#even though its the same prescription/frames

[wuntrum]

i have an eye doctor's appointment tomorrow so i'm finally gonna get a new pair of glasses...truly the end of an era (the same eyebuydirect clear frames ive had for 6 years)

[parablesystem]

round frames are cute but we have a small face so idk if we can pull them off. and also the last time we let a new member choose our glasses, it didn't end very well (picked a colour that only rly worked with their own favourite outfit)

gotta remember not to let the new guy front when we pick new glasses. he'll definitely want to choose round frames and we'll be stuck with them for the next few years

[ari-the-silly]

Day 5 of rtc oct- Headcanon :P

I have kinda a lot but most wont come to mind rn so lets just take them like this

The fact that Penny and Ezra named every single of the monsters under their bed, i made a post about it some time ago and its now officially my headcanon

Mischa was one of those kids that his mom had to forcefully drag him inside when he was playing in parks with his neighbours

Ocean cut herself bangs and now hides them with her headband

Penny and Ricky would've kissed under the slides as kids. Their parents caught them and grounded both

Constance didnt want to work at the Blackwood café when she was younger, she wanted to be a nurse, but gave up when she started learning how to bake

Ricky draws. OFTEN. He has hidden drawings of Zolar around his room

Constance crochets for the choir plushies

Noel, Ocean and Constance were like a trio in kindergarten and everyone pushed them to stay together since pre-k to senior year

Mischa has 1 plushie he managed to keep since when he was in ukraine. It is an ikea shark plushie (BLÅHAJ)

Talia is a scene kid

Ricky has given all of his 14 cats very silly names (such as Soup or Giggleshitter)

Talia's mom and Mischa's mom know each other and the two found out way too late, they used to have playdates when they were babies

Penny and Talia are best friends after the accident

Constance is very good with kids and loves them, but when she was younger she despised the idea of having a sibling. She started crying and shouting that her brother wasnt part of their family when her parents came home with him

Talia is the worst influence there exists on this earth and she doesnt even do it on purpose

Noel doesnt talk to anyone about Monique

Noel will never admit it, but he is closer to Ocean than with Constance because him and Ocean were forced together by their parents

Noel is #1 blackrose shipper

Ricky and Constance #1 nischalia shippers

Mischa is #1 spacedolls shipper

Noel, Ocean and Talia are theatre kids

Talia moved to Uranium for Mischa (right after he died)

Talia's name "Talia" is an inside joke between her and Mischa. Her actual nickname is Naty (which is an actual nickname used for the name natalya)

I dont care what others say, Talia and Noel would be best friends. Their names come from the same exact latin words and both mean Christmas. AND ALSO I feel like Talia would get along with Noel so well even though Noel is probs dying over Mischa and Talia is literally dating him. They would both go over their favourite movies and actors and everything and it would just be so wholesome and heartwarming

Ocean is an ace lesbian (WOW WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED WHAT AN OBSERVATION)

Talia is a fan of the movie thirteen(2003) and The Virgin Suicides

Ricky has pictures of the whole choir on his wall. He didnt necessarily want them, but he keeps them there (they are all stacked in the same picture frame and the others are just pics of his cats)

Penny has patches in her uniform. Every single time she does a shenanigan, she manages to somehow ruin her uniform even more. All of the patches are colourful and vibrant next to the dull uniform

Ezra has a favourite cat of Ricky's. Its Meowser, a siamese cat. Meowser hates Penny.

Ezra probably cant see through his glasses anymore cause he either broke them and scratched them so much they are foggy or his vision has changed and he needs a new prescription

Ocean also needs glasses but she refuses to get them

Ricky had braces

Penny needed to have braces (she has an overbite) but didnt have hoe to get them so now she had slight crooked teeth

Talia and Ocean straighten the hell out of their hair

Ocean is gonna be bald by the age of 35 if she doesnt stop straightening her hair

Talia dyes her hair

So does Constance

Ricky dyed his hair to black and hates it then went blonde and hated it then went back to his natural hair colour and decided to never dye his hair again

Noel keeps trying to make Ocean dye her hair black or brown, Ocean always refuses saying that dye is artificial, toxic and bad for the enviroment

Ocean rants about anything and everything

So does Noel, but people get him better than Ocean

THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW PRETTY BASIC SHIT ANYWAYS AYAYAYYAYAAYA :33

[ridiasfangirlings]

what if saru is secretly blind because he think its weakness and something people will pick on him about like nikki he is hiding it well because of his other strong senses or maybe ability to feel like Anna and contact lenses so no one knows or noticed aside from munakata because he is munakata an accident reveals his secret what would be septer 4 and some of homora boys ( yata and kusanagi especially) to that

Imagine he’s maybe like legally blind but he does have some small close vision that he’s relied on, and his glasses give him some slight ability to see as well. Like he started losing his eyesight at a young age but he always had the same prescription because his shitty parents never bothered to take him to the eye doctor after the first time, Fushimi just keeps getting new frames and using the same lenses even though he knows they’re far too weak. He doesn’t want to admit that he can’t see though, like he doesn’t think it will make any difference anyway. Kisa would never take him to the eye doctor so he would have to go on his own, and Niki would just laugh at him and start putting traps in his way for him to run into. Due to this Fushimi manages to largely adapt to his disability without it being noticeable, like he gets glasses which are strong ‘enough’ that he can see vague blurry outlines and can read things very close up, he hacks his PDA to be extra magnified so he can use it and he even manages to somewhat train his senses to make up for what he can’t see. 

When he meets Yata Fushimi doesn’t mention anything about being blind, he’s worried that Yata will think he’s like less amazing if he has this disability (and imagine sometimes he almost slips and the moment where it’s most terrifying, when the jungle surprise party happens and he tells Yata to run and then suddenly all he can see are hazy red flames everywhere and he feels Totsuka putting arms around him but it’s so loud he has no idea where Yata is until Yata finally comes running back to him). He largely manages to hide it in Homra too, though I imagine Kusanagi and Totsuka both having some inkling that there’s something ‘off’ about the way Fushimi navigates around the bar. Anna is aware immediately and imagine she does subtle things to help Fushimi if he’s around her, like positioning herself in a way that he can see her moving around obstacles and avoid them himself. Fushimi mutters that he doesn’t need her help and she better not tell anyone, and Anna just looks at him silently in response. 

