🌀The Bad Hypnotist
Note: this piece contains soft hypnotic language and may feel trance-like.Read only if you’re comfortable, and proceed at your own pace.
✦ ᛉ ᚨ ᚷ ᛟ ✦
The infamous trope: the bad hypnotist. The mad scientist who conquers the mind of the hero—or heroine.
Why does it fascinate so much? Maybe it’s not fascination at all, just a creative shortcut. A deus ex machina for storytelling.
How else do you explain someone acting completely out of character? Their brain was washed.
Picture it: a hero tied to a chair, headphones on, maybe a VR visor if we’re modern, and voilà—your hero is hypnotized, a puppet for the forces of evil. No guilt, no remorse, no mercy.
Then comes the battle. How can the hero awaken someone under trance? With the power of friendship? A good cognitive recalibration, as Marvel would put it? (You hit them hard enough.)
And does the hero remember what they did? What a deliciously complicated situation.
Most of us are conditioned to be the good ones. Few ever consider that we might be the villain in someone else’s story. So if you’re never given the chance to be the bad one, you embrace it—because everyone fantasizes: what if I acted like the villain?
But if you truly wanted to be evil, you just pull out what’s already latent. And there comes the real hypnosis versus the cliché fantasy.
Take the Winter Soldier as a prime example of mental control. They made him a puppet, implanted triggers, erased memories across movies. But it was non-consensual; they destroyed a mind.
In real hypnosis, collaboration is key. No suggestion, no order, will stick if you don’t want it to. Even if someone catches you off guard, the truly trained know that agency is everything.
This is why some hypnotists in erotic communities have fallen from grace. Because somewhere out there, someone isn’t using hypnosis as a shortcut in stories… but as a philosophy.
In erotic hypnosis, we usually side with the hero—or the victim.
Feeling control taken away, your judgments slipping away word by word, like drops falling into a bowl… Resistance sliding away like sand through fingers. Ideas fading like blurred lines. Everything in shades of gray. No black, no white. Just being… with your desires.
And then you rise from the chair, muscles loose, responding: “Of course, Doctor.”
And in that moment, the world falls beneath you, while you stare, lost, with a body at peace.
Somewhere, a masked figure reads this cliché with quiet amusement. People think villains are invented. They never wonder who wrote the script first.
✦ᛉumeᛋᛇ✦
