#endy-dragon

The white roses, nestled against the peeling white paint of the gazebo, bloomed wide and unguarded, their petals layered in soft declarations of sincerity. They did not blush, nor did they hide; flora existing in quiet purity, unaware of how easily something so gentle could be bruised. Gently pink peonies spilled open in lush, ruffled abundance, each bloom heavy with shy romance - not yet the weight of forever in bright hope and lighter encumbrance.

. . .

The stems, leaves, the grasses in which breathed against the wind threaded through the park in vivid green, alive and unashamed in their reaching. They did not compete with the petals’ blush or brightness; instead, they held them aloft, steady and certain. Green was not the color of confession, nor of fevered devotion, but of becoming - here, young and free afforded in spring.

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I’m so sorry your mom yelled that at you. You deserve so much better than to have to listen to that kind of transphobic bullshit.

My mom shouted something similar to me about a month or two after I came out to her, so I know it’s… fucking painful.

You could try to talk to her about it, let her know how incredibly hurtful it is when she says stuff like that. Tell her that you understand that it might take a while for her to adapt to you being genderqueer, to use your right pronouns etc., but that you still need to know that she is making a serious effort to change the way she talk about you and thinks about you.

There’s sadly no guarantee that she will listen to you and show you enough basic respect to comply to that request, but it could still be worth a try.

If she doesn’t react well to your request, and you are self-supporting, you could try to distance yourself from her. You could let her know that you don’t want to be around her if she is going to continue misgender you. How much you can distance yourself from her depends a lot of what your relationship is currently like, how close you live to each other, etc. though, so you probably know more regarding what can be done there than I do.

She extended a graceful hand toward the man beside her, “And this-”

“Don’t tell me,” Octavio cut her off, his voice hastened, and, curiously, edged with amusement. He tilted his head, squinting as though seeing something familiar behind the shine of polished shoes and a rosary that was much too fine. A moment passed before he broke into a grin, incredulous and a little delighted. “You’re Don Lovato’s kid.”

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY MWAH @endy-dragon here's that piece of your handsome man that I did 🖤🦈 I think he came out so much better this time around! Pun acknowledged but not intended.

For when blue and red touch; fingertips hesitant and warm.

Violet.

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@endy-dragon I drew your boy and ended up getting carried away with the whole idea of him. Really just indulging the August part of my brain ay. Enjoy the two pieces of art and produced song ily brother

Audio also underneath the cut for ease of access.

. . . and above anything else, he was electric - though the tattoo etched into his shoulder, brightly-fluorescent ink beneath skin demonstrating a crackle of lightning, could have signified that regardless - which made it a curiosity sated as to why someone as domesticated as the littlest Al-Abbasi brother would enjoy his company. The pull of the other side of life: they had a handful and a half proving how well a spark that seems to ignite between people.

Despite that edgy exterior of her's, she was quite meek once she spoke with you - polite salutations were gestured with elegant hands, regal vessel dressed in wonderful golds and silken black in garment and jewelry her family's wealth likely aided in the tailoring of. Full of smiles accompanied by words sincere and fawning, a class act in buttering up new acquaintances with compliments, she, in all of her outward confidence, seemed to be much more unassertive than one would take her at face value; still, was she poignant, and made for an easily-excitable conversation partner.

He, wearing the metaphorical golden crown of a certain Mediterranean crime syndicate, stood before them - unfamiliar in face, but they'd no doubts as to how much they've heard about the man in passing: perhaps a hushed word, or a wink and a push in boastful pride at his achievements within his family. They understood who the other was, through polite nods and a couple of pleasantries, but the warmth of blood once-passed that stained their hands would not have gone unnoticed. They may perform their work differently, but: the more things change, as they say.

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