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One more thing about creating if you want to start out: you're probably gonna suck. Like in the past I've encouraged frequent requestors to try experimenting with Photoshop and GIMP on their own, and sometimes they came back to me and were like look at this awful shit I made, I'll bet you can do it better nudge nudge

And I'm just like my dude the first 600 manips I made looked like this

The point being that you will always get better. Trust me, I posted this garbage to the internet.

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The most important part of creating on the kinky mind control side of the internet is just finding your thing. The biggest motivator I've found myself is creating more of the stuff that I want to see as a consumer of good shit. My taste can actually be pretty narrow, and I've found that a lot of mind control fiction blends kinks that kills the vibe.

Like, for example, mind control content on the internet tends to skew dramatically in the direction of superheroine peril type stuff and a fun fact about me is that I literally do not give a shit about superheroes. I enjoy superhero mind control stuff, like I think the content being made over at Metrobay Comix is some of the best mind control shit on the internet, but there's never been a lot of stuff that was fully compatible with my tastes. So I started making the shit myself.

So what did I decide my thing was? Originally it was just supermodels, mostly. But as I grew away from just being a manipper and started developing as a halfway decent writer, I'd like to think that character became more important to me. Like, that's probably the biggest element of what I do here. It's the reason that I write everything in a connected universe. I like well-rounded characters because the manipulations and the brainwashings and transformations have so much more impact on a reader when they actually know who the characters are. I'm just chasing the excitement I felt as a kid any time Sam was brainwashed on Totally Spies. It was cool because it was mind control, yeah, but it was cooler that it was a main character that I knew.

Your thing doesn't have to be my thing. Maybe you really do dig the quick little vignettes of unnamed characters being hypnotized, that's totally cool too. What's important to me is that you think about the kind of content that you wanted to find when you started searching the internet for good shit, and you make that good shit for yourself.

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Got a fun/evil idea for Apple to pivot to

Someone's gonna scoop up all the Apple Vision Pros that end up in landfills and build a brainwashed empire with them

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Half the fanbases in the league had mock trades where the Bengals deal Tee Higgins to their team lmao I genuinely don't know if Mike Brown knows he can trade players

Best part of being a lifelong Bengals fan is watching all the randos who hopped on the bandwagon after the Super Bowl meet the absolute worst ownership in sports

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Best part of being a lifelong Bengals fan is watching all the randos who hopped on the bandwagon after the Super Bowl meet the absolute worst ownership in sports

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My real issue is that any time we have a moral outrage like this it's typically code for "they put gay kids in this show!" Nostalgia is a crazy powerful weapon in organizing a movement that actually seeks to diminish representation, even if you realize that you're a part of the movement or not. That's what makes it so fucking evil!

Anyway don't mind me just ranting about a two year old show everybody hated

Thought the Velma backlash was a little weird because a lot of it was focused on "they're sexualizing KIDS" when y'all've been sexualizing Daphne and Velma for legit sixty goddamn years

Like I'm sure the show sucks, I literally do not care, but I've been on Deviantart for fifteen years I've seen the fanart folks

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Thought the Velma backlash was a little weird because a lot of it was focused on "they're sexualizing KIDS" when y'all've been sexualizing Daphne and Velma for legit sixty goddamn years

Like I'm sure the show sucks, I literally do not care, but I've been on Deviantart for fifteen years I've seen the fanart folks

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Internal Affairs started as a small story request way back in 2016. It was this quick caption about a rookie undercover cop who discovers a little too late that her captain is the architect of the prostitution ring that she's infiltrated. I rediscovered the story earlier last year when I was backing up my content from Deviantart and I decided that it deserved a rewrite with the whole expanded story treatment.

The original is just your regular caption. We're introduced to the character, she tries to foil the bad guy's mind control scheme, bad guy reveals that she's already a part of the mind control scheme and activates her programming. I wanted to do something a bit more complicated. I've always liked stories where we get the inner monologue of a brainwashed character who's desperately trying to convince themselves that this is fine I'm definitely not under mind control.

I'm not really sure how deep this story is going to go yet. There's two parts to the original series, but it suffers from a common issue in my earlier work where characters who are supposed to be competent detectives just walk into obvious mind control conspiracies and immediately become victims, so I wanted to focus the rewrite on making the characters behave a bit more like the smart people that they are, cause ultimately that makes for more satisfying smut when they become dumb, horny, brainwashed slaves, y'know?

