#tw mind control

It was strange how the important questions got answered on a small scale, now that he was facedown in the grass. They had plagued him so completely, driven him to distraction on even the good days–What am I? What am I doing here?–and now he had his answers.

What am I? Alive.

What am I doing here? Dying.

It had been a long flight, and he didn’t know how far he had gone, only that he had done it as fast as he could, sometimes making the air pound against his ears in a bone-shaking burst. Behind him, pearly drops of ichor trailed in a mist from the places where the tubes had attached. He shouldn’t have taken off the armor in such haste. He shouldn’t have left without a plan.

It turned out, he really needed that ichor to stay on the inside.

He wanted to get up, keep flying onward, something.

Help me, he thought. He thought it very loudly. Maybe, if things like him were allowed miracles, someone would hear.

*

Something sharp in his back pricked at him until he swam up out of the black. He cracked his eyes open, enough to see that he wasn’t alone. A hand, a human hand, covered in the ichor he needed to stay inside, set a tray on the grass near his face. The hand picked something long and shiny out of the tray, and there was more of that sharp pricking that had called him back. It hurt, but it was a different kind of hurting than there had been before. Another prick, and a terrible twisting, and the new kind of hurt completely replaced the old one.

The hand dropped a squat black tube of metal into the tray. He could swear he had seen that black ring somewhere before…maybe more than one of them…

He sank back into the black.

*

Two in his upper arms, two in his shoulders, three on each side of his belly, five down his spine, one at the top of each leg, two in his chest. Something was missing. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it back. For the first time in his life, there was nothing but himself in his body. Outside, there was something soft at each of the ring ports. White tape stuck the gauze in place. He could still feel the places the rings had been, and wondered if he would ever forget that they had been there, but he was already forgetting the pain of them.

They had been there for a reason though. He could feel a new sensation that he had only heard described by others, beginning to scratch at him from the inside. The footsoldiers of Team Rocket had complained of it sometimes, when they were out in the more remote places. They had complained about a lot of things–walking too far, the smell of the Tauros, who was cheating at their games of chance, whose turn it was to gather firewood, but more often than anything they had spoken of hunger.

He had never been hungry before. He didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like having anything in common with the humans, but maybe this was one of the things that came with being alive that nobody had bothered to explain to him. It seemed there were a lot of those.

He pushed himself off the grass, the bandages and the tender places under them pulling enough to make him gasp. When the sharpness faded, he could pay attention to where he was, and what was different now.

When he had lost the strength to fly any further he had come down hard, skidding into the turf of this grassy hillside. He had seen some buildings on the other side of the hill before he fell–a human settlement, a small one. Here on this side of the hill, he was hidden from view of the village. That had been morning, and without a single tree nearby, the sun had been harsh on his face right up to the point where he’d lost his grasp on everything.

Now it was night, and there was no way to tell how long had passed since the crash. It wasn’t completely dark though; a small fire flickered to the side, the light of it glinting off metal and plastic. A human, presumably the one who had built the fire, sat with her knees pulled up against the cold. He didn’t know a lot about clothing, but he knew there was a difference between when it was chosen by the wearer’s preference, and when it was required by their job. This human had the second type, a uniform of pink and white, that had probably been crisp when she first donned it. Now there was mud all over the knees, smears of black oil and pearly ichor across the apron, more on her face and arms to join soot. She looked exhausted.

“Oh! You’re awake!” she chirped, seeing his movement. Her tiredness vanished and she sprang to her feet. “You’re a pokemon, aren’t you? I’ve never seen your type before, and the pokedex doesn’t have an entry for you. Are you feeling better, little guy? No, don’t try to get up yet!”

I am Mewtwo, he said. She jumped as though he had stung her, mouth falling in shock. Had she not expected a response?

“You can talk? Wow! You must be something really special!” She smiled. She put her whole face into smiling, letting it change her eyes, her chin, her voice. He could see how someone else might find it disarming, but he recoiled at the word special. The other humans he had met had been fond of the word, as it pertained to him. They used a dozen different varieties of it, and all of them meant that while he was singular, he was also lesser. Unique, a marvel, the ultimate…but still not worth as much as the commonest human. Just a pokemon. An animal.

“My name is Joy!” the human was telling him now. “It’s a good thing I found you here! You were hurt pretty badly! If you can, we should get to the pokecenter right away!”

Did she even know how to speak without emphasis? Did she put this kind of enthusiasm into every word all the time?

