#but generally it’s just blurry and pixelated and too far away to really tell

[lesbiangallagher]

took the day off today to spend my birthday eating my favorite food, playing my favorite game, listening to my favorite music, lying down in my softest sheets, having some of my favorite weed, talking with my favorite people, and enjoying my first day of being 28 !!!!!! 🧁🩷🥰 taurus nation TAP IN

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

two years too late, chapter t h r e e 

You were sitting at your desk on Monday morning when the message came through. Alyssa’s name lit up your screen, the house emoji sat beside the small letters as your hand jerked forward to grab it out of habit. 

Alyssa (10:21am): THERE’S A PHOTO OF US AND HARRY

Alyssa (10:21am): Can’t see our faces tho don’t worry

Alyssa (10:22am): Just the back of your head and my ear, really

Shit, shit, shit. 

She’d attached the picture and sent it: your arm, your hand, your hair. Alyssa’s ear and jaw, Erica’s leather jacket and unmistakably, Harry’s shoulders and back. You looked it over again, studying the image as you pinched it to zoom in. 

You couldn’t tell that was you. No way. Unless your mother or sister was looking, Jessie and Bryn might not even be able to tell. It was dark and the quality of the picture was poor but you could definitely see that you had a drink in your hand. You could also see that you were stood remarkably close to Harry. 

Fuck. 

You took a deep breath, hoping to steady your pulse and ignore the way your vision was blurry in the corners. 

“Question!” 

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, looking up quickly to see a startled Whitney with her hand on her chest--just as alarmed by your reaction as you’d been by her presence. “Sorry, hi.” You dropped your phone quickly, letting it crash down to your desk. 

“Sorry, oh my god,” she let out a big breath, rebounding from the adrenaline as a laugh escaped her lips. “I was just hoping we could meet later. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“No, m’sorry--you just--proper scared me,” you said, leaning back in your chair and blinking a few times--your heart still catching up with your brain.

“Your performance review is overdue,” she said. “We were supposed to do it at the six month mark, but you know how things are,” she waved a hand to dismiss the timeline. 

“Sure, yeah. After lunch?”

“Two-thirty? We can meet in my office.”

“I’ll come to you,” you nodded, offering confirmation before she turned to walk away. 

You picked up your phone again quickly, new messages from Alyssa coming in faster than you could read them. 

Alyssa (10:24am): OKAY just kidding there’s one of your face. Blurry though!!!!

Alyssa (10:24am): From down below. Someone must have taken it looking up to the balcony where we were?

Alyssa (10:25am): You would never know that was you

She was trying to reassure you, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest as all of the thoughts flooded through your brain like a tsunami, waves quick and forceful. 

Okay, so it wasn’t like knowing Harry was the end of the world. You’d been doing that for nearly 13 years and you’d managed fine enough. The problem, as you saw it, was more along the lines that your employer and coworkers had no clue that someone your website wrote about frequently was recently spending his nights on your couch with a glass of wine in hand. 

Something about that sounded weird, and you were sure that Whitney wouldn’t go for it. 

You pulled up the new photo, holding the screen uncomfortably close to your face to study the grainy pixels. Of course--the one moment that he slung his arm around your shoulders was the one this person had chosen to capture. 

Y/N L/N (10:26am): Where are these? Can we get the person to take them down?

Alyssa (10:26am): They came up on my instagram explore tab. Random fan accounts. 

Y/N L/N (10:27am): Fuck. 

Alyssa (10:27am): I don’t think you should worry. They’re so blurry you can’t even tell if you’re a man or woman. 

Y/N L/N (10:28am): Great even better!

You dropped your phone into your desk drawer after telling Alyssa to keep an eye on the photos. She was right: they were blurry. You were hoping with everything in your soul that Carly was too busy to even check the internet today (unlikely, seeing as your job relied on that), or if she did, that she’d be too excited about the new gossip to even pause and consider the fact that the hair in the photo looked an awful lot like yours.

So you waited. You contemplated sneaking out to meet Alyssa for lunch, taking a look for yourself at the accounts that had uploaded the photos. You decided against it, though, when you realized that your absence might make you look even more suspicious. Flying under the radar as much as possible seemed like a good option. 

You kept your head in your work: a list about the funniest memes about Christmas, a quick round up of the weekend’s best celebrity tweets. You heated up your lunch and ate at your desk, hoping to avoid Carly at all costs.

You were successful up until you slipped into the kitchen on your floor to fill up your water bottle, hoping to blend in to the late-lunch crowd. Carly stood with her back to you, but soon turned around, her festive red sweater made her hard to miss. Upon meeting eyes with her, you looked down to your watch, pretending as if you’d suddenly remembered a meeting you were late for. 

You weren’t one to shy away from confrontation, but this one didn’t feel totally work appropriate. 

“Haven’t seen you all day,” she said, pulling her lunch from the microwave before offering a smile. “Busy or what?”

“Swamped,” you lied, pushing your water bottle up to the cooler in defeat, the bracelets on your wrist clinking together. “Ate at my desk, been pretty productive, so s’all good.”

“Feels busy around here in general. Christmas and shit,” she shrugged. “There was breaking news this morning that Harry went out on a date this weekend. I don’t know if you saw it--pictures and everything,” she wiggled her eyebrows as if you’d bite at the bait. 

You licked at your dry lips, a heat rising to your cheeks. “Really?”

She nodded, grabbing a napkin from the counter. “Can’t even tell who it is, probably some random model or something. I doubt it’s hard to find someone to sleep with when you’re Harry Styles, though, so--” she turned to head back towards her desk, calling over her shoulder. “Come find me later, we’ll grab a coffee and do edits together!”

You promised you would, thankful for the fact that she was an hour behind her target for the day and still hadn’t eaten. It gave you time to gain composure as you wove through cubes and conversations to make your way to Whitney’s corner office with sweeping city views. 

A sunny and cold day on the other side of the glass windows reminded you that winter was here--the small amount of snow left reflected sunlight like a broken mirror on the ground. Whitney had a folder on her desk and waved you in when you knocked, cell phone up to her ear.

She ended the call and thanked you for making the time, telling you to shut the door behind you, affording privacy to your conversation about your numbers and pay and overall transition into The Scoop. 

You told Whitney that you thought it was going well--you felt up to speed with the platform the website used, felt like you were staying on top of your category (even if it wasn’t your favorite). She complimented you on your ability to use humor in your stories and on social media platforms to enhance the mission of the website, she even said you’d been the second top writer for this quarter. 

“Rarely happens with someone so new,” she smiled, leaning back in her chair as she crossed her legs. “But be real with me--are you liking it? What do you wish was different? Any big fears?”

You bit at your lip, contemplating whether or not to disclose your desire to cover more news. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful or entitled, but you also trusted Whitney to handle any feedback you threw her way. “I mean, I guess I’d be interested in doing some more long form stories. Editorials or something.”

She nodded, waiting to see if you had more to say. When you let your lips press back together in a thin line, she offered a small smile. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” she told you, her tone made it sound like she was letting you down easy. “Gabrielle does most of the editorial pieces and Carly handles a lot of the pop culture news stuff that comes up for the entertainment department.”

You nodded--you knew the hierarchy. Gabrielle had been here longer than both you and Carly combined. She was only a step or two below Whitney and she seemed to sniff out good stories like it was second nature. She almost never wrote a flop. 

“Yeah, no, sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” you said, already regretting the words that you’d let slip.

“You’re not ungrateful,” Whitney said. “You’re looking for more growth. I like that. I’ll certainly keep it in mind, Y/N.”

“I do have a random question,” you said suddenly, the four walls of Whitney’s office feeling like a safe enough place to play out a scenario of what ifs. 

“Yeah?”

Whitney--as hip as she was--likely wasn’t paying attention to every waking detail of Harry’s life. You doubted she saw the photos and you figured you could be vague enough in your question. 

“Has anyone here ever had a conflict of interest issue?”

“Conflict of interest?” Whitney spoke the phrase like she didn’t know what it meant. You knew she did, so you gave an example. 

“Yeah, like, has anyone ever used their own tweets in a story or promoted a friend’s band or--I dunno, been friends with a celebrity that we cover?”

She let out a laugh, as if all of the examples were far fetched and unlikely. “I mean,” she shrugged. “Candace from beauty one time got in trouble downstairs for doing a whole write up on a makeup brand her sister was COO of,” she clenched her jaw and grimaced. “But no one up here--you’re all smarter than that.”                    

Right. Okay. So there was that.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just curious,” you waved a hand in the air, letting a forced laugh out as you looked out the window. “Sounds like a shit show.”

“Yeah--I mean, she got in trouble, but they figured it out. Anything else? I’ve got all of your stuff to proof before I head out early for yoga.”

“Nope, all good on this end.” You stood and gathered your water bottle and notebook. 

Whitney reopened her laptop and checked her phone. “Thanks for meeting with me, Y/N. We love you here and you’ve been a rockstar.”

You offered her a smile, appreciative of the praise and encouragement. Once she let her eyes fall back to her computer, you hurried over to your desk, reaching for your phone and praying that the photo hadn’t traveled any father. 

You composed a quick message to Harry. 

Y/N (3:17pm): Coming to yours when I’m out of work. We need to talk. 

**

The one problem about going to Harry’s after work was that he wasn’t home. So instead of storming into his apartment like you’d imagined, you had to wait patiently in a strange hallway in a big office building in Midtown. 

You checked your watch obsessively. You’d only been there for seven minutes so far, but it still felt like too long. You were rehearsing the words in your head, tiny fragments of an argument playing out before you even had the chance to tell him about the photos or the anxiety that came with them. 

You had no clue where you were. He’d sent another pin of his location and told you to text him when you arrived. A man at the front desk swiped a card for you to enter and instructed you to head to the 49th floor. So here, in another indistinguishable hallway (this time without a neon green wall), you waited. 

“Hi, hey,” his voice sounded from a doorway behind you, your body instinctively moving in the direction of his voice before you even locked eyes. “Everything okay, what’s wrong?”

His arms tried to envelope you, but before they could, you put a hand up to his chest. “We have to talk.”

“Okay,” he drew the syllables out, his head dipping to the side as he looked past your shoulder. “Come with me,” he took your hand and pulled you back towards where he came. Through a doorway, past a few people. A fitting, you realized. He was at some sort of wardrobe fitting. 

People stirred at tables beside you, yellow measuring tapes draped around their necks and white chalk stained their fingertips. He offered a smile to one woman in particular, one who seemed to be more interested in your presence than the others. He pulled you towards the other side of the room, your palm sweaty from the touch of his skin and the swirling desire in your head--the kind you tried (but failed) to ignore. 

Eventually you were in a back stairwell--one that was similar to the hiding spot you’d found last week at work. The door shut behind you, and Harry leaned his head out to ensure that no one was around to eavesdrop, he turned to offer you his full attention. “Alright, go.”

“Did you see the pictures of us?”

“Pictures?”

“Pictures.”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone in your pocket, pulling up Alyssa’s message and opening the two attachments she’d sent. “These.” You flipped it around to let his eyes scan over them.

He hummed and took the phone in his hand, the other reaching to rub the back of his neck. “I take it you’re not happy about it.”

His eyes raised to meet yours, your voice faltering as you spoke. “I--no, I just--I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to work where I work and be photographed with you.”

“Because of your friend?”

Carly--he meant Carly.

“No, not because of Carly. Because of me. It’s a conflict of interest, Harry. I can’t be your friend and potentially have to write a list about the ten funniest things you’ve ever said in interviews!”

He cracked a smile at this, but it faded altogether when you squinted up at him. 

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s blurry,” he brought your phone back to his face and inspected it more. “You can barely tell that’s you. If I didn’t know what you look like, I wouldn’t even guess.”

You swallowed, wondering if he ever studied your features like you did his. The dip in his top lip, the way his eyes crinkled at the sides when he laughed. 

“What’s the big deal, anyway? We’ve been friends forever, a lot of people do know that, you know.”

You couldn’t help but pull a face at his words. Friends forever? You corrected him. “Friends who haven’t had regular contact for the last, like, six years. Haven’t spoken at all in the last two.”

He let a breath out, one that told you he was bothered or angry or something. “Because I thought that’s what you wanted!”

You took a step back from him, suddenly overwhelmed as a thousand questions burrowed their way into your mind. “Whatever--I don’t even want to,” you cut yourself off. You weren’t ready to dig up the details of December 29th or launch into a conversation regarding the untethering of your friend group. “I just--I can’t fuck this job up, it’s a really good job.” 

“You’re not going to fuck it up, Smalls!” His words were harsh now despite the use of your nickname, his eyes wider than before as he tried to reassure you. “It’s just a photo. No one will know that’s you. We’ll just be careful.”

It didn’t feel that easy. 

“I mean, it might get you more reads, y’know.” A laugh tumbled out of his mouth with ease, a complete lack of awareness of the weight his words held. You pulled your eyes up to look at him, a heat in your chest present that he hadn’t ever ignited before. At least, not in the angry sense. 

“Are you implying that being friends with you will further my career and that I should be thankful for that?”

“No, I didn’t--I just mean that people love to read your stuff anyway. S’hilarious. If people knew that we were friends, that would make people really interested in you--more than they already are,” he tried to soften his words, flatten out the intention as if he hadn’t meant what he said. 

You shook your head, your gaze on the cement floor as you wondered why you even answered his text four days prior. Now, as the sun tried to peek through the dirty sliver of a window in the stairwell, answering felt like it was a bad choice. 

“I--okay, Harry--I’ll see you around,” you turned on one foot, hand on the doorknob before he could get in front of you. 

**

Monday, December 11th

Harry S (11:34pm): I’m sorry about today. I wasn’t trying to be a dick. 

Harry S (11:46pm): Sleep well

Tuesday, December 12th

Harry S (10:19am): What are you up to after work?

Friday, December 15th

Harry S (1:15pm): Alright. You’re mad. I get it. I was a dick.

Harry S (1:15pm): Can we please talk?

You always wished you were strong willed. You could be, in a lot of ways. Like the time you and Jessie took a painting class and you were complete shit. You spent hours researching the right brushes for the right types of paint and eventually, you figured it out. The summer heat back home turned sticky as you’d paint in your bedroom at night, a fan blowing sweet relief until you’d climb into cool sheets. 

Or even the time you’d decided to stand up to Holly McAdams in Year 3 when she told everyone that you had cooties. The playground went silent when you called her a liar and told her to put her energy towards good instead of evil. 

But when it came to Harry--you’d never been so lucky. He always had a charm about him that seemed to seep into your brain and turn it all to mush, tiny roots that wrapped around your neurons and seemed to rewire you entirely. Which is why, on Friday afternoon, you finally broke and called him on your commute home.

“Hi,” you said into the phone, holding onto the handrail in your subway car as it rounded a corner. The reception was shitty underground, but you committed yourself to the phone call and would recognize a dropped signal as a sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be. 

“Hi,” he said. 

You waited, unsure if he’d launch into an apology or let you take the first step. Silence.

“Sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I was busy at work and I fucked up a list and Whitney has been out sick--” you realized you were doing it. You were apologizing when you hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been the one to fuck up and now you were apologizing? You back tracked. “And yeah, I mean, you were a dick, so.”

