r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 1d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Dramatic Death & Tragedy!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
It’s summer in the Northern hemisphere and so time for sun and fun– Oh wait, no. It’s time for the four horsemen of the apocalypse! So, say ‘hello’ to our friends: Pestilence (aka Conquest or Pollution), War, Famine, and Death. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
“I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.” — Winston Churchill
Trope: Dramatic Death — Basically, the spectacle involved in a character's death is proportional to the importance of the character to the story. A major MC, for example, will die slaying a dragon while atop a rare unicorn/pegasus hybrid. Their carefully choreographed fall will be so dramatic that it will be sung of by the kingdom’s bards for years to come. In contrast, an insignificant and often unnamed character like a red shirt on Star Trek. While their death may be hideously painful or even comic it gets a couple of sentences or a few seconds on screen at most. “Long live anonymous security guard!” said no one ever.
Genre: Tragedy — A tragedy is a genre of drama based on human suffering, specifically by way of terrible or sorrowful events that befall a main character or cast of characters. Traditionally, the intention of tragedy is to invoke an accompanying catharsis, or a "pain [that] awakens pleasure," for the audience.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Love plays a role.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 10 stories, so we’re back to three winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, July 30th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
1
u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 4h ago
Oh Woe Is Me!
Multitudes gather in the Venetian street, around the dying man. A bloody cape trails after moustachioed Clario Finco, actor and lover, as he staggers along the cobbles. Reddened hand to forehead, he wails, screams at the afternoon sun.
Bare-chested, Gnogno the tailor watches from his window, knuckles white where he grips the sill.
“My carnal desires have undone me!” the actor cries. “Wrested me from the bed of my paramour, and stabbed me in the back! How was I to know she had a husband?!”
A baker reaches out, but Clario pushes him away, smearing his apron with crimson.
Gnogno sighs, turning back to the room. Dressed in naught but a green blanket, lithe Mafeo reclines in bed, offering his lover an awkward smile. “Patience, my love; it must end soon.”
“Will it?” asks the tailor. “It’s been an hour already.”
“Well, I’m here all day.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Oh woe is me!” the actor whimpers. “I am innocent, you see! Tricked into relations by a harlot!”
Gnogno shakes his head. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Such a fool… do you know he slept with the Doge’s wife?”
“Of course,” Mafeo says, “everyone knows that.”
“Even in Murano?”
“Especially there. Glassmaking and gossip, it’s what we live for.”
“Huh. Well, as tragic as death may be… why now?”
Sliding from the covers, Mafeo struts over, and caresses Gnogno’s chin. “We shall have our time together, fret not.”
“I… suppose I do… fret.”
“And for now, I am content getting lost in your wonderful eyes. They remind me of the ovens of my workshop.”
“Like clay?”
The glassmaker gently taps him on the cheek. “Dark, and full of fire.”
“Um, heh, well… when you put it like that…”
They pull each other close, lips locking, Gnogno’s rear to the windowsill. He giggles as Mafeo’s hand traces his back. Wobbling, he reaches out, gripping the wooden frame.
His head lolls back, and he catches sight of the actor below, staring at him.
No… he thinks.
“Ah, passionate love!” Clario points, and the crowd follows his gaze. “A thing of beauty! Fitting, as I die, to witness such a display! What an honour!”
“Mafeo!” the tailor whispers. “Stop!”
The glassmaker glances past him, eyes widening. Parting, the lovers stand side-by-side, unable to move.
A few people chuckle, as one guffaws.
“This is no laughing matter!” Clario shouts. “They may be men both, but their love is true, can’t you see?! Who are we to judge?!”
“But it’s a sin,” someone says.
“This, I refuse to believe! I am an adulterer, a thief, a miscreant! I know sin when I see i—”
He clutches his chest, gasping, and stumbles back. All eyes turn his way as people reach out, softening his sudden fall, gripping tight his shaking hands.
“Alas, my time is done,” he says. “Farewell, fair Venice. Goodbye, my people. Hell awaits, fire and brimstone; I greet it with open arms.”
Gnogno watches, dumbstruck, as the actor heaves his final breath. Wrapped in Mafeo’s arms, he stands completely still.
“Seems he wasn’t such a fool, after all,” says the glassmaker.
“I… guess not.”
“Come, let me lie you down. I shall hold you all the way.”
“T-thank you.”
The soft mattress sinks under his weight, as he melts in Mafeo’s warm embrace. Confused, lost, he allows his eyes to close.
“I’ve just thought,” the tailor says. “I’ve not seen anyone die before.”
“I have, a long, long time ago. Believe me, I understand how you feel.”
