#wrote this for a class last week

[biandanxious18]

When I was a kid, I had really long, hip-long hair, I remember. Then when I was 6 I decided I wanted it cut really short - boy-short -, not for any specific reason other than I thought it was pretty, I think I had seen it on women at the time, on TV too, and I thought it looked cute. It wasn’t about being rebellious or gender-non-conforming. I was 6. I thought it was cute. The length that in english you’d call pixie-cut, I guess, but in Brasil we call it “joãozinho”, which means “little john”.

My parents got me and all of my friends together on my birthday, we took a trip to my grandparents’ at the beach. My mom tied my hair in a braid and cut it for me. I went to the mirror and said I wanted it shorter. She cut it shorter. My mom always cut my hair when I was a kid. She cut and dyed her own hair too.

Anyways, in retrospect I think that was pretty badass of me. Little 6yo going “shorter”. I liked pink. I liked princesses. I had a phase where I refused to wear anything that wasn’t a dress. I just thought it’d be cute, I think. Or no, actually I just wanted to do it. I have no idea how my dad felt about it. He didn’t like to let my brother do overly feminine things, but I think he was mostly scared he’d be bullied for it. I don’t know. My dad is a feminist. He cries. He’s a bit sexist and a bit homophobic at times but he doesn’t want to be. He’s trying.

My mom is also a feminist, even though she says she enjoyed the attention of being cat-called by creepy, old men in the street. “It’s a compliment”. She says she misses it, made her feel young, pretty and thin, I guess. My mom is beautiful. I don’t know why I felt the need to say that.

She always cut my hair when I was a kid, but around my pre-teens I started to go to hairdressers. I’d always go through a somewhat yearly cycle of letting my hair grow, wanting it long, getting tired of it, wanting it short, getting it cut, loving it, wanting it long. Except when I didn’t love it, of course. I remember back in 2018 I got a haircut and it looked awful. I went home, crawled in bed with my mom and cried, I hated it so much. In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t do anything about it, didn’t re-cut it or something, I just grew it out.

I started dying my hair red in 2016. First time I did it at the hairdresser too. Expensive as shit. I didn’t like it. I said I did. To the lady, and whoever asked, and even myself. But I didn’t, it didn’t look how I wanted it to. Next time I did it at home. My mom dyed it for me because she knew how to. To get the roots and the back and all. I really liked it. I loved it. I never dyed my hair at the hairdresser again.

After that terrible 2018 cut I grew it out. Didn’t feel the urge to cut it the following year - or fought it off, I don’t know. When 2020 came around, my hair was the longest and most beautiful it had been in I don’t even know how long. The red really suited me too. People - my friends - couldn’t even imagine me without it, and when I would think of shaving the side of my head, for instance, I actually imagined it growing back red. It was part of me, even though it was fake.

Anyways, a month into the pandemic I shaved it all off. Clean zero, no mercy, didn’t spare a centimetre. Shaved it off. To be fair, it felt like it had been way more than a month by that point. It felt like it had been forever. I think I wanted something fresh, something new, something different and bold and radical and mine. And if it looked awful nobody would see it anyways. Once in a lifetime opportunity - hopefully.

I loved shaving my head. I had my friends on a video call. My mom helped with the back that time too. I have the whole thing recorded, took about 10 minutes. I loved it. It was cold in my scalp though. It was fun.

I wonder what my grandma thought of it. Or my grandpa. My dad liked it. Said I looked like an orthodox jewish woman a bit. I could see that.

But I remember this one time. Not too many months later, a couple maybe, we went to visit my grandparents at the beach. And by that point I wasn’t going outside much, but the beach was such a wide, open space, we could social distance to a safe measure. So I went. And at some point I decided to take a walk along the shore and I just remember having the oddest feeling. Just feeling like… Feeling the absence of the male gaze on me, really. And I had never realised it was there before in the first place. But now it was gone. Like without my long, beautiful hair I wasn’t as attractive - as desirable - as before. And it felt… bad.

And it was weird, but I had never realised the validation I felt from being gazed at. How affirming it was. I guess this is what my mom was talking about. Maybe she was just more honest about it than me.

And don’t get me wrong because I don’t want to submit to gender conformity and whatever that feeling was about. And I had so many different hairs during the pandemic, just having shaved it really gave me some freedom to do whatever, because if all went to shit and it looked terrible I’d just shave it again. And I explored gender and gender-non-conformity and I look at the pictures from when I had really short hair a couple years ago and I think it looks so... I miss it.

