BYOC (Bring Your Own Coffee) - Now With More Coffee!

[Tronethiel]

have a limerick.
There once was a pretty woman from the Baltic (sea)


Who was known to be quite magnetic (you see),


When asked how she drew in forks and knives to her table (for afternoon tea)


She simply answered quietly that she was able (here's the key)


Because they came with the men energetic (tee hee hee)

Dear Goodness....

 

[Sunbather]

Baie de Douarnenez


I've laid my eyes on vast scenery


so green and so plush that my eyes cried its eternity


Buried inside their ensemble, like


Friedrichshain's magic poured all visitors wine


Deep, deep beneath the thicket where they cry


The birches hollow their bones and fill it with shine


Life buries itself in the middle of empty space


Nothingness with harsh gusts fiddle around


in absence of prase-like green but plenty dust, only brown


And it roars through the core, where heat lingers forevermore


With nobody around we shed our clothes, gift it to thee


Become one with the ground and lift our bravery, praises be


Resurrection with sheer beauty hidden deep


inside the seas, unclear and aloof, denying to be seen


And we yearn for our footsteps to imprint next to


the remains of old sailors in the wet earth's vow


So let us go, seize the sweetness and form a row


'round the belfry below where our slumber lies and dimly glows


Dreams so brittle, like sawdust in hardened cement


A city lacking repent, repels all our world represents


It is of no relevance, born in the white staircase or


a block of grey, as a miner of ore, no a doctor with a deathly incision


Lacking all vision, the machines pipe away endlessly


The city claims all, the city claimed you and the city claimed me


But when we birth in reverse we return to our roots


Become one with the gravel and fuel what children


will loot, flow like Nile and Havel


Tie my boots for one last journey, because I've laid my eyes


on life burying itself and resurrect with sheer beauty


Drawing me towards dreams oh so brittle and all that is holy

 

[Aur0ra]

I looked at the theme, nothing was coming to mind, typical writer's block, hold on...why don't we write ABOUT writer's block!:

there you go:

THINK

I pick up the pen.


At an empty paper I stare,


waiting for muse to kick in.

PLEASE THINK!!




I look at my surroundings,


for words pleading.


As the silent evening,


proceeds creeping.




WRITE SOMETHING!

I cry aloud.

WRITE ANYHTING!

I urge my brain,


But nothing comes out.


I'ts like a killer craving,


An addiction,


I can not live without.



​

Muse is like a weird magnet,


hidden beneath a thin table.


We're shards of nickle and iron,


steered, our minds unstable.

​

Only one word possesses,


so strong magnetic forces.


Pulling thoughts together,


creating heaps of verses


THINK


In half I break the pen,


I stand shouting once more.


It really irritates me when,


I know not what to look for

 

[Hercynia]

Okay, attempt one. Hopefully this'll work out, I'll see.


Drifting, in the empty darkness of space. Travelling further, and further, from the starting point, straying further from the strange hold your home has on you with every passing second. Nothing brings greater pain, and, greater joy, than the simplicity of travelling away from where you go. It attempts to pull you back, this magnetic force, pulling at your feelings, making you believe, more than anything else, you want to go back, yet, at the same time, travelling from everything you know brings release, excitement, an all-pervading feeling of adventure. Why is it, that, even on Earth, we drive ourselves to explore, reach heights unknown, despite this magnetism pulling us back? Why do we travel further and further away, to experience new, strange things? Perhaps it would be better to turn back, but, to show any sign on the outside, to show any pain at leaving, that would be weakness, and then, our weakness would be exploited. We hide our tears, each of us, even when we know others go through the same, because deep, deep inside, we want to believe that we are the only ones who can get us through this, or that we are the only ones who are safe with our weaknesses. And yet, despite any intentions, we continue to travel further and further, leaving all we knew, and all we would ever know, behind.

-Captains Log, Entry #1, of the Exploratory Frigate Hope.

​

 

[Ozmic]

Okay, attempt one. Hopefully this'll work out, I'll see.

-Captains Log, Entry #1, of the Exploratory Frigate Hope.

​

This is a nice snippet, that I think would do well with some extra formatting and line breaks. The content, in my opinion, is quite nice and seems to flow decently.


The biggest change I would make would be to move a little away from so many commas breaking up the sentences and maybe rework a few of them to flow a little nicer.


