the distance is only physical


Open When Letters 

A continuación frases que puedes escribir en cartas para meterlas en los sobres, también ideas para complementar los temas:

  1. Open… Right Now!: The distance is only physical, [incluir breve explicación]
  2. You need a kiss: Utiliza pintalabios para colorear tus labios y luego besar un trozo de papel.
  3. You are mad: No hay diversión sin locura #YOLO
  4. You feel like crying: Nunca digas “no puedo”, levantate, respira, desahógate en el lugar que más te guste, sonríe, sigue adelante.
  5. You want to run out: [Incluir pétalos de flores, hojas secas] Aquí un lugar que solo tu y yo conoceremos.
  6. You want to be NERDY!: [Dibuja lentes y un moñito muy nerds] [Incluir pasos para ser nerd, aunque no sean muchos] [Puedes bromear un poco]
  7. You see a woman crying: No hay mujer más desnuda que la que llora en los brazos de un hombre.
  8. Halloween: Si eres de México puedes incluir una “calaverita”, si eres de algún otro lugar o no sabes lo que es, agrega una carta temática. [Obsequiarle dulces puede complementar el detalle]
  9. You are nervous: Nos vamos a poner los pantalones e intentar no vomitar… Lo de más es tuyo.
  10. You’re had a hard day/ need motivation: Eres más fuerte de lo que crees, levantate y sigue. Cuando pienses en rendirte, recuerda la razón por la que empezaste.
  11. You are tired: Cansado pero no vencido, y eres fuerte, se que puedes.
  12. You are going to do GYM: ¡VAMOS! ¡¿Qué haces aquí parado?! ¡Corre Corre Corre!
  13. You have nothing better to do/ Bored: [Regalarle hojas para que dibuje, un sudoku, una sopa de letras o algo que sirva para distraer.]
  14. You are sad: Ningún mar en calma hizo experto a un marinero.
  15. Open in case of Zombie Apocalypse: [Puedes ver la película “Zombielad” o “Tierra de zombies” y registrar los tips o inventar tu mismo una lista que lo salve de una epidemia zombie.]
  16. It’s october 25th: Octubre 25, es el 298° día del amo en el calendario gregoriano y el 299° en los años bisiestos. Quedan 67 días para finalizar el año.
  17. It’s five o’clock in the morning: “Buenos días domilón/a”
  18. Birthday: [Una carta emotiva donde expreses felicidad por su cumpleaños, incluir confeti, globitos dibujados y un pastelito, también dibujado.]
  19. You feel lonely: [Deja algunas de tus redes sociales y hasta tu número] “No estás solo, me tienes a mi”
  20. You want to be hipster: 1. Come mucha nutella 2. Repite todo el día “Okay?, Okay” 3. Lee libros y escribelo en facebook.
  21. You can’t sleep: Contemos ovejas juntos: 1….2…..3…..4…..5….
  22. You want to know more about me: [Escribe una breve autobiografía, en la que incluyes datos raros o curiosos sobre ti, hasta puedes incluir una foto tuya.]
  23. You are sick: ¡Que te mejores!. [Regalar un sobre de té de manzanilla.]
  24. You need information: Atelophobia: the fear of not being good enough, but you are perfect like pizza…
  25. Somebody hates you: Meteré tu opinión en mi cuenta bancaria, para ver si en un par de años me genera algún tipo de interés.
  26. You feel like a hero: ¡Eres un héroe! ¿Me darías tu autógrafo?
  27. You are gonna travelling: Te deseo un buen viaje
  28. You are stressed: “Rompele la cabeza a alguien, disculpate y sigue con tu vida” [Puedes incluir un té de hiervabuena o hiervasrelajantes]
  29. You want to draw: [Incluir una hoja blanca para que tu chico/a dibuje lo que quiera.]
  30. You want to celebrate: YOU ROCK [Agrega pequeños globos de fiesta, de preferencia reales]
  31. You don’t feel handsome: Para mi, eres atractivo.
  32. You need a laugh: [Busca chistes en internet y escribele algunos, o imprime fotos de memes.]
  33. You are going to sleep: Buenas noches, descansa, sueña bonito y nos vemos luego.
  34. It’s winter break: Felices vacaciones, no olvides tu chamarra y un rico chocolate/ponche de frutas.
  35. You miss me: [Imprime tu mejor foto y regálasela.]
  36. It’s new years eve!: [Una carta como si fuera el día de fin de año, deseando tus mejores de seos para él/ella y si quieres hasta su familia.]
  37. Christmas’ day: [Una carta para el día de navidad, deseando lo mejor y enviando abrazos.]
  38. You are working: Un café y un poco de música te mantendrán vivo.
  39. You want a surprise: [Agrega un dibujo, una cartita o un detalle pequeño que haga especial esta carta, sorprendelo/la]
  40. You need a push: Si estás buscando una señal para seguir adelante, aquí está, es esta.
  41. April fools day: [Puedes dejar vacío este sobre]
Closer - WIP

For @nairobiwonders and her fic Friday event (that I want to become a weekly event now…)

I’m sorry to post something unfinished, but I just had an image pop into my head and went with it, and of course it is taking longer to express than I thought. And I really wanted to post something on fic Friday!



