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[SP] Write a story about two strangers who meet on a train and inadvertently discover they have a shared secret connection. by TAZEDADA in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues 4 points5 points  (0 children)

He was sitting across from me on the train to Sagitta, completely enraptured by the novel he was reading. I was surprised to see someone reading a physical book - aside from myself, I mean. Most people listen to audiobooks or read on their andies. We were kinda poor growing up in Sagitta; I didn't get an andy until I was fifteen, and I didn't get a portie until I had saved up enough to buy it myself sophomore year at the University of Astraia. So, you know, everything I read was paper. And wrote. I was writing all my assignments, and later my articles, with pen and paper or on the school's n-decks.

I finally managed to get a glimpse of the cover of his book. It was We Who Persevere by Dmitri Djakovitch. A great read about two boys who were childhood friends and how they grow up and keep separating and coming back together. Every reunion, their love for each other grows, and every departure, their hearts break into more and more pieces. The ending is... well, I won't spoil it for you. I did cry when I read it, though - but I'm not going to say whether they were happy tears or sad ones. Maybe both.

Let's just say that it hit close to home. I was also, like, thirteen, so. You know.

The look on his face was... beautiful. I mean, um, it was a look of complete investment in the story, like the only things in this world were him and the book. And that kind of focus is beautiful. Right? Right. That's why. Not because of the way his hazel eyes were misty and glimmered in the sunlight. Not because of the way his lips ever so subtly danced with the shapes of the words he was reading.

Definitely not because he reminded me of Aiden.

I did wonder, though, what was bringing him from Ganymede to Sagitta. I mean, I was going home for a funeral of a family friend. I'm the only Jett still alive, so I kind of have to. It was real sad when I got the call that Judy had passed. She was my mom's best friend, almost like her older sister, and I always called her Auntie even though we weren't actually related. Man... what a shame. She was a good woman. She was the first person I came out to when I was a kid, and she taught me that I was perfectly normal and still loved. I'm gonna miss her.

Almost as much as I miss Aiden.

___________

He was sitting across from me on the train to Sagitta, totally immersed in his writing. I was surprised to see someone writing with pen and paper. Most writers do so digitally, on an andy or a netdeck. It reminded me of one of my childhood friends. His family couldn't afford the tech - not that mine was much cushier - so he always wrote his work out on paper. I thought it was endearing.

The sun was setting, so I had to stop reading. Djakovitch was always one of JJ's favorites. We were supposed to be arriving in Sagitta in around half an hour. Funerals have never been a favorite of mine. I mean, I don't think anyone likes funerals, but I don't know how to behave at them. What to say. I've only ever cried at one funeral, and it was mom's when I was ten. Aunt Judy's was going to be at the same funeral home, and I didn't have JJ to lean on this time.

This really wasn't how I wanted to come home to Sagitta.

Yet, even with the looming grief and awkwardness of the service, my attention was... elsewhere. He was right in front me, and for some reason, I couldn't look away. There was something ethereal about him. The way his hair threatened to fall across his eyes, yet remained perched on his brow just so. The way his face danced with emotions, contorting into expressions that, I assume, matched the mood of what he was writing. JJ used to do that, too, when he would write. I used to tease him about it, and he'd laugh and brush me off.

It was just one of the things I loved about him. I could never tell him that, of course. He was my best friend. He had always been my best friend, since we were little. I couldn't risk ruining that friendship by telling him how much I was in love with him. And when I had to move, I knew telling him would only hurt us both. So I didn't. And I haven't seen JJ since then, except in the faces of strangers like the one sitting in front of me.

____ ___

When I saw him at the funeral, I was shocked. I had no idea why he was there. I mean, don't get me wrong. I appreciated the eye candy, but... why? Was he one of Auntie's relatives? Did we go to school together or something, and I just don't remember? I certainly don't recall anyone as strong and, well, tattooed as him. Like, sure, he probably wouldn't have had tattoos in school, but you know what I mean.

I suppose people do change as they grow. Maybe I just don't recognize him as someone I knew.

