Below the cut is a list of tropes taken from @/badthingshappenbingo. I'm personally not interested in the challenge, but want to have the prompts here as reference/inspiration. Hopefully I'll post at least semi-regularly.
I write original stories, as well as fanfic.
All tagging will be for organisational purposes only.
Acid Burns
Addiction/Withdrawal
Adrenaline Crash -- Mary and Gerry Keay (AO3)
Amputation
Animal Attack
Attempted Rape
Backhand Slap
Barely Conscious
Bedside Vigil
Biting
Black Eye
Blindfolded
Body Image Issues
Brainwashing
Branding
Bruises
Burns -- Archivist Gerry and Jonathan Sims, Archival Assistant (AO3)
Came Back Wrong
Can’t Go Home -- Tim Stoker and the Stranger (AO3)
Captive Push
Captivity
Caught in a Storm
Chained to a Bed
Chained to a Wall
Childhood Trauma
Choking -- The Passenger 2023 (AO3)
Chronic Pain
Claustrophobia
Cold-Blooded Torture
Communication Suddenly Cut Off
Compelling Voice -- Jon/Tim (AO3)
Damaged Vocal Cords
Defeated and Trophified
Defiant to the End
Dehumanization
Dehydration
Demonic/Ghostly Possession
Didn’t Want to Be Saved
Domestic Abuse
Don’t Let Them See You Cry
Don’t You Dare Pity Me
Forced to Beg
Forcibly Stripped
Gilded Cage
Gotta Stay Quiet
Grabbed by the Chin
Grabbed by the Hair
Hand Stomp
Handcuffed/Manacled
Held at Gunpoint
Humiliation -- Quagmire Triplets (AO3)
I Will Punish Your Friend for Your Failure
Interrogation
Journal/Diary Entry
Knife to the Throat
Leave Me Alone
Leonine Contract -- Archivist Gerry (AO3)
Long-Term Recovery
Make an Example of Them
Mark of Shame
Medical Torture
Mercy Killing
Mind Control
Mind Rape
The Most Dangerous Game
Mouth Stitched Shut
Mutilation
Near-Death Experience
Nerve Damage
Nightmares
Non-Consensual Touching
Not Ready to Talk About It
Not Used to Freedom
Overdose
Overprotectiveness
Public Execution/Torture
Rape/Non-Con
Scar to Remember
Secret Caretaking
Self-Harm
Shock Collar
Slammed into a Wall
Sole Survivor
Standing Cuffs
Starvation
Stitches
Stockholm Syndrome
Stress Position
Traumatic Touch Aversion -- Evan Lukas and Naomi Herne (AO3)
Trying Not to Cry
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Used As Bait
Used in Sacrifice/Ritual
Vengeance
Verbal Abuse
Victim Blaming -- original story -- Mutual Assurance 1 (AO3)
Whipping
“Who Did This to You?” -- original story -- Mutual Assurance 2 (AO3)
The iron hook slid free from his shoulder with a wet metallic shriek. Something black and arterial splashed across the stones between them.
The torturer stepped back instinctively. Not out of mercy. Out of surprise. The prisoner laughed. Not loudly. Worse than loudly. Softly. Like he had just remembered a private joke older than civilization.
“You still think pain is a language,” he said.
Another blow. This time across the mouth. Teeth cracked. Blood sheeted down his chin in long ribbons.
The interrogator hissed through clenched teeth. “Tell me where God went.”
The prisoner turned his head slowly. There was blood in his smile now.
“There are organisms,” he said, “living beneath Antarctic ice that have never seen the sun and have still learned how to eat.”
The room had gone very still. Somewhere in the dark, machinery groaned.
The interrogator grabbed him by the jaw hard enough to bruise bone.
“You think this makes you immortal?”
The prisoner spat a clot of red onto the floor between them.
“No,” he whispered.
“I think it makes you temporary.”
The torches flickered.
For one impossible second, the interrogator became aware of his own pulse. The heat in his veins. The soft wetness of his eyes. The damp animal electricity inside every living thing. The prisoner watched realization bloom across his face and smiled wider, blood running between his teeth.
“You cannot threaten a creature from the dirt,” he said, “with returning to the dirt.”
