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Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern!

Celine’s earliest memory was of her mother, her birth mother to be exact, quietly singing to her and bouncing her on her lap. 

Superheroes were a common occurrence in cities. 

It was a rare occasion that Celine came with them on a demon hunt. 

Zuko was twelve when he learned he was getting a sibling.

California became the first state to allow medicinal cannabis use when voters passed the Compassionate Use Act in 1996. Today, cannabis is legal in California for both medicinal and adult (recreational) use.

On her first day at the Royal Fire Academy For Girls, Azula noticed a couple things. 

Rumi hadn’t spoken to Celine in months. 

The snow crunched beneath Sokka’s feet as he ran out into the tundra.

Pros of the day: Found money on the sidewalk. Practice went off without a hitch and Bobby brought snacks! Had enough time to watch a movie with Mira and Zoey. Celine’s curse only lasts 24 hours.

“Girls.” Zoey and Mira, both of whom were in the kitchen, looked up, “We’re cancelling our fan signing event. Celine needs us. I’ll call Bobby and tell him we can’t go.”

I think I'm noticing that I've started a lot of my fics with the

[ One bold sentence ]

[ Longer paragraph ]

format. Not that I mind. I find it fun.

And oh, #9! That's one of my favorites! (love de-aged Celine!)

Funny enough, I actually was tagged in this the other day; here's the link: https://frozenwolftemplar.tumblr.com/post/821265416196407296/writing-patterns-tag-game-rules-list-the-first

👈👉 already answered here

🔎 What detail(s) in the story are you particularly captivated with? Is there any behind the scenes info or backstory?

Oh there’s always more blood cult thoughts :D

In my most recent addition, I really loved the imagery of Rumi feeling like a dragon! Just very fun way of describing that specific kind of satisfaction

I’ve also really enjoyed writing the little issues into the way they’re cohabitating—Minji and Celine making food and thinking Miyeong’s issue is just “people making a mess in her kitchen” or Zoey trying to help Miyeong research and getting hit in the RSD. Hedgehog problems

There’s a whole groupchat full of behind the scenes info and backstory, but you’re in there, so I’ll stick to only a little (anyone else with questions or curiosities PLEASE ask I would love the excuse)

This au came from me overhearing a show a housemate was watching where someone had been, like, cask of amontillado’d and starting to think about other sealed up beings and people, and next thing I knew I was in @frozenwolftemplar’s dms like “okay so Rumi’s the ancient hero they think is an ancient evil, and Zoey’s the sacrifice, but where the fuck is Mira?”

We actually went through a few rounds of what Mira would be—one where she didn’t intervene and get beaten but was with the cult unwillingly and a few where she was just descended from the original group that locked Rumi away and had varying levels of involvement with Magic in the current day—before settling on the version we ended up using!

And, ofc, my favorite backstory element that we’re going to work in eventually, somehow: Jinu’s! In this au, since he wasn’t a demon, we had to come up with a different way for him and Rumi to be connected

@grundpfeiler came up with the excellent concept of him having been kidnapped into the demon realm as a child and partially grown up there, which became him having come home and killed the changeling who replaced him (which was the central shame he never told Rumi, as he learns from her that said changeling… wasn’t actually evil probably)

and another species called the splendid fairywren

...and one called the lovely fairywren

The world is a strange place. Stay silent too long and it folds around you, dimming you like a candle swallowed by fog, letting your traces sink beneath layers of dust that no one remembers. You try to speak, because something inside you insists on being heard, yet the world shies away from voices that echo too brightly, too honestly, too close to whatever a soul truly is.

So you shape masks out of quiet nights and borrowed smiles, each one fitting just enough to pass, each one soft enough not to disturb anything. You learn to mute your joy, your strangeness, your colors.

You learn to mute yourself.

Pieces of you fall away like petals in slow motion, just so you can keep moving.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

Imagine if one day you were given a choice: Become immortal and indestructible for eternity, unable to be harmed by anything ever again, and get to live forever.

However, in order to achieve that you must give up whatever your purpose in life is. Whatever it is that you were always meant to do, what you were supposed to contribute to the overall scheme and future of the life of the universe, your purpose… the whole reason you were even created, even born in the first place. You must give that up. You don’t know what that is. You’ll never know; But, regardless, you say yes.

Perhaps you assume you wouldn’t have made any sort of significant difference anyway. That butterfly effect theory or whatever they call it? Nah, you call bullshit. It doesn’t matter - you don’t matter, at least not to anything outside of your immediate connections - and it’ll all be fine, and you’ll just live forever with minimal (or maybe even no) consequences.

So, yay! You’re now immortal. You’ll never die or get hurt ever again. Wee!

But then, centuries and centuries later (not to mention that by this point you’ve gone through horrible heartbreak and misery and despair because every loved one you ever had, every friend you ever made, ever person you barely got to know, has passed away, died as you lived on long without them, helpless to do anything for them as you watched them perish, unable to ever go with them or ever see them again. But I digress), now, you learn you actually were important in the grand scheme of things. You were supposed to be a key factor in the world’s survival, long ago; but, because of the choice you made (immortality over individual purpose), you were never given the knowledge or awareness or resources or ability to save the world that you were always supposed to obtain, before you unknowingly made the wrongest choice to ever wrong.

