#hypnosis sydney

[awarenesshealing]

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[unladyboss]

HYPNOTIC

I don't know if anyone else noticed, but sometimes it SEEMS like Carmy has a really hypnotic power over Sydney

The few times where Sydney is flustered because of chaos in the kitchen or anything elsr

CARMY just stared at her intently and asks if she's good

Or says Chef, or says her name, and she goes quiet.

Almost paralyzed for a second before she catches herself.

[thecoachingdirectory]

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[amalaeus]

Kylar/Robin/Sydney/Whitney HCs

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Kylar

Kylar V. Tepes

Black curly hair, the fringe is longer at the back because that boy does not maintain his damn looks for shit

Neon/Bright Green eyes

5"4

Malnourished twink-twunk (Becomes a twunk-hunk after PC rehabilitates their ass)

Excels in Science + Art, shit in everything else

Surprisingly really good at fighting, nerfed by their malnutrition

Unkempt, but does bathe everyday like a normal person

Clothing preference: Black hoodie and jeans/skirt, that's it.

Submissive, but once you get their breeding kink going they WILL top TOP you (Not exactly be a hard dom, but would get on top and try their best)

Rich RICH, could live off of his inheritance for a solid 50 years or so after his parents' incapacitance

On that note, would probably get along with Mickey (1 computer with 6 monitors? Implies that Kylar has surveillance over the city)(Definitely make a profit off of it)

V O Y E U R, breeder/bred, sub-leaning SWITCH, overstimulation kink

Older!Kylar or a Kylar with more Whitney influence would have neon green peekaboo highlight and a rattail (the Furina from Genshi impact kind)

Older Kylar, or Kylar currently would definitely get a Prince Albert if PC asked.

Robin

Robin O. Campbell

Fluffy brown hair, Blue eyes, KPOP looking ass hair (see image)

Twink

Average in school, only gets up to slightly above average at high confidence

Gaming + Anime addict (if the crossdressing isn't enough of an indicator-)

This is crack but, imagine if they were s illegitimate child of royalty- (Never gets a proper job even after going through Bailey, stays a virgin despite the brothel??)(They also has a $400 console in the early game, I doubt they'd have been able to save very much because he already starts out with $2k rent, they're definitely getting sponsored somewhere)(Would explain why they're protected but not fully)

Childhood friends with PC

Has been paying Bailey's fine longer than PC has

Older than PC by a few months-1 year

Trained in using a taser, brings a taser around

Vanilla, but a huge somniphiliac

Sydney

Sydney J. Hyde (Goes by Sydney Jekyll pure, Sydney Hyde corrupted)

Has Coloboma, hence the need for glasses

Twunk-Hunk (From cloister + all the church chores)

Great in school, honors/exempted from classes

Writer, both on people and the actual hobby

Would write sacraments, then moved to the carnality of PC's temptation

Adept in combat, like, scarily good at it (cloister)

Best/Favorite subject's English

Clothing preference: All 3 academia aesthetics: Dark, Light and Messy

Good singer, Corrupted!Sydney is very into Hozier, Faithful!Sydney only listens to church songs (The classical ones)

Corrupt!Sydney is just them letting loose all that repressed lust, or breaking out of whatever bullshit hypnosis Harper put them through

Masochist, DOMINANT, overstimulation kink, dom + top leaning SWITCH

Whitney

Last name HC TBA LMAO

Twunk-Hunk (hunk-leaning)

Lowkey gymrat (does it for looks)

Pierced lobes, upper lobes and helixes (Only wears earrings on one ear)

Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes

M!Whitney sounds like Bakugou but shouts less

Actually excels in school and academia, only held back because they missed too much class

Can fight, but unlike Kylar and Sydney, they wouldn't kill (sure being tossed into the underground brothel is as good as being dead, but I don't think they fathomed what happens in the underground brothel until they were kidnapped instead)

Their whole schtick is more or less just them letting out their frustrations with life, his connection to the underworld is shallow at best (due to the kidnapper switching it up so fast in the dismissal event)

VERY SELF CENTERED, VERY NARCISSISTIC

Honestly? The ultimate tsundere, genuinely thinks that the shit he does is how to be popular and get bitches

EXHIBITIONIST, VOYEUR, ORAL FIXATION, DOMINANT SWITCH, humiliation kink (giving), public sex enthusiast, pillow princess

[thethirdromana]

Some Beetle covers, assessed

This book is about a beetle

A good two-thirds of Beetle covers take this approach, including the first edition on the left. And you know what, I can't fault it. This book sure does have a beetle in it. Bonus points for the middle one that draws on the hypnosis theme by making the beetle look like a brain.

Maybe an Egyptian beetle?

This is essentially the same approach, but more Egyptian, which I think looks very stylish. Given late Victorian Egyptomania, I'm surprised there aren't more like this. I could imagine a luxury edition with lots of gold really making this concept work.

Specifically involving a woman with a beetle on her forehead

This is an arresting image that's also sort-of justified by events in the book. It took me forever to realise what it reminded me of, and it's of course the poster for the Silence of the Lambs, which postdates both of these covers by about half a century. These are two quite sulky-looking Marjories, but perhaps that's the effect of hypnosis.

The cover illustrator read the book!

Given these covers minus the title, I think I would still have a solid chance of guessing which book they were for. The blue cover is the fully illustrated version. But actually, I think my favourite on this theme is redhaired Marjorie being menaced by the Beetle while Sydney tiptoes over in evening dress, both looking they could be in the opening credits of a Bond movie.

The cover illustrator didn't read the book

A very small part of the novel takes place in a railway station. None of it takes place in a cemetery, nor does it involve a hermit studying anatomy. With the whole world of royalty-free images of beetles to choose from, how does anyone land on any of these?

The cover illustrator really, really didn't read the book

Here we have the Beetle as represented by some Taiwanese houses, as True Blood, and as a picture that I vaguely recognise but where the image is so fried I can't even google it to check. At least the previous three had semi-appropriate spooky London vibes; these appear to be entirely random.

How about a bonus subtitle?

The first one here is clearly the weakest of the three, since it just features a picture of Richard Marsh's face, but is redeemed by choosing possibly the most metal line in the novel as its subtitle. I love both of the latter two, with a special mention to the illustrator of the middle one for actually depicting the Beetle's human form as described in the Beetle while also minimising the elements of racist caricature. No mean feat.

The cover illustrator understood the assignment

When I wrote something similar to this about Dracula covers, I was quite critical of the illustrators who decided to depict it as pulp horror. But it is so much more fitting for The Beetle. If you're drawn to buy Scantily Clad Woman Is Menaced By Giant Beetle, or Weirdly Green Man is Terrified of Mural, or even Rasputin And His Giant Beetle Spell, I feel like you genuinely might be the right audience for this terrible, terrible book.

[xxibalbas]

~sydney lore~

because I haven't seen a lot of discussion about a couple of the more hidden aspects of sydney's backstory, i wanted to talk about it. read more under the cut!

first, there's the whole thing about sydney and harper. given their interactions, it's probably safe to assume that sydney's been on the receiving end of harper's "treatments." the implications of this are really interesting, and i think this could potentially explain some of sydney's weird behavior.

so, when the PC is treated by harper, harper's hypnosis causes the PC to go into a trance act on sexual impulses against their will. and this seems... kinda similar to sydney's prayer room outbursts imo:

but I also think that when sydney was treated by harper, it was probably at the asylum. this is for a couple reasons. for one, sydney realizes what's going on as soon as harper starts preparing to send the PC to the asylum:

but beyond that, there's some interesting dialogue you can get during ivory wraith encounters.

the line "I was (their) only friend, in that dark place beyond the trees" refers specifically to sydney (the pronouns will change depending on what sydney's gender is set as). and, well, the asylum's in the middle of the woods, so....

and the wraith's line "you think you can trust (them). That's hilarious, but no one's laughing." also refers to sydney btw, so make of that what you will!

