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number #1 best thing a girlprotagonist can be is a fucking terrible person and number #2 is a lesbian

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me whenever women do the most horrific, ungodly actions to get their revenge: she did what she had to do. 

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People, especially games, get eldritch madness wrong a lot and it’s really such a shame.

An ant doesn’t start babbling when they see a circuit board. They find it strange, to them it is a landscape of strange angles and humming monoliths. They may be scared, but that is not madness.

Madness comes when the ant, for a moment, can see as a human does.

It understands those markings are words, symbols with meaning, like a pheromone but infinitely more complex. It can travel unimaginable distances, to lands unlike anything it has seen before. It knows of mirth, embarrassment, love, concepts unimaginable before this moment, and then…

It’s an ant again.

Echoes of things it cannot comprehend swirl around its mind. It cannot make use of this knowledge, but it still remembers. How is it supposed to return to its life? The more the ant saw the harder it is for it to forget. It needs to see it again, understand again. It will do anything to show others, to show itself, nothing else in this tiny world matters.

This is madness.

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you know what I want? a post-apocalypse farm game.

you’re a wanderer who happens upon a farm. it’s overgrown and decayed, looks like it’s been abandoned for some time. but as you investigate you meet the old man who lives there. he’s been living on this farm for years but as his health has decayed he’s been increasingly unable to take care of it. he sees you are interested and asks if you would like to take it over. you, of course, say yes.

the old man gives you the tutorials, shows you around, introduces you to the traveling trader who sometimes comes by. not long after you have settled in he passes away, at peace now that he knows his beloved farm is being looked after. 

you do your normal farm game things: clean up the land bit by bit, grow some crops from the last of the old man’s seeds, repair the buildings. you scavenge the land around for old world artifacts that can be broken down for supplies and resources to upgrade your farm. the trader comes by, and as you trade with him more and more, he spreads word and other traders come too, offering greater variety. 

other people come too, slowly, attracted by news of your farm or just passing by. they bring valuable skills, but they have requirements to meet if you want them to stay. slowly the nearby town, long since deserted, fills up again. you help the new residents clean it up, repair the abandoned homes, plant flowers along the cracked old streets. 

there’s no fighting, no violence save maybe a bit of subsistence hunting. just a quiet game about life and community regrowing from the ashes. 

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Everything I write ends up turning into an exercise in imagining a world wherein every single person puts other people first because I see it happen often enough to know it's within the realm of possibility

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do you think god is nuclear. do you think you cannot look upon deities in the same way you cannot look upon the center of a mushroom cloud. do you think the energy generated from fission is energy released from divine clutches. do you think that god exists in the space between the nucleus and the electrons and in the bonds of compounds and in the numbers on the page that got us there. do you think radiation is a warning. do you think it is an eraser. do you think that it is wrath or a mistake or a byproduct of entropy. do you think god is plasma, where electrons are wherever you want them to be. do you think that we were supposed to find this out.

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I just really like this tweet

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One of the best tips for writing descriptions of pain is actually a snippet I remember from a story where a character is given a host of colored pencils and asked to draw an egg.

The character says that there’s no white pencil.  But you don’t need a white pencil to draw a white egg.  We already know the egg is white.  What we need to draw is the luminance of the yellow lamp and the reflection of the blue cloth and the shadows and the shading.

We know a broken bone hurts.  We know a knife wound hurts.  We know grief hurts.  Show us what else it does.

You don’t need to describe the character in pain.  You need to describe how the pain affects the character - how they’re unable to move, how they’re sweating, how they’re cold, how their muscles ache and their fingers tremble and their eyes prickle.

Draw around the egg.  Write around the pain.  And we will all be able to see the finished product.

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Prompt #2687

“You’ve changed.”

“You haven’t.”

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reasons.

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i finally ordered this greek goddess head statue flower planter that i have been eyeing literally forever from etsy and i love her and think she���ll look so good next to my books... :)

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me and the homies hate op so im remaking this ask meme.

send me a ♪ and a character’s name and I’ll list 3-5 songs that remind me of them