Needless to say, you’ve fucked up big time.

The entire universe as we know it is destroyed soon after this horrifying revelation. It implodes, collapses in on itself, essentially forming a massive black hole or something. Stars, nebulae, galaxies, solar systems and planets, worlds and worlds of living people and things, and light-years of time and space and life, all sucked up into absolute, indefinite nothingness.

But you remain.

Just you. Floating amongst, spiraling around, rocketing through, suspended in… nothing. With a feeling of such unbelievable loneliness that your feeble brain can hardly perceive, can’t possibly hope to comprehend. Not only are you the only living thing left, you don’t even have one inanimate object to keep you company. You have literally. Nothing. And you are literally nowhere. I mean, technically, you are now the universe - if it would bring you petty comfort to think about it that way. You. Only you. With nothing, no one, nowhere. Forever. And ever. And ever.

All because you thought you didn’t matter. That you had no real, meaningful purpose. That you could never possibly make a difference.

But you did. And now look what you’ve gotten yourself into, you silly nugget. You’re gonna be pretty bored and lonely for that eternity, huh?

Or maybe it was out of selfishness. Maybe this wasn’t because you felt useless, but because you simply only cared about prolonging your own life and nothing else. Hm.

The moral here? Be selfless, and always know and remember that you matter.

Or else, one day, you might destroy the universe. And be left to suffer, and be tortured horribly and endlessly by the void of nothingness that has consumed you. With no way to escape. Ever.

Other moral because I got sidetracked from my initial point - all things considered, would you choose longevity over purpose? Immortality over meaning? 

OR, IDK, MAYBE SOME IDIOT JUST LAMINATED A STUPID PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL FOR NO GOOD REASON

AND MAYBE I SHOULDNT BE LOOKING FOR THE ANSWERS TO THE MEANING OF OUR SHORT, FRAGILE LIVES IN

A LAMINATED

PAPER

T OW E L

IDK MAN,

and the pages of that book

were made out of

laminated

One night, I was working my last hour of my shift covering the Customer Service desk, which meant when I wasn't busy, I was supposed to help clean up around the cash registers, including taking back items people changed their minds about at the checkout. Earlier, I had witnessed a kid carrying thos cute plushy toy. It was a brown and white hedgehog. The kid, at the checkout, saw a remote control car and he told his dad he qanted it. The dad told him, "The plushy or the car- you can't have both" (by the way, I respect boundaries with kids and parents sticking to their guns about it), and the kid picked the car.

So, I'm cleaning up, have less than an hour left of my shift, and I see the little plushy hedgehog. Somehow, he never got put back nor had anyone else seen him and decided to buy him. He was just sitting there, slumped to the side, unattended.

It's Christmas and I'm a sentimental old sap at heart. My brain starts replaying the scene from RUDOLPH where he's on the Island of Misfot Toys, and is told a toy is never truly happy until it is loved. I picked him up and quickly took him back to the bin with the plushies but... It was empty. He was literally the last plushy toy and my boss was about to wheel the bin out. We weren't getting any more toys till November, so that meant any toys left at this point needed to sell or they'd be sent to the dump.

I brought the little hedgehog to the front, figuring someone would see him with the candy, candles, & Christmas brick-a-brack, and fall in love with him. When I finished my shift, I went to ask my manager a question and as I passed the Christmas candle display - there he sat, the sad little slumped over hedgehog plushy. No one had bought him, or even moved him.

My manager, Phillip, saw me and the hedgehog. He asked how the hedgehog got there. I told him how I'd put him there when the bin got sent back, and he was the only plushy left. Philip had kids, I figured he'd probably get sentimental and buy it for his kids. Nope. He shrugged and said he'd send it back to be disposed of.

That night, I came home with a plushy hedgehog in my passenger seat. My mom saw him and just thought he was the cutest little hedgehog and asked what I wanted to do with him. I told her the story, then added I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do with him.

My mom is a child psychiatrist, specializing in children with PTSD and brain damage that results in learning problems/issues with processing their emotions. She asked if she could have the plushy hedgehog (even offered to pay me for him, she didn't expect me to just give him over), so kids could hug him when they were upset in session.

Murphy, the plushy hedgehog that still slumps a little to the left when seated, has been hugged by hundreds of kids. Little girls have held him tight while explaining about bullies, little boys have held him tight while crying over their panic attacks, younger siblings have held him to whisper secrets while elder siblings and parents talk about self-soothing techniques, teenagers have hugged Murphy while talking about the worst day of their lives. Murphy has also been hugged by kids excitedly chatting about a new friend at school, a teen girl excited to be called by her name instead of her dead-name, little kids proudly saying they've mastered their ABCs, and even staff members who just need to come chat over a case they are having trouble with.

Every now and then, my mom brings Murphy home for a weekend. He gets washed (she calls it a Spa Weekend, to her coworkers, all of them laughing), dried, and sits outside with my mom in the sunshine to get aired out, then on Monday, they are back to work. Some kids even just ask to hold Murphy while they talk, no matter their mood or what they want to talk about. They just want to hug Murphy.

Has a fic ever absolutely devastated you to the point you can’t form a coherent thought? That’s okay! That’s where picture comments come in! Here’s how!