#mental health fiction story

[sonjathevampire]

Words can't even express how pissed off I am.

Cheryl had just finished putting away her twin teenage sons' meal preps for the upcoming week. Her husband, John, lay sprawled on the couch, one hand coated in cheese puff dust, the other barely holding onto a bottle of Jose Cuervo. As she shut the fridge door, the cold air brushed against the back of her neck. She turned to glance at the brightly lit room, the flicker of the boxed television casting shadows. Lost in thought, she found herself reflecting on her past and wondering where it all went so wrong.

Sick of his fat sloppy ass, Cheryl thinks in disgust. As Cheryl stood there lost in her thoughts, the echoed ring of the landline phone snapped her out of her dissociating trance. She sighed with her nicotine smelling breath, whilst glancing at the old cord phone on the floral decorated kitchen wall. Picking it up, she recognized the familiar voice of her elderly mother on the other end.

"Cheryl, sweetheart, can ya stop by tomorrow? I could use some help with the dogs, and maybe you could bring me some dinner?"

Diane’s southern accent drawled warmly through the receiver, her words carrying a familiar comfort.

Cheryl closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders. "Of course, Mom," she replied softly, masking her weariness. "I'll be there."

[a-bit-predictable]

arcane: A show about how people from all sorts of backgrounds can be broken down in their suffering and resort to doing bad things, and about how it's never too late to let go of hatred and break the cycle of violence.

some "fans": Selectively hating and demonizing every character that isn't their fav over those bad things. Willfully misinterpreting narrative details to paint those characters as negatively as possible to support a bad-faith argument. Fully dismissing obvious underlying reasons for the bad things with 0 sympathy. And denying that any of the characters' goodness ever existed or can still exist and be nurtured again after having done bad things.

the rest of us: just trying to enjoy a tragic cautionary tale with a hopeful ending in peace

[whereserpentswalk]

There have been countless debates on if cloned soldiers count as human or not. Biologically they're completely human, occasionally they modify them to have red eyes, or sharp teeth, or other intimidating features, but they're still basically human. However, there's been almost no evidence that they can be rehabilitated to become anything other then living weapons.

It's kind of horrifying to countries that don't use cloned soldiers to see them. The idea that something human shaped could be basically a living weapon for its entire life. They had no families, no parents, they were never even children. Countries who had moral objections to cloned soldiers tried to rehabilitate captured ones, but it rarely worked well. Some were put in asylums, but no amount of medication or what basically amounted to human dog training made them think of themselves as humans and not weapons, even after the most intense schedules of social scientists experimenting on them. Others were put in prison, but it didn't reform them either, they just rioted, or escaped, or became high ranking members in prison gangs.

After all attempts at rehabilitation failed, almost every country that opposed making cloned soldiers, either kills them when captured, or forces them to join their army. Some would call it hypocritical to force closed soldiers to join you after denouncing them as a violation of human rights, but they sold it as making them repay their debt to society.

There is one case of cloned soldier being reformed though. One who had crash landed on a primitive planet, a human colony who had lost space travel due to an apocalyptic event centuries ago. The cloned soldier was surrounded by people who didn't know what she was. She ended up wandering into a large city, and being taken in by the temple of one of the local gods.

The high priest of the temple had never seen a cloned soldier before, so he didn't know to be afraid of her or to treat her poorly. He just thought she was a traveler who had fallen on hard times. So the temple took her in, and gave her things that she had never had before in her life, they gave her her own room with a comfortable bed, unlike the masses of bunk beds she would have slept in all her life. For the first time she tasted warm meals, with meat and cheese and milk and real coffee unlike the bland rations she would have had her whole life. And for the first time she was allowed privacy, allowed to dress and bathe on her own, and for the first time she was allowed to wear clothing she picked out. And for the first time nobody told her what to do, she was free to spend her days as she pleased. So many things she never experienced as a cloned soldier, and likewise things she never would have experienced in an asylum or a prison.

Nobody in the temple knew how terrifying cloned soldiers were, so they treated her differently then a more technologically advanced civilization would have. She wasn't a prisoner, there were no restrictions on her. Instead of telling her she was a monster and needed to be redeemed, they assumed her belief that she was a living weapon was from some sort of trauma so they treated it like a trauma, they told her that the gods made everyone to be free to enjoy the pleasures of the world, that nobody was created to be a tool for another human to use. And when she had violent urges they let her go out hunting, or fight people in an arena, it's not something a professional would let her do, but it helped calm her down.

They were concerned for her more then anything else. At first because of the freedom she was given she just lay down in her bed, and they were worried she would die. They sung her songs and read to her while she was like that. She seemed to just need a lot of rest after the life she had. Eventually she started interacting with people in the temple more, she took up drawing and gardening when given time. Not knowing how dangerous she was, they let her interact with the general population in the temple and the people in the surrounding city, with enough time she started making freinds. After five years on a primitive planet she was able to live on her own, working as a professional artist, eventually having married one of the temple priestesses.

Social scientists are still trying to understand why the cloned soldier taken in by the temple was able to be reformed when no other cloned soldiers have been. It's impossible for a prison or asylum to create conditions similar to that temple, so the case of the temple will forever be written off as an unexplainable fluke. Perhaps given enough time, they'll be able to deny it entirely.

[creepyclothdoll]

Pit

I have a friend who lives in a tar pit. 

I love them. But if you hang out with them a lot, the tar gets on you and you can’t get it off for the longest time. It’s really easy to get stuck to them and fall into the pit if you’re not careful. But most people are. Most people avoid the pit entirely. That’s why my friend is lonely most of the time.

When I first met them, they were about waist-deep in the tar. You’d never know it, but under that black sticky mess was a pair of the most cutsey socks you ever saw. White fluffy pomeranians crocheted on. That’s what they said to me, anyway. All I could ever make out were the beady eyes of little black creatures clinging to their legs, slicked with viscous, heavy liquid.

