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[correctopinionhaver]

"And the link offered very cheap Ray Ban sunglasses, but if you were stupid enough to click on it your blog then start sending out Ray Ban sales links itself..."

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

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[butterflysnowflake]

When you lose control and you got no soul...

Little quick shoot I did of the Delores cosplay I premiered at the local Halloween street festival while waiting for my bus! She'll get refined a bit before I take her to cons but for a first time wearing the full outfit I'm really amazed at how well I pulled her together. Bonus: bought the shades for my planned Wolf cosplay from a sunglasses vendor at the festival. Not actual Ray-Bans but they're the same style (Air Force, I think?) and if I can't find a legit pair cheap enough secondhand they'll work really well.

[cottoncandylesbo]

now that all of the spam and porn bots are gone for good, does anyone have a good link to some cheap ray-ban sunglasses?

[technusrulez]

RAY-BAN SUNGLASSES ONLY $24.99 CHEAP BUY NOW

[dead-pidove-do-not-eat]

Cannot believe I’ve been obsessed with sunglasses guy for like ever and none of you bothered to let me know abt the ray ban scam here on tumblr in 2021. FOR SHAME.

Anyways Wesker totally orchestrated that shit, I do not care if he was ashes and smoke in Kijuju he totally did. Either that or he got fooled hardcore for wanting a cheap pair LSNJFVKKV

[maklodes]

Here’s how sunglasses are often polarized:

Or maybe it’s horizontal. IDK. Anyway, the point is, this isn’t good. It stands a good chance of blocking out the visibility of your phone/laptop/whatever. Sometimes a coffee shop or the like will have a menu on a big monitor (or series of big monitors), and you won’t be able to see it if your sunglasses are polarized orthogonally to the monitor. Sure, you can take your sunglasses off, or tilt your head, but it’s still a flaw.

There are various workarounds, but I think a simple approach that would would be to change the polarization to this:

Now the polarizations are orthogonal, so no angle will totally block both eyes completely (although it might be a little weird only being able to see a screen with one eye).

I see no reason that this would increase manufacturing costs at all, other than switching costs if you’re going from one approach to the other.

Plus if sunglasses manufacturers standardized enough on a single common orthogonal angle set, then we could use them as 3D glasses if we wanted!

Do good / new sunglasses already do this, and it’s just the cheap, somewhat old ones I have that don’t? (Some SolarShield wrap-around sunglasses that can fit over glasses.) Are there disadvantages to this that I’m not anticipating?

(MSPaint-vandalized sunglasses taken from Eyebuydirect.com, “Ray-Ban Justin”)

[dayalopticals]

How to Spot Authentic ray ban Sunglasses: A Guide to Buying ray ban Sunglasses Original

Ray ban sunglasses have become a staple in fashion, offering timeless style and unmatched quality. Whether you're looking for the classic Aviator, the bold Wayfarer, or the sophisticated Clubmaster, ray ban has something for everyone. In India, ray ban sunglasses are incredibly popular, and while that speaks volumes about the brand’s appeal, it also means counterfeit versions are all too common. Knowing how to spot authentic ray ban sunglasses is essential to ensure you’re investing in genuine, high-quality eyewear rather than wasting money on fakes. In this guide, we’ll walk you through the key signs of authenticity, tips for buying ray ban sunglasses in India, and how to confidently inspect your purchase.

Spotting Fake ray ban Sunglasses: Key Signs to Look Out For

When it comes to ray ban sunglasses original, there are several telltale signs that differentiate genuine products from counterfeits. By paying attention to details, you can ensure you’re getting what you paid for.

Frame Quality

Authentic ray ban sunglasses are known for their sturdy construction and quality materials. If you come across a pair that feels flimsy, lightweight, or has visible flaws like rough edges or misaligned parts, it’s likely a fake. The frames of genuine ray ban sunglasses are built to last, offering a solid feel that counterfeit versions simply can’t replicate.