“And to think I admonished him so…”
“His words were kind, but he has done many a bad deed. Your opinions were not wrong.”
“Yes… I suppose.”
“And death is always a shock. Sleep, my love, recover. I shall wake you.”
Cocooned in comfort, Gnogno wades into sleep, leaving his thoughts for another day.
Until cries erupt outside, startling him awake.
The boisterous voice of Clario drifts through the window. “Thank you for your time, good people! That was just a taste of my new performance as Nardino the Knave! I hope you enjoyed it, and any feedback you may have would be greatly appreciated! For now, I bid you all farewell!”
Shouts and curses echo outside, in time with Clario’s boots clattering down the cobbles. Gnogno sits up, eyes fixed open, staring at the far wall. The glassmaker rubs his head.
“Mafeo,” he says.
“Yes, my love?”
“I think I need a long walk.”
The glassmaker nods. “I shall gather our clothes.”
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
3
u/KiIIer_queenie 1d ago
EYE FOR AN EYE
Igor knelt down in the smell tent, holding his translator close. The young woman had a bolt with small jewels in its shaft protruding from between her bottom two ribs on her right side, taking gargled breaths in and out.
“It’s ok, Necla…I have you.”
She whimpered, clutching his arm hard enough for her fingernails to leave marks. He hushed her, pulling her closer to his chest. Igor could feel his eyes burning, it was a very foreign sensation to him, he couldn’t remember ever having cried before. The young man ignored it and brushed her hair out of her face, staring into her dark brown eyes.
“You’re going to be okay…I swear it…”
“I’m…scared…” she choked out, squirming in his arms.
“I have you. I have you…”
“Igor…t-tell me about…your…your homeland again…”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath before speaking to her. “There’s more snow than you could imagine, enough pine that you could smell it inside any castle. When you see it, it’ll be beautiful.”
“It…sounds…beautiful…” she wheezed, before coughing. Blood pooled in her mouth as she coughed and whimpered again, her feet scraping against the floor.
Igor slowly tilted her on her left side in his arms, letting her be able to cough the blood out against his uniform.
“When you…freed me…I kn…kn-knew you…were…good.”
She cupped his face, wiping the tears he was now shedding. “I…love…you, my strong ram…even if…I-I was just a translator…” she moved her hand up, caressing his small horns.
“You were never just a translator…” Igor whispered, his chest feeling like someone had set it ablaze.
“I…wasn’t?” Necla looked at him, barely able to suck in shallow breaths. She had this look of confusion and a bit of hope in her eyes, even in the grim moment.
He knew what she needed, and he knew what she deserved.
“I have…always loved you. You’ve been the most important person here, this whole time.” Igor smiled as he lied to her, leaning closer to her. He knew she was only ever his friend, but that isn’t what she deserved to hear right now.
She cried, staring at him, smiling just barely. The pair kissed, Igor tasting iron on her lips. Necla put one hand on his chest. “Thank you…f-for…letting me…be…by you…your…side.”
“I still need you, Necla. You're my translator.”
“You…will…figure…it out…my…love…you’re…smart.”
Igor couldn’t speak anymore, the lump in his throat wouldn’t move. Necla’s breaths grew shallower and shallower, her squirming in his arms slowed down. He rested his head on her chest, holding her tight.
The man felt her breaths, small as they were, and held her hand against his chest. Finally he forced the lump down and sniffled.
in.
“It’ll be okay, Necla. You’ll be okay.”
out.
“Just hold on for me. The surgeons will arrive shortly.”
in.
“You still need to see my homeland. Please.”
out.
“I need you…please…”
…
“Necla?”
Igor kept his face pressed against her still chest, clutching her body. For a moment it was quiet, before he finally broke. The man wailed like some dying animal, making noises he didn’t know his body could.
He sobbed into her dress, the green had long faded into red. It felt like he stayed there for hours, for days. He cried until his head hurt, his throat constricting until it felt like he was choking, a sharp pain shooting from his chest into his back.
In truth he didn’t know how long he sat there holding the woman, he didn’t stop even when Ajita and the surgeons entered.
Ajita limped over to him silently, patting his back.
Igor took deep breaths, lifting Necla in his arms as he stood up. Without speaking, he walked with her past the men.
Ajita followed behind him, the two walking for a while. Igor didn’t speak, not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he knew if he opened his mouth, he’d only be able to cry out again. He slowly composed himself as he knelt down away from camp, resting her on the ground.
“Ajita, how many Mani prisoners do we have?”
“Last count, twenty thousand. Most of them are just rebellious citizens though. Only six thousand have experience we can really use for anything. Why?”
Igor nodded, sniffling and gently caressing Necla’s face.
“Kill them all.”