Where you've said "It attempts to pull you back, this magnetic force, pulling at your feelings, making you believe, more than anything else, you want to go back, yet, at the same time, travelling from everything you know brings release, excitement, an all-pervading feeling of adventure." for example.


It might move more nicely to the reader broken up a bit more by sentences over commas, preventing it from seeming too 'run on'. Example: It attempts to pull you back, this magnetic force. Pulling at your feelings and making you believe, more than anything else, that you want to go back. Yet, at the same time, traveling from everything you know brings release, excitement and an all-pervading feeling of adventure."


Other than that, it's a nice read and I'll be glad to see more come from you, @ResonantStorm. Welcome!

 

[Hercynia]

Ah, I'm not so good at rereading, and what I tend to write is quite spur-of-the-moment. I go back and think: Did I write that?


But I agree with you there. It could be made much clearer the way you suggested it, (which I'd have seen if I reread it) and I'll freely admit that line breaks and the like are not my strong suit at all. Thanks for the criticism, I'll do my best to incoporate that into my next piece of writing.


@Mr\. Grin

 

[Ozmic]

Ah, I'm not so good at rereading, and what I tend to write is quite spur-of-the-moment. I go back and think: Did I write that?
But I agree with you there. It could be made much clearer the way you suggested it, (which I'd have seen if I reread it) and I'll freely admit that line breaks and the like are not my strong suit at all. Thanks for the criticism, I'll do my best to incoporate that into my next piece of writing.


@Mr\. Grin

I can't say much, as I've a tendency to overuse line breaks in my prose. And I definitely know the feeling of being poor at re-reading - especially when it comes to my own work.


And you're welcome! =]

 

[Kloverdesu]

Okay guys, I'm joining in *hides in corner*





Silver chain on the floor. Half covered in caked mud, just like my boots. I bend down, running my calloused fingers across the cool metal. I dig my nail into the hardened brown gunk, and pick it away until I've loosened the chain. There's a charm on it, shaped like a magnet. I turn the chain, and feel something rough in my hands. I pull a folded up sticky note off the chain, where it is tied with a faded red string. The paper is stained brown with mud, and I strain my eyes to read the tiny handwriting.

Rayne:


You and me were meant to be


Like hearts carved in the side of a tree


If you would just notice me,


you'll see how happy we would be.


() Natasha



​

I frowned, worrying my lip between my teeth. This seemed like it was for someone, someone special. I looked up, making a mental note to search for this 'Natasha'. Then, I was slammed into the ground. A wild-eyed girl with her long coffee-colored hair in braids tackled me, prying the chain out of my hands.


"Why did you steal this? Huh? Tell me!" I squirmed back, trying to get out of the girl's iron grip. This must be Natasha, I thought, swallowing hard.


"I didn't, I just found it on the ground," I was telling the truth, but she didn't look like she believed me. She studied me quizzically then got off of my, kicking some mud at me.


"As long as you don't tell anybody what was in there," Natasha's cheeks were crimson, and snatched the note from me. She ran away, her braids flying behind her. I got up, and wiped the mud off of my sweater. I couldn't say I was glad she'd found me, since she'd tackled me, but I was happy that she'd be able to give the bracelet back to the intended recipient.

 

[Ozmic]

Something a tad light hearted this time around. Bit of silliness to brighten up yer' evening based on an idea and some 'local' flavor.


Some better stuff next week, I swear.

Super Zero

They called me the 'Atomic Attraction'. The 'Maestro of Magnetism' and 'Idol of Influence'.


God help me, they think I'm a superhero.


'Atomic Attraction' and I can't even pick up a drunk chick at Simon's Tavern. HA!


I brought it on myself, I guess, but I was just trying to help. Do what I can with this 'gift' I was given, or whatever.


This isn't an origin story. I'm just some guy from Edgewater that woke up one day and pulled his alarm clock into his idiot face.


...From across the room. Yeah.


A'course, it got to my head pretty quick, I guess, but I was just giving a hand around my block. Not the best area of Chi-town, but all I could afford after the divorce.


Cliche story, she got everything, yadda yadda.


Anyhow, I got to stopping muggings and shit. Tried to stop those fuckin' wannabe gang members from robbing some shops and stuff. Basic shit like that... even if some of it was pretty selfish.


(Hey, some asshole kept robbing my favorite corner store, okay? I buy a lot of meals there. Don't judge me.)


