Released the book I wrote last year for free last night btw… Dabbled back into my history of feminization stories so… have a look if you are so inclined, just be prepared 😜:
Fictionmania is a big story archive. Transgender / TV / CD / TG stories, with images too.
Synopsis: Julian and Graham, co-founders of a revolutionary AI company, deploy their flagship system VERAi within their own workplace to prove its power. But a data flaw misclassifies Julian not as CTO, but as Graham's spouse/Trophy Wife. To optimize their "executive unit," VERAi begins reassigning Julian into a hyper-feminine support role -- complete with lingerie, hormones, and behavior training. With billions at stake and every act of resistance flagged as system failure, Julian must choose: obey the algorithm, or risk everything to escape becoming the perfect trophy wife. VERAi doesn't just automate. "She" assimilates.
You mentioned a few decent Fictionmania stories existing. Could you recommend some? I'm curious what work from that environment looks like when it's not horrendous.
And I also got an ask from an anon:
So I'm answering both in here, and the answer is: good stories on Fictionmania are very rare, but when you like one it's like finding a diamond while digging through a pile of coal.
So I'm going to provide a few links :)
Before we start, I have to point out that Fictionmania operates on Cave of Wonders rules: touch nothing but the lamp. Seriously, this is important -- the links I'm giving you are safe (mostly! Because there's decidedly NSFW ads on the site!), but do not wander off on to other parts of the site. Or, if you do, don't blame me at least! 😄
First of all, I have to recommend all of Tanya H's production: they're a very good author, and I super enjoyed all of her realistic stories (i.e.: those that aren't tagged "magical transformation"); do be warned, though, that they can get quite dark. I would start with lighter fare like Hare and Hounds, Awards Evening, and Giving It Everything, and move on from that.
Secondly: The Awakening by BobH. (No relation to Tanya H above, as far as I can tell.) It's a standard "guy falls asleep and wakes up X years later as a woman" story, but it's very well written and I've really enjoyed the mystery and the solution.
Then we have Imp by The Professor. Like The Awakening above, it's a standard "guy gets magically transformed into a girl" story, but it's well written and I've enjoyed the mystery and the resolution.
And... nothing else, nothing that I can personally recommend, at least. I'm sure there's something else in there, but like I said: diamonds in a pile of coal.
Note: This is without a doubt one of my favorite TF scenes of all time. I thought it lost for years until someone helped figure out that it's a "Medallion of Zulo" story from fictionmania.tv!
I'm reposting my favorite section here with some minor edits for Tumblr. The full story contains gender-swapping, but this part focuses on mostly consensual age-regression.
The door whipped open from the inside, pulling the keys from Chris's hands. He smiled to greet his wife, but was stopped cold by an unfamiliar face.
"Hello. You must be Mrs. Hartley's husband."
She was young, very young, too young, too damn young to be so pretty, with that pert cheerleader nose, and blonde hair that hung loose over her shoulders, around her face, and only seemed to find sexier and sexier ways of messing up itself. His next glance--done before he could help himself- -shot straight down her tank top. Oh god, creamy white breasts, small and perky, nipples as upturned as that sorority girl nose of hers. Who was she and how could he get rid of her before his dick jumped out of his pants and into her--
"Where's, uh, my wife?"
The girl backed away. It didn't help. Her tank top was short, and her smooth white belly peeked out and winked at him. He swore that little "inney" of hers was teasing him. Everything about this girl was a tease; she couldn't help herself; her body seemed designed for it. Her bra was black he noticed; the straps were not very well concealed. The sprinkles of freckles that ran up and down her arms (like sensual constellations) made him lose track of his thoughts.
" . . . back in a few hours. She said I could hang out here until she got back. That's okay . . . isn't it?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so." He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and dialed Marissa.
The girl crept closer, her small hand pushing down his wrist to view the phone screen. "How come you're calling her?"
"I want to know why her car is still here."
"Her friend Helena drove."
He left a short message on Marissa's voice mail, hung up, and eyed the girl. "What was your name again?"