They made some jokes about the tar pit, and we laughed. It was harder to pry them out than you’d think. It took all five of us, days of patience, and several contraptions. They sat down on the edge of the granite ledge overlooking the tar pit, their lower half covered in hot black ooze which stuck to the dirt and accumulated dead leaves and sand. 

They wrinkled their nose at this.

“How come this isn’t happening to you?” they said, looking at our blue jeans and dusty hiking boots, which were mostly clear of tar. 

“It is,” I said, showing them the tarry mess on my hands and elbows, coated with debris. 

“Only because you touched me,” they replied, staring at the dirt and tar on themselves with growing disgust.  “I think I would have died if you hadn’t come,” they said to me. When we started to leave, they started to cry. “You are abandoning me now? After saving me?” They asked. 

“Obviously we want you to come with us,” I said. 

“It’s because I’m made of tar,” they spat. 

We told them they were not made of tar. But nothing we said could convince them. We tried to scrape the tar off of them, but they only panicked when our hands came away blackened again. 

“We have to leave,” my other friends said to me after a long long time. “We can’t stay here forever, waiting for them to be ready. No one can survive here.”

They were right. The tar pit stank. The tar gurgled and sucked and emitted foul-smelling gasses. Nothing grew around here, and nothing could live long in this place. 

My friends left us. I was the only one who stayed.

“I will prove to you that the tar comes off,” I promised. “I will prove to you that you belong in the world.”

Every day, we took a little walk further and further from the tar pit. My friend saw things that delighted them. They heard birdsong. They tasted crabapples and raspberries and wild leeks. But sometimes, insects would get stuck to the tar on their legs, and would die from the effort of escaping. And my friend would believe they were horrible again. Every day, we scraped a little more of the tar away. But my friend would see new tar on their fingers and mine and believe the stain was only spreading.

When I needed to go home to sleep, to see my family, and eat something that didn’t taste like smoke and oil and petroleum, my friend would weep.

“I know you like them more than me,” they’d cry. “You only feel sorry for me. You’re tired of all this tar. I’m noxious, I’m poison.”

One day, when I came back to visit them, I didn’t see them at their usual resting place near the edge of the tar pit. I walked to the ledge and looked down, and there they were, ankle-deep in the tar again, among the animal bones and the boiling toxic fumes. 

This time, their excuse was that they’d left their favorite watch somewhere in the tar, and they wanted it back. Their arms were sticky up to their elbows, searching for it. I can’t remember if they found it or not. Not that it matters. 

They had a lot of excuses over the years. They’d scream for help and someone– sometimes me, sometimes other passing folks– would hear and come lift them out of the pit. And each time, there would be fresh, hot, sticky tar on their skin, and anything that touched them would stick to them and die there or come away stained. 

We tried soaps and creams and pumice stones. Sometimes, these things worked. But as the tar started to come off, so too would the dead mice and luna moths and spiders, the dead white flowers preserved in the black, the suffocated frogs and trampled baby snakes and those allegedly pretty crocheted socks and layers of skin. And it hurt. And it disgusted them. And then the next day I’d find them back in the tar pit again.

I visit them every now and then, of course. I bring them snacks and little things I think they’ll like. 

I’m not the only one. Once, I saw them pull another would-be-rescuer deep into the tar with them. He screamed and strained to get away from the tar pit, but my friend clung to him, desperate and grateful, dragging him deeper and deeper into the thick, viscous, stinking mass. He only barely escaped, spitting and crying and swearing to me that he’d never return to this place. 

“He abandoned me,” my friend despaired. “He said he wanted me, but he left. He acted like I was disgusting.”

“That wasn’t nice of him,” I said, passing them the bottle of sticky-sweet honey mead, their favorite.

“It’s because I’m awful,” they said, taking a drink and passing it back.

It’s because you tried to drown him, I thought. 

“I want you to come out of the tar pit,” I said. I say this every time. “Come out and try again.”

But a long time ago, they stopped trying. 

“This is my home,” they say. “I’m made of tar.”

They get angry at me when I tell them they are not made of tar. They are made of blood and flesh and that’s why they hurt so much. That’s why they can’t survive. 

You don’t notice it creeping up on you, but at some point, when you hang out near the tar pit, when you spend so much of your time trying to save the person inside, you become aware that all of your things are stained with tar. You go to kiss someone and your fingers stick in her hair, and you have the sudden and terrible sense that you’re becoming tangled in some terrible trap you can never escape and you flinch away so hard that you rip her hairs out. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It doesn’t come off. I feel horrible.”

“You’re not horrible,” she says. “It’s just the tar.”

But it feels like the tar is a part of me now. 

“I love you,” I say to the person in the tar pit.

“I’m going to die here,” they cry up at me. Nowadays, they’ve sunk in up to their neck. Their pretty pink shirt has long been submerged in the burning black tar. Their hair is a sheet of slick black rubbery ooze. Their lips are close to the surface. 

“Please come out,” I say.

“I can’t,” they reply. “I’m trapped.”

“Take my hand,” I say.

“I can’t,” they reply. “It’s too far away.”

“I’ll throw down a rope,” I say.

“No. It’s too hard to raise my arms from the tar now. The tar is too thick and heavy.”

“Why aren’t you calling for help?”

“I’ll just drown them. There’s no point.”

“We can get lots of people. We can bring machines.”

“There’s no point,” they say. “I’ll just stain them. They’ll all be cruel to me anyway. No one wants a tar monster ruining them with their touch, spreading tar everywhere they go. And I hate them all for that.”

“The tar comes off,” I shout. 

“You know it doesn’t.”

“You have to try,” I plead.

