#AHGHHHHHHHGGGHHHH

[tiptapricot]

DUDE HOLY SHIT OHHHHHHHH MY GOD I UMMMMM IHHGGHHHH IM HONNA EXPLOOOOOOOOODE THIS IS SO SWEET AND BEAUTIFUL AND YOUVE CAPTURED THEM IN A WAY THAT IMMM IM JUSY IIKMMNHHHJJJGVVBBB OHHHHHH MY GOD??????? THIS IS LEGIT LIKE ONE OF THE SWEETEST THINGS IVE EVER RECIEVED N THE WAY YOUVE SHAPED THEIR INTERACTIONS AND TACTILITY AND LIKE AND LIKE AND THE WARMTH OF THE TWO LIGHTS IN THE DARK AND AND!!!!

Ok ok coming out of caps for better thoughts AUGH ok so just the quiet tending of Romero’s garden in the dark and the focus he has on each movement, and then Antez’s sweet and slow and dreamy presence slipping in I lovE how you’d describe hymn so otherworldly and capturing and the way hiss face slowly splits and revolves and expands like some universe of stars like I TRULY CANNOT EXPRESS HOW LIKE absolutely bang on this is and and AUGH THE WAY THE the way the flowers change Romero’s view when slotted in is such a heart twistingly loving and gorgeous way to put it and SO TRUE JUST AND JSJT!!! YEA HIS SILENCE WOULD CLING LIKE THAT ANTEZ WOULD GET HIM THAT WAY AND THE FLOWER BEING LOOKED AT BY HISS HEAD AND FINDING A CORE PIECE AND BURSTING AND JUSTBHOLY SHIT FUCK FUCK THIS IS RLY THEM AND JUST SO SWEET AND LOVELY AND WELL DONE AND!!!!!!!!!!!?!?!?!!??!

ALL OF THIS IS SO WONDERFUL I CANNOT EVENNNNNNJ DESCRIBE TYSM DUDE GRRAGGGHGGSGSGHHHHHH OSIJSHSBBBB MMMMMMMMMM AHHHHHHHHHHH

(IDs in ALT)

Congrats to @tiptapricot for reaching 1k followers!!!!!!!

This is a little entry for their create this in your style challenge, using some of their OCs!!! I fucking love this little dudes, so I was happy to take the chance to write a little something for em. I hope you like it, mikey, plz tell me what I got right or wrong lol. I hope this all isn't terribly out of character

Prompt: Small things make up love languages. Intent with care, wanting with direction, and sometimes even just a reminder that one party values the other. It’s not a science, really. Everyone is different.

Story under the cut-

The flowers brush up against Romero’s knees, whisper-thin petals tickling down his palm. They reach back to his outstretched hand with rough leaves that try and fail to snare onto the fabric of his gloves as he gently pushes them aside. Instead, Romero grabs the weeds, the weeds that have thrown themselves into the edges of his garden, that grab with sharp teeth coating their stalks onto the fabric of his gloves, and he pulls them from the ground. Their roots rain down soil, arcing through the air as Romero tosses them aside.

The glow of his pumpkin head diffuses gently on the rows of flowers, leaking out into the cold darkness of the night. It lights the way for Romero as he works, yanking more weeds from the ground, brushing back the soil where he disturbs it. Bugs, startled by the uprooting of the plants, skitter across his gloves, searching for a new refuge, and he leaves them to go about their business.

The door creaks open behind him, and Romero sits up, stretching out his tense shoulders and leaning his head back, tilting it up towards the stars. Powder blue clouds drift across the sky, lazy as everything else is in the night, covering the stars so they wink in and out of existence.

Antez melts onto him, sprawling hymnself over Romero’s lap, head falling languidly over his shoulder. It tips back, following his gaze to the stars.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“___ _____ _ __,” Romero says, in words that aren’t words, that only Antez can really understand.

Antez laughs, he laughs the sound of windchimes falling but never hitting the ground, the sound of glass un-shattering, the sound of flowers brushing up against palms, of a thousand other things Romero couldn’t name. “Well, I do appreciate it,” he murmurs, wrapping the stalk of a flower around hiss finger and pulling it from the ground. Romero watches as he gathers more, and begins braiding them, twining their stalks together with one hand.

“__ __ __ ____ __ ______.”

“Well…” Antez sighs, and he feels a little heavier, all of the sudden. “I had hoped to be but I… well I suppose I got carried away this time.” There is light leaking out from hiss face, a blue glow winding cracks all around hiss head. “I think I waited a bit too long.”

Romero knew that, of course. He knew from the tension held in Antez’s shoulders, from the tired eyes, from the dizzying spin of hiss light and halos when it was just the two of them. He knew, but he doesn’t say as much.

“_ __ _____ ___?” Romero asks, tilting his head to one side.

“Oh,” Antez says in almost a sigh. The cracks of light on hiss face widen, and he lets hymnself fall apart a little, facial features drifting away from each other. They hover only vaguely tethered, like they’re held together by bits of invisible string. “Very.”

“___.” Romero runs a hand down his husband’s hair, watching as Antez drifts apart from hymnself a little more, the puzzle pieces of hiss face just beginning to shift and turn. “__ ___ _ ___.”

Antez hums hiss agreement, and the sound trails up Romero's back like chills. “Come here,” Antez murmurs, and Romero tilts his head towards hymn questioningly. Antez gathers hiss flowers, stems braided together to make tiny clusters, and slots the miniature bouquets into Romero’s eye holes. He hums to hymnself as he works, rearranging the flowers, shifting Romero’s worldview with the careful movement of hiss long, slender fingers.

Romero sits still for hymn, content to watch the petals dancing in his vision, catching glimpses of Antez as hiss facial features continue to drift apart from each other, those tenuous strings being cut as they pull away to show the gleaming light inside. Its brilliant blue falls over Romero’s own gentle orange, shining over both of their hands, illuminating the eyes and halos and mouths that orbit in slow, winding trails around Antez’s head.

Antez lets hiss hands fall, one coming to rest on Romero’s thigh. Hiss mouths, spinning around hiss face, are all smiling warmly. “You look lovely.”

Romero nods his thanks, careful not to let the flowers fall. He reaches up, brushing his fingers against their petals. They sweep against the inside of his head.

Romero grabs a flower from the dirt, breaking it just before the roots. With one thumb, he pops its head off, lets the stem fall back to the ground. He offers it to Antez, who seems to understand, who always understands.

When the flower is tipped into the whirling space of Antez’s mind, there is a moment of careful suspension. The eyes and mouths and ears churning slowly through the air tilt towards it slightly, observing as it drifts closer to the light in the center, sinking down until its broken tip touches something, some physical presence in all that blue.

And it explodes.

Petals fly outwards, more than Romero thinks there should be, speckled with seeds that have begun to glow like the starry freckles that dot Antez’s face. The petals get caught up in the halos, the eyes, winding their own orbits through the madness. They are sprays of color, arcs of nature.

“_______.”

“Yes,” Antez agrees softly. Some of hiss eyes flutter close, and hiss head tilts back as he leans against Romero. Melts. Together, they look down at the flowers, up at the stars. “Beautiful.”