— excerpt from Shit I Just Made Up To Exemplify How All This Tumblr Prose Sounds
basically the best thing any character can do is decide they don't want to be afraid anymore - in fact they never want to be afraid of anything ever again - and take action so drastic they fail to realise that this too is a decision motivated by fear. or to account for the Consequences of that.
The most interesting question you can ask about any character is not what do they want. it's what do they believe they deserve. because those two things are almost never the same and the gap between them is where your entire story lives. a person can want love completely and believe they don't deserve it and that belief will destroy every good thing that comes toward them in ways they won't even notice they're doing. write the gap. the gap is the character.
interrupting others who might say something revealing or important, thinking around things, using words like “didn’t” or “doesn’t” or “imagines” to describe actions not taken or half taken, dreaming things and never talking about them or thinking about them during waking hours, lying to people, hiding true feelings, sitting in shadow or low light to keep any accidental flicker of emotion hidden, writing in obtuse ways that doesn’t let the reader know what they’re thinking or planning, avoiding adverbs in tense moments, describing actions in straightforward and almost clinical ways sometimes, hiding the truth from the character and the reader even though you both know or suspect but there is just enough space there to fill with doubt
Local man leaves his house in search of answers for his current round of problems.
prompt for this one was 'journal/diary.' also on AO3. as always, cntw.
Mutual Assurance I & Mutual Assurance II
---
Mornings were too much sunlight for someone a creature of the night like Derek, and this morning was no different, but I still caught myself pausing every time I heard footsteps.
A guilty conscience. Doubt.
What would I do if Frankie joined me? Derek? Even as I shut down my laptop, I reminded myself that I didn’t have to go through with this. No one was making me do it.
I went to my bedroom, careful to walk right next to the wall. It was an old trick that I once taught Derek, years ago, so he could move around without the floor creaking. I never thought I’d use it in my own apartment.
My laundry was several weeks old, which hadn’t seemed like a big deal until I knelt in front of my dresser. Over the years I’d built up a collection of several t-shirts; many were now worn through. I always meant to throw some out, but instead threw them in the washing machine. Then back into my closet they went, for one more round.
Eventually I found a semi-clean Kingdom Hearts shirt, or what once had been. The print on the front was mostly peeled away. But that didn’t matter, because it would be hidden under one of my lighter sweaters. The weather was starting to turn, but it still wasn’t cold enough for the layers that I preferred.
I wore the same jeans, and my usual hiking boots. Once I’d considered getting a leather jacket of my own, but seeing Derek put me off. It suited the seductive Fuck With Me If You Dare thing that guys with a face full of metal and make-up do if they want to survive, but that was the opposite of what I needed.
Before leaving, I grabbed a hat and wrapped a scarf around my neck. It was one that I could pull over my mouth without choking on the coarse wool.
Derek/Frankie was still in bed as I was letting myself out, shutting and locking the door before running downstairs and out into the street as quick as I could. I paused briefly to pull on my gloves, the discomfort from the last of the September heat minimal compared to the prickling sensation of eyes catching on my bare skin.
Even in the winter, when I didn’t need to worry about heat-stroke, I preferred to go out at night. In the summer I barely left the house. Food came from delivery via catalogues and the internet, and when I found myself caught short there was always the reliable takeout. The good thing about my work was that it paid well. Enough that I could afford a two-bedroom apartment in the city without a roommate, even if it was in a rough area, and most of what I wanted. And I didn’t want much.
Cars with their horns and engines and the profanity from their drivers. I heard it all from my apartment, but on the street it was accompanied by a swooping feeling in my gut every time one passed on my side of the road. It would be too easy for it to jump onto the sidewalk, and I was just flesh and bones. Eventually word would get back to Derek, but I might be dead by then. He’d have my money; my apartment, if he wanted it. It gave me little comfort to know that he’d still have Frankie, but it was a comfort I clung to.
I pulled the scarf over my mouth, forcing myself to keep breathing. If I learned nothing else from this, I’d at least have reminded myself that I was horrifically out of shape. Hard to believe that I’d once been the same kid who could bike from our dinky house in the middle of nowhere all the way to town.
Was I this scared back then? No, of course not – I brought Derek to school, I went to the library or the internet café, even after I stopped going myself. This was no different. Just another mission.
Unfortunately, the only time that Sarah had to meet with me was during her break. She gave very clear instructions about when I was to show up, reminding me that I must order something if I wanted to sit in.