After a pretty scary visit from the cops, I started going out with my face covered so nobody knew who I was. Don't get the wrong idea, it was just a ski mask at first, until the summer. Then it was a bandanna so I didn't die from the heat.


I didn't go full spandex, so get that shit right outta' here.


Pretty soon, word got around and a smaller paper did a story. Everyone got to talking. I kept hearing my 'nicknames' around town. Cool at first, then kinda' scary.


Super powers don't really exist, do they? I don't know.


Maybe I'm crazy.


Either way, if you happen to see me around at night, give me a shout. Hell, buy me a drink.


I'll show you some things you wouldn't believe.


-The Atomic Attraction, your local Superzero

 

[Zilla]

One Step Mercy

I suppose I can start by telling you about the first time I met Hunter. She is, in short, my kryptonite. There will never be another like her. Many simply cannot understand her or why someone like me would go to the lengths I have to keep her. She is my beautiful monster.


Imagine the most cliche of nights: Cold, dark, raining. The scent of blood in the air was cloying. Looking back I think it bothered me so bad because it was both my own blood and my own fault I was hurt. My squad used to joke about how often I managed to bang myself up, to the point they started calling me "One Step". 'Cause I was always one step into the grave. A poor pun if you ask me.


Hunter had stopped running when I tripped over the crates she had thrown into my way. Just a bunch of empty, flimsy wooden things that I should have been able to knock out of my way easily, but we had been running for four blocks already and I was running out of steam. Lesser cops would have given up, but not me. Not Detective Mercy Graves. I always got my man, even when she was a nimble cat thief with energy that never seemed to diminish and feet that always found the perfect purchase for the next step.


For over a year we had been trying to catch this girl, only nineteen years old and already on every national watch list on Earth for her cyber crimes, who also had a side hobby of robbing jewelry stores on the side. Just for fun. It had turned into her downfall, because for the first time we had a picture after one of her inelegant smash and grabs. I asked her one time, later after I had quit the force, if she had done it on purpose. The enigmatic smile she gave me then was the same she had given me that night.


I didn't get to see it when she offered out her hand to help me up. It wasn't there when I tried to turn her grip against her or during our scuffle for the upper hand that was admittedly much shorter than I'd like to admit.


No, she shot it at me when she had me pinned up against the wall and I found myself frozen, helpless, caught in the tractor beam of brilliant green eyes and a crooked slash of a grin. At that moment I knew I was a goner. Call it insanity, blame it on the blood loss or the head trauma from when I actually remembered to struggle to get free and she slammed be back hard enough that I saw stars.


"Sorry," she whispered as she let me slump to the ground.


As I watched her form retreat down the alley and the world grew dark I knew that I was going to be chasing that pair of eyes and that crooked smile for the rest of my life.


Of course I was right. We're like the two ends of the same magnet, always pulling but never getting any closer.


I told her I would follow her to hell and back.


She smiled.

 

[Grey]

Tried to put it nicely behind an accordion, but it wouldn't work so sod it, have the damn text.


Sori's Lesson


In a time when, through clever trickery (and murder and theft and blackmail) the light of the Hellsun was dimmed and the Evernight lay heavy upon all the Circles, the wandering swordsdemon Sori Brightsword abandoned her onetime lover to the vicissitudes of civil war for reasons that do not matter yet (though they will become obvious), and came to the Temple of The Eighth Storm.





In this time the roads were treacherous and the tunnels even moreso and really it was wisest not to fly, but Sori was undeterred for she had heard the martial adherents of The Eighth Storm knew the secret of the perfect strike and she coveted this wisdom (for her hair and her sword were her pride).


And so Sori walked a cracked granite road which ran from Pandemonium's impossible rim into the plains of Wrath, and felt the eye of Destruction-By-Rebirth upon her as an interloper in that realm. Thus as Sori passed a deep cave in the living rock imps emerged to test her, frolicking in flames, throwing stones and fireballs. Effortlessly, Sori deflected these weapons back at her aggressors, who fled as the projectiles missed. Her brow furrowed in irritation. Then when Sori passed a burning lake, Hellhounds which were bathing challenged her with bloodthirsty howls. Sori struck them down, but in no less than two strikes which severed their heads, and she was relieved through her growing frown that these were not true warriors to be offended at her imprecision.


