#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

[cacodaemonia]

I'm sure someone else has done this, but

[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

[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

[chirp-a-chirp]

Summarize Ikemen Prince in Two Memes or Less

[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

[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.

[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?

[fluffychubbydragon]

what is horror's lore? i am intrigued 👀

Ah... to be honest I wasn't expecting someone to actually ask.. but here you go:

Horror (or in the story will be known as Axe) is a poor village boy with his little brother (his name will be Poplar in this story, Pops for short).

Their village resides on the edge of a large wooded area on one side while the rest of the surrounding areas are all farm lands which they would frequently help as children, though as Axe grew, he found that he was more equipped to hunting in the forest rather than farming, but he still helped his parents in the fields whenever he could. This caused him to use whatever daylight he had left to hunting and trapping in the forest close to their home, bringing home whatever meat his family needed and would also use as barter for other things if there was extra.

Poplar loved helping his mum and pop (even as a child) in the farming as it gave him something to create, something that would grow under his care. As he grew, he also found ways of making crafts out of the hides and bones of the creatures that Axe would hunt and helping his big brother barter for things that they either needed or wanted. And Axe would not say no to Poplar if he really wanted something that one of the elders of the village would make, though, sometimes the elders would just give children toys that they had made out of boredom, but Poplar would never want to get anything for free and would insist heavily on giving them something back.

Both boys learned a lot from their parents as well, enough to help them survive on their own. Axe learned from his father every way he knew to trap animals and to defend himself and his family if something ever happened while Poplar learned how to cook from his mother from an early age seeing as men cooking could impress a lady greatly which did not happen often. Both brothers learned how to farm properly and how to keep crops alive until harvest, and then how to harvest (even the ones that would be deemed poisonous if harvested wrong).

That was...

Until the drought that lasted months that left the land no longer anything but sand and dirt. Everyone in the village began to starve as it was a farming community, not many knew how to hunt like Axe could, which led to villagers requesting more and more out of Axe to hunt, but over hunting would mean no food eventually and Axe as well as his father knew it. It came to points where people began leaving (the ones that could afford to do so) while other began to die off slowly. Between all these factors, majority of the villagers became violent and would fight one another for food.

Eventually Axe and Poplar's parents died of starvation, having rationed themselves to death for the sake of their sons' lives. It was during this grieving time when Axe got attacked by another villager thinking he had food that caused the large hole in his skull and thought to be left for dead. Yet he was determined to live to protect his baby brother who had only been 14 at the time (Axe was barely 18 when he received his head injury). When he had finally sauntered back home to his little brother, he collapsed and Poplar healed the damage as best he could. It was after this that they moved further into the woods to get away from the villagers that harmed Axe partly because of the trauma and mostly because Axe didn't want Poplar to go through the same thing he did.

Axe has a bit of trouble with his short term memory due to this and has to talk slower which frustrates him immensely, but Poplar has and always will be a patient soul.

Things will eventually look up for them when a figure covered in moving Shadows passes through.

(also, not all the skeletons in this series will be "Sans' and Papyrus' " there will be plenty of other skeleton characters who are female as well. In fact, one of the villagers was a female skeleton around Poplar's age that he had a crush on early on in his life. She starved to death though. But there will be others)

[physalian]

On Tragic Backstories (or, giving your character “one bad night”)

There’s a video essay out there by music nerd, Sideways, about how superhero theme music works, and most of the video is about how and why the original Superman theme song sounds the way it does. He then compares it to Batman’s theme song (the Danny Eflman one) and says that Batman’s theme breaks all the established rules of American superheroes.

Where the likes of Superman are heavy on the horns and brass, the “sound of America”, Batman’s theme is warped, jaded, and dangerous, almost as if it was Superman’s theme, if Supe’s theme had “one bad night”.

I mentioned in another post about giving characters agency in their backstories helps a lot in showing the audience who they really are when they’re put in a corner.

Baby Bats didn’t have much of a choice the night his parents got murdered, though he blames himself plenty.

