#whatever anyways please enjoy

[sciderman]

well - webtoons is over, gang

[egophiliac]

IT WAS ERIC AFTER ALL!!!! I'm so glad we got to meet him (before Vil snaps him away with those Infinity Gauntlets) (can't wait to see what happens when we get the matching Infinity Tiara to go with them, there will be no survivors)

(sorry to be so slow/rough lately, just got a lot of stuff on the ol' brain at the moment! alas, if only I could spend all my time drawing incredibly stupid characters I mean I do but)

[chiricat]

assorted wips again

1. anchan space buns!!

2. emo arisato twins + ryomina and akiham

3. mzen x p3

4. suzalulu sketch dump

5. suzalulu + souyo (eng voice actor joke)

[arcanegifs]

rewatch the show yall. it gets even better if you do.

[bugsinshoes]

BOOK OF BILL SPOLIERS UNDER THE CUT

fiddauthor nation i have (tried) to fix your photo.

i actually love them it hurts

[theinkquiry]

i've been looking at you so long now i only see me caleb x reader (mc)

word count: 4.5k tags: Alternative Ending to Homecoming Wings, Because we couldn't just let it end like that! “You can’t protect me forever.” You reached up with your free hand to cup his face. This was the closest you’ve really gotten to seeing him since he’s come back to you. He leans into your touch. “I can and I will.” He speaks with such conviction. The tone is familiar even if the empty stare accompanying his words is not. “But you didn’t." Things come to a head on your last day in Skyhaven. This wasn't the Caleb you knew. You weren't the same girl he left behind. You still love him anyway. (homecoming wings and it's completely different but also still homecoming wings.)

ao3 link (also in the fic title): https://archiveofourown.org/works/63833728

Three days. He said it like it was no time at all, but it was long enough to make you begin questioning your sanity. To say you were traumatized all over again by the sudden appearance of Caleb with the Farspace Fleet was an understatement. You pushed the initial concerns aside. He was here, alive. That was all that mattered, or so you thought. 

The routine was too typical. Too easy. You never dared let yourself imagine what it would be like to have him breathing in front of you again. But of all the possibilities you could have conjured, to simply keep carrying on was not one of them. Carrying on was what you did when he left. It wasn’t how he was supposed to come back to you. 

You didn’t even know if he was supposed to come back to you.

He had you down against the couch after three days of unending rain. Your petulant nature once again gets you into hot waters with him. You were pushing the same buttons, but the commands were not the same. His words simmer with a cold flame. 

“No one will ever be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.”

There it was again. His unending need to shield you from all the world’s harms. It was touching when you were children. Romantic, even. Growing up, you slowly lost the concept of what it felt like to be truly afraid. There were the thunderstorms and the usual mean kids on the block. You were comforted by the notion that Caleb would always be there. That you would never be alone, just like he promised. 

But now your heart thundered in your chest as your eyes stared into his. The purple-grey storm brewing behind his gaze pinned you down like nothing you’ve ever felt before. There was a gnawing sensation that you didn’t want to admit, a fear whose source you dare not name. 

What if I told you I was always like this?

Since he said them moments ago, you’ve been trying to make sense of the words. As much pride as Caleb took in being able to see through you, it came at the expense of you being able to peer right back at him. Those words weren’t total lies, but they weren’t the full picture either. A half-truth. The Caleb you knew could be mischievous and cheeky towards you, sure. But he never did anything as underhanded as keep you locked up for days on end. A half-explanation. Even after so many questions and days to get his side of the story, he was still keeping things from you. A half-Caleb. Something was still wrong. He never used to make you feel so… alone . 

He still had you pinned underneath him. His grip was strong, but you don’t think either of you were putting your full strength into fighting with each other. Even after looking at him so many times, here, alive , you still had to bite back tears each time.

This was the closest you’ve really gotten to seeing him since he’s come back to you. 

He leans into your touch. “I can and I will.” He speaks with such conviction. The tone is familiar even if the empty stare accompanying his words is not.

“But…” The air was so still. You hated it. In fact, you’ve hated every minute of the last three days. It wasn’t just that Caleb was lying to you. It wasn’t that he’d leave you with nothing to do but sit and try not to cry and end up crying whenever he left anyway. It was that you wanted to talk to him again. You wanted the easiness of your Caleb back. The Caleb you whispered secrets to under cover of dark. Not this half-stranger, half… 

Friend? Family? He was always just Caleb. You never had any other word to describe who he was to you. You never needed one. But whatever he was to you, it was not this. Something had to give. You were either going to get half of the past back, or you were going to confront something new. None of which would be accomplished if you kept biting back your words or if he kept avoiding you like this. 

For all of his swift acting and nonchalant attitude, you knew something was off with Caleb no matter how much he denied it. Or maybe he wasn’t “off” at all, and the person you dedicated your entire life to really was a mirage. You were never the quickest to pick up on things. You may not be the smartest. But what you did know was that, even if Caleb was entirely right and he hadn’t changed at all in the months since the explosion, you did. 

Your voice was soft. “But you didn’t protect me, Caleb.” 

You curled your hand that was still pinned down into a fist. Not to resist him, but to let him feel the tension in your muscle. He opened his mouth, ready to shut you down again. You didn’t let him. 

“You didn’t come visit me at the hospital after the fires.” 

You remembered the sterile white walls and the too-thin sheets. 

“You weren’t there when I dug through the ashes, trying to find something, anything left of you and Gran.” 

The suffocating smoke lingered in your lungs, no matter how much the doctors told you that you were clear. 

“You aren’t there when I’m out on missions fighting Wanderers.” 

Work. Heavens, did work bring a whole new layer of pain. It was one thing to be the only survivor. It was another to survive day in and day out as skittish coworkers fumbled through apologies and tip-toed around you like fragile glass. Even if that was exactly what you were. 