Lydia, unfortunately, is not a a competent detective. But reframing her as an outsider was one way that I reworked the story to justify her absolutely sucking at being a cop. I struggled a lot getting through this one, but ultimately it's one of my favorite stories that I wrote last year.

Internal Affairs #1: The Rookie

By the third week, Lydia’s revulsion was turning into arousal. By the third month, she struggled to remember the assignment at all.

I’m a cop, she reminded herself before rolling her hips, sliding down the john’s cock until it was pressed deep up inside her pussy. A soft moan staggered from Lydia’s lips. Again, I am a cop. Hips roll, cock deep, soft moan. I am a cop. Repeat until the john was satisfied.

It was all part of establishing her cover. Nobody would believe Lydia’s work if she didn’t do the work. Why couldn’t she enjoy it too?

I am a cop.

But she wasn’t a cop. Not really. It had once been Lydia’s dream. When she was eleven, two officers visited her class. The man looked like any other cop on the eleven o’clock news: wide shoulders, short cropped hair, carrying all that “fuck your civil rights” privilege with pride. Most of the boys stared at the gun on his hip, waiting for the little shit brave enough to ask, “Have you killed anybody?”

But it was the female cop that Lydia couldn’t take her eyes off of. She respected the children, spoke to them like people. Not like her partner who addressed the class like he was facing a courtroom. She didn’t look like any woman cop that Lydia had ever seen either. She was tall, and a statuesque beauty made her all the more intimidating. The boys only saw the man and the gun, but Lydia saw the looks between the two. How the man would turn to his partner before giving an answer. He only did it a couple of times, but it was enough for Lydia to know who was really incharge. No one had told her a woman could have that kind of power.

But Lydia’s dream of carrying a badge didn’t make it past high school. She ultimately chose a criminal justice degree at Carpenter State University over the police academy. She never expected that it was less of a path to a future, and more of a strange, meandering way back to her dream.

I am a

“...mindless whore,” the john said as she rode him.

Lydia stared down into his eyes. His face twisted between embarrassing expressions as he fought back the inevitable orgasm. The way he grunted his words, it surprised Lydia that the john could even try to talk dirty to her, most of his mental bandwidth allocated to holding out as long as he could. Lydia wasn’t cheap and she only took one shot for each service rendered. Every John wanted it to count.

“Is that how you like it?” Lydia playfully responded. “Young, dumb, blonde bimbos without a thought in their heads?”

The john grunted something back that a generous listener might say sounded like, “Yeah.”

“I am a mindless whore,” Lydia bit her lip. “My mind is just a wet hole aching to be filled by its Master’s cock.”

“Fuck,” the John gasped. “Say it again.”

“I am a mindless whore.”

“Again,” he pleaded.

“I am a mindless whore!”

“Again!”

I am a mindless whore.

Lydia had been applying to law schools when her professor approached her with the opportunity.

Lydia,

I was hoping you could set some time aside in your calendar to meet with a friend of mine from RPD. I think you’ll find it educational. If you’re interested, shoot me over some dates and I’ll set up the meet.

Best,

Dr. Bloom

Lydia met with the friend from RPD the next week in Dr. Bloom’s office. Lieutenant Barbara Keyes sat across from her at Dr. Bloom’s desk. Dr. Bloom briefly introduced Barbara then excused himself to let the two of them talk. Barbara wanted the meeting to feel informal. “Call me Barbara,” she quickly said when Lydia referred to her by her title. But the location betrayed the intention. Not a lot of people knew that Lieutenant Keyes was there.

Lydia did her best Sam Spade, studying the woman across the desk. Mid-thirties to early forties, no ring on her finger. More likely a divorcee than a spinster. A married to the job kind of cop, she figured. But most important was the confidence–Lydia realized as she watched Barbara speak that she carried herself with the same confidence that had first caught her eye all those years ago in her sixth grade glass.

They chatted for a moment about Lydia’s education, Barbara’s background, and quickly found a comfortable place where they were just talking like old friends until Barbara said, “So Charlie tells me you’re his best student."

“Best,” Lydia laughed. “I don’t know about best–”

“I do,” Barbara cut her off. “I’ve known Charlie a long time and I trust his judgment.”

Lydia sighed, considering her next move, then decided that it was best to just cut through all the bullshit. “So is this a job interview?” she asked.

Barbara sat straight, unmoved by Lydia’s candor. “Lydia, I work in IAD. Do you know what that is?”

“Internal Affairs,” Lydia blinked.

“Unfortunately, I find myself in the position of trusting absolutely no one in the Romero Police Department, which means when it comes to recruits I need to look in unorthodox places.”