He laughed, the sound immediately easing some of the tension between you. “I get that. I’m sorry--I should have known that you’re not,” he paused. A woman beside you sneezed into her elbow, you inched away from her to avoid contamination, sandwiched between strangers. “You’re not impressed by the fame,” he spoke dramatically, your lips involuntarily twitching towards the sky--or, in your current situation, the ground above.

“I’m sure not. Never have been, never will be.”

“Are you out of work now?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You let out a sigh, you’d been dreaming about it all day. “Nothing--I’m going to sit on my couch and eat a bowl of cereal and pray that I don’t catch whatever is going around the office. I already kind of have a sore throat and I’m not trying to be sick for Christmas.”

“Well,” he laughed. “I wish you the best with that, then.”

A tangle of disappointment in your gut when he didn’t ask you to hang out. 

“Thanks. I’ll--uh--talk to you later?”

“Yeah, Smalls, talk to you later.”

You hung up, sliding your phone back into your pocket and shrinking into your coat for the remainder of the ride. When you climbed the twenty three steps to ground level at your stop, the sun had already sunk below the skyline, traces of light sneaking between the buildings on your block. 

Alyssa had worked from home for the day, turning the living room into an office as she sat sprawled out on the couch. She’d also been coming down with something--her nose red and dry from all of her tissue use. 

“Hi,” she greeted, pulling out her headphones and looking up at you when you came through the door, the room once again lit with the glow of Christmas lights. “How was work?”

“Fine, long, T-G-I-F,” you laughed. “How do you feel?”

“Somewhat better. Still crappy, though. How’s your throat?”

You dropped your purse to the floor and hung up your coat. “Worse than this morning. I talked to Harry though.”

She pulled her earbuds out and grinned up at you. “Was he so apologetic? I feel like he’d feel so guilty knowing he upset you--”

You shot her one of those looks: the kind that told her she was getting too wrapped up in his charm and fame and good looks. 

She cleared her throat. “But he was a dick so he should feel guilty.”

You kicked your shoes off, the leather of your boots falling against the wood floor before you settled into the couch. “He was apologetic--but it was quick. Who knows when I’ll see him next, maybe when we’re home.”

Alyssa bit her tongue--you could see that she had something to say but you didn’t press it, unsure if you had the emotional energy for a conversation about why being friends with Harry again wasn’t the smartest idea. 

She looked back to her screen, finishing up a few emails as you sunk into the couch, your eyes glued to your phone as you read through comments on the picture of you and Harry. 

I bet she’s just a friend--they look totally platonic. 

HE’S TOTALLY DATING SOMEONE! 

Skjdhfkjdshfkjdhk!!!!

The picture is way too fucking grainy how are we supposed to sleuth this one out?!

Alyssa sighed and closed her laptop. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Ugh,” you let out a groan, exiting out of instagram quickly to avoid showing her the things people were saying. If you had to guess, you’d say that Alyssa had a similar nightly ritual over the past few days. Wash her face, brush her teeth, climb into bed and read what strangers were saying about you online. 

The only good thing, really, was that people didn’t know it was you. 

“I’m not in the mood to cook,” you said.

As soon as the words left your mouth, your phone buzzed on the coffee table, the same obnoxious picture of Harry in an apron lighting up the screen as you both brought yours eyes down to the buzzing technology, then back up to each other. 

“Answer it,” she said excitedly, her lips curling towards the ceiling. 

You shot her a look as you reached for it. “Not on the first ring--can’t seem too eager.”

“As if you’re not eager,” she teased, returned the eye roll pleasantry, pulling a laugh from you as you answered the call. 

“Hi,” you said quickly, pressing the speaker phone button and holding it in the air between the two of you on the couch. 

“Hey--I’m following protocol and giving you a warning that I’ll be over in like--eh--four minutes.”

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

Alyssa looked around the room nervously, taking an inventory of the items that were hers. She sprung into action quickly, trying to declutter her home-office--notebooks, sharpies, her glasses and tissues were spread out around the living room space. 

“I’ve got food. Figured you wouldn’t want to cook if you weren’t feeling well.”

Alyssa stopped dead in her tracks, turning to you with her hands over her heart and lips in a lovestruck frown, completely enchanted by his words. You lifted your middle finger in her direction before turning towards the back of the sofa. Alyssa headed into her bedroom.

“You don’t have to do that, I mean--thank you, obviously, but, I totally get it if you’re busy.”

“M’not,” he said simply. “Stuff is dying down now anyway since we’re leaving soon.” You noticed his pronoun choice, casually dropped into the sentence as he kept talking. “I’ll wait until the coast is clear, alright? Just buzz me in when I text you.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Alright.”

Alyssa popped back into the room when she heard you hang up, her brows raised suggestively.

“What?” You asked, your tone slightly defensive as she pulled her head through the neck of her sweatshirt. 

“Just, interesting, is all. Awfully sweet of him.”

You stood from the couch, watching as she bent over once more to gather more of her belongings from the area rug below. “Oh come off it,” you said.

She pulled a face, confused by your slang as she reached for a pen that had wandered beneath the coffee table. 

“S’not a big deal,” you edited your words so she’d understand. “We’re friends.”

She hummed in disagreement, you trailed behind her towards her bedroom, socked feet gliding along the hard wood. Alyssa’s room was dark, the beige walls covered in posters of bands and movies. Her bed was unmade and the floor was littered in clothing of days past. 

You leaned against the doorframe. “How could you think we’re anything more than that after hearing the full story of what happened that night?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, giving you a dismissive look. “S’been a while, things change. You don’t just bring food to your sick friend.”

“Sure you do,” you narrowed your eyes at her. “That’s exactly what friends do, Lyss.”

She picked up a shirt from the floor and folded it into quarters. “Just seems like there’s always been chemistry. One shitty night--as embarrassing as it was--doesn’t mean there’s not chemistry.”

You thought on her words, careful to not let them settle too deep in your heart. They floated in the air in front of you, vanishing altogether when an electric buzz leaked through the intercom by the door.

You ran over--quick to make sure he could sneak in undetected--and held a thumb to the button to grant him entrance. 

Seventy-three seconds until there was a knock on the door, a pizza in his hand, and a bottle of wine pulled from the shelf in the kitchen. Alyssa--who was never one to turn down some Pinot Noir--had chosen the nicest bottle you had. A gift from her mother when she got a promotion. 

Eventually, the three of you were sat around the coffee table, throw pillows serving as seats as you reached for second slices. Music drifted from the small speaker on the bookshelf, the scene similar to that of last weekend, except this time Alyssa was here. It was funny how things with Harry could feel exactly the same as they’d once been, yet entirely different in the same breath.

“Did she ever tell you about the time that we stayed up all night at Jessie’s house when we were fourteen because of some stupid internet challenge?”

Alyssa pulled a smile, her eyes darting over to me quickly. “Of course she didn’t.”

“S’cause it was stupid. You’re the one who barely made it. Everyone else was fine but when five AM came you were seriously dragging.”

He contorted his face into one of mock-offense. “Excuse me for having good sleep hygiene and a healthy need for some shut-eye.”

“You guys were allowed to have co-ed sleepovers at fourteen?” Alyssa asked, holding a hand up in student fashion. She folded her pizza in half, a boat of cheese and grease and pepperoni. 

You let out a laugh, knowing that Harry’d want to explain the mastermind plan that he and Adam had come up with nearly ten years ago. 

“So we did this thing, where the girls would tell their mums that they were at someone’s house. So they’d say they were at Bryn’s, but Bryn would say she was at Y/N’s,” he smiled in your direction--the adrenaline of lying to your parents came back as a small wave, less exciting than in times past but still enough to keep a grin plastered to your face. 

“And the guys would do the same. We always said we were at Adam’s though--and I dunno what Adam would say cause his parents never asked any questions. So then we’d go to Jessie’s because her parents were always away for work, and--yeah, madness would ensue.”

“S’where we first drank, pretty sure that’s where Adam finally called Sophie Kneeland and asked her out over the phone.”

“S’also where Smalls blacked out the first time when we were fifteen or sixteen,” he let out a laugh and turned to Alyssa. 

Her eyes went wide as she folded her legs beneath her. Your stomach dropped though, seeing as now didn’t feel like a good time to recount all the times you’d done stupid things when you were drunk. You could probably spend hours on that topic alone. 

“Okay--alright, anyway,” you said, clearing your throat quickly. A car horn beeped outside, momentarily shattering the safety of the cozy room. 

“Hey, also,” Harry wiped at his mouth with a napkin and pointed a finger at your roommate. “Did you appreciate my warning--a whole five minutes!”

“Four,” you said, his eyes rolling in response to your correction. 

“Better than zero,” Alyssa nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Maybe we can work you all the way up to asking before you show up,” she teased.

Harry frowned at this. A dimple appeared in his cheek and he looked over to you quickly. “I brought food--” his gaze drifted back to Alyssa. “And enough for you, if you forgot.”

“You should have seen her cleaning up all her shit in here,” you laughed. “Notebooks every where, like a bomb went off.”

“I was working,” she defended. “What did you do today, Harry?”

“Hmm,” he thought aloud. “Woke up at eight--went to the gym. Showered and finalized the set list for the next leg of tour. Had a meeting with my manager and PR team about what’s coming up after the holidays. Lunch, then I had to go back to a fitting for more wardrobe stuff. Talked with Erica about the flight home, side note,” he looked to you. “Then I got your call and decided to come here.”

You were both quiet for a second--Alyssa had been challenging him, her assumption that he’d had a quiet day that couldn’t have nearly been as busy as hers. He took a deep breath and took a swig of wine. 

You knew that he was busy--you’d always assumed that being famous came with plenty of downfalls and responsibilities, but hearing them all listed out in succession without a breath in between made induced a wave of guilt to pass through your veins. 

Of course it was hard for him to keep in touch, if even his slower days looked like that. 

“But about the flight,” he pointed a finger at you and then set his wine glass down. “Two tickets on the red eye for the 20th. I’d say we could charter something but first class on the big planes is always really nice. They give you a free eye patch.”

“Eye patch?” Alyssa asked, her tone drifting up in confusion. 

“The ones you sleep with.”

“Eye mask,” you nodded.

“Oh whatever, you knew what I meant,” Harry squinted his eyes and reached for the bottle for a refill. 

“What do you mean a big plane, though? How big are we talking?”

“The double deckers--they have little cubbies in first class. Little doors and everything--super private, which is nice.”

“You fly on public planes?” Another question from Alyssa--your personal peanut gallery--as you watched Harry take the stopper out of the bottle before pouring more into his glass. 

“Yeah--s’better for the environment.”

Alyssa’s eyes went wide and she got that same look when he’d said he was bringing food--her brain and heart melting inside her, almost spilling out onto the oriental rug.

“Alyssa,” you said her name quickly as you stood from your orange and yellow throw pillow seat. “Want to help me with something in the kitchen?”

“What? What do you need help with?”

“Uh,” you looked around the room, trying to think on your feet. “The leftovers--the pizza.”

Harry, sat on the floor between the two of you, looked up. “I can help.”

“No.” You said quickly. “You stay. Pick a new playlist,” you instructed, hoping that a responsibility would keep him occupied. You gave Alyssa a prompting look, causing her to reluctantly stand and follow you around the corner to the kitchen.

“Can you not with the faces?” You asked, turning around once you were shielded by the wall between the two rooms. “Any time he says something relatively endearing you look like you’re about to combust or orgasm or something.”

“If I was about to orgasm, you’d know it,” she smirked, her voice low and sultry as you rolled your eyes. You’d grabbed the pizza on your way, so you reached into a drawer for aluminum foil and then tossed the box into the garbage.

“You get my point.”

“I do--but come on, Y/N! He’s literally acting like your boyfriend! Buying you a plane ticket even though you already have one? Bringing you dinner because you mentioned in passing that you weren’t feeling well? And now he’s climate conscious, too?!”

You passed her the foil-wrapped pizza and she put it into the fridge. A shrug of your shoulders, as if to dilute the air around you. 

“He’s alright,” you said, the words an act of self-defense, an antidote for the love potion Alyssa was verbally concocting. 

She rolled her eyes when she turned around to face you. “Relax, will you? It’s alright to be into him.”

“No it’s not, Alyssa,” you said, your voice more firm now. “You don’t know him, okay? You don’t know what happened back then and the way our friendship was and--just, leave it alone, alright?”

She paused, her eyes scanning your face, both of you staring at each other in silence. The kitchen clock ticked on the wall, seconds scattered through the room. 

Harry’s voice floated above the music from the other room, “some classic Christmas tunes, yeah?”

So you left it at that. There was no need to defend yourself more than you already had, the reasons stacking high as to why shouldn’t go down this road. Harry was on two feet in the living room, swaying back and forth to the music as Alyssa followed you back to the couch. 

You poured yourself another glass of wine, watching as he playfully took Alyssa’s hand, spinning her into his side as they waltzed in circles around the coffee table. 

**

You pulled your carryon closer to your body, wishing you could absorb it into your being as you forced your way past people already in line. Sorry, excuse me, sorry, thanks, gotta get by. 

The airport was busier than you expected. Your mum had told you on the phone that the afternoon would be the worst time of day, a wave of relief washing over you when you confirmed that Harry had booked the red eye. That relief vanished altogether when you stepped foot into the bustling airport, children running, intercoms beeping. 

Your passport was in your hand, the ticket slipped between pages filled with colorful stamps. An elbow into your stomach, you hiked the bag up your shoulder more. 

“I’m so sorry, hi, name is Y/N L/N, I was supposed to board already, uh--my friend is already seated I think.” 

The woman at the desk looked at you with an unimpressed stare, her fingers clicking on the keyboard as she held a hand out. You assumed she wanted your ticket, so you thumbed it out of the booklet and slapped it down. 

Her eyes scanned the paper before the computer did, when it beeped, the expression on her face changed. “Oh, Miss L/N,” she smiled up at you. “No worries, we can take you to your seat right now.”

“Oh, I can, I’ll just take myself,” you said awkwardly, looking around to see who else she was referring to. Other gate workers were nearby, clad in the traditional British Airways uniforms as the airport continued to buzz with Christmas cheer. Apparently flying first class had its perks.

And you would have already been seated if you’d just agreed to travel to the airport with Harry, but you had plenty of things to tie up at work before heading out for a whopping 12 days. It wasn’t typical to take so much time off in a role like yours, but Whitney was feeling generous and you’d agreed to work a few days remotely. 

So instead of sitting in the back of the same black Chevy Suburban with Roger narrating the drive, you’d crammed your suitcase into the trunk of an Uber and hoped that the traffic out to Long Island wasn’t impossible. 

It was. 

A man with a friendly smile took your bag from your shoulder, leading you around the counter and on to the jet way, veering left at the fork. The temperature shifted as you moved farther from the structure of the airport--the winter New York night seeping in through the cracks of the beige tunnel walls. Posters of happy travelers and airport workers smiled down on you, to fly, to serve. Their eyes watched you pad down the dull gray carpet towards the plane.

Smiles from flight attendants when you crossed the threshold, greeting you by name as your companion put an arm out, urging you in before him. 