“You weren’t there when I couldn’t eat for days because all I wanted was your food. You weren’t there for the nightmares that I still have because every time I close my eyes I just see that day over and over again.” 

You don’t realize how much you’re shaking until Caleb’s grip finally loosens. His facade begins to crumble as you see your own heartbreak reflected back in his eyes. He was lost for a moment. The strength seemed to slip away from him as his hands hovered uneasily. Unsure of whether he ought to let go or hang on. You didn’t give him a chance to decide as you entwined your hand with his. You weren’t going to let him slip away again. You needed him to ground you. 

“You weren’t there when I had to bury the absence of you in an empty grave. So no, Caleb. You didn’t protect me.” 

Surprise flashed across his face for the first time in a long while. A sickly satisfaction took root in your gut. Caleb, who always thought he knew best about everything when it came to you, at last confronted with his own contradictions. The bitter victory went as soon as it came.  

“It was all for your own good.” His justification was so predictable you almost laughed. “It was the only way to make sure you were safe.” 

You shook your head. Caleb may think that he was doing it all to keep you safe. He may even be right that you were safer thinking that he was dead. At the same time, you never felt such raw vulnerability as you did while believing Caleb was gone from this world. Your entire perspective shifted. Who you were as a person changed. It had to. You had your own apartment in Linkon, but it wasn’t home. You had to make peace with the fact that you were the only one who could make a home for yourself. Everyone you held in relation to you was gone. You learned to define yourself apart from those who left you. 

Perhaps the reason why it was so hard to talk to Caleb now was that you were also changed. Caleb’s death rocked your very foundations, and you came out the other side by reconstructing your personhood by yourself, brick by brick. Did he notice it? All the changes you underwent because of him. For the last week or so he’d give you these stares which you found puzzling. It reminded you of whenever he misplaced his phone or forgot his thought mid-sentence. You were right there, so what was he looking for? 

From your closer vantage now, you realized that searching wasn’t the only thing about his eyes. It was almost like pleading, begging even. You may have reunited physically, but you’d hardly found each other again at all. 

“I was the one who learned to bear the thunderstorms at night, alone. I was the one who showed up to family-at-work day events, alone. I was the one who learned to live in a world without you. All alone. So don’t accuse me of trying to go back there.” 

Each word of yours left a cut in him. At last he was open, without retort. He tried to avoid your gaze. Your thumb and index fingers guided him back towards you again. “You left me to grieve you, all alone.” 

He didn’t get to look away. If he wanted you to see him, you needed him to see you as well. An unconscious resistance gripped his body, yet he couldn’t break away. You knew the feeling well. It was exactly the sensation of being in that interrogation chair the first time you came face to face with the Colonel. 

“Don’t leave me again, Caleb.” You don’t notice that you’re crying again until his thumb wipes away your tears. Your voice trembles as you say it again. “Please, don’t leave me.” 

For the first time, he seems to understand what your words meant without misconstruction. He continues to brush your tears aside even as he’s holding back his own. “I’m here. I’m here now.” He said it as if he was also trying to convince himself. 

You let go of him and, for the briefest moment neither of you are touching the other. You wonder what he sees of himself in your eyes. Two mirrors, forever destined to reflect back at each other until you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. As you looked and looked and looked, you found what you were searching for. What you found was, frankly, a mess. Then again, so were you. And the discovery sent your heart aflutter as something in this hellscape of a world finally made sense to you again. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down beside you, throwing yourself into his chest. “You’re here.” A statement so obvious that it makes you laugh. But the laughter quickly devolves back into crying. You cling to him like a lifeline because you really don’t want him to go. Because for the first time since you set eyes on him again did you fully process that Caleb wasn’t just ‘not dead’, no. Regardless of the technicalities between life and death, for all intents and purposes he very much did die. 

Now you could hear his voice. Touch the tears on his cheeks. Hear his heartbeat pounding. “You’re really here.” 

Caleb brushed his hands through your hair. You wondered if it was more of a gesture to calm you, or if it was to soothe himself. “I’ve always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.” His breath shuddered with each sentence. While you were mourning, Caleb was facing his own struggles. You didn’t know the details. He wouldn’t tell you if you asked. At least not right now. 

He’s in a better place now , is what people would say to you in the early days of dealing with his absence. You wonder if Caleb told himself that about you, wherever he was. That even though you both possessed two different sides to the same tragic story, you both pushed forward in the hopes of reaching some semblance of a happier ending. Perhaps the reason why he put up such an aggressive front whenever you said you didn’t need him was to hide from the fact that he also needed you. 

Caleb curled himself around you, leaning closer to your ear. “All I ever wanted was to come back to you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t.” He choked on the words like they were poison down his throat. You try to filter his words into something intelligible. I did it to protect you.

“Oh, Caleb-” You hold onto him tighter- “but who was protecting you?” 

He buried his face into your hair and let out a painful sob. His whole body shook as the rain hit the glass windows. His presence screamed, I’m tired . You held a steady hand to his back as his shoulders heaved up and down. His breath came out ragged and uneven. I’m so tired . Just as he did to you many times before, you held him through the panic and shushed away his fears. 

You would protect him, even if you didn’t know what doing so looked like yet. You could have run away, called for help, brought down the entire building if your hatred and anger were genuine. In truth, you were scared for him. You wanted to monitor him. Figure out why there was a sudden darkness emanating from his being when he thought you were turned the other way. If staying away from you was genuine protection, then returning to your arms was no coincidence. Somewhere in his subconscious, he was reaching out to you. 

You were not going to let him go. Not again. 

The two of you lay curled into each other as a single mass. The sensation was oddly familiar. You couldn’t quite place it. A far away, cold place. Someone’s warm hand in yours. A vow to never be apart. A boy whose reassurance put you at ease even if the smile never quite reached his eyes. Was there once a time just like this one when everything lay so far out of control? When there was nothing to do except hold the other as tight as you could, crying and wishing for brighter days ahead. Or simply an end to the darkness. 

