#tragic backstory

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

Tragic Backstories That Aren't 'Dead/Abusive Parents'

It's nice, but a tad overused.

-Being from a war-torn region

-Death of a sibling or friend

-Living in poverty

-Social rejection from peers

-Long term illnesses that make living difficult

-Surviving a severe natural disaster, but losing everything

-Abusive mentors/teachers

[brigitoshaughnessy]

The only one of his kids that he even sort of gets to keep, and he has to share her.

And the imposter syndrome he must feel every time one of these kids looks at him and thinks “this is the man I’m going to trust” because he knows he can’t be trusted, but he can’t stop himself because if he can protect these kids the way that he didn’t protect Charlie, he can redeem at least a corner of his soul.

I’m not crying, you’re crying!

[chaotic-orphan]

Hey! Excitedly waiting for the next intoxicating fear update, no rush tho take your time:)

Intoxicating Fear (XV)

A foreboding calm

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

If you noticed Kit’s face-claim change, ahahah… no you didn’t ;)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ambrose didn’t come back for days. Kit didn’t have any of the strange headaches, there was nothing. No shred of contact. No stupid texts, no phone calls, nothing.

It was eerie. Strange.

Kit had to re-learn how to be a person again. How to exist without the constant threat of violence or pain, or Ambrose. The further they got away from Friday, the greater Kit’s anxiety grew that Ambrose would come back.

It was a quiet Saturday, too quiet. Kit woke and checked his phone to see if Ambrose text but nothing. It was… unsettling. As if there were tiny ants crawling through his veins and scurrying along his nerves pulsing to see if they could sense Ambrose’s presence lurking.

Every electric pulse of stranger’s nerves sending signals their brains prickled Kit’s fight or flight just in case it could be Ambrose. He couldn’t escape it in the shops, walking down streets, on the metro, in his apartment block because he could feel someone walk up the steps to his floor… and walk right past it.

He couldn’t seem to relax, to find any sort of peace on his own. Music didn’t help not even when he blared it on max volume in his ears. Tv shows barely served as a distraction and by the time Sunday rolled around Kit decided he needed to go back to work, just to be somewhere he knew Ambrose couldn’t ambush him.

That’s what found him staring at the Hero Tower as he emerged from the sea of commuters. He took the overground train on the raised train tracks that ran through the city. The Hero tower loomed above them all in the old-town, inner district at least. Maybe if they built it in the business district there would be some competition. Maybe it wouldn’t look as impressive.

It still managed to make Kit’s thoughts turn static, almost mute, as if he was staring out at the sea, bare feet on the sand and listening to the waves come in and out.

Even with all the cars and honking noises of the city’s traffic. Kit disentangled himself from the bustle and took the revolving door into the lobby of the Hero Tower, and for the first time in days? Weeks? months, he felt safe. The familiar smell greeted him with a sudden burst and he almost sighed at the scent. It smelled refreshing, clean, but not to the sickening degree of a clinical, hospital smell. It was more personal, more like a showroom in a beautiful house on the outskirts of the city— that was definitely outside his budget— would smell of.

A small voice in his head said that it smelled like how Mentor’s house smelled when he was a teenager, but Kit ignored it and continued to the lift. It was directly opposite the lobby entrance and had a keypad in front of it. Kit lifted his hand to key in the passcode when tanned, lithe fingers beat him to it.

Kit’s alarm system had alerted him to the individual approaching him, but it was the smell of the pungent cologne that identified them.

“Well, well, well Mallory. Risen from the dead. Poor Superhero was worried sick,” a voice dripping with mock concern slithered from his left. Kit tilted his head up to watch the numbers on the lift drop, ignoring the idiot.

24, 23, 22—

“Are you sure you’re able to come back to work? We were coping just fine without you, Hero of Heroes.”

“I figured you’d miss me if I stayed away too long, Sawyer. God knows what other poor soul you’d make suffer your company.”

The doors opened and Kit stepped towards them, but it was Sawyer who got in first. Seeing Sawyer’s weasel-like face put a dampener on Kit’s mood. Sawyer had a long face, with a pointed nose and long thin lips that were always a little bit unsettling. Not to mention his mocking jade eyes that judged your every move.

Though, to Sawyer’s credit, he wasn’t Ambrose, and Kit joined him in the lift with that reassurance, pressing the button for his floor.

“Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan and listen to his poor excuse at humour.”

Kit leaned back against the corner of the lift, as far as he could get away from Sawyer and let out a small scoff of a laugh.

