Taterslaters - Taytay!! - Tumblr Blog

original tweet

gosh.

"Ah.. So this is what it feels like..."

i need salt n pepper beard hugh jackman to save me so bad like lips turning blue fucking running out of oxygen and only his lips on mine r bringing me back babe

no i actually sobbed at this scene all three times i’ve gone to see it bc i just cannot handle this trope at all in any form or fashion.

that door stood no chance

LMAOOO i tried to post the car fight from deadpool 3 on youtube with casual playing in the background and it immediately got copyrighted. marvel your homophobic side is showing /j

anyways here it is cause i'm not a pussy

Logan’s tuffs of hair appreciation post ♡

🌺

hey there again. so this came up to me when I was trying to sleep the other day and it's veeeeery indulgent i have to admit so bear with me. hope everyone likes it. sending loooots of hugs ♡

୨ৎ

It's sunny outside. 

Not sunny enough to cause a sunburn, like the last time you went to the beach, but Spencer still insisted that you wore sunscreen and fussed over you until you put on a decent amount that he approved. He doesn't play about your wellbeing. 

The thought makes you smile. He doesn't miss it. 

"What's that smile for?" He asks, and his lips mirror yours as they curl upwards into a gentle smile. He unconsciously gravitates closer towards you until your shoulders brush against each other, and you playfully nudge your side against his. 

You wait a few seconds until you come up with an answer that won't give away how much of a sap you are for him. In the meanwhile, both of you walk through the park, taking in the sounds of dogs barking, children running around, and the comforting sound of the leaves rustling. 

"It's a nice day out," you smile, looking up at him to try and gauge his reaction. When Spencer told you about his job as a behavioral analyst, you thought reading him would be a task almost next to impossible. But you look at him, and you wonder what could possibly be so hard to read about the way he looks at you and his eyes twinkle like you're something he's been unknowingly longing for and this is the first time he gets to lay his eyes on you?

He's not looking anywhere else but at you when he answers. "It is." 

You don't talk for a couple of minutes after that. Before him, you found yourself always eager to fill in the blanks in conversations; you couldn't stand awkward silences, so you fumbled to find a topic that you could exploit until the conversation flowed naturally. With Spencer, you've found that you can appreciate silences when they're with the right person. You don't find silences awkward anymore because you've realized that the connection between both of you goes beyond what words can express. 

He brushes his pinky finger against yours, retreating back to his original place until you reach for him and link your own pinky with his. Based on his coy smile as he looks away from you and into the gardens, you deduce he probably thinks he's being sneaky, acting like you're the one who sought him out. He's still bashful about openly asking for your undivided affection. It's not a problem when you're still always willing to give whatever he'll take. 

"Look," you say, stopping and crouching down to the garden on your right. He turns around sporting a puzzled expression, and he's about to spout some data about the staggering amount of germs on an average sidewalk as you kneel to take a flower in your hands. You look so in awe he stops. 

Flowers have always been an interest of yours. Very early into the relationship Spencer caught up on that; the first time he noticed, it was because you stopped to look at a cute flower blooming from between the cracks on the sidewalk, mumbling a speech about resilience that he could probably recite from memory right now if he tried to. That same time, you picked each little flower that you ran into on the walk back to your place with the utmost care and carried them around until you got home and you were elated to place one anywhere you found; on the small table next to the door, on the kitchen counter, in the coffee table in your living room. 

And so he made it a point to always bring you bouquets of new, unique flowers any time he could, each bouquet accompanied by his intimate knowledge of their origins, their symbolism, little facts he thinks you would like about them. You love getting flowers, and Spencer loves sharing knowledge with you. 

You pick the flower tenderly, patting down the dirt you may have disturbed by doing so, and hold it out for him as you stand. "It's a sunflower. A little one." 

He takes it in his fingers and analyzes it intently. "It's not really a sunflower." 

"It's not?" You ask; and you peer over to look at the small yellow thing from the same angle and with the same intensity Spencer does. "It's yellow. And it has the brown button thingie there." 

"It's actually a Little Goldstar black-eyed susan. You know, they would appear almost identical to the untrained eye, but there are a few details that set them apart. For example, sunflowers tend to grow taller than black eyed susans do. Not only that, but black-eyed susans have a sort of plain brown button in the center of the flower instead of the pollen that you would find in the middle of a sunflower. You can also tell the difference from a distance because black-eyed susans grow in clusters, while sunflowers tend to be more singular."

You stare at him for a few seconds. "I'm sorry. I can't get past them being called 'black eyed susans'. Who even named them that?"

"I don't know," he says, and you know by the way he tries to hide his smile that he's about to make a bad joke. "Probably someone who really liked a girl named Susan." 

It actually makes you laugh. Perhaps love has played a little trick on you and tampered with your sense of humor, leaving you delightfully unprotected from his endearing nature. 

"You're probably right," you resume walking. Spencer holds the black eyed susan in his right hand while the left holds yours. He wants you to have your hands unburdened for the rest of the flowers he knows you'll pick on the walk before heading home. You think for a second, and then ask: "Would you name a flower after me?" 

"Oh, totally," he says without a second of doubt. "I would plant a whole field of flowers and then name it after you." 

You find yourself entertained by the hypothetical. Maybe you like silences with Spencer; but you also like the way you can say a single sentence and it will unfold into an hours long conversation so easily. No matter how many topics you two explore and rave about, it's like the stream of the conversation never runs dry. 

"What flowers would you plant?" 

He scrunches his nose as he thinks. He would probably ponder less on how to solve the Riemann hypothesis than he is on what flowers he would pick for you. If you were the one asking him to do so, he would most likely find a way to solve it by noon.

"I would choose... something pink. Or white," or both, you add softly to his reasoning. "Orchids, perhaps. They are very beautiful, and difficult to maintain. Like you." 

Your smile doesn't falter for not even a second. Still, you swat his arm lightheartedly. "Did you just call me difficult?" 

"I called you beautiful," he mentions, turning his smile into a straight line as he looks at you. 

"I think I heard difficult somewhere in there." 

"I don't recall."