There weren’t any seats, but I went up to the counter and ordered a coffee and cake. Sarah didn’t recognise me at first. She went through her whole barista thing, counting out my coins; it surprised her to find that I paid in exact change, down to the penny.
“You don’t see that often,” she said in the neutral-polite voice, sales positive.
I made a sound of agreement.
She handed me a plate with my cake, which I took.
“You can wait down there,” she said, pointing to the end of the counter.
“Wait.”
I could see the moment that she recognised me, one blink to the next. Nothing else about her expression changed, except to wipe away the service-with-a-smile pull on her lips.
“My break is in five minutes,” she said. “I’ll join you.”
By the time my drink was prepared, there still wasn’t a seat available inside. I moved outside, sitting in the doorway next to the shop. No doubt during the twenty minutes that I planned to sit here everyone who had business here would show up, but what was the alternative? Sit on the brick wall surrounding the tree, my back to the cars? As fucking if.
I first met Sarah at a Parent-Teacher evening. Derek and our mother were in the classroom while I waited in the hall. Sarah Zweiben was the next in line alphabetically, and rather than show up at her assigned slot her family arrived at the same time we did. Physically she was tiny—it was only as a teenager that she got heavy—but she’d always been big. Her curly hair was decked out in butterfly clips and hairbands, and she dressed bright. Beads on her shoelaces clanked when she walked, and the decals pressed onto her jeans sparkled in the sunlight. I could tell when Derek had been hanging out with her because a faint air of glitter would appear where he’d been sitting.
I’d tried to ignore her, but she walked over to me and demanded to know if I was the real Frank. Amused, I told her yes, and she stuck out her hand.
“We should learn to get along,” she said. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”
She spent more time at our house than our own father, although amusingly enough not while he was there. Her parents were permissive, so long as she was willing to bike or sort out a ride, but they drew the line at her being in the same house as an adult man. At the delicate age of ten I didn’t understand why that was so bitterly, cruelly funny.
I saw them around, sitting under the trees in the overgrown orchid, reading or drawing. Derek would tell her stories, often while climbing the spindly branches, and she’d illustrate. Other times I saw him coach her on how to better mimic voices, a skill that she never picked up. But her efforts were endless, and she could laugh at herself.
As they got older Derek let her paint his nails and style his hair. There were a few phone calls from school about ‘the appropriateness of a boy wearing make-up,’ especially as some of the other kids were giving him grief about it, (until I put a stop to that.) By the time that he was thirteen he was doing his own nails, black and hooker-red, as Sarah called it. Our mother didn’t like it but also didn’t give a shit, so long as he looked respectable when our dad was home and when she brought him out ‘visiting.’
When I was sixteen I found her journal unattended, and did what any opportunist would. In my defence, I didn’t read it cover-to-cover; a twelve-year-old girl’s life is not nearly that interesting.
May 15th – Back at Derek’s house. We found a book of constellations and went outside to look at the sky, once it was dark of course. I wish the sky in our backyard looked like this. It was so much brighter than I expected, but still really hard to see the pages. Derek let me use the flashlight to check, but then he got annoyed with me. He just wanted to stand there and watch. It was pretty freaky, and I didn’t want to leave him, but I started to feel bad about what we were doing. I went inside to watch from the kitchen, and I watched Derek just stand there. I didn’t turn on any lights because he didn’t need any. Even though it was dark inside also, I still felt safer. His house is creepy.
May 16th – No one had any idea that we stayed up all night last night. Every time I close my eyes I think that I’ll fall asleep, but I’m not going to give us away. Derek doesn’t look tired at all so there’s no reason for me to be a wimp.
May 19th – I called Derek after something happened yesterday. It was really late, and no one else was awake. I was so scared the whole time that someone would walk in, but if I had to sit alone in my room I think I would die. Frank picked up the phone, which I didn’t expect. I asked him if Derek was around and he went quiet, which at first I thought meant that his mom had taken him again. I was ready to be confused, because school is almost over so why not wait? but then Derek (Cassidy) came on. I didn’t tell him anything, but just wanted to talk. I wish I had my own phone so that I didn’t have to worry about being listened in on. I wish I had a family like his, except of course with Kayla instead of his brother.
June 26th – Back from Alabama! Now summer can ACTUALLY start. I cannot BELIEVE that we get out of school and then I STILL have more stuff to do before I can have a VACATION.
