There is a good reason that zelda is the one series that outshines all others in the sheer volume of amateur game developers attempts at re-making the game along with the systems that lie within, but I have personally never heard that reason put forth so eloquently.

They go about assuming that it would be a simple task, an ideal 'starting point' for their budding journey of game-development self-discovery, where the concept is simple enough for one man to accomplish given enough time/effort, but still robust enough for that one person to earnestly care about the amount of time/effort spent regardless of how many times it may have been done before.

But they always learn the task is far from simple, and that anyone going about it from the standpoint that "anyone can do it" are going to almost surely fail to meet the standard that kind of game set forth.

I fall in an unescapable cravasse... all i wanted was a beautiful red ruby or 2.... alas

am i allowed here

Is there reason not to kill and eat all and every?

“You know, you’re topping from the bottom,” he murmurs against my lips.
“What?” I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
“Don’t worry. I’ll live with it,” he whispers, amused...”

“You know, you’re topping from the bottom,” he murmurs against my lips.
“What?” I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
“Google” he whispers, amused...”
“Urban Dictionary” he whispers, amused...”
“Wikipedia” he whispers, amused...”
“Do you...Yahoo?” he whispers, amused...”
“Ask Jeeves” he whispers, amused...”
“Bing and you're done” he whispers, amused...”
“Cruel Site of the Day” he whispers, amused...”
"The BOTTOM 1% of the Web" he whispers, amused...”

“This is a man in need. His fear is naked and obvious, but he's lost. . . Somewhere in his darkness.
His eyes wide and bleak and tortured. I can soothe him. Join him briefly in the darkness and bring him into the light.”

“He's naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot.  My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”

“No. No!” he says.
“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.

“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”
“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”
“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”
“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What?
“Christian, what are you doing?”
He continues to stare down, not looking at me.
“Christian! What are you doing?”
My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move.
“Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.
Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.”