Joan was pulled out of her doze far too easily by the tone in Sherlock’s voice. He would never intentionally wake her up this way.

She turned over in bed to face her doorway, where Sherlock stood, his hands tucked tightly into the pockets of his sweatpants, his torso bare exposing his swath of strange tattoos and the erratic nature of his breathing. He looked furtively at her through his lashes, his forehead showing a few extra wrinkles.

Her bleary confused stare immediately shifted all the way over to concern. “What is it, Sherlock?” She had barely gone to bed half an hour ago, and it wasn’t like Sherlock to bother her after she’d chosen to go to bed—at least not for the next six or seven hours.

“I had a, uh…” He looked away from her, pursed his lips, an unfamiliar action for him. He was obviously berating himself. “A request,” he finished, glancing from her face to the floor. A twitch in one of his arms told her he was struggling to keep his hands in his pockets.

She let her expression return to confusion. “Okay,” she said, letting him know with the cadence of the word she wasn’t annoyed, hoping he would look up at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No I only…um.” His wandering gaze went from the floor to the ceiling, and he began bouncing only slightly on his heels, the move so subtle only eyes as keen as hers could catch it. She would bet his pulse was increasing right now. She raised herself up on one elbow, pushing he braid over her shoulder and trying to catch any nuance of expression that would tell her his thoughts. She’d learned to read Sherlock well enough over the years, that even with only the hall light illuminating him from behind, she could tell he was embarrassed, not only anxious. It was in how he held his shoulders down, his hands in his pockets rather than out for her to see, his eyes wandering more than they ever did. Sherlock’s eyes were always focused—when they were not, it meant one of two things. He was extremely unsure or he was under the influence.

“I had an encounter earlier that I thought you should know about.” He finally got the words out, managing to focus on her face for more than a heartbeat. “It was with a, uh, drug dealer.”

“I take it this drug dealer was a member of SBK?” Joan ventured, knowing Sherlock was still not one-hundred percent on board with Shinwell remaining an informant—his hands-off approach to Shinwell’s training was proof enough of that. It had nothing to do with giving Joan “the honors,” as he kept referring to Shinwell’s training as, in that wry yet cheerful way he had.

He gave a slight nod, to the side as if he only begrudgingly admitted it. She had no idea why—she was sure he had good reason for talking to a member of SBK. They had to learn their enemy just as well as Shinwell had, after all.

“He offered to sell to me. Said he could recognize a user, even a former one,” he continued, rolling one shoulder in suppressed irritation. Anger was creeping onto his face, but he was holding it in.

“I seek not only your counsel, Watson, but your…reassurance.” His eyes locked with hers, and he was clearly biting the inside of his cheek, hard. He wanted to lash out—this was not the same restlessness she’d seen a few weeks ago, when he’d stopped going to meetings. This was a barely controlled hatred—at loss of control, loss of focus, two things that were the cornerstones of his sobriety, as she’d warned him when he’d insisted on his intellectual superiority.

“You know you can talk to me, Sherlock,” she said, feeling sleep pull at her but knowing Sherlock needed someone now. If this had been four years ago, he might even had said the word “relapse” in earnest. Now they knew each other too well—he would not be so forward. He knew enough to fear his effect on her. It pained her to think of it—to think of what his last relapse had damaged, but it wasn’t something she could dwell on now.

He nodded more energetically this time, his words coming out hurried, “I know this, Watson, and you know I value your support. I only hesitate to ask more of you now since our partnership has drifted so far from the one between sober companion and client—” He bit off the end of the sentence, his gaze wandering to the window behind her. He was searching for the words now, holding his entire body tightly bound close, as if he feared the words that he sought.

“Sherlock, please look at me.” He did, albeit hesitating for a good second, searching that blank darkness past her window for a last futile moment. “We are friends. Just because I was once your sober companion doesn’t mean I am any less your friend now. If it helps, view me as an Irregular that you just happen to live with,” she said, holding out her left hand palm up to punctuate her suggestion. He gave her a skeptical side-eye, but was still listening, so she continued. “My background as a sober companion only makes me a friend specialized in giving support when it comes to your addiction. We are no longer sober companion and client, and we don’t ever need to be again. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel bad for asking me for help. Friends are supposed to want to help each other.”

