v u l v a l i c i o u s
femme appreciation day
My femme temps at warm, kitchen-y: the heat of the stove with all burners going, standing back to let the sweat drip in a single bead, all the way down your body (it will land on the floor). hot enough to burn, too, but only when you're careless.
A homemaker. Dinner on the table with room for guests, a smile and drink. My femme wants the recognition of a job well done. Not glory, but praise. Glowing again, that warmth of the burner turned on before the lights, boiling water to make tea before anyone else is awake.
She's a killer queen, bug smasher, defender. Strong arms and sturdy hands. Sometimes filled with quiet rage, other times with curses. Witchy magic. The ability to see what you need before you say it and make it happen. A ruler who serves. Vice-versa.
Constitutionally incapable of keeping things neat. More attracted to faggots than butches, yet can't find quite the right words to express it. Dreams of being a dandy but can't be bothered with fashion.
We're in hiding half the time, anyway. Not sure if and where and how to fit. Checking the other girls for prompts and tells. Wondering if we even get seen while wandering alone in the world.
That's my femme and me.