#tropes

[prokopetz]

I think a lot of complaints about the lengths of TV show seasons are getting it backwards. Talky character-driven episodes where nothing happens aren't a benefit of longer seasons: they're the reason the 26-episode season was ever viable in the first place.

Episodes where everything happens on the same three previously constructed sets, all of the actors with major speaking roles are series regulars (except for the token alien of the week, who's played by the same recurring bit performer who's played five other roles this season in five different rubber noses), and there's no on-location shooting, choreographed fight scenes, or lengthy special effects sequences are very budget friendly, so you can have rather a lot of them.

Basically, you can have an eight-episode season where every single episode is a big hairy spectacle, or you can have a twenty-six episode-season where the premier, the finale, and a random two-parter somewhere in the middle are the only times a bunch of stuff blows up, and the rest of the time it's a sedate investigative-procedural-slash-office-comedy that happens to be set in space. You've gotta pick one!

[potterhead0taku]

Interesting fact about my life no one asked for:

I’ve kinda harbored really one-sided romantic feelings for a friend of mine. She calls me love, sweetheart, baby, mi reina, darling. It does not help me at all, because it gives me the chance to reciprocate with similar terms for her.

We have discussed hypothetical marriage multiple times, both in cracked moods and serious “I think we could be happy together” moods.

It has been three years. They’re the one person I try to actually keep in the loop in my life and talk to constantly even if we don’t see each other every day or week or even month. But we know each other, we’ve both been there for the highs and lows.

We also agree that we shouldn’t be a couple. Or more, she agrees and I have been trying for a long time to get over my own feelings, because even if I wished she saw me in a romantic way, she’s still my friend and someone I deeply care about, regardless of if she returns the affection or not.

And she’s happy. She is in a relationship with someone else and is happy. And I care about her so much that I’m actually, honest to god happy for her, because I love her smile and her laugh and that carefree way of talking she has when she talks about her partner.

So yeah. It’s been three years. I think I’m in love with her. It does actually feel like white noise in the background most of the time, manageable. It does still hurt when she talks excitedly about her partner, but it’s a dull kind of ache now.

!!!!!!!

[winterstaryu]

"I did it for you" has gotta be my favorite form of betrayal. You gave me a gift I never asked for, and now I have to look around at the world you destroyed with the knowledge that it was gift wrapped and addressed to me.

[rrezshifts]

i fear i will always recommend scripting in the invisible string theory trope into your drs whether that’s with your partners or your friends. like imagine getting to say you and your person have been destined to be together from the start. and you get to discover the proof of that which is a couple photos from your guys’ past with each other in the background which practically prove you’ve been heading for each other from the very beginning.

[prokopetz]

Tabletop RPG where each player takes on the role of a big gnarly video game monster whose intended purpose was clearly to scream at the hero and explode, but then they gave you lore, so now you have to try to do paperwork and shit in spite of the fact that your only transferable skills are screaming and exploding.

[hestia-and-the-court]

Animated Sound of Music. Animated Jumanji. Animated Pacific Rim.

STOP no more live-action remakes. We're going the other way now. Animated Casablanca. Animated The Godfather. Animated Oppenheimer. Animated Fight Club.

[jakekazansky]

I need like a fic where Jake and Bradley are exes and when Bradley broke up with him Jake threatened to marry his dad and become his stepdad so Bradley will never get fully rid of him (they’re like twenty ish and in the academy (Jake has no idea about Bradley’s family at all)). And I’m not talking maverick. I’m talking fully alive goose who is estranged from his son (he survived the crash and took a desk job and is now and admiral)

Maybe Jake and goose meet in a bar while both are off duty. Jake is drunk and missing how a mustache feels when someone goes down on him. So he sees this hot older dude and somehow they fuck (in a hotel). Then they keep fucking whenever they’re near each other.

Eventually, Nick invites jake to his home after a date and then after they start dating. Eventually Jake finds out he’s an admiral, and meets his top gun buddies. It comes out eventually that Nick has a son he’s estranged from. Jake never puts together that Nick and Bradley have the same last name. A while later Jake and Nick get married for reasons.