Finally she came to the pillar of basalt that stood taller than the rest under skies that roiled with clouds and lit the ground with lightning, and it was ringed with narrow steps carven from the living rock, and at the base sat a great Demon of Wrath.


"Step aside," said Sori, "for I wish to learn the secret of the Temple acolytes."


The monk shook its great shaggy head, tiny bells ringing from its great horns, and it stood up to be twice Sori's height.


"I am a Temple acolyte, and I refuse," it said.


Sori drew her blade and set her feet in the martial stance called Golden Devil.


"I ask you again to step aside, or teach me instead," said Sori.


"Again, I refuse," said the Demon, bells chiming.


"Once more; step aside," Sori said, "or teach me."


It was this third time that the Demon smote her with its great fist and sent her tumbling across the plain.


Sori picked herself up, and flared with light that incinerated the imps which had returned, and once again walked the road to the Temple, and once again confronted the Demon.


“What is your name, monk, that I may strike you down with honour?”


“I am called Eight Bells Singing, and you will not strike me down.”


“I see only seven bells.”


She gestured to a golden ring and unadorned links of chain that dangled from the tip of a horn. “Did you lose one?”


“Would you offer to return it?”


She thought for a moment.


“Perhaps.”


“Then you do not understand the lesson.”


She drew her sword and charged, then, and this time the Demon parried her strike with a hand before casting her away.


Furious, she leapt to her feet and hurled beams of light towards the base of the pillar, unconcerned if she failed to hit. Perhaps she would collapse the whole temple.


When this was not answered with any sort of attack, she walked the road a third time and confronted Eight Bells Singing once more.


“I see the hole in your stance now,” she said. “I am not so impressed, but still I will learn your ways.”


“No,” said the monk. “Not yet.


And so she struck, using the technique which is named Laughing Devil Mockery to try and sever Bells’ hand, but instead the Demon took the blade through the palm, and though it must have hurt greatly twisted it to snap the blade. Sori fell to her knees and cried out as if wounded, for that blade was her pride and joy especially since leaving her lover behind.


“Do you understand yet?” asked the monk.


“No!” Sori cried, in anger.


And Eight Bells Singing struck her a final time.


- Resh Silat, Fifty Tales of Wrath

 

[Dusky]

A Pleasant Haunting - Placeholder Title

Spelling ghostwords on your shoulder here,


in the shower, finger parting


running water. Entire poems here,


across your back, collected


over afterglow and afterglow again,


most never to leave for the page.


Here there is no


search for a muse, no


need for inspiration, no


reach for renown. No,


here there is skin, meeting soul,


meeting quiet jubilation.

 

[Tronethiel]

So, given a slight shifting over the last few weeks, I'm just wondering when the week technically ends for BYOC.


EDIT: Is it still Sundays?

 

[Dusky]

Still Sundays! I've just been letting myself fall behind the last couple weeks. Gomen, senpaaaiiiiiii.

 

[Dusky]

Wheeee! I actually got something in this week! I'm not a total hypocrite!


Critic of the Week: @Mr. Grin.

Last week's works:

@PopcornandCaramel	@simj22	@Sunbather	@Aur0ra	@ResonantStorm	@Kloverdesu	@Mr. Grin	@Zilla	@Demon	@Grey	@Anomaly
Ignoring the Voices is No Longer a Possibilty	Untitled	Baie de Douarnenez	Untitled	Untitled	Untitled	Super Zero	One Step Mercy	Pole Reversal	Sori's Lesson	A Pleasant Haunting

​

Last week's poll results here.

This week's poll here.

This week's theme: Continuous.

@Semblance


Let's see more of you next week!

 

[PopcornandCaramel]

Here is my week's writing. It's a short story.


I tried to stick with the theme of continuous. Warning, there is harsh language.

Spoiler

Rewind


Wet with sweat I finally reached the door step of my modest suburban utopia. I forced out a sigh through a smiling mouth. The day actually turned out pretty good for once. Micheal didn't linger over me all day with his beefy, glazed eyes ; waiting for me to make a mistake. Angeline was able to keep her sassy mouth shut all through my conference calls, and I was able to get the woman of my dreams to laugh at my dusty middle school jokes. Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all. Life was looking up.


I unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately dropping my suitcase and jacket onto a very forgiving coffee table. I drew in a deep breath to revel in the euphoria ( What I'm guessing is euphoria), but choked on the strong smell of iron. I took another breath as a back up ' are you sure?' smell. Yeah, iron. Like Mostly Slow Joe ( my favorite RPG blacksmith) had set up shop in this house. Iron swords for all! I chuckled and took my time going into the kitchen to start dinner. Microwavable pizza. Alright!


I hadn't done much cooking since Lilith and Margo moved out. Lilith being my wife, and Margo my 10 year old daughter. There was no need, not for one person. I walked into the kitchen. Squee! I slipped in a puddle of something and had to catch my heavy set body on a near by counter. Me being the lucky one, and the counter being the victim. Did I leave the sink on or something? Why in tar-nations would the floor be so slippery? I struggled to straighten my body out and reach for the kitchen light at the same time, but I was finally forced ( Damn sweaty hands) to let go of the counter and fall into the puddle of what-ever-it-was. The puddle was thick and black. From what I could see in the dark anyway. I felt around to see how big the puddle was, or maybe feel where it was coming from. My hand brushed against what felt like fabric. I wretched back, heart starting to beat. I was finally feeling scared. Quickly, I tried to stand up but my fat legs gave way to the slippery puddle and I was now laying on my side. Again I tried to get up. Carefully and successfully I was able to use the poor victim counter top to stand and turn on the light.


Effortlessly the light choked the room, revealing what seemed like a scene from one of those Saw movies. Blood. Thick, goopy, and dark red BLOOD. ALL. OVER ,my freshly waxed tile floor. I guess I didn't realize the gravity of the situation until I looked down at myself and was soaked with the blood. Like I had been playing some sadistic hell's kitchen version of slip-n-slide. The puddle was coming from a large body curled up in the middle of the floor. I cautiously stepped over to the body. My blood pounding loudly in my ears.


" H-hey.." I stuttered. No response. " HEY" I said again, louder this time. Still no answer. My breaths were shallow and quick, heart treating my chest cavity like a boxing ring. I reached out with shaking hands and shook the body. WHICH by the way, was the worst choice of my life, because it rolled onto it's back, fat stomach sloshing around like a gleeful wave. As if having a dead body laying in the middle of your kitchen wasn't bad luck enough. Imagine if that same dead body was none other than yourself. That's right, it was ME. I was the fat-fuck-dead-body taking a pleasurable swim in his own bloody-sludge puddle. I started to have tunnel vision, my heart ( the same boxer-short wearing muscle) was beating the WWE world champion like a ragamuffin in my chest and my breath, had practically stopped.


Then it was all black.


I wiped the sweat from my forehead, standing on the door step of my suburban misery. Another day at the office done. It wasn't anything special, just another shitty day. A day where Micheal's beefy and glazed eyes are glaring at me from across the room, just waiting for me to slip up so he could ream my ass. I seemed to be his favorite ass to ream. Angeline sitting beside me on her cellphone, feet on the desk, rambling on and on for days with this sassy ' WhateverwhateverIdowhatIwant' voice. She always take's her lunch and personal calls right when I'm in the middle of my work-related conference calls. I ALWAYS have to apologize to the client for the background music of 'I don't give a fuuuckk's,Shut the fuck up's, No girl, I didn't suck his dick last night, that shit was too nasty's Oh and my personal favorite 'Bethany! I swear I got some kind of STD or somethin' from that guy!'. Another day of the woman of my dreams totally and forever ignoring my tid-bits of small talk. Not so much as a smile.


I open the door and toss my eroded, and over-stuffed brief case onto the scratched up coffee table. Along with my holy-jacket. ( Not the good kind of holy I promise). The leg of the coffee table gives way to the grotesque amount of paperwork that my bloated brief case is carting. I shrug it off, just another fuck you from Mr. Lucky himself. I go straight for the kitchen, but take a second to stop. I feel a sense of...fear? I believe that's what it is. Like when you're watching a horror movie and you KNOW something is about to go down, but you just don't know from where, or from whom. It's fear and something else. The feeling of doing this before. I've stood here, hands inches away from the light switch, and a pit of fear bubbling in my stomach before. Deja vu at it's finest.


The way my kitchen is set up; I have to step into the room before I can turn on the light. I do so, and my foot slips but I'm able to catch myself on the old counter and it's busted granite tops. The Deja vu hits me hard again. I know I've done this very thing before. I want to say to myself. ' NO shit Harold. This is the first place you go after work. To get your ritual microwave pizza.' I shake the feeling off and flick on the light.