"I didn't say," she grinned. Her eyes twinkled. Her nose crinkled. She looked like a little devil. He could imagine . . . well . . . .
"What is your name?"
His stern tone made her flinch. Her grin fell away. She wore the expression of an admonished child. Her eyes flitted up into his, noticed the disapproval, and flitted down. "Sandy."
"Well, fine, Sandy. You can stay and watch TV or whatever you like, but I have some work to do upstairs."
"Okay."
Manipulative little--what was she thinking? He had to get a hold on himself. She was just a kid. Maybe she knew the effect she was having on him and maybe she didn't. Maybe she was doing it on purpose and maybe she wasn't. She reminded him of Sarah, his first crush, cheerleader, bouncy, sexy, and wanting nothing to do with a little twerp like him.
He was none too happy with Marissa either, leaving some teenage girl alone with him in the house.
He was halfway up the stairs before Sandy called out to him. And it was "Chris!" not "Mr. Hartley!"
He turned and chastised her. "Excuse me?"
"Your wife left this for you. She said it was urgent."
He took the envelope from her and started to tear it open, but she was still standing there, a step below, peering up at him, her large soulful eyes twinkling like an eager puppy. Was it his imagination or was there just the hint of a smirk on those glossy pink lips of hers?
God, her whole face, her whole body, had that healthy, vibrant flushed glow. So young. So very, very young.
"Something else?" he asked.
She slipped up beside him, uncomfortably close, gazed up at him. "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have just jumped out at you like that at the door. I just didn't want you to come in and, y'know, be startled that some strange girl was in your house."
His heart was like a clutching fist in his chest. His throat felt thick, his face warm, knees weak. He knew he should back away, but the part of him that wanted her won out.
"That's okay. I'm sure you didn't mean it."
She wrapped her thin freckled arms around him. He timidly patted her back. She snuggled closer, squirming deliciously. He could feel her erect nipples through her bra, through her thin shirt, through his dress shirt and undershirt, rubbing against his abdomen. He hoped it was his imagination.
She lifted her chin as if expecting a kiss, and locked eyes with him.
He swallowed, felt his breath go shallow, felt the terrible, wonderful, aching hardness of his erection stretching, and slowly, so slowly it killed him, unwound her arms.
Without a word, he went upstairs, flustered, more angry at Marissa than ever. And angry at himself, at his dick for responding, at God for designing him that way, at Sandy for--for--for being so confused and for tempting him.
He ripped open the letter, thinking, This better be good.
There was an electric jolt that he put down to static shock, then the medallion began to warm his hand. He stared at it, dumbfounded. This was just bizarre. And he was in no mood either, but it was interesting, fake, of course, by the feel of it. How could Marissa think it was anything of value?
It wasn't plastic, but it wasn't stone or metal or wood either. He couldn't quite identify it. One side was worn almost smooth, and he could just make out some writing. At first he thought it was runes, but then it appeared to be Arabic, then again, hieroglyphics. Hell, it could've been a parade of ducks for all he could tell.
His whole arm was warm now. He moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, and blamed the skylight. There was a strange ticklish-tingly feeling too. He scratched his arm idly, thinking offhand that his skin felt too smooth.
On the other side of the coin he spotted Lady Liberty. No, but close, some sort of figure, female he thought. She was holding something, not a torch though. It was, perhaps, a wand, and there was the slightest impression of wings, but they were almost entirely worn away.
He scratched his arm again. The warmth had spread to his shoulder, to his neck, and was unkinking a bothersome muscle. One cheek was growing hot. He touched it. By this time in the evening there was usually some stubble.
Then he saw his arm.
It was thin and hairless. It was the arm of a teenager, not a grown man. He gasped, dropped the medallion, and backed into someone. He turned and saw Sandy.
"Don't worry. It's reversible. It takes twelve hours though." The rules were coming to her. With every contact, she seemed to understand more about how it worked.
"I thought I told you to stay downstairs."
"Chris, relax--"
"Don't tell me--"
"It's me. Marissa."