Cue the mission. Now Bradley is on good terms with Ice and Mav but not his dad. Nick is around to help oversee the mission. The actual mission happens and Mav and Bradley are shot down. During that time, mav convinces Bradley to try and mend his relationship with his dad.

Bradley follows through on that promise. So ice and mav take him over to Goose’s new house. In the driveway they warn Bradley that his dad started seeing someone and married them during Bradley’s absence in goose’s life.

So the whole talking things out is going great and Nick and Bradley have agreed to try to have a father-son relationship again. When Bradley asks about his dad’s new partner (the boy is blind and has yet to notice the pictures all over the house) and that’s when he hears it

“Goosey! I’m home!”

Jake comes in and Nick is like ‘this is my son Bradley. Bradley, this is my husband Jake’

And Bradley has that flashback to their break up. Jake has the most evil smile on his face (he loves Nick but the coincidence is just too good) when he says ‘Told ya I’d be your step-dad one day’

Then Jake and Bradley have to explain they used to date and Nick has a whole crisis over fucking (and then marrying) the same man his son used to.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

if your character has a fever, they will very likely have chills in their bones and every single one of their bone can ache terribly, and it’s pure torture to move or even lift a hand. they will most likely want to lie down and do nothing because moving hurts, and it does feel like their muscle strength is gone.

in case you want to whump up your sickfic.

*speaking from personal experience as I am going through this right now. good for your character, but does not good for you.

[questions-about-blorbos]

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[littleredhotsridinghood]

The two of you have been fighting for as long as you can remember.

Great battles of strength and wit, taunts and jeers, wins and losses. Every time you would each retreat, nursing wounds both emotional and physical but all the while riding the high of adrenaline.

Yes, you’ve fought others – but none challenge you like he does. None make your blood buzz in your veins or leave you thinking and training on how you can be better next time.

Maybe it’s because the stakes have been lower as of late, the taunts sounding more like teasing and the hits landing lighter. Maybe it’s because you’ve walked away feeling the victor more often than not – and even then, the rare taste of defeat hasn’t been as bitter.

Still, it takes you by surprise, the hot swell of pain radiating from your chest – being impaled tends to hurt, after all. It just hadn’t happened in so long – and never anywhere important… until now.

You look up in… in what? Betrayal? Hadn’t the two of you started this whole thing trying to kill each other? When had you lost sight of that?

And why does he look just as taken aback?

For a moment, it almost looks like he is going to run to you – or maybe you’re just projecting. Maybe the blood loss is getting to you and you don’t want to die alone.

Regardless, between lengthening blinks and your body growing heavier and colder, he’s gone.

And not much later, so are you.

*

You’d never given much thought to dying and almost regret it now. What awaited you? Would it be a hellish gauntlet of everyone you’ve defeated and slain? Would it be a heavenly reunion of everyone you’ve befriended and saved? Or would it be nothing? Would all that’s left of you be your body, rotting away until it too turned to nothing? Would you just have the empty comfort of your legacy?

Yes, you would come to find.

Death is… emptiness. An endless void of nothing. An empty, yawning pit of the nothing that is you. No thoughts or emotions or sensations in an endless stretch that might be seconds or centuries. And outside the bubble of that universe of nothing is true oblivion, where the sliver of you that you still are would cease to exist entirely. You are trapped there in the very worst type of purgatory – conscious of the fact but not truly aware, like a fly caught in a spider’s web in a bubble of amber.

*

You wake with a gasp, air scorching your lungs and light searing your eyes. Your body throbs and it takes a moment to realize that it’s sore muscles and not the pulse of blood in your veins that aches.

It is many minutes before you’re able to drag your eyelids back open, and even more before they adjust to the dimmed light and land on… him?

He is holding an ornate book, older than any you’ve ever seen, and he looks… just about as bad as you feel. You can’t read the strange look on his face (in his eyes) but when you try to ask why – why he’s here, why you’re here, why he did what he so obviously must have done – all that comes out of your throat is a tired croak.

Still, he understands. “Life has been… boring without our fights,” he pauses for a moment, as though he’s going to say something else but instead turns towards the door. “I’ll give you one month to recover – use it wisely.”

*

The first few days, you can barely drag yourself from your bed, let alone train to fight again.