Logos and Engravings

One of the most obvious ways to identify authentic ray ban glasses is by checking the logos. Genuine ray ban sunglasses feature the brand logo on the top right corner of the right lens. It should be clean, crisp, and perfectly placed, without any smudging or misspelling. Additionally, look for the "RB" engraving on the left lens near the hinge—this should be etched in, not just printed, which is a common flaw in counterfeit models.

Packaging and Case

Authentic ray ban sunglasses come with a high-quality case, usually black or brown, and a microfiber cleaning cloth with the ray ban logo. The packaging should also include an instruction manual and an authenticity card. If any of these components are missing, or if the packaging looks cheap or poorly printed, you might have a counterfeit on your hands. Original ray ban cases are well-made, with a soft interior and sturdy feel, not flimsy or easy to tear.

Tips for Buying Authentic ray ban Sunglasses in India

With so many options available, it’s important to know where and how to buy ray ban sunglasses in India to ensure you’re getting the real deal.

Choose Authorised Retailers

The safest way to purchase ray ban sunglasses original is to buy from authorised retailers. Brands like ray ban work with a network of trusted sellers, and purchasing from these sources reduces the risk of buying counterfeit products. You can visit official ray ban stores or reputable optical shops like Titan Eye+ or Lenskart, which often have ray ban collections. If you prefer online shopping, make sure the website is an authorised seller; the ray ban official website is always a reliable option.

Verify the Price

The price of ray ban sunglasses India can be a clue to their authenticity. While prices vary depending on the model, most original ray ban sunglasses fall within a certain range. If you come across a pair that seems unusually cheap, it could be a red flag. Always check the official ray ban website for the average price of the model you’re interested in and compare it with what’s being offered. If the deal seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Check Seller Reviews and Authenticity

When shopping online, especially on marketplaces like Amazon or Flipkart, make sure to read seller reviews and verify their authenticity. Check for high ratings, detailed customer reviews, and pictures of the actual products received by buyers. Authorized sellers will also have a seller badge, indicating they have been vetted by the platform. Avoid buying from new or unverified sellers, as they might be selling counterfeit products.

Inspecting ray ban Glasses: Final Checklist Before Purchase

Even after selecting a trusted retailer, it’s essential to inspect your ray ban glasses or sunglasses closely before completing your purchase. Here’s a quick checklist:

Serial Number and Model Code

All ray ban sunglasses original come with a serial number printed on the inner side of the left temple (arm). This code includes the model number, frame size, and lens details. Make sure the code matches the details on the packaging and authenticity card. Counterfeit versions often have incorrect or missing serial numbers, so it’s a critical detail to check.

Engraved Logos and Hinge Quality

As mentioned earlier, check for the “RB” engraving on the left lens and the brand logo on the right lens. Additionally, inspect the hinges closely. Genuine ray ban sunglasses use high-quality metal hinges that are securely fastened to the frame, providing a smooth and firm movement when opening or closing the glasses. If the hinges feel loose or cheap, it’s a warning sign.

Lens Quality

Authentic ray ban sunglasses offer crystal-clear lenses with UV protection and anti-glare technology. The lenses should feel durable and show no signs of warping or distortion when you look through them. Additionally, many models come with polarized lenses, which should have a sticker indicating this feature. If the lenses appear too thin or scratch easily, they’re likely not genuine ray ban glasses.

Why Investing in Authentic ray ban Sunglasses Matters

Buying original ray ban sunglasses is not just about owning a fashion statement; it’s also about investing in quality and eye protection. Genuine ray ban glasses provide UV protection, ensuring your eyes are shielded from harmful sun rays, which is especially important in a country like India with its bright, sunny climate. Moreover, authentic ray ban sunglasses are built to last, offering a better overall experience and greater durability compared to counterfeit options.

By knowing how to spot the signs of fake ray ban sunglasses and where to buy genuine products in India, you can make an informed decision that ensures you get the style, comfort, and protection you deserve. Remember, while the ray ban sunglasses price in India might seem high compared to knock-offs, the quality, durability, and protection they offer make them well worth the investment.