"I want you gone. Do you understand?"
"Chris--"
"Gone. Call your parents. I want you out of my house, young lady."
"Ooh," Sandy gasped and pressed a hand against her chest. She touched her blushing cheeks, felt her hot forehead, felt the shame coursing through her. "God, when you use that tone--" She laughed.
"I'm not kidding."
"I know. I know you're not. But just relax. Okay? The medallion is magic or something. I don't know how, but it can change you."
"I'm calling my wife." He found his suit jacket on the bed and dug the cell phone from his pocket.
Sandy launched into a long list of facts that only Marissa could've known.
Chris stared at her. "That doesn't mean anything."
"Look at your hand, teddy bear."
Everything about the way she said it sounded like his wife, but it wasn't. Still, his arm, his hand...
She found the medallion on the bed, held it by its chain, and dropped it into his hand. "Just hold it for a bit and you'll see."
There was that electric shock again, followed by the hot creepy-crawlies. His skin itched a little, but not unbearably. The heat sank deeper, and he actually saw his other hand changing, growing smaller. He started to throw the medallion away, but Sandy wrapped her hand around his. She whispered, "It doesn't hurt. You'll see. And you'll be amazed. It's incredible. Look at me, teddy bear. See? Now you can have your fantasy. Don't you remember telling me how much you wanted to be with that cheerleader? Well, now you can be eighteen again, and I'll be her. I even have a uniform, pom-poms and all, and we can rewrite history for you, and fulfill our deepest fantasies."
"I can't believe it," Chris's small voice gasped.
"I found that old baseball cap of yours in the attic," Marissa explained. "Now you look exactly like you did when you were eighteen."
"This is . . . unbelievable."
He stared at the medallion again, almost laughing. "Where-"
"It doesn't matter."
"But are you sure it's safe?" he worried.
She wanted to kiss him, but restrained herself. "Wait here. I'm going to change."
"Change?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean?"
She couldn't help it. She launched herself into his eighteen year-old arms, feeling every bit of her teen year old body wriggling against him. She planted a kiss on his mouth, pressed it deeper until his lips parted and their tongues met. His arms encircled her, squeezing her almost to breathlessness. Gently, with a mind of their own, his hands began to fall.
She pulled away, wet lips smirking. She gave him another quick, hot kiss. He lunged at her, but she pushed him away.
"Nuh-uh! You have to wait."
"What? Why? I mean, what in the hell is going on?"
She scampered away.
He turned to the mirror and felt an erection like he hadn't felt in years. God, it was rock hard. And it was alive and incredibly sensitive. It was like it had never been touched before. Jesus, he was probably a virgin, sort of, maybe. Could you be a virgin again? Could she?
When she bounced back into the room again, she went into a cartwheel and ended with a slow descent into a split. God, just the sight of her, the blue and white pleats of her skirt draped over her white thighs, her hair in a messy ponytail, dirty blonde strands in her eyes, cheeks flushed with exertion. She was white and pink and pert and perfect and teasing him mercilessly.
Her lips glistened with gloss. She'd framed her eyes with black mascara and softened and enlarged them with dark brown eye shadow. Her blonde eyebrows were plucked and highlighted with a luminous gold. Was it his imagination or had she even sprinkled glitter on her cheeks?
She got to her feet and bounced--breasts up when she was down, down when she was up--ponytail bobbing, tossing her pom-poms around, banging them together with whispery crashes, swish, swish, swish-swish-swish. "Hey . . . okay . . . " She whipped her head to the side, thrust out a hip and pointed at him, leveling him with her eyes. "I want your dick today!"
He laughed and glanced down at the tent in his oversized pants. They fell away easily and his penis flipped up and pointed directly at her.
"Yo . . . your pole . . . " She spread her legs and leaned over to give him a good shot down her uniform blouse. "I want it in my--Home is where the heart is! Your hard-on's in your pants! I can tell you want me, but I want to see it dance!"
He rushed her. His eighteen year old body couldn't stand it anymore. He had to have her . . . right now.