[pip-n-chips]

my misgendering kink has been going brrrr lately so here's some thoughts that involve it

How some DoL characters would react to PC coming out as trans

(CW/TW for transphobia for most of these! these guys are not nice)

Avery is against it if you're anything less than passing in public. They will make a point to make you appear as your birth gender as much as possible (i.e. controlling your clothing). What would it say about them and their reputation if word gets out that they're dating a tr***y?

Harper acts supportive when you come out to them during one of your friday therapy sessions, and is relatively indifferent for the most part, but they start to make comments asking if you're sure? Maybe this is stemming from something else? But it doesn't escalate until the asylum where they gaslight you into questioning if you really are trans, maybe you're making it up for attention. Their whole thing is getting you to accept your ""real"" self and make a point to misgender you very often. Constant gaslighting and hypnosis molds you into how they want and their goal is to get you to forget about this silly little phase <3 (extra note: if they find out you're taking hormones, they'll make sure the pharmacy refuses to sell it to you anymore for some bullshit reason)

Bailey is, well,, you might as well have just not told Bailey at all because they couldn't give any less of a shit. As long as you use it to your advantage and get them money, they won't bother you about it

Briar is fine with it, there's plenty of people into shit like that. They are similar to Bailey, in the sense that all they'd care about is if it gets you money. They'd see it as an opportunity and set up special shows, using all the fetish names for it they can while advertising

Eden is EXTREMELY against it. You're their wife/husband and nothing will change that, your gender is your genitalia when it comes to them. If you try to correct them, they will ignore you. If you push, they will have no hesitation beating the ideas out of you. (I can also imagine them putting you in the cage as an attempt to get rid of the ideas Society put into your mind). At higher love they might try to gender you correctly, but they still grumble about how it's Wrong

Kylar is probably supportive unless it means they find out that you guys have the same genitals, then you're in deep shit. They have a meltdown because now y'all can't make the babies they've always dreamed of. How could you trick them >:((( I feel like they'd have to grow on it though because you're still you, and that's all they could ask for (and if the opposite is true and they learn you guys can make babies,,, then prepare to fuck like rabbits because Kylar is not gonna waste a single second more)

Pure!Sydney thinks it's a sin and that you should spend more time at the temple, tries to guilt you with religion and has troubling thoughts of their own about being friends with/dating someone like you. Corrupted!Sydney would be full-on supportive, I'd think

Robin is also full-on supportive, and maybe your open-ness to them would help them come to some conclusions about themself

Whitney is Whitney. Telling them is a mistake because you've just given them a new thing to bully you about. If they gender you correctly, they do it in a mocking tone. Personally they don't really care though, as long as you're still their slut

Leighton doesn't misgender you, but they fetishize the shit out of you. Also blackmail blackmail blackmail (that's all I have to say for them tbh lmao)

Remy would scoff, but not think much of it. What silly ideas, you're just a cow, cows can't be trans. Go eat some grass.

[blankserena]

Alias, Season 3 'Full Disclosure"

Sydney recalls the months that she was captured and brainwashed by the enemy. Drugs, hypnosis, conditioning, all the wonderful, wonderful things! Lucky girl!

[binaural-histolog]

Storytelling Is Too Effective

There's a podcast I listen to, If Books Could Kill. Every episode, they review a book -- usually popular science or psychology, but sometimes political -- and they poke holes at it. They go back to the original papers that the book cites, they cross reference claims made between chapters and point out inconsistencies, and they draw from other studies and theories to provide contrast and context. It is entertainment, but it's also an appeal to critical thought.

One great thing that the podcast does is to track down anecdotes back to the original newspaper articles, and then point out how the book misquotes or misconstrues the event to serve the narrative. It can be jaw-dropping to hear what some books do with their source material. And yet, this is believable. These books, and these stories, are believed.

But I'm only talking about popular science books that present studies and supporting anecdotes as the truth. There's another category of book, the books that present the argument purely as story.

Who Moved My Cheese is a popular book about workers who have to deal with organizational change, including layoffs and cost-cutting measures. It was famous at the time, and consists almost entirely of made up conversations between mice, detailing how the mice should think about these changes. The podcast takedown is brutal and recommended.

Part of the reason that the book is so effective is that it's entirely story. The mice say what they're told to say, and the arguments are set up to make the right mice look smart and the wrong mice look dumb. The book wants you to engage and believe the argument even though the support is entirely illusory or relies on social pressure. And people believed it.

I think there's a natural tendency for people to believe books when they are storytelling -- either as stories or narrative as dialogue. The mortar that holds storytelling together is belief, and belief by its nature is credulous. You are not invited to review the raw data of a story, or examine the statistics for data dredging. You can't reproduce the results in a double-blind experiment. Story is story: you either believe it or you don't.

And that made me wonder.

What would If Books Could Kill say about Frogs into Princes or My My Voice Will Go With You?

Frogs into Princes is a dialogue about NLP. It's supposedly a transcript from a seminar. It's super effective.

The dialogue based format is effective in part because it's off the cuff --it doesn't come with footnotes or cite references, because who does that in the middle of talking? No-one in the seminar calls them out or challenges them on where they got their results or their thinking. Bandler talks about a therapist repeatedly removing and putting back back a phobia in a single session. Terms like "transderivational search" are dropped in (even though the word "transderivational" is a linguistics term) and no-one blinks an eye. The concept of preferred representational systems (PRS) is introduced, which even Bandler revised as no longer considered an important component in 1986. The audience believes all of this. You are expected to believe all of this.

And yet, if you dig into NLP and Bandler more specifically you find that much of this doesn't actually work and PRS is invented from whole cloth, with no linguistic evidence behind it.

According to Weitzenhoffer, "the major weakness of Bandler and Grinder's linguistic analysis is that so much of it is built upon untested hypotheses and is supported by totally inadequate data."[24]

But the point isn't truth. The point of NLP is to sell NLP, and it does very well at that; the conferences are very successful and disturbing to attending journalists.

My Voice Will Go With You is slightly different. It is the teaching tales of Erickson, written by Sydney Rosen. Erickson presents a series of stories showing how he solved a patient's problems using hypnosis and metaphor. Erickson was a natural storyteller, and because of that, the books present him as a protagonist.

But if you look at Erickson as a whole, his methods and philosophy are not about truth -- Hilgard gives several examples. Erickson never cared about truth. He cared about belief.

His habit of utilization meant that he would not only utilize behavior to point out that they were going into trance. He would utilize any improvement in his patients lives to point out his successful intervention. He was clear that he would lie to his patients for the sake of the case, and it's pretty clear he was lying or exaggerating some of his cases. He projected an image, and his image was so effective that it meant people would uncritically repeat what he said and fail to check and verify his accounts.

Cardena even called out Erickson's approach.

To muddy the waters even more, why have not some of the followers of a therapist known to fabricate false past stories to achieve therapeutic goals wondered whether he used that same technique in his writing and teaching?

And the problem is, some of it appears not to work for anyone else.