You removed the ports, he said, examining the bandages on his chest. She jumped again. He had never met another pokemon that could use human language. He had never had any difficulty understanding them, but the humans did. She was not used to being spoken to by a pokemon, an animal. She recovered quickly, and laughed.

“Well, I am a nurse! I’m not a surgeon but those rings had to come out! Now that you’re awake I can go get someone to take you–”

No. He rose to his feet, still unsteady but gaining confidence with each minute that passed. He was taller than she was, and his tail lashed as he kept balance. He looked down at her. Nobody will ever take me, ever again. For the first time, Joy faltered. The smile leached from her face and her eyes got big. They had a look in them he had seen on other humans before, though never directed at him.

She was afraid.

She took a step back, toward the other side of the hill, toward the other humans and their village. Whatever a pokecenter was, it was going to be full of people that would find him fascinating. That had, historically, ended up badly for him. He didn’t think, he only knew that Joy must not be allowed to start that cycle all over again.

Stay, he barked. She froze.

This was new. She hadn’t just stopped moving, she had frozen utterly, paralyzed. Her eyes blinked, her chest breathed, the thick vein beneath the skin of her throat still throbbed. If he looked closely, he could see it pick up the pace as her heart began to hammer. She was still afraid, yes. But she was doing as she was told.

Sit down, he commanded cautiously. She sank to her knees on the grass, somewhat stiff but sitting all the same. She stared straight ahead. The vein kept throbbing.

He took his time in deciding what to do. He needed her, that much was clear. The metal taken from his body was a good start, but they had left gaps he couldn’t see. He would need more assistance with their healing before long. Someone with the knowledge of what must be done and how it would apply to a pokemon (even a unique one) would be a rare treasure. Someone who already knew that, and also too much about him could not be allowed to escape.

The ports still hurt. He was still hungry, He was not yet in safety. He wanted more rest, and he did not know where to go. And yet…he was the only one who would ever control what he did from now on. That alone gave him the strength to focus.

The fire blazed violet and snuffed out. Gather your tools, he told Joy. She mechanically did so, holding the tray and kit in a jumble between the folds of her skirt. He snaked his tail around her waist, and found her to be lighter than he had anticipated. They rose into the air, and set off into the wind, towards the place on the horizon where the dark sky was fringed with gray and gold.

*

New Island was really more of a rock. Had it always been this small?

*

It turned out there was plenty of earth material to be found under the water. It turned out, when he didn’t have anything to distract him, he could just pick it up and put it wherever he wanted.

The rock became bigger.

*

Joy had read a lot of books when she was a child, fairy tales and made-up nonsense a lot of it. There were some interesting images to be found in the memory of them all the same. He liked the ones of old cathedrals, colored glass and high, pointed ceilings reminding those who entered that they were in the house of a creator. One could look up and be in awe of a being who had not been born, but existed all the same.

Well, he could relate to that.

He pulled metal and silica out of the ocean bed and bent them into the shapes he liked best. It kept the rain off, and was a convenient place to put Joy when he wanted sleep. She had a tendency to do silly things when he was not looking over her shoulder. There was no way she could actually make it to shore on her own, but she tried. There was nobody to signal for attention, but she tried. Her oath as a nurse prevented her from killing him, but she wanted to break it so badly there would come a day when she’d try that as well.

Better to keep her somewhere safe.

*

Distance did not make a difference when it came to supervising Joy. She could be teleported to anywhere he wanted and trusted to obey her orders, though it took practice. Maybe it was rebellion, maybe her human mind interpreted his own pokemon one imprecisely, but he learned not to give her directions that were too broad. The first time he had sent her to bring back food, she had returned with a bucket of garlic bulbs, mud and stringy leaves still on them from where she had clawed them out of some farmer’s field.

He discovered he did not like raw garlic.

*

He discovered he did not like meat.

There was nothing physically wrong with the ingestion of it, but the idea of it made him feel ill. It felt barbaric, that he should consume another life that had been so much like his own. Furthermore, there was the idea that this creature had been born with a purpose, and that it was to die and be eaten. He didn’t even have a purpose to his existence at all, and he didn’t know who had it worse. He buried the steaks in a small funeral behind the castle.

Joy was sent for broccoli after that.

*

It turned out having thumbs made a difference in preparing broccoli.

It turned out having a knife made a difference in how hard Joy was willing to resist his control. She did not prevail, but that evening meal was a tense one.

*

He discovered that there was only so much he could tolerate of the sensation of boredom. Once the castle had been decorated, and Joy had been decorated, and he had read all the books and scientific journals he could find, the silence was thick as butter in his ears. He decided that if he wanted to actually answer the questions he still had, he couldn’t wait for the answers to present themselves on their own.