I’m kind of growing it out now, though. I don’t know, I just wasn’t really doing anything about it and it was just growing, then last year I cut it but I didn’t really love how it turned out. Made me think longer hair suits me more. I look prettier, I guess. I hate how gender conforming I am nowadays. I don’t know if it’s because I moved countries and it made me feel more secure. Sometimes I’m not, though. [Gender conforming, I mean]. I’ve been thinking about it. I feel like when I was an antisocial kid I cared much less about how others perceive me. I remember once working on a group scene where everyone was sharing hurdles they went through to try and achieve beauty standards. I didn’t really have much to share. I didn’t diet, I didn’t put myself through things that hurt. It’s different now. I often think the more social I became along the years, the more I fell into that.

I liked a boy in my class when I was 6. A few years later - and I had changed schools at this point - one of my friends from that class told me he had liked me too, but not anymore after I cut my hair. I don’t know if that’s true.

[jade-of-mourning]

j-fashion girls!

my approximation (i didn't use a single real piece of clothing as far as i'm aware but i'm sure jirou's fishnets are real somewhere out there):

jirou - visual kei ashido - kuro gyaru yaoyorozu - jirai kei hagakure - pink decora asui - mori kei uraraka - jojifuku

[questionable-doctor]

i'm crazy,,,

[ravenwraithe]

Helo ji thoda chaipunk milega?

Plij.

-apka naya pankha

Two hearts in a chest, it's ours

Pav stared at the clock, its second hand seemingly ticking slower and slower every dragging second, trying to keep his heavy eyes open.

There wasn't any villain out last night, no, nor did Hobie crash his precious beauty sleep, but this teacher was not making any sense with his stupid fucking chemical formulae for finding the mass percentage of whatever new substance he was talking about this time and Pav was wishing the fan over his head into falling on him.

His eyes drooped, as he sat with head balanced on his hand, in the semblance of a posture of utmost attention. Maybe he should just sleep, it wasn't like the teacher was going to notice anyway-

THUNK! came from the window on his left. He startled out of his seat, nearly tripping on the strap on his school bag, cursing under his breath and turned to see the offender.

There was nothing on the window sill. But Pav knew better than that. He stood up, pretending to look for his pen, and glanced over. Sure enough, the dark wicks of a certain spider punk was visible just below the sill.

"Excuse me sir, may I use the washroom?" Pav raised his hand. The teacher didn't even look at him as he nodded his yes, busy writing down measurements of fuck-if-he-knew, and Pav booked it out of there.

He turned left to the stairwell instead of right to the washrooms and descended down where the faulty surveillance cam overlooked the landing and the tiny window between the second floor and third floor. That cam worked in fits and starts; a red light indicated if it was working. To Pav's rare luck with it, there was no red light to be seen and he quickly vaulted out of the window, coming almost nose-to-nose with Hobie.

"What the fuck Hobie, why are you lurking like that?" Pav whisper-screamed, heart thudding mile a minute from the proximity. He could see Hobie's individual eyelashes from there. Pav's face heated up and he was thankful for the fact that a blush wasn't easily visible with his skin colour.

"'m not lurkin', mate, you're jus' distracted," Hobie replied with an easy smile, making Pav's stomach do funny somersaults. It was a common occurrence, and Pav tried his best to not let it get the best of him. With questionable success, because he frequently found himself daydreaming about Hobie, how his hair would feel through his fingers, the way his lips moved when he talked in that stupidly cute accent of his, the feelings he got with Hobie's arm around him. This was accompanied by doodling hearts around their names at the back of his notebooks, like he was not scared of the consequences of his teachers discovering the said artwork and calling home.

"Shut up," Pav said, his face still warmer than normal, because they hadn't moved apart for the entire duration of Pav's inner train of thought, much to his secret delight. "Why are you here at my school? Someone could have seen you!"

"I wan'ed to see my favourite li'l swot, so I came," He leant in closer, his voice deeper, "Can't I do tha'?"

Pav swallowed unconsciously. "You definitely can, but I have to get back to class, we're starting a new chapter."

"C'mon, love, you looked like you were moments away from conkin' out."

"I wasn't, I would never sleep in class."