Then when he joins S4 of course Munakata knows, because Munakata always knows. He doesn’t say much about it, just quietly supplies Fushimi with a new pair of stronger glasses that, while they certainly don’t solve his issue, do at least make it slightly easier for him (if nothing else they help cut down on the persistent headaches Fushimi was getting from wearing a far outdated prescription all the time). Munakata never mentions the blindness to Fushimi directly and Fushimi is fine with that, but then imagine one day post-ROK he mentions it unaware that there are others around — or he was aware, and trying to give Fushimi a little nudge to be honest about things at last, like he’s talking to Fushimi in the hospital when Fushimi’s recovering from his injury right after ROK. Munakata tells Fushimi they should have him checked over back at S4 as well, in case his blindness has worsened and he needs a new prescription for his glasses. Fushimi clicks his tongue and complains about it, and that’s when the door opens all the way and Yata’s standing there with Kusanagi and some of the S4 alphabet, all shocked because since when was Fushimi blind. 

Fushimi clicks his tongue and glares at Munakata, who smiles all innocently back. Kusanagi sighs and says he did think there was something up with Fushimi and Yata’s all wait you did, why did no one tell me. Imagine Fushimi’s just waiting for all of them to start looking down on him, to make comments about him being defective and instead Hidaka speaks up all in awe like you mean you could barely see all this time and none of us could tell, you really are amazing Fushimi-san. Fushimi’s struck silent by that as all the alphabet boys agree (Doumyouji offers to draw his reports in even larger pictures going forward and is given a firm ‘no’), like the fact that they couldn’t tell and yet Fushimi has been doing everything all this time is just so impressive to them. 

Yata I imagine being a little upset at himself, like he was Fushimi’s best friend and couldn’t even realize this thing about Fushimi and even worse, Munakata did. He does think it’s amazing that Fushimi was able to hide it so easily but imagine later him wanting to know why Fushimi never told him, like weren’t we best friends. Fushimi mutters that it had nothing to do with Yata and Yata’s like yeah it did, if you needed help or something I wanted to be there for you. Fushimi says he doesn’t need Yata’s pity and Yata’s like it’s not pity to want to know if my best friend needs help, if I could have done anything to make things easier for you I would’ve done it a million times over, even if it meant copying boring school notes and printouts. Fushimi says he’s always been fine without being able to see and he doesn’t need Yata treating him differently, Yata says he isn’t looking down on Fushimi or anything, he was always going to watch Fushimi’s back before and he’ll keep doing it sight or no sight, it’s just important to him that they’re being honest with each other.

[operation-steal-chans-laptop]

Forgive my brain for this one bubby, had to get it out of my head,

Han jisung + your glasses

Now you don't really have a prescription for glasses but given that your screen time is as much as it is, you do usually wear a pair to avoid headaches from high bright light exposure (lets presume so because well I do in this case yes I'm being self indulgent and no I shall not shame myself about it)

Sungie coming back from a grocery run on your common day off which was interrupted by some last minute tweaking your client asked you to get done so you were currently just hyperfixated at your laptop.

"Ah the glasses are out today, looks like it'll take you some time hm?"

You reassure him and say it won't take long but it did end up taking a bunch of hours. Jisung could have done anything in that while but why would he when he could daydream about you. When you keep your hair up with that big claw pin and a few baby strands just frame your face so perfectly it's artistic to him. And your glasses,

Especially, your glasses

The way they sit on your nose and accentuate your pretty eyes so much and gosh you almost become a different person when you wear those and goddamn it do they make you look professional,

And hot, authoritative and very hot

He wishes if he had a desk job, maybe the ones with the CEO's and their big offices, and fall in love with you, the newbie secretary with the pretty faces and who looks so hot when she's focused.

Maybe he could call you in, because behind closed doors you are really his loving girlfriend, the one who he sleeps next to each night even if you can't go home by the same car. And maybe he can just ask you to lock the door behind you and kneel next to him on a particularly stressful day,

And maybe with a little bit of whining and begging he can definetly ask you to blow him off, help him calm down a bit yeah? Ofcourse you'll agree, right?

And right when you're about to take your glasses off he can pout at you and ask you to pleaseeee keep those on for him you look so hot he can barely breathe around you properly.

But here's the catch,

You could make him blow his load in under 2 minutes if you wanted to but you decide to take your time with it, letting him enjoy it as much as he can but Jisung had a mission because he wanted to cum, he really did, not down your throat though, he loves it but not today,

You both feel him getting closer and right when you were about to suck him harder to let it go all down your throat, jisung pushes your head away from him.

He hold your head with his right hand with his left still pumping his dick, a strained plea of "stay there please?" And you obey because gid knows what goes on in his head but its usually hot as fuck.

And it was

When he aimed his spurt right at your glasses. He paints your lenses with his essence and gets some on your cheek too but oh fuck he could cum again just by looking at you. (Spoiler: he almost did overstim himself too much at how you looked)

You were caught offguard to say the least, oh man and what if,

What if roles were switched and you wanted to-

The bedroom gate opens, you're still in a big t shirt and some shorts, hair up, and glasses.

Jisung's shorts don't really feel as comfortable rn.

"Gosh that client was a complete pain in the ass, ruining my day off too, any ideas of dinner?"

