I Read The Hobbit 🤨 In 1937 😐 When It First Came Out ☝️

also this tho 😩

whenever i answer polls and pick the answer that the most people picked, i feel like i got a good grade in polls, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve. the downside is i also feel like a got a bad grade in being original™

    Flowers blooming time lapse

when harry styles said “leave america”. he was so right

the taikaficiation of Thor

I've been thinking a lot about queerness lately and I keep getting stuck on how deeply I want it to be normal. I want little girls to come home excitedly telling their parents about a pretty new girl in school that they have a crush on. I want young boys to have their first kiss with another boy and be able to tell their friends about it. I want them to be impressed and slap him on the back and say congrats. I want to bring home a woman to my family and have my father give her that whole fake threatening, "you better be good to my daughter" speech before offering her a handshake and a beer. I want people everywhere in the world to be able to hold hands in the street and not even think twice about it, not have to feel afraid, not have to feel like they're making a statement. I want so desperately for the world to catch up with something that so many of us already understand as normal. I don't want to be merely tolerated, and I wish pride wasn't necessary. I wish that having confidence in myself wasn't a revolutionary act.

you dont understand i have to make little jokes. it’s how i survive

SYMBOLSSSS 4 U

❦ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ ᶻ 𝘇 … ೀ

사랑 ૮꒰ྀི ୨ ៸៸៸ ୧ ྀི꒱ა ❤︎ ໋𓈒 ◍

౨ৎ　୨˚̣̣̣୧　୨୧　੭୧　೨౿　ೀ　𝜗ৎ　𖧁୧
ꪆ୧　೨୧　୨ৎ　𝜗౿　𑄽𑄺　᧔᧓　𝒢𑄺　𝜗𝜚　𝜗ৎ

⦃ ⦄　⦅ ⦆　⦇ ⦈　⦉ ⦊　⧼ ⧽　﹙ ﹚　﹛ ﹜
﹝ ﹞　𓆩 𓆪　꒰ ꒱　ཐི ཋྀ　ପ ଓ　⊱⊰
ઇଓ　⪩⪨　꒰ఎ ໒꒱　꒰ঌ ໒꒱　᠀୧

𓎟　𓎡　𓎢　✿　❀　｡　˚　˳　∘　◡
◠　ᴗ　ᴖ　╭　╯　╰　╮　⟢　⟣　⟡　❛
❜　❝　❞　☆　★　✦　⋆　✰　✮　✩　✧
𓈒　₊　⁺　ʚ　ɞ　⁾　₍　₎　⁽　𓂃　♡　♥︎
⌣　　⌢　⠀╬⠀╪　⌓　†　⏖　⊹　✙　✚　⦂
†⃨⃰ 　⠀།† ‧̍̊ ི 　⠀⦅ྐ✚͜͡⦆