"Mmhm, and 'm the next prime minister o' the Great Britain," Hobie sniggered and Pav punched him in the arm.

"I wasn't going to sleep, the class is just so boring!"

"All the more reason to skive off, I promise to not drone on and on to bore you to sleep," Hobie side-eyed him, the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin and Pav was gone. "What say?"

As if Pav could ever say no to Hobie, as if he could ever bore him, like Pav didn't feel like a live wire, humming with electricity when they were close, very close, and he could swear something was gonna happen-

TRRRRNNGG! The discordant bell rang out though the corridors of the school building and the miniscule space they had between them, widening until they were centimetres apart. Too much apart. The distance between them felt like a chasm of longing but. He could fix it. He could skip the rest of the school day, even though Nandan would ask him where he disappeared off to.

Hobie looked at him, eyes filled with an emotion Pav dared not to name and a hope that he'd say yes. Pav was glad to not disappoint.

"Let's go."

___

this isn't very long but i wanted to get it out of my brain before i got too busy to post again

i might continue this later but hope you like it, ravi✨✨

title (translated) from itni si baat hai by arijit singh

(goldenpunk playlist i made)

[sailforvalinor]

Val Is Pretty Sure She Might Be Losing Her Mind, more at 11

[chilapis]

Last post before I crash and no-one hears from me until I return from my first final the morrow’s eve (a changed man no doubt) but there’ll never be anything funnier to me than consistently being viewed as a composed and calm saviour by peers while I’m, actively and uncontrollably losing it.

[soutsuji]

There's an English class on Golden Age detective fiction being offered next semester but the prerequisite for it is the intro to literary study class required for all English majors (which I haven't taken because I'm in a hard STEM major and don't have much time for electives, which means that I have to be really picky with my electives and only go for stuff I like AND doesn't have an awful workload) and also even if I did have that prereq, I wouldn't be able to take the class because it's at the same time as one of my major reqs. And also I'll be in two labs next semester and one of them is pure hell so like I literally don't have the time to take more than 13 credit hours (as tempting as it is to keep up my streak of taking 17-18 every semester even though it's been like really pretty bad for my social life and hobbies). Sigh. (Pressing my hand wistfully against the glass) maybe someday they'll offer the class again

[youandthemountains]

hate the feeling of turning something in that you're actually like proud of, it's good quality work and well researched and supported and also I just feel in my gut it's going to get picked apart and lose points for stupid reasons

[kohakhearts]

cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc

pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement

[sparkles-oflight]

how I'll sleep today knowing I just wrote a bad review of my sociology teacher to the university higher-ups

[boomerang109]

I don’t want to go home and that makes me so sad

[galariangengar]

My professor for my pathophysiology class just put in grades from our final exam and I got a 91% overall for my final grade :)

[fappellmoan]

anyway. i am going to be SO incredibly livid and angry and throwing an absolute tantrum on thursday if i dont get good feedback on my script.

[imasillygooose]

ME FRRRR

What I mean when I do not control the hyperfixation.

[writingsbychlo]

WITHDRAWAL | theodore nott

summary; theo decides to quit smoking, but doesn't realise that his decision would affect his girlfriend, too.

word count; 3007

notes; just a cute, fluffy little piece based on something that I was tagged in about 2 months ago! unfortunately, I cannot find the original post or tagger, but if it's you, please let me know!!

If there was one thing about Theodore Nott that couldn't be denied, it was that he loved with everything he had. 

He loved his friends; he was loyal to a fault and he’d never let them down. He loved his family, he wrote over fifteen letters a week to all his aunties and cousins, and still held onto his mother’s recipe book, even to this day. 

And he loved, adored, his girlfriend with everything that he had. He’d do anything for her, crawl across hot coals if she asked, give up his magic and his money and his legacy, just to make her happy. She’d never asked as such of him, still blushed when he pulled out his wallet when they shopped and smiled brighter than the sun when he gave her a handmade card or something he’d cooked. So, to his eyes, it didn’t seem all that much when he decided to give up smoking for her. 

She hadn't asked him to, never even pulled a face when he smoked. But Theo was damn sick of trying to blow the smoke away from her when she joined him at the astronomy tower, cuddled up to his chest, because he didn’t want that poison near her. He hated watching her shiver on the colder nights, he hated waking her in the middle of the night when he got up to satiate that itch, and he hated thinking of a future where he left her too soon, running short on time, because he ruined himself.