The interior of the plane was dimly lit a calming blue--the windows shaded electronically, making them appear to be black eyes into the night. You passed a galley stocked with coffee, tea, British Airways water bottles, heading down an aisle past cushioned seats--ones much nicer than the economy class you were used to flying. You’d assumed this was your section--each seat had armrests big enough for giants--but you passed through a curtain to find a section of small cubicles, not much different than your office. 

One on each side, two in the middle. 

“Had to give up the window for you,” you heard a voice sound from two rows ahead. A dimpled smile looked your way, when you met his gaze, you shook your head. 

“This is incredible,” you looked around, taking in the sight of other suited men and bejeweled women settling in for the trip. “I didn’t even know shit like this existed.”

The man set the bag down on your seat, disappearing without a trace as Harry handed you something wrapped in plastic. “Your eye mask,” he delivered it with two hands, bowing his head to pull a giggle from your lips. 

“Seriously,” you took it from him and let out a huff as you pushed the bag to the floor, slumping into the extra-roomy chair. “This is absurd. The traffic was terrible and I almost thought they wouldn’t let me on.”

“Shoulda come with me,” he said simply, his tone almost melodic. “The club they let you wait in is even better.”

You looked around again, surprised that Harry was able to exist in peace in front of so many strangers. “I can’t believe you fly on these--you don’t get mobbed?”

He handed you a packaged piece of chocolate from a small cubby in the wall in front of your chairs. A flat screen stared back at you, your fingers tugging at the wrapper before plopping the candy into your mouth automatically.

“Not really--these people are all too busy with their own shit,” he motioned around the room, both of your eyes landing on a man who was animatedly speaking into his cell phone. “A few pictures, maybe. If we’re lucky we’ll sleep.”

You nodded, content for a moment to just catch your breath, take in the surroundings of first class, and just be. Harry reminded you of the plans you’d set with your friends: a reunion at the Red Lion on the 23rd. It’d be the six of you for sure, but there’d likely be others who you’d all invite--running into other classmates at Sainsbury’s or Costa wasn’t unheard of. 

You’d done the same thing in years past--your entire class heading for drinks and catch up conversations when everyone was back in town. The only difference was that this time, Harry would be tagging along. 

If anything, you were more nervous about the six of you being back together than you were about seeing people like Maddie Winslow or even Kenny Tilley. None of them knew about that night. Luckily--as obnoxious and outlandish as they could be--Jessie, Adam, Jake, and Bryn had managed to keep their mouths shut despite knowing the ins and outs of what had happened. 

Which, when you thought about it, meant Harry had, too. He hadn’t told anyone about the things you’d said or done. He didn’t rub it in your face or try to embarrass you in front of anyone else. The details of December 29th, 2015, would hopefully stay between the six of you for a long time to come.

After a good fifteen minutes on the runway, the plane was airborne. Estimated flight time six hours and thirty-five minutes, if we’re lucky, the captain said. You told Harry about your week and the things you’d rushed through this afternoon to leave work before 4pm. He laughed about the traffic and poked you in the shoulder when you rolled your eyes at him. 

Thirty minutes later he turned to look at you, a strand of hair dipping down to his forehead. 

“Smalls,” he said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You turned to look at him, mid-chapstick application. 

“I’m glad we’re hanging out.”

You stared at him for a second, your face tingly and hot when his lips twitched up into a smile. You nodded, broke eye contact, and capped your chapstick. “Mhm, yeah, me too.”

“Smalls,” he said it again, this time you looked at him more seriously. 

“What?”

“Can we talk about it?”

You could have sworn the world went silent--the hum of the plane’s four engines suddenly muted as he stared back at you with emerald eyes. 

Somewhere in the world there were ocean waves so high they could knock a boat off course. There were rainforests and mountains and deserts so dry they made the airplane cabin feel humid. You wished, as you sat next to him, miles of space between your feet and the ground, that you could be anywhere but here. 

You opened your mouth to speak, words escaping you. You shook your head. 

“Y/N, I just--”

“No,” you said. “Forget it. We both said we would forget it.”

He licked his lips, quiet for a second as he dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor. You stood up quickly, hoping an escape to the bathroom would place air and time between the two of you. You were stuck, though. You pushed the button twice that was meant to open the sliding door out of your tiny space--a human height shield from the other passengers. 

You pressed it again, more frustrated each time your finger met the hard plastic.

“Here,” he said behind you, reaching past you to press the button right beside it. “You were pressing close.”

“Right.”

The door slid open, a flight attendant offered you a smile as she waited for you to exit in front of her. Down the hall, into the bathroom--much bigger than economy. A full length mirror, a toilet that actually resembled a toilet. 

The door shut and latched behind you. Silence. You couldn’t talk about it with him. That would be more embarrassing than the night itself. What were you supposed to say? I’m sorry? I didn’t mean it? I did mean it? You’d said all of those things before--in quick succession and with a heartbeat so fast you could have passed out. 

A knock on the door. One second, you called out, turning the water on for a moment as if to make it sound like you were doing something other than panicking. You brushed past the stranger on the outside, offering an apologetic smile before heading back to your seat. When you got back, Harry had headphones in and a movie on the screen in front of him. 

Thank god. 

He smiled at you subtly, leaning forward to offer you a glass of champagne--someone must had dropped them off while you were losing your shit in the bathroom. You took it from him without a word, taking a sip as he took one earbud out of his ear and offered it to you. You pushed it into place and leaned back in the chair, still trying to catch your breath, grateful for the fact that he dropped it. 

You didn’t need the whole plane ride to be awkward. If there was ever to be a moment for the two of you to talk about the ghosts of Christmas past, literally, it wasn’t right now. The trip would be nice with a movie and a nap--free chocolates and eye masks, too.

And besides, champagne tasted better at thirty thousand feet.

here’s what first class looks like for Harry and Y/N

read the other parts here

AN: big thanks to those of you reading big thanks for all of the messages!!! be sure to let me know what you think? Anyone want to take a guess as to what happened on 12/29/15?

tag list: @clorenafila​ @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @jdcharliewhiskey @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon​ @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole @ainsleesolareclipse @clorenafila​ @shawnsblue​  @gendryia​ @g0bl1nqueen​  @laula843​ @pinkpolaroidgirl @4592222 @flooome​ @craic-head-horan @a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall​  @shaw-nm​ @staceystoleyourheart​

[haroldslovekitten]

Carolina - Pink Series pt. 2

Hey loves! I hope you like this part, I finished it just in time! I think it’s fun and cute and angsty as hell and I hope you love Harry and Y/N’s relationship as much as I do! Let me know, feedback is always appreciated! .xx - M

Word Count: ~5k

Harry is on his way to New York, the flight to JFK seeming longer than it used to now that he’s got a specific someone he’s not used to leaving. Well, he doesn’t necessarily have you, per say, but over the past few weeks, he’s grown attached. After the initial coffee date reunion, and the night spent at yours drinking and playing truth or dare, Harry and Y/N began spending more and more time together, meeting up after work, spending all day on saturdays together going to the park and exploring some of the best shopping streets in London but rarely buying anything. Life felt simpler with you around, and he wanted to spend every waking minute with you. Some days, you’d meet up at your favorite cafe, you would bring your journal and laptop, Harry would bring his, and you’d both would just sit there, you working on your scripts, him his songs, and have a practically silent day together. Every once in awhile you’d turn to him, eyes focused on his face as he worked and waited until he looked like he was at a good stopping point, not right in the middle of pure genius gifted by god before she’d interrupt.

“Hey, Harry, can you tell me how this sounds?”

You’d go on to explain the scene you were writing and read him a bit of dialogue, doing voices to represent different characters and you wouldn’t look at him, not out of embarrassment, he thinks, but out of concentration - your mind was truly somewhere else, even in those moments. And he’d listen patiently, nodding as you spoke, trying to keep the most endeared smile off his face even though you made his heart thunder in his chest, and then he’d give honest feedback. Usually it was good, because you were phenomenal, but sometimes he’d remind you that no, real people do not speak like that, and no, no one says “bee’s knees” anymore, to which you’d pout, but know he was right.

Alternatively, Harry would often find his mind drifting from his writing, the lyrics just not coming to him in the moment, so he’d let it wander to you. He’d watch you write, scribble notes in your notebook, then go back to typing. You’d hold your pencil between your teeth as you typed, knowing full-well you’d need to edit your notebook flowchart soon enough. Your hair would fall in your eyes every once in a while and you’d tuck it away in a frustrated way before going back to your work. Your eyes would constantly flit over the screen, always self-editing, and when you’d find something good, you’d nod vigorously, though Harry doesn’t think you realize you do it. 

He finds himself wondering what kind of things go on in your head. What do you spend your time thinking about when you’re not writing masterful scripts or dealing with pretentious creatives (a thing you always insist Harry is not - you know enough of them to know who is and isn’t)? What do you do in your free time that’s not with Harry? Do you think about him ever...as more than a friend? It’s when these thoughts make their way into his mind that he has to shake himself and go back to reality, which really is just him writing songs not so loosely based off of you and hating himself for it. It would make your friendship so strange if you found out that you’re always on his mind, but at the same time, he feels like you have to know, he can’t keep pining like this, if that is what he’s doing. He still can’t quite tell if his feelings for you are romantic or not. When you spend time together, he finds there’s nothing he’d rather be doing, even if that something else was fucking your brains out. He just thoroughly enjoys your company. You make him feel real, feel human, feel good, feel things that he’s had a hard time feeling, ever since he joined One Direction to be honest.      

And now, he’s on a plane headed far away from you, far away from the perfect little bubble you’d built together. He sits on the jet, journal in front of him - he’d given up on sleeping ages ago - and lets his mind wander to you. He imagines your face, your laugh - the shy little giggle you’d give and the obnoxious cackle you’d let out when you found something surprisingly funny - your eyes are yet another thing that mesmerize him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen more expressive eyes and he loves the way he can see what you’re feeling the moment you’re feeling it, though it often drives you crazy when he can figure out your emotions faster than you can. The one thing he can’t decipher though, is how you feel about him. He doesn’t even realize it, but his hand is scribbling away as he thinks about you. When he pulls himself out of his self-induced trance, he glances down.

She’s a good girl, She feels so good, she feels so good.

With a huff, he closes his journal, knowing that he’s beginning to get into some dangerous territory.

He tries sleeping again, but has no luck, but fortunately the fight is almost over anyway. He reminds himself that this is going to be a short trip and he’ll be back with your soon. Tells himself to just push you from his mind while he’s here, then he’ll be fine. When he lands, he has to run straight to meetings with PR companies and Jeff. Usually they meet in LA, but Harry has a photo shoot scheduled here in New York, so they moved the meetings here. He only plans to be here for a week, but right now, a week seems like an eternity as he goes through his entire day without any interaction with Y/N. The meetings all go well and he’s stoked about his album and his solo career in general, and all he wants to do is talk to you, tell you about his day, about his plans, and to hear about yours.

As he lays in the huge bed of his fancy hotel room, the TV playing some show he’s not paying attention to, he scrolls through his phone, pulling you up on his contacts and his thumb hovering over the call button. To call or not to call, that is the question. And as badly as he wants to hear your voice, to see your face, he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries or make you uncomfortable. Plus, you’ve only been apart for two days and it’s not like you could be missing him yet. You’re probably busy, he tells himself, setting his phone down and attempting to focus on the TV. His resolution to spend the night lonely did not prepare him for his phone to begin buzzing almost immediately after setting it down. To his surprise, it was your contact photo, a picture of you shovelling a scone into your mouth that he had snapped a couple of weeks ago without your knowledge that made him chuckle before answering your video call.

“Harry!” you shrieked excitedly.

He almost didn’t recognize you for a couple of reasons. First, the image was a bit blurry and pixelated, video chatting from another continent giving his phone a run for its money. The second reason though was that you had your hair tied up tightly in a messy bun, and a green face mask all over your face. Harry struggled to contain his laughter at the image in front of him, overwhelmed by how ridiculously adorable you were.

“Hey, Y/N, looking good,” he teased.

“I know, I’m flawless!” you giggled. “Lucky for you, you get to look just like me!”

“What are you talking about, weirdo?” he asks, a grin still on his face.

“Look in the small pocket on your bag. I snuck a bottle of this facemask in there the other day. Thought we could put them on and chat as if you were still here and not a world away,” you say sheepishly, obviously missing him much more than he gave you credit for.

“You miss me, bug?” he asks, as fondly as possible.

“Yes, now shut up and go put on the mask. I’ll wait,” you demand.

“Alright, bossy!” he groans before rummaging through his bag and finding the facemask, obediently smearing it over his face in the bathroom before returning to your call.

“Good, now we both look gorgeous!” you say.

“Mmhmm, some of us more than others,” he jokes.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I look absolutely stunning right now,” you joke right back.

He decides against clarifying that he was implying that you were the one who looked more gorgeous and lets the compliment slide. He notices that you’re sat up in bed, Rufus, your grey tabby cat in your lap, and a glass of wine in the and that’s not stroking the cat’s head.

“Hey, no one said anything about drinking!” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ve got something in that fancy hotel room.”

And sure enough, when he looks in the mini fridge, there’s an assortment of alcohol. He grabs the first one he sees, whiskey - not his favorite, but it’ll do - and sits back down with you. He props up his phone so he can see you without holding it, and smiles at you making faces at your cat while you pet him.

“I’m so glad you were alone in your hotel room when I called - would have been very embarrassing if you were at a fancy party or summat and I showed up on your phone looking like this,” you smile, “but I didn’t care if you were, I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve only been gone two days, love,” he laughs, but the thought that you’d been planning to call him so soon makes his heart swell.

“I know, but I got used to having you around. Last night wasn’t too hard, there was a cool work party I went to, but I’ve missed you all day sitting at home by myself,” you huff and pout a bit, really playing the guilt trip on him.

“Work party, huh?” he asks, curious.

He won’t deny that his ears automatically pricked up at that statement, instantly wondering if there were any cute guys at the party, anyone expressing interest in you while he wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Yeah, actually not really. It wasn’t for my work, per say...but a friend of a friend is working on a film I really wish I could be a part of and well, I just told the bouncer guy that I knew the main actor. He didn’t seem to mind letting me in…” you say, a mischievous grin gracing your features.

“Wow, I thought you didn’t like parties? And you lied!? Naughty!” Harry laughs, imagining the quiet, introverted you sneaking your way into a party.

“Okay okay, hear me out. I hate parties, you know this, but some of my favorite filmmakers were at that party! I couldn’t miss the chance to network, it was worth the little white lie and the hoards of drunken men. I’m good okay, as good as they come,” you say definitively, not letting Harry’s faux judgement make you feel bad about your actions.

His heart stops for a moment as he remembers the lyrics he jotted down earlier on the plane - she’s a good girl. He gulps before speaking again, pretending nothing of consequence is going through his mind.

“Alright, yeah, whatever,” he laughs awkwardly. “None of these drunken men treated you badly, did they?”

“Ugh, no!” you say, almost sounding disappointed.

“Why do you sound upset that they didn’t!?” he asks, shocked at your reaction.