The research reviewed simply does not support long-held beliefs by Erickson or those who practice Ericksonian approaches to therapy. [...] Although there are impressive and dramatic clinical anecdotes cited in the literature about Erickson and his work, there is no compelling need to invoke any sort of special curative processes active in Ericksonian approaches beyond those already documented as active in any form of effective psychotherapy (e.g., relationship, expectancies, construction of a compelling narrative, active client involvement). Unlike hypnosis as an adjunct to cognitive-behavioral therapy, it is not clear that hypnosis adds anything to this approach.

When indirect suggestions are tried in experimental hypnosis, they don't work as well as direct suggestions.

The best controlled studies provide no support for the superiority of indirect suggestions, and there are indications that direct suggestions are superior to indirect suggestions in terms of modifying subjects’ experience of hypnosis. Nevertheless, the overriding conclusion is that differences between a wide variety of suggestions are either nonexistent or trivial in nature. (p. 138)

The reason that people still believe in Erickson and in NLP is because the way that the books present the argument is through storytelling. Storytelling requires belief and inhibits critical thought. We are set up to believe: hook, line, and sinker.

[c0de-blue0]

I keep thinking about how much Sydney must trust Lilith to let her hypnotize her. Sydney distrusts and dislikes Harper. She may have had bad experiences with Harper doing hypnosis. Yet Sydney trusts Lilith so much that she’ll give Lilith total control via hypnosis.

It started because of Sydney feeling like God was watching her, so she didn’t feel like she could do anything intimate with Lilith, but then she realized that if she’s hypnotized, it technically isn’t a sin because she’s not doing it on purpose— kinda like that thing where Mormons jump on the bed. It still ended up being a sin, though, but she stopped caring eventually.

[strange-guy-in-the-forest]

beta'd by the fantastic @tentacleplains ! CWs on ao3 tags and author's note. read or ao3 or below the read more.

You enter a tight dark building with a high ceiling. Remy leads you to a machine and you immediately start kicking, while trying to latch onto the floor with your hooves hands. He maneuvers around you but curses. You won’t go in there. You refuse. You can’t. You’d resisted him the last five days you’ve been here.

“I’m so disappointed in you. You used to be so good.” He frowns at you. You won’t go in there again. You refuse again. You can’t again. You won’t again. You can’t believe you let one of his goons kidnap you back here.

“Fuck you, cowfucker,” you say, and Remy’s frown deepens, but he then looks away.

“I’m sorry I had to call you in so late,” he says to a person you didn’t notice in your anger. It takes you a moment to realize it’s really him: Doctor Harper, your therapist.

“Not a problem. Night is the optimal time for hypnosis anyway.”

“Doctor Harper,” you cry out, “what are you doing here? He’s got people trapped in barns and he’s using them for some weird sex juice collection! Help me, please!” You try and stand but Remy keeps you down with his hand. And Harper ignores your words, ignores the violence you’re suffering.

“Last time, it was so much better behaved. And produced so much more. It’s like we’re back to square one.”

“I wouldn’t assume that. Progress isn’t a linear thing.” Doctor Harper crouches down to you, in his normal coat and sweater-vest, but this time with work boots that look silly on him. “The beast is very stressed.”

“Harper,” you demand, “What the fuck are you doing. This isn’t something to relax about. Y-you’re not working with him? You can’t!” Betrayal ices your nerves. This was an act, right? He’d help you get out, after Remy was appeased, right? He must be here to rescue you after you were taken from the Asylum to here, instead of the orphanage.

Harper was your doctor. He was professional and kind. You’d told him things you couldn’t burden Robin with and things Sydney would (hopefully) never understand. He’d been there for you at the hospital, and when you’d had those mortifying breakdowns, at the Asylum.

Doctor Harper shushes you and strokes your head, “You feel so safe when you hear my voice, don’t you? Just focus on my voice.” Harper’s face is close to yours and it takes up nearly all your vision, except for the barn rafters above you.

You feel a wave of calm come over you, but you lift your head above anyway. You know going down would mean drowning, “This place isn’t safe! He’s insane he’s trying to turn me into a cow- I thought you were going to help me, Harper why are you working with him he’s trafficking people this is horrifying and I’m sure he’ll do something worse to me next. Please I’ve been a good slut like you told me to be I haven’t worn underwear in months I just- don’t want to be trapped here. I want to see my friends I want to go to the lake I w-”

The air knocks out of you as Remy shoves you onto your back. You look up at Harper, and for a brief moment, he looks startled.

“This little bull knows how to moo so sadly and make its eyes so big and wet,” Remy admonishes, “Don’t fall for it. If you do, these creatures will just walk all over you.”

Harper nods. “You don’t have to worry. I’m aware that what these animals think they want is not the same as what they actually do.”

“Do you think you can hypnotize it tonight still?”

“Yes.” Harper answers sharply and he kneels over you, taking up your field of view again.

“Harper...” you beg, not sure for what anymore. You just want this to all be over.

He strokes your hair again, but more firmly this time. “You’re behaving irrationally. Remy feeds you, keeps you safe, provides you medical care, lets you play with the other animals here. You want for nothing. You are letting your instincts get the better of you, which stems from your behavioral issues. You’re untrained and it’s not just hurting you, it’s hurting everyone around you. You’re a burden when you disobey. Just listen to me and everyone will feel so much better again.”

“B-but Harper. He’s whipped me. He’s hurt me.”

He shakes his head and takes his shiny purple pen out of his front pocket, “If you follow this pen and listen to the sound of my voice, you will feel better. Will you do that for me?”

You nod slowly. You don’t fully agree with him (like, you’re not a cow, obviously) but Harper’s always been right before. You are probably wrong about how bad this place is. The pig they had you play with yesterday was just a little rude and, like always, you overreacted. Just freaking out like usual.

And you’re so scared and so alone you have no idea what to do and Harper is a familiar face who always makes you feel better.

He moves the pen from side to side with fluid control and your eyes follow. “It feels good to listen to my voice. You like hearing my words. I want you to breathe deeply. Focus on the pen. There's nothing in the universe except this pen, my voice, and your own breath."

“You’re going to imagine you’re right outside this barn on a beautiful temperate day. The sun warms your fur. The breeze cools your fur. The air is fresh with the scent of sweet flowers. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“You hear the sounds of the farm. You hear the horses gracefully trod along. You hear the farmhands’ laughter, light on the wind. You hear the chickens cluck in sisterhood. Everyone is happy, calm, and in their rightful place. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“The walls of the farm buildings are a vivid red under the warm sun-”

Your semi-hazy mind suddenly remembers that today actually wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Doctor Harper here. You’ve seen him here many times, actually. Your eyes move to the ceiling rafters above you. You remember when you’ve seen them and Doctor Harper above together before. He was panting, moaning, laughing, nearly yelling with lust. He could barely keep himself together enough to focus on kissing you. And you were moving your hips into him, feeling smug but also vulnerable and also so good so good so good it was so good to be inside Harper. He confessed something to you in between his wanton noises and wet lips, something you can’t remember even now. His mouth was slick with drool and something pink-

"Focus, please. Think of how strong the red color of the building is. How it is adorned with classic white stripes. It's a picturesque farmhouse. Buildings have stood just like it going back ten years, twenty years, fifty years, one hundred years, two hundred years; and farmhouses themselves, several thousand. The paths between the buildings are well-trodden. The sheds house tools with the same shapes as they did since forever. And cattle have been looking at those buildings, walking those paths, peeking in those tool sheds for as long as they've existed. You are a beloved part of a long tradition. It's everything you ever wanted.  