He was uncannily still for a few seconds, studying her with a scrutiny she recognized as completely selfish—he only looked at people that way when he was deducing how they could be lying, even unconsciously. And Joan knew, even unconsciously, she was telling the truth.

“If I were to ask you, Watson, as an Irregular and a friend, if you felt comfortable sharing a bed for the night, would you object?” he said, a rasping in his voice that betrayed his fear.

The words hung between them accompanied only by Joan’s increased, staccato heartbeat spreading through her limbs. Could Sherlock see that?

Her expression didn’t change though, so she felt safe enough to reply. “No. But I have to ask why.” Her words came out measured, a careful slowness that she knew Sherlock could read as trepidation. Hopefully he read nothing more.

He bounced visibly on his heels, once, twice, his eyes wandering again. “When I was using, I found it more satisfactory to distance myself from others. Not only socially but physically. Physical touch was more abhorrent to me then than it ever has been—or ever will be.” He stopped to study her expression. Nothing had changed, he had to be realizing. She was listening in her nonjudgmental way, waiting. He took a slow, audible breath, his chest expanding, before he continued.

“As you know I have usually taken on an exercise partner to use whatever excess energies may be hindering my deductive processes. But this exercise also stimulates my mind and detracts from those excess energies that…” Here he finally took one hand from his pocket, gesticulating with a few circling motions his struggle to express something that so troubled him. “…That make my addiction more tangible to me.”

She took a slow breath herself, gathering her courage. “I’m not having sex with you.”

He held up a finger. “I did not say that, Watson, allow me to elaborate.” He could not look at her after she’d said the word “sex”. It was strangely amusing to see him uncomfortable at something she had said. She let her mouth twist in a wry smile.

“It is not the actual sexual act I have found to detract from that energy which brings me closer to my addiction, but the…” He moved his hand back and forth between them, bouncing his heels at the same time now that he was finally getting his difficult message across. “…contact, you see. So I thought, perhaps, if you were not opposed we could…”

“Share a bed,” she finished for him, seeing he’d taken his other hand out of his pocket and had begun to fidget in a decidedly stressed fashion.

He finally lowered his gesturing hand and gave a small nod, eyes on the floor, pursing his lips again. “Precisely.”

She looked away from him, gathering her thoughts, and trying to slow an irritable racing heartbeat. If she thought Sherlock was manipulating her in any way, she would’ve stopped him before he’d barely begun. But this was not manipulation—she’d seldom seen him this vulnerable, not since his relapse. He didn’t want to elaborate, but something about that SBK dealer had shaken him. They would talk about it later, but now was not the time for dissecting and deducing. It was nearing 1am, and Joan had no real reason to object to Sherlock’s request.

She scooted farther to the left of her bed, pulling back the covers for him. “Alright, you can share my bed with me, but if you start kicking in your sleep you’re out. And turn the hall light off please.”

Sherlock was still for a fraught three seconds before he sprang into motion, going to turn the hall light off and rushing back to her doorway like a recalcitrant child. She lay back on her pillow, moving the one other pillow she had to the right side of the bed for Sherlock. He saw her movement and took that for definite permission, coming to her bedside and climbing under the covers in not slow, but careful motions as if he waited for her to take back her words.

But only the rustle of bedsheets filled the room as Sherlock settled next to her. They both lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling, Sherlock as silent as he was capable, waiting for her further approval. She bit her bottom lip to hold back an irrational smile.

“Sherlock, you said physical contact helped you focus your energy away from your addiction,” she said, still looking at the ceiling. He didn’t move. She gave a small sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

A few seconds passed. Then he raised his left hand, palm up toward her. “Hand, please.”

She turned to look at his profile. His eyes were closed, his lungs expanding far too fast for her liking. She silently gave him her right hand.

He exhaled, long and slow. She found herself looking at the tattoo on his shoulder, the one of such great detail she’d never been able to determine exactly everything in contained. It was too dark now, but it occurred to her she had never asked him what the tattoo was, or why he had gotten it.

“Would it help to talk?” she said, her voice coming out a bit quieter, the reality of the darkness and their closeness settling in. She wore shorts and a tank-top for her pajamas—their skin to skin contact had never reached this level of potential. Her mind whirled in uncertainty for a few seconds, not knowing what to feel except for a familiar worry—for Sherlock and for her strange reactions—and an unwelcome excitement.

He was silent for much longer this time. His breathing slowed (and so did hers, though she never acknowledged that it increased in the first place), his grasp on her hand remained relaxed, his eyes closed. She knew he wasn’t asleep—he was thinking, considering. Her words or something else, she could only guess right now.

