#I need to dissect and study their dynamic under a microscope

[creantzy]

Defying God - a parallel between Fyolai and Stavrovensky

The Demons brainrot is taking over, and you know what happens when I acquire a new interest: my brain WILL find a way to connect it to my other interests, whether I like it or not!! And this is essentially what it's about xD I've come here to present a parallel I found between Fyolai (Fyodor & Nikolai from BSD) and Stavrovensky (Verkhovensky & Stavrogin from "Demons" by Dostoevsky). Before I start I want to clarify a few things:

• I don't think these two pairings are similar, I just love picking up any crumbs of connections I can find between my interests, even if it'd count as reaching.

• This interpretation (in either character's case) is in no way "the only true way of looking at it". It's merely one interpretation out of many and I chose to focus on just a few aspects out of the many others there are to explore in these complex characters. 

• Feel free to add onto or disagree with anything I say! I'm interested in your thoughts :D

WARNING: There will be spoilers for Bungou Stray Dogs and Demons.

The reason Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor is because he feels affection for him. Emotions are a prison to him, and he basically seeks the opposite of what his emotions make him want to do. Thus, in the face of affection, which makes you want to be closer and wish the best for your friend, he does the opposite and decides to kill said friend, going directly against his feelings in an attempt to prove free will. But here I want to focus more on the "You want to defy God in order to lose sight of yourself" part, specifically the bit about God.

One part of my interpretation is that Nikolai associates God with control. If there is a God who controls all, how can there be a free will? He wants to go against Him and His creations (the human mind, morality, etc.) to prove that it's possible. But God is very abstract - the idea of God is influential but varies depending on cultures, etc. For this point, I'll use the example of the biblical God, or, more specifically, some attributes commonly assigned to the idea of God:

• omnipotence (all-powerful)

• omnipresence (all-present)

• omniscience (all-knowing)

What I am leading up to is the fact that these traits can, in one way or another, be applied to Fyodor. Fyodor's character represents everything Nikolai wants to defy. Nikolai hates control; he wants to fight the idea of God and prove the possibility of complete independence. Fyodor (though not in a "direct" way) could be seen as a symbol for God. He knows everything, he is always present (metaphorically and sometimes literally, the way he spawns sometimes I swear-), and he seems to control everything. Only few people actually see him, but he pulls the strings behind the scenes, and his power is felt everywhere. For Nikolai, to kill Fyodor is not just a protest against his feelings of affection, but can also be a symbolic act of defying "God", of killing "God", by killing Fyodor.

This is supposed to be very symbolic and not taken literally. I feel the need to repeat this because I personally dislike the notion of Fyodor as a literal God (and disagree with the idea of him having a God-complex), so this is merely about the God-like traits he possesses, like a "substitute" for the idea of God, and how it interacts with Nikolai's philosophy. (I've also exaggerated some points for the sake of simplification - for example, I don't actually believe Fyodor is in control of absolutely everything, etc.)

Moving onto Demons:

Pyotr Verkhovensky grew up religious and (assuming based on Stepan's description) with a fear of God.

Now he's an atheist and very anti-religious. He plans to overthrow society, and destroying religion + everything it preaches is part of that plan. But interestingly enough, he picks not himself as the official future "ruler", but someone else: Nikolai Stavrogin. He chooses Stavrogin to be the role of the leader in Verkhovensky's ideal society. But not exactly the "leader" in the traditional sense, because he wouldn't necessarily give Stavrogin all the power. He would simply use him as a "pawn" (for lack of a better word) while himself pulling the strings behind said society. With that, Verkhovensky puts someone else above himself, in a God-like position, but he wants to do it while still keeping full control over Stavrogin. By doing so, he would overcome his childhood fear of God because instead of being controlled by God, *he* will control God.

(Same case here, not the literal God, but the character who he assigns God-like traits to.)

I am undecided (with both Nikolai's and Verkhovensky's character) whether this could be read as a solely subconscious intention or if it would make sense as a conscious one as well. Given that both have a different "main" goal (Nikolai focuses on emotions and Verkhovensky on the revolution) I lean more towards thinking it's subconscious (if present at all - like I said, just interpretations!)

It doesn't help that Verkhovensky describes his vision of Stavrogin's leadership as "hidden": Everyone believes in him and his power, but only very few people are said to actually have laid their eyes upon him. When I first read this part, I was honestly reminded of Big Brother from Orwell's 1984, but eventually realised that similar things can be said about God as well.

While these are parallels, they don't come without differences. Nikolai needs Fyodor dead, Verkhovensky needs Stavrogin alive. Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor for a sense of freedom, Verkhovensky wants to keep Stavrogin for a sense of control. Yet both symbolic goals are bound to fail:

Fyodor turns out to be unkillable, and Stavrogin ends up dead.

At the end, "God" stays untouchable.

[theonottsbxtch]

ANXIETY FINAL PART | CL16

an: and this series comes to wrap! thank you to all of those who were interested in following it - i hope this end does it justice, thank you for supporting my writing. much love <3 i may have some drabbles in mind lemme know what you guys think

wc: 8.6k

warnings: smut, mdni 18+ hehe written by the beloved @iimplicitt

part one | part two | part three |

SHE WAS DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

This was her form of revenge, it had to be.

Charles sat in his usual chair in the library, the book in his hands long forgotten. He hadn't turned a page in at least twenty minutes. His jaw was tight, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper, but his mind wasn’t with the words. It was on her.

It had only been a day since that conversation—since she'd looked at him with those eyes, seeing through him, picking him apart, laying him bare without even trying.

And now?

Now she was everywhere.

Floating in and out of the room, trailing her fingers along the spines of books, standing too close behind him when she reached for something on a higher shelf. She let her touch linger when she passed by, featherlight, barely there. But he felt it like a brand.

She was testing him.

He wasn't stupid.

He knew she had read those books in his library, knew she had picked apart his weaknesses, dissected his mind the way a scientist would a specimen under a microscope. And now—now she was toying with it.

Because she had realised.

She had realised that he was the one teetering on the edge now. That the dynamic had shifted. That she held all the control.

It terrified him.

And worse?

It thrilled him.

He had spent weeks keeping her in place, watching her movements, calculating her reactions, ensuring she never tipped too far one way or another. But now.

Now she was the one watching him.

Now he was the one bracing himself every time she stepped near, unsure if she would touch him, unsure if he wanted her to or if he’d crumble beneath it.

And she knew.

He could see it in the way her lips curved ever so slightly whenever he tensed. The way her fingers skimmed his sleeve just long enough to make him ache with the need to either pull her closer or bolt from the room entirely.

She was relentless.

And he was losing.

The book snapped shut in his hands, the noise breaking the quiet hush of the library.

She turned from where she stood by the window, blinking at him.

He forced his voice to remain steady. "Do you need something?"

She tilted her head, studying him like she was debating how far to push.

"No," she said eventually, "I was just thinking."

"About?"

Her gaze flickered over him, slow and deliberate.

"You."

His throat went dry.

He stood abruptly, turning away before she could see the effect she was having on him. "I need to—" He didn’t even bother finishing the sentence before striding from the room.

Her quiet laughter followed him down the hall.

It was taunting.

Charles barely made it to his room before closing the door behind him.

His breathing was uneven, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair.

She was doing this to him. On purpose.

He knew it.

The worst part? He couldn't even blame her. He had stolen her life, caged her like some helpless bird, played mind games with her for weeks. And now?

Now, she was winning.

Because she knew.

She had figured him out, unravelled his layers with every book she had read. She knew about his disorder, knew how his mind worked, knew that deep down, beneath the cold, calculated exterior he had worn for so long—

He was desperate.

He needed.

And she was testing just how far that need ran.

Charles sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his knees, trying to breathe. He had spent years trying to suppress it, trying to push down the unbearable, gut-wrenching fear of being left, of being unwanted, of being a burden.

But she saw it now.

She saw him.

And she wasn’t running.

She wasn’t screaming or fighting or trying to claw her way back to the life she had before.

She was staying.

And worse than that—

She was pulling him in.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

He felt her everywhere.

In the walls, in the shadows, in the air thickening around him like a noose.

He clawed at his own skin, nails biting into the flesh of his arms as if he could peel her out of him—out of his head, his thoughts, his bones.

His breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling too fast, too sharp, like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how hard he tried.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

The thought was a drumbeat in his skull, relentless, suffocating.

