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Week Two - This will thread will contain a week's worth of writing exercises to be completed each day. I'm going to award W.P. (writing points~) for completed assignments, and to give myself less math this time, it's 1 W.P. per regular assignment, 5 per bonus. If I make a super bonus assignment, I will tell you what it's worth individually. (Please bear in mind that I will not award points / will deduct points for incomplete / improperly completed assignments and I cannot award points past the days of the week in question. Thank you.)

You may do as many or as few as you please. Anyone is allowed to join up at any time, but please let me know in a PM if you want to be added to our tag list because only people on the tag list will be awarded points. Also, you may leave the exercises at any time. Please tell me if you wish to be removed, though. I will not remove you unless you request it.

Our goal here: Fun, encouragement of young and old writers, and self-improvement. :D

ONE IMPORTANT RULE: PLEASE DO NOT REPLY TO ANY OTHER WRITER'S POST. I will create a feedback thread, please use it. My insistence on this is to ensure that other writers can edit as needed, and while it is possible to unlock posts, it's best not to create any more work for our admins / mods than necessary. Thank you for your cooperation. =) 

Monday! Welcome to "Tropes" Week!

What's a trope, you might ask? (Though I do believe most, if not all, of you already know.) "A figurative or metaphorical use of a word or expression." "A significant or recurrent theme; a motif." They are constants in fiction, ways we explain and identify the various worlds we play around in. Shall we explore some? I selected six tropes for you all at random.

Write a brief scene combining at least three of the following (please state which ones, clear making of assignments--while not strictly required--is greatly appreciated.):
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/RuleOfEscalatingThreat
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BlindfoldedVision
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CombinationAttack
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathBySecretIdentity
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/JustForTheHeliOfIt
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HeroInsurance

Bonus: Now write the same scene from a different character's perspective.
Super bonus (worth 10 points): Write both scenes with all six tropes.

 

@Will11 , @TheNewIAP , @Ogre11 , @Kwism1127 , @ecoLyte , @Dynamism , @Beagle , @Ford , @betaband , @Claw2k11 , @SonicTurboTurtle , @DerpBacon , @Romulus , @Chris113022 , @galobtter , @Swiftstryker , @BenCrucifix ,@MadHattersDaughter , @At_Your_Throat , @LeoScales7 , @Tim36D , @Jibble , @NightBirdBlue , @3173v3 , @31TeV  

(Sorry to start so early--depending on where you live, that is--but I felt the need to get this up before I continued writing out feedback. Plus, I have a busy day ahead. Happy writing, all.)

Hm, this is something I have not heard of before and something I’ve never tried but I’ll give it a shot J I’ve tried using the Just for the Hell of it, Hero Insurance and Blindfold Vision Troupes.

“Oh this is definitely the best university in London,” the businesswoman bragged with her carefully coiffed hair and immaculately fitted suit. “We have more floors than any other university in the world, twenty six!”

“Just had to fire another three cleaners to build another one,” grunted an unkempt janitor behind her as he passed by dragging his mop.

“Now Mr Turner you know that just simply isn’t true,” the businesswoman declared flashing a white-teethed smile. “Now floors 45-47 have been built floors 12-15 no longer require cleaning, we are moving the students up there. By the time floors 16-18 are finished 48-50 should be built and our students can move up in the world as our university promises them they will. Indeed that is our motto “study hard, pay your bills on time and you will move up in the world”.”

“What will happen to these abandoned floors?” the janitor asked and the businesswoman grinned.

“Why with the various ant and beetle infestations out biology students will have a unique opportunity to enjoy biology in action!”

“Perhaps if we can find a particularly intelligent bug perhaps we can make them chairman of the board of this university,” the janitor suggested grinning. The businesswoman’s face hardened.

“Do you hold a business qualification Mr Turner? No, you do not. You hold a mop. You keep to your job and I’ll keep to mine.”

As I followed the businesswoman up to the newest floors I offered Mr Turner a sympathetic smile.

Going for the super bonus, so hopefully I got all six tropes in there.

Scene 1:

Barry sighed in boredom as the class dragged on. Looking out the window, he eyed over the playground outside and was surprised to see a kid being surrounded by bullies. “Jimmy, look!” he cried out to his friend who was sat next to him. “Someone is being bullied!”

Jimmy jumped to his feet, an excited grin on his face. “This looks like a job for…. The Blindfold Duo!”

The two of them pulled a pair of blindfolds out of nowhere and applied them to their face. “To the Brailmobile!” shouted Barry as he dived out the window, smashing it for the fourth time that week. Barry quickly followed through the window next to it. The two of them then hurried over to a nearby helicopter with the word Brailmobile painted onto the side.

It quickly took off into the air, the blades smashing the remaining classroom windows. They flew several meters across the playground before landing on a ball shed, crushing it beneath the weight of the helicopter.

Jumping out of the chopper, the two of them stumbled blindly over towards the sounds of jeering children. “Halt!” yelled Barry when they reached the ring of bullies. “Leave that boy alone!”

“Oh shit,” he heard one of the bullies say. “It’s the blindfold duo!”

“That’s right,” said Barry. “It’s me, Barry Blindfold, and my partner Jimmy No-Eyes!” He pointed at a patch of air vaguely near Jimmy.

“Look at these two idiots,” said a nasty sounding voice as the head bully turned to face them. “Let’s see who they actually are.”

All of a sudden bright light filled Barry’s vision as the bully removed his and Jimmy’s blindfolds. “No, you can’t do that! You’ll find out who we really are!”

The bully stared at them in surprise. “I know you two! You’re Barry and Jimmy!”

Jimmy looked at Barry in panic. “We have to do something Barry! He can’t know our identities!”

“You can’t do anything,” said the bully. “I have a secret weapon!” He then pulled this secret weapon out of his pocket, a smug look on his face.

“Oh my god, he’s got a nuclear bomb!” yelled Jimmy in terror. “That escalated the threat quickly.”

“Don’t worry Jimmy, we can do our combination Attack move!” said Barry, the both of them then turning to face the bully. Barry then punched him in the face, knocking him out so that Jimmy could then carry him over to the neighbouring school. Dumping him outside the school doors, they then set off the bomb blowing him up completely.

“Another successful mission!” the two of them said cheerfully as they watched the mushroom cloud from the safety of their own school.

Scene 2:

Lucy backed away in fear as the bullies approached her. “Look at this wimp!” she heard one of them shout. “She won’t even stand and fight!”

The sounds of crashing windows and helicopter blades came from the other side of the playground, but she was much too busy backing away from the bullies to pay any attention to it. But then two other kids wearing blindfolds stumbled over out of the wreckage of what had been the football shed and what she could only assume had been the source of helicopter noises.

“Halt!” yelled the shorter of the two. “Leave that boy alone!” This was slightly insulting to Lucy, seeing as she was a girl, but she was willing to ignore this seeing as they were saving her, and they couldn’t exactly see her through the blindfolds.

The head bully turned to them and there seemed to be some commotion, but the bullies crowded around him and Lucy couldn’t see what was going on. But then all of the sudden the shorter of the two punched him, and the tall lanky one was carrying him towards St Bernard’s Secondary School.

She watched in confusion, and then screamed in fear when St Bernard’s suddenly blew up in a nuclear explosion. The two kids in blindfolds started to walk towards her, but she ran away before they could blow her up too.

Superbonus:
Perspective 1:
Tsuki immediately located the Dr. Mogambo's lair from his position on the helicopter. Despite being blind, he had super senses and detected the faint, but distinctive voice of Mogambo over the din of the hundreds of helicopters surrounding his. A plane would have been much more efficient to transport the hundreds of the army he had brought, but he mused, "When you can take a helicopter(or hundreds), why use a mere plane?"

Returning to executing the plan, he shouted through into the microphone "His lair is in the north-east, but lets make our presence known. Crash the helicopters on the surrounding town."
You see, Mogambo was planning reduce Earth to a barren wasteland and Tsuki wanted to pressure Mogambo into using his plan B--nukes. These could be sent back and destroy his bio-virus which was his plan A (and the rest of the country, but Tsuki thought "Eh, that's a small price.")

A few minutes later, noticing the lack of nukes, Tsuki contemplated Mogambo's new-found intelligence.
What a fool he was to really thought I would come myself, and not my sidekick, to deal with his initial plan to rule europe...but he has become wiser.
He ran dancing past the invisible laser trap outside and then inside detected where Mogambo was. His army was distracting Mogambo's army on the outside.
He then suddenly stopped in shock. "Tsuki is an alien," Mogambo laughed out loud from his location far away. How could he know that? But it didn't matter at least. Mogambo and all his henchmen were going die soon.
He sent a message to his sidekick Kyumoto through telepathy, "Send your laser to the dome area in the center."
This was more tiresome than the nukes, but would kill less.
Tsuki channeled a mysterious force to dome and the combination of the force and laser vaporized the dome and everything inside--the bio-virus, nukes, Mogambo and his henchmen.

Perspective 2:
Josh leaned back in his seat in the helicopter, but the seat toppled over and he grabbed the side of the exit with his heart pumping. Not only had he have to board this shitty helicopter, instead of a much more efficient and comfortable plane, the seat couldn't even support even leaning back. And then he heard Tsuki's voice through the comms "His lair is in the north-east, but lets make our presence known. Crash the helicopters on the surrounding town."
What the fuck? Was this dude mad? Does he even know how much these helicopters cost? And the damage it would cause to the countryside?? Aren't superheroes supposed to have intelligence?
He sighed, grabbed a parachute and leaped off.
Once he had landed he received another order to fight Mogambo's troops.
Why?? He can dodge them so easily with his supersense and speed and all. They can't stun him with light because he's blind.. Why sacrifice troops because of laziness? Why were we even here? He already sacrificed europ--.
A bullet whizzed over his head, shocking him out of his thoughts.
I'm going to fight, but not Mogambo's troops, but Tsuki.
He ran and ran slowly reaching Mogambo's lair, but was interrupted by a voice saying something surprising--"Tsuki is a alien."--but he had no time to react, as he was instantly killed by the shockwave from vaporization of the villain's dome.