After a week, you tell yourself that you still need more time to redevelop your fine motor skills, if you’re to be able to fight properly.

After two weeks, you can’t put off the truth anymore – not when your hands tremble upon even looking at your armor and weapons. Not when every noise outside makes your blood run cold but the silence makes it colder and the darkness at night has your heart pounding until it feels like it’ll give out.

It has been many years since you’ve felt like prey and the thought angers you enough to grab a small blade, just a little thing but definitely an easy start – except you nick your finger and the fear that rises inside of you at the thin sliver of blood is so strong that the world goes black.

*

Three days until he promised to return, and you have come to terms with your new circumstances. You can’t fight, can barely leave the safety of your home without cowering from shadows and flinching at birdsong. More often than not you stay inside, finding comfort in cooking and knitting – you’ve certainly retrained those fine motor skills by now.

You just hope that you’ll be able to finish this blanket before he arrives. Before you have to admit that you’re no longer a worthy opponent to anyone, let alone him. Before he kills you (again) and leaves you to die alone (again). Before you have to go back to that yawning maw of nothing.

You try not to think about it all too much – it tends to leave you buried, trembling under your covers for the rest of the day and you only have so much time left to finish this blanket, after all.

*

He arrives a day early, while you’re sitting outside and knitting.

You didn’t even get to finish the border, needles clacking against each other as your hands shake. You set them down and look up at him. He’s wearing his strongest, fiercest armor, looking like some god ready to wage war. You’re wearing your softest, most comfortable clothes for the last time, looking… you don’t even want to think of how you must look to him.

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice has never shaken like this before and the shame eats away at you, “I can’t f-fight anymore.”

“No. No, I brought you back perfectly – your body should be fine by now,” he takes one step towards you and you can do nothing to hide the full-body flinch that overtakes you.

What a useless coward you are now. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, to see the disgust in his eyes as you admit in a whisper – too weak to even announce it, “I’m too afraid.”

You wait, eyes closed, for the merciless blow that will send you back to that oblivion. But it never comes.

“Then... I’ll have nothing more to do with you.”

By the time that you open your eyes, feeling gutted in an entirely different way, he is gone.

It’s not until now that you feel the tears streaming down your face – and you didn’t know to be scared of the possibility of living the rest of your life like this until this moment.

*

Time passes slowly after that, and you drift as best as you can, trying to make the most of your new life.

You finish the blanket, draping it over the couch by the fire – now you might actually be alive to use it when winter rolls around.

Try to go for a walk outside that lasts until a wolf cried in the far distance – upon returning home, you bury the pelt that a younger you had hunted with father at the bottom of the closet.

Read a book that you’d been meaning to get around to – it’s funnier than you’d expected, but there’s no one to talk about it with.

Try to go out the next day, thoughts of starting a garden in that empty bed that you’d never paid attention to until it starts pouring – a bolt of lightning flashing and thunder immediately crackling far too close to your home leaving you nearly pissing yourself and scrambling inside.

Cook up some food for yourself, wishing for someone on the other end of the table to share it with – but you’d been so comfortable with a solitary life in the past. You’d enjoyed the silence that now eats away at you.

Life is peaceful in a way that you’d never thought it could be – but is also emptier than you’d ever thought possible. Lonelier, despite the bouts of paranoia that you are being watched.

Still, anything is better than the void of death.

*

You’re back in the garden, trying again when you hear them. They’re not exactly being subtle about it, crashing through the brush and calling out for you. You know them – know of them – associates of someone you defeated when you weren’t fighting him.

They are here to kill you, having heard that you aren’t as dead as the world had thought.

You grip the shovel in your hands, the only ‘weapon’ on hand, knowing that it’ll be useless against theirs. That is, if you can even bring yourself to move, your body locking in terror at the knowledge of what is awaiting you if don’t – can’t – fight them off. It’s a vicious cycle of fear that you can’t shake as they encircle you, laughing at how far you’ve fallen.

And maybe this half of a life is pitiful, shameful compared to who you once were, but it’s still yours and if you can just get your damn muscles to unfreeze, you can go down fighting for it.