So, next time you’re on the hunt for the perfect pair of ray ban sunglasses, keep these tips in mind. Not only will you be safeguarding your investment, but you’ll also be enjoying the timeless style that only authentic ray ban glasses can provide. Happy shopping!

[rabbitcruiser]

National Sunglasses Day

Everyone loves a good set of shades… so why not grab your best sunglasses and make some waves at the pool, beach, or just walking down the street with your sweet shades. Make sure you’re wearing some sunglasses and join in the fun of National Sunglasses Day on June 27!

National Sunglasses Day timeline

12th century Ahead of the Times

The Chinese wear sunglasses with lenses made from flat panes of smoky quartz.

1752 Experiments

James Ayscough starts experimenting with tinted lenses in spectacles.

1900s Sunglasses Become Popular

Sunglasses become widely used, especially among Hollywood celebrities.

1937 Classic Aviators

Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses become the hottest accessory with celebrities and the rest of society.

National Sunglasses Day Activities

Treat yourself to a new pair!

Wear your favorite pair and coordinate your outfit

Buy a pair to give to a friend

Get yourself that pair you've had your eye on, or one you didn't before today. Browse online, in a convenience store or even a corner store and find your next favorite pair of glasses. Whether you've been meaning to buy those super pricy Maui Jim's or you just pick up a pair of $5 shades from the corner store you're doing yourself a favor and are guaranteed to look cool. According to one of the top San Diego PR Firms, only 40% of Americans wear sunglasses for their eye-saving properties.

Pick out your favorite pair and wear an outfit that matches your sunglasses! Can you create a whole outfit based on the shades you pick? Are your frames purple, do you have a matching purple shirt that you can pair with it? What about matching your purple socks? You know you want to.

There are few fun $5 gifts that could be as useful or as fun as a pair of sunglasses for your best friend. Go ahead and get some bestie matching sunglasses. They are sure to love it and you can match for at least on day! Post your sunglass bestie selfie to social media!

Why We Love National Sunglasses Day

They make you look attractive (and fun!)

They protect your vision

They keep you from getting wrinkles

No joke, science has shown that sunglasses make us look more attractive. There are a few reasons for this 1) The cover up and offer a structure of symmetry onto your face. No face is perfectly symmetrical but sunglasses hide that! 2) They add an air of mystery: when you cannot see someones eye movements, they appear more mysterious and 3) the historical link between glamor and movie stars, who adopted sunglasses in the 1950s to avoid paparazzi.

You don't need to buy the most expensive glasses to get the most effective UVA and UVB protection; even the cheap ones from the grocery store spinning racks are doing you a huge favor! Even if the sun doesn't hurt your eyes UV rays that can cause photokeratitis, pingueculae and permanent retinal damage, if you are exposed to them frequently. Look for sunglasses that protect you from 99 to 100 percent of both UVA and UVB light. This includes those labeled as "UV 400," which blocks all light rays with wavelengths up to 400 nanometers. Don't worry they aren't hard to find.

Sunglasses help prevent wrinkles in two ways 1) they keep your eyes relaxed and prevent squinting, which helps prevent crows-feet wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, and 2) the block harmful skin damaging and cancer causing UV rays from reaching the sensitive skin around our eyes. Wear sunglasses for health and to look awesome. Double win!

Source

[keratoconusgroup]

Recommended Eye Drops

I've never really bothered to use eye drops, but now that I've been diagnosed with Keratoconus I'm going all on on eye care and wellness. I've never bothered to use eye drops, or even wear sunglasses, ever, so I grabbed a pretty nice pair of Ray Bans. I'd greatly appreciate some recommendations on eye drops, I grabbed a coupon from my doctors office for Refresh, but never bothered to ask anyone there. Anyone have any over the counter drops they swear by? I'm seeing some are pretty pricey, which I don't mind paying, but I truly can't imagine the benefit of difference between a cheap, or expensive bottle. Please enlighten me submitted by /u/Sweaty-Dingo-2977 [link] [comments] https://www.reddit.com/r/Keratoconus/comments/1acblhw/recommended_eye_drops/?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

[daypopvip]

Decoding the Ray Ban Myth: Are All Ray Ban Sunglasses Polarized?