He chucked his last box into the fireplace one impulsive morning, and thought he might go cold turkey. He’d been so moody by lunchtime that he’d almost bitten Enzo’s head off over the way he pronounced ‘tomato’. That afternoon, he’d ditched his classes and trudged through the snow to the floo connection at the Hog’s Head, and picked up enough nicotine patches from a muggle supply store to knock out a fully grown Hippogriff.

He’d torn the packaging off of one in the grimy restroom at the back of the store and slapped it onto his bicep, and almost collapsed from the relief it gave him. It wasn’t nearly as effective as picking up a packet from the newsagent’s stand he’d passed would’ve been, but as soon as his fingers had twitched to pick up a box, your face had flashed through his mind. Your face, smiling at him, your face that morning telling him how proud you were of him when he’d shared his goals in hopes of support, and it was enough to deter him from the purchase.

You were his strength, once again, as you’d always been. 

And truly, you were so proud of Theo. Changing his patches for him every evening, in time with that first one. Reading up on the muggle solutions, and making sure you were fully versed on how to help him. Keeping him busy seemed to help, when he got bored, his eyes started flicking towards the door, and the slight irritability he’d been able to keep a lid on pretty well would begin to flare up. For the most part, he’d been staying at your dorm, in an active attempt to keep away from Mattheo, who wasn’t quite ready to give up his comfortable vice just yet. 

Unfortunately, as the days went on, while Theo seemed to be handling it just fine, you were struggling. The irritability grew, even Draco’s breathing was making you want to snap pencils in half in the library, or throw Enzo off the astronomy tower if he scraped his fork on his plate one more time. You were ravenous, and nauseous, all at the same time. You wanted to eat everything but could hardly hold it down. You were dizzy, and fatigued, and your grades were going to start slipping if this continued, because it had been almost a week since you’d been able to concentrate on any thought longer than a minute, never mind a whole class. 

And now, you were lying in bed, rubbing at your eyes angrily but unable to sleep as you stared at the ceiling. Theo, for once, was sleeping soundly beside you. Since giving up smoking, his sleep patterns had been getting better, while yours were getting worse by the night. Almost a week, and you’d barely gotten nine hours of sleep put together. 

When you shuffled again, pressing yourself a little closer to Theo as you rolled onto your side, he began to surface. The arm over your midriff tightened, pulling you in until your hips were bracketed against his, and he chuckled sleepily into your neck. Burying himself in, he pressed a kiss there, and another, and another. The rough pounding of your heart settled as you clasped Theo’s hand in your own, holding them to your chest as he littered your shoulder with kisses. 

At your sigh, he rolled you over, propping himself up on his elbow and yawning. Shaking his hand free from your own, he stroked the back of a finger along your cheek, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. As his hand settled on the side of your neck instead, yours slipped up to cup his jaw, and you melted into the tender love he offered you in the darkest hours. 

“What’s wrong, tesoro? Why are you awake?”

“Why are you awake?” you rebuffed, fingers lifting to comb through his hair, to push it back out of his eyes as he blinked himself a little more awake.

He shrugged, “This is about the time I’d normally go for a smoke.” He murmured, and your eyes flickered to the clock. 

You knew well enough the schedule Theo used to keep while smoking. Your timetable had slowly synched to it over the time you’d been dating. He’d wake up during the night, at some point around two, and disappear for a smoke. He’d take twenty minutes, or thirty if he bumped into Mattheo, and then he’d come back to bed. 

You didn’t mind the disturbance. Not when he’d come back slightly chilled from the night air and snuggle in close to you, wrapping himself around you.

“Actually, this is the time you’d normally come back from having a smoke, and give me my midnight kisses.”

“Is that why my girl is so restless tonight? Because I owe her some kisses?” He teased, leaning down until your noses were bumping, and you could taste the mint on his breath. Normally, he tasted like smoke, not toothpaste, and the shock of his warm lips instead of cold ones made you hum. 

The languid kisses melted the time away, his hand sliding up your shirt, sitting on your ribs and squeezing softly as he lowered himself down, covering your body with his own. Theo had always been your comfort, and your happy place. Being in his arms made you feel safe, and his kisses made you feel relaxed. As he licked his way into your mouth lazily, you anticipated the hazy blur of relaxation that usually followed when he kissed you. 

