in 6 weeks

Exhaling Catalysts Weekly Prompt

Week of August 30, 2015


“To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived…is itself delightful.”
~Anne Carson

Originator: Tam (street-heart-posts)

Type: Poetry or Prose. Submissions or tagged posts are welcome. We will be monitoring the tag and reblogging to Exhaling Catalysts.

Tag: #exhaling catalysts prompt

Please use the prompt tag in the first few tags of your post; some posts don’t show up in a search when the prompt tag is listed at the end. If after a few days, you still don’t see your post, please let us know. Thank you!

Our sixth day, October 10th, is a nostalgic one. Here are the prompts:

  • Jolly Roger: any ideas involving the crew’s symbols. Perhaps a theory about the second symbol? Any thoughts on how each one chose theirs?
  • The Old Days: anything, from a theory about the beginnings of the crew, to how a certain member joined, or simply a moment with the crew, is good as long as it happened before Thatch died and everything went south.

Hi Guys! Well, looks like I got myself into a new multi chapter, lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

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Blind Dates Part 1

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Hayffie Week, Day 6 - District Thirteen

Haymitch and Effie through the years; from growing up separately in Twelve and the Capitol, and then together in District Thirteen

Day Six: Pirate AU

For billdip-week

This is late, but ah well. I was busy. I don’t like siren AUs, but I do love pirates, so I’m going to go with that.

Plus, steampunk because I don’t think it’s been done yet.

I know there are tons of inaccuracies here but idc. 

Dipper chewed on his bottom lip, brown eyes wide as he scanned the area around him, trying his best to crouch down even lower and curl up even tighter behind the crate. 

This has go to be his worst and most dangerous idea to date and even now he was debating on whether or not he should try and get out, to ditch this horrible and scatterbrained idea of his.

However, the fact was was that he was out of money, had no job, and needed to get back home. Home…a place he should have never left. Where his sister Mabel still was and the rest of his family. 

He should have never left them as he did. He should have never chosen research over his own flesh and blood. 

It’s too late to change the actions and the words he said in the paste, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try and work for a better future and try and mend the wounds he surely left. 

Startling when he heard some far away yelling, Dipper blinked hard as dust entered his eyes and, very carefully, peeked out the corner of the crate he was hiding in once again. No one was there. Good.  

The ship underneath him rocked ever so slightly and Dipper couldn’t help but try and latch onto the ground, the stubs that were his nails digging into the dirty wood. He had forgotten how terrifying airships were and how no matter how many times he told himself that he was safe and there was indeed ground underneath him, the feeling of free fall never quite left him. 

Dipper shook his head. He prayed to every god up there that he wouldn’t get sick. Or caught. Preferably both. 

Dipper cried out softly as he felt the ship lurch suddenly. Closing his eyes tightly, he gasped for breath as that tell-tale feeling of pressure started to slowly build up in his ears. Head pounding and stuffed, the boy dragged his teeth in his lower lip. Remembering a trick a sky-man once told him, Dipper reached up and pinched his nostrils shut while breathing out at the same time. Grinding his teeth together, he whimpered as his ears finally popped.

“Huh? What was tha?’” A voice suddenly said from somewhere behind him, thick with an accent he couldn’t quite place.

Dipper resisted the urge to let out a pained and panicked cry.

Sweat beaded his brow and his heart slammed against his rib cage in a bid to get out as the sound of boots clicking against the wooden floor started to travel closer and closer to where he was crouched. 

Dipper didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a pistol on him, nor a sword or knife. His eyes darted around frantically and his hands curled into fists. At this rate, the man was sure to find him and then…and then…

Dipper couldn’t help but gulp. 

He was going to die. This stupid idea was going to kill him and he’d never see Mabel or Stan or Ford or anyone ever again.

Tears pooled in his eyes and deciding enough was enough, he stumbled to his feet, arms raised high over his head, eyes squinting. 

“Please don’t shoot!” Dipper cried out, voice shivering and thin.

The man paused, eyes wide in surprise as he stared at him. Peeking through his watery lashes, Dipper could make out the tall golden feathers in his hat. A triangular black eye patch covered his right eye and he was dressed in a long, thin brown coat with stylish golden buttons and baubles. Even from here, he could see the man’s pistol in hand and his sword strapped to his side, which was surly sharp and dangerous.

“Well, well, well. A stowaway, eh? Haven’ see one o’ those in a while!” He laughed, voice nasally with a pitch that jumped through a soprano spectrum. 

Dipper, unsure of how to respond to this, kept his hands in the air.

The man focused his single, hazel eye on him, one that burned as violently as the sun. 

Dipper gulped thickly again, feeling his face heat up. There was no denying it, as dirty and raggedy as the man before him seemed, he was definitely handsome; there was no doubt about that. 

“So!” The man stuffed his pistol haphazardly into his belt before clapping loudly and striding over, lips twisted into a sick leer. “What is a soft lil’ kitten like you doin’ on this ship?”

Dipper’s mouth was dry as he stared up at the man, lungs and vocal chords grasping for words to spit out and say. He felt his face grow even redder and he couldn’t find the strength to yell at the man for the demeaning insult. 

“I- I- I…I ju-just want to g-go h-home…” He finally croaked out.

The man cocked an eyebrow at that and, much to Dipper’s surprise, his hard eyes softened if just a tad. “Home, now? And I suppose it’s in North America, am I righ’?”

Dipper nodded mutely. Lowering his hands, shoulders and upper arms aching, he nervously twiddled his fingers together. “Y-yes.” He answered.

Dipper startled as the man suddenly threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Well, you’re lucky you’re adorable, kid or I woulda shot you on sight!”

Dipper opened his mouth to protest his “cuteness,” only for an arm to wrap around his shoulders and pull him flushed against the man. He could feel the blond’s gauntlets across his neck, built in compass and other navigation tools biting into the flesh of his neck. His nose wrinkled up at the scent of alcohol. 

“What’s yer name, kid?”

“Dipper.” The brunet answered, only to curse himself a second later. He should have used a fake name!

The man however just laughed again and reached up to pinch his cheeks some. With his hands and arms crushed against the blond’s side, Dipper could do nothing but stand there and accept the unwanted attention.

“Well, yer in luck I found ya, kid. The name’s Cipher. Captain Cipher to everyone on this ship…well, except you.”

“M-me?” Dipper squeaked, everything suddenly moving too fast for him.

The captain gave him a toothy grin.

“To you, Bill is just fine!”

Cause what if they saw the other die in front of them?

My first ever SNS fanart!! So I just thought that what if back in 661/662, the other was too late to help and they see the other die right in front of them.
this took me 6 hours to draw huhu

A Nerd and a Sap

Summary: A lazy day turns more emotional than expected.

Part 6 of my solangeloanthology​​​ fic, Cheer Him Up. Written for solangelo​​​ week, with the prompt “Youtube”.
Thanks again to carpedm87​​​ for beta-reading!
All the chapters here, also on AO3 and
Word count: 832

The next day was a day off for both of them—a rare occurrence—and they celebrated it by sleeping in until late in the afternoon, and stayed in bed afterwards, not even bothering with clothes or life in general.

They didn’t even have sex—the previous night had had much more than enough of that. Will whipped up a breakfast-slash-lunch combo and brought it on a tray, slipping back under the covers to eat.

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