“I’m not upset, I just...well, ugh,” you fumble over your words, making him more and more nervous by the second. “Well, there’s this guy.”

Harry’s heart sank immediately, but he plastered on an interested smile and encouraged you to continue.

“We’ve worked on a few little projects before, but he’s starting to become more and more into the industry, making all these connections, and I guess I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him, but like, he never notices me and I hoped he would at the party last night, but he was all wrapped up in some skinny actress and ugh, I don’t know what to do.”

Harry tried to ignore the sickening feeling he was getting in his stomach.

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“What am I supposed to say? Hey, I think you’re really hot and talented. Let’s bone!”

Harry laughs through his pain, assuring you that ‘let’s bone’ is yet another phrase that absolutely no one uses anymore. He puts on his purely friendly face and prepares himself to give you advice on how to win this guy over. Conflicting emotions are running through him at the moment. The first, and infinitely more prominent is jealousy - why are you interested in this random dude who pays you no attention. You think he’s hot? Hotter than Harry? And more talented? Does he have any fucking hope in getting with you? Why the fuck is he even worried about getting with you, dammit? The second thought is simply confusion - how could anyone in their right mind be around you for any length of time and not want to give you their complete and undivided attention always? He pushes those thoughts down, ignoring the things he’s feeling and goes back to comforting and advising you.

“Okay, so maybe don’t say that. Maybe just like make sure you’re around him a lot? And dress a little, you know, when you are? A lot of guys are purely visual and physical, so like dressing sexy and being extra touchy should get his attention…” he says, trying to hide the sad twinge in his voice.

“Harry Edward Styles! I am not going to run around in some skimpy outfit groping a man in public just to get his attention!” you say sternly. “I’m a good girl, you know that!”

He looks away from the camera at that, struggling to maintain his composure before responding.

“You’re right, you don’t need to do that shit. You’ve got much more to offer, but you have to let him know that that’s on the table, otherwise he’ll just look at you as a friend, or worse, a work colleague and nothing more,” Harry says, cringing at the fact that he can’t seem to follow his own damn advice.

“Okay, but like how, H? I really like this guy...he’s like the man of my dreams and he looked so fucking good last night and all I did was stand in a corner away from everyone gawking at him from afar,” you whine.

Harry nods as he takes another sip from the whiskey, marvelling at how much of it is already gone - he hasn’t been drinking that quickly, has he? He notices your glass is also empty and you refill it with the cutest pout on your face, the mask making your frown lines stand out even more.

“Hey, why don’t you go take that mask off and we can talk about this properly after? It’s making my face itch,” Harry says, using any excuse he can to be alone for a moment.

You simply nod and crawl off of your bed, and as you do so, he notices that you’re wearing a pair of purple short shorts beneath where Rufus was sat and your ass looks incredible as you move. He shakes himself, surprised at the thought...okay, so maybe he does want you in a more than platonic way. He goes to the bathroom, splashing cold water over his face, rinsing the mask and cooling off a little of his frustration (both sexual and sincere) as he does so. He stares at himself in the mirror, marveling at the way just this little conversation and facemask has brightened his skin, but he doesn’t miss the extra blue around his eyes, as if his pain is having a physical effect on him. He shakes himself, trying to fight off the negative feelings threatening to invade his body. Being with you has never brought him anything but joy, and he doesn’t see why he should let this conversation change that. So, he decides, he won’t. He’s going to be the perfect friend for you tonight, and give you exactly what he should: support. 

When he returns to his phone, you’re sitting there, fresh-faced and beautiful, Rufus cuddling up to you and he curses himself for thinking he was ever anything but undeniably and completely in love with you. Never before has he sat across from someone, virtually or in real life, as they cuddled their cat and looked completely bare and comfortable, no extra airs or facades about them, and completely adored everything he’s seen. Sure, he’s been with people who were crazy beautiful, and wonderfully talented, but no one has ever been this open and comfortable around him. Honestly, he’s never been this open or comfortable around anyone else either. You bring out a side of him he was beginning to doubt existed - a side ready and capable of real, genuine love. Of course it took you claiming you were crushing hard on some random guy for him to realize he loved you. Of course…

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me everything about this guy. Wanna know how long you’ve known him, what he likes, about any important conversations you’ve had, all that,” he says, acting as much like a long-time girlfriend at a sleepover as he can, because that’s obviously what he is to you - a friend, and nothing more.

You go on and on then, taking his encouragement as a go-ahead, and vent to him about your entire relationship with Connor, he comes to find out is his name. You tell him how you actually met in college, and how you used to be study buddies, as cliche as that is. You never confessed feelings, because you didn’t know you’d had them, but you guys worked together on a project (before he got all uppity) and you realized how compatible you both were. Then you’d see him at events like last night and only fall for him harder. But he’d made it clear that you were old friends, you were a part of his old life, and never once expressed interest. Though it was all extremely difficult to hear, Harry listened carefully, trying his best to shut his feelings for you down.

“Well, you’re obviously beautiful,” he comments, words slurring slightly (he hadn’t realized he’s made it through three more bottles of alcohol).

“Thanks, Harry,” you say shyly and he fucking loves the way your cheeks blush when he says that.

“I mean, come on, how could he be so blind and not see how perfect you are?” he continues, almost unable to stop himself at this point.

“I’m not perfect,” you refute.

“Yeah, yeh are,” he continues, but catches himself just in time.

“But yeah,” you say, changing the subject slightly, “What do you think I should do?”

“Honestly, at this point you’ve known him for long enough. If he doesn’t think about you that way, it’s time you make him. And if he still doesn’t then it’s own damn fault. You’ve always got me anyways,” he stammers, not thinking before he speaks - it’s the whiskey talking.

“So like, just ask him out?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, I don’t know, sure,” he says, his brain muddy and confused - does he want her to ask that guy out or is he just encouraging her to be happy? He doesn’t even know anymore.

“That’s just so hard for me though, Harry. Like, admitting I’m feeling something? Being vulnerable and opening myself up to rejection? I’m not open or hardened like that. I’d fall apart if he said no. I’ve been reading this book, by the way, I think you should read it. It’s called Quiet by Susan Cain. It’s all about being introverted and using that to your advantage in this world that idealizes extroverts. It talks about understanding what you like, who you are, and doing things that are within your boundaries as an introvert. I’m not an extrovert, Harry, I’m shy and sensitive and quiet and him turning me down would kill me,” you say, exasperated and fearful.

“Listen to me. You’re perfect, sweet, kind. thoughtful, everything any man could wish for, including myself, so if he turns you down - like a complete idiot might I add - I’ll always be here, lov-supporting you,” he says, catching himself at the last minute before he reveals something too personal, too intimate even though he may or may not have gone a bit overboard already. Maybe you’re right, maybe he should read that book. Being an introvert, especially as a pop star, he’s had to adapt and grow in ways he’s not necessarily comfortable with. Maybe that book will help him figure it out, figure you out too. He smiles when he thinks about you sitting on your couch with that book, getting overly excited about the fact that yes, someone finally does get it - they get you - and for once you don’t feel so alone. He imagines you’ve bookmarked pages, highlighted your favorite passages. He’d never thought about you reading before, always about you writing. At this point, he’d kill to get a glimpse at your copy of that book - to get a glimpse at your mind.

“Thank you, Harry. That means the world to me,” you say, completely sober and serious.

Harry just nods, realizing how much the alcohol is affecting him and desperately trying to keep his feelings in check. How are you so sober and alert right now? At this point, if he did slip up and reveal something, there’s no way he could even pretend that you’d been so drunk you’d forgotten and that’s completely frustrating.

“I guess I just doubt it sometimes, you know? Like all of my relationships have been with such mediocre guys...and when I finally find someone I’m into because I can actually respect and admire them, they are just like completely not interested,” you vent to him, feeling a bit down.

Harry’s heart almost broke in half hearing you say that, hearing you struggle with self-love and recognizing your worth because of some stupid guy who couldn’t get his ass out of his own probably pretentious head long enough to realize how incredible you were. Despite his maybe better instincts, and his almost carnal need to be the one who is there for you and makes you happy, Harry makes the decision to do everything he can to get you and this guy together. If he means that much to you and if being with him will make you realize how unfathomably amazing you are, Harry is all down for it, even if it means he doesn’t have you to himself.

“Alright,” he slurs. “Here’s my idea, yeah? I know how much you hate playing hard to get and all that, but I promise you it’ll work. Just like, pretend you’re on the phone with me around him or something yeah, and talk about how much you’re excited to see me and just be overly affectionate and excited, so it seems like any interest you’ve shown in him is minor compared to what you actually give to those you’re genuinely into, you know? And just do that everyday for the rest of the week while being a little standoffish to him, but also like making sure you’re butt and boobs look amazing, which let’s be honest, they always do -”

“Harry!” you protest.

“And I can almost guarantee you that by the time I come home, he will be wanting to take you out,” Harry steamrolls right through your offense at his comments, knowing that this advice will work and he doesn’t really want to say it but has to.

“You really think that would work?” you ask, actually toying with the idea.

The fact that you’re actually willing to play hard to get to get this guy’s attention pisses Harry off more than he’d care to admit. As long as he’s known you, you’ve always hated the idea.

                                                              ...

“Why in the hell would you pretend not to like someone you really like? Shouldn’t that be a turn on for them? Like shouldn’t ‘hey, I like you a lot and would love to hang out’ be flattering? I just don’t understand not asking for you want, it’s silly,” you’d argued one evening when the two of you had been at a bar with Niall and he’d been eyes some random girl who wasn’t giving him the time of day.

“I agree, I agree,” Harry had said, “But if you want to be realistic about it, men love the chase - I’m far more interested in someone who has more going on for them than their desire for me, you know?”

“Just because you really want to be with someone doesn’t mean that you don’t have other stuff going on!” you’d huffed and he remembers now just how adorable he’d found it.

“I know, you’re right, but that’s just the way it is. Make them chase, it works almost every time.”

“Boys are idiots,” you’d said with a roll of your eyes and then, just as now, he couldn’t agree more.

                                                             ...

“Okay, if you think it’ll work, I’ll try it I guess…” you’d trailed off, still unsure.

“It will,” Harry spat, the statement coming out a bit sharper than he’d meant, but the idea that you’re actually willing to go back on some of your principles, even silly ones like not playing hard to get in order to woo this guy has immediately put Harry in an awful mood.

“Okay,” you replied, eyeing him curiously. “What about you? Any hot models in New York?”

“Loads,” he’d said and to your surprise, he didn’t sound sarcastic.

“Oh? Well then why aren’t you with them?” you ask, a little shocked by his bluntness.

“Don’t know, maybe I should be,” he replied getting visibly pissy and you weren’t quite sure what was going on.

“I was joking, Harry,” you say slowly, hoping the tension will dissipate.

“I wasn’t.”

Nope, the tension is definitely not dissipating.

“Well fine, it’s still early in the life of a rockstar, why don’t you go?” you ask, your voice raising a pitch in confusion and anger. How the hell was this turning into a fight?

“Maybe I will, it’s not like I’m getting anything from you anyways,” he spits, taking another drink of whiskey.

“What the fuck, Harry? ‘Getting anything’ from me? What the fuck are you expecting to get?” you ask, completely shocked by the entire conversation. “Am I supposed to be ready to have cam sex or something ridiculous just to be friends with you? Seriously, what is going on, Harry!?” you ask, your voice turning to a shout and tears beginning to sting your eyes.

“No, oh my god, no. I’m sorry,” he starts, finally stepping outside of his moment of self absorption and pity. “I don’t know, just frustrated is all.”

“About what, exactly?” you ask, still not completely happy with his reaction.

“I don’t know, I just love you so much, you know?” he begins, panicking mid-sentence and desperately needing a way out of this. Why the hell does alcohol make him so fucking honest? “You’re such an amazing friend and person,” he continues, saving himself a bit, “and it kills me to see you pining over someone who doesn’t appreciate you and putting so much stock into what they think. I think you’re incredible, and yeah, we’re just friends, but isn’t that enough to know that you’re great and worthy of love? I don’t know, I just thought I was enough…” he trails off, once again sticking his foot in it.

“Harry, babe,” you say, ‘babe’ being a term of endearment you reserve for when he needs to be comforted. “You’re amazing and I love you and love that you think I’m amazing. I think I’m pretty amazing too, if I’m honest! I have no worries about what I’m worth. It’s just nice to have someone who’s more than friends...you know, someone who thinks you’re amazing, but also thinks you’re crazy sexy and wants you...why doesn’t anyone want me, Harry?” you ask, once again sinking into a pit of sadness...you should have known you’d do this, too much wine always makes you sappy.

“Y/N…” Harry sighs. “I really can’t answer that question,” he responds in true media-trained fashion - while you may think he can’t answer because he doesn’t know, he knows very well that the real answer is that he wants you, wants you more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his life, but he can’t exactly drop that bomb on you. Not when you’re drunk on a video chat an ocean away and definitely not when you’re pining after some random dude who is definitely not him.

“I’m sorry, I’m being such a bummer,” you laugh, trying to change the subject before it gets really bad and you start crying. “Maybe I should just go to bed. It’s about bedtime here, and crazy late there, you think we can call it a night?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, disappointment only slightly obvious in his voice. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I’ll talk to you then though, okay? And I’ll see you soon, love,” he says before flashing you a sad smile and hanging up after you say a quick ‘Bye!’.

He stares at the computer screen for a few moments after your picture disappears. He literally almost admitted his love for you multiple times during that conversation. Before he really even came back to consciousness or at least awareness, he picked up his journal from the bedside table and began scribbling, imagining the possibility of ever really telling you how he feels.

How would I tell her she’s all I think about?

Well I guess she just found out.

When the base for the song is finished, he reads it over, singing it aloud and realizes just how fucking obvious it is that he’s written a song about you. The lyrics are obvious, the tone is somber, and there is no doubt in his mind that were you to listen to his song, you’d immediately know just how intense his feelings are about you. He was able to get away with Sweet Creature because he pretended it was about Gemma, but this was glaringly obvious. Quickly he thinks, and he can’t help but fixate on what would have happened had he tried to get with you the night you met, rather than it turning into a group hang out with nothing remotely romantic happening. He lets himself imagine you’re a woman he’s only meeting once, now, just as you are, just without knowing him. He imagines that you’re the most enticing and interesting person he’s ever met (which you are), and that he’s falling for you (which he is), but just for tonight (which it’s definitely not). With those thoughts he realizes that writing a song about a wild, crazy night with an incredible woman who he’ll never see again is much more rock n’ roll than ‘I’m madly and desperately in love with my best friend and she doesn’t love me back and I hate my life’, so he tweaks the song accordingly, creating an entirely new person to write about, making the melody much more upbeat, hoping to God that you won’t see right through his second half-assed fictional story. He’s not quite ready for you to know how he feels. Not yet. 

[gwgamesterm1]

Information on Digital Illustration

Differences between Pixel and Non-pixel art:

In photoshop, the two main differences between pixel art and non-poxel art is the size of the canvas and the tool you use to draw, this ultimately determines how much detail you'll be able to muster. In a game engine, for example Unity, the differences are bit more pronounced. As I explained in a previous post, pixel art is scaled up by the power of two to keep the sharp lines of the pixel, meaning you can scale it up as far as you'd like and you would have the same image; this doesn't work with drawn art however, because you have no sharp lines in the design at a pixel level, so instead as you scale it up, it will become more and more blurry. This means scaling up is generally out of the picture for drawn art.