She had seen him. Seen every pathetic, twisted, needy part of him. And she wasn’t running, she wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t even fighting anymore.

She was just watching.

Toying with him like he had once toyed with her.

And he deserved it.

He deserved all of it.

A sob tore its way out of him, raw and broken, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could force the shame back inside. His chest ached with the weight of it, the suffocating, unbearable weight of himself.

He was evil.

He had taken her.

He had played with her mind, broken her down, twisted her into something else just to make her stay.

And now—

Now, she was the one in control.

His fingers fisted in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting.

You’re disgusting.

You’re a monster.

You don’t deserve—

A quiet knock at the door.

His whole body stiffened, breath shuddering to a halt.

She was there.

Right outside.

And she had heard him.

The knock at the door came again, softer this time.

“Charles?”

Her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to breathe, but it only made it worse. His chest locked up, his throat tightening like a fist was closing around it.

No, no, no—she couldn’t see him like this. Not her.

He pressed himself back against the headboard, his body curled in on itself, hands still tangled in his hair, his skin burning where his nails had dug too deep.

The door creaked open.

He wanted to tell her to go away. Wanted to force out something—a warning, a snarl, leave me alone. But all that came was a wrecked, gasping sound as he struggled against the panic clawing its way through him.

She hesitated in the doorway, then stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.

He couldn’t look at her. He could feel her gaze, though—steady, unreadable.

He turned his face into his knees, but it was too late. She had already seen.

The way his shoulders trembled. The way his whole body was curling in like he was trying to disappear.

Like he had nowhere to run.

And then—

A soft rustle of fabric. A shift of weight on the bed.

She sat down beside him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

His breaths were short and fast, hitching in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs like a caged animal.

Then—

“Breathe,” she said quietly.

He let out a sharp, broken laugh, but it only made his chest tighten more.

“Breathe?” he choked. “You—” Another gasping breath. “You’re telling me to—?”

But he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He felt her move before he saw it—slow, deliberate. A hand, warm and steady, holding his.

He flinched.

She didn’t pull away.

Just kept her hand there, a grounding touch, not demanding, not forcing—just offering.

His mind was spinning.

His body wasn’t used to this—her being the calm one. Her being the steady one.

“Breathe in,” she said again, quieter this time. “Hold for four.”

Her voice was gentle, measured. The same way he had spoken to her that time in the office—when she had been the one gasping for air, when she had been the one drowning in panic.

His chest was tight, painful.

But he listened.

He dragged in a breath—ragged, unsteady—held it.

“Now out,” she murmured.

He let it go, but it shuddered on the way out.

“Again.”

He obeyed.

In. Hold. Out.

Again.

Again.

His head was still spinning, but—slowly, slowly—the crushing weight on his chest loosened.

The air started to return.

The trembling in his hands softened.

He swallowed hard, then finally, finally let his head tip back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut. His pulse was still too fast, his breathing still uneven—but he wasn’t drowning anymore.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, he forced himself to look at her.

She was watching him, her expression unreadable.

The strangest, sickest part was—he had never felt more exposed in his life.

Not even when she had been his prisoner. Not even when he had forced her into submission, played with her mind, made her his.

This—this—was so much worse.

Because she had seen him.

The real him.

The weak, pathetic, broken him.

And she hadn’t run.

She hadn’t screamed.

She had stayed.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged. His breathing had steadied now, though his hands still trembled faintly at his sides. He felt drained—like something had been ripped out of him, leaving him raw and aching.

And then, out of nowhere—

"Why me?"

His stomach twisted.

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to look at her. Not while she pulled her hands away.

Her voice had been quiet, but there was an edge to it—something sharp, something demanding.

He exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple.

"I don't—" His throat tightened. "Don't do this."

"I need to know."

His jaw clenched. He forced himself to his feet, suddenly desperate to put distance between them.

But she followed.

"Charles," she said, and there was something different in her voice now—something that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Understanding.

He looked down, facing his sheets, but it didn't matter. He could feel her gaze burning into him.

"You planned this," she said, and it wasn’t a question.

He swallowed hard. "I took advantage."

She stilled.

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely above a whisper. "Explain."

He let out a low, bitter laugh. Explain? How could he possibly—

But he owed her this much.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. His voice was hollow when he finally answered.

"I saw your meds." His throat was dry. "I saw your emails with your therapist."

A sharp inhale from behind him.

"I knew you were vulnerable," he went on, hating himself with every word. "I knew how to break you."

A pause. Then, she whispered, "You chose me because you knew I’d crumble."

His eyes squeezed shut.

He wanted to tell her no, that she was wrong, that it had never been about that.

But wasn’t that exactly what he had done?

Used her struggles against her. Bent her mind to need him.

And now—

Now she was sitting in front of him, not running, not screaming—just sitting there.

And somehow, that was worse than if she had put a knife through his heart.

The air between them felt razor-sharp, stretched too thin, like it might snap at any moment. Charles kept his gaze down, his eyes focused on the sheets, but he wasn’t seeing them. He could hear her breathing, steady but too quiet, as if she were holding something back.

She should be screaming at him. She should be trying to run.

Instead, she just sat there.

"You knew how to break me," she repeated, softer this time.

His fingers twitched at his sides. "Yes."

"And yet... here we are."

That made him turn. He expected anger, disgust—anything but the look she was giving him. It wasn’t quite pity, but it wasn’t hatred either. It was something else. Something he couldn’t decipher.

His pulse pounded in his ears. "I never wanted you to know."

"But I do."

His breath hitched.

Her eyes scanned his face like she was trying to see inside of him, and he hated how bare he felt beneath her gaze.

"I thought I was going insane," she murmured. "The dreams, the way I started needing you, the way I made excuses for you even when I knew I shouldn’t. You made me this way."

His stomach twisted painfully. "I know."

She inched closer. "And yet you were the one falling apart tonight."

He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. "I—"

"You pulled at your hair," she interrupted. "Just like I did, that time in the office."

Charles swallowed hard.

She kept going, her voice quiet but relentless. "You couldn’t breathe. You thought you were being watched. You felt like you were losing yourself."

His jaw clenched.

"That’s what you did to me."

Her words landed like a punch to the ribs. He shut his eyes for a second, as if that might shield him from the weight of them.

But then, before he could say anything, she did something he didn’t expect.

She touched him.

A light press of fingers against his wrist. Not forceful. Not demanding.

Just there.

His entire body went rigid.

Her voice, when it came again, was barely above a whisper. "You knew exactly how to break me, Charles. Because you are just as broken."

His breath hitched.

And she wasn’t wrong.

Charles felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something vast, something dangerous. Her touch on his wrist was barely there, but it burned like a brand. He should move away. He should make her move away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let himself look at her, really look at her. The defiance was still there, flickering beneath the surface, but something else had taken root alongside it. A dangerous, quiet understanding.

"You think you’ve figured me out," he murmured. His voice sounded rough, unsteady.

Her fingers twitched against his skin. "Haven’t I?"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don’t know."

It was the truth. He didn’t know anything anymore.

She studied him, her gaze tracing the shadows beneath his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. And then, in a voice so soft it was almost cruel, she asked, "What happens now?"

Charles stiffened.

She wasn’t asking him to let her go. She wasn’t demanding freedom.

She was asking what happens next—as if she already knew there was no escape.

He should tell her that nothing happens. That she should still hate him. That whatever shift had begun between them was wrong, twisted, sick.

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "I don’t know."

Her head tilted slightly, as though she’d expected that answer.

Then, before he could stop her, she did something that made his stomach flip.

She turned his wrist over, palm up, and pressed her thumb lightly against his pulse.

Charles shuddered.

His heart was pounding.

"You’re scared," she murmured.

He flinched. "I’m not—"

She squeezed his wrist, just enough to make him stop talking. "You are."

She was right. Of course she was right.

Because for all the control he had taken—stolen—from her, for all the ways he had manipulated her, somehow, against all logic and reason, she was slipping through his fingers.

And he was letting her.

No, worse.

He wanted her to.

The silence between them stretched, thick and unsteady, like a fragile thread pulled too tight. She hadn’t let go of his wrist. She hadn’t moved away.

Charles could feel the warmth of her fingers against his skin, the steady press of her thumb against his pulse. It was unbearable. It was intoxicating.

She was still watching him, waiting—though for what, he wasn’t sure.

"You're doing it again," she said quietly.

His brow furrowed. "Doing what?"

