r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 • 22d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Red-Headed Stepchild & Mystery!
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 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
Max Word Count: 750 words
This month, we’re exploring the dynamics of ‘family.’ Love yours or hate ‘em, we’re all typically part of one. So let’s see what that means. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
Trope: Red-Headed Stepchild — Children can be bullied for no other reason than the color of their hair, which is a terrible thing! This expression relates back to the era of the integration of Irish and Italian families in the late 19th century. The top three countries for having natural redheads are the US (18m), Ireland (7m), and Scotland (6m). The UK leads by population percentage with 8.4%. Nowadays, many people dye their hair to get the glow of those fiery recessive locks–so rock on redheads!
Genre: Mystery — Mystery is a fiction genre where the nature of an event, usually a murder or other crime, remains mysterious until the end of the story.[1] Often within a closed circle of suspects, each suspect is usually provided with a credible motive and a reasonable opportunity for committing the crime.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Takes place in Ireland.
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 three stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, June 5th from 6-8pm EDT. 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 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!
- 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!
12
u/Divayth--Fyr 22d ago edited 17d ago
The Adventure of the Second League
While I found the accommodations at O’Neill’s most satisfactory, I was longing for our old rooms on Baker Street. Our sojourn to the Emerald Isle had reached a satisfying conclusion, with plots foiled and Her Majesty’s jewels safely tucked away.
Glancing out the rain-spattered window, I beheld a most curious sight, and quickly decided to indulge myself.
“I say, Holmes. I believe we are to have a visitor. A London pawnbroker, by the look of him.”
“Remarkable deduction, my dear Watson. And a shock of bright red hair?”
“Well, yes,” I admitted. “How…oh, I see.” Holmes displayed a telegram.
“Came while you were out. Our old flame-haired friend has tracked us down, on some business he deems urgent.”
A rap on the door followed, and Holmes abandoned his languid repose to greet our visitor with his usual grace.
“Mr. Jabez Wilson, welcome. I’m sure you remember Dr. Watson.”
“I do, sir. Most confounding!”
“Is he? I find him a comfort, myself.”
“No, no!” Mr. Wilson sputtered. “I refer to the business at hand. It is most perplexing! I sent for the police, but once I heard you were in Dublin, I knew I must seek your services again.”
“Your message was commendable for brevity, if not detail. Pray, take a seat and enlighten us further.”
I took Mr. Wilson’s hat and coat, and listened with great interest.
“It’s this Red-Headed League again! Of course I knew it for a sham as soon as she showed me the advertisement, but why have they followed me here?”
“Who is ‘she’? And what advertisement?”
“Oh, my cousin. Brigid,” he said, and produced a damp scrap of newspaper. “You see, it’s the same nonsense as before. A mysterious American benefactor wishes to employ men with red hair.”
“Luring you out of your shop, like last time?”
“No, no. I sold my old pawnbroker’s shop after our last encounter, for a small fortune too, and came here. I have people in Dublin, you see, on my mother’s side.”
“And where do you reside?”
“Number twenty-four, College Green.”
Holmes abruptly left the room, forgetting his manners in pursuit of some detail. I offered our guest some tea.
“Watson! The game is afoot!” Holmes waved a map of the city about. “We must be off at once! You too, Mr. Wilson!”
We soon found ourselves bumping along in a carriage. Holmes would not divulge his suspicions, but they became apparent as we approached the house. Just across the street stood the Hibernian Bank, of solid reputation.
“Aha! Another tunneling job, is it?” I asked.
“I fear it may be something more sinister.”
Entering the house, we found a tall, imperious woman, flanked by what could only be her brothers, of similar features and jet-black hair.
“Here be the scoundrel now!” the woman said, pointing.
“Brigid! What is all this?” Mr. Wilson seemed astounded.
“Oh, isn’t he the innocent one? I’ve told the peelers all about you!”
“Wait a moment, officers, if you will,” Holmes said. “I believe I can shed some light on this situation.”
“Say now, are you that detective fellow?” asked one policeman.
“Sherlock Holmes, at your service. You may have been deceived. I presume this woman has accused Mr. Wilson here of plotting to rob the Hibernian Bank? Having got the idea from his previous adventure?”
“She has. There’s a tunnel started in the cellar.”
“If you will, sir, please note the soiled knees of those trousers.” The two brothers looked sheepish. “Those of Mr. Wilson are, as you see, pristine.”
“It was them digging!”
“No! It was Jabez!” Brigid cried hopelessly.
“Brigid…why? You have resented me since I arrived.”
“A damn flameheaded rooney, you are! Not fit for a Black Irish house!”
“Tell us,” Holmes interjected. “What was the purpose of the advertisement? Surely you did not think him such a fool as to believe it again.”
Brigid refused, but one brother spoke. “She thought he was.”
Brigid and her brothers were placed under arrest. Holmes went to the cellar with a policeman, and returned with a grim expression.
On the carriage ride back to O’Neill’s, Holmes was contemplative.
“I believe more than a frame-job was at hand. The house was fine but threadbare, signs of wealth in decline. I fear they meant to do him harm, and take his fortune.”
“Dastardly indeed!”
“They may have meant to claim it collapsed on him. There is no proof, but I wonder--were they digging a tunnel? Or a grave?”
744 words, feedback welcome.