◞◟◝◜⠀˚. ˖ ۫⠀♱◌⠀𖥟⠀·͙⠀𖧧̣̥⠀𖥨᩠ׄ݁⠀༢ུ⠀𓉳
◟ ͜ ◞⠀◜ ͡ ◝

⊃ ⠀◌ ⠀┄⠀ 𝒢 ⠀◞⠀ ⁺⠀ ⥰ ⠀𓍢 ⠀𓂃 ⠀𓂅 ⠀𓏲 ⠀ᴗ⠀ᴖ⠀﹒⠀♰⠀♱⠀☆⠀★⠀✦⠀✰⠀˚⠀｡⠀。⠀˳⠀﹐⠀†⠀┄⠀𓂅⠀⊂⠀⊃⠀∪⠀⋂⠀✿⠀―⠀﹢⠀﹘⠀𓈊⠀𓎟⠀𓎡⠀◠⠀◡⠀ᶻz⠀╰⠀╮⠀╭⠀╯⠀◞⠀ ◟⠀◜⠀◝⠀ıllı⠀ꜝ⠀⚢⠀⚣⠀⚥⠀₊⠀𝜗𝜚⠀﹫⠀♩⠀𓏲⠀𝄢⠀∿⠀⊰⠀⟡⠀⊹⠀ʬʬ⠀꜆⠀ ˘⠀➴⠀♪⠀═╪⠀⩇⠀︵⠀﹑⠀⇄⠀⇅⠀⇉⠀—⠀ꜜ⠀♫⠀⥰⠀⤷⠀◌⠀♡⠀♥︎⠀⦂⠀⋌⠀⋋⠀⁾⠀⟆⠀⬭⠀⬬⠀＞⠀＜⠀︿⠀⍵⠀﹙⠀﹚⠀⏆⠀🜲⠀❛⠀❜⠀➳⠀⿸⠀┈⠀⪩⠀⪨⠀➷⠀⌓⠀₎⠀⤹⠀✻⠀─⠀✾⠀⊢⠀⤶⠀﹏⠀❀⠀⫟⠀↶⠀⟡⠀▽⠀⑅⠀⏖⠀↺⠀↷⠀⁘⠀═╬⠀⟢⠀⸝⠀❝⠀❞⠀⿻⠀﹕©⠀━━╋━⠀✞⠀𝄞⠀╱⠀╲⠀⠀⌣⌣⠀⠀⌢⠀⠀♮⠀⁺⠀ꜛ⠀﹪⠀⚘⠀⭒⠀︶⠀✧⠀ᵎ⠀⭑⠀˒⠀˓⠀﹗⠀⁾⠀⏦⠀˼⠀𓏏⠀×⠀✮⠀✩⠀⧼⠀⧽⠀⩋⠀✺⠀𝜗𝒞⠀₍⠀✤⠀•⠀│⠀﹣⠀♬⠀𐐩⠀˛⠀➛⠀🝮⠀𓂂⠀⤾⠀❦⠀➥⠀☾⠀☽⠀𓈒⠀╬═⠀⬩⠀∬⠀〣⠀×⠀𐐪⠀ɞ⠀﹔⠀✸⠀𝛏⠀⨳⠀⏇⠀𓎟⠀𓎢⠀𓎡⠀𓎠⠀𓏏⠀𓌔⠀𝒢𝒞⠀𝜗𐑞⠀𝒢ϱ⠀𝜗⍴⠀𝒢℘⠀𝜕ℯ⠀
◟ ͜ ◞◟ ͜ ◞◟ ͜ ◞◟ ͜ ◞◟ ͜ ◞◟ ͜ ◞　♡⃟͚̊　‧✧̣̥̇‧　𓃹　ᦸᩚ　꒰ꦼ　｡ﾟ　ᨳ᭬　྇　🂱　𓋫　︶　☾☽　✧　◞◟◝◜　◜ི◝ྀ　◝ྀ　ୢ˚.　˖ ۫　♱◌　𖥟　·͙　𖧧̣̥　𖥨᩠ׄ݁　ུᩧ　༢ུ　ྀུ　𓉳　໒ ᩧ꒱　໒ ᩧ　꒰ᩧ৯　꒰ᩧv৯　ཤ　ཥ　 ^ིྀ　♡ྀི　ꢆ　♡̶　♡ྀ　♡̷　♡̵　𝒢　𝒢𑄺　𐔌　꣓　ᘛ　ᘚ　𑣿ྀིྀ　◟ ͜ ◞　◜ ͡ ◝　♪　♩　♫　♬　𓏏𓏏　𓎟𓎟　†๋　†ั　꒰͡†　　☆　★　𖩤𖩣　𖩨　𖾞　𖾝　𖾜　𛱺　𛱻　𛱼　𝜗𝜚　𞥙　𑅛𑅫　𑐉　𑐈　𑒱　𑒲　𑙗　𑙙　𑙗𑙙　𑙑　𑙒　𑙕　𑚅　𑚮　𑜩　𑅝　𑅞　𑅕　𑅒　𑅫　𑅛　ꢸ　ꢹ　ꢶ　ꣀ　꣑　꣒　꣑꣒　ꦃ　ꦌ　꣑ꦌ　꧌　꧊　ꦿ　ꫂ　　︩　︪　𐏐　𐏑　𐨿　𐨠　᭟　᭕　᭔　ᭃ　ᭂ　ᬾ　ᬿ　ᬹ　ᬸ　⚸　❧　❦　⨢　⨥　⼎　、　〟　꒸　꒹　ꢷ　ु　ो　ऻ　२　६२　া　ໃ　ໃ𑄺　༑　༈　༬　༩　༳　༲　ႛ　ႚ　℘　꒰　꒱　꒰꒱　ཊ　ཉ　𑁘　𑁙　𑁚　𑁤　𑁥　𑁨　𑁩　𑁬　𑁭　𑁯　𑄻　ᓭི　ᓯྀ　✚　ᛪ༙　✚　ᛪ༙　𝄢　❀　　ꮽི　༏ྀ𑇒　ᩘ♱ྀི　𓉸ྀི　հ　𓍼　𓏲　༉　ℓ　　་།་　། ິ　꒦ີ　๑⃙⃘　⋟　⋞　ᓭི༏　༏ᓯྀ　༏　’　༘　˚　εϊз　𓋼　𓍊　◛　ꈊ　✚　ꗃ　ᩘ　❀　𓎟⠀　૮꒰ྀི　૮　꒱ྀིა　ა　૮ིྀ　ིྀა　┣▇▇▇═──　ℜ　ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ　ᐢ.ˬ. ᐢ　ᦲ ᆺ ᦲ　:‹　♡̵　❧⠀╳　✕　༻　༺　✁　✃　࿐　༊　ᶿ̴̤᷇ ˒̫ ᶿ̴̤᷆　†⃨　﹒　. ۫ ·　᧔᧓　˖ ࣪ㅤㅤꪮꫀ　⠀͡꒱　·̩͙　꒰͡𑁬　　ྀུ ࿐　﹒　ིྀ　　ˋૢ　ೃ࿔　‎ ִֶָ ᤴ　ཐི ཋྀ　ཐ ཋ　𓏴　𓏵　࿐　ꪮ𑁨　𑁥𑄺　𑁘 𑁙 𑁚 𑁤 𑁥 𑁦 𑁨 𑁩 𑁬 𑁭 𑁯 𑄻　𓏶　ృ　𓂂　　࿐ྂ。　๋　ั　ꪇ　ꪻ　ꪮ౿　𝜗౿　𑄽𑄺　ᤳ　♱　♰　✟　✞　✝︎　☨　†　┊　𓋜　．﹒　𐙚　೨౿　੭୧　౨ৎ　୨୧　୨˚̣̣̣୧　ꔫ　ꪆৎ　𖧁୧　౨୧　೨୧