" I don't have an idea for dinner necessarily, but I do have an idea angel...."

~~~

Yours lovingly

- 💌

Ahzbcjxbxjcidncjfjfncjtj BUBBY?!?!!?! YOUR BRAIN??????

As much as the glasses make you look professional and sexy, in a way they also make you look more innocent? The big framing seemingly making your features softer

he’d think it’s so cute and hot when you have your glasses on with your hair up messily and an oversized shirt on?!?!?!?! Han would not be able to stop thinking about all the dirty things he’d do to you, and how pretty you’d look falling apart on his cock, the glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose

I CANT THINK PROPERLY

[maletofujoshi]

some thoughts on story structure in elden ring

i’m starting to view a lot of the game as like, being compromised of cyclic narratives- separating stories of the world cycle and the individual cycle- the world narrative encompasses things like circumstance, grief, relations between things/definition/domination. there are also "individuals" who are more representative of the world than themselves: gods & lords mostly, though you could imagine some outer gods here as well. primarily also the realm of like, evocative spaces + environmental storytelling. the individual narrative is the struggle of the individual to apprehend the world- currently i see it as individuals becoming either objects of the world, reflections of it, or becoming agents in their own right, acting irrespective of the world as it is, though idk if this conception can really hold. for example a "lord" is a character with agency (mhm) but is more a fixture of the world via great man theory n shit. this side is more in-text narrative + emergent narrative through struggle and mastery.

I'd largely define the world (or civilization?) narrative in stages: great conquest/development -> abundance and a golden age (usually in the core at the expense of the periphery) -> stagnation, suffering, wounds -> abandonment by a "mother" -> universal despair, grief, remembrance + return of things once pushed into the periphery

um so this is obviously a bit prescriptive. but like idk. places you can see this are farum azula, leyndell/the erdtree, haligtree, belurat/tower... arguably the nox as well but like their deal is more like, what develops in the periphery parallel to the core, and they lack that sense of abandonment by someone with their grief coming more from utter defeat. there's some stuff to be said about uhl/uld and the mushroom lords as well, but that's all too vague and speculative lol.

and similarly with the individual narrative: abandonment by/failure of a "mother" + the child bearing a wound (all living characters deal with some kind of loss, or simply present declining circumstance) -> exploratory phase (creating an inner "order" to define self away from external chaos) -> either despair or continued striving (flame of frenzy/flame of ambition) -> martyrdom (or continuing as you were, if lucky.) + at any point you can just like. die normal styles largely it seems like the "fail state" of despair is achieved when one is too obsessed with worldly suffering, or is just too keyed in to the world to really be a person. when i say despair i don't just mean literally like yellow frenzy stuff, i believe the same initial despair leads different characters to differing representations of the world, either in the three fingers, the golden order, the formless mother, miquella, etc. like even ymir is just sitting in his cathedral all day talking about there being no hope for redemption. for characters that don't fall into despair and instead are able to properly self define, death still comes, but they are usually able to effect things greater than them. Millicent returns the sense of self Malenia (and potentially you) abandoned, Melina becomes the fire that burns the erdtree, the three mending rune authors all gestate some kind of new ideology...

im kinda working with certain ideas of chaos and order and of responses to both here, which are kinda vague for me at the moment. there's also a game-spanning motif of like, wounded children seeking answers/simulacra after abandonment by previously wounded mothers, which i think connects. its as much mother and child as it is world and individual and that frame probably explains the more fluid elements of the dynamic better... currently this is kinda exploratory and vague. I'd like to revisit this idea laterrrrr since this is pretty poor analysis currently

[notnights]

Random fun acetate ribbun fact? Good fic!!!!

As in this is your fun fact, or you're asking me for a fun fact? (Either way thanks hehe.)

Uh lets see fun fact. I mentioned this the other day but deleted it because I don't like giving away too much about a story though it's technically not spoilers either but like people to figure out the beats themselves. But ehh uhhh:

Its about Kinger and Queenie being the original hanahaki case in the in the story. I dropped a few hints about it, but I don't know how well it came across. It's hard to know what a reader's view might be compared to yours when you know all the twist and turns you put in ya know?

Since we know nothing about those two yet, I kind of threw them under the narrative bus in the sense I used them in whatever way I wanted to help with the story lol. One day we're gonna find out what their deal was, and my fic will be outdated as it possibly depicts them as completely inaccurate. (Imagine they're divorced.)

I was originally going to leave just a single hint in chapter one as a solo; Kinger mentioning he was vomiting up affection. As well as him explaining how yellow camellias symbolize longing; fitting for them in the Digital Circus. They long for an escape; it's their default flower. And then him gifting camellias to Queenie, was meant to imply he was also vomiting up those same flowers.

I however ended up adding more hints in chapter 3 and 4 though. I'll leave those as a surprise to reread for unless folks can't find them and want me to point them out.

This was meant to be evident to the audience, but not to the characters. As every time the couple come up I also have Gangle look at them as a frame of reference. She admires this love they had, that she never saw herself. How nice it must have been compared to this horrible love story she's experiencing now. But she is blissfully ignorant that Kinger and Queenie also had a rough start.

Admittedly NOT as rough of a start as Gangle and Jax did of course. I like to imagine Caine gave them the same prescription but, Queenie was neutral about Kinger before then, unlike Gangle who already resented Jax. And Kinger was kind to Queenie prior to his illness unlike Jax who's been nothing by terrible to Gangle even after falling for her.

So we can assume our King and Queen chess piece had a more typical hanahaki story. A bit reluctant at first, but ultimately became a loving couple. That the second Digital Circus hanahaki couple puts on a pedestal to compare themselves to, without even knowing they also suffered from similar (but less intense) problems.

I also like to think Kinger forgot the details of this event himself. He remembers being sick, Queenie nursing him back to health, him being very affectionate, namely in giving her a lot of flowers. But he doesn't specifically remember the case itself. Maybe doesn't even remember these being connected.

He has vague recallings, such as Caine taping up the door, Gangle showing him rare colored flowers then mentioning Jax is sick, but sadly it's not enough to bring the memory back in full. Just thoughts of "huh this seems familiar..."

Likewise, if Caine forgot, you know poor Kinger did, as I imagine Caine's memory is a lot sturdier than Kinger's. My excuse for Caine forgetting is that, if he's an AI, he still has limitations due to the computer he's attached to. Could be fantasy digital with endless memory and infinite terabytes, but for this lets say he only has so much memory to work with.