“I’m going to die here,” they say.

“Let me help you. Let anyone help you. Come drink the mead you like. Come eat the cakes you like. Come get a new pair of fluffy socks. But you have to do something to save yourself. Please. You have to try.”

“I’m going to die here,” they say.

I’m sitting on the ledge now. I’m watching their eyes as their face sinks closer to the surface of the tar. 

“I love you,” I say again.

“No one loves me,” the sea of tar responds. “I am poison. I am rot. I will suffocate you.”

“I do love you,” I lie to the tar.

“I ruin everything. I am hate.”

“I love you,” I lie again to the tar. 

“Why are you lying?” It gurgles and hisses and steams. “All you have for me is pity and resentment. Touch me and I will drown you.”

I am lying because I still see my friend’s eyes peeking over the black oily pit. I can still see the color they dyed their hair on top– pink, their favorite. I can still see the bunny hair clip they like. 

They’re still in there. 

My friend lives in the tar pit. 

Only the tar speaks now. 

It will not let go of them. They will not let go of it.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Sorry if this seems confrontational, but for the life of me I can’t get into your “Chloe has no growth” point when the show itself retracts growth from everyone and is inconsistent with everyone. You saying “The show just lays down basic character traits in Chloe” doesn’t make sense when her basic character traits are supposed to be her being selfish and spoiled.

S2 built off of that and despite what you say, had Chloe doing things that in S1 she wouldn’t have done. She apologized multiple times to the people she wronged, she willingly put herself in harm’s way to help the people she cares about and she was openly vulnerable to Ladybug in “Malidiktaor”. Something S1 Chloe wouldn’t have done. If there’s a distinct difference between a Chloe back in S1 and a Chloe in S2, then growth HAS taken place. But it doesn’t stay because of the formula (and the writers just don’t want her to keep that growth)

So what I’m asking is…what do you mean “Chloe doesn’t have growth”?

I can understand the “No arc” argument because an unfinished arc feels like there’s no arc at all (even though they are fundamentally not the same)

I wouldn't say that the show retracts growth from everyone. It's more that no one is ever supposed to grow. Every episode resets the cast. That's just how pure formula shows work and Miraculous is being sold as a pure formula show. The characters are meant to be static (one of the writers literally compared Miraculous to Dora the Explorer).

That static nature is why pure formula shows normally avoid giving their good-guy characters major flaws. It's the wrong medium for that type of thing specifically because the characters cannot change in meaningful ways throughout the show. They can learn little lessons that don't really change them and maybe have big change between seasons via a special or movie, but that's about it. Thus things like the season four conflict working so poorly. It's just a terrible choice for a formula show! The conflict is literally not allowed to develop properly because of the chosen format.

But sure, let's talk about Chloe and why I will die on the hill that she never demonstrated meaningful improvement even with the issue of the inconstant writing. In fact, seasons-one-to-three Chloe is one of the most consistent characters in the show. For this discussion to work, we need to start off by discussing character development and the two main forms it can take: character establishment and character growth.

Character Establishment

When the audience meets a character, they know nothing about said character. It's up to the writer to guide the introduction process. To choose when to reveal already existing elements of the character's personality, skills, and backstory. This is called character establishment. It is the writing telling you who the character is on a baseline level. Those reveals don't need to happen at the start of the story, though. They can be - and often are - held back for when the time is right.

When these reveals are delayed, it's important to remember that these elements were always part of the character. The reveal isn't changing who the character actually is. It's just changing how the audience views the character.

For example, we spend a good chunk of season one uncertain why Gabriel is doing what he does. Then, in Origins, we learn that it's all for Emilie. This is new information that adds depth to Gabriel's character, but it doesn't change him in any way. This is who he always was. We just know him better now and can recontextualize past events with our new understanding of his motivation.

Character Growth

Character growth is when writers take a character's personality or world view or even just their skills from point A to point B, allowing the audience to watch the character change and become a new better - or lesser - version of themself. This is usually part of a larger character arc where all the moments of growth add up, but it can take the form of small moments of growth that don't fit into a bigger picture, too. I'd probably still call that an arc, but we'll use the word "growth" a lot in this post, so let's just call it growth to be consistent.

Miraculous doesn't really have either arcs or growth because - once again - formula shows don't allow characters to meaningfully change, so I'm going to have to make up an example here. I'll use one that illustrates how character establishment and character growth can and do intertwine as that's an important thing to acknowledge to help guide this discussion.

Let's say that we have a character who lost their family at a young age. We'll call this character Mary. Mary's loss guides her character throughout the entire story, but the other characters and the audience are never told that this is what's going on. We just know that Mary acts in seemingly illogical ways at times and that she trusts no one.

Throughout the story, Mary learns to trust her costars, leading to a big, dramatic scene where she finally tells them - and the audience - about her past. This big dramatic scene is both the culmination of a character arc and a piece of baseline character establishment that allows us to understand Mary's character better no matter what part of the story we're reading.

Because these combo growth and establishment moments are so common in stories, it can feel like character growth when we learn new things about a character in a dramatic moment, but that's not always what's happening. Sometimes dramatic moments are just there to reveal what was always there by forcing a character to act differently than they usually do through the power of extenuating circumstances. These extenuating-circumstances moments are not character growth because, once the moment is over, the character resets to their normal self. The moment wasn't there to let them grow. It was there for the sake of the plot.

This is actually a really important thing that writers need to know how to do. Figuring out what circumstances will make a character say or do a thing they generally wouldn't say or do is part of how stories work. I have started stories with characters acting wildly "out of character" because I put them in the a situation where the behavior suddenly was in character!