When creating drawn artwork, whether it be for video games, posters, movies or whatever application you could think of, you need to create the artwork at the size you need. The most steadfast rule that will actually make sure you experience no issues, is to create the artwork with twice or more the resolution that you'll actually be using, this is because scaling down doesn't ruin an image like scaling up and you end up being able to use the art at a higher resolution. Essentially, it's good to have too much and need less than to have too little and need more.

Using Different Brushes:

The brush is the main tool for drawing and painting in photoshop and it works a tad differently to the pencil. The first difference is scale, the brush is generally used on large canvas while the pencil is mostly used for pixel art on much smaller canvases. Both tools have distinct look to them as well, this due to how photoshop processes visual information. Photoshop is a pixel based program, so everything is made up tiny square, even the largest circles. The pencil tool paints all of these tiny squares with a block colour, while the brush becomes transparent towards the edge, giving it that softer look. Finally the last difference is just how customisable the brush is, the tool is designed to allow you adjust and modify it so you can get the exact brush you desire, whether it be an oil brush or a quickly printable tree.

The internet is filled with different brush sets created by artists who have just tweaked the photoshop options to get their desired results and doing this can give your artwork a unique feel. Though as nice as these options are, they are mostly unnecessary, you can create perfectly acceptable artwork with the default brush alone, as long as you're skilled enough with it.

I personally like to customise the default brush a tiny bit, mostly by changing the rotation slightly and squashing slightly so it creates more of a wedge shape.

The Drawing Tablet:

Thankfully there is an alternative to the nightmare of digitally drawing with a mouse, and that is the digital drawing tablet. These tablets are used to simulate drawing on paper, where the user holds a pen shaped stylus that draws every time the tip of the pen makes contact with the tablet.

These tablets are often pressure sensitive, allowing for the user to create variations in line width depending in how hard they press against tablet. This isn't the only function of the pressure sensitivity thigh, in photoshop it can be linked to the brushes opacity, which then allows shading just like you'd have with a pencil.

Layering Techniques in Photoshop:

Due to photoshop's layer system, drawing your own guides is really simple and is unbelievably useful when it comes to planning out a scene. I will usually create a first layer where I will draw some simple shapes as a guide, whether it be for the enviroment or a character, then I will continue to add layers where the guide will become more defined until it turns into the final drawing, I'll then place all the old guides in a folder and tuck them away incase I need them later.

When adding the colour to a drawing, it's best to keep the colour and the outlines on two separate layers, this means you don't have to be completely worried about colouring inside the lines and it also means the outlines will stay smooth and clean, avoiding that ugly occurrence where the colour covers parts of the outline giving it a very inconsistent width.

Evaluation:

I own my own drawing tablet at home and do a lot of digital drawing, so I was quite happy when I got to incorporate some of that into the project, despite the fact the college's tablets seem to be a lot more sensitive than mine.

Overall, I can't tell which artstyle I prefer, though I think I prefer the pixel art method for the game we'll be making, as it has the potential to he simpler while still looking good. I feel drawn games need a required amount of complexity and detail to be considered good looking games.

[ineverhadmyinternetphase]

In My Way - Chapter 21

AO3 link, First Chapter

Genre: Chaptered. Actor!Dan AU, fluff, bit of angst, slow burn, getting together (eventually)

Summary: Fiction. Daniel Howell is 21 and Britain’s newest star. He’s just been cast in the much-anticipated film adaption of Last Man Standing, the popular teen fantasy novel with a huge fanbase hanging off his every tweet. In other words, Dan has made it big.

Phil Lester couldn’t care less. He’s a stressed out PHD student working part time at a bookshop while he struggles to get into post-production. He’s 26 and still lives in a tiny flat on the fifth floor of a building with a lift more broken than it is in use. He loves books, but he thinks big film adaptions screw with the plot too much.

Needless to say, Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor   Daniel Howell.

Warnings: Swearing, Ace!Phil, Bi!Dan, slight a- and bi-phobia, discussions of sexuality

Word Count: 5000-6000 per chapter (ish)

A/N: Warning for this chapter: there is some discussion of being outed without consent, and also discussions surrounding coming out to the public in general. Proceed with caution if this is a sticky issue for you ^_^

Also, the wonderful nothingisbetterthanfood (on tumblr) is in the process of translating this fic into German! So if you want to read it in that language, the link is here: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/58c6ff42000510f9f5cb7b4/1/In-My-Way and thank you so much for doing this, I am in awe that you would spend so much time translating a fanfic, I am so happy ^_^

And once again massive thanks once again to @mecaka for betaing this! You are an angel <3

—

Waking up next to Dan was another of the best experiences of Phil’s life. He’d forgotten how comfortable it was, having another warm body to cuddle up to under the sheets, someone else’s scent in the air, someone else’s arms around him. Phil kept his eyes closed with a happy sigh and snuffled his face into the warm material in front of him.

There was a soft squawk from somewhere above his head. “Do you mind?”

“Mrrh,” Phil made a non-committal noise back, keeping his face pressed in the warm loveliness before him. He wasn’t in his own bed, he knew that from the soft luxury of the sheets, much better than his scratchy old Ikea bedspread. Which meant he wasn’t in his city, because Dan was here, and Phil should probably be a lot more freaked out by that than he was.

When had it become normal for Dan to be in his space? All those months in Manchester, sure, but – but this time apart, it had felt never-ending. Phil hadn’t been sure he’d ever ease back into the comfort he’d had with Dan before.

If the way Dan was poking at him and telling him to shift because his arm was going numb was anything to go by, though, Phil thought they were pretty ok.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting his face reluctantly off its place in Dan’s shoulder and blinking blearily at him. “Comfy.”

“Are you,” Dan grumbled, curls rumpled and dimple deep. “Well, I wasn’t.”

“Be quiet, of course you were.” Phil reached out to press his fingers into the blurry lines of Dan’s cheek, feeling the dimple give beneath his touch. He grinned. “You’re the happiest because I’m here, lighting up your life, as ever.”

“You’re fucking insufferable.” Dan huffed, rolling away from Phil to face the other way. Phil made a distressed noise and moved after him, tugging at his arm, but Dan resisted with a low chuckle. “No, no cuddles for rude old men.”

“Excuse you.” Phil had managed to wrangle his way under Dan’s arm, cuddled back up to his side. “You brought me all the way down from Manchester specifically for cuddles, so. Might want to backtrack there.”

“Might I?” Dan turned his face to see Phil, biting back a smile. He leaned in to press a kiss to Phil’s forehead. “Maybe, then. If you behave.”

“I always behave.” Phil slung his own arm around Dan’s waist, drawing him closer until they were pressed as close together as they physically could be, among the bedsheets and their pyjamas and the warmth trapped between them.

They stayed like that, cuddled up together, and Phil closed his eyes again. He’d be quite content never to move, actually, but then Dan went and started shuffling about, disturbing him. Phil grumbled, cracking open one eye, and let out a defeated sigh when he saw that Dan had, of course, reached for his phone. “You can’t leave that alone and pay attention to me for five minutes?”

“Have to check on our adoring fans,” Dan answered with a cheeky wink.

Phil shoved him, and then determinedly closed his eyes and pressed his face back into whichever soft part of Dan he could reach.

He knew something was wrong the minute Dan started tensing up. With a frown,all seriousness recovered, Phil opened his eyes and turned his face up to see Dan staring at his phone screen, his face as white as the pillowcase next to him.

Phil propped himself up carefully. “What happened?”

Dan blinked, looking up to meet Phil’s gaze dead-on. There was something close to panic in his eyes, hiding behind his usual mask that Phil was still learning to look behind. Without a word, Dan turned his phone screen, and Phil took it off him, squinting without his glasses.

It was Dan’s twitter, open on an image from – an article? Or something – but the image was laid out in plain sight, of Phil and Dan walking back from the train station yesterday, hand-in-hand.

Phil’s breath caught in his throat.

He only caught sight of a few of the squealing replies on Twitter, but it was enough to tell him the news had already spread. Whatever report this was from, it must have been picked up by Dan’s followers, must already be everywhere

Who had even photographed them? Phil was sure he hadn’t seen anyone.

Suddenly, the brave-in-the-moment decision to hold Dan’s hand in public yesterday didn’t seem like quite such a good idea.

“Yeah,” Dan whispered, looking at Phil’s expression in the glimpses of sunlight coming through his partially opened curtains. “Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel.”

Phil blinked. He shook his head a bit, thoughts swirling, and then shoved the phone back at Dan. He didn’t want to look at that image anymore. Not that seeing Dan next to him was bad, it was more that – it wasn’t from their perspective. Some outsider had seen this, and now – now, speculation was going to be everywhere.

Phil hadn’t even told his mum yet. What if she saw this? What was she going to think?

Dan took the phone back from Phil, his face drained of all colour as he looked at the screen. Phil watched him, feeling distant, almost far away as Dan just stared, and the silence between them grew heavier and heavier.

“It’s from an article,” Dan finally broke the silence, his tone harsh from trying not to let it shake. “Newspaper. I should have known it couldn’t last long.”

Phil’s throat was dry. A newspaper – a picture of them, together, in a newspaper, and neither of them were at all prepared for this. This was another huge step, a giant one, and one that should have been taken with a lot of prior thought and discussion. But they’d never even talked about going public, not really, not beyond the fact that neither of them was ready to tell everyone openly that they were together.

Why did this have to happen now? On the one weekend Phil finally had Dan back in his arms, and not just in pixelated form?

“Looks like it’s spread to other websites, too,” Dan added, “all across the internet. I can attempt some damage control, but sometimes with these things, it’s better to leave them quiet. I can privately request to get the photos taken down, I suppose…”

Phil let Dan’s ramble trail off into background noise. It was important, of course, but just then Phil was still desperately trying to get his head around what had happened.

He and Dan hadn’t been ready to go public. Dan had said before he wasn’t ready, and Phil…

Phil hadn’t even told his mum yet.

He was jolted back to himself when Dan started moving. The bed shifted, the covers disappeared, and Phil made a displeased noise and reached out to grab for Dan.

His hand landed on Dan’s arm, where he tugged until Dan turned back to face him, one styled eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“Where’re you going,” Phil mumbled, still a little hazy with sleep and the shock of it all.

“To fix this mess,” Dan answered dryly. “And fetch you some coffee, so you’re actually awake enough to talk about it.”

Phil blinked, then frowned. “I’m awake!”

“Yeah, no, you’re really not.” Dan patted him on the head, an oddly affectionate gesture, and then moved to get up. “I’ll be back. Don’t hurt yourself before I return.”

Phil made another disgruntled noise, but this time he let Dan go. Coffee sounded good, after all, and Dan knew as well as Phil did that he wouldn’t really be able to think until he’d had his first mug of the day.

It was just, without Dan, the roaring in Phil’s head got louder. The worry, the concern, and the not-quite-a-freak-out-yet raucous grew and grew until it was rattling inside his skull, a constant reminder that there was a public image of him and Dan in a very-much-non-platonic setting.

Unless holding hands could ever count as platonic? It could, surely, but… but the newspapers wouldn’t see it that way. And neither would their readers. The idea of a faceless mass of people out there all judging his and Dan’s appearance and relationship had the noise in Phil’s head tipping over to definite freak-out mode.

By the time Dan came back, he found Phil buried down in the blankets with his head under the pillow, making muffled screeching noises. Dan just stood and watched him for a moment, two mugs in hand, before he grinned and said, “Same.”

Phil jumped. He turned his head, the sheets twisted around his legs, and made a muffled noise again. He saw the mugs and made grabby hands.

Dan chuckled, but he handed the one with coffee in it over. Phil practically inhaled it, which just made Dan laugh again as he perched himself down on his side of the bed. And that was still a weird thought – his side of the bed. Because someone else belonged in the other side, now.

Dan wondered if it would be any more difficult to be here after Phil left, once the memory of him in this room was fixed.

He sipped at his hot chocolate and then set it down on his bedside table, watching as Phil wrapped long fingers around his own mug. Phil was determinedly not looking at him.

Dan bit his lip. “How much are you freaking out about this right now?”

Phil finally glanced over at him, eyes a bit wild.

Dan’s lips twitched. “Like, give me a percentage to work with here.”

Phil squeaked. “Um. Probably – somewhere around the 85% mark.”

“Ok.” Dan scooted closer, started to rub small circles into Phil’s back. It made Phil relax against him, if slowly, and he let Phil lean into his side, liked the feeling of him there. “Ok, so. It’s happened, whether we like it or not.”

Phil drew in a shuddering breath.

“We just have to figure out how we’re going to react.” Dan’s voice was soothing, he hoped. It was easy to flip back into business mode, to remember how he acted when he was in public rather than at home, or with Phil. He had to be on guard again.

Phil glanced up at him from where his head was resting on Dan’s shoulder. “Do we have to react?”

“Not necessarily.” Dan shrugged. “I tend to think – sometimes, with these things, we could just ignore it and let people assume what they want.”

Phil nodded slowly. “But?”

“But,” Dan continued, “I also think things have a habit of exploding if I ignore them.”

A small smile flitted briefly over Phil’s face. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Shush,” Dan nudged him, but the motion was affectionate. He sighed, pressing his face into Phil’s hair, just breathing him in for a moment. It calmed him; grounded him. Reminded him that Phil was still right here, with him, and that was the most important thing.

“What are the other options?” Phil coaxed gently after a moment.

Dan bit his lip. He’d been thinking, his mind racing ever since he first saw the article. Anger had been his first response, and fear, but then – but then he’d also been somewhat weirdly relieved. If it meant he never had to hide Phil again or avoid talking about him when being asked awkward questions, then it couldn’t be wholly bad. Or, more enticingly, never having to answer ridiculous questions about when his next girlfriend was going to show up.

That thought was appealing, Dan couldn’t deny it.

But that also came with so many problems. If Dan didn’t outright deny the article, then people would be assuming things left right and centre. It would probably be the only thing Dan was asked about, and that wasn’t exactly ideal, what with the premiere coming up. That was what Dan wanted to be focusing on right now, that and only that. He didn’t want to have to deal with this speculation, too.

So then there was the other option – not to deny it, not to ignore it, but to… to simply confirm it. He could do it, it would be easy as anything to drop hints on Twitter about him and Phil being together, and he knew they already had a fanbase who would lap it up and quickly spread the news everywhere. It would be simple. And then there would be no more hiding, no more avoiding questions, no more worrying every second that he was out in public with Phil.

But… that would also mean coming out. Something Dan had never thought he’d publically do.

And coming out with Phil. And would Phil even be ok with that?

Judging by the way he was freaking out… probably not.

“Dan?” Phil prompted again, turning to study his expression. He was warm against Dan’s side, eyes a little concerned. “Are the other options really that bad?”

“No, not really.” Dan sighed, then flopped back on the bed, pulling Phil down with him. “This just isn’t exactly how I’d planned for things to be.”