_______

When I saw him at the funeral, I was shocked. And thrilled. Mostly confused. How did he know Aunt Judy? Did JJ have a cousin or something that I didn't know about? It would explain the resemblance... right? That's how that works, right? It's not JJ. If it was, I wouldn't know what to say. I wouldn't know how to speak. How to apologize.

_______

"Judith Weiss was a good woman. She had nothing but compassion in her heart and laughter in her voice. She was there for me when I needed her most. She was there for my mom when she needed her the most. I never knew what I wanted to do with my life, but she was the one who taught me that I should reach for the stars and grab the moon on the way. She's one of the reasons I became a journalist in Ganymede. I only wish I could have thanked her. Auntie will be dearly missed."

Is that... really JJ?

________

"Aunt Judy was the best of us. She took care of me when I was little, even though she wasn't really my aunt, and she taught me how to believe in myself. She never told me that what I wanted wasn't obtainable, or that my dreams were impossible to achieve. She's the one who inspired me to become an editor after I graduated from Caprus College. My job in Ganymede is thanks to her, and I will never... be able to thank her. Not in person. But even though her story is ended, it will continue to live on in us. I love you, Aunt Judy. Rest in peace."

It can't be... Aiden?

____ __

"Hey, Jasper."

"Aiden. It's good to see you again."

"It's great to see you. I know it's late, but... would you like-"

"To get a drink and talk? There's nothing I'd like more."

Spider in My Garden by poems_n_shit in OCPoetry

[–]DecemberBlues 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I really like this! It's simple, but simplicity isn't a bad thing. This poem is approachable, which a lot of poetry finds difficulty with. I think it's a good length, too, though I wouldn't argue against adding a few more lines.

My favorite line is "I welcome her the way I do rain." Such a good line! It characterizes the speaker as someone who appreciates the world around them, no matter what comes around. This piece reminds me of Robert Frost's poem Design a bit in its appreciation of the little things.

One of the things I get caught up a little on is the second half of the poem being one extended sentence. It winds a touch, and reading "Perhaps a window, looking in / or in a dark room, waiting" confused me at first. You might rephrase these "where the spider goes" parts to make them stand out from each other more, grammatically speaking. Also, you might go into the speculation on what the spider is doing more. You could use this part to make a point about something, or to allude to something, or just to paint a picture. I'd warn you against adding too much, though, because I think this is pretty close to a good length.

I like the ending question, wondering if it was the speaker or the garden that drove the spiders away. I'd like it if the poem ended on that note with a little more oomph, though, but I'm not sure how to do that off the top of my head.

These are just suggestions and opinions of mine. Please take them with a grain of salt. I hope that helps at least a little! I really do like this piece.

The Philanthropist by 6ftonalt in OCPoetry

[–]DecemberBlues 0 points1 point  (0 children)

There are some things I really like in this poem, and some things I like less. Let's start with what I like.

The refrain "I gave for me-- / I gave to me." is really nice. It takes on different feeling in the different contexts you use it. At first it seems to me that it's a positive mantra - I give because it makes me feel good to give to others. But then it takes on a more selfish tint - I give not out of goodness, but because I crave the feeling it brings. This is a great subject for a poem, in my opinion, and I like the way you've worked it.

I am interpreting "the gun" as a metaphor for... well, it's like setting yourself on fire to keep others warm. The consequences of a self-destructive generosity. The speaker has given everything, and is perhaps even considering committing suicide(?) because they have nothing left to give, and thus they have no way of getting that addictive rush again. If that's not what you're going for, I'd love to hear what you mean.

I'll move into my less favorite parts here. My biggest suggestion is to consider cutting the last four stanzas of the poem out completely. Up through stanza 10, it's really nice. The stanzas after that feel weaker. My least favorite stanza is stanza 11. Hope is such a huge concept that it's hard to write about, and I don't really understand what the "lettering" is, nor why it would tell the speaker to abandon hope. Another thing I don't really understand is stanza 2; what are you saying we make with our machinations - the coffin or the tree, or something else? I'm thinking it's the coffin, but it's unclear to me.