A cacophony of tearful whispers and sniffles mixed with the sound of never-ending droplets pitter-pattering around your cellophane birdcage. You thought by now you would have run out of tears for Caleb. Yet it didn’t feel so much like you were crying for him so much as you were crying on his behalf. And he, yours. All the pain and regret built up to be released like a message in a bottle to the sea. The glass object containing all the apologies too late to say, all the memories you didn’t get to make, bundled up and set adrift to whatever mysterious fate the waters held in store for it. Drifting and drifting, casual and random, into the fog of your mind until it was gone entirely. 

All that’s left is you, and Caleb, and the words you get to say to him now. 

“Caleb.” His name is, at last, comfortable in your mouth again. He senses it too, eyes flitting to yours with none of the harshness that you’ve detested growing accustomed to. 

He speaks your name with the same care. As if you were giving it back to each other. 

“If I stay, would you really accept me? As I am now?”

“I already accepted every version of you. The boy from my childhood. My pretend-boyfriend who was off to college. The Farspace Fleet Colonel.” You pressed your forehead against his. “I even accepted you dead. Because you wanted me to, right?” He took a shuddered breath as you brushed stray strands of hair away from his eyes. His hand encircled your wrist again. Absent was the forcefulness from before. His grasp this time was desperate. A silent apology for all the pain he’s caused you. 

You rest your palm atop his hand, an assurance that you weren’t going anywhere. “I never wanted you to be anything other than my Caleb.” 

His eyes widened, gleaming at the sound of the last two words leaving your lips. You honestly surprised yourself with your candor. It couldn’t be helped, really. Not when he was finally his unfiltered self. Take away all the heaviness surrounding the two of you bearing in from the outside world, and you’re left with a Caleb that you only thought you could see in your dreams. Laying by your side, holding your hand, like he only wanted to pull you in closer. 

“I like you like this…” You find yourself inching closer naturally. Were you in a more teasing mood, you might have accused him of using his Evol to draw you in. “I like being with you like this.” 

“Like how?” He asks. You were both too tired for any more games. Chase the other too long, and you’d only end up going in circles. 

You run a finger down his face. How many scars were there that you couldn’t see? “Next to me. Beside me. Not pushing me back, where I can’t see you. Or leaving me behind, where I can’t reach you.” Your finger trails along down his neck, past his shoulders, towards his back. “I like… you.”

You blink. The realization landed like a feather on a still pond, but hit you like a meteor. “I like you.” You say it in a full breath. You say it to see the way Caleb’s eyes swirl with stars. You say it because it’s the thing you’ve been trying to say this whole time. 

 “Just figured that out?” He means to tease, but his voice gives away the vulnerability lurking just behind. The arm around your waist freezes. His weariness leaves him with no defenses. You see in full for the first time how his eyes search yours for something. An answer? Permission? 

You lean in and close the distance. It’s soft at first, the kiss. Hesitant. A ghost of your lips on his. A test of the waters. You lean back for his response, unprepared for the raw emotion you’re met with. 

His hold on you is a plea of the most desperate. Tears prick at his eyeline again. He opens his mouth only to close it again. A million unspoken questions, unsure which is the right to ask. “Please,” is all he can manage. “ Please. ” 

When it’s clear that you are going to kiss him again, his body takes over. He pulls you into him, fervently and entirely. You can’t form proper thoughts, as if his own weaved into your mind with each press of his lips against yours. He moves a bit clumsily, but with the surety of a man too long deprived. Little gasps leave his mouth each time he pulls away. “I can’t believe-”

Caleb kisses you before he can finish his own sentence. Delirious to the point where he didn’t even realize he was speaking aloud.

“You’re so-”

He gets drunk on it. The way you fit so easily with him. The small breaths you take in between his. Your hooded eyes as you meet him halfway each time. 

He calls your name like it’s sacred. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You grab at his shirt in an effort to steady yourself. You continue to kiss as you let yourself be guided underneath him. His hands know exactly where to hold to make you feel at home. You reach up to hold his face again, gently this time cradled between your hands. “You always have me.” 

Caleb keeps pushing down until you’re flush against the couch. He kisses you softer, yet with the same rush as if you were made of sand that could slip through his fingers at any moment. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You’ll repeat it as many times as he needs. “And you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yours.” 

You put your hands on his broad shoulders before he can kiss you again. The disappointment is immediate, but he waits. He always waits. There’s a softness to his features as he tilts his head a little. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, I just-” It felt silly to admit. “I just like looking at you.” 

The smile he gave you tugged at your heart. You felt tears welling again, this time from relief. If he was able to read you before, you were able to read him right back. With all his defenses lowered, it was like opening the pages of your favorite book. 

I’m here . Your whole being was reaching for him.

I’m yours . Caleb handles you with care. Not because you’re breakable, but because you’re treasured. He brushes aside your hands, guiding them back down to rest on the plush surface of his couch. 

I’ve always been yours. He presses his lips to your forehead first, then your nose. You can’t help a small laugh. His eyes crinkle in response and you know that, this time, he is asking for permission. You grant it. 

Without a word, he carries you up in his arms. Where you find yourself next is the home you had missed. It’s not entirely familiar. It isn’t the summer sun as he walks back with you on the last day of school or the first hug you gave him after he graduated from the DAA. Clumsy limbs and racing hearts. Your small gasps and the reverence with which he calls your name. 

But you know it all the same, the way he makes the entire world fade into the backdrop, taking you someplace outside of time and space. You were two halves of the same whole, split apart. Coming back together.

Between it all there is a gnawing sensation that the peace was fragile. Two split parts were bound to grow, to cover up the scars left behind by their torn half. The pieces would never fit quite right again, not without cutting back into the other. 

His hand grips your waist and you take deep breaths against his neck. 