“Me neither.” Phil snorted a bit, clambering over Dan’s chest to meet his eyes. “But then, I never really expected to be dating a famous actor, either.”

Dan’s lips twitched. “Wasn’t in your life plan, huh?”

“Not exactly.” Phil laid his head down against Dan’s chest and closed his eyes, listening to the soft thud of Dan’s heart beating away. It would be easy, he thought, if they could just stay like this forever. Just the two of them in their own little world, distant from any kind of pressure that might exist out there.

They lay in muffled silence for a while, both dwelling on their own thoughts.

Dan was the first to pull them out of it, and he made Phil startle. “I mean, I could just come out.”

Phil jumped, flailing.

“Not if you weren’t comfortable with it.” Dan was talking as easily as if they were discussing the weather, but the way he was staring determinedly up at the ceiling betrayed his inner nerves. His face was a calm mask, but Phil knew him well enough by now to read the panic and fear that was hiding just behind his eyes.

Phil blinked at him.

“But I could,” Dan continued. “I mean, it’s possible.”

“Sure it is,” Phil answered slowly. “If that’s what you really wanted to do?”

Dan bit both his lips and tipped his head back against the pillow, eyes glued to a crack in the ceiling.

“Is it?” Phil pushed gently. “What you really want to do?”

Dan stayed silent for another moment before he pushed both hands against his face and groaned. “I don’t know, Phil. I honestly don’t know.”

Phil hovered. “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know that,” Dan mumbled into his hands, “but I just don’t really want to keep hiding, either.”

Phil looked down at him, torn and a little bit scared.

If Dan didn’t want to hide anymore, did that mean… was Phil not enough for him after all?

But no. Dan had said before that Phil would always be enough, and Phil believed him. Everything they’d said and done for these past months had been about them figuring out how to be together, and Phil was absolutely positive they both were happiest when they were close. He’d just… not expected to be confronted with anything else, yet, and it petrified him.

“I don’t want to hide you anymore,” Dan was mumbling into his hands. “I hate not talking about you, dodging questions about you. Having to smile and laugh when someone asks me if I’m enjoying the single life, or when I’ll find a girl to settle down with.”

Phil’s heart froze. Well. At least that didn’t sound like Dan wanted to leave him.

“I just want to scream at them that it might be a boy, too,” Dan mumbled, and then finally spread his fingers to peek through them at Phil. “That it turned out to be a boy, I mean. That you exist.”

Despite himself, Phil found himself smiling.

“But,” Dan continued cautiously, “I’d only do this if you were ok with it. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pressured into something you’re not ready for.”

As ever, Dan was there, caring for him. Putting Phil first. Always making sure Phil was comfortable. That made a surge of affection rise in Phil’s chest, swamping him

Phil reached out and cupped Dan’s cheek in his hand, thumb curving over where his dimple usually appeared. He leaned in close and brushed a careful kiss over Dan’s nose, then dipped down briefly to his lips.

“I think you should do what you want,” Phil told him softly when they pulled away. “Whatever would make you happiest.”

Dan looked up at him, all soft and open, and he looked so young. His curls were wild, fluffed up against the pillow, and he was all bony corners and open edges as he stared up at Phil. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.” Phil kissed the tip of Dan’s nose again, smiling when it made him scrunch his face up. “If you’d be more comfortable not hiding this… then we shouldn’t hide it.”

Dan’s eyes widened a bit. “I’d still be pretty terrified. Coming out as bi – that isn’t always easy.”

“No, but you’d be a pillar of the community.” Phil grinned at him, leaning down to nuzzle back into his neck. “A proper role model.”

“I’m not sure I really want to be,” Dan mumbled as he wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist. “I just want to be happy. And with you.”

Something warm glowed in Phil’s chest again. He hid his smile against Dan’s neck, breathing him in. “Then let’s do that. Just be happy, and us. The world can think whatever they like.”

Dan wriggled against him, but it was a happy wriggle. He paused after a moment, though, running his fingers through Phil’s hair. “Are you sure, though? I mean – I wouldn’t mention you, not if you didn’t want, but…”

“It might be kind of obvious,” Phil finished for him with a low chuckle, “considering we’ve been photographed everywhere together. Holding hands in the latest one.”

Dan hid his smile in Phil’s hair. “Yeah.”

Phil blew out a sigh. He gave himself a moment to think about it, knowing this wasn’t a decision to rush into – not when he knew he was prone to freak outs and he still hadn’t even told his mum. But the idea of not having to hide – of watching Dan in interviews like the one earlier that week, only watching him talk about Phil, about them, no worries of hiding it – that was an appealing thought, Phil couldn’t deny it.

So maybe. Maybe… it was a possibility.

“There are people I’d want to tell on my own first,” Phil answered slowly. “My mum. PJ already knows, but – my friends. Lilith. My brother.”

“Of course.” Dan’s tone was tinged with held-back excitement.

“And I’m not quite sure what I’d tell them, either,” Phil continued. “I mean, I’m not bi like you, but – maybe that’s a bit much to try and explain?”

“We wouldn’t have to go into too much detail,” Dan murmured. “Just, I’d say I’m bi, and that you’re my boyfriend – or partner – or whatever word fits best. And leave it at that.”

Phil’s face scrunched up. “That would have them… assuming things, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably,” Dan admitted honestly. “I don’t quite know how I’d get them to stop. I mean, I’d explain wherever possible, but… I don’t know, Phil. Without you coming out, too, it would be hard to stop them.”

Phil mulled that over for a moment. He knew Dan was right – that there wasn’t really a way to control what people would think of them. That they’d be assuming the nature of his and Dan’s relationship was something physical, something that Phil really wasn’t comfortable with. And maybe one day, Phil would be ready to correct them, but for right now—

Right now, Dan was the important one. Dan’s comfort, and Dan’s happiness, and Phil thought this was the right thing for him to do.

“I’ll fix that as and when it occurs,” he murmured into Dan’s neck, groping about until he caught Dan’s hand in his own. “But until then – I think you should do this.”

Dan stared down at him, biting his lip. “You think so?”

“I do.” Phil nodded, then tilted his face up to meet Dan’s wide-eyed gaze. “I think you’ll be happier if you can be more of yourself out there.”

Dan gave him another long look before he nodded. A small smile broke across his face. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

Phil smiled back at him and pulled him in closer.

A problem not exactly solved, but at least dealt with. For the moment. That warranted them another few hours’ cuddling in bed, in Phil’s book.

---

The premiere, they decided.

The premiere was when Dan would come out.

“It’s in two weeks’ time,” Dan was explaining as he brushed his teeth, Phil perched on the edge of the bathtub next to him. “That’s enough time to prepare myself. And I wouldn’t want to hijack all the promo for the film before then, either.”

“Is there much promo, then?” Phil asked from his rather precarious position. For as expansive as Dan and Tyler’s flat was, the bathroom was a little crammed, and he was squidged into the tiniest corner between the sink and the shower head. There really wasn’t much room to move.

Dan gave a muffled snort. “Yeah. The promo’s barely even started.”

“But you’ve done that interview,” Phil protested, “and other things, there was the magazine review…”

“But nothing with the full cast yet,” Dan reminded him gently, leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. It should probably be gross. Phil wondered why it wasn’t. “And there’s still the trailer to come out, there’ll be a bunch more interviews before then.”

“Oh.” Phil sank down a little, wondering what that must feel like. Having your face plastered everywhere. Dan had talked about it a little, but mostly in sarcastic terms, making it hard to know what he really thought. But the Dan Phil knew was an introvert, and a lone one at that, so it was hard to imagine him enjoying any kind of social activity.

But thoughts of the trailer were good, too. He’d be itching to see this film regardless of whether or not he knew any of the cast, as Last Man Standing really was one of his favourite books, but he’d get to see Louise again, and all the other people Dan had been talking about. And Dan himself, of course.

As if reading his mind, Dan shot him an amused look. “Excited about seeing my face on a giant screen again?”

“Shut up,” Phil grumped, poking Dan’s side. “I know you’re looking forward to it, anyway.”

“Not really,” Dan disagreed lightly. He took Phil’s hand, tugging him back to the door.

Phil frowned, staying stubbornly in place. “Why not?”

Dan shifted, but he stayed put when it was obvious Phil wasn’t going anywhere soon. He made a face, but it was clearly meant to hide whatever was darkening his eyes a little, making him avoid Phil’s gaze.

That just made Phil look harder.

“I think I told you before,” Dan eventually relented. “I’m not really such a fan of seeing my face everywhere.”

Phil tilted his head. “How come?”

Dan shrugged, still avoiding Phil’s gaze. “It’s just weird.”

Phil bit his lip, ready to prod further, but then there was a new voice trilling somewhere from the kitchen, calling both of their names out loud (and with far too much enthusiasm for this time in the morning, in Phil’s view).

Dan smirked, sharing a resigned look with Phil. “Tyler.”

“Is he always like this?” Phil asked a little helplessly.

“What, so loud?” Dan grinned, nodding. “Unfortunately. C’mon, he’ll be in here with us if we take too long.”

Phil grumbled about it, but he let himself be pulled along regardless.

Breakfast was a happy affair. Tyler was eating some form of giant sweet American pancake, and there were enough for Dan and Phil to share. The sweet syrupy sticky mess was good, and it relaxed Phil enough that he actually started enjoying being around the two men, one whom he barely knew at all. Conversation was easy, especially with Dan and Tyler griping with each other over who’s turn it was to wash the dishes, or why Tyler had had to be the one to answer the door the past five times there was a parcel (usually Dan’s) arriving.

Seeing Dan in such a domestic session as this – it warmed Phil in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Like this was yet another side of Dan, one he’d only been able to glimpse at so far, in quiet relaxed moments curled up together in his flat in Manchester.

It struck Phil then how really very fast this had all been. He hadn’t even known Dan that long, but here he was, sat at his breakfast table in a city he didn’t know.

He wasn’t afraid, though. No, for the first time in a very long time, Phil actually felt quite safe in someone else’s company – like he wasn’t too weird for them, or too grumpy, or too out of place. He fit with Dan. Here or in Manchester, at work or at home, he fit with Dan, and that was something worth holding on to.

The fear from that morning still lingered, the thought of their photo being out in a newspaper was generally terrifying, but Phil still knew that what he had with Dan was worth risking almost everything for.

Half-way through the giant stack of pancakes, Tyler turned to Dan with a question. “So, have you started thinking about looks for the premiere yet?”

Dan blinked at him slowly. “Already?”

“Oh, no, Howell, we are not playing the last minute game again.” Tyler placed his cutlery down with an unnecessarily loud noise and proceeded to fix Dan with a sharp stare. “When are we going shopping?”

“I don’t need another new suit,” Dan groaned, but Tyler was already shaking his head with a scarily determined expression on his face.

Phil looked between them, amused. Tyler took a while to get used to, but the more time he spent in his company, the more he grew on Phil. Plus, he was rather exceptionally good at putting Dan in his place. Phil should probably start taking notes.

“Plus,” Tyler continued, “You need to think about who’s going to be your plus one this time. You know the tabloids are going to be scouting for you.”

Dan made a face, but Phil glanced over at him, curious. He knew from his early days of internet stalking Dan that the last premiere he’d been to had been with his last girlfriend, Susie, the one Phil had mistakenly thought was still with Dan before they sorted things out between them. From what Phil could gather, it was usual for a plus one to be a significant other.

Dan seemed to arrive at this conclusion at the same time, as he suddenly turned to Phil with a slightly wondering look.

Phil arched a brow. That expression on Dan worried him.

“Hey,” Dan said softly, tone hopeful.

Phil shook his head straight away. “No. Nope. No way in hell, Howell.”

“But it would be perfect!” Dan argued, his tone pitching up. “Think about it!”

“I am, and it’s a terrible idea.”

“But Tyler just said!” Dan pointed at where Tyler was sitting, now looking a little confused. “The tabloids will be scouting for me, it’s perfect!”

“That’s not how we agreed to do this,” Phil persisted weakly.

“But it would work.”

“I can’t do that, Dan, come on, look at me!”

“I am, and it would work.” Dan leaned closer, grabbing Phil’s hand under the table and staring at him beseechingly.

Phil narrowed his eyes. “I swear, if you start whining—”

“Would I ever,” Dan disagreed, to a snort from Phil. Dan pouted. “Come on, think about it. It would be the perfect time!”

“I really don’t think being gawped at by millions of reporters—”

“There are never millions—”

“Regardless, it’s just a really bad idea!” Phil’s eyes were wide.

Tyler looked between the two of them, surprise written all over his face. “Er – if you two could stop having conversations in code for one second?”

Dan and Phil kept eye contact for a moment longer, Dan pleading, Phil doing his damnedest to remain stubbornly negative.

Eventually, Dan broke, spinning to look at Tyler with a gusty sigh. “It would work. Bringing Phil as my plus one. Tell him.”

Tyler’s surprise only grew.

Phil shrank down into his seat, wishing for all the world to disappear into the floor.

“I thought you guys were keeping it quiet?” Tyler glanced at Dan, in particular, confusion in his tone. “You especially, you always told everyone to butt out?”

“I did,” Dan decided, glancing quickly at Phil before back to Tyler again. “But, well – have you checked the news this morning?”

Tyler looked more confused and fished out his phone. Phil watched with trepidation, knowing it would only take a few minutes of scrolling for Tyler to find what he and Dan had woken up to just a few hours ago – and Phil wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for the reaction.

Tyler made a soft noise in the back of his throat, dropping his phone in favour of staring back at Dan.

“Yeah,” Dan said wryly. “So, it’s maybe a little late to be keeping everything quiet.”

“Fucking paparazzi,” Tyler muttered, folding his arms and fixing Dan with a stern stare. “So you decided not to deny it?”

Dan shook his head, glancing over at Phil again. “I think I’ll be happier if I don’t have to hide myself anymore.”

Phil recognised his own sentiments in Dan’s words. He bit back a smile, looking up to find Dan staring at him softly. Despite himself, Phil’s stomach still jumped every time he got looked at like that.

“You’ve never said anything more sensible in your life.” Tyler broke out into a smile, and suddenly, some of the tension building up in Phil broke. He relaxed his shoulders with a soft exhale. If Tyler knew—and was happy about it—then maybe this was doable after all. Phil had no doubt that it was the right decision for Dan.

He didn’t, however, much like the look that Tyler directed his way seconds later. “So, we’d better think about getting him into a suit.”

“Exactly,” Dan said smugly.

Phil shot upright, eyes wide. “Hey, no, this is still a terrible idea.”

“Matching colours,” Tyler mused, glancing between the both of them. “Blue highlights, I think. It’ll bring out his eyes.”

“I said no—”

“Shopping trip next weekend?” Dan glanced over at Tyler questioningly.

“It’s still a little late,” Tyler grouched. “Only a week after that if you’re not happy.”

“Yeah, but Phil can only come down at weekends.”

“I said no!” Phil yelped. He squeezed a little desperately at Dan’s hand, staring at him. “You aren’t seriously considering this, are you?”

Dan squeezed back, leaning reassuringly into Phil’s side. “Not if you really don’t want to. But think about it – it’s the perfect time to tell everyone.”