“I’m sure they got plenty of laughs out of seeing your ugly mug everyday.”

“Wow, playground insults,” Sawyer deadpanned, swiveling his head to Kit. Kit smiled. “What’re you? Five?”

“Outta five.”

Sawyer scoffed and looked back to the numbers go up in the lift.

To be fair to Sawyer, he wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had a sort of elegant charm working for him, with his slicked back hair and strange features. It was mostly his personality that was hideous, cold and distant like his powers. His shadows always kinda creeped Kit out, even in their academy days. That fear seemed laughable now; compared to Ambrose… Sawyer was a saint. Not to mention the fact that Sawyer was actually a competent Hero, unlike Kit.

“The class prodigy. The crème de la crème,” Sawyer said. “The poor orphan graces us with his presence. How marvellous a day. Aren’t we all blessed?”

“I’m not feeling very blessed to have to stand this close to you, pal,” Kit retorted, smiling sweetly at Sawyer. “Especially in such a confined space.”

Sawyer scoffed. “You’re so full of shit, Sparky.”

Kit shrugged. “I eat a lot of fibre.”

Kit barely had time to enjoy the retort before a giant, shadowed hand slammed against his chest and pinned him to the metal wall behind him. His head bounced off the metal on impact, but Kit didn’t make a sound or struggle. He just stayed still as Sawyer closed the distance between them and slammed a hand beside Kit’s head, leaning in even closer.

Sawyer’s smile was lopsided as he stared down at Kit, but his eyes burned like two coals. “You don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us normal, mere mortals, do you?”

Anger flared hot in Kit’s chest and he was about to retort when Ambrose flashed into his mind and he faltered.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life…” his silver tongued voice repeated in Kit’s mind. “A normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“God,” Sawyer said with an exasperated sigh, pulling Kit back into the moment where he was. In the lift, with Sawyer, at the Hero tower not basement where Ambrose kept him chained. “You’re not even paying attention are you? What? Too good to respond to me now? Hey!”

Sawyer slammed his hand on the wall again and Kit flinched. Wide eyes shot to Sawyer’s black and it was as if all oxygen had left the lift and Kit was horribly aware of the confusion that was painted clearly across Sawyer’s features.

The shadowed hand dissolved from Kit’s chest but he didn’t move. He stood frozen. Sawyer the headlights, Kit the deer.

Kit never flinched.

Never.

Not even when they were in the academy.

Not when Nemesis beat the shit out of him and told him run back to whatever whore he crawled out of.

Not when he was assigned his first mission as a hero in training under Mentor.

Sawyer’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes. His voice softening as he asked: “why—”

The ding of the lift snapped them both out of a trance and Sawyer jumped back to the other side of the lift, hands behind his back and staring at the doors as they slid open. Kit did his best to appear normal too, though the heaviness in the elevator was suffocating.

Kit’s eyes flicked up to the floor number, 19, then went to the doors that were to reveal Tides. Kit’s heart stopped seeing her. She smiled at the two of them as she stepped into the lift.

“Hello boys,” she said in her bright happy way.

Kit swallowed, trying to force moisture back into his mouth while the doors closed again and Sawyer asked Tides what floor she was getting off on. His tongue was heavy and felt like sawdust, and practically scrapped his already chapped lips instead of soothing them, because Tides was the Hero who was with Kit on the docks that day.

She would have to remember Ambrose, right? Unless he made her forget, but did he even have time to do that? A million thoughts zoomed through Kit’s mind, some too fast to even catch because what if she remembered? Could she help him? Could he tell her about Ambrose, describe him even if she didn’t? Probably not with the fucking conditions of Kit’s freedom cemented into his brain and… Kit’s glanced at Sawyer from the corner of his eyes, whatever that was.

The lift stopped again at floor 27 and Sawyer walked out, saying bye to Tides, and it was just Kit and Tides left. Tides worked out of the same floor as Kit so they could ride the lift up together. This was his chance. He had to say something.

It was Tides who spoke first. “I’m happy to see you’re feeling good, Kit,” she said, and Kit looked at her. “Superhero said you had a bad flu.”

“Yeah,” Kit began, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. It’s good to see you actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that night on the docks.”

Tides turned her body to face him, resting her back against the opposite wall. “Of course. You saved my life.”

“Do you…” Kit began, but trailed off. How was he going to word this? “Do you remember the Villain we were fighting?”