The questions, the technicalities, they were all for tomorrow.  

For now, you let yourself be content just as you are. You and Caleb. One and two. Caleb and you. Somewhere along the way you stopped having lines of your own and let yourself bleed into him, and he into you. His hot breath fans the side of your face. You make a thousand silent promises to one another, though you both know keeping all of them is impossible. If even a handful survive, you’d take it.

If the sky clears sometime in the night, you don’t notice. 

At dawn on the fourth day, you see him off at the airfield. It’s the same as all the other times you’ve seen him off. Almost. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to him in his Colonel’s uniform. It doesn’t look bad, few things did on Caleb, but it was another reminder that things were different now. 

He was different now. Only time would prove whether that was a good or bad thing. 

“Make sure to look after yourself. Eat three full meals a day and go to bed before dawn. You got that, pipsqueak?” Caleb ruffles your hair.

You swat away his hand in annoyance. “Caleb! As if the Skyhaven winds weren’t already bad enough for my hair.” 

Some things would never change. 

An alarm blares. Several Fleet members rush toward their ships. Caleb shouts something over to his crew, but you don’t hear it. The sun was out in full force after the storm, though the chill of the morning air prevented its full heat from blanketing where you stood. You squinted against the rays, following a particular glint of silver around Caleb’s neck. 

“Well, I guess it’s time to say goodbye.” Caleb takes a step towards you, but stops himself from going any further. There it was. That strange hesitance lingering over him like smoke. 

You used to let him walk away on his own. This time, you cross over to him. “Not a goodbye.” You smooth down his shirt before reaching up to tease out his dog tags. You look up at him, defiant. “See you next time.” 

Whatever he sees in your eyes puts him at ease. A gentle smile graces his features as he echoes your words. You hate the uncertainty in his eyes. You swear to yourself that you’d clear the cloudiness. That shade of violet which is pure, unburdened. You’ll take all that’s grey and wilting about him into yourself if that’s what it took to bring back some of his shine. 

You do what you weren’t brave enough to do before. Looping a finger through his silver chain, you tug him down and press a firm kiss to his lips. It is determinedly quick, but the full effects were felt. Caleb cupped your face and stole a second, then a third. 

The sound of spacecraft engines cuts through the air. He sighs. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“Have I ever?”

“No,” Caleb chuckles. He gives you a look. He could tell, you think, that you too have changed. “You never do.” 

You don’t know if things will ever truly go back to being easy, if they ever were in the first place. Caleb adjusts the cap on his head and gives your hand a final squeeze. A crinkle draws your attention, and you feel old paper against your palm. 

“What’s…” You smooth out the yellowed scrap and scoff once you see the old coupon. You look up to find that his remorse is genuine. You don’t ask what forgiveness he’s asking for. Nothing and everything, is what he’ll say. Instead, you slap the paper back on his chest. “Coupon denied.” 

“Excuse me?” He let out a laugh that he didn’t even expect. “It’s not expired!”

“It’s invalid.” You retort, folding your arms and giving him your sternest glare. “There’s nothing to apply the coupon to.”

“But-”

“Save it.” His hand ghosts over where yours rests, right above his heart. You feel every beat drumming underneath your fingertips. “Save it, and come back to me.” 

A kaleidoscope of emotions flits across his face. He’s holding back the truth. He wants to tell you off. He needs to kiss you again. All these confusing and wonderful things bundle up to make your Caleb. You meant what you told him yesterday. Whether he was finding a way to claw back to who he was, or whether he was entirely changed, you would be there waiting for him. Just as he’s waited for you all those years before. 

“I will.” 

[kkoct-ik]

milgram analysis: 'john' (orekoto, オレ) did not form to vent mikoto's stress through murder, and he is not the alter that 'did it'

(mainly me musing on how DID functions, as well as analysing the text. enjoy)

will be referring both to wiki and milgram-en's (Neoplasm, interrogation) translations. mainly wiki for gesturing, and milgram-en for textual analysis. thank you so much!

note on names: for the purposes of this post:

09 refers to the person/system, all parts included

mikoto refers to 09 with the exception of orekoto/'john' (ie. all his 'normative' / in denial / confused / playful demeanours). this is the alter who is 'on trial' for the purposes of Milgram, so I will also use this name when talking about voting

'john' refers to the 09 (オレ, ore) who claims in Neoplasm to be the alter who commit murder. I will also make the assumption that he is the same alter as 09 (俺, ore) in John Doe that attacks es, since he expresses familiarity with 俺's actions in John Doe

i'm working with translations and 09 is a complicated character, so please forgive any slip ups!

thank you for reading.

introduction: widely accepted fanon

i frequently see that mikoto's case is controversial on the axis of 'system responsibility'.

on the side of guilty voters, mikoto is guilty because he and john are part of the same system, and unfortunately, that means they share culpability. i often hear rhetoric implying that 09's DID means mikoto was functionally possessed, and that he had no say in the murders, but regardless, him being guilty is just an unfortunate logistical situation. it's just how it is.

this rhetoric also makes it easy to argue for his innocence, and counter with how unfair this expectation is. if DID means he was functionally possessed, couldn't control his actions, and his alter just went out and killed people, regardless of 'john' having any noble intentions, that's tragic and unfair.

aside from being a fucking horrific way to see someone with DID (implying alters' actions are burdens, foreign intrusions that you just have to deal with. no recognition or self compassion whatsoever. die), this discourse also rides on the assumption that between 'normative' mikoto and his alter dubbed 'john', mikoto had nothing to do with his crime. that 'john' formed as a result of overwhelming stress mikoto had bottled up, and, pitying him deeply, 'john' decided to find mikoto an outlet through murder, something mikoto did not consent to.

i don't blame anyone for coming to this conclusion or approaching 09's crime in this way. it is very very deeply what milgram leads you towards, and what 'john' wants you to believe is going on.