"Pulling away."

Charles inhaled sharply, only just realising that he was—not physically, not yet, but in the way he tensed, in the way his breath had caught, like he was bracing himself for something inevitable.

She didn’t let him.

Instead, she shifted, closing the space between them, her legs tucked beneath her as she faced him fully. Her presence was overwhelming, a quiet force pressing against every carefully built wall he had left.

"You’re not supposed to be this close," he murmured, though he didn’t move.

"Neither are you," she countered.

His mouth went dry.

Charles had always been the one in control. From the very beginning, he had dictated how close she was allowed to get, how much she was allowed to see. But now—now—the balance was shifting, tilting wildly in a way that made his chest ache.

She was letting him see her.

Worse still, she was choosing to see him.

Her touch trailed from his wrist to his forearm, fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve. It sent a shiver up his spine.

She noticed.

Charles swallowed hard, his breath coming a little faster now, a little less steady. "You should stop."

Her lips parted slightly. "Do you want me to?"

No.

God, no.

But he didn’t say it. He couldn’t say it.

Her touch moved again, fingertips ghosting over the back of his hand before curling lightly around his fingers.

He closed his eyes for half a second, and when he opened them, she was even closer.

"Tell me to stop, Charles."

His pulse thundered.

He couldn’t.

His free hand lifted of its own accord, trembling slightly as his fingers brushed against the curve of her jaw.

She exhaled, her breath warm against his skin.

It was maddening. It was inevitable.

She leaned in first.

And then he closed the distance.

The second their lips met, it was like something broke. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks—months—finally cracked open, spilling over in a way neither of them could control.

Charles barely had time to process the heat of it, the way her mouth moved against his, before panic clawed at his chest.

He tore himself away, breath ragged, heart hammering.

"This is—" His voice was hoarse, like he had been drowning in her and had only just come up for air. "This is wrong."

She didn’t even hesitate.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping tight, and before he could talk himself out of it, she pulled him back in.

The second kiss was nothing like the first.

It was desperate, heated, intentional.

She felt him stiffen for a split second before he gave in with a low, shuddering whimper, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, fingers slipping into her hair as though he had wanted to do it for far too long.

She kissed him harder.

A noise escaped him—something between a gasp and a groan—and then suddenly, he was the one pulling her closer, pressing her down against the bed until she was beneath him.

He was shaking.

She could feel it in the way his hands hovered, in the way his breath hitched when she parted her lips against his.

Charles had spent so long controlling everything—controlling her—and yet here he was, completely at her mercy.

And she knew it.

Her fingers skimmed the nape of his neck, feeling the slight tremor there, the way he whimpered at the contact.

He broke away for a second, forehead pressing against hers as he tried to steady himself.

"You're not afraid," he murmured, half-disbelieving, half-dazed.

She could feel his breath on her lips, still uneven, still wrecked.

"Should I be?"

His grip on her tightened.

"Yes."

But he didn’t move away.

She wasn’t sure she had ever seen such unadulterated longing before. It was an odd thing to try and come to terms with. 

“I want you in a way I’m not sure either of us can handle,” his voice was rough and gravelly. A rasp dancing up from the back of his throat.

When his grip tightened on her, perhaps to ground himself, the sound that left her made them both freeze.

Only a moment. A tick of the clock.

Charles was all over her.

His hands slid from her face, down and down, dancing over her throat as his mouth collided with hers harshly. Two stars crashing into one another and lighting up the night sky in diamonds. 

Charles twisted them around, guiding her as if they were in a pas de deux. Her mind was spinning and rationality was cut right off her shoulders. All she felt was him. All she could think about was him. How he was touching her. How wonderful it felt. 

Stumbling through space, she wasn’t scared as she fell because she knew Charles had her. The way his rough hands held her as he laid her down on the sheets beneath them, making sure she knew she wasn’t going to get hurt. 

Her breath was coming out hot and heavy, erratic as her fingers dug into his hair and pulled slightly. Delighting in the way he moaned into her mouth,

tongue sliding against hers. Exploring and greedy. 

Charles climbed over her, slowly, giving her time so she didn’t think she was being trapped. She felt the mattress dipping with each adjustment and it made her heart stumble over itself. Not in fear. But in anticipation. Closer and closer.

She could still tell between the kisses and needy hands. He was still hesitating. Terrified he’d frighten her. Scared she’ll change her mind and leave. 

“Charles,” she spoke his name softly, her own hands trailing down from his unruly brown hair to his face. Taking in how truly stunning he was and the technicolor that were his eyes. 

She brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones, watching him as he watched her. His shoulders slightly coiled in tension. 

For the first time in what felt like ages she smiled, “I want all of you. Every piece.” She could physically see the relief pulse through his veins at her words. His eyes glowing as he pressed his forehead against hers, her heart beat thrumming in her ears as she felt the weight of his hips settle against hers.

The hardness of him. How warm he was. The comfort of his body so close to hers.

“Give me everything,” she whispered. 

He kissed her again, a little bit harder. His fingers pressed a little bit further into her neck. Inching but not quite. Being treated so delicately while knowing he was trying to hold back was driving her crazy. She wanted to know. Needed to know. What he was like.

Sudden determination slammed into her, making her lose her breath for a moment before it caught up again. 

Her hand danced up into his hair again, and then she yanked. Hard. 

A wince left him but something else lingered. Darker. More sinful. 

“Charles,” she practically bit out the plea. “Everything. Please.”

His eyes flicked between hers, his pupils blown wide with desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, mon ange.”

“You won’t.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

So neither did he. 

She cried out into his mouth as he ground his hips into her. One hand tight on her throat and she immediately felt dazed. His other hand snaked down to her knee,

hiking it up around his waist so he could grind into her harder. A better angle. His cock running directly over where she needed it most and the sounds that we’re leaving her didn’t seem real. 

Her head was spinning. Her mouth falling open on its own accord as he explored every inch of her mouth with tongue. His hand still squeezing. Applying the perfect amount of pressure to cut off blood flow but not

air. 

Charles’ mouth found her jaw, danced down her throat, teeth grazing against her skin. Wanting to take in all of her. Terrified this was some dream he might wake up from. His breathing was unsteady, frenzied. Hungry. 

Her own breathing came out in stuttered gasps, her hands everywhere. All over him. Dancing over his back, shoulders, his face. His wild hair. Her fingers tugged at his roots as he sucked on a space just below her jaw, getting carried away. A clear bruise being left by his mouth. 

It was clear she wanted him to be rough with her. The trust she was handing him made his heart stutter. 

He could. Be rough. It’s what he was good at. What he was familiar with. But with her… his heart was aching. Feeling as though it was lodged in his throat as he explored her sweet skin with his mouth. He wanted this to last. 

Charles’ fingers danced under her shirt, feeling her gasp and responding to his touch. Arching as he slowly pushed the fabric up and out of the way. His tongue slowly ran a line up from her navel to her throat. She tasted heavenly. Sweet. 

He was unraveling. Her soul pulling at the threads of his own, yanking and yanking. 

He wanted to kiss more of her but her stupid fucking clothes were in the way and before his brain could catch up with what he was doing he had torn her skirt off, ripping her underwear in the process and the threads of cotton were frayed in his hands.

His eyes met hers, wild and glittering. 

Her chest was heaving. “Please.”

Charles leaned down, tossing the torn fabric aside and brought her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. Eyes glowing. A dragon unfurling at the sight of gold. 

“Beg me to.”

She inhaled sharply, her pupils blown wide and lips swollen. 

It was twisted. Fucked up. A horrible, awful thing to ask her. 

She did it anyway, words tumbling out and greedy hands reaching, nails digging into his skin and he practically shattered in her palms. Her fingers hooked into the belt loop of his trousers, yanking him closer. Desperate. 

When he freed himself, he took in her face as she stared down at him. Her hair falling over her shoulders, eyes glazed, swallowing. Looking like an angel. 

He took hold of her chin, making her look at him as positioned himself before sinking into her, shuddering and a moan left him as his forehead fell against hers. Always watching, taking in how her lips fell apart, her brows furrowed, the sharp intake of breath as he bottomed out. 

She was warm. Tight. Hot velvet and he felt like he was slipping under an opium induced haze as he slowly pulled back out. Finally he looked down at where he was connected to her, gripping her chin to tilt her head. He needed her to see. 

“Look at you.” Charles sank his cock back into her. “You take me so well.” 