“No, Watson, I think…” His voice had grown softer as well, and his head turned toward her. “Can I move closer?”

She had turned to face him, and at his question her hand unconsciously tightened on his. She gave a single nod to confirm her agreement, a millisecond later realizing she wasn’t really sure what she’d just agreed to.

He took her hand and draped it over his chest. He was so warm he was almost hot, and if Joan had not been a surgeon and had not known Sherlock was nowhere near ill, she would’ve thought he had a fever. In contrast her skin was cold against his. She moved closer to him to move her arm further across his chest, the prickle of his chest hairs sending foreign but welcome chills down her back. She hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps rising on her skin (how could he not notice).

Her forehead touched his shoulder, and they spent several minutes settled thus, her feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her arm, him holding her hand gently in his own. Joan could not summon sleep. She was no longer even tired. It may have been approaching 2am, or 3am, she would not know. She feared moving closer, that he might feel her heartbeat increasing again. But then she realized he could feel her pulse as clear as day against his skin. Something in her shifted, and fear rose, but she didn’t know what to do with it. Her hand clenched into a fist under his, and she closed her eyes against the fear, seeking the empty blackness behind her eyelids to give her some calm.

Instead she felt Sherlock’s heartbeat, beating nearly as fast as hers, and this small detail made her open her eyes.

Sherlock was looking at her. She lifted her head, blinking a silent question at him, feigning nonchalance. He took his hand from hers, and lifted it to her face, holding his hand just above her forehead.

“May I?” he said, that rasping back in his voice, the words coming out a whisper that barely brushed her cheek. She nodded.

He smoothed his hand over her hair, and though she couldn’t see his expression, she felt his hesitation. He wasn’t fully touching her, holding his hand just a hairsbreadth away. She could feel that hesitation just as much as if he’d grabbed her. She was about to say something, when he began undoing her braid.

She hadn’t even noticed him pulling off the hair tie, only registering peripherally that he had moved his hand to her braid, pulling it over her shoulder. Now all she could focus on was what little she could see of his eyes, intent on the braid he was now undoing, as if it was another experiment that had caught him unawares, that he could not help but explore.

His fingers ran through her now loose hair, again and again, until she could feel the static against her neck, but also the brush of his fingers, sending more chills through her.


EDIT: the finished chapter is up on ao3

For @cynthiaadewi

To love at a distance,
can be harder than loving yourself;
one too far,
one far too close.

To love at a distance,
can torture your soul.
You desire the closeness;
something less dull.

To love at a distance,
can prove trials -
tribulations -
that go on for miles.

To love at a distance,
can prove strength -
sanity -
no matter what the length.

This closeness, this distance,
are only physical definitions of space.
The heart can stay close,
while the range remains out of place.

Go follow @cynthiaadewi (cool posts included).

Want a poem? Just message me a bit about yourself and you’ll get not only a poem, but a shoutout to 10,000+ people (must be following @miseryland and @literaryland)!

A sky full of stars

Commission for my good friend Kurtt Amarok.
He’s his character Kros.

The similarity with a title song from Coldplay is no coincidence.

Here the feeling I wanted to transmit is the freedom. Because I think it really is an emotional state that allows you to do what you want with your life. Even realize how small we are compared with the universe, creates a very strong emotion, and that is if we have thought about how small we are, is because we have gone out from our little box, we have come to explore, and compare actual distances, not only maps, but in physical spaces.

Do whatever we want with our lives: something very difficult to achieve but not impossible, just we need some initiative to make it happen.

(Don’t make wishes to shooting stars, probably they are already dead)

Digital. Photoshop. The bike was the most difficult to do on this whole scene!!


In all the scenes where the’re only both, it’s the first time that there is as much physical distance between them.

Even after the revelation of Judith’s paternity, and even if Michonne takes a step towards Rick, there’s still no contact, no touch, no kiss…

Of course, the connection is always there, spiritually, emotionally: when Rick says that he don’t want to lose her, when she tells him she will try… The intensity of their feeling for each other is always here (even more than anything we had seen before) but… still no touch… They don’t even walk side by side when they come back with the rifle and the deer.

It’s a big contrast because there has always been a contact (sometimes just a light touch) between them or a Rick invading the personal space of Michonne lol

And  I hope that this distance (almost painful for me as a richonners) is there to allow us to enjoy the most intense physical reunion between our two lovers in a few episodes … I can’t wait to see it !!!

Written By: @sleepywitchysamurai
Written for: @ltothettotheri, it was easy to choose your prompt but hard to decide where to start. I really enjoyed the challenge however, I do hope you enjoy what I came up with.
Prompt: I was wondering what the dynamics would have been if Lori didn’t die but Michonne still showed up at the prison. Would Rick still have a connection to Michonne seeing as how they are like kindred spirits?