୨ৎ　𓈒 ݂۫ ׄ　𓈒 ׄ　　̫　ೃ　ಌ　ʚ ɞ　ᜊ　໒　૮ ა　ణ ഒ　ᨳ ഒ　◜ ͡ ◝　◟ ͜ ◞　⑅　ೀ　𝜗ৎ　꒰ྀི　꒱ྀི　꒰ྀི ꒱ྀིིྀ　✎⠀⠀꒰⠀⠀꒱⠀⠀࿀⠀⠀౨ৎ⠀⠀︵⠀⠀Ⳋ⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀୨⠀⠀ೀ⠀⠀ꔫ⠀⠀〇⠀⠀⍰⠀⠀ര⠀⠀ᝪ⠀⠀ ೀ⠀⠀ױ⠀⠀♡𝅼 ⠀⠀๑⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀꒪⠀⠀⟡⠀⠀✧⠀⠀✦⠀⠀ ꒩⠀⠀／⠀⠀✐⠀⠀᜴⠀⠀⠀⠀⃞⠀⠀⠀⠀⃝⠀✽⠀⠀ᰈ̠⠀⠀✩⠀⠀ꮼ⠀⠀ꮽ᤻⠀⠀▞⠀⠀⑇⠀⠀ᄶ⠀⠀⌒⠀⠀⌕⠀⠀‹𝟹⠀⠀ᄊ⠀⠀♡⃘ ⠀⠀⠀₊⠀⠀⠀˲˲⠀⠀ഒ⠀⠀᱖⠀⠀♡⃕⠀⠀✿𝆬⠀⠀￮⃘ ⠀⠀✩⃝ ⃝=͟͟͞ ✧⠀⠀♡⃞⠀ᜊ⠀⠀𖧧⠀⠀੭⠀⠀࿁⠀⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀⠀ꕀ⠀⠀𓈒⠀⠀˙　𐙚　೨౿　੭୧　౨ৎ　୨୧　୨˚̣̣̣୧　ꔫ　ꪆৎ　𖧁୧　♡ ━╂　╬═　❁　𓊆 𓊇　𓌈　𓈀　ᕱ.ᕱ　࿔　ଓ　ઇ　ઉ　᧙　ᥐ　៸　໒　ː　՞　Ꮗ　ᴗ　•　❍　〔 〕　⌜ ⌝ ⌞ ⌟　꧔　︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵　ᕱ୨♡୧ᕱ　𑁯　╰┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮　―　┄　│　┈　╱　╲　─　﹏　﹘　𓌔　═　︶　ꔫ　ꈍ　ε з　ଓ 　(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)　⸝⸝ ҂ 　∪ ⋂ ⋃⊂ ⊃　˗ˏˋ ˎˊ˗ 　 ◣ ◥　ω　☆　ଲ　𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚ 　꒷︶꒷꒥꒷ 𝟅𝟈𝞋𝞎 𝝑𝝔 𝜗𝜚 𝛝𝛠 ϑϱ ꝯϱ 𝜗𝜚 𝜗𝒞﹒ ˚ ｡ ⠀。 ˳ • ◌ ⬭ ⬬ 〇 𓂂 𓈒 𓎟𓎟 ✚ ✛ ✜ ♰ ♱ † ✞ ✟ ☥ ☨ ⸸ ═╪ ═╬ ━━╋━ ☆ ★ ✰ ✮ ✭ ✬ ✫ ✦ ✧ ⟡ ⊹ 𝅄 ⭒ ♡ ‹𝟹 ❥ ♥︎ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ 𝄞 ﹐ ꜝ ﹫ ⦂ ﹪ ﹔ ︖  𓂃 𓏲 ∿ ⊰ ❛ ❜ ⁘ ❝ ❞ © 𐐪ɞ 𝛏 ／ 𝇂 𐙚 ᶻz 𓈊 ⌓ ⑅ ⏦ ﹏ ✿ ❀ ❁ ✾ ❅ ✐ ⌕  ⸝ 𝇁𝇃 ıllı ﹘ ﹣ =͟͟͞  ⟅ıIIı⟆ “ ” „ ‟ ‘ ’ ‚ ‛ ᴗ ᴖ ⊂ ⊃ ∪ ⋂ ◠◠ ◡◡ ╰ ╮ ╭ ╯ ◞  ◟ ◜ ◝ ︵︵ ﹙ ﹚ ₍ ⁾ ₎ ⠀⌣⌣⠀ ⠀⌢⠀ ︶︶ ᵔ ⏑ ⏖ ˍ ⎯ ‒ ― ─ ─ ━ ┄ ┅ ┈ ┉ ╌ ╍ ➔ ➘ ➙ ➚ ➜ ➝ ➞ ⋆ ✰ ɞ ଘ ﹅ ՙ 𓄼 ｡ ✰ ⿻ ᕱ ⑅ ⌕ ◜ ◝ ◕ ◔ ⨾ ᕬ ꧔ ࿔ ✧ •᷄ࡇ•᷅ ୭✦ ♡ ˒˒ ، ꒦꒷ ᯽ ⋆ ✰ ɞ ଘ ﹅ ՙ 𓄼 ପ ᨳ 𖧧 ᨦ 𓂅 𓄹 ⍝ ﹆ ≀﹟ ‹𝟹 ៸៸ ✿𝆬 ৎ୭ ﹏ ੭ ໒〝 ҂ ִֶָ ꃋᴖꃋ 𖦹 ∞ ᘏ ᨒ 𖥻 ᠈ ꐑꗃᨵ𓈈 ⬫ 𓍯 ⩩ ♡̶！ ʾʾ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ ՙ ૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა . 𖣯 ⋆ ˖ ࣪ ! 𓈈𓂃⬫ ׂ ׅ 𓂃 ૮₍ ៸៸ ᵜ ก ₎ა ֶָ ׁ ❁̶ (●´⌓`●) ᘒ ˖˙‹𝟯 ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ◌ ⊹ 🍸 ◜｡ ࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 ⊹○ﾟ˖ 𓆦 ₊˚ ※  ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ 𖥦 ⸱៰ ͘ ࣭⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ 𓂃ˑ ֗ ˖⋆⑅˚₊ ۫ ⁎ .  𓏲࣪ ּ  ֗ ִ  ּ ۪  ⊹ 𓄹 ࣪ . ݁ ٬٬ ࣪﹒ʬʬ﹒⪩⪨﹒⟡﹒ᐢ..ᐢ﹒◖﹒⇅﹒○﹒✿﹒⊹﹒∇﹒✸﹒⟢﹒❀﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒♡﹒〇﹒ıllı﹒ᶻz﹒⊂⊃﹒␥﹒⿸﹒ꔠ﹒✶﹒◍﹒▿﹒⤸﹒⬚﹒៶៸﹒△﹒→﹒✶﹒（）﹒▥﹒⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀➛ ׂׂૢ ╰┈➤ ✎ - ,, -‘๑’- ・❥・ ༊*·˚ ˗ˏˋ´ˎ˗ . *. ⋆ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧.* ೃ⁀➷ ⋆·˚ ༘ * ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ·˚ ༘ *ೃ༄ .ೃ࿐ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.ೃ࿔:･ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ ⍣ ೋ ‗ ❍ ¡! ❞ ﹌﹌﹌ 彡 ▓ ღ ꕥ ‿‿‿‿ *+:｡.｡ •·.·''·.·• ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ * ˚ ✦ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- . . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . . ↳ ❝ [] ¡! ❞ - ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. '•.¸♡ ♡¸.•' +:ꔫ:﹤ ﹥:ꔫ:+ﾟ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ ୨୧ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ࿐ྂ ≡;- ꒰ ° ꒱ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫⎙ ⩇ ⩉ ꐑ 𖣯 ⌕ ᨒ ᯤ ᯅ 𖤘 � 𖥦 ⏃ % 𓍯 𔗫 𔖲 𓂃 ﹆ ﹅ 𓄼 𓄹 ᭣ ꧞ 𓏲 𓂅 ꣼ ࿓ ࿔ ༄ ⌗ 𓈒 ⊹ 𖥔 ᨵ ꑘ ᜊ ᦒ ଘ ◖ ◗𖠗 ꗃ ٩ ะ ≛ ߸ 𖡡 𝆺𝅥 ꩜ 𖣠 𖦹 ❤︎ ♥︎ 𔘓⁩ ♡ ᥫ᭡ ✶ 𖤐 ★ 𒀭 𑁍 ꕤ ❑ ❒ !i！？!!﹗⦂ 𓈃 𓄲 𓄴 𓈀 𓊔 ❝ ❞ ❛❜ ୨୧ ‣ › ⌫ ✧ ✦⭒ ✓ ✘ 𓈈 ᚙ ⩨ ▚ ₆⁶₆ ஃ ⿴ ⿻ ꭑ ᧑ 𐐫 𝗈︩︪ ꒰ ꒱ ʚ ɞ “” ⌨︎ ⚠︎ ꒰꒱ ☻ ✰ ❏ ˖* ೃ࿔ 𓆉◡̈ ꒦꒷ ✎ ᝰ ✿ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⋆ ⋆⑅˚₊ ♡̆̈ 𓍲 𓍱 ꪔ̤̥ 𓍯 ꊞ 𓂃 ꕀ ﹆ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ⤾ ・°☆ ✎ ̼ ◡̈ ⑅ ♡̷ 𖦹 ･͛♡̷̷̷･͛ ᐧ༚̮ᐧ =͟͟͞♡ εїз ᙏ̤̫ ˳✧༚ /✿ ˙ᘧ ͜ ˙ ♡ ⊸ ꒰ ❛ ❜ ꒱ ‎♡⃕ ◡̈ ˚◞♡ ⃗ ʬʬʬ ༊·˚ ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖° ꪔ̤̥ ˙ ͜ʟ˙ ‎♡‧₊˚ ◡̎ ♡̷ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ 𓆸 ꔛ *﹆ =͟͟͞ ♡̩͙ ꙳ ⋆ ⸝⸝ യ *◞ ♡･ ͜ʖ ･ . ˚◞♡ ෆ ･῾ ᵎ ⌇ ⁺◦ *´ސު｀ ‎ ༘⋆ ꙳ ꕀ ꒰ 𖧧 ·͜·♡ ꒱ ღ ⋆ ꕤ ♡ ⊹ ★꒷ ᵎᵎ ₊ ⨾ ⋆ ʚ ɞ ✦ ♥︎ ∞ 𑁍 𓍯　　⸝⸝⸝　　𓅿　　𖠋　　𓍲 𓍱　　𖥧 𖧧 ˒˒ 𖤣𖤥𖠿𖤣𖤥　　𓇥 　֒　　☄︎　　𓆱　　𓂃𓊝𓄹𓄺 ‎　𓌉◯𓇋　　𓎩 ⸝⸝　　𓌈˒˒　　⍤　　𓆸 𓊆 𓊇　　꒰ ꒱　　˗ˏˋ ˎˊ˗　　⌇　　ꪔ̤̮　　ꪔ̤̥ • + . ˙ ✦ ♡ㅤ°. • °. ✿ * · ✮ . • • ⊹ . ✧ ⊹　 ˚ 　 * · 　 ✮ . .　 ★ ·　 ⊹　 + * 　 ⊹ 　 °. * ✧ .𓈀 𖦥 ﹅ ンㅤꞋꞌꞋꞌ

