Hello Are You Into Abdl Or Sissy Lifestyle

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.

Pet whumpee for sale who's been passed by for days because they're so obviously traumatized. Nobody appreciates a pet who flinches and whimpers upon being touched. What's the point?

Except Carewhumper, who's been looking for this exact thing. Carewhumper embracing Whumpee and holding them close even as their breath hitches in panic, gently stroking their hair. Carewhumper murmurs so gently to them as they tremble.

"There, see? It's not so bad. It's not so bad, is it? Shh, shh... it's all right. Look at you, you're so pretty. Shh. It's all right. You want to be good for me, don't you? I'm going to take such good care of you."

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.

Hope you feel better!!

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

corporate retreat 2/4

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"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. 

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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

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

Fuck you *installs puppy on your robot*

The brightest, happiest, most joyful character having the most deprived, tortured, horrid past one could imagine and their team has no clue until it comes back to haunt them somehow and they break.

They just break.

And their team has to watch the one person they never thought they’d ever see cry descend into terrified, inconsolable sobs.