“Of course. It was Omen.” The words hit Kit’s chest like a freight train. She remembered! She knew! That would make explaining his current predicament so much easier. “He’s…” Tides began, but shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, a distant glaze coating her eyes. “I still have nightmares about that night.”

Kit’s heart lurched in his chest because he knew exactly how she felt. He knew exactly what being Ambrose’s puppet felt like. As if she was covered in a layer of dirt that she couldn’t shake, like a film of grease around her entire body and inside of her, violated. A small voice wondered if she flinched at the thought of Ambrose too.

“Can you explain the feeling?” Kit asked, voice gentle. Tides’ bright green eyes found his, almost pleading.

“Kit…” she said instead, reaching forward and wrapping her hand around his forearm. “I know you must be thinking about Mentor and how he felt, but you can’t let vengeance consume you. Omen is a monster, you can’t torture yourself with this. We’ll catch him.”

“It’s not—” Kit began but the words caught in his throat and he wanted to curse. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He let out a huff of a breath and lifted his gaze to meet Tides’s green eyes, “it’s not about Mentor. It’s about you. About… why he was there that night, on the docks. When there was a co-ordinated attack on the city.”

Tides hummed thoughtfully. “You think Omen recruited a group of Villains to attack me on the docks?”

Kit shrugged. “Maybe not Omen,” he said as the lift doors opened again onto their floor and the pair stepped out. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Ambrose would do, he didn’t exactly seem like a team player. “Maybe some other Villain is pulling the strings.”

“Have you told Superhero this?” Tides asked, flicking her dyed pink hair over her shoulder.

“It’s just an idea that’s been bouncing around my head,” Kit told her honestly. There was something about that night that he felt like he was missing. Some part of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. It almost seemed like Ambrose was waiting for him, but then again… his reaction to Kit the other day was strange, so maybe not Kit? Maybe he was waiting for someone else.

Tides pulled him out of his thoughts as they rounded the corner to Tides’s desk. “I think you should clue Superhero in on your theory. Maybe he can help you paint a fuller picture.”

“Yeah,” Kit said with a nod, moving to leave. “I think I will. Thanks Tides.”

Tides hand shot out, wrapping around Kit’s forearm stopping him in his tracks. Her smile was reassuring, as she said: “and Kit, seriously, don’t beat yourself up about that night. You saved me. Remember that.”

Kit swallowed a scoff.

Oh he would remember if he could, if Ambrose hadn’t taken that memory from him. He just smiled in reply and squeezed her hand on his arm before stepping back. Maybe Tides was right, he thought, walking straight to Superhero’s office, he could use a second opinion on all of this.

He couldn’t talk about Ambrose or Omen, or what he did to Kit personally, but he could talk about it in a roundabout way. He was sure he’d find a way. Ambrose wasn’t always flawless in his commands, Kit proved that when he was able to stay in his childhood home, he’d find a path through if he was careful.

Superhero’s office was half a flight of steps above all the other desks that the normal heroes worked out of. It’s walls were made of a tinted glass which meant that he could see out but you couldn’t see in. A good security measure for the boss, Kit remembers Superhero telling them with a self-depreciating laugh when the architect was installing the new glass.

Kit remembers humming in response, watching as Mentor’s normal two-way glass was removed and couldn’t help but feel the difference in authority immediately after Superhero took over.

Now, Kit didn’t really care what kind of wall Superhero’s office had as he climbed the short flight and walked into the office without knocking.

Superhero wasn’t alone, and Kit felt a conversation die as he entered the room. “Oh, sorry,” Kit said, standing in the doorway. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

Kit met Superhero’s bright eyes over his guest’s head and he made an effort to smooth out his pinched up features. He offered Kit a smile, “not at all, Kit.”

The grey suit Superhero was deep in discussion with turned his body and smiled when he saw Kit. Kit offered a grin back, letting the door close behind him. He would recognise those warm silver eyes anywhere.

“Kit,” Mr Silver said, taking Kit’s outstretched hand and clapping his other hand to Kit’s elbow, squeezing it reassuringly. “How have you been?”

Kit shrugged, patting Mr Silver’s shoulder in return as they let go of each other’s hand. “Good, good. It’s good to see you, it’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” Mr Silver replied with his smooth voice. “You’ve already made your mark on the city.”

“Wouldn’t be able to if people like you didn’t keep it running,” Kit shot back. Mr Silver wasn’t a hero, but he was a gifted individual. His power lay more in his mind than a physical, typical Hero power. He had a gift for patterns, facts and numbers, all very cerebral he told Kit when they had first met. Mentor had taken Mr Silver on as a liaison between the Hero agency and the government, but he was more like a family friend than business associate.