“Like Carpenter State,” Lydia said.

“That’s correct.” Barbara nodded. “Now, on top of my position in IAD, I’m also the deputy director of the RPD sex work task force. Since the task force formed two years ago, we’ve managed to clean up much of the areas around Carpenter State, which is a point of emphasis for the commissioner. That being said, River City remains frustratingly impenetrable.”

“I don’t understand,” Lydia said. “So is this a job interview…to go undercover?”

“I need young, female cops,” Barbara said. “But more specifically, I need young, female cops who don’t look like cops.”

Barbara was right. It was unorthodox, even downright unethical. But it was hard for Lydia not to admire the risk she was taking. Barbara Keyes was the kind of woman who valued education over brute force, that’s why she’d turned to Carpenter State for new recruits. And Lydia understood her reasoning too–her dream of becoming a cop came to an abrupt end in high school after a highly public, sweeping police corruption case in Romero upended the department. It had shaken Lydia’s faith in justice, but she couldn’t totally let those values go. If anyone else had come to her with this offer, asked her to play the role of a prostitute as an inexperienced, secret cop? She wouldn’t have just turned them down. She would have blown the fucking whistle. But Barbara was different. Lydia couldn’t stop seeing that cop from sixth grade. For some reason she wanted to do what Barbara asked of her. She had no choice but to accept.

I am a mindless whore.

Lydia always came with the john. That was what made her one of the most popular and expensive whores in River City. She’d been trained that way. She’d been trained that way because it made her a good cop. A good whore was a good cop. But she always seemed to forget about that when she was on top of them, bracing herself against the headboard as her body rocked from the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. It was always better when she was with a john.

They’d leave the money on the small table by the door and before they exited, Lydia would always offer something to keep them thinking about her.

“Your cock felt so good,” she said, dreamy eyes selling the illusion that this fuck was anything more than a transaction. “Next time I’d even let you cum inside my pussy.”

“You do that?” the john smiled.

“Well,” Lydia pondered as if she wasn’t reading a script. “I’d have to charge an extra five grand. Secret menu, you know? High premium for the risky stuff. But it’s worth it for my favorite.”

The john melted as she batted her eyelashes. They never had that kind of money, but goddamn they would fuck anyone over for that opportunity.

Lydia worked tirelessly through the night. Fucking, sucking, even occasionally offering her shoulder to cry on. She didn’t stop until she saw the pale blue light of the morning sky through the hotel room’s yellowing curtains. She took a quick shower, collected the evening’s take into a fat envelope, then flipped through her phone’s camera roll. 

The johns blurred together until they became one universal face. The only way she remembered them was by the pictures. She insisted on snapping a photo of every john’s ID before taking them to the hotel. “For security,” she would innocently say. 

Nobody had been busted by Lydia yet, so why should they suspect that it was anything more than a safety precaution? The johns liked Lydia and they wanted her to feel safe. But truthfully the IDs were part of the operation, one of the few things that actually made her feel like she was a cop. Barbara had been frustratingly vague on the details of her job, but Lydia knew that she was looking for somebody. Many of the johns were cops, and given Barbara’s role at IAD, Lydia assumed that she was trying to catch one of her own. But who?

She never recognized the faces. And try as hard as she could, she couldn’t match the names to them. They were right there next to the pictures, but something made it impossible for her to think of them as anything other than, “john.” The blue-eyed john, the brown-eyed john, the john with the scar next to his lip. Lydia selected the photos from her roll, a dozen for this night, and forwarded them in an email before deleting them from her phone forever.

Why had she done that? The details of her night’s work were better off with someone who understood it. No reason to burden herself with that knowledge anymore.

Before she could finish dressing, the room's phone rang. She was reluctant to pick it up, but the mechanical sound of the old fashioned landline phone drew her toward it. Something is wrong, she thought. I shouldn’t answer this.

It rang again, and she was powerless. Lydia lifted the receiver from its cradle and pressed it to her ear.

I am a cop.

“Good morning, Lydia,” the voice on the line said.

I am a cop.

“Good morning,” she slowly replied.

I am a

“I trust the evening was productive.”

I am a

“Yes…” she breathed.

I am

“And the IDs?”

I am

“I forwarded them to your email,” she said.

I

“Good,” the voice said. “And the night’s take?”

I

“Twenty-four grand.”

I am a mindless whore.

“That’s very good, Lydia,” the voice replied. “You know where to drop it off.”