So finer unneeded details get deleted to ensure he continues to have space for new ones. Recognizes what hanahaki is, but doesn't have the specific name or exact reference for it until he looks it up again. Doesn't remember who was involved in the original case, or how exactly it was resolved. Just that "we had this before; this fixed it! Somehow!" He didn't delete the memory completely because, what if this happened again! Needs to hold onto a piece of it just in case.

So uh anyways there's the implied and hidden Kinger and Queenie lore in my fic.

And you also may be wondering how exactly was Kinger capable of throwing up you may be wondering? ???? ????

????? ?????? ?? ?? ???

[maaarine]

The Hours (Michael Cunningham, 1998)

“When she looks in the medicine-cabinet mirror, she briefly imagines that someone is standing behind her. There is no one, of course; it’s just a trick of the light.

For an instant, no more than that, she has imagined some sort of ghost self, a second version of her, standing immediately behind, watching. It’s nothing.

She opens the medicine cabinet, puts the toothpaste away. Here, on the glass shelves, are the various lotions and sprays, the bandages and ointments, the medicines.

Here is the plastic prescription bottle with its sleeping pills. This bottle, the most recent refill, is almost full—she can’t use them, of course, while she’s pregnant.

She takes the bottle off the shelf, holds it up to the light. There are at least thirty pills inside, maybe more. She puts it back on the shelf.

It would be as simple as checking into a hotel room. It would be as simple as that. Think how wonderful it might be to no longer matter. Think how wonderful it might be to no longer worry, or struggle, or fail.

What if that moment at dinner—that equipoise, that small perfection—were enough? What if you decided to want no more?

She closes the medicine-cabinet door, which meets the frame with a solid, competent metallic click. She thinks of everything inside the cabinet, on the shelves, in darkness now.

She goes into the bedroom, where her husband is waiting. She removes her robe.

“Hi,” he says confidently, tenderly, from his side of the bed. “Did you have a nice birthday?” she asks. “The greatest.”

He pulls back the sheet for her but she hes­itates, standing at the side of the bed, wearing her filmy blue nightgown. She can’t seem to feel her body, though she knows it’s there.

“That’s good,” she says. “I’m glad you had a nice time.” “You coming to bed?” he says.

“Yes,” she answers, and does not move. She might, at this moment, be nothing but a floating intelligence; not even a brain inside a skull, just a presence that perceives, as a ghost might.

Yes, she thinks, this is probably how it must feel to be a ghost. It’s a little like reading, isn’t it—that same sensation of knowing people, settings, situations, without playing any par­ticular part beyond that of the willing observer.”

[new-royston-cursebreakers]

Hi! I'm a writer who works at a glasses shop, so lemme add a few more points to the list!

Not all is lost if a lens pops out, though many of our customers come in feeling that way! A lot of the frame's repair-ability depends on its style. And you should always bring the popped-out lens to a glasses place to have us pop it in for you, all of this is for characters who may not have that option.

Lenses can pop back pretty easily into plastic frames as long as the frame itself is intact, though it may take some heating up to do so (the frame, NEVER heat the lenses! And don't heat the frame too much, it might warp too out of shape to fit the lens back in!). The lens goes back in through the front of the frame and snaps into place.

Metal frames often work the same way, though there are some metal frames that are held together by a screw. If that screw is lost, you'll need a new one before you can put the lens back into the frame.

Semi-rimless frames need a bit of extra care. The top part of the lens pops into the upper half of the frame like normal, but the lower half of the frame has to be threaded in, and it can be difficult to do so without snapping the line.

If a lens detaches from a rimless frame, you're fucked. Though I survived about a year and a half with semi-broken rimless frames where the screw was loose but not all the way out.

Thinner lenses are easier to replace than thicker lenses. Thin lenses come from either small prescriptions or more expensive lens materials.

YOU CANNOT BUFF A SCRATCH OUT OF A LENS. The prescription is on the surface of the lens, so you ruin the prescription by doing that. In addition, buffing the lens removes the coatings, which could include things like UV protection, blue light filters, mirror coats, and transitions.

Speaking of, that thing where glasses turn into sunglasses is called transitions. A lot of transitions don't work in the car, and a lot of them come with a base 10% tint, which means you'll essentially be wearing mild sunglasses all the time. And it's true that they take a while to turn back. UV light is what causes them to change.

OP mentioned nearsightedness and farsightedness, officially called myopia and hyperopia. There are a few other problems that glasses can correct:

Presbyopia is an age-related condition where the lens of the eye loses flexibility. This is why many older people need reading glasses in addition to 'normal' or distance glasses; they're both nearsighted and farsighted.

Astigmatism is another common condition where the lens of the eye is oblong rather than perfectly round. This can cause light to appear slanted, stretched, or starry. Personally, I know I could survive without my glasses if not for my high astigmatism correction. Even with glasses, I still see lights as slanted, just not as badly.

You can (read: should) only use certain materials to clean lenses. For cloths: only microfiber cloths (which some shirts are made out of, but we always say to never clean your glasses with your shirt.) For liquids: nothing with ammonia or bleach. Technically, you should be cleaning your lenses with water + soap or lens cleaning solution and a microfiber cloth, since cleaning them dry can rub dirt into the lenses and cause scratches.

You can adjust your own glasses with enough brute strength. But please reserve this for characters. Please. We do adjustments for free and have access to a frame heater and know how much force to apply before they break. Please let us do it.

Reiterating OP's point: GLASSES DO NOT MAKE PEOPLE UGLY. The right pair of glasses can accent your face in the same way that makeup can! In fact, many people get multiple pairs to use as fashion accessories. And I find that when people look at people who normally wear their glasses without glasses, they notice that the size of their eyes is different without lenses in front of them, and it can be a bit uncanny for them.

Wearing glasses does not make your vision worse. That is a myth. Vision naturally gets better or worse over time whether or not it's corrected.

I'd be glad to answer any other questions on the matter! And thank you again to OP for sharing your experience as a glasses wearer, I just wanted to share some of what it looks like from the other side of the help counter!

Some notes for anyone writing a character with glasses, from someone who wears glasses everyday:

- glasses need to come off before changing a shirt, unless it has a really big collar. Otherwise, glasses will get ripped off by said shirt collar.

