Hope You Feel Better!!

Fuck you *installs puppy on your robot*

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

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

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~

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!

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!!)

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.

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!

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

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.