Everything Lydia believed she was evaporated at the tinny sound of the telephone’s ring. By the time she heard the voice speak, that Lydia was already gone, replaced with the mindless whore she’d been trained to be. And she was one of the best in River City. She couldn’t fight that truth no matter how hard she tried to lie to herself. It felt too good.

“Tell me what you are, Lydia,” the voice commanded.

“I am a mindless whore,” Lydia said without hesitation. Speaking it out loud now drove her to the edge of another orgasm.

“That’s right,” the voice said, “And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

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This neck pain is so unreal I feel like I could pass out lmao

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(the joke is actually on me because I don't ever listen to feedback and instead I'm going to write a 3,500 word chapter to a series that three people have read where a character just contemplates the miserable nature of free will and then is like eh sure I'll be brainwashed what the heck)

Favorite mind control subgenres go

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Joke's on you, I'm gonna use responses to determine what I should write next because I'm a slave to engagement

Favorite mind control subgenres go

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Someone's gonna scoop up all the Apple Vision Pros that end up in landfills and build a brainwashed empire with them

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Serial recruitment scores high with most people, and me too! But with serial recruitment there's often not a real motivation behind why the good girls are making more good girls? Mind control is a narrative fetish. I just need a bit more, y'know?

Favorite mind control subgenres go

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The first three entries of Mind Control In the Wild that I planned out are actually about possession, so that probably says something about my tastes.

Favorite mind control subgenres go

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Favorite mind control subgenres go

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Wolverine's classic design is like Sonic The Hedgehog iconic, I don't get why live action adaptations are so fucking insecure about it

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I need to do something new with Andrea soon. Five months is way too long.

Hypnovember Day 5: Self-Care Saturday

It was supposed to be Andrea’s Self-Care Saturday. She’d bought a ticket to see Vertigo early at the Hedron Theater, then planned to spend the rest of the evening locked up in her apartment in sweatpants, eating freezer pizza and watching TV until she passed out. Then, as she was getting ready for the movie, she got the call from Dr. Fielding.

That’s how their relationship worked. Andrea was paid by the job and she only worked when needed, but she was on call 24/7 and powerless to deny a work request. Even though she wanted to protest, she couldn’t even offer a “But…” As soon as she heard Dr. Fielding’s voice, her will simply melted away.

“We have a job for you tonight, Andrea,” Dr. Fielding said

“Yes, Dr. Fielding,” Andrea replied in that dreamy sort of monotone that signaled the total power Carpenter State’s psychology professor held over her.

Sometimes the work could be exciting. The last time Dr. Fielding had given Andrea a call, it was to retrieve a coed who had torn off her clothes and climbed onto a table at Argento’s moaning, “More!” as she shoveled fistfulls of spaghetti into her mouth. Andrea and Tyler had succeeded in both removing the woman from the business and controlling the narrative—protecting a Romero institution like Argento’s by blaming the incident on a mysterious new drug. That’s why Andrea and Tyler worked so well together. They weren’t just good at cleaning up Romero’s messes, but covering them up too.

This call was not the weird horny spaghetti demon lady. This call was, “Attend this scholarship dinner and watch for anything weird.”

“Anything weird?” Tyler had repeated when Andrea climbed into his car with a huff.

“That’s all she said!” Andrea shot back. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Tyler had lost track of the conversation. He was busy ogling Andrea’s low plunging dress.

“Oh, fuck off,” Andrea snapped. “We got like thirty minutes notice, this is the best I could do.”

“Well you look great,” he smiled.

Tyler speculated that whatever they were supposed to look out for must be so obvious that they couldn’t miss it if they saw it. And, of course, if they never saw anything, Dr. Fielding wouldn’t have to worry about exposing them to too much information. One of those “need to know” type things.

Of course he’d take Dr. Fielding’s side on this, Andrea thought. The scholarship dinner was a great opportunity for Tyler to yuck it up with some big name Carpenter State donors. He absolutely lived for that shit. Andrea had trusted Tyler a lot less since he admitted to her that he’d accept pay in exposure. “Fuck that,” she’d said. “I’m trying to eat.”

The dinner was predictably boring. Tyler had abandoned Andrea almost immediately to introduce himself to Pageant Crowe, the longtime editor of the Romero Scribe. She hung back against the wall trying to make herself as small as possible. After forty-five minutes of listening to old white men speak about the value of a Carpenter education, she tapped Tyler on the shoulder and whisper-shouted, “I gotta piss,” turning more than a few heads at the English majors table.