*I will be writing the Super Bonus, but I am very tired as of writing this, so it shall come at a later time*

Tropes: Blindfolded Vision, Rule of Escalating Threat, Hero Insurance 

Senjuro finally arrived at the top of the mountain, eager to begin his newfound training. There lied the abode of a famous sage, one who would help the young man to defeat his next opponent and warlord, Nemur. It is said that this sage was the only one to face Nemur and live to tell the tale. However, Senjuro was warned about the sage’s eccentric ways by the villagers three miles below where he now stood.

The sage should have known that he was coming, considering that Senjuro had been told to send a messenger beforehand. Senjuro can only hope that the sage is willing to train him.

Senjuro opened the door, and called out into the darkness in search of an answer. “Hello, Wise One, I am Se-”

Senjuro never finished the sentence. In what could only be described as speed beyond human comprehension, a short, old man flew from the darkness and kicked Senjuro in the stomach. Before the poor young man could even react, the sage grabbed hold of his arm and flipped him over his shoulders and onto the ground with bone-crushing power.

As Senjuro lied there, barely breathing, the old man began to talk. “I see the young man as he is: a fool without equal. He is an oaf, ignorant in thought and movement. Slow in wit and decrepit in reflexes.” The old man kicks Senjuro again for good measure. “I will fix that in time, assuming you can kill me, or perhaps when I kill you. Then all of our problems will be fixed!”

As the old man began to laugh heartily, Senjuro started coughing up blood. Upon noticing this, sage frowned. “How troublesome. Anyway, you won’t be needing these either…” The old man prepared his fingers, and set them into the sockets of the young man’s eyes. “You only have two days with me. You cannot fight the Monster with vision. You need insight, and this will give it to you.”

The sage ripped out one eyeball, and Senjuro screamed in agony as he watched the bloody mass pulse in the man’s hand. The other soon followed, and it required all of Senjuro’s strength to simply keep him conscious. The sage continued before Senjuro could fall into a pain-induced coma.

“You may use any means necessary to kill me. Even though I am the best fighter you have probably ever encountered, I am over 200 years old. My body does not move the way it used to. You will learn the art of the blind-fist, as I once did many years ago. I don’t care if you have to destroy the mountain, just don’t leave me alive by the end of the second day!

Welcome to the training from hell.”

Bonus:

Merik had been waiting for over a week. Ever since the messenger came and gave him a notice, his patience had been wearing thin. His bones hurt, his muscles ached, he had a headache-he was just not age 100 anymore. And to top it all off, this boy wanted a teacher who has not taught in over half a century!

But the art of the blind-fist was perilous indeed. Even after having mastered the skill for over a century, the sacred fighting style still provided a massive burden to the wielder. After becoming blind and learning the art, the next generation master would gain the power of the blind fist’s previous master, as well as an extended lifespan. At least, that was what was supposed to happen, had any of Merik’s students lived past day one.

“Hello, Wise One, I am Se-”

It is funny how age still plays tricks. Merik had not even heard the door open; then again, he was lost in thought. But nevertheless, the sudden voice triggered an instinct long engrained into memory. Merik leapt from his position on the floor into the stomach of the young man, and then proceeded to flip him onto the floor.

It was time for some of his old-fashioned bravado. How did he used to say it? ““I see the young man as he is: a fool without equal. He is an oaf, ignorant in thought and movement. Slow in wit and decrepit in reflexes.” Merik kicked the boy again-he did not like the way the boy squinted at him in pain. ““I will fix that in time, assuming you can kill me, or perhaps when I kill you. Then all of our problems will be fixed!”

How was the time to inform the his protege of the dangers of training. He would do as his Master had done to him, and pass down all of the knowledge within three days. But unlike Merik, this child is much weaker at his current age than Merik had been-even more than his previous students. The child was even coughing up blood, a bad sign. He would need one of the three days to recuperate.

“How troublesome. Anyway, you won’t be needing these either…” Merik prepared his fingers, and set them into the sockets of the young man’s eyes. “You only have two days with me. You cannot fight the Monster with vision. You need insight, and this will give it to you.”

Merik plunged into the socket and gouged out the first eyeball. The poor boy screamed in agony as he watched the bloody mass pulse in the Merik’s hand. The other soon followed, and it required all of the boy’s strength to simply keep him conscious. The sage kept talking, knowing that this would be one of his only opportunities to do so before or during training.

“You may use any means necessary to kill me. Even though I am the best fighter you have probably ever encountered, I am over 200 years old. My body does not move the way it used to. You will learn the art of the blind-fist, as I once did many years ago. I don’t care if you have to destroy the mountain, just don’t leave me alive by the end of the second day!

Welcome to the training from hell.”

I've attempted the super bonus, trying to make sure that both perspectives contain all six tropes. Some of the tropes might appear in different ways for each perspective.
 

"Why the hell is he coming over on a chopper?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's just in a hurry."

"By the time he starts it up, takes off, probably dicking about trying to land on the helipad, and finally waddles out, he could have just gone downstairs and walked across the street. Probably would have had enough time to bake a cake after getting up here too. What a moron, he's just wasting everybody's time. He's lucky we need to talk to him, otherwise I would have shot him before he even started stepping into his chopper," said Steve.

Ryan sighed. He didn’t know how he’d been roped into this. At first it was only a lone teenager growing weed in his parents’ basement, selling it for a few of his friends. Him and Steve broke in, took photos and samples as evidence, then sent it to the police anonymously. It was all similar small-time drug dealers for a while, until the two of them started taking on those with increasingly heavier involvement in criminal activity. “Think of all the children, Ryan,” Steve had told him. “They don’t know any better than to take drugs. It’ll ruin their lives. We’re the only ones who can put a stop to that.”

At first, Ryan had been sympathetic to the cause and the suffering of the children. After all, what could be bad about what they were doing? The numbers of children they saved at the beginning was small, but gradually came the increase in that number. Now the stakes were higher than ever before: instead of just one neighbourhood or one school of children, taking this gang out could potentially put a halt to almost all the drugs that get smuggled into this city. Imagine that, a whole city of children saved!

But the children were never grateful. Internet forums were always full of kids bitching about the two masked vigilantes who tried to stop any kids from getting their hands on drugs, which they claimed was taking away their freedom. They had a right to put anything dangerous into their own bodies, was their viewpoint. Recently, Ryan thought the kids had a point. After all, the drug related death rates in Portugal dropped significantly after all drugs were legalised. He was beginning to think that maybe coming down so hard on the drugs issue would only make the problem worse. After they prevent this one gang from distributing drugs, what next? Someone else will take over, only they will be even more wary of somebody trying to apprehend them. This vigilante justice was not tackling the root of the problem.

So Ryan found himself standing on the roof across from the headquarters of the city’s biggest gang boss along with Steve, balaclavas over their faces and armed to the teeth with guns, waiting for the helicopter to slowly make a clumsy landing, wondering why he was doing something so pointless and dangerous when they could be petitioning for drug legalisation instead. But he dare not tell Steve that.

The boss, Blake, stepped out alone, leaving the pilot inside. He was a rather plump and tall man, wearing sunglasses and a carrying walking cane. It was apparent that he was blind. “Alright gentlemen, let’s have a talk. But first, you there,” he said, pointing to Steve. “You can take that recording device out of your right pocket.”

Steve looked surprised. “How did you...?”

“I rule this city from the underground. To wield such power I must also know what’s going on in my city.” He laughs abruptly. “You didn’t think that I, the leader of the most powerful gang in this city, would be a blind man who has no idea of even what those standing right next to him do, did you?”

Steve was speechless for a few moments, but he complied and threw his recording device to the ground, before replying. “Well, clearly you wouldn’t be in this situation if you were as omniscient as you claimed. If you don’t answer the following questions truthfully, those charges will be set off and your entire headquarters will come crashing down.”

Blake seemed unmoved by Steve’s threat. He smiled. “Oh please, would our gang have survived this long if we were so careless as to allow a couple of do-gooders with stockings over their faces to bring us down. The charges were planted there only because I allowed you to.”

Steve glared at Blake. “You can shut the fuck up! You’re bluf-”

“Steve, calm down!” Ryan interrupted.

“Dammit Tigon, codenames! I’m supposed to be Black Star, remember?” Steve said with a mixture of anger and exasperation.

“Your name is Steve?”  Blake seemed fascinated by this news. “Ah, it all makes sense now. Your father was one of my subordinates. One of my best ones at that. You’re Steve Leonard, son of Dennis Leonard.”

“Oh shit, he knows our secret. Ryan, duck and fire!” called Steve to his partner. Ryan immediately responded, dropping to one knee and firing his pistols at the blind man while Steve leaned his rifle on Ryan’s shoulder and followed suit. Blake was dead and lying in a pool of his own blood before he could react.

“Was that manoeuvre really necessary? It seems like one of us would have been enough,” Ryan asked.

“No, but it looked cool,” was Steve’s response.

“Wait!” At least a dozen of Blake’s men burst out from the entrance from the building to the roof, rushing towards the two of them. Even the pilot jumped out of the helicopter and joined in. Steve and Ryan wasted no time in running to the edge of the building, swinging down and smashing through the top floor windows. They found themselves in an office, all eyes on the two strange men who just smashed their way into their workplace looking like action movie bank robbers.

Steve was the first to jump over the desk closest to him, knocking over a computer in the process. The monitor shattered on the floor. Upon reaching the door he kicked it down, breaking the hinges. Ryan followed close behind, albeit through a less destructive path. He gestured to the door disapprovingly.

“What? This is all for the sake of saving those children from drugs! Who cares if we ruin a few offices to get there?”

Bonus

“Sir, those two mask-”

“Yes, I know, they’ve arrived on the rooftop opposite. I’ve already told the pilot to start up the chopper. I’ll be there shortly,” Blake tells me.

He’s always like this. Whenever I come to inform him of any news, he’ll just interrupt me and say exactly what I was going to say to him. But if I don’t go to his office when I have important news, he’ll get all pissy and tell me that he needs to know everything about this organisation and the city. I feel like I deserve more pay for dealing with his bullshit, but that’s not going to be for a while. I’ve been stuck in this position as Blake’s personal assistant for a while now. While gangster life has its perks, and he’s stuck in a relatively safe and less hands-on job, I wonder if maybe I would have been better off with a normal job in a normal office. At least I think I wouldn’t be yelled at as often or as loudly.

Blake gets up, taking his cane with him. “Take as many men as you can and surround the building. Make sure a few of you are ready to get out to the rooftop as soon as possible, just in case things turn sour,” he says. He doesn’t even bother to look in my direction, but I’m used to it. Not too much point when he can’t see me and I can’t see his eyes through his sunglasses.