It looks like Derek isn’t free yet. I showed up at his house and found Frank sitting on the porch. As soon as I saw him I knew that Derek and his mom were gone, but I still asked. He let me have a glass of water before I biked back and I tried to ask some questions, just to see what he’d say. He barely talks. It’s almost a game to see what I can make him say.
Mostly he just said yeah or I don’t know. So no real answers this time. I wonder if missing so much school has made him dumb, in the original sense of the word. There’s no one to talk to out here.
June 28th – Went back to ask about Derek again. Frank was sitting in the garden cleaning a gun. I was scared, but I asked him anyway when Derek would be back. He said he didn’t know. I said that he must know, because no one goes on vacation without making plans. He said if there are plans, he doesn’t know them.
I think that I saw something I shouldn’t. I want to ask Mom about it, but I know what she thinks about guns. Mom and Dad are starting to say that it’s not appropriate that I spend so much time at a boy’s house, even if it’s just Derek. He’s not even a boy all the time. They wouldn’t get it. They’ll lose their heads.
July 12th – While I was waiting for Derek in the bathroom, his mom came down to the kitchen. She asked me some questions about my parents/etc. and it was all normal. When Derek came out he just stood to the side and waited for her to finish. Then we went outside.
Later I asked him what we were going to do about food, and he said that we could make something. He said that we had the house to ourselves. I said, “Is your mom going out?”
“She isn’t here,” he said.
“She was in the kitchen.”
“No she wasn’t.”
We argued about this for a while, but eventually I dropped it. Derek was starting to get actually angry with me, like I was lying. He didn’t say that, but I know that’s what he meant. He seemed scared. I think I might have seen a ghost, or this might be one of the stories where we’re in the house with a creature pretending to be someone else. Like a vampire.
July 13th – I looked through my oldest journal to see if I wrote about the bite, but it looks like not. It isn’t even a big story. Definitely not important enough to write down. Anyway, what happened is that Derek came over to my house and we were upstairs in my room. He told me to lock the door and showed me a bite on his shoulder. I asked him what happened and he said that an animal bit him. I thought he meant a dog or something, but I wasn’t sure because it didn’t look like what I expected. He asked me what I thought, so I told him that it looked bad. I asked if it hurt, and he said it was no big deal.
A few days after this Derek and I were playing. He was bleeding through his shirt. When I asked him about it, he looked down and said that he wasn’t. I asked if it was the bite, and he said, “What bite?” I thought he was playing a game, and said that this wasn’t funny. I tried to talk to him about it because I thought it looked bad, but he yelled at me and told me to forget it.
He doesn’t ever take off his shirt, so I can’t check for myself. But I know there’s something there. Or at least, there was.
This is some kind of ghost story.
August 21st – Yesterday was so hot that I thought I was going to die. All day long I just looked at the clock, waiting until I could go home and be in the air conditioning. I love my house… it is so much better than the school, or Derek’s house, which is where I am now.
Thankfully it stormed for all of last night so it isn’t AS bad. Everything is wet outside, so we’re sitting in one of the empty rooms upstairs. Just like in all the movies there are sheets draped over every piece of furniture.
While Derek was sorting through the box of charms and cards, I went to look outside so that I could check where we were. The house is so weird, with so many empty rooms and hallways, that you never look outside and find what you expect to see.
Walking around the edge of the grass, next to the treeline, I saw Frank. He was carrying his gun with him, pausing to look into the woods. Every so often he stopped and raised it. He wasn’t just carrying it like a hunter, but he was holding it like he was ready to shoot someone.
I asked Cassidy about him. She said that she doesn’t pay attention to what he does, because he mostly just locks himself in his room or else goes out, she doesn’t know where. I suggested we follow him. “Are you crazy? He’ll kill us.” Then she laughed.
September 11th – You will not believe what happened.
A few minutes after I’d sat down, just when my coffee became drinkable, Sarah pushed against the crowd going into the coffee shop, breaking free of the tide to stand on the sidewalk. She surveyed the outdoor seating area like a sea captain searching for land, then looked across the street. I wasted at least two valuable minutes of her short break trying to figure out how to signal to her where I was, but eventually she found me.
I squeezed over so that she could sit next to me. A thin layer of sweat covered her forehead. Even with the air conditioning, the counter at the coffee shop was uncomfortably warm. The street wasn’t much better. There were too many people pressed in on us from all angles. It was hard to breathe.
