Apr 4
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So... today, I'm bringing you my 🌟FANFICTION TOP TIER 🌟
To classify the different tropes on fanfics, we have five categories
Amazing, showstopping, never the same - the category where all my favourite tropes go
Regular favourites - the category where all the good tropes (but not my ultimate favourites) go
Not bad - tropes that I read if there's nothing else to read or if the concept of the fic sounds interesting
Why did I gave this a try? - the fics and concepts that I give a try but end up being boring or disappointing
NO. - the one that I absolutely despise
That being said, LET'S EXPLAIN THE TROPES! (WARNING: THIS IS MY PERSONAL OPINION)
ANGST: Who doesn't like the angst? The ugly crying? The screaming? The pain? It's just... chef's kiss.
Sharing a bed: it can be applied to EVERY OTHER TROPE. Enemies to lovers? They share a bed. Friends to lovers? They share a bed. Unrequired feeling? Mutual pining? Sexual tension? This has you covered.
Bang or die: only as long as it is consensual, but look, listen, THEY HAVE TO. AND THEY DON'T WANT TO BECAUSE THEY WILL FEEL SOMETHING AND IT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING BETWEEN THEM AND GOD!
Crack fic: It's like humor, which I like, but better. Just surreal and absurd and so full of potential... I love it.
Dark fic: who doesn't like to see their fav character turn dark? The worst things ever are here, and I can't help but feel drawn to it. Like... omg. just. OMG.
Enemies to lovers: Look, this is THE most popular trope and it deserves the reputation. The sublime transition from "I want to kill you" to "I will kill whoever tries to kill you". It can explore SO MUCH, that I just can't deal, I can't.
Fluff: look, I'm a tiny, soft ball, and I need fluffy stuff, I need the cute moments, the smiles, the laugh, the sweet environment. We need some comfort and happiness every once in a while.
Friends to lovers: it's the context, you know? Their transition can be smooth and natural or it can be chaotic at first, but they have that already established intimacy, and I just can't help but love it. It's like it was meant to be, and I can't like it anymore than I already do.
Hurt/Comfort: The wonderful, WONDERFUL moments when A is hurt and B is taking care of them. No matter the type of pain, they have that conexion, that love, and it doesn't even have to be romantic. It's amazing.
Missing scenes: so underrated, oh my god. Yes, give me the missing conversations, the headcanons, everything you have that fills the void that canon has left, everything that expands the character or the universe. I'm a curious person, I want to know more and more about it.
PWP: I love the P0rn, I do, but you have to give me the plot too, the conversations, the stares, the context. And this trope always delivers.
Arranged marriage: if it's well executed, it slaps. The different possibilites, their first meeting... but it's always historical shit that get boring, so I am a bit picky about it.
Baby fic: whether it is the single parent, the pregnancy, or the adoption, I just love it. If the kid is cool and nice, it is even better. If not, I just use them as a pretext for my favourite couple to get together.
Slow Burn: it burns, like the name says, but it makes it all so much interesting. It's hard for this trope to get boring, and it keeps you hanging and waiting for the next update. Sublime.
Body Swap: if it is well executed, it's great. Knowing the other person's body, experiencing their lives... I just adore it, it has so much potential and it usually has a comical side that I just adore.
College AU: Again, I love it if it's well executed. The adult content (not sex, just adult stuff) always gets me, and the coming-of-age element is delicious.
Part two is coming, kids... stay tuned for more
I love enemies to friends to lovers ships and slow burn romances more than I love myself and I will always be deeply craving it to fill the void that is my non-existent love-life
pynch flower shop, tattoo parlor au? 🥺
who wants to write it 🥺🥺
are there any tropes in your wip heart to heart? if there are, what’s your favorite to write? -@writevevo
Storyteller Saturday!
Hello hello @writevevo! Happy Saturday and thanks for the ask, friend!
There are tons of tropes in Heart to Heart! I’m kinda terrible at naming them, so I’ll try and jot them down off the top of my head:
Mystery Tropes:
Stranger Comes to Town - also counts as a Western trope
Hidden in Plain Sight / Secret Identity - there are several of these sprinkled around town
Red Herring - not really a trope but I use it
Romance Tropes:
Only One Bed - that’s right. Mel sleeps on the couch until she doesn’t.
Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Slow Burn
Misinterpreted Romantic Gestures / How Are They So Oblivious?
Third Act Gesture - again, not really a trope, more of a structure thing, still counting it
Forbidden Love - ish?
Happy Lesbians
Same Heart, Different Worlds
My favorite of all these right now is... hidden in plain sight. It’s fun writing Mel’s scenes, then going back and making sure there are enough subtle hints so that when the reveal happens, it’s an “oh my God I knew something was up” moment.
An Editor’s Confession: A Villanesque: Not Really
- To Ilf and Petrov, the masters of satire.
I met him years ago when he was iffy honest.
He rhymed some decent words (much rarer – bawdy ones).
He was a nice and wary fellow: he was a poet.
He often was apologetic – it was chronic –
He tried to be genteel to make up for his art.
I met him years ago when he was steady honest.
Submitting verse, he shillyshallied, enjoying solace,
and muttered something mazed about metaphors.
He was a nice and wary fellow: he was a poet.
I do repent: his path, his pure artistic vomit
had roots in my re-editorial re-runs –
I met him years ago when I was steady honest.
“My friend,” I said, “You must be sick of verse and sonnets?”