- weather will affect how well you can see out of them, especially rain. Raindrops will dot glasses and it’s like trying to drive a car in the rain without working windshield wipers. Snow sometimes does this too, but not as bad, and lots of dust kicking up will make glasses dirty and foggy. If it’s humid enough (talking like swampy, Deep South levels, weather app says “90-100% humidity”), glasses will fog up when you step outside. If it’s crazy windy, glasses can fly off and the character should hold onto them or take them off and put them somewhere safe. They’ll usually get dirty or break in a pants pocket, so maybe have character carry around a sturdy glasses case if needed.

- not all materials are good for wiping glasses off. Some shirt materials just make it worse.

- if your character’s glasses are super dirty or smudged, they will be able to see it 24/7 as they look around and it’s annoying af.

- although glasses can keep things from getting in a character’s eyes (like something that’s been sprayed), it doesn’t protect our eyes all the time, especially if it’s coming at an angle or there’s a large amount. For that, you’d need actual safety glasses or goggles (and yes, they do make prescription goggles, but they’re not cheap).

- speaking of waves, for the love of god, DO NOT have your character swim with their glasses on. At best, they’ll get wet and they won’t be able to see. At worst, if they’re forced underwater or an ocean wave smacks them in the face, they’ll fly off and/or break.

- a crack in glasses is actually annoying af and makes it very hard to see.

- if a character’s face is wet, like from sweat or a ton of rain, their glasses will continuously slide down their nose and they’ll need to keep pushing them back up.

- lots of liquids other than water will make glasses opaque.

- glasses should be fitted pretty well to a person’s head. So if the character’s face is dry or there’s a moderate amount of wind, the “legs” that go behind their ears should be tight enough that they don’t just constantly fly off or slip down their nose. If they do, they’re too big (but obviously something a tornado will make them fly off).

- although I hate the whole “they took off their glasses and now they’re a ✨ model ✨” trope, people do tend to look very different with glasses on vs off - especially a character like Harry Potter who constantly wears their glasses. It’s not unrealistic that people who don’t know the character well (or even those who do, but just aren’t as quick) won’t recognize them at first without their glasses.

- as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve never been able to do this), if a lens pops out of the frames, it can’t be popped back in by non-professionals without the right tools. The glasses are just done for.

- if your character has contacts in (or this is a psa for anyone who wears contacts), DO NOT have them rub their eyes. The contact will pop out and they’re very translucent and tiny, so trust me, it will just fall and be lost forever.

- being able to see clearly out of one eye and not the other (like with a broken/missing lens or a contact falling out) causes headaches.

- glasses are expensive af in the US (idk about other places). One time when I didn’t have vision insurance, an eye exam and two frames with lenses (I have blue eyes and very extreme light sensitivity, so have to have prescription sun glasses as well as regular glasses) cost over $900USD. If you want the special frames that become tinted and basically turn into sunglasses when you walk outside, it will cost extra.

- speaking of those lenses that become tinted when you walk outside, they take awhile to fade back to normal after you go back inside. Your character needs to be prepared to still be “wearing” sunglasses for the first 5-10 minutes after they walk inside.

- if a character is wearing contacts, they can wear normal sunglasses. If not, they’ll need special prescription sunglasses to be able to see. You cannot wear prescription sunglasses with contacts in or you won’t be able to see anything. Ever tried to look through your friend’s glasses and everything’s weird and warped and giving you a headache? That’s what it will look like.

- not exactly glasses related, but people with lighter colored eyes will always have worse light sensitivity than people with darker eyes. I have very blue eyes and looking up at the sky on a sunny day will literally make me see stars, and especially if I’m driving towards the sun while it’s setting, I have to have my sunglasses on or I literally will not be able to see and tears will be leaking out my eyes the whole way home.

- speaking of prescription sunglasses, unless your character can see pretty far without their glasses or they’re far sighted, you cannot just take prescription sunglasses off and still be able to see, especially while driving. You just have to deal with it and keep the sunglasses on and look like a Matrix wannabe if it gets cloudy or starts raining, or you have to do the super speedy Dance of Death where you’re still watching the road in front of you, taking off one pair of glasses and putting the other on super fast (which usually requires you to use your mouth to open and close things).

- GLASSES ARE FRAGILE. Seriously, a very petite person could sit in them and snap them in half. They’re not something you want your character just throwing around.

- there are varying levels of how well someone can see. There’s farsightedness and nearsightedness. Some people don’t have that much trouble and can see pretty far, so only wear their glasses as needed. But some people (aka moi) can genuinely only see a few inches in front of their face. Like if I ever lost my glasses or they broke, I’d be done for. I wouldn’t be able to work or drive or do anything around the house.

- glasses need to be replaced about once a year because of possible prescription changes or sometimes lenses losing their strength and becoming harder to see through. Trying to tough it out after long enough will give your character headaches/migraines and sore eyes from eye strain.

- some mascaras (especially thick ones) will smudge glasses when the character blinks. Same with false lashes (although they’ll brush instead of smudge). Usually less intense mascaras and shorter fake lash lengths are better.

- eye makeup is harder to see with glasses on.

- please, please, PLEASE stop using the whole “omg look how much prettier/more attractive they are without their glasses” trope. Not everyone’s eyes can handle contacts and some people prefer wearing their glasses. And it makes those of us who prefer glasses or have to wear them feel like shit, especially because there aren’t a lot of characters with glasses in media who don’t become the butt of a joke (ie the one wearing glasses is the “ugly duckling” for it like in princess diaries, or like Velma from scooby doo always losing them and patting around, or people who wear glasses will always be some sort of dorky/insufferable know it all).

- glasses come in all shapes, sizes, and colors and can be used to actually enhance a character’s style! Some of them even have magnetic frames that click in place over the simple pair, so have fun using glasses to build your character’s style.

- edit to add: no one ever purposely falls asleep with their glasses on. You will crush and break them when you roll around. However, if a character does accidentally fall asleep with them on, a love interest gently taking them off so they don’t wake them up and setting them on the table next to them can be a super cute moment.

- whoops thought of some more. Hair products, especially hairspray, can be a bitch to get off glasses and doesn’t always just rinse off with water. If they’re spraying anything, including dry shampoo, the glasses have gotta come off and get out of the line of fire first.

- hair can and will get caught in the little hinge by the legs and we do occasionally not notice till we take our glasses off and rip a hair out of our heads.