The Road Not Taken

Words: 2464
Rating: PG, does contain cursing
Summary: With Michonne’s unexpected appearance at the prison and the threat of the Governor breathing down their necks, the need for weapons is paramount. Rick and Michonne make a trip to Kings County.


The realization that his marriage was really over didn’t fully sink in until he held Judith in his arms for the first time. It had been a few hours of dealing with the chaos that had been caused by the last remaining inmate that prevented him from being there for Lori and Carl. Indeed, he was still angry with her but some of that anger had thawed, replaced with a certain level of indifference and a sense of wanting to start anew.

The apocalypse had destroyed their world and life was a lot less idyllic, life- after waking up from the coma and being reunited with his family- his choices, other people’s choices had paved a path in his destiny that still belied belief.

Now, as he held his beautiful baby girl, it felt like after all that had happened, after everything, he could start over again and really carve some sort of happiness out of this fucked up world.


The first thought that crossed Rick’s mind was that she couldn’t be real, her wide eyed stare held him captive in a state of shock, unable to comprehend anything beyond just looking at her. He was jolted out of his musings when the walkers began converging around her, at the swing of her sword, he found himself opening the gates, subconsciously aware that Carl had followed him.

The second thought that crossed his mind as he touched and looked over her unconscious form was the feel of her warm, smooth skin, the abdominal muscles pliable under his calloused fingers that soon became coated in blood after making contact with her thigh.

The third thing that occurred to Rick as he tried to coax her to talk and reveal the whereabouts of Glenn and Maggie was that he’d made a mistake in trying to touch her wounded leg. He could sense her strength through the determined and fierce look on her face and a brand of stubbornness that both frustrated him the longer she remained tight lipped but also intrigued him to know the things she was hiding

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Do you have any tips on turning a passive character into an active character? I have a character who just goes with the flow, and cannot think of a circumstance for him to take action. Help?

I have literally been waiting for this question for 4309 years because now I get to talk about the best character in the world aka Terisa (of) Morgan (all of you go read The Mirror of Her Dreams, by Stephen R. Donaldson). Terisa is relevant to your question, I promise.

Mild spoilers for TMOHD ahead.

So Terisa is a mid-twentysomething who has a habit of fading. Not literally fading, but feeling like she is fading, like she doesn’t exist. No one looks at her directly, she has no friends and family (her dad is emotionally abusive and keeps his distance from her), she barely feels physical stimuli, and the only proof she has that she exists are the mirrors in her NYC apartment. She needs the mirrors so she can see herself and prove to her eyes that she exists. Because of her fading disorder, she is probably the most passive protagonist I have ever read.

Long story short, a guy (Geraden) crashes through one of Terisa’s mirrors and takes her, via mirror, to another world/dimension (Mordant) which is pseudo-medieval (and done really well). Mordant is on the brink of war. It has enemies on two sides, its king is insane (and several people are trying to replace him), and it’s being attacked from within by magic, which comes from the mirrors. (You make a mirror, it shows an image of another dimension/world, you open the mirror, and whatever is in the image comes out.) Geraden brought Terisa out of his mirror. He was supposed to bring a champion who would save Mordant. Most of Geraden’s fellow magicians think Terisa couldn’t possibly save a fly, let alone Mordant, but questions as to Terisa’s importance continue to make her a spectacle to important people in and out of Mordant.

Keep in mind Terisa’s in another dimension’s Middle Ages, knowing absolutely no one, with her fading proclivity. Her arrival in Mordant forced her out of her shell. People expect Terisa to know the politics of Mordant, so others present her with facts. She tries her best to string them together, for her own survival. She tries to make sense of her situation and her “sense" is toppled at least three times. She begins to connect with people in Mordant; when one of them is seriously injured while protecting her, she takes action. And she fails. People die. She contemplates fading but realizes more people will die if she doesn’t act again. Terisa has decided she must help people. She sidelines her "champion role” to focus on saving the people she likes. And that gives her motivation and drive to be an active character for the rest of the series. 

tl;dr give your character a goal that they will chase with burning passion. A goal is your ticket out of passivity. If you can determine one or two things your character wants and let them chase it no matter the consequences, your protagonist will go from reactive to active.

anonymous asked:

can you explain the back ground for the relativity falls au you just posted

Sure! there’s some background in this post and this post too.

It’s the same idea–swapping the Pines twins and the Stan twins–but it’s going by canon instead of trying to fit Dipper/Ford and Mabel/Stan in all the same roles even when they don’t fit.