I go downstairs while radioing all available divisions to come with me. I pass on Blake’s instructions to Wood, his second-in-command, and he takes charge. While the majority of the men place themselves on the ground around the building opposite, a group of just over ten of us head up to the rooftop entrance. Near the door there’s a wall where we can peek at what’s going on outside the rooftop. It looks like Blake isn’t there yet. I see two men, comically dressed with balaclavas over their heads, wearing sweatpants and light T-shirts. It looks like they’re dressed for the gym but don’t want to be seen - except that each one must have at least three guns, maybe even more hidden, and lots of knives.

I think back to the very first time somebody showed up at our doorstep trying to fight the gang all those years ago. It was just a lone kid, no older than eight, armed with a NERF gun. He wasn’t even really worth dealing with, so we just ignored him until he left. We got a few more kids, sometimes bigger groups, armed with toys, but they were similarly dismissed. They did start getting slightly more dangerous when teenagers with knives showed up, probably looking to get their latest fix, and they were dealt with more harshly, although they didn’t die. We even got a young woman, trembling, with a pistol in her hand. She managed to kill one of us before the same was done to her. Possibly some revenge story on her part, but how sad of her to throw away her life like that.

This time, these two men in front of me seem a little more of a threat. They claim to have rigged up our headquarters with bombs. Instead of just killing one man, that could put our entire organisation in jeopardy. It was as if things were slowly escalating to get more dangerous. What next? Will somebody try to nuke all of our bases along with the entire city?

The helicopter finally lands. Blake starts talking to the two men, although it’s hard to see what exactly they’re doing and I certainly can’t hear them. One of the other guys finds a grill for an air vent and shifts it, allowing us to hear what’s going on outside.

“Your name is Steve? Ah, it all makes sense now,” we hear Blake say. “Your father was one of my subordinates. One of my best ones at that. You’re Steve Leonard, son of Dennis Leonard.”

Leonard was my superior officer in the past before I was Blake’s personal assistant. He was a good man, never arrogant or thinking of himself more highly because of his position. He always treated me with respect. It was unfortunate that he was the one killed when the woman invaded our headquarters with a gun all those years ago.

“Oh shit, he knows our secret. Ryan, duck and fire!” one of the men calls. Before any of us could react, one of them ducks and the other balances his rifle against his shoulder, both firing and instantly killing Blake in a ridiculous anime-like combination move. I can’t say I’m sad to see him die, but I still have to do my job. We all open the door and run to chase the two. They’re quick, and by the time we’re outside they’re scampering down the side of the building. Looks like they’re skilled at what they do;  a couple of the windows to the top floor are broken. They presumably got inside through there.

Wood radios to the men below. “They’ll be heading downstairs, presumably out of the south or east entrance. Be ready when you’re there. Run them over. What? No! I don’t care how many civilians you hurt or how much damage you do to the building. If those bastards get away we could be finished. Then who will give this city the drugs it needs? Think of the children!”

SUPAAAAAAH BONUSUUUUUUUUU!!!:

Final Scene- Destruction ravages the city of Blackburg. A "hero" by the name of "Fallen" is fighting his evil arch nemesis, "General Evil (it's a play-on-words for being generally evil)" and his army of henchmen. Fallen has the power of absorbing "Hate Energy", which, as you can probably tell, is energy produced by all the hate in the world. He can do many things with this power, such as energy beams, blasts, armor, and even wings, and a small regenerative healing factor. His powers burn through hate, but in this world, hate is almost infinite. There's too much to name here, but he can also use his gadgets and do many more powers, some he has yet to find out. Now, without further ado, let's get into it.

Fallen crashes through the asphalt, plowing down the street, leaving a small trench. "... Ow.... I hope the government can cover this..." he says, as he picks himself up off the ground. There's no time to waste. He immediately summons a new pair of energy wings and flies back to the giant death robot.

At first, General Evil was just a discharged general, going to war with innocent foreign people. Then it escalated to all foreigners. Then foreigners and minorities. Now he's indiscriminately slaughtering everyone. He needs to be stopped. Fallen flies at near mach speed to the robot.

Once he gets there, he shields himself and penetrates through the center, ripping out the reactor powering it. As the giant death machine starts powering down, he says "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you need this? You can have it back!". He throws the reactor at it. The reactor explodes and the robot follows suit. Unfortunately, this causes a blackout due to the blast activating a failsafe EMP blast. "Shit! I can't see anything!" Fallen said. Knowing that he would have little time to find General Evil in the wreckage, he lands.

He pulls down his hood and activates the sensor, bringing up a high resolution HUD. "Hood, nightvision. Scan for life.". "Scanning, says the AI. When he turns, he's met with a pipe to the face, damaging Hood. The now glitching picture shows a battered and bruised General Evil.

Recovering, Fallen gets hit in the head again. "Boy, I've been wanting to do this for a long time!" The grizzled veteran shouts as he hits him in the head again. Fallen collapses. "Now, let's see who's under the mask..." the former General says as he pulls off Fallen's hood and mask.

"... You?! I remember you! You were that kid at the military base back when I was a general! Captain Conrad Marsh's kid, right? Huey Marsh? Such a good soldier, your father was. Always followed my orders, no matter the outcome."

"Don't you DARE pretend that you respected him! You sent my father to DIE in that raid! You KNEW he would die! And for what?! Nukes?!"

"Now, now, boy. Don't get snappy with me. Your father knew the risks of what he was getting into."

"But he didn't know that you would use them!"

"Oh really? He should have..."

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!" Fallen shouts as he shoots a blast at Evil, only to see it shatter against his skin.

"Nice try, Son, but that won't work." Evil says as he stomps Fallen's chest.

"What the hell?! Why can't I blast you?!"

"NANOMACHINES, SON! Nulls your every attack by hardening! They also make me STRONGER!" He says as he kicks Fallen into the robot debris.

Fallen screams in pain as he is penetrated by a metal spike protruding from the debris. General Evil laughs as he watches Fallen pull the spike from his lower abdomen. "HA HA HA HA!"

Fallen recovers and tries to rush General Evil with a punch to the face, but his face just hardens as he smiles. He grabs fallen and breaks his arm with his knee. Fallen screams in pain and collapses to a kneel. General Evil then crouches beside him.

"You know, you were right. I didn't respect him. He was a good soldier, but other than that..."

He whispers into Fallen's ear. "He was nothing more than a stupid, loyal DOG!"

Those nine words were the last mistake Harry Falcone would ever make in his life.

Fallen grabbed the general by the head with his good arm. His appearance changed dramatically, with his eyes glowing white and a raging purple aura around him.

"I HAAAATE YOOOOU!" Fallen shouts as he slams Falcone into the pavement. The impact generated so much force, the debris around them were flung. He then threw him high into the air, screaming as he grew massive ethereal wings. He flew machspeed into the air to the apex of the throw and kicked the General back to the earth.

General Evil hit the ground hard, leaving a giant crater in his impact zone. The nanomachines couldn't take much more, they needed time to repair. "What... the hell... are you?!" The General shouted as he was recovering.

Fallen charges an energy blast. This blast is of all the hate energy in the world, including Harry and himself. It shined a bright purple-white color, and it was about as big as a large pumpkin. Both Fallen and his energy were flowing with violet static.

"I'M THE MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO KILL YOU!" Fallen shouted as he let the energy loose into a large, purple beam of hate energy, the largest the world's ever seen, about as wide in diameter as a small apartment room. Falcone lifted his hand and tried to block all of the hate, but it was futile. After all, he was only fueling it more with his own.

"NO! I WAS...SO...CLOOOOSE!" Were General Evil's last words as him and a whole city block were disintegrated in a wave of purple light. He was gone. Huey did it. He avenged his father.

He let go of his hate and fell.

------------------------------

About two hours later, he woke up in a crater of ash and dust. The sound of a helicopter drew his attention to the rising sun. The shadow of the chopper landed and a man in a suit disembarked.

"Huey. Nice to see you." The man said.

"Good morning, Mr. President."

"Would you be willing to take a ride with me? We need to talk. And we need to clean up this mess you've made." President Auburn said with an extended hand. Huey grabbed it and looked around the crater as he was getting up.

"Oh no... did I kill anyone?!"

"What? Ha ha ha! Of course not, Huey! The city was evacuated as soon as we found out he was coming. It's alright. You did great... except maybe in the damage control department..."

"Oh... good. That's good."

"Indeed. Now, if you would please?" He indicates the Heli.

"Can't we just talk at the White House? I can still fly, you know." Huey says as he grows a pair of wings.

"That won't be needed. We have much to talk about. I insist." He steps inside the Copter.

"... Alright, then." Huey steps inside. "Let's chat." He says, as he closes the door.

The Presidential Helicopter flies into the sunset.

(I'm sorry. This was really, really long. Not brief at all. I need to practice summarizing my thoughts.

I might do the next paragraph from the President's POV.)

Tuesday! Opposing tropes!

So, tropes aren't so complex, right? We have our basic bread and butter concepts like "The Hero" and the "Happy Ending" and the concept of the "Back Story" ... but for every action, there is said to be an equal and opposite reaction. Contrast and conflict are big players in world creation, character development, and story progression.

Write a scene based on one of the following combinations of opposite tropes--or, alternatively, write two similar yet very different scenes (please state which tropes you're using and if you are unfamiliar with the trope, I strongly suggest reading about it first):

Action Girl vs. Distressed Damsel
Affably Evil vs. Good Is Not Nice
Because Destiny Says So vs. Screw Destiny
Large Ham vs. The Quiet One / (Alt. Soft-spoken Sadist)
A Simple Plan vs. Zany Scheme 
The Snark Knight vs. Stepford Smiler
"The Reason You Suck" Speech vs. You Are Better Than You Think You Are
Chaotic Evil vs. Lawful Good
Chaotic Good vs. Lawful Evil
Chaotic Neutral vs. Lawful Neutral
Neutral Evil vs. Neutral Good
The Cynic vs. The Idealist
Deathbringer the Adorable vs. Fluffy the Terrible
Evil Feels Good vs. Good Feels Good
Face-Heel Turn vs. Heel-Face Turn
Hate Plague vs. Love Is in the Air
 If I Can't Have You vs. I Want My Beloved to Be Happy
 If You Kill Him, You Will Be Just Like Him vs. Kill Him Already
Kiss-Kiss-Slap vs. Slap-Slap-Kiss
 No Sympathy for Grudgeholders vs. Punished for Sympathy

Bonus: Instead, write the previous scene(s) including two or more of the above.
(Note: If you can find two opposing tropes you'd prefer to use, PM me. If I agree that they fit the exercise, I'll permit it.)
 