Ray Ban, a renowned name in the eyewear industry, has been creating iconic sunglasses for decades. Known for their timeless designs and superior quality, Ray Ban sunglasses have become a must-have accessory for fashion-forward individuals. Amidst the myriad of options offered by Ray Ban, a common question lingers: Are all Ray Ban sunglasses polarized? Let’s embark on a journey to uncover the truth behind this intriguing myth.

1. The Polarization Enigma:

Polarized sunglasses are designed to reduce glare and enhance visual clarity, making them ideal for outdoor activities and driving. While many Ray Ban models are indeed polarized, it is essential to understand that not all of their sunglasses possess this feature. Ray Ban offers a diverse range of lenses, including both polarized and non-polarized options, catering to various preferences and needs.

2. Identifying Polarized Ray Bans:

To identify whether a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses is polarized, there are a few cues to look out for. One notable feature is the “P” or “Polarized” label typically found on the lens. This handy indicator assures buyers of the polarized nature of the sunglasses, guaranteeing reduced glare and improved visual experience. Additionally, Ray Ban usually provides a certificate of authenticity, ensuring the credibility of their polarized sunglasses.

3. Styles and Polarization:

Ray Ban offers a plethora of sunglasses styles, including the iconic Aviators and Wayfarers, as well as newer additions such as the Clubmasters and Justin frames. It is important to note that while some models within these collections are polarized, others may not be. So, before indulging in a Ray Ban purchase, it is recommended to check the product description or consult with a knowledgeable retailer to confirm the polarization status.

4. Visual Comfort vs. Polarization:

While polarized sunglasses are generally favored for their glare-reducing benefits, it’s crucial to remember that polarization does not necessarily equate to superior visual comfort for everyone. Some individuals might experience visual distortion or difficulty reading certain digital screens when wearing polarized lenses. In such cases, non-polarized options from Ray Ban might be a better choice, providing excellent eye protection without compromising visual clarity.

5. Personal Preference Matters:

Ultimately, the decision between polarized and non-polarized Ray Ban sunglasses boils down to personal preference and specific needs. Polarized lenses are highly recommended for individuals engaging in outdoor activities under bright, reflective conditions, while non-polarized lenses might be more suitable for those seeking a broad range of versatility in different lighting conditions.

Dispelling the myth, it is clear that not all cheap Ray Ban sunglasses are polarized. While Ray Ban offers a wide selection of polarized models, they also provide non-polarized alternatives, ensuring that customers can choose the ideal option based on their preferences and requirements. Whether you opt for polarized lenses to combat glare or non-polarized lenses for versatility, Ray Ban sunglasses guarantee both style and durability. So, the next time you plan to upgrade your sunglasses collection, make an informed decision knowing that Ray Ban has the perfect pair for you, polarized or not!

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Shop for the latest collection of branded sunglasses online in Mumbai. Get the best deals on top brands like Ray-Ban, Oakley, and more. Tutakhia Opticians has got you covered! Shop from our wide range of stylish and high-quality sunglasses from top brands. Visit us now and get the perfect pair of sunglasses to protect your eyes and enhance your style. Enjoy free shipping and easy returns. Order now!

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How to Spot Fake Ray-Ban Sunglasses: A Complete Guide

Ray ban sunglasses are not just eyewear; they’re a fashion statement. Loved by celebrities, athletes, and everyday style enthusiasts alike, these iconic glasses have earned their place as a must-have accessory for both men and women. However, the immense popularity of Ray-Ban sunglasses has made them a target for counterfeiters. The market is flooded with fake versions that try to pass off as authentic Ray-Bans, which can make it hard to tell if the sunglasses you're buying are genuine or not.