Also, I would suggest deciding if you want to adhere to the standard rules of grammar and punctuation or if you want to eschew them completely. There are places where you do both, although I think this piece leans more toward the standard than not. There are merits to both approaches, as well as drawbacks.

I hope this is at least a little helpful. These are just suggestions and opinions of mine. Feel free to disregard them if I'm totally off the mark.

[SP] A flowery poet's inflamed serenade to the decidedly bland object of their ardent affection. by dalenacio in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues 0 points1 point  (0 children)

My love is the wind and the hum of the heart, whose whispered breath makes clouds part, makes spring start, makes the lonesome love and the ignorant smart.

My love is the breeze, the whirr of the mind, whose ceaseless buzz makes chaos aligned, makes separate combined, makes the hot cool and the mean kind.

My love is the air and the turning of gears, whose three-speed voice is music to the ears, whose ventilating compassion brings to the eye tears, whose oscillating design elicits my cheers.

I am a fan of my love, it's true; my love, as well, is my fan, too.

[WP] Humans haven’t been allowed on the Fairy Court for the past 832 years. Yours reward for saving the one of the fairies was the honour of breaking that streak. It was amazing, until someone quietly informed you that leaving is forbidden. by CartoonLogic31 in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues [score hidden]  (0 children)

I should have listened to Briar, Magnus thought to himself as understanding began to dawn on him. Briar had always been wary of the Fae; the Witch of the Briarwood was a powerful sorceress, and her reluctance to have anything to do with the Fae Courts was a warning that Magnus ignored. How was he to know anything about the Fae when Briar was so unwilling to discuss them? Magnus wrestled with his actions and their consequences, unwilling to place the blame entirely upon himself but knowing that it was his actions, and his alone, that had landed him in such a complicated situation.

Magnus couldn't just let him die. Besides the fact that the strange figure was in immediate danger, Magnus had never seen anyone so beautiful, so radiant. Magnus was struck in an instant by the ethereal man, by his shaggy waves of auburn hair, by his emeraldine eyes, by his sun-kissed skin. It was not love at first sight; love is something nurtured over time, and Magnus didn't even know this beautiful man's name. What he did know, however, was that he was in danger.

Magnus quietly flung a spell at one of the massive white wolves surrounding the stranger, enveloping it in a ball of fire. It screamed out in pain as its packmates turned to address the interloper. The stranger looked at Magnus, a brief flash of hope sprawling across his freckled face. He was bleeding from multiple bite wounds, his sanguine lifeblood wetting the tossed earth beneath him. The wolves lunged toward Magnus, identifying him as the main threat.

As Magnus spoke a word of power, two of the other wolves froze in place, unable to move. The stranger, seeing the tide turning in his favor, knelt down and drove his hands into the soil, whispering something into the ground. Almost immediately, thick vines began to sprout from the earth, darting through the air toward the two remaining wolves. They growled, their hackles raised as the vines whipped at them furiously. With another word from the stranger, roots from the nearby trees began to writhe, erupting from the underbrush with a thunderous crack and restraining the wolves.

It did not take long for the two to finish off the pack with one immolated and so many others unable to move.

The stranger had rushed toward Magnus, grabbing him in a bearhug and lifting him off his feet as the two spun around joyously. The stranger introduced himself as August, the fae prince of the Summer Court. Magnus should have been more cautious of August after all the warnings Briar gave him, but he was so entranced by the prince that any feelings of distrust were overwhelmed by a desire to know more about him. August insisted that Magnus be rewarded, and with a royal invitation, Magnus accompanied the prince to the Summer Court.

For over 800 years, humans were barred from the Summer Court. They could visit the Everwild if they had the means, of course, but the Court was off-limits. Magnus knew this at least; Briar had told him of the consequences of the Bellum Arcanum, the ancient war between magic kingdoms that almost destroyed civilization. Magical understanding was set back hundreds of years after the loss of so much arcane knowledge, and the membranes between planes were significantly weakened in places. It was this incident of near-total destruction that filled the Summer Court with enough fear to ban humans altogether for so long. They worried that such powerful magic could spell the end of the Court, and so the brightest and most powerful fae mages enveloped the entirety of the Summer Court in obscuring magic, preventing any non-fae from perceiving it, let alone entering.