@Will11 , @TheNewIAP , @Ogre11 , @Kwism1127 , @ecoLyte , @Dynamism , @Beagle , @Ford , @betaband , @Claw2k11 , @SonicTurboTurtle , @DerpBacon , @Romulus , @Chris113022 , @galobtter , @Swiftstryker , @BenCrucifix , @31TeV , @MadHattersDaughter , @At_Your_Throat , @LeoScales7 , @Tim36D , @Jibble , @NightBirdBlue , @3173v3 

(Another solid beginning! Excellent! xD Honestly, I'm impressed that anyone tried that super bonus, sorry I haven't caught up yet on the feedback, though... encountering some IRL issues.)

The Snark Knight versus The Stepford Smiler (what is a Snark? A baby shark?)

“Johnny how great to see you, it’s been absolutely ages!”

Stacey hurried across the crowded room full of people drinking and conversing to embrace the young man who’d just entered.

“Ah wonderful, the hug thing,” he said with a grimace as Stacey threw her arms around him and embraced him. “Do you think we might stop it now?”

“Ah Johnny, don’t be a spoilsport!” Stacey declared with a grin as she let go. “I was just telling Anne-Marie the other day we never see enough of Johnny, you never seem to come to these parties anymore.”

“Perhaps all these people with their narrow interests, mindless chatter and tedious anecdotes which they tell over and over again are just too cool for me,” Johnny suggested.

“Ah Johnny don’t be a party-pooper,” Stacey declared. “Must you always play the cynic?”

“But these people make it to easy by giving me plenty to be cynical about.”

Stacey laughed. “Oh Johnny, you are funny! It’s a beautiful night, there is wine and beer galore and Tony was saying we might even play spin the bottle later!”

“Oh be still my beating heart,” Johnny said with a weary smile. “Spin the bottle! I haven’t been this excited since I was a little boy.”

“Johnny, I’m so glad you came,” Stacey said with a grin. “You always have such interesting things to say!”

“You know I really hate everything about you and the way you choose to be,” Johnny said.

“I know!” Stacey said beaming.

With a sigh Johnny followed his sister Stacey into the crowded room.

Deathbringer the Adorable vs. Fluffy the Terrible — or close enough.

He flew with a gracefulness that couldn't have ever been even dreamt of by someone like me. Humans, I mean. As far as I know.

He flapped relentlessly, a startled squawk echoed across the deserted landscape as I had, just flung him really, at our opponent. Or lack thereof currently. I hadn't seen Snuggle Fluffbottom yet. Coward, I immediately insisted.

The Mad Scientist, Apocalypse-traveling, Sergeant Payne, Deathsoul, Macaroni Penguin Marco crashed with the same elegance that took him in the very short, couple second beginning of his flight. His beak crinkled upward towards the sky he had fallen from, and his flippers were bent forward and the roundness of his body almost squished his head entirely. His glasses flew and landed like he had, experiencing a terrible crack over both pieces.

And yes, I did feel sorry. I had, just flung him with speed not even I knew I was capable of, sending him well over ten feet and making such a landing far worse. He was quick to holler my name with the furiousness of a thousand Orca Whales, and stumble back to his feet to turn and glare at me.

I hadn't ever seen a penguin so angry with me. And he certainly hadn't been the only and far from the first. I reached to twirl my hair with upcoming anxiety.

"Oh my dear, you told me you could fly! Don't blame me for giving you a hand!"

"A hand!" He shouted, cutting me off and marching — waddling angrily towards me. I looked down at him and smiled only half. "A hand! I need airplane, Gabrella! Penguin can't fly!"

"You're an awful liar then, aren't you?"

Before he could scream once more at my helpless statements, the ground began to rumble. I stated absently, "Well, someone's hungry." But! I'll tell you what it was! It was Fluffbottom! I had concluded that upon the rumble. I was clever I was.

And I yelled the realization through the air, but Marco was far from believing. He glared at me and replied, as calmly as he could and patting his beak back to shape, "Is cannot be. Is name. Fluffbottom for God sake!"

"And you're Marco Deathsoul who can't fly or speak American. I don't see your point."

"American?!" Suddenly, there was a crack running under our feet. Not just any crack. It broke several layers of the ground beneath us. The rumbling only continued.

Boom! How else am I going to illustrate this? There was a giant-ass snake diving up into the air. Its teeth were sharp and large and its yellow eyes glared at us, green scales shimmered in the sunlight. It was much bigger than a penguin. It was much bigger than a good-sized refrigerator!

I bolted, screaming the usual scream after being shocked by something so ironic. I'm not sure where Marco had went. Maybe to find an airplane.

Large Ham vs. The Quiet One

“Ugh, this is absolutely ridiculous! How could Mr. Ladros expect us to complete this project in two weeks? Was he high when he wrote the schedule and assigned the workload?”

Morgan’s thoughts were scattered, scrambled from all of the work she has been given lately. Inundated with everything from physics to Spanish work, it’s a miracle that she has even survived senior year so far. Every week has been a constant battle to just get over that night’s work-no breaks, no getting ahead, and barely any sleep.

“I mean think about how ridiculous this sounds! I have a presentation due for Spanish next period, y yo no hablo espanol!” I have to remember the stupid derivatives of inverse trig functions, which makes getting hit by a bus more appealing than studying. My physics test is tomorrow. I have to outline an entire chapter for economics, and I haven’t even started yet! Oh my God … I AM GOING TO DIE.”

And to top it all off, her best friend, and partner for most of these endeavors, is just watching her rant to herself like a raving lunatic! Christopher always sits there on her bed, silently working without a care in the world. He has probably left a giant depression in the mattress by now. The two have always been together since the third grade. He was the same even back then-and still receives nearly perfect scores.

“I don’t know how you do it Chris … have you heard a single thing that I said in the last five minutes?” Considering there was no response, she assumed that his answer was a no.

“This can’t be healthy for either of us! I mean, centuries ago, our forefathers established a nation rooted in the ideals of independence and freedom. In those forgotten days it against a tyrannical power, their supposed ‘mother’ England. In the 19th century was a battle over the issue of slavery; the 20th century saw the rise and collapse of entire nations and cultures through mass war and genocide. We face a new problem in today’s modern world. We face a problem in education that may never be rectified. It is corrupt, it is deadly, and completely inhumane. It is homework, the bane of my existence."

Once again the walls were her only audience. She frowned, and sat down on the bed next to Christopher. "What are we going to do, Chris?"

"Get through it, like we've always done."

The soft, yet steady voice could be nobody else but Christopher. Surprised, Morgan looks to her dear friend, and smiles warmly. She lies down and sets the notes for Spanish on her bed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Bonus:

"How dare that pig give us enough work to occupy the mental faculties of all of humanity?! Curse you, Mr. Ladros!"

This year has been a living hell for Morgan. Every night of this busy and final year of high school has been a struggle to gain some breathing room. She has never felt so drained in her life. In fact, she has only slept about 7 hours this week in total.

"I AM DYING. My body might as well be decomposing, undergoing rigor mortis-at least then my body would be doing something natural! To give this much labor to people who are still technically minors is borderline child abuse. Every day I lose a little bit more of my sanity. Are you even listening?"

Christopher has always been a quiet child, even as far back as third grade when Morgan first met him. He always received nearly perfect scores, and was considered humble and approachable by all.

But once again, the walls would be her only companion. Christopher continued to type on his computer as though nothing had happened. She just couldn’t handle the stress anymore-so she snapped.

“How could you just listen to everything I said, and do nothing? What kind of a friend are you?! Aren’t you supposed to come to my aid, help me out whenever you can and tell me that everything will be okay? How can you just sit there like a statue looking over the horizon, looking at everything and seeing nothing? You worthless piece of shit! I hope you die in a-”

It was then when Christopher moved. He finished typing what she would later find out to be the last page of her economics outline. He gently closes the laptop, placing it on her comforter with his delicate touch, and grabs hold of her shoulders.

He slaps her once over her left cheek, though only hard enough to grab her attention, and kisses her. It is gentle and understanding, yet raw and completely unpredictable. This was the response to all of her fears and worries, her rants and tirades.

When he was done, he looked her in the eyes. “You can do it. I believe in you like always.”

As soon as it came, the moment passed, and Morgan was still left in awe. Without realizing it, she had already pulled out her Math notes. It was going to be a long night of bitter work…

...But at least she had someone to keep her company.

(The super bonus is kinda like Mt. Everest: we do it because it’s there!)

Bonus attempted:

Action Girl vs. Damsel in Distress
Affably Evil vs. Good is Not Nice

The princess drew a picture of the mountains outside for the fourth time that day. It was a particularly boring day for her, with very little to do. It seemed as though everybody was busy with something, and nobody really had time to come visit her in her room and talk like they normally do. They came in to give her meals, then briskly left. That was it, just the bare necessities. She paced over to the heavy oak door in a vain attempt to open it, but it stayed locked as usual. She went back over to her desk and looked outside at the courtyard, the castle walls, the open plains and the steep rocky faces of the mountains beyond, a sight that she’d grown accustomed to and gotten weary of over the weeks. She was considering going to bed early when she spotted something in the distance.

It was something bright on the horizon, letting off light clearly visible even from this distance. It was like a lighthouse illuminating the sea around it, except that this was miles inland and the light was gradually drawing closer. It was hard to believe such a strange sight. She wondered if she was dreaming or imagining what she saw out of boredom. The princess squinted, but couldn’t make out any more than the spot of white light under the slowly darkening sky. There was very definitely something there.

It wasn’t a messenger or transfer troops; their lanterns weren’t powerful enough to be seen from this distance. It seemed more likely that it was a force hostile to this castle, as strange as it was that they would signal their arrival carrying such a bright light. The princess considered whether she should inform the guards. It would be better to do so if they were intruders come to attack the base or even worse, to attack her. On the other hand, she would rather not alert them of a potential rescuer who had come to free her. She decided not to tell the soldiers, reasoning that whoever they were, they would be spotted anyway.