"You watch people move in and out of doors for people. Chickens move in and out for coops for chickens. Cows move in and out of barn doors for animals. You just moved outside of a barn door because you are a cow. There is order. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“You walk out into the yard, the grass under your hooves soft and the ground firm. There is more room to graze than you could ever even use. It’s delicious and filling. You will never go hungry. The farm is prosperous and you will always be fed. You walk to a patch of small yellow wildflowers. They smell fresh and when you move your neck to eat them, they’re soft on your tongue. They taste like joy. You chew and you feel happier and happier with every small flower. It’s everything you ever wanted.”

You imagine everything Doctor Harper says in perfect clarity. It’s like waking up from a good rest after days of insomnia. You barely feel the hard floor below you anymore. 

“You see three armed farmhands enter through a gate. One hoists a dead snake above his head and everyone cheers. Another drops a large dead wolf onto the ground and everyone cheers. You join with a moo. You’re happy this creature is dead. It could have hurt you. Remy had it killed to make sure you’re safe. Another hunter drops a large dead hawk. Its talons curl in rigor mortis and will never threaten any poor unsuspecting livestock again. Everyone cheers again, and you moo, louder this time. You are safe. No one will ever hurt you again. Remy hires good people to make sure of it. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“You walk further into the pasture and find some tall grass to eat. Its feathery seeds tickle your snout and you blow on them. They glitter in the air with the warm sun behind them. You feel playful. You blow on more and dance in the field. You’re having fun. You chew on the tall grass and are reminded of your excitement by the taste. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“You continue to a patch of bright pink flowers. They smell sweet. Your spine tingles from your tail to your head, so hard that you buck. You swallow the sweet smell of the air and in your stomach it turns into lust. You’re overwhelmed. You shove your face into the grass and eat. Every flower you eat heats you slowly and you eat as quickly as you can, chasing that good feeling. You only notice the true extent of your warmth when you’re boiling. Remy would help you if you let him. It would be so easy. We want to help you. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“You trod along and find blue flowers with wide petals. They smell earthy. You eat them and your head feels so focused. You feel every fiber as you chew. You notice how the sunlight shines on every blade of grass, every fence post, every creature’s eye you spot. You’re aware of how sturdy your hooves feel on the ground, of how flat your back is, of how the taller grass tickles your stomach. It’s so clear to you. You are a cow. You have wondered about your purpose, your capabilities, many times before in your life but the light shines away all of that doubt. You are a part of Remy’s herd. Your goal is to be as good a cow as you can. It’s everything you ever wanted.”

As Doctor Harper continues to describe you eating various flowers and grasses, you feel light, like the ice cream in a float. Remy, crouched, now watches you from behind Doctor Harper. You’re not sure when he got there. However, even in your state, you can recognize his thirst.

It’s like you’re in another universe: the only universe that was ever real. It’s everything you ever wanted. You love Doctor Harper’s voice. You hope he keeps talking and you keep listening forever. You don’t know when you stopped tracking the pen with your eyes but Harper shuffles behind you. He starts whispering beside your left ear and every word passes straight through your blood-brain barrier. You feel his neck vibrate and you shudder to his frequency as his hot breath tickles your inner ear.

“You continue to a patch of hay. You lay down in it. It’s the softest you’ve ever felt. Queens of old would be jealous of you. Any pain you have melts into the softness. You find Remy next to you. Remy here provided that for you. Remy provides everything for you. And all you have to do is follow his very simple requests. You’re good at following simple requests. You’re proud of how good you are at it. It’s everything you ever wanted.

“He leads you back through the pasture and to a bright red barn. You part so he can enter through the person door and you the barn door. And here we are. Remy takes care of your sexual needs too. You want to be obedient so he can do that for you. He wants to make it good for you and the more compliant you are, the better he can do it. You want to be a good cow. It’s everything you ever wanted. Repeat it after me, ‘I want to be a good cow.’”

“I want to be a good cow,” you mumble with your tongue tripping over itself.

“Repeat: ‘It’s everything I ever wanted.’”

“It’s everything I ever wanted.”

“’I want to be a good cow. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

He has you repeat this many more times. You eventually get the hang of it and say it clearly. You hope Doctor Harper is proud of your diction. You do, after all, want to be a good cow.

Remy holds your hair gently, “Are you ready to behave for me, little cow?”

“Yes.”

“Cows don’t speak.”

There’s a pinprick of light left in your mind that you try and grasp. Every attempt to grab it just makes it flicker. It goes out. You moo, loudly.

Remy smiles at you as he sighs gently. He then looks past you, to Doctor Harper, “Thank you Doctor. I’m always impressed by your skill.”

“Of course.”

“Do you think this will increase yield?”

“That’s one of the data points I’ve been testing, and so far the answer points to yes.”

“A shame the breasts are so much smaller,” Remy says he gropes the right side of your chest. You squirm as a callus rubs against your nipple. “The serum should return them, but it will take time. Right now it’s as dry as a desert.” He takes a pot of gel from his pocket and pours it on his hand.

You look up at Doctor Harper and moo. If cows spoke, you would have informed Remy that it was Doctor Harper who did your top surgery. Harper looks at you blankly.

Remy continues, “I think some manual stimulation is in order.”

“An excellent idea.”

Remy starts groping your chest in a slow circle, with that gel setting it on fire, and Harper joins in with the other side. It feels good and if your face weren’t already flush it would be from all the attention you’re getting.

“May I suggest a slight adjustment to your technique?” Harper asks.

“Of course. This is a partnership.”

Harper’s free hand places itself over Remy’s. It’s paler and softer, its cruelty lacking the roughness required to hold a whip. He moved Remy’s hand in a circle that got smaller and smaller. The two of them are looking right at each other as the motion repeats several times.

“Moving in like this allows optimal stimulation of the ducts. I also suggest more direct suction of the teats before the pump’s suction.”

“Would you care to exhibit that as well?” The edge of Remy’s lips curl.

“Oh, well, I- uh- of course.”

Blushing so hard you can feel the heat off his skin, Harper leans over you and gently sucks on the tip of your nipple, then tightly envelopes the entire nipple. You give a long sharp moan. You’re already pent up and having the Doctor be intimate with you might push you over the edge.

He releases you and turns to Remy. “Repeatedly s-starting and restarting stimulation of the nipples can lead to better outcomes for producing milk.” He looks back down at your chest. Stares.

“Can you provide me with a write-up of this information? I’d love to apply it to the entire herd.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’d like you to observe and tell me if I’ve successfully copied your technique.” Harper nods affirmatively while continuing to stare at your chest.

Remy’s tongue feels like hot oil on your nipples and you shudder and let out another moan. Both you and Doctor Harper intently watch the way his mouth moves. Once his mouth covers your nipple he starts sucking firmly. When your muscles start to tense, he wetly pops off.

“Remy. That was perfect,” Harper says so lightly it’s almost a whisper.

“Almost too perfect. While it’s not making a lot of milk, we can’t let any of this come go to waste.” He gestures towards your hard manhood.

“Agreed.” They’re both staring at it now. You feel proud of the bead of pre-come traveling down it.

“Let’s get him to the machine before we lose any yield,” Remy commands. They both stand, towering above you, leaving you laying on the straw-covered floor.

“Stand up.” Doctor Harper tells you and you get on all fours. Remy walks you to the machine. It looks older than your machine at your stall. Perhaps a prototype? It’s raised on something like a hospital bed.