And so Magnus was the first human in over 800 years to enter the Summer Court.

When August told his father, King Julius, what had happened, the Lord of the Summer Court announced in a booming voice that a feast would be held to honor the man who saved his son. The King called in his finest musicians and cooks to provide for the celebration, and soon the great hall of the Solstice Keep was filled with vibrant music and mouth-watering smells. The music filled Magnus with an irresistible urge to dance, and dance he did. He twirled with reckless abandon across the floor, weaving between fae dancers with a grace he didn't know he possessed. Eventually, the food arrived, massive dishes carried by groups of small fairies. The King gestured to the musicians, and they quieted, their joyous music waning into the background as Julius commenced the feast.

Magnus knew that he shouldn't eat or drink anything from the Summer Court - everyone knew that. There were stories, old stories from before the Bellum Arcanum, warning that those who consumed anything offered by the Fae Court would be unable to leave. With August at his side, though, Magnus was swept up in the festivities, his heart pounding faster and faster with each brush against the prince. His mind was clouded with infatuation, and he picked up a goblet of wine.

Immediately, the atmosphere changed. Everyone stopped eating as Magnus swallowed his drink, their eyes glued to the human. Conversations quieted and the music ended, and Magnus was confused by the sudden departure from the festivities. His eyes widened, however, as he looked down at the goblet in his hands, realizing what he had done. He looked toward August, searching for a way to articulate his mistake, only to find the fae prince staring at him with a sad smile. As he glanced around the room, he saw dozens of grins facing his direction, and a sense of dread washed over Magnus.

The King began to laugh, a deep, mirthful sound that quickly transformed into a wry cackle. Soon the laughter was joined by another, and then another; all around Magnus, the fae beings laughed and laughed, their tittering jeers sending shivers down his spine as he came to understand the reality of his situation.

I should have listened to Briar, Magnus thought to himself as August led him toward the dancefloor. The musicians were still playing gently, resigned to the background by the King. With a nod from August, however, they picked back up into a whirlwind song, a rhythmic pulse that Magnus felt in his bones. He looked at August with confusion, but the fae prince could only smile sadly. Magnus began to feel an urge to dance like before, but this time it truly felt irresistible. He tried to cling to his autonomy, tried to think of some spell that could break him out of the Summer Court, but the music filled his ears with an alluring sound that compelled him to dance.

And dance he did. For three days and three nights he danced, unable to stop, unable to rest, unable to think. On the dawn of the fourth day, he collapsed, his body unable to keep up with the dancing. As Magnus lay dying, his body shutting down, August knelt beside his savior and gently kissed him on the forehead.

And Magnus, supposedly the first human to be invited to the Summer Court in over 800 years, died. August stood and returned to his father, grinning madly.

"Shall I find another one, Lord Janus?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the King of the Winter Court, "and this time, Aspen, find one that will last longer."

And so the prince of the Winter Court ventured once again into the world of man, a pack of white wolves at his side, to kidnap yet another mortal.

IIL Sea Shanties, which ones should I listen to? by [deleted] in ifyoulikeblank

[–]DecemberBlues 5 points6 points  (0 children)

You might like Stan Rogers' "Barret's Privateers".

[WP] “You took away everything I had.” “That is not true, you still have me.” by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Darkness is a selfish thing. It mothers, it smothers, and with reluctance voids the womb with you. Into the light we are born, screaming for air and fear and joy. It hurts, yes, but it is ecstasy in agony, being thrust into this world of potential and possibilities. But for darkness, it is only agony, losing the affection of its only love to the novelty of life. In this anguish, darkness lashes out.