The intruders were getting closer, making it increasingly apparent that they were travelling far faster than any horse the princess had ever seen. It was only now that the princess realised these were not intruders; rather, it was one lone intruder. A figure enveloped in a white light glided towards the castle, apparently not even touching the ground. The princess knew very little of magic, but even she could tell that this was a mage. They could be very powerful individuals, but surely even a mage could be so obvious about taking on an entire military base alone, without even attempting to be stealthy about it.

“Princess! We’re under attack,” said a guard, as several rushed into the room at once. She was so entranced by what she saw outside that she didn’t even hear the door unlock. “Pardon the sudden intrusion, but please allow us to protect you. We do not know whether the intention of the attacker might be to harm you. This is the safest place in the castle, so Lord Jarnal request that you stay put with us.”

The princess was about to reply to the guards, but a sudden flash of pure white light burst in from the window she was looking out of only seconds before. The princess and all the guards staggered for a moment and tried to get their bearings, although all of them recovered after a few seconds. None of them caught the worst of the flash. Moving over to the window, the princess saw the courtyard with at least a dozen guards lying on the ground, some with their weapons lying beside them, others still who didn’t get a chance to draw their weapons.

She heard multiple thudding noises behind her. When she turned around all the guards were on the floor, tied up with rope, and a new person had entered the room. She wore a loose-fitting flowing white robe against her pale skin, both contrasting with her raven black hair. A faint white glow could be seen from the tip of the white staff she carried in one hand, about the size of her arm. The princess tensed, expecting the mage to turn on her.

The mage lowered her staff and pointed it away from the princess. “It’s alright, Princess. I’m here to rescue you. I was sent here by the Arefvin forces. I’m from the Tiq, and my name is-”

“Oh, I’m glad they sent someone to get me. Introductions can wait until later. Let’s just get out of here,” the princess said hurriedly.

The mage raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question the princess. “Alright Princess, please follow me,” she said, clambering out of the window. The princess walked over to the window apprehensively and looked down. The mage had dropped three feet below onto a large battlement.

“Are you sure it’s safe? It looks like an awfully high fall if I was to lose my balance,” said the princess.

“Yes! Trust me, Princess, there’s more than enough room for you to land here without falling off. Even if you do fall, I can catch you with my magic,” the mage reassured her, but to no avail; the princess wasn’t budging. “Princess, we must hurry. I rushed through most of the guards on the lower floors, but they should be heading upstairs as we speak. I need you to cooperate with me.” The princess grabbed the windowsill, but hesitated in climbing over. “Just hurry up!” shouted the mage, losing her patience. The mage was prone to getting angry quickly, and it was only because her rescuee was royalty that she was civil with her in the first place. It was only a matter of time before her polite visage would crumble. The princess, upon being spoken to with such disrespect, looked at the mage with shock.

The mage heard guards nearing the princess’ room. In haste she cast a spell, a bronze stringy substance shooting out of her staff to wrap around the princess’ waist, pulling her out the window. She knocked her head against the side of the castle, knocking her out cold. “Sorry Princess, but it’s going to be easier to escape like this.”

The mage heard something behind her, and turned around just in time to block with her staff a silvery translucent cuboid three times the size of her body. She skidded backwards across the stone to a halt, then, with her staff glowing white, knocked the cuboid away from the princess and towards the courtyard below. Another mage stood across from her on the battlement, dressed in a grey robe and wielding a silver staff with the length of his body and the girth of his burly forearm. The white mage fired a rapid succession of glowing white orbs from her staff, which the grey mage stopped by producing a cube shield, seemingly the same partially see-through material as the projectile he used earlier.

“Huh, I wasn’t expecting a mage to be guarding this place. I thought Suje would be too confident that nobody would suspect this place to house the princess. It seems to me more risky to station a mage here and risk him getting spotted and rousing suspicion, but it seems he was correct seeing as I’m here. How unfortunate that is for you,” the white mage quipped. The grey mage ignored her, silently preparing a spell and pointing his staff at her. She did likewise, readying her stance.

“Enough!” a voice rang out from below. “What are you doing? The princess could get hurt. If you’re going to fight, at least do it somewhere away from her.” A man with a finely trimmed beard and purple robe with gems adorned treaded in their direction, on the courtyard. “Or we could all just drop this conflict and have a nice cup of tea. Lightspear, I am willing to forgive you your transgressions against me and my men,” said the man, gesturing to the soldiers lying on the ground, “so long as you let the princess go. Let’s just have a nice civil discussion.”

“You must be Lord Jarnal,” Lightspear responded. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. This war will be a lost cause for us if I don’t retrieve the princess.”

“Lightspear, what I’m about to tell you is not a threat, but rather something I tell you for your own good,” called Lord Jarnal. “I’ve contacted our own Light Brigade. It should take them several hours to get here, but once they do they can track you. You can’t outrun them while carrying the princess. They’re under direct orders from His Highness; they will not show you mercy. You’ll be torn apart.” He clasped his hands together. “I’m begging you, just let her go. It’s futile, and I don’t want to see any more bloodshed where it can be avoided.”

Lightspear momentarily pondered the request, then spoke. “I know your game. Suje needs to marry the princess so he can claim the Skeezma throne. And then what? There will be a whole lot more bloodshed than what we have right now, even with this war. He will gladly kill people in their thousands if he thinks it furthers his sick agenda. Lord Jarnal, you want the same thing that Suje does,” she pointed towards him with her free hand.

She drew the princess, limp and unmoving, up by a loose strand of the rope that tied her, bringing her closer to herself. “You need the princess unharmed, correct? To allow Suje's future wife injury would be to bring his wrath upon you.” She pointed the tip of her staff at her shoulder. “I, however, have no such restrictions. My only order is to bring her back alive.” Lord Jarnal called out wordlessly, fearful. “Call off the Light Brigade, otherwise I’ll burn her arm off.”

“You monster! Don’t you dare!” Lord Jarnal shouted toward the battlement.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Lightspear, glancing over at the grey mage, who was sneakily trying to prepare a spell. Then she addressed Lord Jarnal once again. “I’m serious. I’ll have three more limbs to do this with, whereas you only have one chance. You have ten seconds to make a decision.”

Going for the bonus, so Large Ham vs The Quit One, and Deathbringer the Adorable vs Fluffy the Terrible.

Killer bounced down the road happily, drooling everywhere as his tongue hung out of his mouth. “Mr Tibbles!” he yelled as he ran into his neighbour’s yard. “Do you want to play? I think we should play! You know how much you love to play!”

Sure, Mr Tibbles was a lion, and Killer was a King Charles Spaniel, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. It was just that Mr Tibbles didn’t seem quite as eager about it as Killer was. “Come on! Let’s play! We can wrestle! You know you love to wrestle! Let’s wrest- OH MY GOD IT’S A SQUIRREL!”

All of a sudden Killer was rushing over to the other side of the yard as a small squirrel appeared on top of the fence, Mr Tibbles watching him with mild amusement. “Come here squirrel! Squirrel! Squirrel let’s play! Squirrel! Squirrel!”

“Barking at it won’t work,” said Mr Tibbles softly, a headache quickly growing at Killer’s noisiness. “It will only scare it away.”

“Then tell me how to get the squirrel to play with me!” yelled Killer, excited at the prospect of having a new squirrel friend.

Mr Tibbles leisurely climbed to his feet, before slowly pacing over to the fence. He crouched, and looked over at Killer, who was watching him excitedly. “Like this,” murmured Mr Tibbles as he eyed up the squirrel on the fence above him. All of a sudden he pounced, and the small squirrel was crushed in his powerful jaws.

“You killed the squirrel!” complained Killer, looking at the blood dripping from Mr Tibbles teeth with a slight nervousness. “That’s not fair! I saw the squirrel first! I wanted to play with- BALL!”

A football bounced down the street outside, soon followed by a young boy. Killer was instantly out there chasing after it.

Mr Tibbles sighed in relief that the noisy dog was gone and lay down to resume his mid-morning nap.

You're gonna have to take me off the list; I'm a bit too busy working on The Chris Parable 2 (which I've been writing off-site) to do this. Assuming this is still running when it's finished, then I can jump back in later.

You'll be missed, but I'll do my best keep this running for quite a while. Feel free to jump in again anytime, even if it's just for one exercise--open door policy, after all. And let me know if / when you want to be back on the list. 

Hi again. Sorry I didn't get here sooner....

Don't sweat it. Again, open door policy. These exercises are to encourage you guys, help you practice, and for fun. The only reason to worry about timing is if you want points. ;)

Wednesday!

One of the fun things a lot of writers like to do is turn tropes on their heads / refuse to follow after their usual patterns. Subvert or invert one or more of the following tropes in a scene (please state which ones):

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BlingOfWar
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ChairReveal
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ChastityCouple
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MercyKill
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CatchingSomeZs
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/EatingTheEyeCandy
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BumblingSidekick
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BreakOutTheMuseumPiece
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BluffTheImpostor
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DressedToPlunder
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/EmbarrassingOldPhoto
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/JumpOffABridgeRebuttal

Bonus: Invert / subvert at least three. 
Note: If you'd like an explanation of the concept of subversions vs inversions, here are some TV tropes explanations: 

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SubvertedTrope
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/InvertedTrope

@Will11 , @TheNewIAP , @Ogre11 , @Kwism1127 , @ecoLyte , @Dynamism , @Beagle , @Ford , @betaband , @Claw2k11 , @SonicTurboTurtle , @DerpBacon , @Romulus , @galobtter , @Swiftstryker , @BenCrucifix , @31TeV , @MadHattersDaughter , @At_Your_Throat , @LeoScales7 , @Tim36D , @Jibble , @NightBirdBlue , @3173v3 

Subverting/ inverting: Chair Reveal, Eating The Eye Candy and Jump Off A Bridge Rebuttal

Jake stepped into his boss’s office carefully. She’d sounded angry when she called him up. Seeing her swivel chair facing away from him, he walked over towards it. “Err, you wanted to see me boss?”

“I’m over here.”

Jake spun around to see Ms Simpson was standing over by the side of the room. He’d heard that she was quite attracted to muscular men, so he’d undone the first few buttons of his shirt on the way up, and now puffed out his solidly built chest and stuck out his strong jaw. He knew himself to be very attractive, and was hoping this might help him get off a little more lightly.

