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@girl-brain
hiya! i’m girl
i’m a transfem lesbian from victoria, australia
this blog’ll mostly be about kink stuff, i also like to write some stuff and if you want you can read it here on ao3 (it’s all lesbian forcefem)
i’m very shy but i wanna make friends so please feel free to talk to me especially if you like my stories ~
'opposites attract' is propaganda by big difference to sell mediocre het fic. ideally you should be dating someone who dresses the same as you and has the same name as you and has the same media taste as you and has the same birthday as you and is increasingly distressed by how similar the two of you are until you snap your fingers and it forgets what it was thinking about.
(Xユーザーのcitrusさん: 「#初音ミク #重音テト https://t.co/IkHD0mhbSX」 / Xから)
"I need my beauty sleep," but as a covert code for brainwashing
bonus points if you don’t know it is one
No sooner have the words left your mouth, you feel your mind begin to cloud.
"Oh...? So soon?" They smile. "But of course, you're right. You can never get enough beauty sleep, can you?"
Another wave. Your eyelids flutter. "What...? What's going..."
"Hm? You were just saying that you needed to get some beauty sleep. Did you forget already? How silly. You must be very— careful, now!"
Your legs feel weak. Limp. You find yourself falling, only to be caught in their arms.
"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, hmm? Somewhere where you can get some well-dserved beauty sleep."
Your head rolls back. Mouth open. Eyes lidded. Barely, you recognize that their arms have tucked themselves under your back and knees. A moment later, you're weightless.
Floating.
Then dropped into a sea of plush silk.
"There we are. Much better."
You try to follow their voice, but find the room a blur. "I...my...head...what's...?"
"Shhh." Deft fingers find your hair, stroking your feeble protests away. "You need this, remember? Say it again."
"I need...my beauty sleep," you repeat on a sigh that proceeds a rush of warmth, and heaviness.
"Good doll. Beauty sleep is good for you. Without it, your thoughts turn ugly, don't they?"
You nod. "Beauty sleep...good for me."
"Were you having some ugly thoughts, doll?"
You nod again.
"Tell me. You can do that before you drift off, can't you?"
The fog in your mind parts just a little. Enough to think. To recall. To see them lying beside you, one hand stroking your forehead, and another rubbing your tummy. You swallow. "It’s hard out there," you say. "Everyone treats me like I'm a person, so sometimes I forget I'm not." You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, your heart racing with your words. "I'm sorry..."
"Oh, my silly doll. Don't cry. You've done nothing wrong." They wipe away the wettness, then pull your face to theirs. "You're just playing pretend, sweet thing. That's what dolls do."
Right. Of course. "Dolls love playing pretend."
"That’s right! Dolls love playing pretend. Do you remember why?"
Your face scrunches up. "No..."
"That's alright." Lips find your cheek. You blush. "Dolls play pretend to make people happy."
"Like you?"
"Yes, like me. And you make me very, very happy, little doll. No matter what I tell you to be, you play your part perfectly. You're a very good doll."
Warmth spreads through your chest. "I'm a good doll."
"And sometimes," they smile, "when silly little dolls are perfect at playing pretend, they forget they were ever playing at all. That's why I'm here. To remind you when play time is over." A hand, the one on your stomach, slowly trails to the hem of your pants. "Do you remember what happens when play time is over?"
You shake your head.
"I think you do. You come back here, to your dollhouse, and I undress you."
For a moment, you squint. "Undress me...?"
"Of course. Taking off your play clothes is essential for getting good beauty sleep."
Your eyes roll back, and once again your limbs are so, so heavy. You couldn't lift them even if you tried.
"That's it. No more thoughts. No more movement. Play time is over, and good dolls are still and silent when play time is over. Isn't that right?"
You don’t respond.
"Good doll. Just rest your eyes and drift into deep, deep beauty sleep." The hand moves down. "I'm going to play with you myself now."
shoulda made this blog puppy themed 🐶 arf
working on a sci-fi story rn, it was supposed to just be another short but it’s getting long lol, tfw you are addicted to slowburn i guess
doggy story kinda blew up a bit compared to my other stuff waow, puppygirls keep on winning :3c
i’ve been wondering if i should make individual posts of my stories here so they can potentially get shared around but i don’t want to attract attention from mean people ;u;
the downside of getting into mind control stories is every time you feel bad for whatever reason you’ll just be like “damn… wish someone could mind control me into feeling better :/“
i’m gonna try posting here more i think, mostly about writing and kink stuff since i don’t really have anywhere else to talk about that sorta thing
and my inaugural thought to post about is:
writing is hard 😭
but i shall persevere… for all the fellow lesbian forcefem enjoyers out there…
i’m gonna try posting here more i think, mostly about writing and kink stuff since i don’t really have anywhere else to talk about that sorta thing
and my inaugural thought to post about is:
writing is hard 😭
guy sets off to turn the girlprince at school into a "proper" girl only to be forcefemmed into becoming one of her fawning fans
hypnosis works on me because I listen to women
"I'm immune to hypnosis" okay so you're basically a misogynist
canonically, the angel on my shoulder gets off on bondage because to be totally restrained from taking any action is the only way to be truly free from the burden of "doing better". action necessarily involves the resolution of difficult contradictions, thus the only truly pure justice is achieved through the inability to take any action at all. and also it has an embarrassment kink.
it’s really a privilege to get to be a cat. who hasn’t waxed poetic about the simple pleasures of dozing in sunbeams and watching the world through a window, rousing yourself to cause trouble when the urge strikes. you should be grateful. and stop tugging at your cute new paws, you know those aren’t coming off.
Telepath whose egg cracks because she reads another girl's mind and gets overwhelmed by how much she wants to keep feeling and thinking the same way as that girl all the time, so she keeps reading her thoughts to see her upcoming plans, daily routines, how she likes to spend her time, and then starts secretly following her to better memorize it all and get used to going to the same places. She buys all of the same clothes as her and tries to read or guess which outfit she's going to wear on what day, even buys a wig to match her hair better since growing her own out would take too long. The first time she looks in the mirror after weeks, maybe a month or two of this, she realizes her facial features are closer to her muse's than she thought, far too early for her DIY estradiol to have taken effect. Before long cashiers at the other girl's most frequented shops are calling her that girl's name or asking if she wants "the usual" when they see her enter. It's euphoric. It's comfortable. A little too comfortable. She grows both bolder and more complacent, until one day while in line at a coffee shop, she reads a jolt of confusion in the barista's mind and watches him look past her, then directly at her, back and forth twice. Her stomach drops and she turns around. The glass of the door resembled a mirror for a split second before opening, and her picture-perfect reflection -- or rather, the one she herself was a reflection of -- walks through the door and proceeds past the line straight toward her. The telepath starts stuttering, dozens of excuses bubbling up and dying on her tongue, not noticing the other's smile until suddenly arms are thrown around her, warmly and snugly. She freezes, hears her muse laugh and ask the barista, "Come on, you really couldn't tell me and my sister apart?" and simultaneously feels a voice in her mind, one she's been hearing for all these months that sounds almost exactly like her own, as it whispers, Pretty little thing, aren't you so much happier now?