through the VDs and MVs, 'john' consistently paints the picture that it was his choice to murder and his alone, that he did it without mikoto's consciousness and anthetically to mikoto's character.

so. what's the problem? he's told us very straightforwardly across the board that what you've just described is what's going on. can we not believe the words of the prisoner themselves?

no. because 09, like all prisoners, has reason to lie to us to secure his survival. and 'john' in particular has every reason to convince us of a reality where he and he alone is the guilty party.

i very very strongly believe that 'john' is manipulating the audience to create the impression he does out of an ego-protective obligation. so i'm writing this post. and i hope i can convince you too.

main body 1: the purpose of alters (no, we are not functionally possessed):

let's start at the beginning. why did 'john' form? why would an alter with his characteristics form at all? this will help us understand why he does things, and what his role is within 09's life.

alters in DID typically form in response to new life roles and traumas, with the key note being that these aforementioned roles or traumas could not be handled by / identified with the alters that already exist. thus, a new dissociated state emerges to isolate that event or carry out that role. memory gaps may occur when the mere existence of that role / event is intolerable, or dissociation is otherwise high.

i have already written a long document on writing DID. check it out if you are unfamiliar with the basics.

we are aware of a few facts about mikoto's life, which can clue us in to what those roles and traumas may have led new alters to form.

first, he works an overwhelming job and never gets a days rest. it's implied he does not take good care of himself because of how all-consuming his job is, and that it takes him to a breaking point.

second, he commit mass murder.

third, he was suddenly brought to milgram, put under 24/7 surveillance, and told he was a killer, despite not remembering doing anything of the sort.

i frequently see people come to the conclusion that 'john' formed as a result of his stressful job, and functions to let mikoto 'blow off steam'. there's a few reasons i don't think this is the case.

an alter who forms as a result of a stressful job is more likely to handle and isolate the source of stress itself. for example, an automatic alter to handle work and nothing else, isolating that stress from the rest of their personality.

i really dont think an alter can form to 'blow off steam'. by definition, 'john' is a dissociative identity, disconnected from mikoto. whatever he does in terms of emotional processing is by design not going to impact mikoto.

in John Doe, 'john's' demeanour appears majorly aligned with fictionalised stereotypes of violent split personalities, appearing sadistic and animalistic. this alter presentation doesn't just 'happen' without reason, and i can't find a reason for 'john' to present himself like this if he truly formed to put himself first and 'blow off steam'.

so why did 'john' form?

main body 2: the purpose of 'john'

it's my opinion he formed as a result of (ie. after) the murders, as a way to contain and identify with those actions, because mikoto could not. i believe 'john' protects mikoto from 09's identity as a murderer and that intolerable experience in general, by allowing him to dissociate from it and forget it.

(note: it's not in my interest to pin the crime on any one alter, and i think it's weird to do so. you will notice i refer to 09's (as a whole) identity as a murderer, rather than blaming any one part, since it's an objective fact that 09, as a person, killed people. i'm opposed to holding any single alter responsible, but i am absolutely certain that if you are to argue that one is, it would not be 'john'.)

i believe that through distinguishing himself from mikoto through his accent, personality presentation, and sense of self, 'john' becomes the archetypal 'monster', which serves to reassure mikoto that 'john' is 'not him', and thus disassociates mikoto from the things 'john' takes ownership of: namely, 09's murderous actions and 09's identity as someone who has killed.

i also believe that following the transition into Milgram, 'john', as a protective alter is forced to develop beyond just psychologically protecting mikoto from the reality that 09 are a murderer. due to the voting system, it becomes important for 09's physical survival and wellbeing that 'john' can convince the audience that he is distinct from mikoto. he takes advantage of the fact that mikoto is the only alter on trial, and begins to spin sympathy for mikoto as a helpless victim, and negotiate on the terms of mikoto's innocence, by reiterating that it was 'john', and only 'john', who did it.

let's break down some 'john' truths:

he has a rough demeanour in contrast to mikoto's soft-spoken, and in John Doe, appears violent and sadistic

he distinguishes himself from and contrasts himself to mikoto by making a point to alternate personal pronouns

he claims to be the alter that commit the murders

he insists that this means mikoto should be found innocent, and that mikoto had nothing to do with it

when he realises that es may not agree with that view, he begins to plead, and then attempts to negotiate with es, being willing to sacrifice his existence as 'john' by promising to 'disappear'

he, well. this:

I'll take it all - bear it all (...) and I'll be rid of it. I (ore) ... was born in order to protect me. I (ore) would do whatever it takes to protect me (boku).

i find these last words 'john' says to es are the most telling, and really give us an insight into his motivations and what he considers his role and responsibility.

note that it's not to help mikoto vent stress. it's to take on the burden of everything that causes 09 distress. that being, for the most part, his guilt. he expresses a desire to isolate that trauma into himself as 'john' and vanish it, and maybe it's the DID in me, but all i'm hearing is the sound of a self-sacrificing protective alter who is desperately trying to keep his normal parts from having their illusion of a normal, trauma-free life shattered.

main body 3: where we can infer 'john' may be misleading us

ok, so i have this crazy theory i've convinced myself of that can strictly speaking be considered in line with the text using some mental gymnastics. but is there anything in the text that directly suggests that 'john' didn't do it?

yeah.

for starters, and perhaps a moot point, but mikoto is the alter on trial within Milgram. not only that, but 'john' is specifically not.

to be honest, this is what first got me theorising along this train of thought. if Milgram really 'doesn't make mistakes', and were presumably aware of 'john's' existence (in the sense that 'john' is considered unique, and not a prisoner), what makes mikoto the identity on trial?

like i said earlier, while i disagree with assigning culpability to individual alters, i do believe that if you were to assign culpability and only persecute and associate one alter for/with 09's crimes, it would not be 'john', because he did not exist as an alter at the time 09 commit those crimes. therefore, i believe Milgram is suggesting that of the alters, mikoto is the guilty party.

moreover, when you dissect 'john's' confession to es, there are certain patterns he displays that imply he is misleading us.