“Are you?” I said. He checked the room, said “Aye,” and froze.
He was a nice and wary fellow: he was a poet.
“Then why do you write?” I asked. “What else should I write?” He said.
For fuck’s sake nothing! I chocked my words, returning murky glance.
I met him years ago when I was iffy honest.
He was a nice and wary fellow: he was a poet.
“You should, I think…
Or, maybe…
Like, you know that, right?
Like something jolly:
tropes, and puns, and schemes,
and new neologisms.
Try calques,
acronyms,
eponyms,
onomatopoetic words,
verbification and morphoderivation,
or simply, semaconontologyformation.”
“Like word-formation,” – my wary friend-slash-foe-to-be ardentlo-avidly engaged –
I see. But will such art be ergo monetized?
Is there a payment?”
“Yes, there is, it will, I will. If it is good. The word-formation.”
The poet’s eyes lit up with a predatory glitter.
He jumped up from his chair and blurted out, running ‘round the room:
“A median or high formation? I will soon so myself rewordreform,
so if your formalfaced physiognomy trusts me not,
I will rewordreform you to the informal phase…”
“I call this ‘talent’. Decidedly ‘a talent’,” I said, confused by his informal ‘you’
and his new not-so-formal-as-it-used-to-be approach.
The poet acted rather fancy.
He ran, he slurred,
he almost fainted twice.
He tugged his hands
like a stringed buffoon
while overturning chairs.
“Here, listen now,” he started reading the verse:
“The editor’s advice is clearly ample.
I will exceed all expectations
Here is a simple wordoxample
of crafty wordmanipulations.”
Kill me – so what if I gave him a hundred.
Taking the money, he sluggishly said:
“For the ‘nnovative four-liner
put my money in mine miner.”
I’ve got so scared of what I’ve done.
I grew expressively fatigued by his disdainful manners,
and our formerly so firm accord ungrew like… just ungrew.
“I woo-woof-want to collect my-my-my-meaw re-enterjacent payment,” he said
wearily next time I saw him.
I spread my arms.
“I have none,” I said.
“Oh, editor, don’t spread your arms, you spreaditor.
Don’t lie to me my cre-editor, or else you harm me like a pre-ditor.”
“Are you still a versifier?” I asked.
“I am,” he said.
“Thus, you are a versatile money-lacking licit tramp.”
(I tried to make a pun, which, I agree, is pretty plain.
However, I moved a heavy phrasebook folio further from his forky fingers).
“You are so witty,” he waived his hand and added dully:
“I’ll take just wifty.”
“Yes, right,” I carefully said and, hell knows why, continued,
“So you still write?”
“I do. I do, I write about cognac and cognactive experience.
I wrote about Poincaré’s conjecture. Here:
Historically a hollow square,
Formation also known as carré,
demands all combatants’ss courage.
One solder hails Poincaré:
‘Where is my carriage, my Poin-carré-age?!’
Did you enjoy the poem?” He asked.
“Ahem, I think it is a bit off topic?”
“Then things are sc-off-ing-pic. Please, pay-off topic?
I have another one about Trump,
like Trumpologic in the sense of t-t-t-t-reason?
Or better May-ish brexeting May-hem-ish season? Or…”
“I’m late for a meeting.”
“mee-liberty-ting first.”
“You are bothering me.”
“Both-earrings cost me-money. Pay me me-money, siredditor.”
“I will call 911.”
“Mine one and one. Do math, I’ll take your twenty.”
“Out, now!”
“Out-onomy is mine,” he started laughing.
“Out-now-bered reason, t-reason, ha-ha-hi. Put-in the pay-off for the out-now-ledge.
Ha-ha-hee-hee-shee-shee they ha-he-she!”
For the next two years, I didn’t hear his voice.
The rumor goes he drank, offending people.
Some even sued his ass – and all was legal.
His dearest wife had filed for divorce.
And yes, he wrote to her some formal verse.
(She left him for a fancy prosecutor)
“My wife had found a better prose-tutor
I bet, it was her own pro-see-choice.
I doubt she finds him very pro-supportive,
But she will learn her lesson’s pros and cons.”
I know for fact, the prosecutor riled.
He was, shall I concur, a bit assertive,
And had some savings both in stocks and bonds.
Thus, was the legal hearing outcome defined.
I read reports that the offended prosecutor
had added to his case a claim
that stated that the re-renowned poet
have had committed a criminal offense,
maliciously abusing grammar rules.
Our last encounter was at the train station.
The weather was awfully unpleasant:
one simply felt their breath to turn to frost.
He walked, accompanied by nurses.
(One was so large, I couldn’t see her face).
His suit was ironed well, his suit-tie
was rather absent, so was his old hat.
“We go to summer-house,” he seemed uplifted.
“My dear friend, is it so?”
“Yes, indeed.”
He seemed so happy.
“He meant the nuthouse,” the smaller nurse declared.
“Not not-house, some-err-house, I said,” he said.
“Excuse us,” the bulky nurse expressed.
“No! Not the not-house, some-err-house I need!
I de-decided, I pro-protest, I’m de-pro-frosted, I decide my field!”
In single iota his straitjacket locked.
“I did invent the Saturn! Don’t you dare to spit in that Grecian sat-urn!”
I never saw him again.
yung naka white shoes kayong lahat ng hindi pinag.usapan. HAHAHAHA ang cute.. pero yung totoo nakikain lang tlga ako dyan..