- be careful when you comb or brush, cuz if the glasses legs get caught in the brush or comb, it will be ripped off our face.

Hope this helps! May the writing gods bless your work 🤓

[webionaire]

A good image is created by a state of grace,” Chilean photographer Sergio Larrain once said, and he spent much of his life in the pursuit of that elusive condition. His book Valparaiso, evoking the history and hidden currents of life in Chile’s Pacific coast port, was originally published by Editions Hazan in 1991. Two years later Larrain compiled the materials for an expanded version, though he didn’t want it published in his lifetime. Larrain died in 2012 and that book has finally arrived. With its mix of photography and Larrain’s handwritten notes, poems and letters, as well as an exquisitely-crafted essay by his friend and Valparaiso-dweller, the poet Pablo Neruda, it amounts to a philosophical design for living. His images of what he called “a miserable and beautiful port” were taken from a body of photographs compiled between 1952 and 1992, and range from brooding panoramas of docks and ocean to quickly-grabbed frames of barbers, fishmongers, rain-dripping flights of steps, wild flowers, stray cats and dogs, young girls, wandering sailors, a wristwatch or a window-frame, and glimpses of a raucous nightlife. In between, Larrain adds notes on his personal spiritual quest as well as an ecological prescription to rescue a planet spinning out of control.

////Even more than to Cartier-Bresson, whom he loved and revered as his mentor, Larrain in his art bears a resemblance to another great photographer, Robert Frank. The year he was invited to join Magnum, Larrain was in London, where Frank had photographed seven or eight years before. (Interestingly enough, they also both took pictures in Peru; to my mind, Larrain’s are far superior.) Both men documented in London the processions of bankers, with their bowler hats and brollies; the crowds of working people, carrying coal or geese; and most of all, the fog, which powders their black-and-white prints. They sometimes composed their scenes by using windows that framed and obscured their subjects.

Larrain was unaware of the photographs of Robert Frank, which were as yet unpublished. Instead, he admired the London photographs of the British photographer Bill Brandt. Still, the gray, grainy textures of his pictures are closer to Frank’s than they are to the dark, sharp photographs of Brandt. The pictures by Larrain, recently published in the book “London. 1959,” bear such a family resemblance to Frank’s that in one instance — a photograph of commuters walking across a bridge, with a double-decker bus behind them— the images might be drawn from the same contact sheet.

///

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It is lunchtime in Valparaíso in 1952. A photographer is standing at the top of one of the stairways that criss-cross this crumbling port city on the coast of Chile. A girl in a pale dress, her dark hair in a bob, walks down the steps carrying a glass bottle. The photographer asks her to stop so he can take her picture. As he is preparing his shot, another girl walks past him, also going down the stairs, also wearing a pale dress with her hair in a bob, also carrying a bottle — an eerie doppelgänger. A strong diagonal shadow falls across the scene, its line brushing the first girl’s left hand and the second girl’s left foot. The photographer clicks his shutter. It was, he said, his first magic image.

More than 30 years later, Agnès Sire, a young Frenchwoman working at Magnum Photos in Paris, found this picture in their archives. She didn’t know who it was by, so she asked her colleagues. They told her that it was the work of Sergio Larraín, whom Henri Cartier-Bresson had invited to join the agency in the late 1950s. But less than a decade later he had abandoned photography to live a hermit’s life. He was like JD Salinger with a camera. 

The agency had a PO Box address for him in Ovalle, an oasis town in northern Chile. Sire began to write to him, and slowly persuaded him to allow her to publish his work, which had gone unseen for almost 20 years. In 1991, with the help of the French publisher Editions Hazan, she published Valparaíso. It was a collection of photographs he’d taken there in the 1950s and 1960s. In a text he wrote for Larraín, Pablo Neruda called it a place of “unfathomable snaking spirals”. Valparaíso quickly became one of the most collectable and influential photo books. It did not so much document the place as the feeling of moving through it and glimpsing it in passing: its stray animals, poor children, loitering men, sailors and prostitutes. The book’s reputation was fed by myth as well as mastery. Larraín had long since disappeared. It seemed like the work of a ghost.

But his years of obscurity, it turned out, were not years of artistic inactivity. In 1993, he sent Sire a maquette for a much larger book on the same subject. To her surprise, he had been returning to Valparaíso to take pictures and to paint right up until 1992. He’d discarded some images from the previous book, rearranged others and added many more. The new pictures were different from the old: whereas before he had captured the life flashing in front of the lens, now he made motionless, close-up pictures of plants or the surface of water in a pond or droplets clinging to iron railings. 

The images were interspersed with texts. Some were about walking the city in a mood of meditative calm; others about “satori”, a word from Zen Buddhism meaning an intense experience of the here and now, which Larraín used to describe both his ideal state of mind and his ideal picture, as though he wanted his inner life to have the stillness of a photograph. But the peace was interrupted by paranoia. In several pages of incoherent notes, he railed against the destruction of the planet through pollution, overpopulation, the “parasites” who live off other people’s taxes and the “predators” of big business. “We are going towards a garbage deposit turning around the sun,” he writes, “inhabited by millions of people attacking and robbing each other permanently, forever.” 

[oftarotandnoodledragons]

Seventy-Three: Five of Cups (Reversed)

Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. -William Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part III

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe. -Homer, The Illiad

Regret, they say, is the most expensive thing in the world, but it’s a lie. Regret is free; you get to have as much regret as you want. And then, when you’re done wanting regret, you find it’s yours to keep forever. -William Barton, Down in the Dark

It's the final straight in this steeplechase and I'm determined to see it through, even if I don't feel as ready as I could be with each card between now and the end. June 13 would mark the 10th anniversary of me starting this journey and I don't want it to come to that before I make it through. Right now, once more, I've been given a challenge to surmount, but, like with the Two of Cups, the challenge lies in its message more than coming to terms with the meaning of this card.

Moreover, the meaning of this card is quite clear: | |i || |_. If that sigil doesn't mean anything to you, welcome to the internet. The Five of Cups is about loss and, as I interpret it, how one deals with that loss. Being of the Cups, it naturally lends itself to the emotional aspects of it, with Bunning's other themes being that of "bereavement" and "regret"; of course, the main theme she identifies is the big one associated with this card. I feel it would be a purely academic move to contrast what Bunning, Thirteen, Esselmont and Fairchild each have to say about the card when their messages are very similar and their perspectives are like different prescriptions of lenses in the same frame design. Though, as this blog is a de facto review of the Tarot Nova then Fairchild does need to be singled out, especially when he states that things are not as they seem, to keep one's emotions in check, be wary of deception and illusion, reinforce one's beliefs with facts and demand others do the same and to take care of unfinished business. Whew, that's a lot to associate with "loss", "grief" and "regret", isn't it?