“Why have you undone your shirt?” she asked, thoroughly unimpressed by his display. “It makes you look incredibly stupid.”

Jake sighed unhappily as he re-buttoned up his shirt. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Ms Simpson raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure you know what I’m unhappy about. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea to invest three million pounds of company money into Mr Cool’s Super Cool Ice Cream Parlour.”

“A whole bunch of my friends have been going there a lot recently. They told me it really is super cool and worth investing a whole bunch of money into. I think this will work out really well for us in the long run.” He smiled proudly at her, certain that she would be impressed at how knowledgeable his friends had made him.

“Are these the same friends that convinced you to jump off a bridge that one time?” asked Ms Simpson. “I’m sure I told you to stop hanging around with them.”

“Well they were all doing it, so it was clearly the in thing to do at the time. We’ve got to keep up with modern trends or we’ll look like we’re stuck in the twenty first century.”

“It is the twenty first century you numbskull,” said Ms Simpson, staring at him with surprise that she had allowed someone this stupid to have control over her company’s money.

“No, my friend Davey was telling me yesterday there’s this big government conspiracy stopping us from knowing that we’re actually in the twenty second century,” said Jake, sure that she would be impressed at him this time.

Ms Simpson sighed. “Just… Get out. I’ll deal with you later.”

Inverting three for my entry/bonus: Chair Reveal, Mercy Kill, Bluff the Imposter

“Kill N. Save O. Look for Survivors.”

That was the note John found in his pocket five days ago. All memories of everything before looking at the note have disappeared, vanished into thin air. Why was he here? What is this place? Who are the people mentioned in the note? John spent the last few days attempting to answer those questions, exploring this complex of sorts and looking for clues. But so far, he has already come to one conclusion.

There are no survivors.

The entire place is barren, devoid of life. It feels as though many people once worked in those offices. He could imagine the people talking, full of life and on their way to the next meeting or their lunch break. But there was nothing-only silence, the kind that stalks you from behind, keeps its distance.

But John would finally check the one place he hasn’t checked: the basement. He walked up and down all of the other five floors, checking every nook and cranny, only to find nothing. It was then when John made his move. He quickly walked down the basement steps, walking in total darkness for what seemed like years.

After reaching the bottom of the staircase, John walks forward with apprehension, measuring every footstep, listening for any change in his surroundings. “Goddammit! Why does this place have to be so freaking huge. I wish-”

John hits an obstacle with a thump. Upon further inspection, it is a door, which he opens after locating the handle. The sudden light that erupts from the doorway is overwhelming, but the young man is soon able to adjust his eyes.

In the room, there is a chair, and nothing more.

The room is white from floor to ceiling, and the chair is black. What is truly odd however, is the fact that the chair is not facing him. It also appears as though somebody is occupying the chair, though not moving. John is hesitant to investigate the chair, so he calls out instead.

“Excuse me, why are you in that chair?”

No response.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

No response.

John gives the chair a disappointed frown, and turns around in order to leave.

“Why does the white never go away?”

A voice, almost child-like in delivery. But something seems off about it. John goes to turn back to the chair, only to find that nothing is there.

“Why do they scream when I’m out to play?”

The voice cracked from behind. John looks back behind him again, only to find the door where he entered gone.

“Why do they speak out of turn when I say…”

The voice is no longer comforting, only a deep, husky voice, like rocks on glass. In front of him is the note from his pocket.

‘Kill N. Save O. Look for Survivors’

“...’Your blood will taste good with skin out of the way?’” the voice whispers with a heavy breath into his ear.

John leaps forward in fear, and turns around to find a figure. But John can’t see him. Or is it a her? It’s impossible to tell with the way it keeps shifting. The Thing just looks back at him with red eyes. For a while it does nothing but stare into John, almost as if looking into his soul.

“So John, did you enjoy my gift?” the Thing asks suddenly.

“What gift?”

“The Note.”

John replies with another question, completely terrified. “...What happened to the survivors?”

“We killed them.”

“That’s impossible! There’s no way I did that!”

“I did it to help you John!” The figure of the Thing changes. It is now in the shape of a man with clearly defined features-brown eyes, black hair, a tall and lean build. Why is he familiar?

“You need help! I couldn’t just stand there and watch you slaughter them all…”

John’s head begins to hurt with a dull headache. “Stop it.”

It shifts once again. This time to a woman. “I watched as you shot them, killed them dead, and watched as their limp bodies hit the earth like dolls…”

The headache was now a migraine. His brained ached, his soul ached…

The Thing was now a child: him. “You just laughed, John!”

“STOP IT!” John tackled the Thing. The screeching just wouldn’t stop. It was a mad roar, a mad battle hymn sung by Satan as John’s mind took a trip to living hell. The Thing was just an Imposter, it knew nothing! John attempted to strangle it, but to no avail. It could not be grabbed.

“You seem to forget, John.” The Thing shifts for what would be the final time. John watches as it shifts into something beyond human words. Something beyond the confines of evil, something darker than black.

“I am you.”

The last Thing heard was the sound of a gunshot.
And sickening, dreadful silence.

Bonus attempted; tropes inverted/subverted:
Mercy Kill
Catching Some Zs
Bluff The Impostor
 

The door opened and somebody crept inside, but Ben didn’t stir. The only thing he did was continue to make a loud “zzzzzzzz” noise. The obtruder looked around the room, waiting for their eyes to shift to the gloom. Upon seeing the safe on top of the shelf at the end of the room, they tip-toed over, doing their best to be quiet when going past Ben. It was then that Ben opened his eyes, grabbing the ankle of the intruder. “Gotcha!” he said, turning his lamp on. “Oh Jane, it’s just you.”

“You really gave me a fright there. I thought you were asleep.”

That’s strange, Ben thought. I thought I told her before about having a habit of making impressions of electronic devices with my eyes closed in the dark. I heard there have been a lot of shapeshifters on campus lately. Perhaps I should test her to see if she’s the real Jane.

“Hey Jane, have you got a birthday present for Allie yet? I kinda left it late, and I’m not sure if the chocolatier shop will be open tomorrow.”

“But Allie’s birthday was yesterday... you must be an imposter! Die, shapeshifter scum!”

Less than a minute later, Ben found himself on the ground outside his flat, in agony. Jane came out of the building and grabbed him by his hair, carrying a pistol. “Let’s find out who you really are,” she said, attempting to pull Ben’s face off by a seam in his scalp, although of course there was no seam. “Wait, you’re the real Ben?” she gasped, looking in horror at her roommate’s broken legs, bone protruding out of the skin. Much of his skin on his one arm had been scraped off. He even had a very bad wound on his head. He was bleeding profusely, and with every second that passed it looked less and less likely that he would survive this.

“What have I done? This is the least I can do for you. Relax, Ben. Close your eyes.” Ben screamed as he felt a searing hot pain in his knee along with an ear-splitting bang. “That’s for never taking the rubbish out!” She fired again, at his other knee. “And that’s for stealing my milk and eggs every Thursday!” She shot him repeatedly, shouting complaint after complaint she had about living together, even annoyances caused by other roommates and not Ben, until she was out of ammo. The last thing Ben felt was a merciful boot to his face.

Thursday!

You know what's great about reading through tropes? Gives you clearer perspective on a lot of works, both fictional and otherwise. Your exercise for the day: Go to TV tropes and pick a favorite, absolutely any one you want. Alternatively, for my fellow trope-a-holics, hit the random button and write a scene based on the first trope you get. (You may only do a do-over if you literally cannot use that trope for writing. Please state which trope regardless of what you choose.) If you are somehow having trouble with TV tropes, then pick one of the tropes from the previous lists instead.

Bonus: I did mention perspective, didn't I? Write the scene first in first person, then again in second person.
 

@Will11 , @TheNewIAP , @Ogre11 , @Kwism1127 , @ecoLyte , @Beagle , @Ford , @betaband , @Claw2k11 , @SonicTurboTurtle , @DerpBacon , @Romulus , @galobtter , @Swiftstryker , @BenCrucifix , @31TeV , @MadHattersDaughter , @At_Your_Throat , @LeoScales7 , @Tim36D , @Jibble , @NightBirdBlue , @3173v3 , @Dynamism

(xD Poor Tev, right after you just posted... sorry, man, need to get this up before I crash.)

Hi Kiel, I'm afraid I might have to skip out on the Writing Exercises this week, I'm working 9 days in a row and also Tropes is a bit alien to my preferred writing style and a bit difficult for my exhausted brain to manage :) I'll tackle the Writing Exercises next week instead :)

Understood. See ya next week. :)

Once. Click it once! You can do it! xD

First person is "I, me, my," second person is "you, yours" and third person is "He, she, they" and proper names.

Alternatively, you can think of it as first you tell the reader your story, second, you tell them their story, and third, you tell the reader about somebody else entirely.

:P I think a lot of examples over-complicate things and I prefer to go with what feels natural. Besides, there are more than a few "rules" for writing that are actually total BS. I poked around the link a bit, but I don't have a lot of time atm. I may go back later. 

The random button gave me this: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MuckMonster

First person:

I slowly stood up from the toilet, thoroughly regretting the vindaloo taco I had for dinner the previous night. It had been at least three quarters of an hour since I had entered the bathroom, and every one of those forty five minutes had been a stomach churningly painful experience.

My anus felt like it was on fire. It had never been stretched as far as it had this morning. Whatever had come out of my arse, it was massive.

When I eventually managed to make it to my feet I turned around, and froze to the spot in fear at what I saw in the toilet. The entire bowl was filled with one large poo. But even more terrifying than that were the eyes peering out of it. They blinked, and then focused on me.

The poo then suddenly opened up, and a large brown tongue tasted the air. “Rawr!” yelled the poo.

“Holy shit!” I yelled, staggering backwards away from it. My trousers were still around my ankles, and I tripped and landed on my still painful arse. From here I could only watch in terror as the monster shit climbed out of the toilet and plopped onto the floor.

“Graaa!” it yelled at me, the terrible stench of its breath almost enough for me to pass out. Two long, brown, pooey tentacles grew out of it and wrapped around my ankles.

“No! Get off me!” I yelled as I tried to crawl backwards away from it. But it was no use; the poo had me in its grasp. Slowly, it pulled towards its gaping maw. I struggled, I screamed, and then I was eaten by my own massive poo.

