terraswallows

[terraswallows]

Concession... I think I'm a little gay.

Soooo, sometimes I can’t fall asleep because my brain won’t stop imagining stupidly gay scenarios with pretty trans girls.

Like—ugh. She’s sitting in my lap, arms around my neck, telling me about her D&D character or the new skirt she thrifted, and I’m just trying to survive.

Because she’s so gay, and so smug about how cute she looks, and I want to kiss her until she forgets how to tease me.

Or we’re cuddled up under a blanket, watching something dumb and gay, and she keeps nuzzling closer like it’s no big deal—but it is a big deal, because her hand’s on my thigh and I swear I can feel her body pressing against my skin.

Sometimes I imagine holding her just a little too long, just to see her get flustered.

She’d try to sass me—of course she would—but her voice would crack when I call her a good girl.

And gods, she is.

She’s such a good girl.

Or maybe it’s early morning, and she’s curled up beside me, still half-asleep but smiling, as I brush her hair out of her face like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen—because she is.

Trans girl love is just…

so unbelievably gay, and tender, and unhinged.

It’s autistic jokes only we could understand.

It’s stealing each other’s clothing and demanding it back, only to offer each other a jacket or shirt to wear.

It’s giddy affirmations whispered between kisses.

It’s one of us pinning the other down for being too cute, and then getting pinned in return.

I just want all of it.

The chaos. The cuddles.

The praise. The gender euphoria.

The queer domesticity of two trans girls

who make each other feel real.

Is that too much to ask?

...Probably.

But I’m gonna keep dreaming about it anyway.

[terraswallows]

Not All of Us Are Loud.

I wish people understood that not being able to read social cues doesn’t always mean being disruptive or awkward.

Sometimes it means becoming the quietest, most obedient version of yourself—because you’re terrified of getting it wrong.

You don’t know where the lines are, so you become the perfect little version of yourself.

Polite. Soft-spoken. Always agreeable.

Never making waves, never taking up too much space.

You think if you’re sweet enough, small enough, good enough, people will love you—even if they never really see you.

You don’t know if someone’s annoyed with you, so you apologize before you speak.

You give too much, laugh too quietly, pretend not to notice when someone talks over you—just so you don’t risk making things weird.

You don’t know what’s expected, so you throw yourself into every task until you’re exhausted and burned out in silence—because god forbid someone thinks you’re lazy or difficult.

No one else is working this hard, but you don’t know how not to.

You thought that’s just what being “normal” meant.

“Quiet, hardworking, always accommodating” should be just as much an autism red flag as

“talks too loud and never makes eye contact.”

But no one looks for us—

the overachievers, the anxious perfectionists, the trans girls who learned to mask with femininity and kindness because being nice felt safer than being real.

And the worst part?

No one notices how hard you’re trying.

You’re melting down behind your smile, overanalyzing every word,

and still people think you’re “so mature” or “so easy to get along with.”

I’m tired.

I’m tired of interpreting micro-expressions and tones like I’m deciphering ancient runes.

I’m tired of guessing how to exist in every room I walk into.

Please.

Just say what you mean.

Don’t make me guess if you’re mad at me or just tired.

Don’t make me decode whether you’re flirting or just being nice.

Don’t make me pretend I’m fine just because I don’t look overwhelmed.

I’m a trans girl.

I’m autistic.

I’m trying so, so hard to understand a world that never taught me how to belong.

I don’t need to be perfect.

I just want to be understood.

[terraswallows]

How cope with the yearning? Some critters, myself included, don't have people to cling to and hold close when the pining gets bad. How do you handle the fits of "oh my God I need blissed-out cuddles' when you can't get them?

I find a nearby pillow...

[terraswallows]

wowowowwww i love love love your writing it's ugh you provide such a wondrous banquet for my eyes it's so coolllllllll thank youuu !!!

Always an absolute pleasure!!! 🙏 ☺

[terraswallows]

Love Should Be Unconditional.

Trans girls who love each other even when we don’t “pass,” who kiss each other’s cheeks even through dysphoria tearing at them internally, who still flirt like lovesick fools mid-breakdown—there’s something sacred about that.

Like, yes, I’m going to grip my trans girlfriend’s shoulders and look her in the eyes and say, “You’re beautiful.”

And if she rolls her eyes and says, “But my voice—” I’ll kiss her right then and there to shut her up.

Because it's not just love.

It’s two girls choosing each other in a world that told us to hide.

It’s soft hands wiping each other's mascara tears and going, “You’ll get there, babe. Let the estrogen cook.”

And if that doesn’t work?

Then I’m pulling her into my lap, stroking her hair while she grumbles, and whispering all the sweet, sinful things I love about her until her pout fades and she’s melting into me.

Because she deserves to feel adored—even when she’s spiraling.

Especially then.

This is trans romance:

Messy, mutual, playfully horny, tender as hell.

And no amount of expectations will ever ruin that for us.

[terraswallows]

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.

[terraswallows]

Average trans girl brain.

[terraswallows]

The Curse of Loving Like a Trans Lesbian.

I think the most beautiful and cruel part of being a trans girl—especially one overflowing with emotion—is just how affectionately, how deeply, we love.