Oh, you don't want to talk to this total stranger because you're an introvert with social anxiety who has yet to learn how to love yourself and open up to others? That's nice. Your leg is broken now and you're stuck in the middle of nowhere. What you gonna do sucker? Lie there in the dirt or talk to the nice lady who wants to help you? Your choice! (Spoiler: he talked to the nice lady. He even let her physically support him when he'd usually never let a stranger touch him!)

As soon as that scene was over, the character reverted because it wasn't growth. He didn't become a more open person. He just did something he normally wouldn't do because the situation demanded it. It was extenuating circumstances so that the freaking plot could start.

This is what happened with Chloe in season two. Everything that people call growth is really just extenuating circumstances that reset by the end of the episode or even by the end of the scene.

Let's Talk About Chloe

Chloe does not have a character arc, aborted or otherwise. She is never taken on a journey where we watch her change. All we get is delayed character establishment via extenuating circumstances, but it's given in ways that make some people feel like she was being given an arc. Let's talk about why that is.

Season one Chloe is a one dimensional mean girl. She has almost no depth. She's just here to be petty and cause akumas. She is not a fully realized character.

Season two takes those traits and keeps them, but also gives Chloe a lot more depth to round her out and make her feel like a real character. She's just as petty and mean as she always was, but we're finally allowed to see her in some moments that make her feel like a well of potential to become something more, which the writers basically had to do if they wanted to let her be a hero. The audience needed to feel like Chloe could be good in the right situation.

The feelings evoked by her newly discovered depth are why people go "oh, she had a character arc! My feelings about her changed in a big way!" But she didn't have an arc. You just got to know her better by seeing her in moments where she was forced to be vulnerable. That's not growth. Growth is meaningful, lasting change, not situational change. Everyone changes based on the situation! It's why the "True Selves" stuff is such nonsense. It implies that there's one set way that we're supposed to act in order to be authentic and anything else is some kind of lie which just isn't how the world works.

Let's look at some examples to drive home what I mean.

Season one established that Chloe idolized Ladybug. It's why we get things like this moment from Evil Illustrator:

Ladybug: Fine! You stay! Later! Cat Noir: What do you mean later? Ladybug: I mean, you're the one who wants to protect her, so you don't need me. So, later! (swings away) Chloé:(looks over balcony) Ahhh! Ladybug! Text me! OK!

And this confession from Antibug:

Ladybug: [Chloe] pretended she was me?! How often does that happen? Armand: She idolizes you.

So Chloe adores Ladybug and wants to impress her/be her best friend. Cool. Got it. That never goes anywhere in season one because season one doesn't see Chloe and Ladybug interact much. The most we get is Ladybug saving Chloe from akumas, which doesn't allow for deep conversations. I don't think that they're ever alone in a moment where they can actually talk.

That changes in season two. In season two, they get to interact a lot and it's often in moments where there's a big threat and no one else is around, letting us see a new side to Chloe. But that's not Chloe changing. It's just the writers revealing that Chloe has more to her than the mean girl stuff because of course she does! Pure mean girls don't exist. Everyone has depth. We simply never saw that depth before because Chloe was never put in a situation where she needed to be open. We can't say that season one Chloe wouldn't confess things to Ladybug or chose to sacrifice herself to let Ladybug win because she never had the chance to do those things!

In fact, I'd go so far as to argue that season one Chloe probably would have done the same things as season two Chloe because season two Chloe doesn't really contradict season one Chloe. Antibug showed us that Chloe was pretty desperate to be loved and welcomed the way that Ladybug is loved and welcomed:

Chloé: Jagged Stone! Jagged: (thinking she's the actual Ladybug) Ladybug! What are you doing here? Chloé: Um… when I find out you were here, I knew you'd wanna see me! I had to come say hello. (Sabrina waves at Jagged)

and Chloe has always been a stubborn girl who stands up for what she wants even if what she wants is something bad. Antibug also showed us that Chloe can be genuinely nice to the people she cares about. Her and Sabrina's relationship is shown to be complex with them often having a lot of fun together.

Similarly, Origins sees Chloe showing her father genuine affection after she's saved from Stoneheart:

[Image description: Chloe and Andre hugging and looking very happy to be together]

Origins is the baseline episode that tells us who the characters are on day one, so I never once doubted that Chloe loved Andre, but Andre didn't get akumatized because of Chloe's actions in season one. He didn't even get akumatized for something that Chloe had nothing to do with! His first akumatization is in season two, so it's not shocking that we don't get a Malidiktaor type scene until Malidiktaor.

Chloe was vulnerable with her personal hero when her beloved parent was in danger, but not before? Shocking! Who would have guessed?

Me. I would have guessed. I didn't even realize that people were reading it as some sort of character growth because it clearly wasn't. Malidiktaor didn't feel like something new for Chloe's character. It just felt like the writers were leaning into things that we'd always known about Chloe and using them to better establish her character as someone who genuinely cares about select people. She just doesn't show most of the time.

The same thing goes for Chloe's sacrifice and apology in Zombizou. Chloe only sacrifices herself when there's no one left but her and Ladybug. When the choice is to let the terrorist win or take the hit and let you personal hero save the day. Brave? Sure, but also not growth. Chloe is team Ladybug for all of seasons one, two, and three! She wants Ladybug to like her! Plus even a petty brat can have moments of goodness where they pick a hero over a literal terrorist.

This honestly would have been a damming moment if Chloe didn't sacrifice herself. She functionally had no other choice here. The entire episode builds itself to the self-sacrifice moment so that Chloe is forced to make that choice even though she's been her petty bratty self throughout the whole attack. It's genuinely solid writing.

Then, in the heightened emotions directly after the Zombizou win, we get this:

Miss Bustier: But I hurt a lot of people... Chloé: No... I did... I forgot your birthday, once again. And when I saw everyone had prepared a gift for you, I totally lost it. Because I, too, would've liked to offer you something. I'm sorry, Miss Bustier. Miss Bustier: Thank you, Chloé. Those words are the best possible gift you could ever give me. (hugs Chloé) (Chloé hugs her back, forgetting herself for a moment.) Chloé: Huh?... Uh, yeah. Okay then, we're all good.

