We carry weapons and call it fashion.
We can leave ornate patterns on your jawline with the emerald-cut, square shaped, pink plastic rings we pulled out of dollar store sale bins.
We’ve trained our ankles to run in heels, and whip those black leather four inches down your chest in you get too close to us. A stiletto can leave scars for months.
Have you ever felt the tip of a crimson manicure dig into your cheekbone? We have hands you won’t soon forget.
If I were you, I’d want all the femmes on my team.
Because we are dangerous. We carry weapons and call it fashion. We carry ourselves and call it survival.
We carry weapons and call it fashion. We can leave ornate patterns on your jawline with the emerald-cut, square shaped,...
Yes. Bookmarking that just for when people try to tell me I’m overreacting for carrying a weapon on me at all times.
Mad respect for all femmes,
Fancy Fierceness.
Pictures and ramblings of a queer femme princess.