Kit looked between Silver and a disgruntled Superhero, who was trying very hard to hide his expression below a pleasant façade. “What’re you doing here today?”

Silver straightened his posture, inclining his head a little and Kit’s eyes went to Superhero and back again. “I’m sure Superhero will fill you in on the details,” Silver said, fixing his suit jacket. “I think that’s my cue to leave, Superhero.”

Superhero smiled with thin lips as he nodded politely to Mr Silver. “Of course, Mr Silver. Always a pleasure.”

Silver raised his eyebrows as he passed Kit, and Kit frowned, following the man with his eyes. Silver opened the door and paused just before he stepped out, glancing back to Kit, his features conflicted. “Give Mentor my best when you see him again, Kit.”

“I will, Silver,” Kit told him earnestly. Silver smiled before he left the office and closed the door behind him. Kit’s head snapped to Superhero who had his back to Kit, hands on his face, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“What was that all about?” Kit asked, watching as Silver walked through the office towards the lift and press the call button.

“Bureaucratic bullshit as usual,” Superhero said with a huff behind him. Kit turned to face Superhero once the elevator doors opened, fixing his gaze to Superhero instead. “I need a cigarette.”

“You’re a hero, Superhero,” Kit told him lightly. “You can’t save the world if you’re out of breath rescuing kittens.”

“Mmm, a drink then,” Superhero said, walking around his desk and settling heavy into his chair with another sigh. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. He raised his eyebrows to Kit who shook his head in reply. Superhero shrugged and poured two fingers of whiskey, almost slamming the bottle onto the table.

“Why was Silver here?” Kit asked, taking the seat in front of Superhero’s desk, reclining into it.

Superhero shook his head, as if it was too serious a subject to remember. Kit stared at Superhero expectantly while he gulped down the whiskey in one shot.

“Jesus, Superhero, are you okay?”

Superhero shook his head, going to grab the bottle again. “What did you need?”

Kit watched as Superhero poured out three fingers of whiskey and screw the cap back on the bottle before reclining into his seat.

“Uh, yeah, I was just talking to Tides on the way up about a theory I have about the villains uniting.”

Superhero paused, eyebrows furrowing, casting deep shadows over his already deep set eyes. “Thank god I’m already drinking,” he said, tone anything but humourous. “Continue.”

Kit leaned forward in his seat and began, careful to avoid saying anything about Ambrose. “I don’t think the day Tides was attacked on the docks was a coincidence. That the attack just happened to coincide with the attack in first and in the business district.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Superhero’s face, more like how it was when Kit walked in on him and Silver. Kit almost winced at it, and said after: “listen, I don’t want to pile shit on your plate—“”

“No, no,” Superhero said with a sigh, leaning forward too and setting his glass down on the desk. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and let out another long frustrated huff. Then he looked up at Kit almost sheepishly. “How did Mentor do this for so long?”

Kit’s face broke into a sad smile. “I honestly don’t know.”

“He made it all look so easy, even the government visits.”

Kit licked his lips, the question written all over his face. Superhero scoffed and shook his head before standing and walking to the window that overlooked the office. He stood there, looking onto the floor like a disappointed parent. His hands on his hips, shoulders slumped, head dipped slightly.

“Silver’s not really the government, though, Superhero,” Kit said standing too. He didn’t join Superhero by the window, instead he turned and sat back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s part of the regulatory—”

“Regulatory Office of Powered individuals,” Superhero said over Kit, cutting him off. “Yes thank you, Kit. I know.”

“So what was the problem?”

Superhero sighed again. He was sighing too much. Too despondent. Did Silver say something bad? Has he noticed something that the world was skimming over? Something substantial?

“He said the same thing you’re alluding to, something I don’t want to know about.”

Kit straightened, his stomach bottoming out. “What?”

“There’s something big coming, apparently. Some new villain in town that has been, as you hypothesised, recruiting villains to a common cause.”

Kit’s mind raced at the information, his mind too slow to process it. Was he right? Was it Ambrose? Omen? Was he organising a group of Villains for god knows what?

“Do you know—”

“No, nothing,” Superhero said gravely. A soft slightly hysterical laugh burst from his lips. “We’re barely managing now, Kit. I don’t think the Hero agency will survive this! It’s ridiculous. Nobody wants to become a Hero after what happened to Mentor and most people have either resigned like cowards or decided they want to keep their powers to themselves.”