A brief moment of vulnerability that quickly ends and does not stick around because Chloe's change was situational, not true growth. The next scene of that episode starts with Chloe being her usual self:

Chloé: Me? You want me to apologize to the entire class? Ridiculous! They should be thanking me for saving everybody.

And ends with the reveal of Chloe's gift to Miss Bustier, which was given in private via a note.

Once again, nothing new for Chloe's character. She acts as she always has, being mean to everyone while having moments of vulnerability when things get tense. Remember that hug between her and her father that we talked about earlier? Same concept. She had just almost died from an akuma attack and so she needed some emotional support, leading her to act more openly loving than she usually does when he's around. Once the moment is over, she reverts to the petty mean girl default.

Giving gifts to placate people is also something that we've seen before. A pretty similar thing happens at the end of Evil Illustrator, it's just played less sympathetic towards Chloe because the writers weren't giving her depth back then:

Sabrina: Too late. Chloé and I are doing the project together. Marinette: You mean, you're doing the project? Sabrina: Well, of course! After all she's been through... Marinette: Ughhh.... Nice new beret, by the way. Sabrina: I know, right! Chloé lent it to me. She really is my BFF! Chloé! Your geography homework's ready!

For any of this to be character growth, we need to see Chloe act differently over time. For her to be put in similar situations and get different outcomes, but we don't see that in part because Chloe didn't change and in part because season one didn't do much to develop Chloe's deeper side. We rarely see her alone or in moments of extreme vulnerability, but you need those moments to show her depth. That's why Despair Bear had Chloe crying alone after Adrien threatened to end her friendship and not before. Chloe is very reluctant to openly show depth. You have to force it out of her, which perfectly fits the character we met in season one.

Even her standing up to Hawkmoth and rejecting the akuma isn't character growth in my opinion. Chloe has always stood up to authority and demanded whatever she wants. She has wanted to be Ladybug's friend and be seen as a hero since season one, so it's not shocking that her extremely strong will would allow her to defy a terrorist. If there is anyone in this show who can stand up to a terrorist on shear "no!" power alone, it's little miss I-always-get-what-I-want. I could see a variation of this happening at any point in the show, just change Chloe's reason for defying Gabriel to match the situation. Rework these lines to be about a party that she wanted to go to and I'd still totally buy it:

Chloé: No, Hawk Moth! I am a superheroine! I am Queen Bee! Ladybug will come and get me when she needs me! I WILL NEVER JOIN YOU! (throws her photo onto the ground as the akuma exits it... and pants)

Chloe acted like a hero here because she wants all the perks of being a hero and can't believe that Ladybug would actually bench her. That's impossible! Ladybug wouldn't do that!

As soon as Chloe accepts that she won't be a hero again, Chloe stops acting heroic because acting heroic wasn't growth. It was her playing a part the same way she played a part in Despair Bear. She was doing what she needed to do to be Queen Bee again and not because it's the right thing to do. This would only be real growth if she rejected the akuma after accepting that she wouldn't be Queen Bee again, but that's not what happens. As soon as she accepts that she's out, she no longer has any reason to play nice. She never grew into a character who did what's right for the sake of doing the right thing. It's always been about getting what she wants or being seen how she wants to be seen. Until that changes, she hasn't changed.

So no, Chloe didn't have an aborted arc. They didn't start to redeem her and then change their minds. All they did was make Chloe one of the most complex characters in the show only to then not do anything with the character they wasted our time establishing, ignoring the complexity they gave her while also cranking her mean dial up to the point of absurdity where she's not even fun in her original role anymore.

I get why it feels like she had an aborted arc. The fact that the character establishment was delayed makes it feel like something shiny and new about Chloe. There's also the fact that the character establishment we get in season two is the kind of character establishment that you'd do if you were setting up for a redemption arc, but that doesn't change the fact that it was all establishment work. None of it was a true arc where we watched Chloe grow. We just saw her put in situations that revealed hidden depths.

Her showing depth is not her growing because when in the world does she show off this supposed growth? She only acts differently in the type of scenes that we've never seen her in before or around characters that we've never seen her truly interact with before. When she's around the established teen characters or in her usual scenes, then she acts the same way that she always has. We never see her be genuinely nice to Marinette or something like that. She's only nice to Ladybug and she's still rude to Chat Noir. That's not character growth! That's character establishment that can then be used to guide character growth!

Same thing goes for the stuff in Despair Bear. We learn that Adrien can push Chloe to be better, but he never does it again and she reverts as soon as he lets her off the hook, so it wasn't character growth! It was just Chloe establishing that she can play nice when she needs to. This means that she could grow if the story chose to take her down that path because we've established that she knows what being nice looks like. Fake it til you make it plot go, go, go! But the plot never went, went, went so meh?

Add in the fact that season one was a bit of a test season with lots of elements that got dropped and the fact that characterization in this show has always been wildly inconsistent from episode to episode and I'm really not seeing a strong argument for Chloe having an intentional arc that somehow got aborted. People just saw the potential for her to have one and argue that potential is the same as an aborted arc when it really, really isn't.

To give an analogy, Chloe's story is like walking into the kitchen and seeing grandma laying out the ingredients for her famous chocolate chip cookies. We get excited because, hey, cookies! Then we come back an hour later and there are no cookies. Nor is there some other sweet that uses the same ingredients. There's just ingredients, sitting unused in their original packaging, making us wonder what the heck grandma was up to. At the same time, she never really started making cookies. She just set out ingredients. They're still there, totally unused, waiting to be made into something, so we can't call them a failed cookie attempt. That implies a level of commitment that was never there. She didn't even say that she was making cookies! We just assumed she was because we, understandably, wanted cookies and wanted to believe that grandma had a purpose to her actions.