What I mean, though, is situations where your character is unambiguously the person at fault for where they are today, as either the hero or the villain.

So I’m gonna spoil myself here and talk about my deuteragonist in Eternal Night: Dorian.

I’ve already said that he’s based on another OC of mine (about to make his debut in Little Red Dot on AO3!) but in many ways they are very different. They come from different social classes, different family makeups, different motives for why they do what they do, and different relationships with the protagonist and their love interests.

If you ever read both, you’ll see what traits they share.

Dorian’s backstory takes a while to deliver in ENNS, more than half the book. He drops hints here and there, like his actual age, that he’s not of noble birth, and a little bit about his family from when he was mortal.

Other characters also spill a little through their own biases sprinkled through the chapters so by the time Dorian has the chance to monologue his backstory to Elias, the protagonist, it’s an exposition dump you should be hungry for as the reader.

Personally, I think expository monologues are something I’m amazing at, so I won’t spoil the full experience.

What’s important for this post is that Dorian’s backstory is defined by three choices he had to make:

Why he left home

Why he became a vampire

Why he joined the ‘good guy’ coven

Dorian didn’t have much of a choice for leaving home—vampires were not going to take no for an answer—but he had control over who those vampires were abducting. He made sure they only took him. Who he is as a person and what he stands for is concentrated in that one choice: He is a self-sacrificial character who will do anything to save those he loves.

Why he turned defines another aspect of his character: He has unwavering conviction in his beliefs and will do anything to see them through, even if that means he doesn’t survive the process.

And why did he join the good guys? He represents that ‘vampire’ isn’t synonymous with ‘monster’. Or, in other words, “It’s not what you are, it’s what you do that defines you” and at his core, he is kindness.

Dorian’s backstory would have been a lot different if I’d written him as somebody kidnapped in the dead of night, turned by force, and run from his old coven for being too noble.

Still tragic, absolutely, and I’m not hating on characters who are tragic in their passivity and inability to take action in their lives. Not every character can save themselves, or damn themselves.

I love writing characters who did not expect to have to live with the consequences of their actions and Dorian, and his foundational character, pretty much say those exact words in both their books.

Good consequences or bad, one single choice either from necessity, selfishness, desire, impatience, or the best of intentions, can have a cascading effect on a story that tends to read as more realistic than everything going according to plan.

If I’d written Dorian’s backstory as “I surrendered to this evil coven already plotting how I’d take my revenge and become the vampire I am today, and it all worked flawlessly” I don’t think it would make him as sympathetic.

Not to say I hate plotters, either, he’s just not a plotter. Another character in that same book, Gregori, did pretty much exactly that for his own backstory.

But “I surrendered to this coven and had no idea what I signed up for, then saw an opportunity and jumped on it and could not take that choice back” is fitting of who he is as a person. He was someone too soft and simple for this political world he found himself in, who had to adapt or die.

You can cover a lot of ground, particularly in dreaded “exposition monologues” without throwing it into your audience’s faces that you’re “telling” a bunch of information. I didn’t need Dorian to say “these are the three tentpole traits of my character”.

But I do think that if you give characters that kind of agency, you’re giving them the chance to prove who they are when no one’s looking. For Dorian, who had no guarantee his plan would work or that he’d survive its execution, who he was when no one was looking is a man who’d give his all to keep a promise.

—

If you’d like to check out Dorian’s story, check out Eternal Night of the Northern Sky below.

And if you’d like to see the foundational characters that were the basis of my entire writing journey, check out Little Red Dot.

[aemecericart]

I already posted the sad boy, so here are some sketches of the sad girl, Shallan Davar herself, truly noone can beat Sanderson in writing good characters, e s p e c i a l l y the traumatised ones

[i-m-van-goghing-now]

Regulus Dolore

This is Regulus, my next D and D character. He:

Is a human warlock.

Has a cursed paper crown that won't come off.

Has really low constitution.

And

Is really sad.

He's a little shit. I love him.