“Up and at ‘em,” Remy says, hefting you up from under your arms. Doctor Harper lifts your legs. You moo lowly in contentment at being handled like the cow you are.

Remy grabs one of the hoses with a penis pump, but before he puts it on you he rubs a purple gel on your cock. You buck into his hand but he soon removes it and hooks you up to the device. He grabs another tube with an open cup at the end and places that under your pussy, locking it into the bed you’re laying on.

Harper starts massaging both sides of your chest and sucking again on the left one. He keeps an eye open, looking at you. You groan, urging him to keep going. You rifle your hand through Harper’s hair; he stops for a brief moment and his eyebrow raises in surprise, but he keeps going, now using his tongue more passionately. Remy however, grabs your hand.

“You shouldn’t put your hooves near people’s heads, little cow, you could hurt someone.” He straps your arm down on the machine, then straps the other. You moo apologetically.

Harper’s mouth is driving you wild and you press your chest into his mouth. You feel something warm start to flow from your nipples and Harper moans, drinking up your breast milk.

“Harper,” Remy says firmly and Harper stands up straight, like a cat who had been caught. He wipes your milk off his chin. “If you want to get high off your own supply, that’s one thing, but not off mine.”

“My apologies. I simply wasn’t expecting this. You said the cow was dry.” There’s a tension in the air that your hard-won survival instincts can’t ignore, even with the state you’re in.

“I did, didn’t I? Well, I can hardly fault you for doing a good job.” The tension dissipates between everyone, mostly. “The night before I got nothing, and last night it wouldn’t even behave enough for me to attach it to the machine. You’re a miracle worker, Harper.”

“Thank you. I suspect there’s another factor at play beyond miracles, however – may I examine the creature’s vagina?”

“By all means.”

Remy attaches suction cups to your chest, completely tying you into the machine. You remember how good it feels when it’s turned on and your muscles tense in excitement. You want to be productive for Remy too. Maybe then everyone will be happy.

“Spread your hind legs,” Harper tells you and you obey robotically, stretching them wide.

He gets upon the gurney and kneels between your legs. He prods at your stomach firmly with both his hands. His face is blank other than a slightly furrowed brow. He easily sticks two fingers in your soaking wet pussy, you feel your juices run down into the cup. Your pussy holds him tightly, wanting very badly to come.

“A cow’s vagina shouldn’t be this tight around human hands. You’re a large beast and I’m just a man. You should be nice and loose in case the cowhands need to check your health, right?”

That does make sense to you. Your body adapts and loosens. Doctor Harper aides in by circling his fingers around the edge of your entrance. You enjoy the slow stretch. He adds another two fingers and you feel so full. He strokes inside you and widens his fingers to stretch your opening even further. He’s patient with his movements. They’re precise, but not harsh. He gives you time to breath in and out for every new stretch and doesn’t continue unless you’re ready.

“Relax. Deep breath in, then out. Be a good cow for me,” he smirks, “You’ve already let me deep inside your mind, so let me deep inside your body too.” If he wasn’t as deep as he was in your mind, you might have recognized the lusty malevolence that quivered in his voice.

“Ah!” he exclaims as you gasp: he’s fit his thumb in and slipped to the wrist. “G-good b-b-cow. You t-took me so well.”

He reaches further in and you’re astounded that it’s even possible. At a certain point there had to be a you inside you that could stop his entrance, right? You want to tighten and rub your g-spot against his arm, but if you did that you wouldn’t be a cow. Finally his fingers reach your cervix. You feel strange blunt methodical pressures on it. Harper bites his bottom lip in concentration until he breaks and he giggles.

“What is it?” Remy wonders.

“He’s pregnant. And with the timeline, really the only possibility is with one of my experiments.” Harper beams at you. You’re...pregnant? You feel scared but then you remember that cows wouldn’t feel scared at this.

“That would be a fast pregnancy then, right?”

“Pups.” Harper was so excited it was contagious, but you don’t really understand. How could a cow be pregnant with pups? Maybe a cow would be afraid if it were pregnant with pups-

Remy whistles, “Well, congratulations are in order for the new parent, wouldn't you say? It’s been waiting so long.” He brushes hair from the side of your face and scratches gently behind your ears. “You’ve been so good. And you produced so much milk. I’m so proud of you.” His green eyes twinkle. You focus on them and feel calm again. You know Remy will protect you.

You feel Harper’s fingers move inside you, but now around your cervix rather than at. He pushes deep inside of you, coring you out to reveal bliss. You’ve been fucked this deep before, of course, but it was never with this much dexterity or direct force. It feels foreign at first. Your neurons take time to recognize that this strong feeling is pleasure. You’re like a marionette on Harper’s strings. You feel his breath hitch every time his puppetry gets your body to shake or make a noise to his tune. You groan lowly, your back arches, and then what you thought was going to be a hot burning flame turns into a fireball when you feel a mechanical whirring then the machine comes to life and starts to suck you.

You wail as you come hard. Every piece of your body is caught up in your orgasm, from your curling toes to your suctioned nipples. You remember that you feel pleasure because of Doctor Harper, but otherwise your mind is totally blank. When you finally get your wits about you, you’re panting and Remy and Doctor Harper are watching the tube attached to your dick. The Doctor is taking notes, while occasionally rolling his wrist, while Remy just looks on, very pleased.

“Remy. I would like to discuss with you further experiments and I would also like to provide additional treatment to ensure our subject has positive associations with the machine.”

“That sounds good.” He checks his watch. “You can start on that treatment now. Right now is shift change and I need to lecture them about security. Good help is hard to find. I’ll be back shortly and we can discuss those experiments then.”

“Very well,” Harper agrees and Remy walks out the door.

He turns to you, grinning. “You’re going to be such a wonderful m-mother.” He strokes your stomach. His eyes blaze as they alternate between you and it.

You moo. There was something you wanted to talk about. Something you wanted when it was just you and Harper. Something about leaving this place? But why would a cow leave a farm?

He gets up onto the table and straddles your hips and pets your stomach like it’s a holy relic. “I’m glad I decided on increased observation. It will be valuable to see this from beginning to end. It’s not that there isn’t valuable data to be gathered from you being free-range. I l- it’s scientifically interesting watching you and seeing what you get up to. You’re a lot wittier than people give you credit for. And I’ve done qualitative studies and you're a standout in both boldness and curiosity among my specimens,” he leans close to you and his voice dips with affection, “I suspect it’s why you always give me s-such n-novel results. “

Harper leans in to kiss you, although the first pass is more like he’s licking your face. He kisses you eagerly and wetly and you return it in full. He starts to rock his hips against your stomach. Even underneath the fabric you can feel he’s hard. Between this and the machine you’re on your way to another orgasm.

“Do you remember getting pregnant?”

You blink in confusion as he kisses you again before you could even moo.

“Remember all the dogs, at the Asylum?” He’s smirking as he kisses you once more.

You did remember that. Doctor Harper had noticed his therapies had been less effective on you than usual so he threw together a surprise of bringing several therapy dogs in. They were all so friendly. You had fun rough-housing and playing with all the dogs. They really liked tug of war, so much that once you had almost become the rope! Doctor Harper had watched you. He brought toys but refused to play with the dogs himself. Still, he seemed to have had a good time. Surprisingly, you’d tired out all the dogs before you were too tired yourself.