“Charles,” his name left her lungs in a trembling breath, her nails raking down his back. Leaving red streaks he wanted imprinted into his flesh for forever. 

He leaned back, taking hold of her hips in a bruising grip. He wanted her to feel everything. Every touch. Wanted her to remember everywhere he had touched her. The thought of marking her up would’ve terrified him, but when he looked at her and she nodded, he snapped. 

His fingers dug into the flesh and bone of her hips, his own nails digging crescents into her skin as he pulled out and thrust back in. Setting a brutal pace. Each roll of his hips was barely tempered, dancing on the edge of violence. 

She clenched down hard around him, throwing her head back into the sheets and crying out. His name dancing out into the heated air. 

The lewd sound of skin hitting and how wet she was, was echoing around the room. Sounding like the bells of heaven in his ears. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He pressed one hand down just below her navel to feel his cock as he fucked her, his other hand rubbing circles into her clit and the combined sensations made her hips buck into him. 

“Oh my god—“

He laughed lightly, drowning in her. “Not quite.” He pressed down a bit harder, feeling the way his cock dragged in and out of her. “But you can pray to me, if you’d like.”

frewffgghjfdx

Her own laugh left her, but it was cut off by a choking cry of pleasure. “I’m going to—“ her hips rose to meet his. 

Charles snapped into her harder, leaning down on his elbows to drive his hips forward, rolling, dizzying. Pressing his forehead into hers as he caught her mouth in a kiss, breathing in her moan with his own as he felt her come undone beneath him. Stars danced behind her eyes as she came. 

Her cunt squeezed him and he shut his eyes, shuddering. “Fuck me,” he lowered his head and bit into her neck, his pace now sloppy and erratic. Messy. Sweat coating their bodies. 

Her nails dragged against his scalp, trembling beneath him. Her voice shaky, delicate. “I’ve got you, my love.”

He came with a cry of his own, teeth sinking even further into her throat and her wince turned into a near mewl as he rode through his high. His stomach clenching as he buried himself as deep as he could. 

Their panting breaths danced in the air and he felt light headed as he lifted himself with his arms, his eyes taking in the marks he left, scattered constellations of bruises and broken blood vessels. 

His eyes danced down, down, hissing as he slowly pulled out and watched as his cum spilled out of her. 

Charles’ body acted on its own accord, his conscious on the back burner as his fingers danced down her stomach, grazing over her clit and gathering what had spilled out, fucking it back into her pussy with two fingers. 

“Charles,” her moan was guttural. 

He seemed to snap out of it, rationality catching back up to him and he only just realised what he was doing. He flinched back, trepidation crawling up his spine. Too much, too much—

“Don’t you dare,” her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand back to her scorching skin. 

God, how he had gotten so lucky? 

Charles let his body guide itself again, his fingers trailing up. 

“Open.”

Her lips parted, her eyes glazed over as she did as told. 

His breath hitched as his fingers slid into her mouth, dragging against her warm tongue and he felt like he could come again as she sucked on his fingers. 

He dragged the digits back out, the pads hooking on her teeth to pull her towards him and he kissed her. Tasting a mixture of them both and he groaned.

His hand slipped around her neck, hands twining in the hair at the nape of her neck. His other arm snaked under her waist, flipping them around so she straddled him and his hands fell to her hips, gently tracing the bruises that were starting to develop and the crescents of his nails he had left. Marks of greed. 

Charles looked up at her, stars in his eyes. 

And they started again. 

Charles lay awake.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of her breathing beside him. The sheets were tangled around their bodies, clinging to sweat-dampened skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—fractured, spiraling, unable to settle.

She had undone him.

Not just physically—though the memory of her hands, her mouth, the way she had taken control still burned through his nerves like a brand—but something deeper than that. Something irreversible.

His fingers twitched against the sheets.

She was asleep, or at least pretending to be. He didn’t dare turn to look. If he saw her eyes, saw the quiet calculation in them, he didn’t know what he would do.

Because she had him now. Completely.

Charles swallowed against the tightness in his throat. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the one who had taken her, manipulated her, crafted every careful thread of her dependency. He was the one who had made her need him.

So how had it come to this?

Why was he the one who felt like he was unravelling?

She shifted beside him, just slightly, and his pulse spiked. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but he felt it like a ripple in his bloodstream.

For a terrifying moment, he thought about reaching for her. Pulling her closer. Burying his face in her hair and breathing her in until his mind stopped racing.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew—he knew—if he touched her now, it wouldn’t be him holding her in place.

It would be her letting him.

And that was worse. So much worse.

Charles exhaled shakily and closed his eyes. But even in the darkness, he felt her presence pressing in on him, inescapable.

She wasn’t running.

She wasn’t screaming.

She was staying.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure whether that was his victory—

Or his downfall.

He lay rigid, staring at the ceiling, his mind an endless loop of static.

The room was too quiet. Too still.

He could hear the faintest sounds—the whisper of her breath, the rustle of fabric when she shifted in her sleep—but it wasn’t enough to anchor him. It only made the thoughts spiral faster.

His body ached, not from exertion but from something deeper, something he refused to name.

He had given in.

He had let her pull him under, let her take control, let her do to him what he had once done to her.

And he had wanted it.

That was the part that unsettled him the most.

He had wanted it.

Needed it.

Somewhere between her lips on his skin and her voice in his ear, he had stopped being the one holding her in place. And now, lying here in the aftermath, he felt something curdling inside him, something dangerously close to desperation.

Because she could leave.

She had always been able to leave, he knew that now. The locks, the walls, the carefully constructed prison—it had never been those things keeping her here. It had been him.

And if she ever decided she no longer wanted to stay, he would have nothing left to hold her.

A slow exhale.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to steady, but then—

A shift.

A quiet inhale.

And then the subtle change in her breathing that told him she was awake.

He felt it before she moved, before she even opened her eyes. The weight of her awareness pressing against the space between them.

He didn’t turn to look at her.

Didn’t dare.

But then—softly, tentatively—

"Are you awake?"

Her voice. Groggy with sleep but clear enough to cut through the silence like a blade.

His fingers twitched.

"Yes."

A pause.

He could feel her looking at him. Studying him in that unnerving way of hers, peeling him open with nothing but silence.

"Charles."

The sound of his name sent something sharp through his chest. He exhaled carefully, measuring his voice before he spoke.

"What?"

Another pause.

And then, quieter—

"What now?"

The words settled heavily between them.

He swallowed. What now? As if he had an answer.

For months, he had dictated the course of things. Had controlled every moment, every breath between them. But now, in the aftermath, it wasn’t his decision to make.

He didn’t know what was worse—the uncertainty or the fact that he was waiting for her to decide.

After a moment, he finally turned to face her.

She was watching him, eyes unreadable, her hair a tangle against the pillow. She looked different. Not softer—no, she had never been soft—but something had shifted.

She looked like she knew.

Like she had all along.

His throat tightened.

"What do you want it to be?" he asked, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.

Her gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. She was silent for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer.

But then—

"I don’t know," she admitted.

Something in his chest twisted.

Neither of them knew.

For the first time, they were on even ground.

And that terrified him.

The silence between them stretched, taut and expectant.

Charles felt the weight of it pressing down on his ribs, making it harder to breathe. He had spent so long crafting their dynamic, pulling her strings, manipulating every interaction to keep her where he wanted her. But now…

Now she was the one leading.

"You never answered me," she said at last.

His brows pulled together. "About what?"

She studied him, head tilting slightly against the pillow.

"What now."

Charles exhaled through his nose, glancing towards the ceiling as if it might have the answer.

"I don't know," he admitted. The words felt foreign. He wasn’t used to not knowing.

"Liar," she murmured.

His jaw tensed.

Of course he knew. Of course he had spent the past hour running through every possibility, every outcome, every way this could all fall apart. He had been raised to plan ahead, to anticipate, to always have control.

And yet, here he was, utterly at her mercy.

He turned his head slightly, looking at her properly now. Her gaze was steady, unnervingly perceptive.

"Tell me about them," she said suddenly.

His stomach twisted.

"Who?" he asked, though he knew exactly who she meant.

"Your family."

Charles stilled. His fingers curled slightly against the sheets.

"Why?"

She shrugged, but there was intent behind it. "I just… want to know."

His throat felt tight. He had spent so long keeping her separate from that world, keeping everything controlled. His family was expectation, obligation, duty. She was chaos, unpredictability, something that he had slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed life.