This is where my summary interpretation of "how one deals with it" comes in. If we look at the traditional RWS image, the grieving figure is looking down at the Cups whose contents were lost, and cannot see the two behind them. Paschkis takes a different route: a figure is under an umbrella as four Cups rain down on them, with the fifth upturned in their hand. Other than depicting responsibility for at least one of those Cups, the thing that strikes me about her image is that the figure is disguised by that umbrella and is so deep inside it that they cannot see out of it. This is, as Bunning puts it, the most acute pain of loss and, as Thirteen and Esselmont allude to, its blinding and seemingly all-consuming nature. The blindness here is how I interpret Fairchild's response: more as cautions one needs to take in this state. Yes, sure, given what the loss may be one may be drawn to feel compassion for the depicted figure, be that the querent or another subject, but it must be kept in mind that not everything in the figure's universe is lost. The choice right now is to wallow in self-pity, perhaps even due to some old wounds and self-blame, as Esselmont puts it, and while dealing with one's emotions is naturally healthy, the way forward (says Thirteen) is to have the strength not to look at what was lost, but what one still has.

It seems rather prescriptive to have just this answer to the card's energies, but I feel it's really at the core of dealing with its energies. Even if one doesn't feel they have the strength to look at their upright Cups, the answer does form another guise: forgiveness. Forgiveness is a very powerful counter-energy here, and doing so does take a lot of strength; but in a way, it's also a catalyst. One of the ways that this card can refer to loss is in disappointment with another, and that blindness can be to that other person's good qualities: here, forgiveness is vital to moving on. Finally, as Bunning and Esselmont write, a loss is an opportunity for change, and loss is the emotional response to change, but one can (perhaps in time) see the blessing in disguise as new opportunities for growth have presented themselves. A plant that has been pruned will put its energy into new growth.

The Five of Cups has a very easy Upright interpretation and response, so what about the Reversal? Fairchild prescribes to not be overburdened by chores and responsibilities, to rise above petty politics and while friends may be supportive one should take time out. I see it as an evolution of the Upright energies, perhaps, in a more muted tone. Of course, doom-and-gloom Thirteen opines that everything is lost, but that is such a basic and limited view to have. I am so thankful that I have found Esselmont's interpretations because here I'm finding resonant energy, and until I took in what she had to say I have to admit I was fearing this card because it presented such a damning energy at face value regardless of orientation. She suggests that perhaps one's had a setback of some sort, or made a wrong choice, and they want to keep it secret; but, they're suffering from it and she prescribes turning to those one trusts for counsel. It could also be that one needs to accept that the past cannot be undone, or even that they're now in a state beyond grief where they're learning to open up once more, or that they've realised the lessons learned from the experience.

But what I found resonance with was Esselmont's other interpretation, that of self-forgiveness. Coming off the back of the Two of Cups' call for self-love, this card reinforces the message of the other for me. It's a process that is part of this metamorphosis that I've been undergoing for some time, where I'm coming to reconcile with myself, with who I am. Learning to let go of the emotions that I've harboured for many years is difficult and forgiving myself is challenging. Hindsight is very clear and having that clarity is what I hold myself accountable with and judge myself by. That, I can see, is not a healthy thing to have, even if I feel like I should have known and should have done: because "should" is a word that denotes obligation from somebody else. That somebody else is, well, myself. I spoke about the high standards I hold myself to: the feeling that I need to be 120% so that the extra 20% makes up for feeling of being worth only 80%. I am my own worst critic, and while I have made strides in not listening to that voice and not giving in to the negativity, it is very difficult. The blessing of this card is that I now see, perhaps clearly for the first time, that self-forgiveness is a key to my happiness. I don't feel like I can just write "I forgive you, self" in response to last post's apology and all will be fine and dandy, though. It needs to be an ongoing process. I need to regard my mental self-flagellation as a chronic disease that I must tend to, both the symptomatic scarring that's resulted, and putting down the whip. I've gotten better with the latter, so as to not make any new wounds, but tending to those old wounds (hey, that's an aspect of this card) as well is something that I feel like I've neglected in the hope that they'd go away. Well, they haven't. Self-forgiveness. Work on it. Do it.

With the end of the Cups, the suit of emotions, comes an emotional breakthrough. I feel this journey started very strongly in the Suit of Cups, where I was dealing with some very strong emotions but, in the course of ten years, I feel like I might be getting somewhere. Of all the Cups to provide clarity and closure, it's the one that I ended up fearing the most. In and of itself, I think that is a pertinent lesson to take out of the journey.

And journey on I shall, into the last five cards. And with five cards to go comes the last Five, yet another card I've been wary of: the Five of Pentacles. And, guess what? It's Reversed too! The cards have much left to teach me. Bring on the challenge.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much 

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

-

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?” 

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.  

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

-

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?”  Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

-

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

-

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

-

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

-

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

-

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.  

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of  how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,”  you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

-

[sage-nhu]