But, like usual recently, it never came. Instead, when he finally pulled back, and pecked the tip of your nose, he found you frowning, instead of smiling up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” You huffed, frustrated at yourself, at your confusion and the growing irrational irritation. “It’s not the same.”

“What’s not the same, bella?”

“Your… your kisses.” Your words trailed to a whisper, knowing he wouldn't understand, and the hurt that flickered across his face made your heartbreak. 

“They’re not?”

“No. I don’t know why.” His lips curled further at the sides, and the look on his face made you want to cry. It made you hate yourself, aggressively, and if you could tear out your own heart and give it to him just to see him smile again, you would. Just another thing you’d been suffering with lately, an overwhelm of your emotions, worse than any mood swing you got when you were on your period. “It’s not you, Teddy, it’s me. You’re still my happy place, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“You’re not a problem, bella. But we should figure it out. I don’t want to… kiss you wrong, and see that look on your face. What’s different, tell me what’s changed?” His sweet words made tears prickle at your eyes, and you sniffed sadly as you looked at him. 

“I love you so much, Theo.”

“I know, tesoro. I love you too.” His thumb smoothed over your cheek, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know!” Your snap made his eyes widen. “You’re just… different. You don’t kiss the same way, you used to get all needy when you came back from a smoke, but you don’t anymore, and you taste different! You taste like mint right now, and it just doesn’t make me feel the same way afterwards.”

Your words were jumbled and hurried, rushed out as you smoked them and his brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what you meant. Second ticked by into silent minutes as Theo’s wonderful mind ticked and whirred, thinking the problem through, and playing with the information. Then, before you could say anything else, something clicked. You could see it in his eyes, when the gears stopped turning and the thoughts stopped flowing because he’d found the answer. 

Pulling away from you, he sat up, kicking back the covers and letting in the cold air, before moving across the room and shuffling through his gym kit left in the corner. Pulling out a nicotine packet from the box inside, he shook it out, using his teeth to tear open the packet as he made his way back to the bed. Sitting yourself up, you propped yourself in the pillows as he peeled off the plastic backing, and tried to unstick his fingers from it, holding it by the corners. 

“You’ve only had your patch on for nine hours, Teddy, it’s not time to change yet.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head and settling in beside you on the bed, legs folded underneath himself. “This isn’t for me, bella. Take off your shirt.” 

Slipping your arm out of your shirt, you pushed it to the side, watching as Theo brushed cotton fibres off of your shoulder, before sealing the patch onto your skin. He made sure it was properly sealed down, flattening it to your skin, before feeding your arm back through the sleeve of your shirt. He smoothed the top back down your torso, pressing a cheeky kiss to your breast over your heart as he did, and sitting back on his legs to wait. 

“Give it a second, then tell me how you feel.” He whispered, the moment feeling entirely too fragile as his hand took yours, fingers linked together. He kissed along your knuckles, his eyes locked on your face, waiting. And the moment you felt it hit, you knew he saw it too. 

It was like a cool, soothing balm over a raw, aggravated wound. It felt like running cold water on a new burn or healing a painful graze with a quick Episky. “Oh, Merlin…”

“I know, tell me about it.” He mumbled, the smile on his face at victoriously solving the problem melting away as realisation set in. “Cazzo, bella, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have a nicotine addiction, and it’s my fault. All that time you spent with me at the tower, and the smoke on me, and kissing you as soon as I finished smoking. All your moodiness these last few days—”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, baby. It all makes sense.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and squeezed your hand tighter in the other. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I quit because I didn’t want this to happen to you, I didn’t want my problems to poison you, but it’s too late.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, Teddy.” You demand again, pulling him in, and his mouth collides with yours as he makes a subtle groan of surprise and pleasure. 

His hand gripped the headboard behind you, the other skimming down your side. As you leaned back into the pillows, you took him with you, his body falling over your own, slotting between your thighs as our hearts thudded together where his chest pressed to yours. Your hands slid over his shoulders, skimming down his back, and he moaned again as your fingernails scraped across his lower back as you tugged at his shirt. 

He sat up, letting you pull it off of him, before his arms were back, caging you in on either side as he fell back down against you. Pulling one of your legs up to sit on his hip, he dragged himself away from your mouth, trailing wet kisses down your jaw, to the pulse point on your neck and back up. 