The leader swings his sword at you – sloppy, taunting – and you just barely dodge it in time, heart pounding. You try to counterattack, but it’s slow and weak and uncoordinated. Pathetic, and they know it. One of them laughs from behind you, swiping and you just know that they’re toying with you but you still jump away in panic– right into another waiting blade.

White hot pain lances into your side and it feels so terribly new now – where had your tolerance gone? – that you can’t not scream. You sound like a terrified, wounded animal, feel like one too as another blade nicks your arm causing you to drop the shovel. Another sinks into your calf and you collapse to the ground.

The leader raises his sword with a sneer, and with terribly clarity, you know that this is it, and force yourself to look anywhere else. To the sky, to the trees around you, to the soil beneath you. You were going to plant peppers here.

Once again, the blow never comes.

Instead, you hear an awful gurgling sound – you know it to be the sound of someone choking on their own blood and distantly wonder if it’s you. But then a body crashes to the ground before you. The leader is clawing at his throat, where an arrow has pierced cleanly through and blood is dripping from both the hole and his mouth.

Another man falls to your left, dead before he even hits the dirt from the arrow protruding from his eye. You recognize those arrows, the grey fletching – they are his.

Two more of your attackers are dropped before he appears, axe drawn and already descending upon those that were left standing. You’ve never seen him fight like this before – it’s nothing like the battles between the two of you, not even at the start. It’s not that he’s fighting with more skill or strength, but rather… he’s fighting like he’s furious, like he could just throw his weapon down and tear his opponents apart with his bare hands. He actually does drop it once he’s down to the last man standing and you vaguely identify him as the first to stab you. He uses the man’s own sword instead.

The silence that settles around the two of you after that isn’t the kind that fills you with dread. It’s not even the awkward kind. In fact… it’s almost comfortable, the way that he brings your into your own home and begins bandaging you without a word. He’s practically untouched, apart from a small slice on his forearm that you wrap in return.

It’s only later, when you are both eating a hastily thrown together meal that he speaks, “You know that they won’t be the only ones that come for you.”

It’s tough to swallow past the lump in your throat, “I do… but I can’t fight anymore.” If you’d had any hope of being able to push through the crippling terror before, it’s been thoroughly disillusioned now.

He reaches across the table and covers your hand with his own, “I can.”

Your heartbeat picks up, but for once it’s not from fear, “I’m not the same as I was before.”

He leans in, “Neither am I.”

You can’t help but match him, “I–”

He cuts you off with a kiss - and if you ever know that emptiness again, he's always right there to chase it away.

"came back wrong" what about Came Back Afraid. You used to be brave. Too brave maybe, defying the odds at every turn, a fighter, cocky, playing with fire, first to throw yourself at the enemy. Until one day it all caught up to you. You came back, somehow, but now you know all too intimately how it feels to lose, to die, to be destroyed. Now you flinch and freeze and cower at the slightest provocation. Who even are you now if you can't be brave? The grave may have let you go, but the mortal fear still grips you tighter than ever.

[sunkissed-poet]

thinking of high school sweetheart!kirishima who can’t help but stare when you giggle with your friends.

a/n || fem! reader, no war au, two oblivious idiots in love with each other,

high school sweetheart!kirishima when others make you laugh instead of him. dammit. he wish he was the one making you smile. but for now, as your classmate, he wants to respect your boundaries as he watches you from afar. you snap him out of his daydreaming by greeting him with a nonchalant and effortlessly cheeky grin. “eijirou, whatcha thinking about? hmm?” you say, poking his cheek. the sudden touch made blood rush to his face. “you, pretty girl,” he laughs. he then freezes. an uncomfortable sensation washes over him as he realizes he said what he was thinking. he slowly turned to you, watching your smile drop. “eh?” you say with a confuse look, leaning on his desk. he mumbled a few sorries, but before he could say anything else, mina dragged you away.