Dipper and Mabel are the same characters, same stellar relationship. Throughout the years Bill tries to separate them emotionally like how he separated the Stans in canon, but it never works because Dipper and Mabel’s bond is unbreakable. They grow up together and go to different colleges as adults, but they’re still the best of friends. Bill realizes physical distance is gonna be the only advantage he has with these twins, but even then their schools aren’t that far away from each other. He’s got his work cut out for him.

Bill knows Dipper is too naturally suspicious to fall for any of his tricks, so he opts for manipulating Mabel instead. Mabel’s all to eager to make new friends, so Bill either possesses someone or takes the form of someone she can trust in her later college years to build a friendship with her. He gives Mabel the idea of achieving World Peace through an invention he’s been thinking of designing, and Mabel’s all for it. She even enlists Candy to help her with the engineering–a reference to Ford enlisting Fiddleford to help him in canon.

Bill has some problems: he needs to make sure that portal is built in Gravity Falls, and Dipper Pines is a suspicious mother hen–he’s always checking in on Mabel, and he’s definitely gonna be put off by Mabel suddenly up and leaving to live in the middle of nowhere, Oregon after graduation. Bill convinces Mabel to keep quiet about her ‘World Peace’ machine by turning it into a fun surprise. He hypes it up and Mabel’s not gonna turn down anything that’s fun!

She’s manipulated into innocently hiding the truth from Dipper. But she doesn’t lie. Dipper still knows who Mabel’s friend, Bill, is–he’s even met Bill (and he’s got lots of wild theories on what Bill could be cause Bill’s definitely not human)–but he doesn’t know that they’re up to anything. When Dipper asks why Mabel’s moving, Mabel says she’s going to live with her friend Candy in Candy’s home town. It’s not exactly a lie either at first, until there’s an accident with the machine that’s actually a portal and Candy quits the project and leaves.

Mabel confronts Bill after that and surprise–he’s actually a demon that tricked her into building a portal that’s gonna end the world how stupid and bad does she feel haha especially cause she didn’t even bother to pay attention to how it works! Mabel’s really upset. She calls Dipper and spills the truth and he rushes to Gravity Falls as fast as possible. He’s frustrated that she kept this all a secret from him, but then he sees how distraught Mabel is. He knows she didn’t mean for any of this to happen–she thought she was doing good–so he can’t be seriously mad at her.

Mabel and Dipper start panicking trying to figure out how to shut the machine down. Mabel literally has no idea how it works and Dipper’s really frustrated about that, but! She did keep a pretty scrapbook of the portal’s progress, complete with some diagrams courtesy of Candy! So they’re frantically flipping through this pink sparkly scrapbook for a doomsday device (this is the greatest mental image i’ve ever had), trying to press the right buttons and levers. It’s even harder cause some pictures are missing from the book.

The three keys appear and Mabel, excited, bolts into the room the portal’s actually in. Dipper immediately chases after her with the scrapbook because this thing is obviously not safe. He’s near the big lever in the floor in front of the portal when Mabel dashes back over to him. She tries to take the scrapbook off of him saying she has an idea, but Dipper holds on to it and tells her to wait a second. Mabel’s impatient and they’re both freaked out so they play a small game of tug-of-war for the scrapbook–very sibling-like.

Dipper loosens his grip cause fine okay! she can have it! but Mabel yanks too hard and she and the scrapbook tumble backwards into the lever, switching it by accident. Mabel’s in the danger zone. She starts to get pulled away and, like Stan in canon, Dipper freezes up. He doesn’t know what the heck to do. There’s a million possible ideas running through his head–trying to turn the keys, switching the lever back, messing with any of the other billion switches in the lab, just running forward and grabbing her hand–and he can’t decide which is the best. He’s clueless and scared and watching his sister get far away very quickly.

Mabel chucks her scrapbook at Dipper at the last second before she’s swallowed up by the portal and there’s an explosion of light and energy, just like Ford disappearing in the portal in canon.

So Dipper is left sister-less, with her scrapbook that’s missing pictures, and a broken portal he doesn’t understand and is going to have a very hard time understanding without all the pieces to the puzzle, with only limited engineering knowledge to work with. Dipper went to technical school to start a paranormal TV show, not to fix some sci-fi super weapon.

But that would become his new goal. He’d drop everything he was doing and planning on right then and there and dedicate however long it takes to staying there and saving his sister. I think Dipper would become pretty determined to hunt down Bill too (and therefore understand how Bill works using any clues that might be left behind in the Shack) cause it was that bastard that tricked his sister in the first place. And thus, eventually, the Mystery Shack would be born in Mabel’s home, and quickly become Dipper’s home too.

Types of Friends

Summary: Dan and Phil’s friendship through the many years they have been friends.  Disclaimer: I do not think this is factual and you probably shouldn’t either :)

Word Count: 350

Warnings: Vague mentions of sexual actions.