Eventually the dog’s handlers all came to pick them up and Doctor Harper stuck a dog toy up your pussy. As a memento, he’d said. He tried to walk you out but your legs were unsteady and you both fell back onto his chair. He seemed upset that you got his coat dirty, but said that he could never really be mad at you. You begged and he even let you stay on his lap while you rested. You loved sitting on the Doctor’s lap, you always felt equal parts happy and lustful. All the fear and pain leaves you when you’re there.

The Doctor had started rubbing your belly, praising how stuffed with come you were. You’re still not sure how it got in there? Maybe one of the dogs accidentally shot it in? Disgusting, but, accidents happen. You don’t blame the poor dogs. Doctor Harper had then taken his cock out and rubbed the come leaking from your pussy over it. He called you a handsome slut then easily pushed his cock up your ass. You felt so full. You felt so happy. You remember thinking that must be what love felt like. He fucked you hard like you were his doll while your sore body held on.

In the present, you moan while he enters you with his tongue. You run your own over his, embracing it. He’s quickly losing the battle for control as you feel him start to thrust harder against your stomach. He parts from you, with a string of saliva running between your mouths. “I see you do remember. Aren’t you filthy, letting animals come in you,” he kisses you again, “I got you k-knocked up with- with dogs. Our little experiments. I can’t wait to get my equipment in here and examine you f-further. You’re such a perfect test subject. I have so many more to run, I can’t wait to see your results.”

You shake your head, “Cows and dogs don’t have sex....”

“Well, almost perfect test subject. We should be able to finish your treatments while you’re here.”

“Here?”

“This is the best place: I can work with Remy, there’s plenty of opportunities for your treatments, and there’s no one around to ask any questions. I worried people would think me cruel for keeping you to myself. But even if the outside world is deprived, I’ll at least make sure the whole farm gets their fill of you. Besides, you want to stay with me,” he laughs.

You whimper loudly and kiss him yourself. You do. Doctor Harper keeps you so happy. Your life outside is so painful and hard. You try to fight through it, you really do. You even keep the pretense of fighting up, but you know you’ve given up. You work so hard to be brave, harder than most people ever have, but the world is stacked against you. Harper offers comfort and safety for the small price of ignoring the voice that answers your questions. Because you had sex with the dogs. Because he’s also your captor and isn’t going to help you escape. Because he’s experimented on you without your consent and now you can give birth to animals. Because he’s manipulating you. Because you’re not a cow. Hey idiot, he’s not actually offering safety or real happiness.

“I’ve had specimens attracted to me before. But they were either useless for meaningful data or their affections faded once their treatments progressed. You only grew more attached, even though I know you know how much I take a-advantage of you. Which only made me want to use you more- Ah.”

You feel another orgasm coming on. Your nipples were sore yet still so excited, your cock ached to go again, and your poor clit was being toyed with mercilessly by the machine’s vibrations.

He pulls the pen from his breast pocket and waves it again. “When you come, you’re going to feel so thankful to Remy for providing you with this. You love this machine. It lets you show how grateful you are to Remy. Filling it with your fluids means you’re a good cow. When you come you’re going to be so happy you’re pregnant so you can give the machine more of your fluids. You want to be p-pregnant all the time with my experiments. You want to be full. You want to serve your master by having a big round belly.”

Doctor Harper tongues your mouth again and the sensation of him sliding in and filling your mouth like it’s his is what does you over. He keeps kissing you, with open eyes, as you come. You moan and gasp for air against his tongue but he gives you no leeway. You are happy though. You love being full with Harper’s desires. You know Remy will be happy too. As your spasms subside he finally frees your mouth.

“You come so beautifully. You’re in love with me, aren’t you? All because I was nice to you and fulfilled your slutty desires-”

Harper frowns, looking contemplative, then with his proper professional voice says, “Remy will be back soon.”

You whine as Harper dismounts from the table. You wanted to hold him in your post-bliss.

He sighs, “I’ve said things that could contaminate results. And your trance is breaking. You really couldn’t help seducing me into saying such foolishness, could you?”

“Harper-”

“Tsk tsk, cows don’t talk.”

You moo sadly.

Again, the pen waves in front of you, “You’re not going to remember anything that happened while Remy was gone with his staff meeting this evening. You’re not going to remember it as a cow, human, or any other animal. You’re not going to remember in a trance, while you’re drugged, or while you’re lucid. You are never going to remember what happened while Remy was gone with his staff meeting this evening.”

So, as a good cow, you forget, and stop remembering any further.

Remy re-enters with a heavy step, “How’s the beast?” Harper looks up from notes he was taking. Your mouth feels strange but you don’t remember why.

“Well-soothed. It yielded twice more.”

“At least one thing is going well tonight.” He walks up to Harper and it’s like you no longer exist.

“I do my best. I would like to work more with the creature. I think it could benefit both of us.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No. Busy day.”

“Neither have I. I can have the manor staff whip us up something while we discuss it.”

“That sounds wonderful, your hospitality is appreciated.”

Remy pats your head, “And you’ll be having such a good time while we do. Maybe if you produce enough I’ll sneak you some table scraps.”

He quickly whips his head around and lets you go. The door was left open and you see a farmhand with his arms full. “That is not how I told you to do that!” He stomps out the door.

Harper marks down a few last notes and drops his pen on his clipboard. You wake up.

“H-Harper?

He hums. “Yes?”

“I-wh-what’s happening?” You feel the suction cups buzz on your intimate areas but it doesn't both you like it used to.

“Shh, you were so calm. Don’t stress yourself out. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to be here to see you at least daily. It will be quality time like the Asylum. The rest of the time you’ll be safe within the fence. Does that sound nice?”

“I-I-uh,” you’re still confused, but happy that the Doctor will be with you, “Yeah. But..."

Harper raises his eyebrow skeptically. "But?"

"It does sound nice. I think I'm just hesitating because I'm being afraid of my desires again. If I'm being honest, it sounds like everything I ever wanted.”

Harper smiles and kisses you on the forehead. “Me too.”

He turns from you and exits the small room, but before he shuts the door he softly says, “Be well.”

[thesleeptokenarchive]

On This Day: June 23 2022

Sleep Token joined Northlane's Obsidian tour in Australia for June 16, 17, 18, 23, and 25 in 2022 alongside plini and ALT. It was the collective's first appearance down under.

On today's date in 2022, they were in Sydney at the Enmore Theatre.

The setlist was reported to be as follows:

Alkaline Hypnosis Like That The Love You Want Higher The Offering

Photos courtesy Josh Groom at Moshcam.com

We are fortunate in this day and age that a kind person recorded their set. Much gratitude to whipsy on YT for their foresight.

[moondropstash]

Another WIP! Bigger this time, part of a larger project I hope to pick up again after the holidays.

SFW/only suggestive here in this chunk.

~2200 words, Moon x reader. No particular content warnings necessary! What about that hypnosis function, huh Moon? :)c

° • ¤ ☆ ¤ • °

You’re good at your job - or so you thought. 

Sure, ok, it’s not usually much of a job. There’s a 90% chance you’re only in the daycare for the benefit of the parents since Sun and Moon have this place on lock, but you’re not completely useless. You help. You pass out snacks. You clean up glitter (so much glitter). You spelunk into the depths of the ball pit after lost plushes and shoes while Sun comforts the wailing child, and emerge like a hero with your spoils. And after months, Moon finally let you help with naptime. 

He watches you like you’re handling a bomb instead of little Sydney’s favorite pillow, but at least he lets you out from behind the desk now. 

And you thought you were getting pretty good at it. There’s only one Moon after all, and sometimes there’s more than one really fussy kid. Most times, really. But goddamn. After the dozenth time watching Moon lull a screeching demon child to sleep in under a minute flat, upon whom all your efforts had been for naught, you finally snap. 