high school sweetheart!kirishima when your attentions shift to others. “y/n! we have training with aizawa sensei! did you seriously forget? you usually remember,” mina smirks. before dragging you away she froze, looking at kirishima’s reddended expression and then at you. you couldn’t help but contain your smile. “WHAT?! he confessed to you already? it’s just like what you were daydreaming earl-” kirishima’s tensed body relaxed as he smirked. around you, he was soft. he felt secure, and stable. in a world where he had to constantly fight against villains, you were his comfort. and sure, he felt ashamed of it at times, and he would never admit it to himself. he likes you. no, he loves you. he loves your precious grin, your undeniable kindness, and loyalty to your friends. you were a sweet, genuine girl he could trust. you were someone he wanted to spend the rest of his days with. maybe he was stupid for thinking this. after all, he was just in high school. but if it wasn’t going to last, so be it. he had to take his chance.

high school sweetheart!kirishima when he gathers the courage to talk to you, his longtime crush.“y/n, can we talk?” mina paused as you started at kirishima, nodding your head sheepishly. you two were somewhat close, talking now and then. in your eyes, his bravery and strength was something to be admired. but more than that, you valued how he treated others. you didn’t feel left out. he made sure you were included, that you felt wanted. you were too scared to make a move, after all, what if he didn’t feel the same and it was just the delusions again?

high school sweetheart!kirishima who is scared of rejection, knowing he’ll always love you. you forgot kirishima was still waiting for your response, shaking your head. kirishima frowned, thinking you shook your head to his question. “ah, no! i didn’t mean it like that,” you rubbed your head nervously. by this time, mina had already sauntered off elsewhere, giving you two some much deserved privacy. there it was again. your subtle, yet adorable movements that made his heart pound. he led you outside of school grounds, leading your soft and delicate hands to a secluded area with a gingham blanket draped over a small patch of grass.

high school sweetheart!kirishima who awaits your response to his (indirect) confession.“y/n, do you trust me?” kirishima asked, the anxiety building up in his chest for years started to swell, just like in a classic rom-com movie you two would often watch together. “do you trust me?” he finally asked. you paused for a moment, racking your brain as you tried to find a proper response. “duh, why wouldn’t i?” you laughed. he turned his head to you as you settled your gaze on the sunset, falling cherry blossoms obscuring your vision before you turned your head towards your (potential) lover. “no, really. i need to know y/n.” at this point, your hands were intertwined with his. you didn’t even realize. it just felt so… so natural. “y/n? how come you’re so quiet? am i saying something wrong, if so i’m really-”

high school sweetheart!kirishima who couldn’t be happier to call you his. “please stop talking, idiot.” your grinned, leaning in for a kiss. before you could, his lips met yours first. for once in his life, kirishima felt that he had a chance. maybe it wasn’t as grand as becoming a pro hero, but beautiful moments like these were something he would cherish forever. his slightly grown out red hair brushed against your collarbone. you leaned it for another kiss. “greedy, are we princess?” he laughed, matching your bright personality he adored so much. “shut up and kiss me. i’ve been waiting so long for this moment…” you playfully nudge him on the shoulder. “why wouldn’t i? sweetheart.”

note: this is def a story you told your grandkids! >_<

[agirlauthoredbygod]

I really like situations where a character has an opportunity to carry out revenge, yet they don't take it because a) they know it will continue the cycle of shedding another's blood and b) it goes against their morals/values. Bonus points if the story is about the character sticking to their values while the world and the cast around them try to convince them to break their values. Extra bonus points if it's a revenge story, and the character realizes that this isn't the life they want to live. They realize they are becoming the monster they are hunting and recognize that the person they want to get revenge on ultimately is a flawed human being that made a terrible decision that potentially cost another person's life. I just love characters that choose mercy instead of revenge.

[g1ngerbeer]

genuinely one of the sexiest (<- said very aroacely by an aroace) things you can do to a character is give another character(s) the responsibility of putting them down like a sick dog if/when the need arises

[hestia-and-the-court]

Have you tried In Stars and Time? There are two asexual characters in there! -Hestia

There are three kinds of LGBT headcanons:

Actual queer coding / metaphors ("Nimona is trans because her creator made her as a way to express his feelings as a trans person")

Vibes ("Link is genderless because I said so")

It's funny ("Phoenix Wright is asexual because he's the Ace Attorney")

[meerawrites]

Not so loud, you are gonna scare the monosexuals!

*sighs* but yes, it is me I am the bi, I want his pseudo hand in marriage as well as his gender.