1. he is incredibly vague and emotionally disconnected when describing the event, lol.

his account of the murders appears fragmented and vague, and it's notable that he doesn't elaborate very much, or seem to feel much at all towards the event. contrast this to mikoto, who, when pressed on the topic of murder, starts to panic, scratch at his head, whimper and groan, and dissociate.

'john' either has a composure of steel, and truly does not feel remorse for his murder whatsoever, or, more likely, is that he only has a surface level connection to those memories, because his role only really extends towards identifying those memories and actions as 'his'.

it may be possible that mikoto is the alter with a unique repressed connection to the emotions and distress associated with the events, hence his violent reaction to es' pressing. it's also possible that the murders are blurry and hard to connect with for 09 in general, because trauma and dissociation can do that. but in both cases, i feel that 'john's' account of the murder don't really convince me that it was him that was conscious for the act, much less in a nonchalant and uncaring way, as he seems to put across.

2. he is first and foremost preoccupied with what his confession means for mikoto's guilt and protection

he gives up confessing and spinning his story after he's successfully convinced es that what he has said is the truth. he then immediately checks with the consequences of his actions.

this doesn't read as a confession to me, rather it looks like a blatant strategy. it's not about what 'john' did, it's about what 'john' can tell es to turn the tides in mikoto's favour.

when it becomes clear es may not be willing to see things his way, 'john' immediately loses his nonchalant composure. clearly, distinguishing himself as a uniquely guilty alter isn't working to secure his goals of mikoto's innocence, so he doubles down and makes emotional pleas.

again, note that it's not about 'john'. 'john' is content vilifying himself, and makes no attempt to humanise himself, or give explanation for 'his' actions. instead, he emphasises mikoto's innocence, and tries to evoke sympathy for him.

and in the end, 'john' strikes a deal with es; on the condition of mikoto's innocence, 'john' will 'disappear' himself. he cements his role as an alter that serves to carry 09's guilt so mikoto never has to face who he is and what he's done. the apparent subtext of 'proving one's use' reinforces this reading, i think. 'john' being able to 'disappear' himself and secure mikoto's guilt-free survival, is, honestly, the ideal situation as far as 09 believes.

the logistics of 'john' 'disappearing' himself and the fact that this, practically, would not make 09 guilt-free are a can of worms — this ... might not go how they expect ... — but 09's intentions are clear. 09 wants what 'john' isolates, carries, and represents (his guilt & identity as a killer) to vanish. whether or not he practically can 'vanish' anything (and what the consequences of his 'disappearing' are) remain to be seen (although, based on the voice clips, it seems that without 'john' around to contain 09's identity as a killer ... mikoto is not having a good time, psychologically).

in my opinion, 'john's' confession and the subsequent deterioration of the conversation are absolutely seeping in 'john's' ulterior motives to take all distress and discomfort from mikoto and protect him.

I'll take it all - bear it all (...) and I'll be rid of it. I (ore) ... was born in order to protect me. I (ore) would do whatever it takes to protect me (boku).

therefore, i would not take anything he claims about being autonomous, monstrous, and uniquely guilty at face value. 'john' has a goal, he has a purpose, and he will do anything to attain it.

main body 4: but maybe he's not... intentionally lying

all this said, i don't want the takeaway to be that 'john' is a manipulative liar. i also strongly believe that on a lot of levels, he, and 09 as a whole, believe what he is saying, because he has to.

like i said at the start, alters in DID encapsulate roles and traumas that could not be identified by the alters that already exist. if 'john' exists to isolate 09's identity as a killer, that means that 09 as a whole cannot tolerate the idea that mikoto could do such a thing.

i find 'john's' musing on the 'kind of person' that mikoto is very telling.

09 has a very firm idea of what a kind of gentle, sensitive, victimised person mikoto is, which makes the fact that he broke under the pressure and murdered people an even more intolerable reality. however, it's crucial for 09's health that they continue to believe in their goodness and maintain the illusion of a normal life for their everyday parts.

therefore, it's safest for 09's ego and psychological stability for 'john' to truly believe he is guilty and mikoto innocent. he also, after all, expresses incredibly high distress at the suggestion that mikoto may be punished or considered 'guilty', yet displays no such distress at his own condemnation. this reality where mikoto is innocent is clearly a source of stability for 09 across the board. so i do believe all of 09 believe this is the case, at least emotionally, and collectively work to sustain this reality for their psychological welfare.

i also believe 'john' isn't necessarily lying about believing in his role and personal guilt just because of how much self-hatred he betrays.

the aforementioned utter lack of self-respect (never standing up for himself) and subservience to mikoto's wellbeing (being willing to 'disappear' for mikoto's sake, claiming his all-encompassing purpose is to protect 09) implies a low self esteem. the end of Double as well as just how fucking miserable he sounds at towards end of Neoplasm betrays that he does feel immense guilt for 'his' actions, but only in relation to how the intolerable identity/experience he holds causes harm to mikoto.

'john', ultimately, is a character who represents a lot of self-hatred. he hates what he represents, he hates what he 'brings' to 09's identity, and he hates himself for existing and serving as a constant reminder of their identity as a killer that distresses mikoto and threatens their guilt-free manufactured reality so much.

(timeline translation document)

mikoto also targets 'john' to blame him for 'causing problems', to add layers to the self-hatred. 'john' counters emotionally, evoking his subservience and desire to protect, and defending his existence on the basis that he tried to help.

practically, i believe 'john' does help, by protecting mikoto from the reality that 'he' (09) killed people. but in 09's eyes, 'john's' 'helping' is 09's unexplainable and fragmented violent outburst, and thus 'john' has done a crap job at helping anything. this leads 'john' to not understand his value as an alter and hate himself, being ready to throw himself under the bus for mikoto's sake to 'save him' from the consequences of 09's guilt, and leads mikoto to lash out at 'john'.

i'll just say, from experience, throwing blame between alters that are associated with traumatic experiences is an unfortunate and common experience with DID. i even talk about it in my DID representation doc, as to illustrate why self-compassion and tolerance is vital to healing.