The bathroom was outside of the dining hall, near the back of the building just by the kitchens. The sound of the muffled speeches bounced off of the cement walls. As she exited the bathroom, she gave herself a moment to sigh, but before she could head back in there she heard a bump from the kitchen. It was probably nothing, she thought, but enough to pick up her terminally bored interest.

“Hello?” Andrea called, stepping toward the dark hallway that led into the kitchen. Next she heard a metallic clang, and a moan floated down the corridor. Andrea followed the noise, gasping when she entered the kitchen to find a woman on the floor surrounded by pots and pans. She was dressed in a red ball gown, an absolutely stunning body with long, black hair and full lips that curled into a perfect crimson O as she moaned. Andrea figured she must have been a donor, because her look wasn’t “fresh off the rack at Target” enough to be a scholarship student.

it wasn’t the woman’s looks that took Andrea’s breath away, though. It was what she was doing on the floor, her legs spread as she fingered herself, cupping at one tit hanging loose from the dress. The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head, delirious as the pleasure drove her forward.

“Good…” the woman moaned. “So fucking gooood…” the woman moaned.

“Jesus,” Andrea laughed. “I’m sorry, I’ll just…leave you to that.”

Andrea went back through the kitchen entrance, closing the big double doors as she exited to give the donor some privacy. But as she made her way back to the hall, she froze as Dr. Fielding’s words flashed like a sign on the highway: something weird, something weird.

“Goddammit,” Andrea groaned when she realized that she had to go back. The woman was gone when she returned to the kitchen, though. “Hello?” Andrea called in her signature whisper-shout. “Horny lady?”

As she crept through the dark kitchen, she pulled her phone out of her small clutch and texted Tyler, then decided that a call would be more urgent. He didn’t answer on the first try. Fuck. A sound somewhere in the kitchen made Andrea jump, but doing a quick scan of her surroundings she didn’t find anything.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I’m going to get you help.”

No response, but she thought she heard the sound of something large scurrying across the floor. Fuck, fuck.

She dialed Tyler again, finally getting him as she reached the opposite exit of the kitchen. She turned around at the doors to face the direction she’d just come from, expecting to find a pair of glowing eyes facing her, but instead she saw nothing but the dim glow of the kitchen lights.

“I think I found the something weird,” Andrea said into the phone. “Yes, I know who Pageant Crowe is! Come to the kitchens, you dork, I could be in trouble.”

She turned around again, reaching out to pull the double doors open. As they swung toward her, the woman in red slipped through, pressing her hand to Andrea’s chest.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Andrea whimpered, her phone shattering on the floor. When the woman’s fingers made contact with her skin, it felt as if they continued moving, pushing through into her body. Andrea could feel long, invisible tendrils extending from the woman and spreading out into her body.

Something weird, something weird, something fucking weird!

The woman in red licked her lips as if she were savioring a delicious meal. But Andrea didn’t feel like she was being consumed. The woman was transferring something to her, something that only got stronger as it inhabited more and more bodies.

“Accept me as a gift,” the woman said. “Accept all of me, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

Something…good…so fucking gooooood…

Andrea’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly accepted her body’s new inhabitant. Whatever it was that took hold of the woman in red’s body, it was inside Andrea now. And as its lifeforce seeped into every corner of Andrea’s body, it transformed her into the same drooling, mindless slut as the donor. That was the gift that she was given: the thing inside would have total control of her body, while the Andrea inside was subdued by endless orgasm. She began to moan, feeling that aching desire to be filled in every hole. The thing inside seemed to be feeding off of her sexual hunger. That’s what lust demons do.

The woman in red dropped to her knees, tearing down Andrea’s black panties and plunging face between her soaking folds. Andrea had never been so horny, so eager to cum. And she knew that once she did, she would never stop. She would cum again and again and again until there was nothing left of her mind and the thing could move on to its next host.

“Moooore!” Andrea cried, pulling the woman into her. “It needs more! It’s so hungry and it needs to feed! I need…I need to cummm!” 

Andrea left the kitchen with the same disheveled look as the woman in red. Her hair was a mess, her tits loose from her dress, her smile was wide and her eyes were empty. She hastily cleaned up, then returned to the hall eager to share the thing inside of her with Tyler. Maybe this would finally convince him to give it to her the way she’d always wanted it. And hey, even if he didn’t want to, it wasn’t like he had a choice.

Andrea laughed in a voice that was not her own. After such a long, boring night, this scholarship dinner was finally starting to turn around.