“In front of all those cameras?” Phil’s voice squeaked. “All those people? Really?”

Dan’s thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of Phil’s hand. “It saves waiting for the story to spread. It’ll be like this amazing statement, this fact that like, I’m not who they always thought I was because I’ve got this amazing man by my side, and the theatrics of it when we get out of the car—”

“Of course you’d like that,” Phil muttered.

Dan stopped, sending Phil a small frown. “If you really don’t want to, then we won’t. We’ll find another way. But there will be questions if I turn up at the premiere alone, and I sure as fuck am not bringing anyone else.”

Despite himself, that warmed Phil a little.

“As things go, premieres are kinda safe,” Tyler chipped in. “The focus will all be on the film, you two’ll just be, like, an interesting by-line.”

Phil bit his lip.

“And when are you ever going to get the chance to go to a premiere again?” Dan pointed out, poking gently at Phil’s side. “PJ will be insanely jealous. Especially as you’re going with one of the main stars and all.”

Phil elbowed him, but he had to admit that the more he thought it through, the more the idea made sense. Logically, theoretically, at least. Practically, he was still quaking at even the thought.

“Dan,” Phil turned to him, eyes still a little wild. “I didn’t even make it through my graduation without falling over my own feet in front of everyone.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Dan soothed.

Phil shook his head. “I’ll just embarrass you—”

“I don’t care.”

“—And you’re going to be there with all your peers—”

“Phil, I don’t care.”

“But it’s just me,” Phil said helplessly. “I’m not – I can’t go to a premiere.”

Dan shrugged with one shoulder, but his eyes were sparkling. “You can if we do this.”

Phil held his stare for a long, long moment, in which Dan kept rubbing his thumb over the back of Phil’s hand.

Finally, finally, Phil slumped down in his seat with a gusty sigh. He turned to Tyler. “Shopping next weekend, you said?”

Tyler’s eyes lit up, and Dan squeezed Phil’s fingers even tighter. “If you can get down here again.”

Phil glanced over at Dan, saw the hope in his eyes, the fear from this morning completely wiped out and replaced with something very close to excitement.

Phil couldn’t take that away from him. And this was Dan’s world. Phil would just have to trust him.

Turning back to Tyler, Phil gave a firm nod. “I can get down here again.”

Next chapter here

[siliconwebx]

How to Create a QR Code and Use It Effectively

Not that long ago, QR codes had a bad reputation. After their widespread introduction in the mid-1990s, they quickly turned into an ongoing joke. Anyone and their neighbor would create QR code graphics and slap them onto anything. This resulted in sites like WTF QR CODES, where QR code fails were showcased for the world to giggle at. But then, sometime around 2017, QR codes started making a comeback. And now, they are a pretty well accepted visual marketing tactic and are finally being used how they were meant to.

Taking into account how these codes were used so ineffectively before, marketers can learn from previous mistakes. Nowadays, for a QR code to be effective, it should follow certain parameters and be used in the right way. Let’s take a look at how to create a QR code and use it effectively for your own marketing strategies.

For those of you who don’t know what a QR code is, I’m sure the image below will spark your memory. They are, after all, everywhere.

Scan this QR code and you will be directed to the Elegant Themes Twitter channel

What Exactly is a QR Code?

A QR code looks like a square pixelated version of a barcode. It is scanned with a smartphone as a way to connect to URLs or undertake actions like connecting to wifi, get directions, or get a discount coupon. QR codes are generally black and white, but can be customized with color to a certain extent.

The term “QR code” stands for “Quick Response code.” Ironically enough, when QR codes first came on the scene, they were nothing but quick. The idea behind them was that anyone could scan the code and instantly connect with something online relating to what they were seeing offline. Due to how not everyone had smartphones back then, and if they did they had to first download a QR code scanner app, no one ever scanned more than one QR code when they came across it. Only now can we say that QR codes are quick and most people know how to scan them.

In an article published in WIRED magazine, author David Pierce said that QR codes were just “ahead of their time.” The comeback we are seeing now is finally their right time. This is mostly due to how now most smartphones have an integrated QR scanner in the camera. A user can simply point the camera at a QR code and it will direct the user to whatever the code tells it to do. Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean that QR codes are foolproof.

A QR code can be really effective on the back label of a product, where the user can scan it easy and without hassle. On the other hand, a QR code on a billboard over a highway is an accident waiting to happen. And most probably, the person who crashed while trying to scan the code will not have been able to finish scanning it anyway.

Let’s take a look at some effective QR code uses and then some you should steer away from.

Effective Uses For a QR Code

If you are going to create QR code for a marketing strategy, you need to make sure it’s easy to scan. It also needs to make sense as part of your campaign and not simply take up visual space. The most effective uses for QR codes are those that embody their true purpose; to connect the offline world to the online world, and do it in a way which is enjoyable and appealing to the user. An effective QR code should always have a minimal call to action next to it so that people know what it’s for.

QR Codes for Lead Generation

A QR code on a business card, a brochure, flyers, or packaging labels can direct to a well-designed landing page. The landing page must have more information than what is on the initial visual and it should be ready to convert. Additionally, the QR code could include a discount code as a greater incentive.

QR Codes to Send Messages

A creative marketing campaign could incorporate a QR code which sends an SMS message or email when it’s scanned. The message can be customized when the code is generated and it can achieve things like signing up for a newsletter or participating in a raffle or draw.

QR Codes to Give Directions

Another great use for a QR code is to give directions via Google Maps or Waze. The CTA should say something along the lines of “scan for directions.” A QR code with this purpose can be printed or on a website.

QR Codes to Access Wifi

Other effective uses for a QR code is to provide easy access to a wifi network. Cafes, libraries, or any public space simply need to print QR code stickers with the network information and display them on a flat surface. Once a user scans the code, they are instantly redirected to a popup asking if they want to connect to the wifi network. Once again, the sticker would need some kind of explanation like “scan for free wifi.”

QR Codes for Security

QR codes can also be used to establish two-factor authentication. This is a deep security system for apps and software which need passwords for access. Two-factor authentication can be achieved in different ways, scanning a QR code is one of them.

QR Codes to Integrate Apps from Mobile to Desktop

A similar effective use of a QR code is to integrate an app from a mobile device to a desktop computer or vice versa. Whatsapp uses this system to connect the app on a smartphone to the desktop version on any computer. All the user needs to is scan a QR code. Instantly, Whatsapp launches on the computer seamlessly.

QR Codes for Payment Processing

In the same manner, a QR code can be used to pay for products in a store or food in a restaurant. The client simply scans the code on the register’s payment device with their mobile phone and the transaction is instant. For this seamless system to work, the client must have registered for the service first. Paypal now offers QR code payment services, along with AliPay.

QR Codes for Augmented Reality

One more effective QR code use is for accessing augmented reality content. For example, in museum exhibits, outdoor advertising, or educational purposes. The visitor, or user, scans the code and is instantly directed to the download page for the AR app. The most effective solution for this to work is for the download to be free and without necessary login procedures. If you’re interested in using a QR code for Augmented Reality, this article by Nicolo Carpignoli has wonderful insight on how to achieve it.

Example of Ineffective Uses of QR Codes

Regardless of how QR code has finally come into its own and most people are using it properly and effectively, there are still some instances where we see QR code worth of the now-defunct WTF QR CODE Tumblr site. Ineffective use of a QR code is any that doesn’t permit easy or even scanning. It also applies to a QR code which doesn’t include a relevant call to action.

QR Codes on Moving Objects

The most common ineffective use of a QR code is on a moving vehicle. For example, on the side of a bus or train. The same applies to QR codes printed on t-shirts or other apparel. Not only will the person wearing it eventually move, but the surface also is probably not completely flat. Moving surfaces are difficult to scan effectively as the user might not have time to do so.

QR Codes on Uneven Surfaces

This brings us to another ineffective use of QR codes; uneven surfaces. Printing a QR code on a surface which is not flat can make scanning difficult or even impossible. A similar situation is a partially covered QR code.

QR Codes on Highway Billboards

A similar example is the placement of a QR code on a highway billboard. The image is not moving, but the cars of the potential users are. A QR code on a highway billboard is probably the worst possible positioning of this marketing resource. Not only is it difficult to scan due to movement, but it will also probably be too far away.

QR Codes Printed Poorly

Apart from the ineffectiveness of a QR code on a moving object, a far away and hard to focus position, or an uneven surface, a QR code will also be ineffective if the print is blurry.

In a few words, a badly placed QR code is highly ineffective and should be avoided at all costs.

How to Make a QR Code

Now that you know how to use QR code effectively and what mistakes to avoid, let’s look at how you can generate QR codes for your own marketing strategies. You can choose between a static or dynamic QR code. A static QR code is created with one URL address which cannot be changed after the code is generated. A dynamic QR code is editable even after it has been generated and distributed.

To create a QR code you will need a QR code generator. There are a few available with different linking capabilities. Static codes are free to create, while dynamic codes have different price points depending on the generator chosen. Paid QR code generators also include tracking and analytics. They also offer custom QR code services like inserting logos in the code.

QR Code Generator

goqr.me

QR Stuff

1. Choose a QR code generator

Which generator you choose depends on what QR code you need. If you are looking to make a generic static code, then you can choose any free qr code generator. If you want to include your visual logo in the design or create a dynamic QR code, you will need to choose a more intricate generator.

2. Insert all the relevant information

Choose the destination and purpose of the QR code and insert all the relevant information into the generator. The generators will guide you through the process. You can choose to connect the code to your own website, a social media channel, or a few other practical choices.

3. Generate and download the QR code

Finalize all information entry and generate your code. Download it in the file type which best suits your needs. It can be a PNG, SVG or EPS. A QR code in vector format can also be downloaded for print.

4. Track and Analyze

If you chose a paid QR generator, you will be able to track your code and analyze it.

Conclusion

As QR codes make their comeback and finally catch up with the technology needed to make them viable, it is your duty as visual marketers to use them efficiently. As you have seen above, there are many ways to use a QR code in the best way possible. Inefficient use of a QR code will not only not get you results, but it will also elicit chuckles and head shaking from your competitors. Long live the QR code!

Featured and body images via Shutterstock

The post How to Create a QR Code and Use It Effectively appeared first on Elegant Themes Blog.

😉SiliconWebX | 🌐ElegantThemes

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Google Pixel 3 review: The best smartphone camera around (for now)

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/google-pixel-3-review-the-best-smartphone-camera-around-for-now/

Google Pixel 3 review: The best smartphone camera around (for now)

This year has been one of refinement for flagship smartphones. In August month, Samsung announced its Galaxy Note 9 and, while it’s powerful and has a few interesting new hardware tweaks—including a liquid cooled processor—it didn’t exactly revolutionize the Galaxy universe. Then Apple announced the new iPhone XS models, which provided a similar refinement to the iPhone X that came before them.

Now, we’re nearing the last stop on the 2018 new flagship smartphone train with Google’s Pixel 3 and Pixel 3 XL. And like its competitive siblings, the Pixel 3 doesn’t disrupt that trend. There are changes and new features, of course, but if you’re expecting a profound smartphone revolution, better luck in 2019. What we’re left with, however, is an excellent offering from Google and one of the best Android phones around—mostly thanks to its impressive camera.

What is it?

The Pixel 3 and the Pixel 3 XL are Google’s own hardware babies. They followthe Pixel 2 and Pixel 2 XL, which sprang forth almost exactly a year ago.

The form factors haven’t changed much, but the screen sizes have shifted. The Pixel 3 has a 5.5-inch OLED screen, while the Pixel 3 XL extends its display all the way to the top corners of the device, pushing it to 6.3inches while cutting out room for the front-facing cameras in a notch.

Set the Pixel 3 down next to an iPhone XS Max and it’s easy to get them confused unless you notice the microphone slot at the bottom of the Pixel. In other words: 2018 phones have a“look” and the Pixel adheres to it rigorously.

Is it really “the best camera ever?”

Let’s get this out of the way first: I really do think the Pixel 3’s camera is the best I’ve used on a smartphone. It’s won’t replace a DSLR for anyone who knows how to use one, but the Pixel 3 is an excellent all-around imaging device that genuinely impressed me at times. Sure, it frustrated me at others, but the AI and computer processing that cranks away every time you take a photo feels like the future of cameras, at least outside of the hardcore enthusiast market—even if all that AI sometimes gets in your way by “fixing” something you tried to screw up on purpose.

Goolge has continued to press the concept of computational photography. Instead of trying to squeeze every last possible bit of quality out of tiny camera modules using traditional methods, Google is using that single rear-facing camera to capture as much data as it can and then crunching it all together to make an image that looks good, even under bad circumstances.

Photo features

Last year, Google introduced its Pixel Visual Core technology, which has a dedicated chip to process image data. In the Pixel 2, every time you pushed the button to take a picture, the camera would snap 10 individual photos and then mash the information from all of them together into a single image. It underexposed some of them to keep the highlights from blowing out, while it overexposed others to bring out details the shadows. It compared the photos to look for digital noise that shouldn’t be in the photo. Not only was it looking for mistakes you made, but it was trying to compensate for the physical boundaries of digital camera gear in general. Google calls it HDR+.

High dynamic range images sometimes look unnatural and cartoony (I find the Samsung Galaxy cameras the worst offenders in the smartphone world, but that’s also due in part to their AMOLED screens). Apple has started doing a similar thing with its photos in the iPhone XS line, which also now has a dedicated image processing chip. On the whole, however, I tend to like the look of the Pixel 3 images better because they seems slightly more natural right out of the camera.

Pixel 3 also adds a new low-light shooting feature called Night Sight, which goes beyond typical HDR to take even more frames with every shutter press. Night Sight captures up to 15 images, some of which are long exposures up to 1/3 of a second to let light soak into the sensor. It’s nearly impossible to hold a camera steady for that long (human hands start showing signs of shake around 1/30th of a second) so the Pixel uses its internal motion sensors to track how your hands shake and corrects for it.

Night sight works, to an extent. One thing that typically suffers in dark environments is color performance because more digital noise hampers tone reproduction. Cameras have made big strides like this in recent years—have you noticed how much better low-light scenes look in movies and TV shows lately?—thanks to improved camera tech, and Google is doing a somewhat impressive job using computational photography.

Google outright said this is a solution that would help you never have to use your smartphone “flash” again, which is good because the included LED light source on the camera is, well, bad like every other smartphone flash that has ever existed.

After the shutter fires

Google’s helpful AI doesn’t quit working when you take the picture, either. The Top Shot feature kicks in when it detects a face in the scene. If you have the “motion” feature enabled (which is similar to the iPhone’s Live Photos, which provide short videos along with your still images) it will analyze the other photos it took and try to find one where the person is smiling and not blinking. It will then suggest that you replace the shot you took with the good one.

I got mixed results from this, as well as some mixed feelings. One of the fundamental parts of photography is deciding which shots you show to the world as your finished work. We used to do it by making prints of a sheet of negatives (called a contact sheet) and then selecting the one we think looks best. Now, the AI robots are helping in that process and it can be hard to argue with them. After all, the AI is comparing your photo to nearly a hundred million reference photos and telling you which one is best, so who are you to argue?