Hello hello. Here is a little drabble to get back into the spirit of writing and try to flesh out a neutral (as neutral as one can make a changeable character) Sara Ryder.
I took the liberty of changing some slight ME information. I know that Shepard wasn’t exactly the glorified hero who was paraded around after ME1 as I may have made it seem, but I took some inspiration off of this link: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/AWz8nYAQy6IFtR7xEd-Hw6X8eRN5oocbjI9rVtbwEmKRjFTm2spO2sU/
It works within the timeline as well, since ME1 ends in 2183 CE and the launch of Andromeda Initiative isn’t until 2185 CE.
Either way, enjoy!
The first-time oxygen struggled to find its way into the lungs of the eldest twin, Sara Ryder, was the night the entirety of her world came crashing down around her. Her mother, her beautiful, doting, outgoing, and ingenious mother, was sick. AEND, an acronym that hardly made sense to her still maturing brain, bounced around repeatedly in an attempt to recall some knowledge of what the disease was.
In the moment, she could not. Her focus was waning and all she could think of was the grim expression that stayed hidden behind the masks her parents wore. Their smiles may have been there, soft and reassuring in the best way one can when delivering such news, but their eyes held all their fears. Sara could not, for the life of her, recall what AEND stood for. Instead, she felt the searing pain in her throat, the tortuous squeeze around her heart, and the stinging behind her eyes as she stared blankly ahead.
“I understand.” The words tumbled out from too stiff lips in a whispered tone, choked out into the deafening silence. A moment later, that silence shattered; a wail of pure terror and pain piercing the air.
It had never hurt to breathe before.
The next notable time Sara could recall struggling to maintain her automatic rhythm of intaking air was when she and Scott were glued to the place they stood. Their arms bent in the proudest salute they could express. Their backs were as straight as either of them could manage. Their smiles, the pride they felt in their fellow human for the honor being bestowed upon the savior, were just barely masked by their composed disposition; being the children of Alec Ryder had taught them some emotional control at least.
Today they were amongst the crowd of Alliance soldiers, civilians, passer-byers, and the like who had gathered to see the Shepard-Commander return a war-hero. Seeing the impossible-to-compare-or-compete-with hero in the flesh had taken the breath of Sara away. In the moment, with the sun shining down on the stone-faced hero, Sara knew that she, too, wanted to blaze a path into the earth she treaded on reminiscent of Shepard’s but one still very much her own.
It was only the crack in Scott’s composed face, the twitch of his lips, that let her breathe the sigh she had been holding back. They would blaze a path together, surely.
As she boarded the Ark Hyperion, Sara realized that the burning in her chest, the tightening in her throat, washed away as she stared out at the world she was leaving behind. The feeling was not from nerves, like she had hoped, but had been constantly present in her life for the past few months she now realized. It was only with the knowledge that she was leaving everything behind that she came to terms with why she had felt like she was constantly under water lately.
Ellen Ryder had passed away. The family was broken; a mother gone. Alec Ryder had become distant, secluded and too worried about his work to love his children. A father detached and built a wall to protect his mending heart. Anxiety and depression lurked in the wisps of her shadow. They followed her and were always present. They had formed in such a way that it became a layer of the things that made her, her. Another chip in her Milky Way armor, she supposed. Another chip in her armor she was leaving behind.
Things were different now, however. She, Scott, and their father were leaving the tragedy-ridden life six-hundred years behind them. When they woke up in Andromeda they would still feel the lingering touches of the lives they left behind, but they would have nowhere to go but forward. Perhaps they could smile again together again.
Taking a deep breath of the fresh air in, Sara absentmindedly rubbed her chest before she pivoted on her heels and walked with pride guiding her stride. She would speak with her family before they were set in stasis.
Scott wasn’t waking up with her. Scott wasn’t going to explore their new home together with her. Scott wasn’t going on the first expedition to Habitat 7 with her. Scott wasn’t waking up.
