploit the human brain is just. on my mind frequently imagine if one day we discovered a visual pattern or something that could totally hijack your mind. like it just tickled all the right neurons that it triggered some sort of cascade and broke you wide open, leaving you suggestible and pliant

i think a major reason this is on my mind so often is because it's the sort of thing that would be LITERALLY impossible to resist. like what are you gonna do?? for a psychological process you can struggle, hold out, fight, but for a neurological process you just. snap. gone. there's also this clinical aspect to it, where you're sort of treated like a machine; a bundle of neurotransmitters that can be sparked in a way that's just proper, and then reprogrammed

so basically i just get sooo weak when inductions use this kind of language. even if it's complete nonsense it just!! it calls forth this imagery when a spiral is described not just as a focus but as a stimulator or something like that, and when its mechanism is described. hell, it doesn't even have to go for the neurological stuff- isn't it really really hot and squirm inducing when you're being TOLD how you're being hypnotized? like the opposite of covert stuff, when the hypnotist is just calmly explaining to you all the complex things they're doing to your mind and you're just too zoned out to even clock that you're being put under control

(also hi!! i'm posting again :D thanks to everyone who's still hanging around ily!! send me asks abt things and i'll have fun answering them!!)

Hypnotized to Freeze and Drop

She's hypnotized to respond to hypnotic triggers in this short clip. The first word is FREEZE, which has her instantly freeze in place like a statue. The second word is DROP, which instantly drops her into trance

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper....

Reblog if you want to go deeper

POV: You’re a new hire at BlissCORP and meet the president’s secretary

Reblog if you want to be hypnotized into a brainwashed bimbo, a horny pet, or just a needy, helpless mess. Or if you want a hug!

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper.....

Drop deeper and deeper....

Reblog if you want to go deeper