You drop down next to him on the plush tiles on the outskirts of the nap area, leveling your most determined stare at him as he twists his head towards you with a jingle and a questioning flicker of his optics. 

“Ok man. Spill.” 

His face clicks to the side, his nearly ever-present grin growing wider. Your eyes narrow. 

“Spill what?” 

“How you do that,” you whisper-yell, leaning into his bubble and waving towards the slumbering angel a dozen feet away that had been hell-bent on ripping out your hair minutes before. “That kid was out for blood and then you pick them up and wham! Out like a light - and don’t you dare say magic!” 

“But I am.” Slowly, with a series of purposefully loud snaps and clacks, he twists his frame at the waist to align his upper half towards you while his legs stay placidly crossed, his faceplate spinning once as you scoff. Maybe that would get a rise out of your coworkers, but you don’t spend months around these two contortionists and not get innoculated to a few uncanny angles. With a hissed chuckle and unmistakable smugness, he wiggles his fingers. “Metal - and magic.” 

“Bullshit,” you spit with mock venom, Moon giggling as the two of you lean ever closer. With a grin near as wide as his, you jab a finger against his chassis. “I have scrubbed glitter glue, paint, and substances unknown to mankind off every inch of you and I haven’t seen a single sketchy rune or magic crystal.”

Moon cackles low in his voicebox, swaying and jingling with each poke of your finger before he raises his own, claws extending with a crisp snk and tut-tuts back with a sharp claw. “Not looking close enough.” 

You blow a raspberry back at him, swatting at his hand with a smirk as it silently dances out of reach. 

The claws bothered you when you first started. The idea of giving the childcare robot literal razors in his hands was dumbfounding - seeing Sun pop them out to open boxes even more so - but after looking at the Glamrocks, now you just figure the designer has a thing. You’re not paid enough to ponder what kinks the artist has, after all, and there’s only so many times a person can have knives laid across their shoulders and still work up a fuss. And, frankly, if an hour of your shift goes by without either of these two not slipping a hand across your arm or leaning on you or touching you somehow, you’d think they were broken. 

That’s probably your fault. 

You’ve always been tactile, and then they gave you coworkers starved for touch. What little remained of your personal bubble died within the week. What kind of monster would refuse Sun a hug, or tell Moon to stop draping across them like an oversized cat? Not you. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s fun. 

Moon’s eyes gleam bright, playful crimson as you lean even further into his space, dragging your other hand up his chest plating. Slowly. Following the seam of black and white, skittering the edges of his buttons with dull nails. You feel his claws settle across your thighs, points pricking just enough to remind you of their presence. 

There’s a moment of quiet. The two of you, watching each other with mirror grins, fingers dancing across metal and fabric. Then your hand darts up, grabbing his neck ruffles and yank him even closer. 

His bells jostle, jingling sharply, and you laugh silently in triumph. Barely two inches separate your faces now, his lanky form bent towards you like a willow branch. This close, you can see every chip and irregularity in his paint. The way his optics tremble in repressed delight, the red light that floods your vision flickering-stuttering in brightness as he hisses a near silent giggle, face twisting and clicking to the side until his gleaming teeth nearly touch your skin. 

Snap-snap. 

He clacks sharp teeth together twice, his large hands resting heavy on your thighs. Just enough for his claws to teeter at the edge of painful on your flesh; maybe enough to draw pin-pricks of blood. You’ll find out later. 

You ignore his little show. 

Instead, you make a slow, obvious job of looking him over. Scrutinizing every inch of his plating - ah, hell, that paint’s going to suck to scrub off later - until, finally, you close the distance between you, resting your forehead against his own with a smirk.  

“Is this close enough?” 

Moon cackles. Your hand releases his ruffles to slip around his shoulders, muffling your own laughter as he bonks his head against your own. It’s no surprise when his claws slip free, ghosting up your back to pull you close like a plush and drag you both into a sprawl on the ground, his shoulders propped up against a squashy, ancient beanbag to keep his loop from jamming into the floor. You rest your chin on his chassis, the two of you sparing a moment to glance at the snoozing kids. All good. No stirring, no fussing. 

It’s a fine line to toe - goofing off with Moon, but quiet enough to not cause a disturbance. His eyes scan the room a moment longer than yours do, but once they’re back on you, you knock softly on his plating with your knuckles. 

“No, but seriously Moon. I’m feeling inadequate here. Unable to equal your mechanical superiority etcetera. Can I have like, a tip? Pretty please?”

He hums. Low and slow, making sure you feel the hum of his mechanisms working away below you inside his shell, before he lifts away his hands from your back and raises a claw to his grin. 

“It’s a secret.”  

Before your retort makes it past your tongue, his claw rests carefully against your lips. 

“Shh,” he hisses, barely audible. His eyes flick to his other hand and your own follow silently. 

It’s raised. His fingers waggle at you before he twists his wrist strangely - and one of the bells on his wrist tumbles down, suspended on the length of ribbon. You raise an eyebrow at him, only for his claw to hook under your chin and turn you back to the hanging bell. 

The dim neon star-lights of the darkened daycare glisten across its surface. Brassy and flawless, it hangs limply until Moon slowly twitches his wrist and it begins to swing. 

Back. And forth. 

As steady as a metronome, a deep sea of stars glitters on the metal. 

And then he closes his claws around it with a low laugh. 

You blink. 

“Feeling sleepy?” 

His words slide off you at first, before they hit you like a truck and you gape at him, Moon giggling and terribly pleased with himself as he tugs the bell and ribbon back into place on his wrist. 

“No.” 

“Magic.” 

You have to bite down your words, remembering at the last second that there’s two dozen kids sleeping a few feet away and huffing out the yell you’d wanted to spit at him with a smack against his plating. 

“Moon, I can accept the ‘melatonin’ candies but are you selling me snake oil now? Hypnotism?” 

His face spins a circle, hat jingling against the beanbag as he resettles his hands on your back.

“Unofficial function,” he says, claws dancing a smug jig across your skin. 

That stops your retort. The claws are an unofficial feature. Unlisted and unreviewed, included for nebulous reasons. And now - hypnotism. Assuming he’s not just fucking with you. You prop your chin up on your arm, frowning. 

“You being serious, Moondrop?” 

He makes a vague hum, preoccupied with dragging a finger down your spine. You chew on the idea, but disbelief is definitely winning out. Hypnotism’s the kind of shit your friend’s weird aunt is into; the one who thinks placing quartz chunks in specific spots around her house ‘drains the negative energies’ of her neighborhood. You straighten Moon’s ruffles as you mull it over, before tugging them once more to pull his attention back to your face. 

“I’d notice if you were doing that though. That whole. Pendulum thing? That’s not subtle.” 

“Not the only way.” He pauses. “Don’t use it often. Only when they’re being… very naughty.” His voice edges deeper for emphasis, one arm wrapping around you to squeeze you like a plush. 

“Isn’t that kind of… I dunno, dangerous?” 

“Maybe. Sunny doesn’t like it.” 

“Can Sun-” 

Moon cuts you off with a sharp snicker. “Never tried. Says it’s cheating.” 

“Because it is! I’ve been trying to just talk and soothe them but you’re like,” you pause, lowering your volume as Moon’s eyes flicker brighter, his grip tighter in warning. “I don’t know. How are you doing it, if not the uh… The trick with the bell?” 