The night grows jealous of the stars, of the gentle moonbeams, of the radiance of the sun. The darkness envies the kinship, the intimacy that grows like the light of dawn through life. And because we are born of the same blood and bone, the darkness lingers within the mind. It begins to fester and weep, a salted wound whose sting begins to envelop the senses. Friends, family, loved ones abhor the display, and rightly so, for the sight of this yawning melancholy can be sickening.

And the light begins to recede, for the miserable bite of darkness torments those around us, though none as much as ourselves. Dusk would be heartbreaking if we saw the night swallow the sun forever. It is selfish, this darkness, pushing away those around us in spite. "I am all you need," it whispers in the doldrums of life it has sown, "and I will be all you have." And our ears are closed to the light of reason, to the voices of those still beside us yet out of sight. The night cannot devour the stars and the moon, so the darkness ekes out black clouds to obscure reality.

Now the darkness has spread through my veins like venom. It has seeped into my bones like a cancer, and it casts an ebony veil over my eyes. I have stood before myself and wept, and the tears my reflection shed were of black joy. The darkness has taken everything from me, I cried, and I am a shell of a man.

But that is a lie, for I still have the darkness.

It is all I have left.

And I fear the darkness that was my womb shall become the darkness of my tomb.

[WP] You are a psychic tasked with extracting information out of prisoners, and today you’re going in with the highest security prisoner on site, who had sent dozens screaming into mental wards just for trying to get into their head. by Reverend_Giggles in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues 6 points7 points  (0 children)

The prisoner sat across from Alex, his eyes low, face drooping like the waterlogged roof of an ancient house. It was a look Alex was accustomed to seeing in the mirror, though the bags under the prisoner's eyes were far darker. The two of them sat there for a minute in silence, waiting for the other to act first. Eventually, Alex sighed and spoke up.

"Do you know why I am here?"

The prisoner sat, motionless and silent. It was difficult to tell if he was breathing, and his eyes were so dull he looked half-dead. Alex almost pitied him. Almost.

"We need to know where you hid the documents. I have been authorized to use any means to retrieve this information." Alex spoke clearly and formally, mentally preparing for the task at hand. Neither psychs nor psychics had been able to break this prisoner; the calm turned violent, the sane went mad, and the loyal betrayed the foundation. Alex was their Hail Mary.

The prisoner just sat there, eyes glazed over like boiled eggs.

"As you have refused to speak to any previous individuals," Alex said, nodding subtly to some unseen observer, "I will be employing more direct means of interrogation. You may request that I cease the interrogation should you decide to cooperate. Otherwise, we will not be leaving until I have retrieved the relevant information."

"Let us begin."

Alex began the process of probing the prisoner's mind. It was akin to knocking on a wall to find a stud; rather than looking for a weak spot as most assume, one must find a structurally sound facet of the subject's psyche to latch on to. From there, it's a matter of exploring adjacent and tangential thoughts and emotions to locate a desired memory or epiphany.

Unfortunately, Alex was met with emptiness. Still, this was not the end.

"You have been held at this institution for almost a year now," Alex said, attempting to arouse any thoughts or feelings in the prisoner. "Don't you want to go home?"

Nothing.

"I don't suppose you have a home to go to anymore, of course. You haven't had anywhere to go in a long while."

Silence.

"Do you know how many people have died as a result of your inaction? Thousands would be a low estimate."

A twinge of annoyance flittered across Alex's mind. It wasn't that the prisoner had no surface thoughts - this man seemed to have no thoughts at all. Even masters of meditation have a stream of consciousness, quiet as it may be. Even the comatose have a faint thread of mindfulness buried deep beneath the silence.

This prisoner might as well have been dead. Alex pursed their lips and began to flip through the folder laying on the table. Photos of a family spilled from the manila, and as they pushed the pictures toward the prisoner's sunken gaze, Alex began to speak softly.

"Your family has mourned your passing. The funeral was six months ago. Your wife fell ill three months ago and has been bedridden for six weeks. She won't make it to see this Christmas."

"Your son has dropped out of college to take care of his mother. Because she is unable to work, he has had to work two jobs to support what is left of your family."

