#he doesn't have set patterns like some bosses that will just stay in the middle of the stage and use their size or range to their advantage

[brawlmetaknight]

so obviously bosses are programmed to know generally where the player is, but something i really love about meta knight boss fights in particular is that he is literally always one step behind you. his movements are not erratic, they're directly tied to yours. even if you're on the other side of the stage, he will catch up to your last point of action. it's so cool.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

The ever-lovely @palavapeite tagged me in a first-lines meme! Thank you! <3333333

Rules: List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

It should be noted right off the bat that I am the least analytical person on the face of the planet and am very unlikely to spot any patterns. If you do, please tell me because I would love to know about them! XD (I am also not quite sure whether first lines means first sentences or first...well, paragraphs. Probably going to go for a mix of both, especially where it's a line of dialogue that consists of more than one sentence, or it doesn't really make sense on its own...)

“D’you know,” says Sam, “it’s the oliphaunts I feel for. There’s one or two still out there, just wandering on the plain. Nobody knows what to do for the poor beggars.” (The Care and Feeding of Oliphaunts)

They’re not for you, the Elves, not for the likes of you, and Bard has known this all his life. He’s met a few, ferrying the barrels up and down the Forest River, back and forth across the Long Lake, and he’s always known they’re not for him. ((Not) For You)

I did not know, when first I beheld Imrahil of Dol Amroth, that the barest hint of Elven blood ran in his veins. I was, I suppose, distracted by his noble bearing, his ornate armour that shone still although we had just fought a battle such as none of us could ever have imagined - and Gimli will never let me hear the end of it if I do not also acknowledge a certain amount of distraction by his handsome face. (Elven Blood)

The news comes to me in a tavern in Bree, of all places, where I am staying for a day or two with the twins and the Dúnedain; Estel is in Gondor, serving in the army there under an assumed name, but I am riding with the twins and Estel’s people again, for I found I could not settle permanently in my father’s realm once I had had a taste of the adventures that awaited me in the outside world. (See This Storm Through)

They lasted until the fifth of December before Thranduil and Bard caved in and said that the children could put the Christmas decorations up. The kids had been sneaking things out for several days in any case, and Thranduil hadn’t really begrudged them any of it; it had been an exceptionally grim and trying November, and by the time December arrived he thought they were all in need of some lights and decorations. (All I Want (for Christmas) Is You)

The signs of a hard winter came early that year in the Valley of the Bruinen, sharp frosts and cold, clear nights throughout November, and in the first week of December the snow began to fall. (Flowers in Winter)

“Da! Da, look! There’s ice skating!” Tilda pulled on Bard’s hand, and Bard, feeling more than a little frazzled at this point, glanced in the direction she was pointing to see that there was, indeed, an ice rink set up in the middle of the Christmas market. It was two Saturdays before Christmas, the kids wanted to do their Christmas shopping, and although it was the busiest time of the year at work, Bard had told his boss that he couldn’t possibly come in today. (a kiss in the cold and dark (I should have kissed you that summer))

“You coming?” Clint asks, his arms full of bags and parcels, and two voices come from the station wagon. “Sure! Come on, Lucky,” says Kate, sliding out of the front seat and collecting the dog from the back, and - “Do I have to?” mutters Yelena from behind the driver’s seat, where she’s been huddled, arms crossed, ever since the airport. (Do I Have To?)

19 December 3018, Imladris: Dear Ada, Events have developed somewhat since you sent me to Imladris to report on the creature Gollum’s escape. The One Ring has resurfaced, against all probability, in the possession of a relative of Bilbo Baggins, and it has been decided that a party - a Fellowship, indeed - should take it to Mordor and destroy it once and for all. (Letters Home)

The snow was just beginning to fall as Thranduil and Bard made their way across the square, through the crowds of people who were gathered for the Midwinter celebrations in Dale. Braziers were burning here and there, and lamps had been lit and hung from poles and the corners of buildings; it might be the darkest night of the year, Thranduil thought, and the people of Dale had more reason than most to be wary of fire, but tonight the city was lit as brightly as it could be. (Hilda's Grandma's Special Secret Recipe)

Hmmmm. Nope, not seeing any patterns, although they do rather all start in the middle of things (but really, how else does one start a story?). Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? :D

Tagging, with no pressure intended whatsoever: @lemurious, @allegoriesinmediasres, @mihrsuri, @writerman, @bigneonglitter, @spiced-wine-fic and @verecunda!