Death Before Detransition - Blog Posts

Acting in Impulse

Thighs are getting Thicccer...

*takes Prog and slithers

back to nest* 🐍🐍🐍

Hit It From the Back

So You Don't Get Attached

5AM and just getting to bed.

Girl doesn't look half bad at the end of a long night. ^___^✨️💜

But Pack Your Heart

You Might Need It

Cleanse Through Self Corruption

Sometimes I Feel Like

A Ghost in Chains

No One Gets Left Behind 🏳️‍⚧️

Put It to Work

Make Your Own Movies

Get Crushed

I was Sent to Cut You Loose

I was just going to Dance. When I felt their eyes on Me, Something Changed. 💜

Double post cause fuck this hit me hard. Death before detransition. Etch it on my fucking tombstone. Nobody can take this magic from me.

I don’t know how anyone expects me to be “normal” again. after transitioning.

like I could ever go back to that numb, half-version of myself now that I’ve finally started to feel.

There’s a whole new language living in me. Thoughts that weren’t there before. Feelings that crept in slow and now won’t leave—soft, girlish things that’ve carved themselves into my vocabulary. A blush when a girl holds my gaze too long. The way I catch myself swaying to music that feels like home in my hips. The aching desire to just be held without needing to explain why.

And then there’s my autism—sweet, difficult, intimate autism. The way I stall right before doing something, because my brain wants a blueprint first. I don’t need a push, I need a hand. Someone to whisper, “Here’s how it's done.” and maybe smile as they guide me through it.

But most people? They get uncomfortable with those kinds of requests. They don’t like slowing down, or making space, or walking me through the step by step. They get impatient.

Except trans girls.

Trans girls get it. We’ve all stumbled through these messy, glowing awakenings together. We’ve all had to relearn how to live in our own skin. And so when I hesitate—when I stammer or freeze or overthink—another transfem will often just… know. She’ll soften her voice, offer a reassuring look, maybe graze her fingers against mine like she’s saying, “I’ve got you. Let's try this again.”

It’s tender. It’s playful, too—how we flirt with our fear, tease the tension away. How a “let me help you” can turn into “let me hold you,” and suddenly, you're melting into her arms wondering how you ever existed without this.

And if I happen to fall in love with every girl who walks me through it?

Well… I think that’s just part of the magic.