[hollygl125]

Yes, We Are: A New Year: A Fantasy, and a Fresh Start

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (TV 2000) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gil Grissom/Sara Sidle Characters: Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle, Hank (the Boxer Dog) Grissom Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Nerds in Love, Romance, Fluff, Only Canon Angst, An Intimate Encounter, Honeymoon, fantasies, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, i just need them to be happy, totally self-indulgent, CSI as Rom-Com, Emphasis on Rom, Don't Hold Your Breath for Com, F. Scott Would Say I'm a Sentimental Person Not a Romantic One, Science Nerds (Affectionate), emotional journey, (Still), An Ode to AUs Past Series: Part 12 of Survivors in the Night: A Las Vegas Love Story

Summary:

Some say fantasies are “best kept private.”

I think fantasies are best when shared.

Our two lovely science nerds share some fantasies past (2006-2013) and look toward the future (2015-2016). There’s a bit of a retrospective—and a bit of an ode to GSR AUs of years gone by.

[gideonisms]

I will admit I hate the trend towards measuring how Healthy fictional relationships are. they're not breakfast cereals! we don't need to measure the amount of fiber! even if it did matter how much fiber a fictional relationship has "healthy" is also a very general, vibes-based word for concepts that I think we probably should get more specific about

[srestaaaaa]

People read books about the things that are missing in their lives.

[carnivalls]

.

See the thing is. I know I'm good at writing. Like I have my weak areas or things I need to improve in, but it's not a skill I otherwise spend a lot of time feeling insecure about because a) if I don't believe in my writing literally who will b) if I want to publish my writing I ought to at least feel a resting level of good about it because editors and agents likely will not be cradling my face like a prize cat and telling me how talented I am while asking for their edits c) I've always had an audience for my writing even at its worst– I started sharing my original works online when I was around 16 & that really helped sell to me the idea of 'there will always be someone out there who likes what you do' d) untalented men never think this hard about the quality of their works and they always end up published anyway and e) I don't have many other thoroughly developed skills so why not have one I feel good about. Having said this. Awkward feeling to realize you're one of the authorial weak links in your postgraduate creative writing degree's social circle

[morbethgames]

New S. Ryder POV Story Up On Patreon

Hey everyone, it’s me again. No chapter update yet, but I am here to say that there’s a POV extra story that you can get an early look at that’s available on my Patreon.

Samuel Ryder - The Morning of the Funeral POV

This is a special extra story because it not only shows you Ryder’s struggle with their mutation, but also the struggle with their mental health. I think it’s also important for people to read because, for people who don’t suffer from these issues or haven’t known people who suffer from these issues, spirals like this can happen. Especially if they’re born from something so cataclysmic as what Ryder and the rest of the team has been through.

The next update is well in the works, still shooting for it to be out by the end of this month if I can swing it. Thank you all for being patient, and thank you all for supporting. I’m going to take a nice long break for the rest of the day after writing that POV.

Just remember; please remember: you are not alone. No matter what you’re going through. You are not alone.

Stay Brilliant,

-Vi

[braindeathaoe]

❄️December Goals❄️ (30/11/24)

We've got a rather hectic month coming up now, don't we? In a few short weeks I'll have family visiting again, and the weather is already being horrible.

~How horrible are we talking?~

Well... there's been an unprecedented amount of snowfall in the past week alone. Just 2 days ago I had to shovel snow for an hour to clear out the driveway, only for several tens of inches to accumulate by the following morning.

If this keeps up, I won't have the energy to write. My minimum word count forecast for December is set for...

+5,000 WORDS

~Which would bring the total word count to 20k, right?~

Exactly. It's not a lot compared to what I've written this month, I know. I may be able to manage +10k, but it really depends on the weather and whatever events unfold around me.

I'd like for the demo to be released sometime late February, so I've got plenty of time to sort things out till then.

~I thought you didn't have a release date?~

I don't! But that month in particular holds a special place in my heart, because there was a time not too long ago that I thought of myself as a monster.

-----Vent Incoming!-----

For my entire life, my mental health has been neglected by those who were supposed to take care of me. It's no overstatement to say that I was an extremely problematic child, but I didn't deserve to be emotionally abandoned.

At the age of 7, I had already been diagnosed with Autism, ADHD, depression and other behavioral disorders. I couldn't make many friends, and an abusive environment at home set me back even further.

Bottles of pills were my only support.

I was around 15 when I began having horrible intrusive thoughts, every second of every day. I imagined myself being killed in terrible ways in-between bouts of déjà vu, and deluded myself into believing I was stuck in a time loop. I stopped going to school when I was 16.

Nobody noticed or cared.

It took everything I had to distract myself from the bad thoughts, throwing myself into fantasies and ignoring everyone and everything around me—and it still wasn't enough to escape them.

Months turned into years. The thoughts kept getting worse.

I ended up terrified of how people viewed me; thought of myself as a failure, useless, too disabled and so on. I stopped going outside because I didn't want to feel the eyes judging me. So many of my doubts were instilled in me by my addict mother, who only benefitted from my existence with disability payouts.

I had become so isolated, alone and hopeless. Then all of a sudden I was 18, and no guidance had ever prepared me for that. For my birthday that year, I was surrounded by people I had never met—my mom's friends, I assume. Complete strangers ate my cake and mingled with each other as I sat by myself.

The better part of a year passed me by, and something in my mind finally snapped. I broke down screaming and crying, not stopping until I could taste blood and my voice betrayed me. I don't remember what the final straw was. I didn't even care anymore.