It’s very easy for us DID folk to simply wish that all of it would go away - to wish all of them would go away - because they must be the root of all our problems. They’re too needy, they’re too sad, they’re too angry, they hurt me, and I don’t understand them. I wish they would leave. I just want peace, we think. (...) Regardless of how alien and aggressive we feel, people with DID aren’t possessed, and our hurting and self-harming and destructive parts aren’t demons. They’re traumatised facets of a traumatised person. And no part of a traumatised person deserves to be repressed and vilified and shunned. (...) To me, a hopeful narrative and resolution is anything that can bring the parts together cohesively while loving their differences. (...) Navigating the decades of internal conflict and self-hatred and transforming it into tolerance and love. — Me, The Subjective Comprehensive Guide to [DID] Representation

... great job with the tolerance and love, guys.

conclusion / tl;dr:

i don't think 'john' as an alter appeared one day and decided to kill people to help mikoto cope with work stress.

i think 'john' is a very complicated part of mikoto, that identifies with the act and identity of killing, to keep it from mikoto and protect him. he presents himself as the 'kind of person' that would kill, and who is different to mikoto, because to 09, mikoto is not that 'kind of person'.

i think 09 use DID and the distinctions between alters to protect themselves psychologically, because that's why the disorder exists.

i also think it gives them an advantage in Milgram: by leaning into their DID and maladaptive self-ostracisation, they can attempt to convince the audience that 09's guilt is split between two alters: an innocent and a guilty.

using this, 'john', who hates himself as it is, promises to the audience that he will vanish himself on the condition mikoto is voted innocent, making himself useful one last time and finally 'saving' mikoto in the way he feels he has failed to thus far.

epilogue / reflection

so! i hope i make sense, and i really hope i haven't forgotten to cover anything glaring.

this is an all-encompassing way of reading 09 to me, and if it is canon like i believe, 09 may be a shockingly sensitive and accurate portrayal of DID. but to unearth this interpretation you need to dive into a lot of subtext and dodge a lot of intentional misdirection than leans into stigma and negative stereotypes of DID, so i sort of understand why a lot of people fall short, end up taking things at face value, or otherwise feel unqualified to dissect what's being written and claimed.

i hope my analysis and commentary helps, and please know that i am also always open to yap about these guys or DID representation in general if anyone would like. this is a very strong interest of mine, and i love picking fiction and DID representation apart, as well as demystifying the condition for people!

thank you for getting to the end of this, i know it's an essay and a half.

if you read this all the way through, even ignoring the text in images, this post comes out at over 3.5k words. this is longer than any college essay i've ever written. good grief. but it's over. thank you for sticking with me.

[blueskittlesart]

hey actually i do feel like i should make this post because people are so often surprised when I mention that my instagram is monetized. any business account (you can tell that it's a business account because the bio has a subtitle labeling the type of business they are) that has over 10k followers on instagram is eligible for reels monetization and any account with over 15k is eligible for post monetization. There is no requirement to disclose whether or not any given post is monetized, and every post is monetized by default when you opt-in to monetization. be cognizant of what you see and what you like. the payout system is engagement-based and rewards ragebait and engagement farming. and if you are a small artist or content creator, DO NOT let large business accounts repost your work without compensation. they are making money off of you and hoping you won't notice.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

we been here before move along now

[queeniehostapasta]

Whatever. go my broccolini!!!! (About to pass out, look at himmm like stop that…)

Silly animated gif of him, only done three of them so far now, (goku and SSJ4 Veggie if you remember ;3) but honestly might make more, they’re fun when I’m just doing the tail

[atmospheral]

“Roronoa Zoro, known as the ‘Demon Asura’, is the main suspect of a triple homicide and a quadruple homicide occurring only a few weeks apart. He stands accused of murdering gun smuggler Don Krieg in a brutal attack with a blade, as well as Kurozumi Orochi and three other gang members." —Tiger by the Tail by Vandereer (@dandunn)

the one piece modern au i didn't know i needed

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

[sabo-torao]

tasting fire

[intotheelliwoods]

Little PSA

[thelastspeecher]

One of my favorite things in Redwall is when Martin the Warrior gives someone a dream but makes sure they don't remember the dream until The Right Moment, even if it's like, days later.

Sometimes he even tells them in the dream "hey you'll remember the rest of this on Thursday" so they remember part of the dream and that there was more, but not all of it.

One of my other favorite things in Redwall is when Martin the Warrior fuckign possesses someone for a little bit bc they weren't doing anything and they needed to do something so well guess ole Martin will have to step in AGAIN.

[anananass]

NSFW Wriothesley x F!Reader ~ ”Don’t be shy”

warning: nsfw

Tags: creampie, begging, praising, rough sorta? Just him being so hot and good istfg!! And probably some other things. He is sweet jesus

summary: the Duke notices you want him to fuck you with a little more spice (it’s 3 am and I do not know what Im doing)

wc: 1,2k

“Don’t be shy, tell me what you want princess.” The Duke’s hoarse toned words sent shivers down your spine. The sole fact he had been deepening himself inside your soaked folds for the past 20 minutes didn’t help but cause more trouble to you, so much that you slipped a rushed pant as you thought more and more of what you wanted.

Truth be told, you weren’t subtle at all with your desire to feel his hands roam around your stomach until finally gripping you to stay in place. You wanted him to handle you that way so badly but with the way he was ramming inside you, it was so much harder to voice your boiling yearning.