Dan and Phil were best friends and much more.

They were the kind of friends who spent as much time together as possible. Their physical distance never making their friendship weaker only stronger. Many evenings were spent whispering promises over Skype and getting each other off quietly. Their meetings were cherished beyond anything else, filled with kisses and cuddling.

Keep reading

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Harry)

I love this idea. It’s super sweet. The first part is him being cuddly, the middle is a memory, the end is happy for the relationship

(1,907 words)

“Harry, seriously, chill with the PDA.” Niall muttered, slapping a card onto the round table between the couches of the tour bus. “Sorry,” Harry mumbled and lifted his head and arm off of yours, but left one arm snaked around your shoulders as all of you played cards games. “Niall, go easy on him,” Liam said, looking between him and Sophia, “when Soph has to leave, I’ll probably be loads worse.” Niall rolled his eyes, “Yeah? Well thanks for the heads up, mate, I’ll remember not to hang out with you, then.” You and Harry shared a glance, a knowing smile. Rarely did you hold hands, let alone cuddle in public. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy showing your affections, it was simply the overwhelming spotlight of being Harry Styles’ girlfriend that prevented it from happening.

You’d been on tour with the band for only two weeks, but in two weeks time, you’d been in the front row for nine concerts, toured six major cities in the United States, snuck Harry in and through five museums, and been photographed countless times by countless paparazzi. Frankly, you were exhausted and baffled at Harry’s still having enough vitality to continue the process year-round. 

“I’m gonna go get some coffee. Does anyone want anything?” No one answered, but Harry stood up, announcing he was joining you. You walked single-file down the bus until you reached the small kitchen space. As you brewed a pot of liquid caffeine, you felt Harry’s arms reach around your stomach, as he hugged you from behind. His big hands and metal rings simultaneously warmed and chilled your stomach on which they rested. “Harry,” you laughed rubbing his tight, tattooed bicep, “babe, I’m literally only meters from the group, you didn’t have to come with me.” He inhaled deeply, his nose in your hair. He rested his cheek against yours and spoke to your shoulder, barely above a whisper, “I know. I just don’t get to see you much lately, and tomorrow, you’re leaving me.” His barely-there stubble tickled your skin as he planted a soft kiss on your shoulder. “It’s not fair. We’re both doing what we absolutely love, and it’s keeping us apart.” 

“Physically,” you corrected him, “It’s keeping us apart only physically.” 

Neither of you planned on settling down any time soon, so if you wanted to spend any more time together, one of you would have to quit your job. Both of you were aware of that; it was one of the challenges you faced as a couple. And since your relationship was going strong for over a year, some decisions had to be made.

You sat in your car, a modest Honda Civic being more inconspicuous than Harry’s black Range Rover. The parking lot outside of Panera baked in the California sunlight. The dry air mimicked the lack of moisture in your throat following Harry’s confession. He repeated your name. “What do you think?” A family was crossing the asphalt and entering the restaurant, one child skipping ahead excitedly, an older one lagging behind, texting. “Uh,” you began, then paused, swallowing, “it’s not that I don’t feel the same way– believe me I do– I’m just… I never really planned on this relationship getting serious, especially since–”

“–Since I’m going on tour next week.” He finished for you. “Exactly.” He grabbed your hand and slowly dragged his thumb across yours. “You know good and well that I didn’t either. Any magazine or tabloid will tell you. It’s why my previous relationships have failed. I kept saying I was too young to have a serious relationship, that requires too much work. I wasn’t looking for that, but when you fall so hard for someone so quickly, the idea of working hard for a relationship with them becomes more appealing than the idea of being single and ‘free’, or whatever most male celebrities like about being single, I don’t know. The point is that we’re undeniably compatible. It’ll be work at first, and I’m prepared for that.” You nodded. 

The two of you fell for each other at a faster pace than you would ever recommend; however, for the two of you, it was nothing short of natural. You filled in for a sick journalist at work on the day your station interviewed One Direction. You did so well that when the original journalist announced it was morning sickness, you got promoted the position as lead anchor during her maternity leave. After the interview with the boys, you and Harry talked, hitting it off at the water cooler. You exchanged numbers, and the rest was history. In the span of their break from touring, you’d grown close, inseparable almost. Now, as he was about to leave, you tried talking about the future of your relationship over a panini and a soup and salad combo.

Now you sat in your car, running the air conditioner as cold as possible, as fiddling the nobs was your excuse not to have to make eye contact. “After you’re done with this tour, you’re just gonna keep cranking out albums and going on more tours, the cycle is endless.” You let out, finally meeting eyes with him. He immediately retorted, “At some point, we’ll have to slow down. That’s just how these things work.” 

“Harry, you never expected to last five years as a band, what if it never ends?”