The ruins of the old lab were the foundation for his current dwelling. When he considered exploring them further, there was a moment where he unwittingly thought of it as returning home. He was ill all that night, and the nausea swelled anew every time he remembered the slip.

*

He had not expected returning to the lab where he was created to be so…uncomfortable. The scorched stone and still-lingering scent of ozone and vat fluid would likely be here for years yet, and they brought back the memory of violet fire so strong he sank to the ground. He wanted the memory to stop. It had been the first day of his life, and the worst. He dug through the wreckage until he found enough pieces to put together a vat of his own.

He found the notes and journals of his creator. Part of him wanted to crush them into sand, finally obliterate all that remained of that–that–

Well, who was he to call anyone a monster?

Building his own lab was a very good cure for the boredom. Building his own cloning lab, one where he could rewrite the events of that day, and see from every angle what they might have been thinking, was good for everything else.

Joy and her thumbs were not needed for this part. It felt better to do it alone.

*

“Let me go,” she said, as she always did when he came into her cell. Her voice lacked the passion that it had the first couple of weeks. In many ways that was a relief. Tears were messy.

I have a new project, he told her. She sat on her bed with her back against the wall and didn’t look at him.

“I don’t care,” she said. Her voice told him it was true.

You know pokemon trainers, he said. You know who is considered the best. Find them for me. This made her look up in surprise.

“You want to be trained? What for?”

I want no such thing! he snarled. You humans love science so much. I wish to prove something. They are necessary.

“What do you know about what humans love?” she said. Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You’re a crime against nature. You don’t even have a soul.”

You dare–!

“Oh, you don’t like that? What are you going to do, throw me in a dungeon?”

Silence! She shut up. Her eyes still sparked with an acidic hate, but she was quiet. Humans call themselves the owners of pokemon, he said. Consider what it means to be owned. This was not a command, though he did hope she would do as suggested. Humans were not as adept as he had first thought when it came to thinking about the implications of things they did and said. He might not even exist if they were.

I will summon you when your services are required. If you don’t like this ‘dungeon’ as you call it, ask yourself what a pokeball is like on the inside.

Joy stayed quiet as she had been told to do, but her face reddened, and leaked. He turned his back on the sight, and left her to her own company.

*

She hated him. That was fair. He didn’t particularly care what she thought of him, but when he traced one paw around the port scars on his chest, he did care that he had repaid her assistance poorly. Did he even need to keep her around anymore? He could take care of himself. If he had never had a childhood, he at least had a period of being dependent on someone else for survival.

We all have to grow up sometime, he thought. When the trainers arrived, Joy would leave with them. Perhaps she would be less miserable in someone else’s fiefdom. Perhaps he’d be less miserable here in his, without the burn of her hatred in his mind.

*

On impulse, when he released his servant from her duties, he erased everything. Clean sweep, from now until the day he had lain in the dirt and called for help. She might always wonder what had happened in those months, but it was the only gift he could give her that she might accept.

She ran with the other humans at the first opportunity. He did not stop her.

Mew wanted to know why he was being so slow in following the other pokemon.

It’s nothing, Mewtwo said. I never thought I might envy a human.

TW: Noncon
Tw: Mind Control
TW: Some of these get pretty dark
TW: Masturbation

i for one would love some mind control-based noncon whump but if you’re uncomfortable with that subject don’t push yourself to do it

This has been much requested and I finally thought some up!

Forcing the whumpee to believe they’re with someone they love

Forcing the whumpee to believe they’re HURTING someone they love

Forcing the whumpee to touch themselves

Forcing the whumpee to pull away at the last moment and denying them relief

Forcing the whumpee to stay aware of what’s happening but unable to control their body

Trick the love interest into thinking the whumpee wants what’s happening

Force the whumpee to plead and beg

Force the whumpee to agree to anything

Force the whumpee into faking a relationship to prolong things

Have the whumpee strip and stay that way for prolonged amounts of time

Have the whumpee say that they want it

Have the whumpee thank the whumper

Lock a loved one/caretaker in a nearby room and force the whumpee to be loud

Make them legitimately want what’s happening

Make them relax

Make them tense

Make them indulge in different kinds of kinks, especially if they wouldn’t normally

Convince the whumpee that the mind control only works if deep down they wanted this to happen

Force the whumpee to forget it ever happened at all

Continued from here

CW: Dubcon kiss, kidnapping, mind control, collapse, alcoholism, heavily implied prostitution

Villain’s apartment complex was cheap and smelled like pot. Villain knew this. Normally, it didn’t bother them. Villain work didn’t always pay well. This was a place they could consistently afford.