Kit frowned. “What do you mean? When I left the Hero academy it was—”

“Full? Yeah.”

Kit bristled as Superhero turned to face him again, expression grave. Superhero walked over to the two armchairs at the far side of the office, settling heavy into one of them.

“You were one of the last classes to graduate. Well,” Superhero paused, eyes flickering almost sardonically to Kit’s, “not you obviously, what with Mentor taking you in.”

Kit ignored the silent accusation in Superhero’s voice as he said that, but it must have been written plainly on his face.

“No, no, I don’t mean— in a bad way, Kit. You were the best in your class, obviously Mentor would take an interest in you. You’re a good kid. A good hero. A good guy. Everyone likes you, I just…” Superhero continued with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Kit swallowed, sensing the tension that was weighing Superhero down. He walked over to the armchair opposite Superhero and sat down.

“What is it?”

“Some parents pulled their kids from the academy after Mentor was attacked.”

Kit stared at Superhero. He hadn’t heard this. Surely Sawyer would’ve told him, or someone would have messaged him to tell him.

Sawyer’s words replayed in his head: “Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan."

Maybe he misread his friendships at the Academy. Maybe they all just secretly hated him but Sawyer was the only one with any guts to tell him to his face. Or maybe someone did reach out and tell him but he couldn’t remember because of Ambrose’s stupid compulsion.

“But… what?” Kit blurted out, bewildered. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Mentor was a symbol more than a man, Kit. He was hope. It wasn’t just a dark day for you when he was attacked. The city mourned with you.”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. This wasn’t at all how he expected this conversation to go. That’s what was wrong with Superhero, he had lost hope, but Kit didn’t— well, he didn’t know the current situation was so bleak.

You didn’t know because Ambrose didn’t want you to know.

“But you’re Mentor now, Superhero,” Kit said, his voice insistent. Superhero lifted his head, eyes wide like a boys. “You’re the new symbol of hope. We can stop this new villain like we’ve stopped every villain before them. Together.”

Superhero let out a breath of startled laughter, running his hand back through his hair.

“Who’s supposed to be who’s support again?”

Kit stood from the chair, shrugging with a charming smile and said: “I’m the Hero for Heroes, remember? That includes you.”

Superhero laughed, shaking his head.

“One good press release and you’ve already let it go to your head.”

“What can I say? The people love me. The masses love me. The heroes—” hate me “love me. It’s so hard to be everything for everyone all at once.”

“Uh huh. How about you do some work instead of talking me to death?”

Kit paused once he opened the door to the office. “If you need another psychiatrist session you can always come to me.”

“Get out before I kick you out," Superhero said and Kit laughed as he left, closing the door behind him. He descended the steps with the smile on his lips until he got to his desk and sat down, facing the small partition. Only then did he let his concern morph his features, safe from anyone else's scrutiny.

Superhero's worry was more than just the standard concern for the city. The very Hero profession could be at stake if they didn't find and stop this new villain on the scene, and Mentor had worked far too hard to let it all be for nothing.

He needed to talk to Ambrose, find out what the bastard knew. Only then could Kit plan properly… but after Ambrose stormed out of Kit’s apartment he had been quiet as a mouse. Kit could only hope that he would drop by again.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro

[ieatsporks11]

make your villain IRREDEEMABLE and HAVE A TRAGIC BACKSTORY at the same time!!!

[seraphinitegames]

Sometimes I will just be minding my own business and I’ll be hit with a sudden “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PIRATES?” thought. I can’t wait to learn more!

Well, you will get definitely be getting an answer to that question in Book Four in N's route...looking forward to writing that scene, hehe! :D

Thank you so much for the ask! :)

[physalian]

Creating Tragic Backstories Through Agency

This is absolutely a biased-as-hell post and not a rule of thumb for what you should do. This is me taking an opportunity to gush about my favorite method of designing backstories, which happen to end up tragic, and they’re something I’d like to see more of in fiction.

The thing that I want to see more of is, well, “tragedy”. Not necessarily the ‘terrible, awful, no good, very bad time’ aspect, but the ‘doom’ of one’s fate being sealed. Tragedy didn’t always mean a bad thing, just like doom didn’t. They meant an outcome that was inevitable, which usually happens to be a bad one.

So when I’m thinking about what TB I want to give a character, my very first thought is this: What single seemingly small choice did this character make that led them to this moment after snowballing out of control?