Top Shot ultimately seems like an extension of what Google has been doing in its Google Photos app for years. It tries to find your “best” photos and brings them to the surface. This is even present in Google’s other products like the Home Hub, which acts like a digital photo frame, but only tries to display the highest-quality images from your library as determined by an algorithm.

While these are both examples of AI in action, it’s an important distinction that one happens while you take the picture and the other happens afterwards. They’re both guiding our perceptions of what it means to take a “good” picture.

Portrait mode

Blurry backgrounds in pictures of people are hot right now thanks to the proliferation of portrait mode and Google equipped the Pixel 3 with the next generation of that tech.

Unlike the iPhone, Google doesn’t have a telephoto lens to use for its portrait mode. Typically, with a DSLR, you’d pick a telephoto lens for a portrait because it won’t show the same kind of distortion on a person’s face that a wide-angle lens would. The iPhone and other smartphone cameras have a specific telephoto module for this purpose, but those cameras come with drawbacks. The sensors are typically smaller, which makes them create more noise in the images, especially in low-light. And the zoomed-in field of view makes it hard to take a photo without motion blur.

Google, however, stuck with a single main camera for the Pixel 3. It’s using what it calls dual-pixel tech to capture distance information with just a single camera module. On the whole, I found the Portrait Mode on the pixel more subtle than it is on other phones like the iPhone—and I prefer that. Right now, I see way too many overdone Portrait Mode images that look like a blurry mess and, while you can abuse the privilege on the Pixel 3, it’s harder to do and more natural looking.

Even when you adjust the amount of blur on the Pixel 3—a new feature in this model—the difference between maximum and minimum effect is clearly more subtle than the smeary backgrounds offered by other phones.

Zooming

The last bit of AI magic Google’s algorithm gnomes perform inside the Pixel 3 is Super Res Zoom, which allows you to give the appearance that you were closer than your wide-angle lens lets on.

Interestingly enough, this feature actually relies on your shaky hands to work. When you zoom in and take a picture, the camera takes several photos, each of which has a slightly different view because of the small shakes in your hands. The camera then compares that data and uses an algorithm to fill in more details about the scene than you’d get from a single shot.

The fact that it needs that camera shake to work is fascinating. In fact, if you shoot zoomed in on a tripod, the Pixel 3 actually uses the moving parts in the lens to give you slightly different perspectives so it can do its comparison.

Digital zoom has a bad name in the camera world, and for good reason. It typically results in a degraded image with more noise and visible artifacts that make the photo look jaggy. Those things are true here, but Google has done an above-average job of smoothing that over.

I know some camera enthusiasts who are still bummed about the lack of a true telephoto lens options, but considering the downsides that come with it (smaller sensor, noisier images), I’m OK with digital zoom in this case. It still isn’t perfect, but if you’re posting photos on Instagram, you have to zoom really far before anyone would even start to notice.

Front-facing cameras

While the rear-facing cameras are the most interesting part of the device for taking pictures, the wide-angle front-facing camera is a feature I found myself appreciating more than I expected. In addition to the typical front-facing camera, the wide lens offers a much bigger field of view. So, if you want to make a video of yourself talking while capturing other things happening in the background, this is a great way to do it. What about the rest of the phone? In my experience, the assessment that this phone is mostly a camera rang fairly true. The experience of using the Pixel 3 is a lot like using the Pixel 2. It now charges wirelessly (even through a case!), and the screen is noticeably different, but it ultimately works like a flagship phone.

Who should buy it?

At this point in time, I still think it’s kind of crazy to buy a smartphone simply because it has the “best” camera. If you can’t take a good picture with a modern smartphone camera, then it’s a matter of skill and understanding how pictures work more than it is about the hardware. But, I like the Pixel 3 a lot. In fact, I’ll have to think hard when it’s time to upgrade about whether or not this is the device that finally makes me jump ship from Apple for my personal device. And right now, the Pixel 3 is the best Android phone around. At least until the next one.

Written By Stan Horaczek

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: Star Trek/Star Wars Mashup: Ames’s Story

In celebration of A Star to Steer Her By’s second anniversary, we broke out the "Tales from the Holodeck” fanfic again and wrote up some mashup stories combining Star Trek and Star Wars! We picked our series and allowed the force to guide us where we went from there. You can listen to all the fanfic on the podcast, or read them here! This is Ames’s short story written out. Live long, prosper, and may the force be with you.

[images © Lucasfilm, Disney, CBS, Paramount, etc.]

“The Solo Algorithm”

by Ames

Random Picks: Star Trek: TNG / Star Wars Anthology Series

I'd been staring at the plans for the Death Star for the entire morning, poring over every detail of the computer code until I could see them burning on the backs of my eyelids. My head buzzed. My office appeared blurry. This was easily the biggest project I'd worked on, so complex that I had to keep a cheatsheet next to my monitor with all the algorithms scrawled in my unsightly handwriting. My intercom shouted at me every few minutes with new requests until I had to turn on the auto-response so I could claw at the blueprints for some futile minutes in peace. I came to the determination that whoever had designed this project had fucked up.

I flipped the intercom back on. "You have 1001 messages!" screeched the mechanized voice of the auto-response system. "Press one to hear your messages!"

I dialed in the number for the inventory manager, whose line was also going to auto-response. A curt, concise: "Inventory. Please consult the database."

Rolling my office chair behind my desk, I bumped the rear wall of my cube. We were not allowed windows. We were not allowed doors. We were not allowed to see any of the other workers in untold other cubes, fitted only with enough room to sit at our computers and stare at the wall of monitors while we incessantly worked through what was assumably the workday. Sometimes I could hear the occupants of neighboring cubes bump against my wall and mutter some profanity, occasionally an apology. A tiny, simple houseplant I'd custom-designed and printed sat on my desk so that I wouldn't go stir crazy.

I brought up the database and started searching through it. We could build starships, we could design worlds, we could create artificial beings with personalities that could fool a Turing test, but whoever maintained the database was the true mastermind of this operation. The task sheet was several thousand pages of cells that delineated the job breakdown because we had to account for everything, no matter how minute, and whoever had bungled the Death Star would be on it somewhere.

It was afternoon when I'd tracked down the culprit out of everyone else developing the plans. I pulled up an extension number with no name – we didn't go by those – and called their intercom. They didn't have their auto-response on.

"Make it quick; I've got to finish this damn thing," came the genderless voice on the other line. I would never meet this person, as I would never meet any person here. It's possible I'd spoken with them many times on countless other projects, and just as possible our degrees of separation had been infinite until today.

"Uh. Hi. Say, have you noticed something wrong with the Death Star plans?" I asked. I stared at my little houseplant and drummed my fingers on my desk.

My counterpart groaned. "You're obviously going to have to be a whole lot more specific than that." I could hear them typing nonstop through my earpiece, working endlessly even while we talked.

I pulled up the design plans again and zoomed in. The pixels fuzzed and then sharpened as I scrutinized a certain section that had gotten me scratching my head. "Well… Uh, take a look at the superlaser reactor," I started. "I'm kinda reviewing the code and, uh, if there were a pressurized explosion there-"

"The whole station will blow. Yep," they said, as matter-of-factly as possible.

"Oh, so you're working on it? I figured it was a mistake and I just wanted to make sure-"

"No, you don't get it. It's supposed to do that."

I stopped fidgeting in my chair and stared at the intercom as if I expected to see something there. My brow thoroughly furrowed, I managed a "Wha- Why?"

They snorted at me. "Players have to be able to beat the Death Star – it's the damn trigger for the next cut scene." It sounded really simple and obvious when they said it. We builders don't always think about the reasons behind the designs we construct; we just do them to check them off from the inexhaustible database, which assigns us a new project, and on and on into oblivion. They continued, "No one's gonna play the damn game if there's no way to beat this level. Didn't you read the wireframe specs? The flaw is there intentionally for the storyline to- Oh, goddammit shit on a fuck! Hang on!"

I jerked my chair away from my desk and smacked it against the wall. My adjacent unseen neighbor yelled something muffled and I could hear them give the wall a hit with the palm of their hand. "Sorry!" I called out.

In my earpiece, the codewriter on the intercom was still letting out a raucous stream of profanity. "Cockass fucking shithole piece of hell!" they shouted.

I hesitated between hanging up on them so they could get back to their obviously important work, and apologizing for existing in the first place to wreck their day so utterly. "Oh jeez," I stammered, "I shouldn't have brought it up; I- I- I'm sure you've got it under control. I, uh, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No, for fuck's sake, it's fine, dumbass. The Death Star is ready to roll out, dammit. It's just this other project just keeps not coming the hell together. I'm supposed to be coding Han Solo and he keeps coming out fucked up."

"I'm sorry," I squeaked.

"Stop apologizing! Now I've got to undo a day's worth of edits on his stupid charisma levels, but then his whole personality generator will be imbalanced and he'll just be too much of a miscreant for this assignment. This whole character sheet is fucking impossible. I wish I could just start from scratch and delete this son of a bitch."

My hands were shaking as I listened to them shout at me over the intercom, and I focused on my tiny potted plant. I had made it to give me something real to look at in this grey, claustrophobic mimicry of an office, otherwise made up of screens and machines. Everything else black or metal, even my hulking metal desk. The plant was just a couple tiny leaves, simple, uncluttered. I could have made a flower, but the greenness of the ittybitty leaves were just what I needed to make myself feel composed, justified. Like my existence in this world were validated. I took a quick breath before gliding my chair closer to my desk. "Well… Then why don't you?" I asked.

"Why don't I what?" came the clipped reply. I heard more frantic clattering which echoed from the keyboard, more muffled cursing.

"Start from scratch? I do it all the time."

"What are you talking about? That's a waste of time. I've already got so far into developing this feckless cad. You have no idea how long- how many hours I've spent staring at- ugh, and he's got this fucking idiot ponytail I'm just sick of too! I just want to cut it right off his damn head!"

I tried not to laugh. Smiling, I went on, "You don't know about the Star Trek universe, do you?"

"What? No. The what?"

All of the developers loved the Star Trek universe. It was enormous. It contained nearly everything we'd ever created to date. And everything in it came from mistake after mistake after mistake, growing and evolving into the most realistic world we'd all ever built.  And it would never see the light of day.

"It's only where we've been dumping our botched projects for as long as I've ever known. What? You can't delete this Solo guy? Then I say scrap him for anything useful, rename the original file to anything else – uh, Okona or, I dunno, literally anything, – and dump it into the Trek ether. Here, I'll send you a link that a bunch of us have been using. I've got a ton of crap floating around in there."

I found the link to the virtual environment and messaged it to the developer's extension. Over my earpiece, I could hear the message pop up on their screen with a cartoonish bouncy sound. "This is a fuckin' live world?" they asked, incredulous.

"Yeah sure! I mean, it's programmed to never leave the test environment, so it'll never be found, but yeah. You put something in here, and you get it off your plate, and you can, I dunno, start over from the beginning . I do it all the time. I was on the Game of Thrones project and broke one of the Dothraki's foreheads somehow – really rough day, don't ask – so I renamed them Klingons and basically threw them in here. Now they're one of the biggest races in the universe."

"The garbage universe?"

"Ish? It's been running on its own for a long time now. And all the beings in there have their free will turned on, so they just sort of go, and write their own stories, and stuff like that. It's a downright lifesaver sometimes."

I'd heard about the Star Trek universe early on from another developer. This jury rigged quickfix had been passed along from person to person in this office as a way to work around efficiency checks and quality assurance, and it was rather brilliant. Another coder who kept bungling a Gandalf for the Lord of the Rings virtual reality game told me about it. They couldn't get the long white hair on the wizard to attach properly, so they just shaved it all off, renamed the file Jean Luc Picard, and shoved it in there. I heard that character's a starship captain now!

As far as I can tell, the first usage of the Star Trek universe was when someone was building The Master from the Doctor Who VR, accidentally overpowered the character, renamed him Q, and gave him sentience. After the coverup of that mistake, the whole galaxy started to come together on its own and turned into this enormous, complex behemoth where the characters have no idea that they are programs, the worlds are first drafts that have evolved into huge functioning civilizations, and the stories write themselves into the cosmos of what's effectively a galactic recycling bin.

My counterpart was silent on the other end of the line for a long time, without even more typing to be heard. They spoke in an awestruck whisper. "I'm looking at this universe, and holy shit."

"Yeah, I know."

"Thanks a shit-ton for showing me."

"Hey, no prob, really, just doing what anyone would do."

"Who are all these space elves I'm seeing?"

"I dunno. Probably Vulcans? They're sort of neat," I said.

"Why isn't THIS what we're building?" they finally exclaimed in ecstacy. "People would play the hell out of an open-world sandbox program like this! It's fucking majestic! It's… it's everything!"

I didn't have an answer for that. We developers try not to dwell too much on our purpose in life, spent forever logged into office cubes, staring at blinding monitors, where we create everything the database tells us to whenever a project calls for a new character or item or vehicle or anything, no matter how big or how small. We have to account for all of it while we literally build the world and everything represented in it.

"Yeah, it's pretty great." I hesitated for a second while I couldn't stop from smiling at the sheer splendor of the world we'd unknowingly nurtured. "Hey, can I tell you something, friend?"

"What's that?"

"Can you go check how a planet called Bynaus is doing?"

"Bynaus? Uh, sure. Let me see." I heard some clicking and waited for a reaction to what they might see. "There's a little humanoid being down there. Cute little shit."

I trembled, grinning, tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes. "That… That little humanoid… That's me."

"That's you? You built yourself?"

"Something like myself. Like, an interpretation of myself. I kinda wanted some version of me to exist somewhere in the playable universe. Maybe it's stupid-"

"Naw, it's not stupid, it's cool," they scolded me. "You named yourself 01?"

"It's from my extension number."

"Oh my god." There was another pause and more clicking I could hear. Finally, the other spoke up. "I'm gonna build myself to keep you company. I'm gonna be 10."

"Oh! You don't have to do that…" I was surely blushing, though the other developer would never know it.

"Already did. I just copied your file and mirror imaged it. Stupid easy."

I opened the universe and watched the two Bynars – me and a nearly identical programmer I would never meet – as they conversed rapidly to each other, going about their days as if they were real people, ignorant that they were just two pieces of code living in a virtual world.

"I should get back to my jackass Han Solo problem," they said. "I may keep the vest, but everything else is just horseshit."

"Sure."

"Nice talking with you."

"You too. Hey, another suggestion," I said.

"What's that?"

"You should print yourself a houseplant for your office. They're nice, I think."

I logged out of the office environment at the end of the workday, and pulled the virtual reality set from my head. I immediately felt ten pounds lighter. And that night, as I stared out my apartment window at a slightly pixelated setting sun and a program depicting a city full of apartment buildings implying masses and masses of people, I felt optimistic about the world for the first time in a long time. "Computer," I said, as I stretched my legs and shook out my arms, "load program Star Wars: Escape from Corellia."

Thanks for reading! If you’re hungry for more, check back here for Caitlin, Jake, and Chris’s stories, revisit our first batch of TOS fanfic here, keep listening to the podcast, and follow A Star to Steer Her By on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to tip your yeoman!