He shouldn’t let the two overlap.

And yet—

"They expect things from me," he found himself saying.

Her brows lifted slightly. "Like?"

He swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "Like a wife. An heir. A life that fits into the perfect little box they’ve built for me."

She blinked. "And do you want that?"

He hesitated. Then— "I want the inheritance."

A humourless huff of laughter left her. "Honest, at least."

Charles shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to talking about this, not in any real way. Not with someone who actually wanted to listen.

"My father left conditions in place," he went on, voice tight. "If I want my inheritance, I have to be married before I turn thirty."

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture did. A slight shift. A subtle awareness.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty-eight."

Another pause. She sat with that for a moment, then—

"So you're running out of time."

He didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

Another silence settled between them, thicker than before. But then—she moved.

She sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist, bare skin catching in the dim light.

Charles stilled.

He looked—just for a second—before guilt curled through his chest like something rotten.

He shouldn’t. He had already taken too much from her.

His gaze dropped away, jaw tightening.

But then—fingertips, warm and soft, trailing over his cheek.

He flinched, just slightly, but didn’t pull away.

Her thumb brushed over the sharp edge of his cheekbone, slow and deliberate, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. Measured.

"Why don’t we then?"

His breath caught.

His eyes snapped to hers, searching, desperate, trying to figure out if she was toying with him again, if this was just another way to tip the scales back in her favour.

But her gaze was steady.

Unwavering.

His pulse hammered in his throat.

He had wanted control over her. Had wanted to make her his.

But now, looking at her, watching the way her lips curved just slightly, the way she ran her thumb over his skin like she was memorising him—

He realised she had already won.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop her.

Charles swallowed, his throat tight, his mind caught between a dozen conflicting instincts.

Her words hung between them, weighty and deliberate. Why don’t we then?

He should have laughed. Scoffed. Told her she was insane.

Instead, all he could feel was the unbearable pressure of his own pulse.

His fingers curled into the sheets.

"I’m scared," he admitted.

It was barely a whisper, but it felt like a confession, like something ripped from the darkest part of him.

Her gaze didn’t waver. She was still close, still watching him like she could see straight through his skin.

"Why?" she asked, voice soft.

Charles forced out a breath. His thoughts tangled, chaotic, but she was waiting. Expecting.

"Because," he said, voice strained, "you already have too much of me."

A flicker of something passed through her expression. Not triumph, not cruelty—just something knowing.

She didn’t move her hand from his cheek. Instead, her thumb traced over the skin again, slow and deliberate.

"You know how I work better than I do," she murmured. "I know how you do. It’s perfect almost, no?"

His chest tightened.

Perfect.

The word lodged itself inside him, curling in the spaces between his ribs.

She wasn’t wrong.

He had built this. Had shaped her mind to fit against his own, had twisted and moulded her fears until she couldn’t breathe without thinking of him.

And now—

Now she had done the same.

Not by force, not by manipulation.

By knowing him.

By understanding him in a way no one else ever had.

His stomach twisted painfully.

It should have terrified him.

Maybe it still did.

But as he looked at her, bare and unflinching before him, something else stirred beneath the fear.

Something far, far worse.

He wanted it.

He wanted her.

And perhaps, in some strange, awful way—

She wanted him too.

What Charles hadn’t expected was for things to go the way they did.

For the shift to be so seamless.

For her to stay.

And yet, here they were.

She slept in his room now. Not because he made her, not because of some unspoken rule, but simply because she did. Because she climbed into his bed at the end of the day, settled against the pillows like she had always belonged there.

She moved around the house with familiarity, no longer stepping carefully, no longer treating it like a place she was trapped in. It unnerved him.

Because it wasn’t control keeping her here anymore.

It was something else.

Something he didn’t know how to name.

He still caught himself slipping. The disorder was a living, breathing thing, curled in the depths of his chest, waiting for a reason to claw its way out.

Every time she left the room for too long, every time she didn’t respond to something he said, the thoughts would creep in—She’s leaving. She’s changing her mind. She’s going to realise what you are and run.

But then—her hand on his arm, her voice pulling him back.

"I’m here, Charles."

"I’m not going anywhere."

"Breathe."

It was unnatural, this thing between them.

It shouldn’t have worked.

And yet, it did.

Somehow, it did.

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen now, watching as she stirred sugar into her tea. She was still in her nightdress, her hair loose, her bare feet silent against the tiled floor. She looked soft in the morning light, nothing like the girl he had taken all those months ago.

She caught him watching.

Her lips twitched slightly. "What?"

Charles shook his head, exhaling. "Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was this.

The domesticity of it. The ease. The way his world had been rearranged without him even noticing.

And the strangest part?

He wasn’t sure he minded.

He had never thought this would be his life.

Not because he hadn’t wanted something like it—not because he hadn’t craved the warmth of another body in his bed, the certainty of knowing someone was there—but because he had always known he was broken.

He had known it since childhood, since he first realised that his love felt different from other people’s, that his need for closeness was something raw, something desperate, something people recoiled from when they saw it too clearly.

He had never imagined there would be someone who stayed even after seeing the worst of him.

Yet she had.

She had stayed through every manipulation, every cruel game, every attempt he had made to own her, to keep her.

And now, somehow, impossibly—she wanted to stay.

This time he watched her across the room, curled in the corner of the sofa with a book in her lap, one leg tucked beneath the other. She looked so at ease, as if this had always been her place.

It still startled him sometimes, how quickly things had shifted.

How easily she had taken control of him.

And when his parents next came unannounced, he wasn’t forcing her to play a role.

He thought of the time he had put a knife to her throat and forced her to be his fiancée. The way he had held her so tightly, whispering threats in her ear, making sure she played along.

And now?

Now she did it willingly.

He hadn’t even had to ask.

She had smoothed down her dress, glanced at him once, and slipped into the part as though she had always belonged in it.

His mother kissed her cheek. His father nodded in approval. The conversation flowed.

Charles sat beside her, his fingers twitching slightly against his knee, his mind caught between past and present.

He had made her into this.

But she had remade him in return.

It was late. The kind of late where the house felt like it existed in its own pocket of time, separate from the rest of the world.

The fire had burned low, the glow casting flickering shadows along the walls. She was sitting at the foot of the bed, her legs crossed beneath her, watching him.

"When was the last time you left the house?"

Charles blinked. The question was so unexpected, so out of place in the quiet, that it took him a moment to process it.

His fingers flexed against his knee. "I went into the garden last week."

She gave him a flat look. "Out, Charles."

His jaw clenched slightly. "Since the day at the office."

Her expression didn’t change, but he saw the flicker of understanding behind her eyes.

"Because of me."

It wasn’t a question.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because I was scared that if I left, you’d be gone when I came back."

Silence settled between them. Not heavy, not uncomfortable. Just there.

Then, after a moment, she tilted her head. "We should go out."

Charles tensed. "Out?"

"To celebrate our engagement."

His stomach twisted.

It’s a trick.

That was his first thought. His immediate, panicked, irrational thought. That she would get him out of the house, that she would leave—slip away, disappear into a crowd, and he’d come back to an empty home, to silence, to nothing.

She must have seen it on his face, because she sighed, lifting her left hand, holding it up between them.

Her ring finger was bare.

"I won’t leave," she murmured. "And anyway—" she glanced towards the door, then back at him—"the front door has been unlocked for far too long. I would have done it earlier."

His breath hitched.

She wasn’t lying. He knew she wasn’t lying.

She had seen the worst of him, and she was still here.

And now, she was asking him to trust her.

He swallowed hard.

Maybe it was time to see what happened when he did.

Charles stood, dousing the last of the fire with the poker, watching as the embers faded into darkness. The warmth in the room dulled, but the air between them remained thick with something unspoken.

She was waiting for him. Already beneath the sheets, watching as he moved through the motions of closing the house for the night. It was strange, how natural this had become. How effortless.

He slid into bed beside her, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Then, as he did every night, his fingers reached for her hand.

And, as she did every night, she placed it on his chest.

The tension in him melted—just enough. Just enough to let sleep take him.

Morning came gently. Light filtered through the curtains, spilling golden across the room. Charles stirred, feeling the absence of warmth beside him before he heard the soft shuffle of movement.

He blinked up at her.

She was standing near the dresser, pulling her hair away from her face, already dressed.

In the clothes he had bought her.