To my horror, a body is laying on it's side in the middle of the kitchen. The man seems to still be twitching and making small moans and gurgling noises. He's laying in a thick but bright puddle of blood, I'm guessing his own? I make haste to his side, my breath picking up, panic setting in.


" Hey! What happened?!" I yell, turning the man over.


The man has both hands clenched desperately onto his throat, trying hard to gasp for breath but it's only making the blood at his wound bubble and gurgle. I stare down at the man and realize why I had been having the bits of Deja vu. I HAVE done this before. The man laying there, trying to save himself is me. The rushing of feral waves to my memory hits me like a ton of bricks. Lilith standing at the door with Margo in her hand. " We are leaving Harold..." her voice dry. Me standing in the stall at work, fists clenched with rage wanting to burst. Me, standing in the kitchen the box cutter to my throat, tie nonchalantly tossed over my shoulder, taking in a deep breath and slicing into my jugular. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, gasping and clinging onto life. But I had done this to myself. It's all to much to take in.


Then it's black again.


I'm standing on the door step of my home. I've been here before. No question. Not just on any other day. I've been here, at this time, on this day before. A memory flashed into my head. I'm laying on the ground, gasping for air after I've cut my own throat. Everything is blurry and I can't see through the sweat-n-tears stinging eyes. A large black figure stands over me. The figure leans down and says something to me, but all I can hear are mumbles and static. I recognize only one feature on the figure. Their hazel eyes. They look a lot like mine do.


Then It's black.


The memory passes and I realize what's going on. I rush into the house taking no time to set my brief case or coat down. I slap the light switch to turn on the kitchen light and sure enough, there I am. Seconds after slicing my own throat. I stand over myself watching as the tears and blood roll like silk from my throat and eyes. I'm dying but I don't know how to stop it. I can feel the creeping fear and panic take their usual spot as if at the theater.


The the man is dead.


I'm dead.


Just like that.


Then It's black.

.

 

[Kloverdesu]

This was written a while ago as a part of a fanfic. I'd do backstory, but it gets somewhat self-explanatory as I go on.





The Other Half Of Me


Feliciano laid his head on Ludwig's shoulder, running his hand through the other male's kitten-soft blonde hair. He loved times like these, when everything felt right and he could just stay in Ludwig's arms for what seemed like forever. But all good things must come to an end, and both Feliciano and Ludwig knew this moment was fleeting.


"Do you think you'll transition?" Ludwig asked. He wanted to be ready for what Luciano would bring. Feliciano snuggled closer to Ludwig, drinking in the sharp smell of his cologne. He felt safe like this and hated what Luciano would do to his lover. Feliciano truly wanted to say that Luciano was gone forever, but disassociative identity disorder wasn't something that would just go away, he was stuck with it for life.


"I have no idea," Feliciano heard the tears before he felt them. "Dio mio, it scares me so much. I never know when he's coming until I'm just about to snap,"


"It's okay Feli. Deep breaths, deep breaths," Ludwig would never want to admit that he was scared of Luciano too. Scared of his sadistic ways and the knives he constantly held onto like lifelines. He had to be the strong one when Feliciano couldn't. He leaned his head down and kissed the tears running a well-worn path down Feliciano's cheeks. "I can deal with Luciano. I can deal with him, because I know behind him is just you. My little liebling," Feliciano tilted his head up and softly kissed Ludwig. He felt the heat closing in on him, the familiarity of transitioning to Luciano, his other half.


"I think... I think he's taking over," Feliciano squeezed his eyes shut and his hand found Ludwig's. It didn't hurt to transition, but he hated not knowing what would come next.


"I can handle him," Ludwig's voice was naught more than a whisper. He squeezed Feliciano's hand.


Click

 

[SkyGinge]

Unfortunately, I'm stuck in a continuous cycle of work at the moment, but it's really fantastic to see this growing so much, and all ought to be very proud of your contributions!

 

[Zilla]

Nintendo Hard

The first time I slew a dragon it was so easy. One hit was all it took. Back then I was playing on easy mode and I didn't realize what a grind the later levels would be to get even the slightest progress.