The medical professionals assured her he would survive, and she nodded. There was nothing else she could do. Suiting up felt like a chore and her fogged filled mind raced back to the life they had just escaped; did they even escape it or had tragedy followed them here as well? Surely Andromeda would offer hope, not sorrow.
As the man, Liam, spoke to her as they descended, one thought echoed loudly in the frightening space of her mind: breathe. All she had to do was breathe and she would make it back to the Hyperion with everyone, and new information, in tow.
Pain. Burning hot pain. The familiar sting of tears. The sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. No way to breathe. My helmet, she absently thought as she clawed at her throat for betraying her. It had always, even in the worst of times, allowed her some relief. It allowed her some chance at life. But now? She felt as if she a fire had started in her chest and was spreading madly.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
And then there was her father. What he said was lost to her, but the look on his face was unmistakable. There was nothing good would come from this. Somewhere, some bitter part of her mind cackled in a delirious state. So, tragedy did follow her here as well.
As his helmet took the place of hers, she gasped in as much of the gas she had been lacking. Lungs filled, depleted, filled, depleted. Over and over she greedily sucked down what her body needed most. Soon, though, a new pain took hold of her and black dots started to form in her vision. Tears spilled and her chest felt as if it was going to collapse just like her body had seconds ago.
But how will he breathe?
The N7 helmet in her hand slipped between her fingers and clattered onto the floor of his—no, they were hers now—quarters. Her father, the man who steeled his heart after the loss of his wife and pushed his children away, had spared her from an untimely death. The thought alone surfaced so many emotions that all she could do was choke out a sob, clenching and unclenching her fist to try and steady herself.
Sliding back onto the too large bed, Sara rolled over to stare at his enclosed case of memorabilia. Was her life even worth saving? He had been the pathfinder who was needed to lead thousands of people and he left it all to her. He had been an N7 officer. He had been the one who created SAM. He had accomplished so much that his death seemed so pitiable.
She may not have suffocated out there, but surely it was a better death than suffocating under the weight shoved onto her shoulders in exchange for life. It was better than suffocating from the guilt, she knew, for sure.
Unfocused eyes were trained below her towards the research room of the Tempest. Her crew was fluttering about, joking and working all at once and she was perched in the meeting room overhead. People, in relatively good dispositions, were here for her. They were under her command, following her to save the Andromeda Galaxy. A twenty-two-year-old, a six-hundred-year-old woman if some wanted to be technical, was the leading these people to, quite possibly, their deaths.
Was this really the best the Nexus could do for these people? Was she really all they had to throw at the wall and see if anything stuck? She had to be, she supposed. There was no rescue team, no big Plan B. She was the last hope to make sure thousands upon thousands of people and aliens did not perish. She was what she had always hoped to be, a Shepard of her own breeding; trial by fire wasn’t exactly how she envisioned this moment, though, and currently, she hadn’t earned the title of a hero.
With a shaky breath, her fingers squeeze around the bar as her eyes fell shut
Breathe.
You are capable of doing this.
Breathe.
Your father did not die so you can falter.
Breathe.
When she opened her eyes, they caught sight of the alien man who had made the armory his home. His eyes spoke of his concern, but his features twisted into a smile at the sight of her. The breath she had taken stayed trapped in her throat and the all too familiar burn came rushing back to her. With darkened cheeks, she gave him a curt nod and slipped away to head down the set of steps furthest from him. As she took them two at a time, slipped past the questioning crew members, and disappeared down the ladder to her quarters, one loud thought thundered and shook her to her core: breathe.
Hi I just read "Like Mother" and loved it, one question, what is the site they were reading the in universe old gender writings on. I've only really used a03 for online writings and readings, and want to expand where I'm looking! Was it basically on scribblepad? Asking for a friend haha
It was a reference to Fictionmania, which is an old site (dating from the 1990s) dedicated entirely to gender-bending stories.
Now, before you go check out that site, I have to give a piece of warning: most of the stuff that's on there is not good, to say the least. The vast majority treats gender-bending stuff as a fetish, to be read for sexual reasons.
There are some good stories in there (I can give you examples if you want), but they are few and far in-between.