A simple dress. Modest. Nice. Something unassuming, something she had never objected to, never even commented on.

And yet, seeing her in it now, he felt something shift inside him.

Because she had chosen to wear it.

Not because she had to.

Because she wanted to.

His throat felt tight as he sat up, watching her.

"You’re staring," she murmured.

"It suits you."

She glanced at him in the mirror, eyes unreadable. Then, after a pause—"Good."

Charles watched her move around the room, the quiet rustling of fabric filling the space as she finishing taming her hair. She didn’t need to ask for help, didn’t need his input. She simply got ready, as though it was something so ordinary, so simple. Yet for him, it was another reminder of how much had changed.

He sat up slowly, still watching her from the bed, the sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains. The golden light made her skin glow, made everything in the room feel warmer, more familiar. Her movements were so natural now, and it unsettled him—this—the way she seemed to fit, like a puzzle piece finally snapping into place.

When she finished adjusting the dress and her hair, she turned to him, meeting his gaze. There was something different in her eyes now, something more certain.

She wasn’t running. She wasn’t pretending.

He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly thick. "You look…"

She raised an eyebrow, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. "I know."

He couldn’t help but chuckle, even if it was a small, dry sound. There was no need for words anymore, was there? They had learned each other so well, learned how to communicate in the silences between their sentences.

She walked towards him, the hem of her dress brushing the floor with each step, and paused just before him. Her eyes flickered to his hand, then back to his face.

"Do you think we’re ready?" Her voice was soft, steady.

He didn’t know what he was ready for—what they were ready for—but he reached for her, his hand trembling slightly. When she placed her fingers in his, there was an unspoken understanding between them, something that hadn’t been there before.

"I think so," he replied, his voice low. "But I’m still scared."

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she placed her hand gently over his, holding him as if to steady him, as if she were the one in control now.

"We’re both scared," she whispered. "But that doesn’t mean we have to stop."

The front door loomed before them.

Charles hesitated. He hadn’t stepped beyond it in months.

But then—her fingers in his, firm, grounding.

"Come on," she murmured.

And so, together, they stepped outside.

The air was sharp, cool against his skin. The world stretched out before them, vast and open.

And for the first time, Charles didn’t feel like he was losing her.

Not as long as she was still holding his hand.

the end.

taglist: @charlesgirl16 @lilorose25 @obxstiles @mimiastroos @theoslove @taetae-armyyyyy @fastandcurious16 @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn

[dailyoyo]

thabk yoi a lot dailyoyo your brains are very compelling to me it kind of makes me want to study you like ants . i quote you all the time like i tell my friends " i stole this sentiment / headcanon from a deranged yoyo tumblr account " . you are aspirational really Truly we need more dailyoyos in the world i cant stop thinking about lawyer yoyo now .... also i beg for more dissecting of yoyo and mew dynamics if ur Into That . theuve always been really interesting to me but honestly like 4 pieces of canonexist in jsr ever so

VERY DELIGHTFUL ASK TO GET. i love to hear that i have had a net impact in making people get weirder. its so important to me. making the jsr fandom worse one post at a time <3

a lot of the way i post in here is inspired by both my friends but also some of the crazy bitches (affectionate) ive seen around over in the dragon ball z fandom in particular, but really i think ANYONE in the world no matter the fandom has the god-given right to tear characters apart with their teeth and make them fail as fuck and really really really sick in the head in ways they were probably not intended to be read as in canon. Everypony out there get eviler!!!!!!!!!!!! Now.

IM GLAD YOU LIKE LAWYER YOYO I THINK ABOUT HIM A LOT TOO. hes fascinating to me in that like hes technically not a Bad Ending (MOST of that au technically isnt!) and yet objectively he is a worse outcome because in regular(paradox) canon theres an avenue for yoyo to heal and become less bastardous. because like he has genuine friends and positive interactions and reasons to Want to be more than a self serving shithead. and also hes 16 of course hes an asshole hes 16.

but with lawyer yoyo its like. Its too late. He grew up and he stayed like that and he does not care to change and he has no impetus to change. hes definitely living a safer and more comfortable life and he has much higher self-esteem but he is Staying dead inside. Like ok regular yoyo and lawyer yoyo are both mentally at the bottom of basically the same exact well but lawyer yoyo was like "fuck it" and built a house down there. do you get me

Oh fuck this post is getting so long and i havent even talked about mew and yoyo yet.

okay so liek. beat was yoyo's first proper Friend in the ggs (as opposed to "just tolerating him being around"). because beat kind of totally fell for yoyo's whole harmless schtick lmao. but mew was the first Real Friend in that she picked up on how much of a fake fuck yoyo was and decided to hang out with him anyway.

which. ADMITTEDLY. this was originally BECAUSE she was fascinated by yoyo being so insincere (for a while he was also really playing up the "ohoho i'm TOOOTALLY not a double agent" thing for shits and giggles even though he literally wasnt.). and as previously mentioned yoyo had a crush on her which is why he didnt realize mew could see right through him. honestly for a while he kind of thought he had totally had her under his thumb but the whole time mew was like "Awww hehe he thinks im only hanging out with him because of his manipulations, thats so cute ^_^" (<- DERANGED)

and in a way while they were already friends their friendship didnt Truly start until after yoyo confessed his love and was rejected. because like the whole thing was kind of a wakeup call for yoyo - mew had noticed his feelings all along and was waiting for him to say something Just to reject him, and like among normal people that would probably be a lot more hurtful but in that circumstance it was like... she'd outplayed him. easily. and he didn't even notice, but she's still here anyway. and she still wants to hang out with him even though she can tell the kind of person he is.

because the thing is like. mew may play up her innocence and naivety but she IS genuinely kind at heart. a lot of her strange desire to examine nasty people under a microscope is because of her desire to see the humanity in everyone, to understand Why people do the things they do. and she's not under any illusions that she can """Fix Him""", god knows she's not sure she can even "fix" herself, but she saw yoyo for what he was and could respect the survival mechanisms at play for what they were. (this is also why mew was so immediately like "idk Yoyo doesn't seem like that kind of person..." when the nt-3000 thing happened because. like. she Understood his modus operandi and that simply Wasn't It.)

and like when youre the kind of person who thinks that as soon as someone sees under your mask that they'll want you dead in a ditch, knowing someone who recognizes your mask and is just like "oh cool, i got one too" is kind of world-shaking. paradoxically them recognizing each others' insincerity makes them be a lot more sincere with each other.

Oh fuck this post long as hell. yoy

[thesnailtail]

m

m

j

!

;; MORE MORE JUMP!

;; oh where do i even start with them. i definitely don't have a favourite group and tis definitely not them. (/silly)

;; my "mmj is about effort" post says a lot about how i view them. they really are just a bunch of overworkers in a trench coat.

;; worse part is, they're all hypocrites about it. "haruka, you're not working at night again are you?!" "no. i hope you're not either?" "ha no." <- stayed up until two in the morning drawing something for mmj. yes that's how i view that one airi card side story.

;; they all have interesting dynamics with characters out with their groups as well!! not touching on certain ones or we'd be here for days.

;; 1-c trio is just wholesome!!! ichika and saki are the first people to treat her normally at school and haruka cares for them so much. they're the first people she lets herself get close to after retiring from asrun. sports fes should've been a haruka event anyway-

;; minori has a really interesting relationship with both the loudest and quietest character in the cast. tsukasa and her being the ultimate cheerleaders together! and then her and kanade's completely different energy levels compared to their incredibly similar goals? i want to dissect them and study them under a microscope /aff

;; airi and kohane having mutual complex emotions during the wedding event because of an and shizuku respectively is hilarious to me. i think their dynamic could be really fun to explore past that thought! two determined girls who for a period of time had no direction to put their determination.

;; shizuku's relationship with leo/need is fun to think about. first of all how she must have known them in childhood, second of all how she would have noticed them no longer coming over or shiho talking about them but never mentioning it because of her idol duties keeping her busy and third of all how she must love them so much. the ones who stay by her sister's side, who are now pursuing that dream with her.