2 days later, I admitted myself into a psych ward, and while I was in there... I was confused to find people treating me normally. They all showed me such kindness, and patience. Nobody judged me for my struggles.

All of those horrible experiences and memories, with being talked down to and humiliated and thrown aside... it led me to that ward. In February of 2020, after years of believing I was worthless, I was told otherwise. I learned what was wrong with me, and was given the tools to fix myself.

My fears were proven to be my greatest detriment; I had hope again.

When I left that place at the end of the month, I walked outside to a clear blue sky. Looking up, I saw the sun and decided that it was more beautiful than I had ever seen it.

With all that said, if I can, I'd like to release the demo in February. Maybe it won't be ready in time, but I'll try. Thank you for taking the time to read this far. If you happen to be suffering in the same way I did, remember this:

You're not a monster, no matter how bad the thoughts might get, so long as you never act on them. Believe me, I've seen the worst of it.

[madmansmisc]

RABBITHOLE

She was a white rabbit in a grey rat race. I saw her under the clock tower before the train station, where I pass at 7:43 strolling past the man with the funny moustache and give a fiver to the homeless man. The same people, same place, same time. All a solid, hardy feeling, a strength in our static routine. It’s hard to knock a train off its tracks. But she was different . She was fragile, in her own way. As others plodded along, she skimmed the city sidewalks. When others traced yesterday’s footsteps, she drifted with the cool breeze. Others kept the same face, like old clothes they couldn’t be bothered to replace or had a kind of nostalgia to them, but she had a face always on the verge of a thousand faces, looking about to cry and rich with laughter. She was fragile because she could change. I never noticed or remembered her clothes, they were the only plain things about her. But the glare of her white skin burned itself into my eyes. An albino. Hopping along like a white rabbit. So on  a whim as light and easy as taking another routine breath, I turned a different way. Today I wouldn’t take the nowhere train to the nothing job to be no-one with a whole lot of nobodies. I’ll follow the white rabbit down the rabbithole, down the quieter streets and against the flow.

[authorcressida]

four days, my submission to 2024's Neo-Twiny Jam on itch.io, is out now! the game is based on my lived experience of undergoing inpatient psychiatric hospitalization earlier this year. i’ve been thinking about that a lot since my discharge, and writing has always been my go-to way to process difficult times in my life. after and there are no stars., it felt right to use twine as the medium through which to express a tiny part of how i felt during hospitalization.

being limited to 500 words meant being incredibly conscious about the feelings i wanted to convey and the words i used to convey them. it's a pleasure to participate in a game jam that provides such a challenge.

content warnings: themes of suicide, self-harm

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a cult that worshipped their own self hatred. Like how some people believe souls are created to go to hell, except the members of this cult all believed that they were the ones who deserved hell.

Their rituals would all surround hating themselves. Members would spend weeks hurting themselves, or just wallowing in their own filth. The cult tended to recruit people who were already the type to want to self sabotage that way, but once you believed that your soul was to blame, that you were created to be doomed, then that type of self destruction became much much easier. Tons of people from all walks of life would join in, those who felt like failures, those who thought that they weren't enough, people who made mistakes that they felt they could never fix. And they would be in a community of people who would do nothing but confirm their worst insecurities, and work only to make them worse.

The cult began to grow, as more miserable people joined. You'd see them in subway stations, with signs that say "do you ever feel like you're worthless‽" or "are you worse then everyone else‽" hoping to find those who think the answer is yes. They'd have online groups who'd recruit remotely, and there were even a few small towns upstate that were fully taken over by the cult. Some would go extremely far, mutilating themselves in public rituals in temples made from garbage and abandoned buildings. But most followed a more simple path of self destruction, they stayed in dead end jobs, didn't pursue their dreams, didn’t stand up for themselves, and cut off any friends who were nice to them, or who told them they were worth anything, or who told them they should be happy.

And as the cult got more powerful they began to let the world of magic take them on. They'd let demons and ghosts and other spirits possess them, as they didn't feel they deserved their bodies. They'd let vampires and ghouls feed from them, because they felt their blood was better off not in their cursed veins. And they let the faeries and eldritch things play with their minds and bodies because they thought such things deserved their entertainment more then they deserved their boundaries.

And one day the leader of the cult, the most miserable person of all, chose to begin a ritual to summon a goddess of purity and light. People had summoned gods and goddesses before, but never for the reason that this cult wanted. For they thought that if they were so damned, that surely a creature of light and power would choose to give them only pain and misery, and be their most perfect punisher. And they bled all together, and stood in a circle, and the goddess rose, a glowing naked being with seven arms and seven wings, and a beauty that surpassed the mortal world.

But instead of punishing them, the goddess told them, "you are loved." And she told them "you deserve happiness." And she told them "you deserve kindness." And she told them, "you deserve to live better then this." And instead of cursing them, she blessed them.

And the cult disbanded. Most people left, and tried to live better lives. A few split off forming new sects. But never would a cult of misery be that powerful again.

[creepyclothdoll]

The Tick

A vampire is a predator, I tell you. I am defying my nature to be with you. 

I am dangerous. But you tame me. You are the exception, I promise in the forest, under the tree where we first met. 

With my centuries of experience and a whole world of options for companionship, I choose you. 

For you, I will be gentle. I brush the hair from your shoulder. Even though it goes against all that I am.

I see a tick crawling through your dark hair. You watch me pull it out and crush it in my fingers with a smile. I will always protect you. 

From that day on, you are truly mine.

I love you unconditionally. Intensely. With the deep, all-consuming love you desire. 

I am an outsider. You are the only one who can understand me. 

My bite is like a kiss, but deeper. More primal. More sensual. The physical merges with the emotional, boundaries dissolve. It is an act of trust. You trust me. 

I may lose control of my predatory nature, I say. You should not trust me, I say. 