With Hero here, however, Villain was a little uncomfortable— embarrassed even. They were suddenly aware of how trashy their place was.

When they got to the third floor, they felt it even more acutely.

“Hey, sugar. You and your friend lookin’ for a good time?”

“Not tonight, doll.” Villain planned to walk straight past, but the woman stepped in front of them, pouting.

“Come on, sugar… you always say yes.” The woman trailed her hand down Villain’s arm. “Won’t you at least introduce me?”

“No.” Villain said flatly. “Move.”

The woman turned to Hero instead. “Are you really okay with them speaking for you?”

“No.” Hero said, but then continued. “Unfortunately for you, you’re really not my type.”

“Oh? And what is your type?”

“Tall, black hair, blue eyes— someone who can kick ass.” Hero gave the woman a once over. “You don’t seem to have any of those things.”

Villain felt their face burn. Hero had all but described them. “Well, you heard them, doll. How about you get out of our way and maybe I’ll come back later, hm?”

“No. You won’t.” Hero interjected, pulling Villain past the woman.

—

“Why did you say that?” Villain asked as they fumbled with their lock.

“Why did I say what?”

“When she asked what you’re type is.”

“What do you mean? That is my type.”

“Hero.” Villain pushed their door open. “You described me.”

Hero laughed. “Yeah, right. Like you fit the last criteria.”

“Hero! Kicking ass is literally my job! I kick your ass every other week!”

“Okay, so what if you are my type?” Hero followed Villain into their apartment. “It doesn’t mean I like you. Just people similar to you.”

“That sounds stupid.” Villain closed their door.

Hero shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m even interested in anyone right now.”

“Of course you’re not…” Villain muttered. “No life outside of work.” They grumbled, turning away.

Hero’s expression darkened.

Before Villain knew what was happening, Hero had spun them around and backed them against the wall, holding Villain by the collar. For a brief moment, Villain thought they were about to be punched in the face. “Hero—”

Hero cut Villain off with a kiss on the lips. It was rough and drunkenly clumsy. After a moment of shock, Villain pushed Hero off.

“Hero! What the hell??”

“I’m not some loser, y'know.” Hero muttered, angry. “I value my job. I enjoy what I do. It just… gets in the way of other things. So I lie. I say I don’t like things that I really do because I hope that maybe— just maybe— I can convince myself that I don’t really want anything else.”

“Hero—”

“Shut up! What I’m trying to say is that I do like you!” Hero’s eyes searched Villain’s face, making Villain feel a little uncomfortable. In a moment, Hero’s expression faltered. “And… you’re not even remotely interested, are you. Heh…” Hero took a step away. “Just my luck.”

“Hero, what did you expect from me? You’re drunk— you think I’m just going to take everything you say at face value?”

“I’m not thatdrunk!”

“Yes, you are! This is the most I’ve heard you say in the entire two years that I’ve known you! And even when you’re a little talkative, you’re always very calm and logical. Nothing you’ve said is logical!”

Hero covered their face with their hands. “Just… just stop, okay?” They said quietly. “If you don’t like me back, then whatever, just… leave it.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t like you—”

“You didn’t have to.” Hero snapped, not moving from where they stood.

“Hero, I’m not going to kiss you when you’re drunk. If you still want to kiss me in the morning, we can reevaluate then.”

“I’m leaving.” Hero turned towards the door.

“No, you’re not.” Villain caught Hero by the arm.

“Let go of me.” Hero snarled.

“I will not. You are staying here until you’re sober and that’s that.”

“If you don’t let go right now, I swear, I don’t fucking care if I can’t use my powers, I’m going to make you regret it.”

“I am not letting you go. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Villain pulled Hero back against them.

Hero struggled, yelling as they tried to kick Villain.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to make you stop.” Villain’s tone was calm, but their hold was firm.

Hero calmed down a little bit, but was still extremely tense. “Fine. Fine, just let go.”

Villain let go slowly and Hero took a step away, glaring into the ground.

Hero took a moment to breathe, and then bolted for the door.

Villain didn’t have time to grab them, but they instinctively reached out with their mind. They didn’t usually use their powers on civilians or people without powers. Since Hero was drunk, they couldn’t shield their mind, so Villain wouldn’t have used their powers under normal circumstances. However, this wasn’t under normal circumstances.

Hero placed their hand on the doorknob, but made it no further, their knees buckled and they collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.