Still, attentive as he usually is, and perhaps a little too infatuated with the sight of you taking him so well, he was quick to notice your body language was gradually changing. Your motions, your squirming beneath him and the way you eyed his rough hands every time they’d move mere inches close to your stomach, it was all there. At first, he took it as nothing more than admiration, a gesture you always do every time he is on top and taking good care of you, however, this time felt different.

Maybe it was the prolonged eye contact you kept and the lustful whiff you gave off, but it didn’t matter anymore. He got the idea as soon as he lingered a pressured digit against the sensitive skin above his favorite area. No matter the case, if that was what you wanted, he would gladly provide, definitely not because he too found that idea as intriguing as you.

To encourage you, he began running his fingers down your chest, further lowering them to your stomach. He even gave you a playful wink followed by another thrust of his member.

Despite that, you still found difficulty in telling him and instead whimpered, hopeful he’d proceed with your wish but this was Wriothesley we are talking about. As much as it made him happy to spoil you, he wanted to hear that sweet beg come out of your pretty, fleshy lips.

The Duke’s lips’ corners curled into a mischievous smile, and upon pressing a forceful yet slow thrust inside you, he leaned closer to you. “Come on, tell me what you want.” He urged you nonchalantly whilst steadily rubbing himself against you despite his deeply buried member. “I want to hear you ask for it.” A faint groan slipped his honey-layered mouth and with it, prolonged eye contact followed.

He was making things so much difficult but at the same time, the lack of friction was making you go crazy, so much that you searched for it yourself. An obvious failure since he was doing nothing but chuckling in your face.

“I want you to grip my waist.” You finally uttered the words now that there was nothing to make you whine like a needy little mess. Your voice was barely above a whisper, and dear god the effect that had on him.

Hearing you ask for that in such a normal yet suave manner had his length pulse within your warm insides. It pushed you to gasp loudly given the slight vibration hit a good spot.

Wriothesley’s eyes widened with pure satisfaction, the tint of lust and adoration growing larger and larger in them. You couldn’t comprehend just how much that was driving him wild, but to your surprise, a simple request wouldn’t be enough. You couldn't just request he does something without stating what should be the consequence of that action.

“And do what?” His grace poked at you more and to add more tension, he rubbed himself against you one more time. It was unbelievable.

“Go wild.” You cried out, shuddering from all the euphoria he was denying you. You were so desperate that you grabbed his arms and dug your nails into his biceps, running your nails down to his forearms until there were red lines all over him.

That was all he needed from you. Oh, what a good girl you were, too good for him. With that, the Duke let out a groaned chuckle after which he lifted his body. You watched him gently placing his hands around your waist, and without any notice, felt his grip tightening around your sides.

“Good Girl.” is the praise that left his mouth before he started pumping in and out again, but with his hands effortlessly holding your body in place so you don’t move from all the force propelling you farther from him.

It was crazy, you could feel him hit it much differently than usual. It was as if his tip was hitting an inner wall that you had no idea about. A sensation so addictive that you began moaning louder and louder with each fierce thrust shoved inside your dripping cunt. But you weren't the only one enjoying this wild ride. The motions were equally addictive to him too, so much so that whenever he felt himself slap a little too hard against your slick folds, he wanted to go even harder.

He was so lost in the momentum that he didn’t know where to pay attention, your lower taking his throbbing length deeper than normal, your breasts jiggling upward and downward thanks to the pressure he was putting in, or you rolling back your eyes as you grabbed the mattress underneath you. So many sights for him to feed himself with, it was unfair. Oh, if he could see all of them simultaneously, he would be the luckiest guy in Fontaine, if not the entire world. But he had to decide on one.

Yet, once you arched your back and wailed in hunger for more, he let out a guttural groan run between his clenched fangs. From that moment on, his icy gaze stood fixed on you, on the emotions that were running through you.

His breath was shaky as his movements turned quicker and sloppier. His heart beat wildly as his arousal reached new heights. His member pounded harder the more your walls squeezed him. His grip tightened until his nails were dug deep inside your flesh, and upon feeling him clutch you way too intensely, you shouted in both pain and bliss. He couldn’t carry this any longer, and neither could you take it in anymore.

The Duke growled as he felt his fast-approaching climax reach its peak, and coincidentally enough, before he came undone, you convulsed underneath him.

Trembling in pure bliss, you bobbed your head back and called out for him whilst desperately grasping his hands in the final moments of your arrival. He wanted to keep fucking you during your orgasm but the sweet noises were too much for him to handle, thus causing him to fill you with his warm fluids.

“Fuck.” the moan slipped his lips as he too bobbed his head back right after feeling his seed flow deep inside. Soon enough, he looked back at you, flashing his favorite parts one final look before he could rest by your side.

Upon hearing him curse through his teeth, you chuckled to yourself and slumped to the bed, unable to move an inch or say anything more. Not that you needed to. After all, you did so well.

A soft smile grew on Wrio’s face as he noticed how you were slowly drifting away into a sleep.

[cyanocophrenic]

Obsession

I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.

I'm so boring.

I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.

I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.

No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.

I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.

You know... the movie?

You know the movie.

Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.

You can't blame me.

Well... you certainly can't, anyway.

If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?

Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.

I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.

In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.

Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.

It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.

That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.

I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.

A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.

It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.

"Oh-" she says.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"

And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!

"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.

She steps all the way into the room.

"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"

"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.

"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."

I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.

"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.

What.

"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.

"What?" I ask, reflexively.

She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.

"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."

I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.

"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."

The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.

I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.

The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.

I have to do something they won't see coming.

I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.

"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"

God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.

I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.

I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.

"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.

It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.

That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.

I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.

I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.

The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"

"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."

I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.

All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.

The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.

"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"

I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.

Instead, I break down.

"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."

"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.

"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"

"-but-"

"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"

"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.

We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.

Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.

I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.

Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.

Finally.

I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.

"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"