⤷ 𓂅 ◞ ⥰ by : yinnaers

I AM PHYSICALLY SHAKING RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD

Tom Hiddleston and Oscar Isaac - TV Drama Actor Roundtable 2022

sweet

peter parker x reader

summary: two times that peter parker is the sweetest boyfriend

“Y/N!” Peter hisses, knocking his knee into yours under the desk. 

“What?” you whisper, not peeling your attention away from the board as you furiously copy down the notes. 

“I’m bored.” he says sheepishly as you roll your eyes. 

“Why don’t you maybe, focus on the lesson?” you suggest. 

Peter groans dramatically and lays his head on top of his notebook. 

“I know it all already.” he shrugs, leaning over and digging through your pencil case. 

“Well we can’t all be geniuses,” you say as you flip the page and continue scribbling. “Some of us are gonna fail the test on radioactive substances if you don’t shut up and let me write.”

“I’m radioactive,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll tutor you before the test.”

He settles on a red pen from your pencil case and twirls it between his fingers, clicking it on and off repeatedly. 

“Peter!” you mutter. “That is infuriating.”

“Sorry,” he grins at you, happy to have your attention for a moment, and sighing when you turn away, frowning at an especially lengthy paragraph in the textbook you and Peter were supposed to be sharing. 

He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls it in front of him, turning your arm palm-up. You ignore him as you read, attempting to understand the subject. You feel a slight tickling sensation of your wrist accompanied by the pressure of Peter’s hands as he hooks his arm around yours to give himself better access to you. 

…emission of alpha particles, or conversion of neutrons to protons or the reverse… 

You sigh, pushing the book away from you with your free hand. It’s impossible to concentrate with the tickling sensation on your wrist.

“Peter,” you hiss one last time. “What are you doing?”

Peter freezes, blinking like a deer in the headlights when you tip your gaze to where he’s working on your wrist. Inked onto the skin just below your palm in red ballpoint pen is a tiny, slightly lopsided heart. Leaning closer, you can make out a little ‘P’ entwined with your own first initial. 

“Aw, Pete,” you whisper, quickly kissing his cheek ever so softly to avoid the glare of the teacher at the front. “It’s so sweet. You’re so sweet.”

Peter scrunches up his nose in response to your compliment, relishing the moment of attention from you he’d craved in a boring class. 

“No,” he begins sweetly. “You’re-” “Parker!” below the teacher. Peter’s ears turned red as the whole class turned to glare at him. “Are you taking notes or are you just distracting Miss Y/L/N?”

Peter shrinks away from you, picking up the red pen and pretending to make notes. 

You giggle, resuming your own work but not before nudging him underneath the table and pulling a face, earning yourself the sweetest grin from him. 

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

7:25am. Friday. 

The incessant buzzing of your phone pulls you out of your dozing and you groan, picking it up blearily - only answering because you know exactly who’s calling. He calls at this time every school morning. 

“Good morning my love,” he says cheerily. You can hear the faint beeping and honking of early morning traffic from his end of the line, proof that he’s out on his morning patrol like usual. 

Your only reply is a sleepy ‘hhmf’ as you snuggle back into the duvet warding off the chilly New York morning. 

“It’s time to get up, baby.” Peter says right on cue. 

“But I’m so sleepy and cozy,” you protest. “I absolutely cannot get up for school.”

Peter chuckles, preparing himself for the sleepy argument you two have every morning when he calls to make sure you’re getting up. 

“If you don’t get up and come to school, I won’t get to see you today.” he points out and you can almost hear the playful pout on his face as he speaks softly, knowing you’re still half asleep. 

“You can come over after,” you say. “Imagine how chatty and cheerful I’ll be then when I’m fully rested.”

Peter shakes his head, resting on the rooftop of an apartment block. From his point of view he’s just across the street from your apartment and he can see your bedroom window, blinds still drawn to block out the morning rays. 

“If you get up and come to school today, I’ll take you to that do-it-yourself pottery place after. They don’t close until six on a Friday.” he bargains. 

You gasp. 

“Lots of Pots?” you ask. “Can we make mugs for each other again?”

Peter chuckles, already picturing adding the new addition to the collection of multi-colored mugs you’d made for him and May so far. 

“This is all conditional on you getting up, though.” he reminds you. 

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” you say as you kick the duvet off and make no move to stand up. 

“No, you’re not,” Peter sighs as your blind doesn’t lift. “Looks like I’m swinging over then,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “Be at your window in a second or I’m breaking in and tipping you out of bed.”

Peter calling you after morning patrol to make sure you’re getting up for school had become routine over the few months of your relationship, usually ending up with him coming over and pulling your pajama-clad body out of bed before he himself would get changed into the school clothes of his he kept in your closet and making sure you both got out the door in time. And he loved it. 

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

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