“Is Derek alright?” was the first question out of her mouth, which surprised me. I expected to ask the questions.
“He’s fine,” I said. “He’s alive. Why? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing, actually. I’ve barely heard from him.”
“Did he tell you why?”
She looked away from me, at the ankles of the people walking past us. “Not really.”
“But he told you something.”
“He said that you two had a falling out.”
I straightened my back, letting out a sigh. Sweat was gathering at the back of my neck, and on my back. Sarah was too close. “You could say that. But that was months ago. He’s staying with me for now.”
“Good.”
“Why, were you worried?”
“I mean, it’s just like him to disappear without telling anyone, right? Like, he says that he’s basically a part-time missing person at this point. So I shouldn’t act surprised.”
“Any idea where he’s been going?”
She frowned, somehow dropping her gaze even further, to the seating area by the coffee shop, at someone’s dog curled up under their chair. I hadn’t even noticed that it was there. “He was hanging around with this guy.”
“Hanging around with…?”
She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Do you mean they’re friends, or does Derek owe him money? Is he gonna come after Derek? Is he gonna be armed?”
“He doesn’t exactly tell me the ins and outs of these things,” she said. “Not like I asked. But they seem… close. Like actual friends.”
“Would he hurt Derek?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, Derek? Are you serious? Who’d want to hurt him? Not unless… Why?”
“No reason,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”
There was something that she wasn’t going to tell me, and I couldn’t make her do it. She must have known that something was wrong: having known Frankie for so long I know that we are not convincing liars, and that I was frustrating Sarah the same as she frustrated me. But even if I wanted to, I didn’t know what to tell her – all I’d seen was the aftermath.
“What’s special about this guy?” I asked.
“They have some kind of beef,” she said. “Like, they’ve full on started arguing in the shop. My manager had to ask them to leave once. It’s probably nothing. Loads of people with nothing better to do come here and do it, they pick a seat and just… and Derek is friends with a lot of weirdos. There’s no reason this guy stood out.”
But she hadn’t mentioned his other friends.
“What’s his name?”
“Lee,” she said, and then gave me his last name and where he hung out. Without prompting, miserably, she added, “He came looking for Derek last week. Said he wanted to talk.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just that I don’t know anything, because I don’t. Derek’s always between places. He lives… somewhere. On his latest victim’s couch.”
Even as she said it, annoyed and frustrated, she clearly cared about him. That was his power: anyone he wanted, he could have. And people have always wanted him. Not once do I think he ever wanted in turn.
I thought about his dull disinterest watching me clean him up. Silence as I poured hydrogen peroxide on the bite on his shoulders or the claw marks on his arms. How bored he’d seemed staring out the windows while I tried to work out whether the bruises on his chest meant that something was broken, asking, “Are you done yet?” Always I felt like I was being shown up. If his ribs were ever broken, his shoulders wrenched out of alignment, I couldn’t help him; there was no point in checking, but I did it anyway. I had to know. To see for myself whether some answer would present itself, but nothing ever did.
Sarah still being his friend was a consequence of her decision; I was here because I was his brother, and had no say in what I felt for him.
I closed my eyes, briefly pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Was there anything between us except for blood, a closet full of first aid supplies and bruises?
As I sat there trying to answer this, I swore that I could still hear Sarah’s breathing and the sound of every individual set of footsteps passing in front of me. It was difficult to think.
We would sit together, I remembered, and he would tell me about the books that he was reading, swapping voices and acting out what different characters did. I’d listen, I’d approve. He’d follow me around dutifully as I did the rounds on our property. After he started leaving with our mother, ‘visiting,’ he watched me with this enlightened interest, he who had now seen more than me, watching as I studied the ground around the home that I’d never left. Checking the traps, reading the trees. Sometimes, around the time that I stopped going to school, he’d join me at the internet café or the library, doing his schoolwork. Abandoning his schoolwork in favour of reading while he waited for me.
“Frank,” Sarah said. “What’s going on?”
I would never be able to make her believe that it was nothing, and it would be insulting to tell her not to worry about it—I couldn’t control what she did. But if I wanted to, I could say that I didn’t know, and be mostly telling the truth.
“I’ve got this,” I said. “But you know what he’s like. He doesn’t make it fucking easy.”