The turd yelled its victory, and then slid out the door to begin its quest to eat everyone it could find.

Bonus:

Perhaps I misunderstood it somehow, but the bonus seems a bit simple. Basically just replacing every "I" with a "You". But anyway, here you go:

You slowly stand up from the toilet, thoroughly regretting the vindaloo taco you had for dinner last night. It’s been at least three quarters of an hour since you entered the bathroom, and every one of the forty five minutes was a stomach churningly painful experience for you.

Your anus feels like it’s on fire. It’s never been stretched as far as it has this morning. Whatever came out of your arse, it’s massive.

When you eventually manage to make it to your feet you turn around, and freeze in fear at what you see in the toilet. The entire bowl is filled with one large poo. But even more terrifying than that are the eyes peering out of it. They blink, and then focus on you.

The poo then suddenly opens up, and a large brown tongue tastes the air. “Rawr!” yells the poo.

“Holy shit!” you yell, staggering backwards away from it. Your trousers are still around your ankles, and you trip and land on your still panful arse. From there you can only watch in terror as the monster shit climbs out and plops onto the floor.

“Graa!” it yells at you, the terrible stench of its breath almost enough to knock you out. Two long, brown, pooey tentacles then grow out of it and wrap around your ankles.

“No! Get off me!” you yell as you try to crawl backwards away from it. But it’s no use, the poo has you in its grasp. Slowly, it pulls you towards its gaping maw. “You struggle, you scream, and then you’re eaten by your own massive poo.

The turd yells its victory, and then slides out the door to begin its quest to eat everyone it can find.

Randomizer gave me: Oblivious Janitor Cut

The television blared with the news while a reporting team frantically rushed to the scene. Someone had just crashed an entire ship onto the coast of the local pond at the downtown's central park. Wood was scattered and ablaze, people rubbing heads from impact, as well as confusion, and a profuse amount of ancient coins littered the grass.

Stepping from the wreckage was a young woman adorned in a pirate's attire, large captain's hat and all. She brushed through red hair made brown from the dust and looked around at the scene. She herself was confused as well, and questioned the main reporter as to where she actually was. Then, spelling a thousand curses before she bound off and away, out of the camera's sight.

Meanwhile, in the apartment building, Earl waxed the floor slow and steady, headphones playing the lovely classic, Moonlight Sonata. And beyond the several windows behind him was downtown's park, and several fire-hydrants spewed water.

"Ahoy!" Cried the pirate, rushing by and into an apartment.

"Mhm."

Thursday:

Trope: Rags to Riches; Bonus/Entry:

Gavin still can’t believe it, and yet it has been three days.

“I’m a millionaire.”

Even while looking at himself in the mirror, the words from his lips feel surreal. The sound of it just rolls of his tongue, a sweet melody that graces the walls of his bungalow. He would finally be able to escape these narrow halls, dwindling life in destitution. After moving out his parent’s home and graduating from college, it seemed as though the strings of unfortunate events would never end.

First it was the home invasion, then the pressure of student debt, and finally his pink slip six months ago. Many nights he had been unable to sleep as the fear crept up on him on him at night, waiting for his drop in guard. He could still feel the suffering and mental anguish of the subsequent anxiety attacks.

But no longer! He was a new man, with a new life and new expectations. Of course, he would try not to spend it all right away. He would spend a little, invest some, and save the rest. But then again, who knows! Life is different on the other side of the sea. Gavin smiled to himself, imagining all of the possibilities: the luxuries, the privileges, and the women! The very sight of his money of his money would cause their panties to drop, he could picture it!

Until he actually saw these dreams come to fruition however, he would be unable to believe his luck. He would have to thank the man who graciously left him this fortune, this opportunity.

That is, assuming he can find a place to bury the body.

Scene Two:

Three days have passed and you can’t believe it.

“I’m a millionaire.”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, the person on the other side seems different somehow. The two of you are the same, and yet those words are surreal, filled with joyous satisfaction. Even your saliva feels like magic, liquid ecstasy in your mouth. It was that magic that was going to get you out this place, these narrow halls and thinner walls-your wretched little bungalow.

It no longer felt like your home, but at least it was something that was yours, something within your control. But last few months have made you doubt even that. The home invasion, the student debt, the pink slip that resulted from both, you have really had it rough for too long. How many nights have you lied sleepless, restless, waiting for something that would never come? How many times did you wake up with nightmares that induced anxiety attacks?

But no longer! You were now a new man with a new life and greater expectations. Of course, newfound wealth is something of which to be weary. If you were spend it all right away, you would spend your new life away. So the best course of action is to invest a little, spend some and save the rest to make it last. But then again, who knows and who cares? Life was different on the other side of the sea.

You leave your room, smiling to yourself as you get ready to leave the bungalow. O how the possibilities made you excited! The luxuries, privileges, and best of all the women. The women would just drop their panties if they knew, he could picture it!

But until those things actually happen, you won’t be able to get over this naivete toward wealth and the excitement it brings. You should probably thank the man who was generous enough to give you this life, this opportunity.
 

That is, assuming you can find a place to bury the body.

Bonus attempted; trope: Take Over the World

First Person
They’ll try to tell you that once you take over the world it’s no fun, that there’s nothing else left to do. That couldn’t be further from the truth. World conquest is the easy part; the real fun begins when you have to maintain that power over the entire human population. Think of all the empires throughout history that have brute-forced entire civilisations under their subjugation en masse, only to crumble so quickly once they lose their grip over that control. It was no different in my own struggle to keep a hold of the title as Overlord of Earth.

Take the resistance group which appeared relatively early in my reign. I believe they called themselves the Panda Resistance or something equally inane. Started in China, wore those silly woolly panda mask thingy-jegabbies. Yes, bloody panda masks! I mean, imagine you were a security guard working at a bank, and a load of robbers strolled in wearing those things. Could you take them seriously? No, you couldn’t, and neither could I until they started messing directly with my goons. And when I say messing I mean messing. Even found one poor goon with a sharpened bamboo stick right up his arsehole. Can’t blame the resistance group, I suppose, when I put a lockdown on all firearms. It was the best they could do under the circumstances. My personal interpretation of the symbolism there was that the panda represented a dying or extinct group of people, i.e. the resistance, who were trying to make a sudden growth in numbers just as a bamboo shoot, well, shoots up very quickly. Maybe I was overthinking it and just romanticising it all, but you’ve got to be a poet at heart else the world would be one dull place.

Anyway, how did I crush the Panda Resistance? Did I do just that, and crush them? No, you see, the key to any occupation is public perception and propaganda. You’ve got to make it seem like you’re not only in control, but a righteous government. That logically leads to the conclusion that any rebellion against you is evil. Paint yourself in a good light while demonising the opposition. Easier said than done, but when done right it really pays off. In the areas where the Panda Resistance were most active, I set up murders of a few children here and there with bamboo sticks. I didn’t have to do anything; not execution, not arrest, hell, not even spread the news of these awful pandakin savages trying to stab their kids at night. The mob took care of them, immediately equating sharp bamboo sticks with those panda freaks. I heard their punishment at the hand of the outraged public was to be tied upside down under a bamboo shoot and to wait for it to grow into their throats, either cutting or suffocating them. Yes, bamboo shoots really do grow that fast. You learn something every day, dontcha?

That, kiddo, is how you rule a planet.

Second person
“The Panda Resistance, eh? I do wonder how serious they’re being. Admittedly, when their opposition is so outlandish and flamboyant and handsome, I can see why they would take on such an image in an attempt to counteract said style. Can’t say I’m a fan of the look, though,” you muse. You hold a picture of a hulking bear of a man wielding a sharpened bamboo cane, wearing a woolly panda mask.

“Overlord Jackson,” said Goon General Hawkins, in charge of military operations of East Asia, “please, give us your orders. I fear that if we leave this problem too long, that the problem will spiral out of control. If we allow these insurgents to pick off our goon strongholds one b-”

“Take a chill pill, dear goon,” you tell him, “and make sure it’s been in the fridge for at least the past hour. Then go relax at the salon downstairs. You’ve been working hard; you deserve a break. I’ll handle this matter.”

Hawkins’ eyes brighten up. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for your generosity.” He practically skips out of the room.

A big grin on your face, you leisurely saunter over to your desk and sit down at your computer. You turn on Skype and start calling Quinn. A woman with a goon uniform appears on screen. “Ah, Goon #0214,” you greet her, “leave the room for a bit. I need to talk to my good friend alone.”

“Certainly, sir,” she says, stepping out of the frame. There, sitting chained to a black metal chair, was Quinn. He looks well. It doesn’t look like he’s been beaten up recently by the guards, so perhaps he’s learning to be more cooperative. Just as you’re about to speak, the goon pops back on screen. “But my Overlord, I’m Goon #1237.”

“Apologies, it must be your new hairstyle. I appreciate you correcting me, but I really must talk to Quinn privately. I trust there will be no more interruptions?”

“No, sir,” she says, then leaves.

Once again you turn your attention to Quinn. “How are you doing, old friend? The goons treating you well?”

“Go to hell, Tom. You and I haven’t been friend for years now. Even before you did all this. Before you became this monster,” Quinn spat out.

“Funny you should say that. I didn’t strictly speaking go to Hell, but, shall we say, Hell came to me. That’s how I took over the world. So you were close.”

“Are you sure you want to tell me all this? You might think you’re being all cryptic and clever, but did it ever occur to you that this might be your downfall? Feeding me information like that.”

“Come on, buddy. There’s no way in hell,” you giggle a little at your genius little joke, “that you’re getting out. Even if you do, where will you go? You’ll be wanted internationally. It’s hard for me to believe myself, but even you can’t do anything against me in this situation. You do realise that, right?” You pause, but he doesn’t reply. The look on his face suggests a defiant disagreement. You sigh. “Never mind, we’ll agree to disagree. But the more important matter here is that there has been a first wave of proper resistance to my regime. Isn’t it exciting? My very own enemies to play against. I’ve been waiting for this. You know what that means, don’t you? I wanted to hear your thoughts on this matter.”

“Just kill a few babies here and there using bamboo sticks to frame the Panda Resistance. Your Goon Force Elite® should be capable of doing such a thing undetected,” Quinn says emotionlessly.