I like happenstance backstories as much as the next guy—little Orphan Annie an orphan by circumstance and not her own doing—but what I find equally if not more compelling is the character who is tragic because of their own choices. But instead of that choice killing them, it’s the genesis of the character they come to be.

Once again. This is not a rule. It’s just fascinating.

I wrote a character, princely type, and his tragic backstory contained a lot of awful shit. He was my therapy character and I put him through hell to make myself feel better, hence why that sci-fi WIP all over my posts remains unpublished. Half of his tragedy was out of his control: Mother, the queen, died suspiciously in childbirth with her only heir and his dad, queen consort, both never expected to have to do this without her and hates and blames his son for her death.

But the other half all began with a single choice. I had another character kind of like a warped Aladdin. This kid, his age, played on MC’s desperate need for a friend of any kind. Kid shows up, commits a crime against MC punishable by death, and MC breaks protocol (at like, 7 years old) and very publicly denounces the death sentence of another 7 year old. Kid takes this pardon and absolutely runs with it, manipulating what MC thinks is a genuine friendship into an extremely abusive power play all to get the throne, and MC can’t do shit about it.

The point was that it was MC’s humanity and compassion, and how that was taken advantage of, that was the foundation of his tragedy. This one choice, to spare the other kid’s life because it was the right thing to do, completely ruins MC’s life and snowballs into so many other tragedies as he grows up.

I’m all for the dead parent cliche, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about a hero grappling with the consequences of their life unraveling because of one seemingly small choice, or a choice with seemingly only one good option. There’s something about a hero knowing that they are on this path because of decisions they made, and having to reckon with asking themselves if they would do it all again if given the chance. There’s just something about a hero blaming themselves for their circumstances, focusing on that one small act, when the big picture really can’t possibly all rest on their shoulders.

This is a very specific personality and backstory and is hardly applicable to every story you could tell, there’s just something about the agency of the tragedy that gets to me.

It doesn’t have to be necessarily big, either. Tragic characters like the divorced dad who’s divorced because he’s the one that cheated. The squad leader who made one bad call and got the rookie killed in action.

Choices that these characters would make, because it’s who they are fundamentally, over and over and over again even knowing what future was in store, whether that’s a selfless trait or a selfish one—the dad who still cheats because he’s got weak willpower, the squad leader who would still put the needs of the many first, the mission first.

This tends to work for characters who’ve had time to grow up and truly marinate in the repercussions of their actions. Kids who blame themselves get told by everyone around them trying to cheer them up that it couldn’t possibly have been their fault. An adult who’s had time to reflect and think and brood has cemented the idea that it’s their fault, in some capacity, and nothing is going to change their mind.

Perfect, poster boy example: Zuko.

Now I can’t speak for him and I don’t think the answer ever came in canon, but he fits that balance of “tragedy by circumstance” vs “tragedy by choice” perfectly.

Zuko’s circumstances being that though he’s the elder child, his sister is the ambitious prodigy and his dad is a power-hungry narcissist, whose machinations lead to Zuko’s mom murdering the current firelord so he can get the throne, which leads to her disappearance, which leads to Zuko having very little support systems, which leads to an incredibly fraught childhood.

Zuko’s choice, though, is the one everyone knows: To stand up for those soldiers at the war meeting, and to not fight his father in the Agni Kai. He probably knew at the Agni Kai that refusing to fight would define the rest of his life, however long it lasted, but I bet you he had no idea what would befall him at that meeting. It’s just who he is as a person, and I think he would do it all again, because to not would be a betrayal of his character.

Aang, too, his impulsive choice to run away during the storm wasn’t done knowing that he’d then survive the air nomad genocide (at least in the original). He was just angry and afraid and wanted some alone time that circumstances demanded came at the absolute worst/best moment possible. Aang would be tragic already being the last of his kind but being forced from the fight, like if he was knocked out or ordered to leave, wouldn’t hit the same. That he did it unknowingly just gives him so much more depth.

—

There is absolutely nothing wrong with TBs that are only tragedy by circumstance and you can get depth from other means. Orphan Annie isn’t any less valid because she had no control over her fate. Dead parents aren’t any less debilitating if they die in a house fire via gas leak, freak accident.

I just think one extra layer of depth and agency can propel a character that much higher.

[tthelady]

THIS IS MY FINAL STRAW OH MY GOD

[beerose12]

THIS IS MY DND SIREN BARD GIRLY MARIS

I SPENT ALL NIGHT DRAWING THESE FOR MY FASHION AND APPAREL CLASS

I AM SO TIRED PLS APPRECIATE HER

[chirp-a-chirp]

Summarize Ikemen Prince in Two Memes or Less

[aut1smkid]

if you don’t mind me asking, why are you interested in vore?