Moon cocks his head at you. His frame whirrs under you, fingers tap-tapping across your ribs before he silently brings a hand up and slowly draws the dull side of one his claws over the soft skin beneath your eye. And then - tap-taps - at your temple. 

“I look,” he murmurs. “They look back. I send them off to dreamland.” His hand dances away from your face, miming sparkles with a cheerful jingling of his bells.

You frown, silently resting your face against his plating as you think. 

Eye contact, then. That’d… be subtle enough. You guess it’s useful, if it’s true. You drum your fingers on him, before you flick your gaze back to his. It’s only then you notice his hands are still on your sides, his usual fidgeting and petting paused as he stares back at you, eyes shrunken down to sharp red pupils. 

You’ve seen that look before. Always when Sun and Moon get… nervy. When you admit that something can’t be fixed with a screwdriver and a wet washcloth, and the specter of the place none of you mention by name hovers in the room. 

You soothe your hand across the line of his chest, tweaking the bell of his hat where it sits draped over his shoulder. 

“Are you supposed to tell me this, Moon?” 

The single twitch of his face in answer tells you all you need to know. You exhale. Right. You’re just gonna chalk this one up in the ‘the designer is into some weird shit’ category. 

“Well,” you begin, pushing a grin back onto your face. “Now you’ve said that, you’ve obviously gotta prove it.” 

His optics widen back to bright seas of red in an instant. His arm squeezes you tight, fans whirring fast - before he pushes your face down against his plating. 

“No.” 

You squirm, smacking at his hand on your head before he finally lets you up for air with a wicked snicker. Perched on him, you reach to catch the edge of his faceplate, only for him to avoid your efforts like a stubborn cat. 

“Come on Moony~ Give me some sweet, sweet dreams. Don’t you want me to shut up for a bit?” 

Moon spins his face, angled away from you with another giggle, and oozes further up onto the beanbag as you paw after him - though he does pause. You can see his pupil on you at the edge of his eye before he raises a hand, tapping thoughtfully at his chin. 

“Hmm. Tempting.” 

“That’s right! I’ve been very naughty-” You voice edges into a poor imitation of his own, and you experience a brief moment of triumph as he trembles with repressed laughter before you both hear the sounds of fussing from the nap circle. 

You’re unsure if you got too loud, but it doesn’t matter. The two of you peel yourselves apart without a word, slipping back into work mode in an instant. One fussy kid leads to another, and the two of you quickly sink into a familiar rhythm: Moon stalking close to the loudest fussers, his music box chiming away and voice low, as you help settle blankets and plushes and pillows with soothing smiles and careful hands. Sometimes you hum along with Moon’s song, nonsense words on your lips, and sometimes you reach for a misplaced plush only for Moon to press it into your hands, his claws trailing naturally up your arm as he passes by. 

By the time naptime ends, the lights flickering on and Moon shifts back into Sun, who immediately whips you up into a tight, whirling hug, you’ve all but forgotten what Moon told you. 

After all, he was probably joking. 

[unwelcome-ozian]

Do you know about any Mk ultra programs run in Australia or New Zealand?

Here are a few:

University of Adelaide in South Australia-In order to further the scientific and academic study of psi phenomena. This division of the university’s Department of Psychology, named the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit (APRU) -Aboriginal Australians were subject to medical experiments on how they experienced pain and where body measurements and blood samples were forcibly taken.

Australian National University in Canberra, ACT-Where Leonard G.H. Huxley served as Vice-Chancellor (1960-1967). 

University of Western Australia-CIA's Human Ecology Fund gave a research grant to Professor Ronald Taft. 

Callan Park (Australia)-Cerebral Surgery and Research Unit at Callan Park Psychiatric Hospital. After his (Dr. Harry Richard Bailey) appointment, the Sydney Sunday tabloid declared in September 1957, “Human guinea pigs in test: A Sydney mental specialist and 15 other volunteers deliberately sent themselves temporarily insane in recent mental research tests.” Bailey was the man behind this experiment at Callan Park. He went on in the article to promote LSD as a hopeful method of treating “mental cases” and said that these experiments would hopefully trace the section of the brain which is affected by schizophrenia. In 1959, Bailey became the Medical Superintendent of Callan Park.

Chelmsford Private Hospital-Became Australia’s worst psychiatric disaster where over 1,400 patients were subjected to hypnotic drugs, ECT and DST in a mostly experimental fashion  without  informed  consent. The  entire  Chelmsford  medical  team were previously involved  in  a  eugenics  program  of forced  adoption  at  Sydney’s  Crown Street Hospital for Women where babies were taken from ‘unfit’ mothers and given to mothers deemed more appropriate.  A massive 64% of unwed mothers had their babies stolen at Crown Street Hospital. Harry Bailey used hypnotic drugs to make the reluctant birth mothers comply. He directly  ordered  the abortion  of  twin  foetuses  without  the  consent  of a  woman  who  was under the influence of hypnotic drugs.

Concord Military Hospital (Australia)-Leonas Petrauskas.

Crown Street Hospital for Women in Sydney- It was here that they were involved in a eugenics program of forced adoption from ‘unfit’ mothers, to ones who were deemed more appropriate. Bailey had helped to introduce methods of using hypnotic drugs to make them comply. He directly ordered the abortion of twin foetuses without a woman's consent while she was under the influence of these drugs. 64% of unwed mothers had their babies taken at Crown Street.

Engadine Medical Centre (Australia)-Leonas Petrauskas.

Cerebral Surgery and Research Unit at Callan Park Psychiatric Hospital in Sydney-September 1957, the Sydney Sunday tabloid published an article about a Callan Park experiment, headlined: ‘Human Guinea Pigs in Test: A Sydney mental health specialist and 15 other volunteers deliberately sent themselves temporarily insane in recent mental research tests.’

Milson Island in the Hawkesbury River north of Sydney-Became a MK- ULTRA  research facility.

University of Sydney, AUS-MK-ULTRA psychiatrist Martin Theodore Orne, performed an experiment titled ‘Antisocial Behaviour and Hypnosis’.

University of Sydney Psychology-Faculty  head, Alfred  Gordon  Hammer,  approved Subproject  84. Gordon  Hammer  (then  APS  Chair). Professor Martin Orne. In 1960, Professor Orne's work took him to the University of Sydney.

IIE-Financed Fulbright scholarships into Australia and the Institute was founded by Elihu Root (a founder of the Council on Foreign Relations, co-founder of the Carnegie Endowment and a member of the Pilgrim’s Society) and Stephen P. Duggan who was also a member of the CFR and known as the “apostle of internationalism”. USEFA was based at Huxley’s Australian National University during the main years of imported CIA operations.

Cherry Farm Hospital In The South Island Of New Zealand-Between 1973 and 1978 - a version of Deep Sleep Therapy was used in several wards.  used electro convulsive therapy or ECT as standard practice. Dunedin prison - who we were told would also undergo deep sleep or narcosis therapy in an especially locked-down unit of the villa. Cherry Farm was the hospital to use deep sleep therapy most; many patients were not given optimal treatment; the specific application of modified narcosis was inappropriate and applied to a large number of patients up to 1978.

Lake Alice Psychiatric Hospital (New Zealand)-Children in the 1970s were tortured with electroshock, including to their genitals, and given injections of paraldehyde, a central nervous depressant as punishment. child and adolescent unit were routinely punished with unmodified ECT (ECT without anaesthesia).

National Women’s Hospital in Auckland, NZ-Herbert Green.

Oz