Buying fake sunglasses not only wastes your money but could also harm your eyes since these imitations lack the necessary UV protection. So, how do you make sure you're buying the real deal? In this complete guide, we’ll walk you through the key differences between real and fake Ray-Ban sunglasses, so you can shop confidently, whether you’re searching for Ray-Ban sunglasses for men or Ray-Ban sunglasses for women.

1. Check the Packaging

One of the first things to examine when buying Ray-Ban sunglasses is the packaging. Genuine ray ban sunglasses come in a high-quality, sturdy box with the iconic logo printed on the top. Inside the box, there should be:

A microfiber cleaning cloth with the Ray-Ban logo.

A genuine Ray-Ban case, which could be black, brown, or tan, depending on the model.

Fake Ray-Bans often come in flimsy packaging with a cheap case and no cleaning cloth. If the case feels like low-quality leather or synthetic material, you could be dealing with counterfeit sunglasses. Pay attention to the details, such as the stitching and overall finish.

2. Inspect the Logo on the Lens

A clear sign of real Ray-Ban sunglasses is the logo on the top corner of the right lens. The logo should be crisp, with even spacing between the letters. It should also be etched, not painted or printed on the lens. In contrast, on fake sunglasses, the logo may appear blurry or even smudged.

For many Ray-Ban models, including both Ray-Ban sunglasses for men and ray ban sunglasses for women, there’s also a subtle "RB" etching on the left lens. This etching is incredibly fine, and counterfeit models often fail to replicate it. Always run your finger across this etching. In real sunglasses, you can feel it slightly raised or smoothly etched into the lens, but in fakes, this detailing may be absent or poorly done.

3. Examine the Hinges and Frame Quality

Ray-Ban sunglasses are known for their premium build quality. The hinges on authentic Ray-Ban sunglasses are durable, sturdy, and offer a smooth open-close motion. Whether you are buying classic aviators or trendy wayfarers, the hinges should feel solid.

On the other hand, fake Ray-Ban sunglasses typically have loose, wobbly hinges, making them feel cheap when you open and close the temples. Also, the weight of the frames can be telling. Real Ray-Bans have a substantial feel, while fakes may feel too light or overly heavy due to the use of inferior materials.

4. Look for the Model Number and Other Markings

Each genuine ray ban sunglass comes with specific model information printed on the inside of the temple (arm) of the frame. This includes the model number, frame size, and lens details. If you’re unsure about the model number, you can always check it online to ensure it matches the product you’re purchasing.

Fake Ray-Ban sunglasses often lack these details, or if they are included, they can be inaccurate or poorly printed. Make sure that the numbers are clear, evenly spaced, and not smudged. Also, authentic Ray-Ban sunglasses will include a "Made in Italy" label, as most of their models are crafted in Italy. Counterfeiters sometimes miss out on this essential detail, or include it but with inaccurate fonts or spacing.

5. Test the Lenses for Clarity and UV Protection

One of the most significant advantages of genuine Ray-Ban sunglasses is the superior lens quality. Real Ray-Ban lenses offer excellent optical clarity and provide 100% UV protection. If you notice any distortion when looking through the lenses, they’re likely fake.

Fake Ray-Ban sunglasses might claim to offer UV protection, but often, they don't. You can test this by taking them to an optician or using a UV flashlight to check whether the lenses block UV rays effectively.

6. Look for the CE Marking

Genuine Ray-Ban sunglasses sold in Europe and many other regions carry a “CE” marking, which indicates they meet European safety standards for eyewear. This marking is usually printed on the inside of the temple. Fake sunglasses may not include this marking, or it could be poorly replicated.

7. Price Check – Too Good to Be True?

One of the easiest ways to spot fake Ray-Ban sunglasses is the price. If a deal seems too good to be true, it probably is. Ray-Ban sunglasses are a premium product and are rarely sold at massive discounts, especially when they’re new. If you come across a pair priced far below the market rate, you should be sceptical. Always purchase from authorised retailers or the official Ray-Ban website to avoid the risk of getting counterfeit products.