THIS IS IMPORTANT! PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE!

(¬_¬)

"( – ⌓ – )=3

(πーπ) I feared the day this question would be asked...

(⌐■⋀■) ⊂(u.u) brace yourself anon...

(⌐■_■) ⊂( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ for you are not ready to hear...

(⌐■o■) ⊂( ´Д｀)ﾉ My tragic backstory…

So...rewind back to somewhere around 2016. My second family decided to bless me with.. An IPad. Everything was all fine and dandy: I was playing games, drawing characters from TV, and typical stuff for a child my age. But, one day... I was curious. I happened to discover the app known...as Safari. I was looking up my favorite things at the time; My Little Pony, Pokemon, Yokai Watch, and stuff like that. But something had caught my eye... Something that I would regret for the rest of my life. I had looked up my favorite Pokemon, Sylveon. Everything was all kid friendly, but then I noticed that there was an image with words I didn't understand. "What's wrong, big boy? Never had your c*ck sucked by a Pokémon before~? I decided to dig a little deeper into the world wide web. I was looking at images of Ponies at the time, and saw something interesting; a pony with a big, ginormous belly. I was intrigued by the sight. Sure I was confused, so I decided to look it up.

Vorarephilia a paraphilia characterized by the erotic desire to be consumed by, or to personally consume, another person or creature, or an erotic attraction to the process of eating in general practice.

Little did I know, this would spiral into an unhealthy obsession. The more that I learned, the more I desired. Skip back to a few weeks later, my parents discovered my search history. They then had a long talk with me, interrogated me like I was a criminal suspect. I explained to them what it was. The rest was pretty much a blur to me. When I try to think about it... It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad just thinking about it. And somehow this led to a talk about the birds and the bees. And all that time to think I was 6 years old. I was too young. If only I had talked to them about what I had seen instead of digging deeper, none of this shit wouldn't have fucking happened in the first place. Every single day it haunts me. Shame. Guilt. Confusion. Embarrassment. It hits me like a fucking truck. Later this would lead to hypersexuality. Which I'm still trying to figure out how to control.

But, I'm doing fine in the end. Sure my entire childhood went down the drain, but at least I learned a valuable lesson: We must consider long-run consequences as well as immediate ones, and distant people as well as those nearby.

If this is a problem, feel free to block me!

[mimicsapprentice]

Creation's Lore / backstory ~!! (Copy pasted from discord messages so please excuse the cadence + formatting)(+ lack of proofreading)(+ my tentative grasp on Ink lore)

It's tragic on multiple axis actually.... I ended up decided that the entire MV he originates from is actually now Gone. For good. At first it was just Abandoned by its creator but then later was Discontinued, meaning the whole thing actually got erased from existence. He is one of if not the only survivor of this MV...

Now. Creation is a Fresh!Ink variant. But a little to the left in some ways. Rather than just being a Fresh possessing an Ink he's more of a uhh fusion between the 2 of them? You could say. He kind of fully joined with Ink, resulting in a being that was simultaneously both of them together but also it's own unique independent entity. Which is Creation.

The Fresh & Ink he's made from actually had a Thing™️ going on. No labels for what it was, they were just both highly important to the other. They would say that they were together but in what way was a mystery to everyone (including them). 

They initially bonded over the fact both of them were aware of Creators and also kind of very scared of them? Of doing the wrong thing and getting cast aside / replaced / abandoned.... Lots of uh existential crises between the 2 of them. Who they felt only the other would understand in a way? Why they would do what they did, the reasons behind their actions and thought processes? Even if they reacted differently to the pressures.

Now. The catalyst behind Creation coming into existence was actually the MV getting abandoned. Without Creator/s there to help? Ink. Well. He dies; worse than dies really.... Adhering to canon, the source of Ink's vials are the Creators. If they don't provide then Ink goes uhhh catatonic? I think it is? Fully just, not there. Body shut down but not dead, unable to move or to feel or anything.... just stuck living but not really alive...

So with the MV abandoned? Well. There was no longer any source of paint for Ink. He knew it when it happened, since he stopped hearing the Creator/s talk to him. He hoped it was just temporary but even still began to ration out his vials. Trying to make sure he's last as long as possible.... It could only get him so far, of course. 