I show you my most vulnerable self– my heart has shuddered in the cold for centuries. You open the door and invite me in. With this sharing of blood, I relax in the knowledge that this is true, this is real, this is forever.

We duck away into an alcove one night as I spy the vampire-hunter scanning the party, the outline of an ash stake under his jacket. You fear for me then.

My kind is so maligned. Rightfully, I admit. What society would allow a rabid predator in its midst willingly? Something so dangerous, unchecked, bound to rampaging bloodlust? 

But you’re different, you remind me.

Yes. But they don’t understand that. Only you have ever accepted me without fear. 

Your presence feeds me. Being in every part of your life feeds me. Knowing where you are, knowing I am on your mind, knowing you are mine– that feeds me. 

I will leave you enough time to recover from my bite, my taking, barely. Then, I will come back and take more. 

You want me to let you rest for longer? I am doing you a favor, then. I don’t say this, but you feel it in my smile. I needed this, but I’ll give it up for you and your comfort. What a good vampire I am, understanding like this. I sacrifice my needs for you. It hurts me to wait. But I wait. Patiently, with a long-suffering smile. 

You hold my life in the palm of your hand. You have all the control here. To reject me now would kill me. I will give you whatever you need. Just tell me what you want. I will do it. 

It’s really your fault that you feel like this, because if you just told me what you want, I will give it to you. All I ask in return for this perfection is nearness. Eternally. 

You feel cold. 

You feel tired. You feel sick. I bring you the things you like most– I remember your favorite sweet things, your favorite books, your favorite blanket. 

I haven’t shared in your blood in weeks. I don’t need to, anymore. You invited me in, and that’s all I needed– I can live off of you. 

You are in my veins. I live through your life.

I only take a little– a conservative portion of the oxygen in your breath, a few beats of your heart each day, just some of the strength of your limbs, a touch of the heat from your body, a gentle scraping of your spirit and your mind. To me, this is everything. You don’t need these things, and you don’t notice them leaving you. And if you were to notice, wouldn’t you offer them freely? Would you be so cruel, so callous, to say no?

I feel like a bucket with a hole in the bottom, you say. Weak, pitiful, sad. 

I will take care of you, I promise. I will always protect you. And these things are true. 

I will leave you empty.

You want to leave for awhile? Of course, my dear. Why would I protest that? You’re not a prisoner. I trust you’ll come back to me, I say, showing my vulnerability, my earnest love.

But you’re gone so often, lately. And you leave me lonely. 

So I follow you one day. I see you have other friends. That’s alright, of course. You can have whatever you like, so long as I am your priority. Go out and raise your energy, so long as you bring it back to me. Make yourself healthy and hale. What’s good for you is good for us. 

But who are these friends? A flash of recognition. A seething hate.

No.

Don’t talk to those people. Anyone but them. 

Why would you let them fill your head with lies? I scream when you return to me. At least you returned to me. You look up at me with hollow, dark eyes, your face pale as the grave, your lips thin and blue. 

There is so much left of you, though. 

I think I need to go, you say. 

I grab my chest. You are killing me. You would kill me.

I need to do what’s best for me, you say. 

You promised me a share of your life. You’d rip that from me now? I cry. I sacrificed my nature for you, I say. It went against all that I am. You are the reason I am gentle. You tamed me.

I grab you as you step through the threshold backwards. Your chill skin leaches a great share of the last of your remaining heat into mine. You grow paler. I want what I can take, then. 

Every pulse of your heart. The whole of your spirit. The thin trickle of blood that still runs through your cold blue veins. The last thought in your addled, exhausted little head. 

There is a lightning-sharp stab of pain through my body. Fire blazes around my chest. Acid, poison, venom– the stake. From you? I look up pitifully. No. From the man in the jacket, standing behind me, who I see as I slump to the dirty carpet on the hallway floor. 

So helpless. Frozen in an instant. My fingers twitch.

You scream for me– you cry for me. The man pulls you away– bastard. There is a woman with him too now, and another man, and they uncork bottles, and I smell the stink of garlic, feel the repulsion of holy water. 

Wait, you cry. He can’t help it. He’s a predator by nature– he’s trying so hard to be good, you cry. Please, just reach out to me. My fingers twitch. And I reach up. 

To you.

I need you. I need you. I NEED you. I NEED YOU. 

They always say that, says the woman.

I NEED YOU. I NEED YOU. I NEED YOU. I NEED YOU. 

But… he’s fighting his nature for me, you persist. 

He’s never fought his nature. He’s been following it this whole time, the bastard says to you as he pulls you further from me. His colleagues pour their bottles over me and my body, my body starts to dissolve. 

The disgust in his eye– his stare is the same I gave that tick.

Vampires aren’t predators, he says.

They’re parasites.

And then you– you look at me the same.

[innocentlymacabre]

Clairvoyance

Micro Monday Edition 4 was sent out Monday morning! Sign up now to get your fix of the next edition 🔓

I did a good thing today. I was at the beach and I saw a turtle struggling to get into the water and I did a good thing. I picked it up and helped it on its way. I did a good thing today.

A good thing happened to me today. I was sure I wasn't going to make it and I had said my goodbyes to my siblings. I hadn't been long for the world so they were all I had. But then two cups scooped me up and there was cause for celebration, for we were reunited. A good thing happened to me today.

A good thing happened to me twenty years ago. A bad thing very nearly happened and I had decided that was okay. We all had. The world hadn’t been long for me, but I was not yet done. A good thing happened instead and the bad thing was left behind in my stead. It encased itself in the grains of sand and burrowed into the ground, beyond the reach of me and my home. But my home is getting bolder and greedier still; it seeks to reclaim what it once lost and I see signs warning me of the incoming peril. A bad thing happened to me twenty years ago and it's time I reap what I sowed.

↝✧↝

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