There's no “casual” setting for us. No dimmer switch. We fall in love hard, like we end up staying up too late just to hear her breathe on the other end of the line.

Especially when it’s with her, you know the one—it feels like everything hits deeper. Every touch, every giggle, every sleepy cuddle while sharing a blanket that's too small.

We get attached so fast—not because we're weak, but because we feel everything. Because we see each other, hold space for one another in ways the world often never has.

And when the visit ends… when the door closes, or the screen goes dark, or the warmth beside you is suddenly gone—?

It feels like a heartache. Like your entire world has quietly unraveled and no one else even noticed.

You walk around suddenly feeling extremely touch-starved, or wearing her clothes because they still smell like her. We are suddenly aching for the weight of her arms, her voice, her little silly rituals she does that only you know about.

You can try to play it cool, but you know deep down, your whole soul is just screaming:

“Please come back. Please hold me again. I need to feel your touch.”

But the truth is… this is part of the magic too.

Because when two trans girls fall in love—

we really do fall in love.

It’s not just romance to us, it’s something more.

Because being a trans girl in love? Can be heartbreaking at times, sure.

But, it’s so worth it.

[terraswallows]

Maybe it’s weird, but if I’m being honest?

I’d rather crawl into bed with a girl—not for sex, not for anything lewd—but just to exist next to her. Like, pull the blankets up around us, tangle our legs together, and melt into each other’s warmth for the next six hours straight.

People always ask, “Why aren’t you having sex?”

And honestly? Because I’d much rather be two queer nerdy trans girls, curled up like we’re charging each other emotionally. Let me fall asleep to the sound of her voice excitedly infodumping about her latest hyperfixation while I giggle about something stupid that just popped into my head and hum back “mhm, tell me more.”

That kind of closeness? That’s the real intimacy I crave.

The kind where it’s not about sex—it’s about comfort. Affection. That soft, sacred space where nothing needs to be performed or proven.

Just me and her. Wrapped around each other like gay burritos.

No pressure. No expectations. Just soft, nerdy love in every touch.

And gods, if she falls asleep in my arms mid-sentence, clutching a pillow tightly and mumbling something about her D&D character?

I’m never letting that moment go.

[terraswallows]

thank you for your kind words <3

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.

[terraswallows]

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.

[terraswallows]

When I was…

It’s more than okay for a trans girl to sigh, “back when I thought I was a boy,” or for a transmasc to say, “when I was still a girl,” and for it to come from a place of memory, not misgendering. That language isn’t a betrayal—it’s an echo. A gentle way of honoring the path we took to become ourselves. It doesn't dull our truth; it sharpens it.

Because we aren’t invalidated by the language of our past—we are deepened by it. Our timelines are mosaics, not mistakes.

So say it—out loud, to yourself, to a lover, to your diary. “When I was…” is not the end of your truth. It’s the prologue that makes the now even more beautiful.

[terraswallows]

Another trans warframe fan? Hell yeah! Are you far enough along to have caught up with the story? If so, who's your favorite character out of the hex?

I am caught up, and there are a few bit I think Mag and Volt are my fave.

[terraswallows]

It seems everyone wants me to make it, guess I will have to see what I can do. I might even make a discord I'll see of that be something people be into.

You know, the struggle that’s been gnawing at me lately.

One that curls up in the quiet moments and won’t let go—is just… I don’t make enough to do the things I dream about. I work hard, but the pay doesn’t stretch far, and I’m always dancing on the edge of "just enough."

A good friend recently suggested something that’s stuck with me:

"Why not start a Patreon?"

And honestly? I don’t know. I’m scared. Scared no one would care, that what I create—what I write—would fall into the void. But I’m putting this out there, because maybe… just maybe… you, my lovely little corner of readers, might have thoughts.

If I did start something like that, what would interest you?

– Daily thoughts?

– Weekly stories?

– A "Sinful Sunday" series? 👀💕

– Behind-the-scenes rambles, worldbuilding, poetry, or something intimate and real?

I've never done anything like this before, but I trust you enough to ask.

Would you want that from me? Would you be interested?

Let me know. It would mean the world.

[terraswallows]

I’ve been told my handwriting is very feminine, so naturally, I had to write something to see if it’s true.

[terraswallows]

You know, the struggle that’s been gnawing at me lately.

One that curls up in the quiet moments and won’t let go—is just… I don’t make enough to do the things I dream about. I work hard, but the pay doesn’t stretch far, and I’m always dancing on the edge of "just enough."

A good friend recently suggested something that’s stuck with me:

"Why not start a Patreon?"

And honestly? I don’t know. I’m scared. Scared no one would care, that what I create—what I write—would fall into the void. But I’m putting this out there, because maybe… just maybe… you, my lovely little corner of readers, might have thoughts.

If I did start something like that, what would interest you?

– Daily thoughts?

– Weekly stories?

– A "Sinful Sunday" series? 👀💕

– Behind-the-scenes rambles, worldbuilding, poetry, or something intimate and real?

I've never done anything like this before, but I trust you enough to ask.

Would you want that from me? Would you be interested?

Let me know. It would mean the world.

[terraswallows]

Hey terra I'm Natalie

Hello Natalie, how are you today.