“One of us will have to stop working at some point.”

“Is this relationship actually worth stopping our dreams, though?”

“Let’s try it and find out.” You hesitated. You always overthought things like this. You were a thinker over a feeler, but this one time, you sighed heavily, closed your eyes, smiled, and nodded. “Okay,” You opened your eyes to see his shocked face. “okay,” you repeated, “let’s do it. If it doesn’t work, we can’t pretend like it does, though. Deal?” He beamed, his sharp dimple appearing. “Deal.” You put out your hand for a hand shake, but he leaned in and sealed the deal with a kiss.

“If physical distance is our only problem, I’d say we’re doing a good job as a couple.” You recited your couples’ motto. Still behind you, he smiled weakly against your neck. He finished the often-recited phrase of yours, “I know. The thought of being without you at all hurts more than the thought of having you, only far away.” You filled your thermos with the strong-smelling coffee. Turning around into his embrace, you snuggled into his toned chest, and you could hear his heart beating faster than normal. You loved that he still got excited with you; there was something strangely empowering about it. He kissed your forehead, and you looked up at him to see him looked down at you, the height difference giving him a slight double chin. “I’m utterly hopeless when it comes to you, you know that?” He asked before lifting your chin with a finger, leaning down, and kissing you ever so softly. “I love you, H.”


The phone rang, startling you out of your daydreaming. The smell of the cheap coffee that the receptionist gave you had transported you to another world, with Harry. Tearing your eyes away from the photograph of you and him that sat on your desk, you picked it up. 

“Yes?” You recognized the number as your colleagues who were in the meeting room adjacent to your cubicle.

“Hey, would you mind coming into the meeting room for just a sec, we had an idea.”

“Uhm, okay. I’m not in trouble, am I?” You looked at your coworkers in the meeting room, and your boss on the phone was looking back at you, laughing.

“No, quite the opposite. Just get in here.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

The meeting room was significantly colder, so you drew your cardigan around your shoulders. “There she is,” Your boss stood and shook your hand, “As you know, the reporter you’ve been filling in for is almost ready to come back.“ You nodded, picking at the fraying cuff of your sleeve, embarrassed at what you knew he was going to say. “But anyone who knows a lick about journalism knows that you’re the best anchor this company’s ever seen,” You managed a small “thank you” as the other anchors and production crew sitting around the table agreed. “Basically, since we can’t just fire her, that would be unprecedented, we’re going to start a new segment on the show, only if you want. It should work better with your goals for a career anyway.” Curiosity overwhelmed you, “My what?” He laughed, “Your goals. Have a seat.” As you sat, he pulled up a slide show. “When we first interviewed you, we asked about your long-term goals. One of the reasons we chose you was because though you were overwhelmingly grateful for the opportunity to interview for the position of and the potential of becoming a researcher for a news station, you had goals to be something bigger. You wanted to travel, see the world, report about the goings-on of individual cities. Expand people’s perceptions of the world.” You found yourself smiling at the just the thought. That was one thing you loved about your work vacations. You could stop worrying about being “professional” and covering your simple tattoos or taking out your piercings. You could wear your hair natural, without styling, and worry less about your appearance and more about seeing as much of the world as possible. And Harry was your excuse and financial means of exploring some corners of the world that you wouldn’t ever be able to reach without his being in the picture. “I’d love that,” you said, more to yourself as your heart beat harder at what your boss was about to offer you. 

“Well, we’ve increased our viewership a lot this quarter, thanks partially to you, so we figured we’d splurge and do just that. We’re going to have a travel segment of news, a weekly installment, and each episode, a different location. We’d like you to be in charge of it.” Your jaw hit the floor. “This is literally a dream come true… a godsend… I…” Words escaped you. He continued, “And… I know from our personal relationship– I’m taking off my ‘boss’ hat and putting on my ‘friend’ one, here– this will be good for your relationship. I’ve seen your photo and video samples from your experiences with him, and they’re beautiful. I honestly can’t think of anyone better suited for this job.” Tears began welling up in your eyes. You stuttered your obvious response, “I mean, we’ll have to work out technicalities and logistics, but I accept, I’d be crazy to turn this down.” You said excitedly. 

You sat in the meeting room for a few more hours working out your first day, how you’d send your footage in, how you’d get your script, the research you’d have to do, the places you’d go. Though it was very structured, you still retained plenty of latitude. You were basically your own boss, and you couldn’t be more proud.

You remembered your previous conversations.

“One of us is going to have to slow down and possibly even quit our dream if we find that we want to keep this relationship up.”

Not anymore.

“Harry,” You said excitedly to his voicemail, “I’ve got the best news. FaceTime me tonight, okay? I love you!”