herladyanarchy

[herladyanarchy]

Kiss thy knights

[herladyanarchy]

水晶でできた、私の友

[herladyanarchy]

I need a butch to massage my aching shoulders and everywhere else and also carry my bags for me next time

[herladyanarchy]

its a mystery

[herladyanarchy]

Oh no… it’s happening again.

The hormones have hit, and I’m transforming once more into a touch-starved little monster I swore I had under control. You know the one—overly affectionate, soft beyond reason, and so tragically, embarrassingly touch-starved.

Like clockwork, every month, this version of me wakes up: body is heating up, mind is getting cloudy, and so hopelessly desperate to feel arms around her. I want to curl up against one of my pretty friends, bury my face in her neck, and whisper about how soft she smells and how safe I feel right there. I want to cling, hold hands until our fingers forget how to let go, and lazily tangle our legs on the couch like we're meant to be draped over each other.

But instead… I resist. Because I’m scared—scared of being seen as weird, clingy, the “too much” girl. The one who can’t just chill with her desire for affection. And it sucks, honestly. Because being a transfem with this weird cocktail of hormones, estrogen and yearning is already enough of a trip without throwing in “monster who craves soft snuggles.” into the mix.

Maybe one day I won’t feel like a freak for wanting so badly to be held. Maybe one day I’ll have a girl who sees the needy look in my eyes and just opens her arms with a little smile and a quiet, “Come here, babe.”

Until then, I’ll just clutch a pillow, bite my lip, and try not to think about how good it would feel to be someone's cuddlebug disaster.

[herladyanarchy]

Just a Silly Little Vampire Love Story.

A tiny apartment draped in blackout curtains and soft, thrifted quilts. Fairy lights barely flicker above, casting shadows on walls covered in dried flowers, pinned moths, and Polaroids of sleepy mornings. At the center of it all: a chronically exhausted vampire girl—trans, of course—with dark, sunken eyes and oversized band t-shirts that hang off her like draped sadness. She’s beautiful in that crumpled, tragic sort of way. Always cold to the touch. Always a little too quiet until she’s curled up in someone’s lap.

She can’t stand for too long without swaying like she’s about to faint, and if you ask her why she won’t just go to the blood bank, she’ll give you that look.

“It’s too bright. There are too many people. And they never flavor it with estrogen.”

Yes—this vampire girl can’t synthesize estrogen properly. Something about her being a vampire doesn't let her absorb it through pills or patches. The only thing that works is estrogen-rich blood.

So her roommate—also trans, soft butch with an undercut and a deeply flusterable smile—doubles her own dose without a second thought. It was supposed to be temporary, just a solution until they could figure something out.

But temporary turned into a routine.

Now, most nights, when the apartment is quiet and the stars hang heavy behind the curtains, the vampire girl pads over in her socks, eyes wide, fangs just barely peeking out.

“Baby…” she’ll whisper, voice cracking from thirst and shyness. “Can I have a sip? Please?”

The other girl sighs—fond, already pulling her shirt to the side to expose a shoulder absolutely riddled with delicate bite marks.

“C’mere, leech.”

The vampire practically melts into her lap, mumbling “thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over like a prayer between soft kisses to her collarbone before sinking her fangs in with a blissed-out moan.

The moment her lips touch skin, it’s like something flips inside her. Her tired limbs go heavy and limp, her hips shift like she’s forgetting where she ends and her partner begins. She lets out that soft, dreamy “mhm mhm” sound, nodding as she drinks like she’s her everything in the world is right.

And her roommate? She pretends to roll her eyes but is already carding fingers through tangled hair, sighing contentedly as heat rises in her cheeks.

“You’re lucky I like being bitten,” she murmurs.

“No,” the vampire replies with a dazed smile, licking her lips, “I’m lucky you love me.”

They stay like that—tangled, bleeding, blushing—until the vampire dozes off mid-snuggle, warm for once and wrapped around the only girl she’ll ever feed from.

It’s not a scary kind of hunger. It’s domestic. Intimate. A little queer and a little weird.

[herladyanarchy]

Lately I’ve had this ache I don’t really know how to name.

Not sharp or painful—just this soft, lingering longing that clings to my ribs like the weight of a blanket that isn’t there.

I want to be held. Properly. The kind of hold where your bodies melt together under shared covers, where breath slows and skin warms, and where hands don't need a reason to stay resting on you.

I want her to wrap her arms around me like I’m something precious and delicate, even if I don’t always feel that way. I want to bury my face against her collarbone and just exist there, safe and still. I want to feel her hands explore my back like she’s memorizing me, like she wants to know every inch of this strange, shifting body I’m learning to love.

And maybe—if she’s feeling bold—press teasing kisses along my neck, with a little nibble when I least expect it. Something playful. Something that makes me giggle and squeak and feel wanted in a way that isn’t overwhelming. In a way that’s gentle, and warm, and so deeply queer.

It’s not about sex. Not really. It’s about intimacy. Affection. The kind of closeness that tells me I don’t have to earn softness or prove anything to deserve love.

I guess I just want to be held by a girl who sees me as one of her own. And maybe, if the moment’s right, let our fingertips drift a little too long—because sometimes closeness isn’t just about comfort. It’s about curiosity, trust, and the thrill of being known.

[herladyanarchy]

Thinking About Kissing Girls Again.

Thinking about kissing girls is my favorite little pastime as a chaos gremlin—I imagine she’s leaning back on a wall, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing. I pin her wrists down just to hear her giggle, all soft and smug, like, “Oh nooo, whatever will I do now~”

I kiss her until she forgets what she was teasing me about, then bite her shoulder, and she gasps—dramatic—before melting like a good little girl.

“You’re such a good girl when you want to be,” I whisper, and she hides her flushed face.

She squirms, makes those cute little noises like she’s trying not to beg for more, but her eyes tell the truth—she needs more.

I don’t even need to go further. I could, but honestly? I’m having too much fun just thinking about it, just watching her fall apart from just being held and kissed and loved so intensely.

I think I am a little too gay for our own good, and that’s exactly how I like it.

[herladyanarchy]

x_cast_x

[herladyanarchy]

starting a collection of my favourite AO3 author’s notes

honourable mentions

[herladyanarchy]

moomin pride edits. free to use without credit 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[herladyanarchy]

Do you think G'raha had an adjustment period of "initial reaction vs. experience"

[herladyanarchy]

Me and who???

[herladyanarchy]

The caipirinha is a classic Brazilian cocktail made with lime, sugar, and cachaça, and it can be customized with mint for a refreshing twist. Here's a detailed recipe for a lime and mint caipirinha:

[herladyanarchy]

You're not even human anymore. You're just breeding stock for it now. It pumps you full and drains your brain everyday. You can't help but love it, the chemicals it fills your body with have turned you into an eager receptacle.

[herladyanarchy]

Your average trans girl relationship be like.

[herladyanarchy]