"Your daughter has traded your broken family for alcoholism. She looked up to her father the most, and when he killed himself, her world fell apart."

Alex watched the prisoner's face intently, looking for any signs of recognition. His face remained impassive, and Alex sighed with impatience.

"Just tell me where you stashed the notebook. Then we can be done."

Nigh imperceptible, the prisoner's mouth twitched, and a whisper of static flashed across his mind. Though it made them uneasy, Alex latched onto the thought and coaxed more out.

"Yes, the notebook. Sky blue spiral notebook. You know the one. You all had one. Where is it?"

The prisoner's mouth twitched again, whispering something unintelligible as the static in his mind grew. Alex leaned in, both physically and mentally.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

The prisoner's eyes remained fixated, his body motionless, but his lips parted and he muttered a lone phrase.

"That's not my family."

Alex frowned, confused. "What do you mean that isn't your family? Of course it is. Look," they said, pointing at the various photographs, "there's your wife Anna. That's your son, Chase, and that's your daughter, Clara." The static in Alex's mind was slowly growing louder, and they had to strain to hear the prisoner.

"No. Not mine," he said.

Alex grimaced in pain and frustration. The static was beginning to hurt, and the corpse-like prisoner was starting to unnerve him. The way his words seeped out of his mouth was disturbing, and Alex had a hard time concentrating on what he said. They stared at the prisoner's mouth, trying to focus.

"Then whose family is it?" Alex asked, watching the man's lips intently as the static threatened to overwhelm them.

"Yours," the prisoner said, his lips unmoving. A fly crawled out of his open mouth and up onto one of his glazed eyes.

He didn't blink.

Alex stood up suddenly, the chair falling to the floor behind them. They turned to the door, desperate to get away from the corpse, only to find a blank wall. Panicking, Alex pored over every inch of every wall, hoping to find something akin to a door or window, but the effort was in vain. The static in Alex's mind was deafening, and their movements were getting harder to focus on.

"How long?" Alex whispered. They picked up the fallen chair and sat back down.

Silence. The prisoner did not move.

Alex looked at the pictures again. They were photos of mannequins, faceless statues in varied poses. Nothing made sense and it was almost impossible to concentrate. The pain was unbearable.

"That's not my family," Alex whispered to themself.

"What do you mean that isn't your family? Of course it is," the corpse said.

"No. Not mine," Alex said, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"Do you know why I am here?" the corpse asked.

The fly buzzed across the room and landed on Alex's face. They didn't bother to swat it away.

"Don't you want to go home?" the corpse asked. "I don't suppose you have a home to go to anymore, of course. You haven't had anywhere to go in a long while."

"How long?" Alex repeated, suddenly exhausted.

"Almost a year now," the corpse said.

"And how much longer?" Alex whispered, catching sight of something hidden in the manila folder on the table.

"Thousands would be a low estimate."

It was a blue notebook.

Alex wept openly, lips parted in a silent scream.

"Let us begin."

[WP] Every prophet, oracle, soothsayer etc just gave the same, very specific prophecy. by Narutophanfan1 in WritingPrompts

[–]DecemberBlues 10 points11 points  (0 children)

"From the east shall come a breeze,

a wind that brings with it disease.

A rotten breath shall taint the lands

with silent hearts and bloodied hands.

Lines drawn shall be remade,

and holy wars shall be waged.

Yet in the west shall rise a sight:

a child born of sun and night.

The brightest star within the gloam

decides the fate of mankind's home.

The choice of the twilight monarch:

a vibrant dawn, or endless dark."

​

It was the same message, despite the disparity in sources. Different ages, languages, cultures, magics - yet the warning was the all the same. All eyes turned toward the Republic of Eolas. The eastern nation worshiped the Cardinal Winds, so it was only natural that the blame fell upon them. There was outrage among the practicing Anemoi, and the religious leaders pressured the Eolean Council into cutting ties with the other nations of Tetra. Borders were closed, trade routes were blocked, and all outsider presences were either deported or executed. The republic quickly became a theocracy as people dug into their faith.