At some point, when Ink was essentially No More, Fresh snapped and made a choice. They had talked about it before, when things were just starting to get bad. Since Ink's body in that state just becomes a puppet for whoever wants to use him? Ink would rather Fresh had him than anyone else. He would rather it not have to happen at all, still clinging to some hope that this wouldn't be forever, but if it had to? It should be Fresh.

And so it was Fresh. He decided that nothing was going to change, that things were just going to get worse and worse and worse, so he might as well. Ink was the most important figure in his life and he didn't want to be separated from him. He was even thinking about fleeing to another MV, since that is an ability Fresh has. So why not take his Ink with him?

However in his uhhh highly emotional state? Something that he still was only so used to dealing with? Maybe his sentiments went a little to far... Resulting in them more... fusing together rather than just becoming his next vessel. While still kind of figuring out the whole Joint Thing™️ Creation did end up fleeing to another MV. Not all that long after the entire place ceased to be! making Creation the only confirmed survivor who was having a heck of a time dealing with how new Situation™️. 

He wandered around between MVs for a while, meeting new people (mainly interested in versions of his selves) and just seeing what it was like out there. He eventually settled not just into himself but into a new MV, where he lives to this day. He still has contact with some of the Freshes & Inks he met in past using the Doodlesphere Mirror (from Ink's canon) to chat! 

Bonus: Oh and this Fresh in particular always had some connection to divinity & creation as well. Always feeling drawn to it. Which definitely, not that he'd admit it, played a part in him 'befriending' Ink. Kind of wanting to uhhhhh study him? See what it was all about? Being as close as possible to a representation of the things he as 'supposed' to be / have?? Like he, a habit Creation keeps, always referred to his hosts as his vessels! Well. Creation can't change vessels seeing as he is fused together now but his memories of Fresh's previous ones are referred to as vessels alongside his current body.

[legenbeery]

Anyone know any videogames that will emotionally destroy me? Tragic backstories, extremely deep, psychological horror (preferably visual novel or easy playing?). A game with deep lore and trauma that i can analyse and feel whilst playing? I need a game to emotionally cripple me, recommendations?

[cranberrytea451]

“Death is mercy, execution is vengeance.”

“How many people do you plan on…executing?”

“Who said anything about people?”

Before you could have called her a marine biologist, maybe a lover of nature. She was once a carefree doe, but even with all her graceful freedom, she couldn’t out run a bullet.

Neither could a hunter.

A hunter, fisher, and tracker by trade Hydie guts the things she once spent so much time admiring and studying. However, she’s after something more elusive than manatee, dolphins or whales: she wants a siren. A very specific siren.

Sirens are considered myths and fairytales in some waters, but not the ones she is navigating. Hydie used to have dreams of meeting one, maybe even having the pleasure of studying it up close.

Presently, she can count on one hand how many she has studied with the edge of her blade. Though her notes are scarce, there is one thing she breaths as she shatters their bones.

“It’s not real”

Sirens have the ability to wear the face of lost loved ones. Though their appearance is often a mockery, like a half finished clay mask, their voices rang true and clear. So, really, after the first couple times she should have gotten used hearing him scream. At least they could never replicate the sound from…

She’ll follow Motti on her quest. Foolish. Loyal. The red head needed a crew, and Hydie needed to sail dangerous waters. Maybe they will both find what they are looking for.

Perhaps, when it was finished, her captain will still have the same fire in her eyes. All Hydie can do is hope Motti is prepared for the kind of sea the ‘Black Fiend��� was sailing on.

Lex was right. Everyone had a past they were running from…

…but if Lex could stop putting hers down (booze bottles) on her notes that would be great. Hydie’s papers now had little condensation rings.

@caycanteven and @mothiepixie I’m just jumping on the boat if that’s okay 👍

[rosered-schneeweisschens-sis]

one hero’s painful past, is one villain’s origin story.

and vice versa.

[angelo-chuck-wagon]

.....how did we traumatize you?

@ask-eric-the-disposable-demon beat me up and threw me into a voidspace. I thought I was gonna to die alone in there and that no one cared that I was gone on accounta a acted so awful.

[that-one-npc]

what's the longest you've went without stupid sauce

Eeermm.. the 15 years before I tried it???

Then when i waz 16 .... i tried it once...m then again... then again.....

bUt now I can't really remember anything before that point 🙃🙃🙃🙃 mu fæmily says it's from the stupid sauce and they've tryd to get me to quit.. they even sent me to digital rehab lolz 😛