8. Do the Research on the Seller

Before buying, especially online, do some background checks on the seller. Look for customer reviews, ratings, and any signs of poor reputation. If you’re purchasing from a third-party platform, verify that the seller is an authorised Ray-Ban distributor. Checking for seller reviews can often help you avoid getting scammed.

Conclusion

When it comes to iconic eyewear, Ray-Ban sunglasses hold a special place in the fashion world. They are more than just accessories – they are a blend of function and timeless style. Whether you’re looking for ray ban sunglasses for men or Ray-Ban sunglasses for women, making sure that you’re getting an authentic product is crucial.

By following the tips mentioned above, you can confidently spot fake Ray-Ban sunglasses and make sure you invest in genuine, high-quality sunglasses that not only look great but also protect your eyes. So next time you’re shopping for your next pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, remember to keep an eye out for these details, and you’ll never be fooled by counterfeits again!

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National Sunglasses Day

Everyone loves a good set of shades… so why not grab your best sunglasses and make some waves at the pool, beach, or just walking down the street with your sweet shades. Make sure you’re wearing some sunglasses and join in the fun of National Sunglasses Day on June 27!

National Sunglasses Day timeline

12th century Ahead of the Times

The Chinese wear sunglasses with lenses made from flat panes of smoky quartz.

1752 Experiments

James Ayscough starts experimenting with tinted lenses in spectacles.

1900s Sunglasses Become Popular

Sunglasses become widely used, especially among Hollywood celebrities.

1937 Classic Aviators

Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses become the hottest accessory with celebrities and the rest of society.

National Sunglasses Day Activities

Treat yourself to a new pair!

Wear your favorite pair and coordinate your outfit

Buy a pair to give to a friend

Get yourself that pair you've had your eye on, or one you didn't before today. Browse online, in a convenience store or even a corner store and find your next favorite pair of glasses. Whether you've been meaning to buy those super pricy Maui Jim's or you just pick up a pair of $5 shades from the corner store you're doing yourself a favor and are guaranteed to look cool. According to one of the top San Diego PR Firms, only 40% of Americans wear sunglasses for their eye-saving properties.

Pick out your favorite pair and wear an outfit that matches your sunglasses! Can you create a whole outfit based on the shades you pick? Are your frames purple, do you have a matching purple shirt that you can pair with it? What about matching your purple socks? You know you want to.

There are few fun $5 gifts that could be as useful or as fun as a pair of sunglasses for your best friend. Go ahead and get some bestie matching sunglasses. They are sure to love it and you can match for at least on day! Post your sunglass bestie selfie to social media!

Why We Love National Sunglasses Day

They make you look attractive (and fun!)

They protect your vision

They keep you from getting wrinkles

No joke, science has shown that sunglasses make us look more attractive. There are a few reasons for this 1) The cover up and offer a structure of symmetry onto your face. No face is perfectly symmetrical but sunglasses hide that! 2) They add an air of mystery: when you cannot see someones eye movements, they appear more mysterious and 3) the historical link between glamor and movie stars, who adopted sunglasses in the 1950s to avoid paparazzi.

You don't need to buy the most expensive glasses to get the most effective UVA and UVB protection; even the cheap ones from the grocery store spinning racks are doing you a huge favor! Even if the sun doesn't hurt your eyes UV rays that can cause photokeratitis, pingueculae and permanent retinal damage, if you are exposed to them frequently. Look for sunglasses that protect you from 99 to 100 percent of both UVA and UVB light. This includes those labeled as "UV 400," which blocks all light rays with wavelengths up to 400 nanometers. Don't worry they aren't hard to find.

Sunglasses help prevent wrinkles in two ways 1) they keep your eyes relaxed and prevent squinting, which helps prevent crows-feet wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, and 2) the block harmful skin damaging and cancer causing UV rays from reaching the sensitive skin around our eyes. Wear sunglasses for health and to look awesome. Double win!

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