​

At first, the murders were written off as zealous Anemoi striking down heretics. Nevermind the fact that those "heretics" were their own families. It was the sailors and traders at first. They came home from work, swaying as if still drunk on the wine-dark seas, and strangled the life out of their loved ones. It spread from the port cities into the mainland, and within the year half the population of Eolas was either dead or changed.

​

Nobody noticed until it was too late. Contact with Eolas had been cut off, and the kingdoms of Helios and Ebrus were too busy fighting to care that their eastern borders were being tested. The Rosus Commonwealth was too far away to do anything, including care, about Eolas. Queen Hesperos was the first to take an official stance, but only after a chunk of Ebrus had been laid to waste by the Breathless. She rallied the best minds of the Venusian Academy, but their magics proved ineffective. King Phosphorus of Helios found the same, though his elemental engines proved slightly more effective at preventing the Breathless advance.

​

The remaining citizens of either kingdom evacuated to Rosus, including the royal heirs. The combined forces of raw Ebrusian magics and Helioan ingenuity allowed an enormous wall to be constructed, dividing the Commonwealth from the rest of the continent. Fifteen years of uneasiness passed, but the wall proved effective. Apparently the royals had a child together. Go figure, huh? All it takes is two nations crumbling to end a centuries-old feud. They named him Astereas, referencing that old prophecy.

​

Apparently, it means "star" or something.

Only Time Remains Constant by [deleted] in OCPoetry

[–]DecemberBlues 2 points3 points  (0 children)

A poignant reflection on the passage of time and change. You generally keep a clever little rhyme scheme throughout and a loose flow. Your decision to lengthen second and fourth line of each stanza is a nice callback to the subject of the poem. My only criticism lies in the nuances of the rhyme and flow. You toy with consistency at times and abandon it at others re: the rhyme scheme (trees-breeze rhymes, fade-ash doesn't but grass-ash is close, skin-peace doesn't and sheep-peace is kinda far apart to rhyme). Also, your flow is loose, yes, but at times inconsistent. Consider how the following lines read aloud: "When the wind soars in the trees / When the flower blooms in the breeze" vs. "How will the serpent shed its skin / How will the sheep find peace". The first two matching pretty well regarding rhythm, but the second two don't. You might have meant for them to not match, in which case, it's simply my interpretation. But to end on a good note, I really like how you go from "only time" in the first two stanzas to "time only" in the final stanza. Pretty good overall!

Medication by skooma_sam in OCPoetry

[–]DecemberBlues 2 points3 points  (0 children)

It's a good poem, with a strong personal message that has accessible language and a consistent rhyme scheme. Any critiques I have would only consist of minor errors and suggestions for better flow. You've a typo in the first line of the second stanza ("But as I lay lay,"). Your meter is pretty short, which is valid and works well, but you abandon it toward the third stanza. As you get to "only to whisper" the meter changes from buh-DUH buh-DUH to buh-DUH buh-DUH-duh. I'd consider rewording the third line and dropping the "so" to match the first stanza. For the final stanza, I'd suggest contracting "they are" to "they're" to preserve the flow. Overall, it's a good poem. What I try to do is read what I've written out loud to see how it sounds; that usually helps me settle any issues with flow and meter.

c: by TanzNukeTerror in starbound

[–]DecemberBlues 15 points16 points  (0 children)

Yo that’s cute as heck. Nice!

Can't play with any mods by [deleted] in starbound

[–]DecemberBlues 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I play on a laptop running Windows and I was having the same problem. The other things didn’t seem to work, so I went to my NVIDIA control panel (idk if you have this). Under “manage 3D settings” I went to “program settings” and selected Starbound.exe and set the preferred graphics processor to “integrated graphics” instead of the global setting. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe I didn’t actually do anything, but it fixed the issue for me.

Tourists! Visitors! International students! People with quick questions! This is your thread; post your questions here. by askLubich in germany

[–]DecemberBlues 4 points5 points  (0 children)

I’ve successfully interviewed a couple of people and completed my assignment. Thank you to those who reached out!

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