“Oh, you got it, kiddo! My my, you are well informed for a prisoner. I’m surprised you gave me such a despicable, morally reprehensible idea, though. What gives?”

“You would have done it anyway. You don’t need my advice. You just want to gloat in my face.”

You guffaw loudly, using the evil laugh that you’ve perfected over the years. “This kid’s good. Well, of course you are, that’s why we were partners. Until you started going all hippy. Nice talking to ya, but I’ve got orders to give. Later, loser!”

Friday! Well, I'll miss you, "Tropes Week," but I'm guessing no one else will. xD

Pick three of the tropes from the previous days, absolutely any three, and write a scene. You may play them straight, invert, subvert them, whatever you like. Again, please state which ones your using.

Bonus: I'll go easy on ya with this part. Write the scene from a third person perspective.

@Will11 , @TheNewIAP , @Ogre11 , @Kwism1127 , @ecoLyte , @Beagle , @Ford , @betaband , @Claw2k11 , @Dynamism , @SonicTurboTurtle , @DerpBacon , @Romulus , @galobtter , @Swiftstryker , @BenCrucifix , @31TeV , @MadHattersDaughter , @At_Your_Throat , @LeoScales7 , @Tim36D , @Jibble , @NightBirdBlue , @3173v3

(I can’t say these trope pieces were easy to write, but I did appreciate the challenge. I’ll be looking forward to the other exercises from now on.)
Bous attempted; tropes:
Fluffy the Terrible
Bumbling Sidekick
Muck Monster (from BenCrucifix’s Thursday exercise :P)

Dr. Rain was unsure why The Academy had insisted on her taking Lawrence on this investigation. While field work is certainly important for students’ learning, it wasn’t going to help anybody dead. It wasn’t just Lawrence’s life that was in danger, though; Dr. Rain herself and the local residents could be put at risk because of The Academy council’s stubbornness.

Once the two of them arrived at the village, they asked the people for directions. It wasn’t long after that that they spotted smoke in the distance. Dr. Rain, stopping the jeep, instructed Lawrence to put on his hazmat suit, and she did likewise.

As they trudged across the gravel towards the plume of toxic smoke, Dr. Rain grabbed a hold of Lawrence’s shoulder. “You haven’t even put your suit on properly. Your mask is loose. Let me sort that out for you,” she said as she adjusted his mask. “Who taught you how to suit up? I bet it was Professor Ven, wasn’t it? Always negligent of his students.”

Lawrence hesitated. “Actually, err... I missed that seminar. I was ill.”

“Seriously? You missed such an important part of the course, and you decided not to ask anyone about it?” said Dr. Rain, finished with his suit.

“Nobody told me to go catch up,” retorted Lawrence, turning to face her.

“Lawrence, once you enter The Academy you’re treated like an adult. You’re responsible for your own learning, especially with things concerning safety.” She checked her equipment to make sure she had everything. “Come on, let’s go. Remember, this is only a brief investigation. We are not to go anywhere near this thing, are we clear?”

“Yes, Dr. Rain.”

They set off towards the mysterious creature of death they’d heard about.  No sooner had they walked about a hundred paces when a tremor shook the ground and a bellowing roar could be heard. A black glob was sliding across the ground towards them, frighteningly fast. It was this that Dr. Rain was afraid of. “Lawrence, stay back!” she called. “No matter what you do, don’t crouch!”

The black ball of slime came closer, far faster than even the jeep. There was no hope of escape, so their only chance was to confront it. Its dark, gooey, gelatinous body was formless, ever changing, yet somehow able to hold its shape and gaze forward with its beady red eyes. The smoke coming off it was very thick now, almost obscuring their view of their surroundings. It almost seemed as if trees were slowly wilting in its presence. Dr. Rain prepared her net, ready to catch it.

Almost as if it had predicted this, it jumped up just as she fired the net gun, bounding over her head and towards Lawrence. To her dismay he was doing the exact opposite of what she told him not to: he was crouching with his head in his hands, trying to shut out this horror from his vision. The monstrosity landed right in front of him with an enormous thud, then lunged. At this point Lawrence stood up and tried to run away, but it was too late. The blob released its snake-like bright fluorescent orange tongue, extending it towards him. But all it did was give him a friendly lick.

“Huh? What is this thing? It’s not hostile at all, it’s just wants to be our friend. I’m going to call him Blobby,” said Lawrence, then frowned. “Or is it a she?”

“That ‘Blobby’ might have good intentions but it would have killed us if we weren’t wearing our hazmat suits. It’s only going to cause more deaths to the local people. Keep getting its attention, Lawrence. I’m going to kill it.”

Chosen Tropes: The Cynic, I Want My Beloved to Be Happy, Stepford Smiler

I was a balloon once.

Floating up endlessly, I tried to release myself from the grasp of such a cruel world. I could not keep myself tethered to such insurmountable troubles, stuck to the palm of a world where my dreams were worthless. So I floated upward, abandoning hope, abandoning dreams, abandoning all for the sake of my fears. Nobody could catch me, and I liked it that way.

That is, until she found me.

My life was devoid of oxygen. Suspended in space, I reached the heavens and found my stars. But once she found me, they were no longer enough. When she found me, I realized that I needed more than the heavens. I needed the universe. I needed existence. I needed to exist.

All of those things, I found in her eyes, locked onto mine. Her green expanse and flecks of gold lit up my sky, ignited stars, destroyed my heavens. I could feel all of these things as she left her head tilted upward, perplexed and amused. Perplexed on how I made it this far, all of my feelings bottled up, words nearly bursting from the seams. Amused by how easy it was for her to convince me to return.

I awaited her reach, and sure enough, she grabbed me. I had never felt so warm, so needed, so loved. I felt beautiful for the first time in my life. If she needed my comfort, I would break my string trying to squeeze her tight. If she wanted my love, I would burst before denying her my soul. But I would soon come to learn the truth.

She is loved by more than one, by more than me.

I loved that about her, or at least that was what I wanted to believe. I was important, but not that important. I mattered, but not as much as him. I could not provide all that she wanted, all that was already given to her. But what did I expect? Did I truly expect romantic fantasies to come to pass?

My heart had already known that this was impossible from the beginning. I was the intruder, yet welcomed as everyone else. In the wake of her overwhelming compassion, my will of water is forced to take shape, bend to her will.

Without her force, I am left motionless, devastated. But I would rather be shattered, crushed, incinerated, obliterated than to leave her vulnerable or disheartened. I have seen her scars.

So I will continue as always. I will smile from a distance, become the stoic observer once again from my perch up above. I give her my thanks, and float once again as humble, simple, lonely,

Balloon.

You're not the only one who'll miss Tropes Week, I've quite enjoyed messing around with all the different tropes you've given us.

The three tropes I'm using are Just For The Heli Of It, Zany Scheme and The Idealist.

“Alright guys, listen up!” said Garry, turning to face the others. “This is the plan.” He looked at all of the others individually to make sure they were paying attention before he started. “It might sound a bit strange at first, but just bear with me and I’m sure you’ll all love it.”

“Firstly, we dig up a tree and use it as a battering ram to knock down the electric fence. The John will fly in on his helicopter and fly us the next few feet through the compound.” Garry paused when he noticed one of the others had raised their hand. “Yes, Paul?”

“If we have a helicopter why don’t we just use that to fly over the fence instead of using a battering ram?” asked Paul.

“Because helicopters use up a lot of fuel, so we don’t want to use it any more than necessary. We’re meant to be saving the world after all,” explained Garry.

Paul looked at him quizzically. “Then why use the helicopter at all? It seems a bit unnecessary to use it just to fly a few feet.”

“We need to use a helicopter at one point, otherwise the plan isn’t cool enough and simply won’t work.” Paul tried to interject again but Garry interrupted him. “You’ll just have to trust me Paul. That’s all we need to succeed. Trust.”

Paul shook his head at this, but didn’t speak up again. Seeing that there would be no more interruptions, Garry continued. “So, once we’ve flown further into the compound, John will drop us at the bottom of the fifty floor tower. From here we will then climb up the outside to the top. Not now Paul, you’ve interrupted me enough.” He waited for a moment to make sure Paul wasn’t going to interrupt.

“Once we’re on top of the building it gets a bit tricky, but I think we should be ok. We’ll work as a team to pull at the roof of the building and hopefully we should be able to lift the entire building up and carry it to the police station. Now I know this sounds difficult,” said Garry. “But all we need is teamwork. Teamwork, hope and trust in each other. That is what shall let us win against the evil forces in this world. Sure they may have guns, but we have something much more powerful. We have love.” He looked around at the others hopefully, determined that they would all agree with his plan.

“Nope. I quit,” said Paul, before he simply stood up and walked out the room.

Hey, folks, sorry about the delay. I was working on Magick Academy. I now have a full "dorm student" roster, though upperclassmen and students is another matter. Your second week scores are as follows:

@Will11 - 1
@Ogre11 - 30
@BenCrucifix - 40!!!
@LeoScales7 - 26
@31TeV - Monday: 40!!!
@3173v3 - 1
@Tim36D - 11
@MadHattersDaughter - 2

Congratulations to Ben and TeV on your excellence with tropes!

As to everyone else, I know it was a bit of a rough week, but I'm still proud of you guys for putting forth effort. Good job. Your entries were a lot of fun to read--please do remember to read the instructions of the exercises thoroughly and to ask if anything is unclear. Hope to see you all in the next week. :D

Seeing as I will be moving during the fourth week, would anyone here be willing to post exercises for me? I will have my phone, but without my computer, I am unable to post in the forums, and I don't know how long it'll take for us to get set up again. (We can cross that bridge when we get to it, of course.)

@Kiel_Farren Will you have the exercises already written, and just need someone to copy, paste and post? In that case I can do that.

I have the exercises written out for up to, like, nine weeks. Even the intro posts are in my text file. xD Tbh, that's what I did last time, too. I don't want to start something if I'm not sure I can keep it going for a long time, heh.

Awesome. Thanks Kiel, I feel strangely proud about getting those internet points. :P

Have you tried desktop mode on your phone?

If so, I'll gladly help you post Week Four exercises!

Point Awards thus far: HERE

@JJJ-thebanisher
Thanks for the points, 3J. :)
Is "Week 3 Bonus" meant to be week 2?

Silly, TeV, 3J's psychic! xD ... Maybe?

Haha sorry, fixed.