;; i love MORE MORE JUMP! :D

[juniperpublishersoceanography]

Gonad Somatic Index and Feeding Habit of Selected Fish Species of Lake Kalgwaiin Jigawa State, Nigeria- Juniper publishers

Abstract

This study investigates gonado somatic index, food and feeding habit of selected fish species of Lake Kalgwai Jigawa State, Nigeria. Samples of fish were collected every fortnight (July 2012-June 2013) at three major landing sites of the lake. The weight of each fish was recorded, gonads were removed, weighed and the gonadosomatic index (GSI) calculated. Stomach was also removed and the content analyzed using frequency of occurrence and point method. Result obtained reveals GSI to range from 2.39±0.08% in Nile perch Latesniloticus [1] to 5.92±0.29% in Nile tilapia Oreochromisniloticus [1]. The stomach content analysis in this study distinguished the fish species into two major groups; Latesniloticus, Mormyrusmacrophthalmus Günther, 1866 and Bayad bagrus bayad Forsskal [2] were observed to exhibit carnivorous feeding habits and feed predominantly on crustacean, fish, fish parts, mollusks, insects and insect larvae, Oreochromisniloticus, African bony tongue Heterotisniloticus [3], Electric catfish Malapteruruselectricus, Synodotisnigrita and North African catfish Clarias gariepinus on the other hand were observed to have an omnivorous feeding pattern with plant parts, insect parts, detritus, crustaceans, snails, worms, fish parts, insects larvae, sand/mud, and algae dominating their diet. Many of the omnivores encountered in this study have good potential as future aquaculture candidate hence the need to further study their biology and their performance under captivity.

Keywords: Feeding Habit; GSI; Man-made lakes; Stomach analysis

Introduction

Continuous declining inland water catches are indication of low fish yield in many water bodies, the reason for this reduction in fish yield has been linked to inadequate management of fisheries as well as continuous degradation of water bodies Solomon et al. [4]. Many fish resources in Nigeria are currently over-fished and continuous pollution keeps threatening aquatic life and natural habitats [5]. The continuous use of obnoxious fishing practice, deliberate disposal of toxic chemicals and lack of regulation on fishing activities of many aquatic resources of Africa are the reasons for significant reduction in fish yield, loss of aquatic life and habitats destruction Adeyemo [5].

In sub Saharan Africa where fishing is not regulated, domestication and culture of commercially important fish species remains the key to mitigating further decline and possible extinction of important inland fishes Umaru et al. [6], hence the need to focus research on some aspect of the biology of fishes with the aim of domestication. The gonadosomatic index as well a feeding habit are some of the important biological aspect of fishes that needs to be understood for a successful domestication program, gonadosomatic index plays a significant role in evaluating reproductive potential, maturity index [7] as well as gonadal state of a fish Saksena [8]. The food and feeding habits of fish on the other hand is necessary to understand the welfare and husbandry requirements in the wild and adopting same in captivity so as to make domestication of fish a success. Pius and Benedicta [9] reported that the assessment of the stomach content of a fish reduce intra and inter specific competition for ecological niche as it is vital in providing straight forward models of stomach content and feeding dynamics.

In the wild, nature offers a great diversity of organisms that are used as food by fish and these differ in size and taxonomic groups. Many studies have been in an attempt to investigate dietary requirements of fish through it feeding habit in the wild Hynes [10], however, depending on the diversity of the nature of food available in different environment, outcome of such investigations may differ due to environmental differences even for the same species. Studies on the biological aspect of aquatic organism such as food and feeding habits are bases for the development of successful fisheries management programme, hence the need for continuous research Oronsaye & Nakpodia [11]. This study therefore examines the gonadosomatic index, food and feeding habits of selected fish species in lake KalwaiJigawa State, Nigeria.

Materials and Methods

Study area

The study was conducted at the Kalgwai Barrage Dam situated in Auyo Local Government Area of Jigawa State, Nigeria (Figure 1). The dam was constructed in 1984 by impounding the River Hadeja for  the purpose of irrigation. The irrigation was a Federal Government of Nigeriaprogram (Hadejia Valley Irrigation Project) coordinated by the Hadejia-Jama'are River Basin Development Authority (H.J.R.B.D.A). The dam covers an estimated area of 3800sqkm2 Matthes [12]. This has brought an increased fishing activity especially in those villages surrounding the dam site. Currently the importantly exploited fish species of the lake based on economic return of fishermen are Latesniloticus, Mormyrusmacropthalmu, Bagrusbayad, Oreochromisniloticus, Heterotisniloticus, Malapteruruselectricus, Synodotisnigrita and Clarias gariepinus.

Collections of samples

Fish sample for this study were obtained from fishermen at three major landing sites of the dam, namely Marke (Site I), Dingare (Site II) and Kalgwai (Site III) respectively (Figure 1). The fishing gears used by the fishermen in this study includes; traps, seine nets, cast net, gill nets, clap nets, hook and line, while crafts was basically canoe and calabash. Commercially important fish species (as stated earlier) were randomly sampled at each site fortnightly over a period of ten months (July 2012-June 2013). Sampling time was between 6:00am to 8:00am when fisher men would be returning to landing site after fishing through the night. Collected samples were fixed in ice chest and moved to the college of Agriculture laboratory in Hadejia for observation of the stomach content.

Gonadosomatic Index (GSI) determination

The fish were sorted by species and record of the weight taken individually; the fishes were dissected laterally to expose the internal organs. The gonads were then removed and weighed. The GSI was calculated using the following formula as described by Shaheena et al. [1].

Stomach content analysis

The stomachs of the dissected fishes as stated above were removed and immediately preserved in sterile bottles containing 5% formalin. Individual stomach contents were emptied into separate petri-dishes. While some stomach contents were identified macroscopically, others were identified microscopically using a light microscope.

The component food items were identified using identification guide provided in the college of Agriculture laboratory at Hadejia. The food items encountered were analyzed using frequency of occurrence method Hynes [10] and point method Cortes [13] as stated in the formulae below.

Ethical statement

Experimental procedures involving animal handling is in accordance with the standard practice as specified in the guide for handling experimental animal in University of Agriculture Makurdi, approval for this study was obtained from the Senate standing Committee on Research on behalf of the Governing council University of Agriculture Makurdi.

Results

Gonado somatic index (G.S.I)

The mean GSI for the selected fish species from the three major landing sites of Lake Kalgwai is presented in Table 1. The highest mean GSI recorded at site 1 was 6.05±0.52% for O. niloticus, followed by S. nigrita (4.23±0.16%) while the least value of 2.65±0.16% was obtained for L. niloticus. In site 2 also, mean GSI was highest for O. niloticus with the value of 4.97±0.54% and lowest in L. niloticus (2.40±0.12%). Similar trend was also observed for site 3 with as O.niloticus recorded highest percentage of GSI (6.74±0.24%) while L. niloticus also had the least value (2.11±0.07%). The average of the mean GSI for the selected commercially exploited fish species of Kalgwai dam is presented in Table 2. The result showed significant difference (P<0.05) in the mean GSI of the fish species with the highest value of 5.92±0.29% recorded in O.niloticus, followed by S.nigrita and C. gariepinus (4.50±0.14%) while the least value of 2.39±0.08% was observed in L.niloticus.

Means in the same row of species with different superscripts differ significantly (P<0.05).

Means with different superscripts differ significantly (P<0.05).

Food and Feeding of Selected Fish Species of Kalgwai Lake

Frequency of occurrence and percentage point of food items in the stomach of L. niloticus, O. niloticus, M. macrophthalmus, S. nigrita, B. bayad, H. niloticus, M. electricus, and C. gariepinus from the Lake Kalgwai is presented in Figure 1- 8 respectively below. In all of the stomach sampled none was found empty. The stomach content analysis in this study distinguished the fish species into two major groups; namely carnivorous (, M. macrophthalmus and B. bayad) and omnivorous feeding pattern (O. niloticus, H. niloticus, M. electricus, S. nigrita and C. gariepinus), feed isolated in the stomach of the carnivores in this study includes predominantly on crustacean, fish, fish parts, mollusks, insects and insect larvae while the spectrum of feed in the stomach of omnivore were plant parts, insect parts, detritus, crustaceans, snails, worms, fish parts, insects larvae, sand/mud, and algae.