“Merde, bella. What’s gotten into you? Not that I’m complaining.”

“You’re perfect, Theo.” You smiled, leaning up to steal more kisses from his lips that he was happy to reciprocate, “You’re perfect, your kisses are perfect. I knew it was me, not you. I was the problem.”

“A problem I gave you,” He groaned, his hips rolling against your own as you giggled breathlessly. 

“Yeah, whatever. Now we’re quitting together. That’s the promise we made, we do everything together, right?”

“Damn right, tesoro.” He growled, teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw, as he began to make his way down your body. Your fingers were loose in his hair, settling back in the pillows, eyes slipping closed as he kissed along the insides of your thighs, teasingly. Finally, your body could relax, no longer tense and buzzing, but the foggy comfort of the night made your muscles ease into the bed, your body feeling heavy, and you sighed in bliss. 

Theo mumbled something, and you let your legs fall a little further apart, but your grip on consciousness was falling further and further away as the nicotine coursed through your body, finally letting you ease into sleep you’d missed for days.

“Bella,” Theo said, his voice sharper, and you stirred, working hard to force your eyes open, but they’d only made it halfway. His hair was ruffled, eyes wide and lips swollen, but his smirk melted away from his face into a tender smile as he looked down at you. 

“Sorry, what’d you say, baby?” The words slurred out of you, and he chuckled. His fingers unhooked from the sides of your shorts, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead. “M’sorry, I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”

“S’okay, bella. Never apologise. C’mere, let’s just cuddle.”

Tucking your body into his, you shuffled your hips back into him, and he threw his leg over yours as he held you tight to his body. “You’re hard.”

“It’ll go down, don’t worry.” He snickered, kissing the back of your head. “S’your fault anyway.”

“Sorry…” You whispered, again, sleepily. “I’ll make it up t’you t’morrow.”

“Go to sleep, amore.”

But you’d already drifted off.

It was just as you were closing your History of Magic book, that Theo announced his presence in the common room as he walked in alongside Mattheo. They were loud, and raucous, and thankfully, you were less inclined to bite their heads off for it today. 

In fact, alongside Enzo, you’d been able to catch up on all of the History homework you’d been missing out on for the last week or so, getting you back on track for at least one of your subjects. 

“Patch change time, bella!” Theo announced, making his way over to you as he untucked his shirt and began to undo the buttons down the front. Tugging the tie out of the way, he crashed down ungracefully onto the couch beside you, Mattheo nudging Draco to move up so he could sit down too. 

This had become a regular part of your routine now, and you pushed the edges of his half-unbuttoned shirt aside to reveal the patch sitting on the middle of his left pectoral. Picking at one corner, you peeled it away gently, careful not to tug on his skin as you did, and Theo watched on adoringly in silence as you took care of him. Unwrapping a new patch, you brushed off the spot, before sticking a new patch onto him and smoothing down the bandage. 

He patted it himself, before doing a couple of the buttons on his shirt back up for modesty, as though he hadn't already given half of the common room a show, before he leaned in to peck your lips. His fingers fell to the buttons of your shirt, and he began to undo them slowly. “Your turn.”

He undid just enough to reveal your shoulder, without letting anyone else catch a glimpse of anything underneath, and as he leaned down to begin peeling away the old patch, you caught Enzo’s confused expression. 

“Why are you wearing a patch?” He asked, and Theo laughed to himself quietly as he changed your old one out. 

“Because loverboy here got me addicted too, through kisses and secondary smoke.”

The others burst out laughing, unfettered by your glaring as they made kissy sounds and crude remarks, while Theo buttoned your shirt back up. Your glare turned to him as you caught sight of his smile, and he shrugged, a lopsided smile on his lips. “What can I say, bella? I’m just that good.”

“Oh, shut it,” You smacked his chest, and he took your hand, tugging you forward to cuddle you into his chest as he kissed your temple. 

“I happen to think it’s adorable that as a by-product of how you got addicted, that means you were addicted to me.”

“Mhmm.” Your eyes rolled, and he squeezed you even tighter. 

“You had me addicted to you without any substances at all, bella. Just you.”

“Alright,” You scoff, “Stop sweet-talking me.”

“Never.”

[hecate-fem]

I’ve handed in a piece of workshop material two days late and I feel awful about it because we’re meant to workshop it tomorrow and agh