Nobody told me when I started this game what a steep curve it has after your first score. Each subsequent round gets harder and harder, and you need more and more resources. You have to play more often if you want to get the rewards.


And if you don't play? Whoo, boy. I can tell you these are the worst persistent alerts you will ever experience. Sometimes if you try to ignore them and get on with your life, then other people will remind you, too. You'll get this text at 3am, because they are playing too and they can't get to the next level without you.


Worst thing about this is it's one of those where you get a free demo and then it's pay2play. They really know how to reel you in with the trailer, hook you with the preview, and then suddenly you find yourself scraping up cash to get the lasted equip.


I lied. That's not the worst part. The worst part is that after the first few times you're no longer chasing the dragon, it's chasing you. No longer are you trying to level up, you're just always on the brink of KOing against the boss you didn't realize you were facing, and reaching out for yet another phoenix down to gain back enough health to survive.


So you're stuck in this endless loop of battle, thinking you've cast Protego and equipped with Cloud's Buster sword with a pocket full of max health potions, but in fact all you have is a dirty spoon, a BIC and poison.


Why do I do it? Have I ever told you about the first dragon I slew...?

 

[Aur0ra]

Ever sat in silence and listened to the Shhhhhhhhhhhh noise? like an ancient TV set without channels? you know that sound?

well it inspired this:




Continuous... Canons...
​

Music canons go on far and near,


as if infinitely with the winds swaying.


Deafening sounds abuse wretched ears,


as if with their darkest voices saying:


''Your life is like a round canon dear,


gives an illusion of forever staying.


Then out of nowhere comes the fear,


that your record one day stops playing.


And as you lie in grave you hear,


silent noise your sanity slaying.''



​

(please tell me i'm not the only one who hears that

xD )​

 

[Sunbather]

Since the theme was continuation, I, well, continued an older poem.


White Gloves


If you don't want me, let me go - Easy to argue


but hard to follow through, when you're beyond blue


Ornamental black soaks decay with justificiation


Lavish clouds of smoke, my conscioussness it occupies


A libertine end, I would like to imagine but drifted far


away to descend to where I estrange from happier days in our little shitty car


Byzantine equivalent of delinquency towards the mind


Makes another hit feel easy, and inevitable seconds turn sublime


Jesus Christ's white gloves have disappeared from


the nightstand I kept my souvenirs in and them on


Regret, reminiscin', perish with the blurriest vision


Responsibility for my action it prohibits with precision


Pawning my memory, intention not to say hello morning


Then it dawns on me, pardon the joke, it's just a comity for cover


I put on a brittle gameface, hide the traces of a strange lover


Get up, get dressed, and think that I don't need to wake, I just don't wanna...

 

[amybri18]

Spoiler

I open my eyes, and all that I can see is - nothing. There's just darkness. I remember being asleep, and I remember waking up, but... This isn't my room. I can actually see things in my room, but in this room? There is nothing. Also, I'm standing, not laying down in a nice, warm bed. Am I dreaming?


This is real, the voice inside my head tells me. Just reach out, and find out for yourself.


I obey the voice, and move my right hand forward. It hits a cold, concrete wall, and a light flickers on. I can see a hallway in front of me, descending into darkness. Wasn't I just touching a wall? How did a hallway just appear in front of my eyes? Am I dreaming?


This is real, the voice tells me again. Just walk forwards, and find out for yourself.


Once again, I obey the voice, and step forwards. I look behind me, and see a hard, concrete wall, just centimetres away from my face. Wasn't I just standing there? How did a wall just appear out of nothingness? Am I dreaming?


This is real. There's that same voice again. Just turn around, and find out for yourself.


Now, I was cautious about what the voice was telling me. What if it was lying? What if it was tricking me? Still, I obey, and turn around. Now, there is a hole in the ground, with a ladder leading down. Wasn't there a hallway there? How did a hole and a ladder appear out of nothingness? Am I dreaming?


This is real. The voice keeps telling me that same thing. Just climb down, and find out for yourself.


"Fine!" I shout. "I'll climb down the stupid ladder..."


However, no noise comes out my mouth. I said it, I definitely did, but I didn't hear it come back to me. What is this place? Why am I here? Why does logic not work? Despite all this confusion, I climb down the ladder, and come out another room. It's the same as the first room, and I end up doing exactly the same thing, hearing exactly the same words. Hand, wall, light, hallway, turn, wall, turn, hole, ladder, darkness.