With a heavy sigh, Sage sat down on the closest park bench, eager to get off her feet. She had been out all morning, running errands and getting some more things for the nursery. While she hadn’t hit the worst of it, lately she found herself wanting nothing more than to clean her apartment and organize the baby's things. Her aunt said she was probably doing something called nesting, but she thought that was bullshit. After all, who doesn’t like a clean apartment and knowing that every new thing that came into their home had its own place? She placed her numerous bags beside her on the bench and pulled out a onesie she had purchased. Jesus, it was so fucking cute. Even before she had gotten pregnant, she loved looking at baby clothes. They were just so tiny and adorable. However, now they also filled her with fear because soon enough that adorable little onesie she held would be on a baby. A baby that some idiot doctors would let her leave with, with the expectation that she could keep it alive. Something she wasn’t sure she could do on her own now that she thought about it. When she first decided to keep the baby she was all ‘girl power’ and ‘I don’t need a man’, and while she still stood by the not needing a man bit, she did wish that she had someone, because this was a lot. Before long she was going to have some screaming infant depending on her for survival and while she could keep plants and a cat alive, she didn’t think a baby would be quite so easy. And sleep. She was really going to miss sleep. She shook her head with a soft sigh before her attention was pulled from her spiraling thoughts as she refolded the ominous little onesie. Turning her head, she finally noticed that this bench wasn’t entirely unoccupied just as her companion spoke up. “I did not,” she answered honestly, thankful for the distraction. Her gaze drifted from the woman’s face to the little bumblebee on her hand. She always loved bumblebees even though she was fairly certain one had either bit or stung her when she was a kid. They were cute little things, but she had no idea they had quite so many eyes. “I think that would be pretty cool, but that really would be a lot of contacts. Cost a fortune too. Though, I suppose you could ask about bulk pricing, and the glasses would be insane. Unless you get frames big enough to cover all of them. You just have to hope they’re all the same prescription.”

open @bhqextras

where: somewhere outside

"Did you know that bumblebees have five eyes?" Marina asked the nearby person. Looking at the fuzzy bumblebee perched on her hand, she grinned. "Two big ones, three smaller ones. Could you imagine having more than two? I think it would be neat, but that would also be a lot of contacts to go through in a day."

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hi! I hope you are well.

This is a question that's like an itch.

I don't know if I should ask but I am asking anyway 😁

Watching CV 01x04 The Long Pig again (for the nth time) and I am fairly convince that Sara & Gil have the same frame on their eyeglasses.

Because when Nora Cross gave Gil the access to the case files, he wore his glasses. Then when Gil informed Sara that he got access to the case file from Nora Cross, she was wearing the same glasses. I don't think the glasses teleported to Sara after Gil wore them.

Am I correct or am I hallucinating? 🤣

Appreciate your response. Always 😊

hi, @hiei29!

while there are indeed two pairs of glasses in episode 01x04 "long pig"—the ones grissom wears when nora cross gives him the files at pd and the ones sara is wearing when he comes home to her at the hotel later that night—i tend to believe that both of them belong to grissom.

my reasoning?

like many people entering their fifties, sara seems to be developing the first stages of farsightedness*—see, for example, in reboot episode 01x08 "pipe cleaner," how she holds her phone away from her face in order to be able to read the screen when the undersheriff calls her—however, we never actually see her wear glasses aside from during the scene in question, a point which suggests she doesn't actually own a pair of her own.

* outside of the universe of the show, jorja fox of course regularly wears glasses, not just for reading but across the board.

baby girl isn't vain, so if she had glasses, she'd wear them, especially while at the lab working on the investigation, having to read over official documents with small, cramped print.

the fact that she doesn't whip out a pair of "cheaters" every time park or penny passes her a printout of test results therefore suggests that she doesn't actually have any to be whipped out.

ipso facto, both pairs of glasses in episode 01x04 "long pig" are most likely grissom's.

like many an "absentminded professor" with a tendency to get distracted and leave pairs of spectacles lying in random places around the houseboat, baby boy likely owns at least two pairs of reading glasses, in this case, one of which he takes with him to pd for his interview with nora cross and the other of which he leaves back at the hotel, lying on the nightstand.

it is this latter pair that sara commandeers and is wearing at the time when he comes in to present her with the files.

as for why sara doesn't own her own glasses even though she seems to (at least occasionally) need them:

if her farsightedness is something that's fairly recent in its onset, then she may not yet be to the point where she has actually gone to the ophthalmologist and gotten prescribed glasses of her own.

instead, she probably just "borrows" grissom's glasses as needed, a system that generally works for them when they're living in tight quarters on the ishmael, probably with a pair of his prescription readers in every compartment of the cabin, within easy reaching distance, but which breaks down a bit when they go to vegas and suddenly their work and their residence are, for the first time in many years, in two separate places—hence why we do occasionally see sara squinting to read things while they're on the job.

while admittedly it could be possible that sara has glasses of her own (and that she just so happened to choose the exact same frames as grissom), i personally favor the idea that she is an opportunistic glasses thief not only for the practical reasons outlined above but because of the cute factor.

imagine after the dozenth time grissom walks into the berth on the ishmael to find sara in bed, reading a novel and wearing his glasses:

“you know, we could get you a pair of your own, darlin’.”

“i don’t need one; i have you.”

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

romantic trey + 👓

Order Up!

"Oooh! Try these on next!" you cried out, swiping a pair of glasses off of its display rack. You held them out to your boyfriend, who was busy squinting into a mirror, trying to bring the blurry outline of his face and neon magenta frames into focus.

"What, another one?" Trey frowned into his reflection. All he saw was a fleshy blob and smashed raspberry leaking into it. "Well, alright. I never thought you'd get this invested in helping me shop, but whatever makes you happy."

"It's a nice change of pace!" you insisted, plucking off his current frames and sliding the new ones into place. “You hardly ever change up your style, so it’s cool to have you put on a little fashion show for once.”

“What can I say? I find what I like, and I stick with it.” Trey shrugged, nonchalant. He stared into the mirror once more—and this time, the glasses registered as bits of orange, brown, and black. “... People actually wear things like this? Seems a bit flashy for someone like me.”

“I think it suits you perfectly!”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Floyd calls you Sea Turtle, right? So a tortoiseshell pattern for your frames is a no-brainer!”

“Ahahah... Turtles and tortoises aren’t one and the same, though,” Trey pointed out, “and personally, I think something simple suits me best. I think I’d just about die of embarrassment if I walked around in anything but my usual black frames.”

“Aw, you’re no fun!” you pouted, eyebrows creasing together—even as Trey ran a hand through your hair. “I was really hoping you’d pick something new this time.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. You know I’ll always prefer my prescription glasses.” He chuckled, his lips arranged in a patient smile. “As soon as I put them on, it’s like the world has shifted. Then... all at once, everything looks different, because I can see you.”