Am I dreaming?


This is real, the voice tells me one last time. Just stay there, and find out for yourself.


I remember nothing after that point, until I wake up in hospital, two years later.

 

[Dusky]

Bleeeehhhhh. I wrote a lot this week, actually, but it was mostly NSFW~.


So here, have some worldbuilding I did. If anything doesn't make sense, it's because I omitted parts I wrote more than a week ago.

As We Knew It

The Bestiary

Humans

We require little explaining - presumably you are one.

Humans are not aware that the Flux exist, but their bedtime fairytales about them are tinged with fear. Anything which is not as it seems is unwelcome.


Flux

Any who know of us think we are myths and legends, pretty stories not to be entertained as truth, but the Flux unfurl anywhere the land is alive...

The Flux are protectors of the land and the life it bears; as such, they are divided on the subject of humans. Some would say humanity is a danger to the world they inhabit, causing destruction wherever they go, and must be stopped no matter the cost. Some would say humanity lives, and therefore is precious, something the Flux must protect and correct rather than eliminate. Both sides have their extremists and their independents.


The Flux tend to ignore their shapeshifting children, as they are an inconvenience.


Findal

General Demographics

Primarily rural, with some notable exceptions. Though Findal is heavily entrenched in agriculture, there is a healthy middle class of town farmers who provide for their communities, as well as of those who sell and distribute the products. The wealthiest are where they are because they’ve been doing it the best, the most, for the longest, primarily, though recently there has been a shift to accommodate “upstart” entrepreneurs.


Race

Findalian humans are suspicious of anything that isn’t them. While shapeshifters do not face issues such as enslavement or systematic segregation, they are openly reviled and discriminated against. ‘Shifters and humans have a long history, one which originated as a partnership but progressively took on more animosity. Slowly, accounts of ‘shifters using their form changing abilities to be heinously deceptive became popular. Some may have been true, but most were fabricated out of the climate of fear and mistrust that was growing. At the boiling point, the humanity of Findal reached out and crushed their once-upon-a-time companions, driving them into hiding.


Sciences & Technology

Findal is best known for its agriculture, but medicine is the runner-up. Progressing from herbal remedies to (often wildly off-base) tonics and potions to, more recently, a limited grasp of biochemistry, non-invasive treatment is a specialty. Surgery and anatomy are less developed, often viewed as necessary evils in a society which places taboos on the human body.


Technology is largely neglected, as it is not needed. Novelties often find their ways into the hands of nobles and the wealthy, but the masses scorn industrialization, viewing it as a challenge to their traditional, rustic way of life. What they can’t do on their own, magic accounts for.

 

[Dusky]

Okay, so, this actually concludes the ninth week of BYOC. Exciting~. I'd like to remind everyone that the theme is totally optional - though it's really cool seeing how everyone interprets it! Also, we didn't really get any criticism. Which is okay, because we all have lives and god knows I didn't give any. But if you're holding back because you're worried you're "not qualified" or think you'll be disregarded... Don't! Feedback is always helpful, as long as you're clear about what you did and didn't like.

Last week's works:

@Mr. Grin @Demon @Grey Let's see more of you next week!

​

 

[AllHailDago]

Spoiler

A simple concept, undefined.


Touch between two, but realigned.


A chasm opened, there were no signs.


Torn and tossed, a victim lost.


A sudden frost, a road to cross.


Now fight he boss, while details gloss.


Word won't flow, seeds have failed to grow.


A fit you throw, as grief you sew.


A spiritual snow, smile I know.


A glance to the past, through the mirrored glass.


No repast, on full blast, as attempts are made to outlast.


Joy's amassed, as at last, freedom is found too fast.


Rain fails to fall, not at all, as inside I brawl.


There he crawls, a dirtied hall, a sight one would not wish befall.


To feel tall, these words I scrawl, on the illusory wall.


Pieces are healed, as friendships real, bring forth a light-hearted spiel.


A soulful meal, as I turn the wheel, on to that of my next deal.


Forged in steel, a final seal, never will you find me steal.


A soul to bind, not left behind.


Far too tight, does the pain wind.


But I find, that my kind. Will love once more, and smile blind.


A concept hardly undefined.


Here's my first entry. Hope you enjoy it. The disjointed, arrhythmic feel is intentional.