Discussion

The stomach content analysis in this study revealed that none of the stomach of the sample fish species was empty, this is likely an indication of the efficiency of the sampling method used in this study, more so it could be an indication of good feeding habit adopted by the various species which enable them utilize available food item within the environment. This is similar to the findings of Olele [14] on feeding habit of Hyperopisus bebeoccidentalis Gunther, 1866 caught in Warri River, the 98% gut fullness recorded in Olele's [14] study was attributed to the efficiency of the method of feed analysis which was presumed to have stop food digestion during sampling through the injection of formalin into the gut region of the fish. Furthermore Haroon [15] and Nwani [16] opined that the greater number of guts with food in their study was as a result of boththe feeding strategy adopted by the fishes and the abundance of food during the sampling. Contrary to these reports, Ipinjolu et al. [17] had earlier reported empty stomach in 48.1% of Mormyrusrume Valenciennes, 1847, caught in Rima River and Goronyo Dam Sokoto, also none of the species encounter had 100% stomach fullness, these observations were however, attributed to the poor feeding habit adopted by the species and also to sampling method adopted for the study. Similarly, the findings of Aramowo [18] for Citharinus species caught with gill nets in Kainji Lake revealed empty stomach in over 67% fishes sampled and was attributed to regurgitation and vomiting of the food by the fish as they struggled during their capture, he also linked result outcome to possibly inadequacy of food material during the sampling period, the differences and similarities in all of this study could be linked to differences in fish species sampled, environmental diversities and sampling methods as earlier explained.

The fishes examined in this study can be rightly separated into two distinct group based on their feeding habit, namely carnivorous and omnivorous feeding habit. Food items found in the stomach of L. niloticus, M. macrophthalmus and B. bayad shows that the species exhibit carnivorous characteristics feeding on a wide spectrum of food of animal origin (which includes crustacean, fish, fish parts, mollusks, insects and insect larvae). According to Hickley & Bailey [19] B. bayad is described as macro-predator in River Nile (Southern Sudan) with its diet mainly consisting of fish prey, aquatic insects, organic detritus and aquatic higher plants. Bakhoum & Samir [4] however, reported that B. bayad is carnivore, with food spectrum including cichlid fish species, insect, insectlarvae, crustaceans, amphipods and detritus. The study by Ogutu-Ohwayo [20] had concluded that larger sized L. niloticus (>100cm) are mainly piscivorous. Katunzi et al. [21] also reported that stomach content analysis of Nile perch shifted from zooplankton and midge larvae, to macroinvertebrates (shrimps and dragonfly nymphs) and fish, due to size increase. Hence the differences in this study and those of the cited literature for the same species may be as a result of size variations as this study randomly but carefully selected larger sized fish of all species to give an overview of feeding habit of adult fish in the dam, more so, differences observed could also be attributed to differences in study area, or change in food availability over time.

O.niloticus, H. niloticus, M.electricus, S. nigrita and C. gariepinus on the other hand had food items which included plant parts, insect parts, detritus, crustaceans, snails, worms, fish parts, insect's larvae, sand/mud, and algae, this indicated that they are omnivorous feeders. The results of this study is similar to findings of Olatunde [22]. Adeyemi et al. [23] and Adeyemi [24] on the food and feeding habits of Synodontisschall and Synodontisresupinatus Boulenger [24] from Zaria area and Idah area of River Niger respectively. Oso et al. [25] had earlier stated that the ability to exploit different varieties of food items makes O. niloticus and Sarotherodongalilaeus Linnaeus [1] in a tropical reservoir an omnivorous feeder. Fagbenro et al. [3] also established the benthic feeding nature as well as planktonic feeding habit of Heterotisniloticus Cuvier [3] in River Oluwa and Owena Reservoir/Mahin Lagoon respectively. Ejikeet al. [26] also reported the food of Clariaslazera Valenciennes, 1840 from Jos area to be predominated by crustaceans, immature insect, bottom deposits and diatoms, hence concluded they were omnivores, the influence of environmental factor and food availability are largely the reasons for the different food item reported for these studies.

Gonadosomatic index (GSI) as observed in this study agrees with the findings of Fryer & Isles [27] and Jhingram & Pullin [28] who reported GSI to be between 4-20% and 3.637.9% respectively (at the peak of season). Shaheena et al. [1] reported that GSI fluctuates from a minimum of 2.302% in June to 11.363% in March with decrease (especially between April to June) been indication of complete spawning. Furthermore, Alam & Pathak [29] and Mishra & Saksena [7] also reported that GSI is synchronized with the level of maturation of fish, hence it peaks at full maturity, they further revealed that its abrupt decreased indicates beginning of spawning, although the present study focused on providing preliminary data on mean GSI, further research are recommended to further understand monthly variation in GSI for these commercially exploited species. The fish species investigated in this study exhibited both omnivorous and carnivorous feeding habit, feeding on a wide spectrum of food. Most of the fishes with omnivorous feeding habit have good potential for culture in captivity than the carnivorous fishes due to the expected protein requirement of animal origin, currently only Oreo chromisniloticus and Clarias gariepinus are widely cultured as one of the aquaculture candidate among the omnivorous fishes identified in this study, It is therefore recommended that more research be done on other aspect of the biology of these fishes with a view to better understand them for the sake of domestication. Meanwhile, nutritional trials can be conducted using wild juveniles and fingerlings of these species to further assess their domestication potential.

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Talking organelles: A riot of metaphors

A few days ago, somebody tweeted an article on organelles and somebody else tweeted an article on how worms regenerate their bodies. I was just in a slump of Brexit malaise when I saw this and thought, “oh, there is life outside Brexit a least in worms and cells”. So, I started to read an article published in Nature by Elie Dolgin, a science journalist “How secret conversations inside cells are transforming biology”. What’s discussed in this article is probably well-known to cell biologists, but it wasn’t to me.

I was hooked, not only because of the science but also, and perhaps even more so, by the firework of metaphors that I encountered. This made me think again about the fact that science/communication without metaphor is basically impossible. This seems to be particularly the case for cell biology, as the recent book by Andrew Reynolds has shown, entitled: The Third Lens: Metaphor and the Creation of Modern Cell Biology.

In the following I shall put this article under metaphorical microscope and tease out various types of metaphors used in it: conventional metaphors, more creative metaphors, and finally an extended metaphor, telling a whole new story about organelles.

I shall also say something about the interactions, indeed, ‘cross-talk’, between verbal and visual images, which was important for advancing research into organelles, leading up to discoveries relating to how organelles themselves talk between each other.

What are organelles?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines organelles as: “Any of various discrete, usually membrane-bound, structures within a cell or unicellular organism that perform specialized functions”.

The term is first attested for 1915 but harks back to an earlier term organella/organula from 1889. Somebody writing in American Naturalist pointed out: “It may possibly be of advantage to use the word organula here instead of organ, following a suggestion by Möbius. Functionally differentiated multicellular aggregates in multicellular forms or metazoa are in this sense organs, while for functionally differentiated portions of unicellular organisms or for such differentiated portions of the unicellular germ-elements of metazoa the diminutive—organula—is appropriate.”

Ten years later, in 1896, as Dolgin points out in her Nature article, “cytologist Edmund Beecher Wilson drew the cell with organelles neatly tucked into their own distinct cytoplasmic compartments” (p. 164). Here it is: Image from his textbook “The cell in Development and Inheritance”, second edition, 1900 (Wikimedia Commons):

In biology textbooks the various organelles inside a cell are generally depicted and labelled in standard ways, as for example in the featured image for this blog post. One can also often find tables, like this, that list organelles and their functions. And in the description of functions, metaphors creep in – in this case we are dealing with a eukaryotic cell. The metaphors in this table are quite tameIn other textbooks we find other metaphors and they circulate in science talk and text. When I tweeted about my intention to write this post, Matthew Cobb tweeted: “”powerhouse” (mt), “construction yard” (ER), “warehouse” (Golgi), “vacuum cleaners” (lysosomes), “dustbin” (vacuole), “frontier” (cell wall)”.

Some of these metaphors are more conventional than others, I suppose. The most overused and clichéd one seems to be that of ‘powerhouse’ for mitochondrion. As Liam Drew pointed out in a tweet: “I wrote something like ‘mitochondria – the powerhouses of the cell as science writers are contractually obliged to describe them’ and my copy editor changed it to ‘mitochondria – the powerhouses of the cell’”.

Back to the article under my microscope. The Nature article uses the conventional metaphor of ‘science as a journey’ through which we are told the story of Jean Vance who, after hitting a series or ‘roadblocks’ over a long period of time, finally published a ‘landmark’ paper which put organelle ‘conversations’ ‘on the map’ (that last one is my own metaphor).

I won’t go into this rather fascinating story, but focus instead on the metaphors for organelles and what they do that we encounter on the way. I just want to stress however that this article tells a very typical story about how science is often ‘done’ (it all starts with “I thought I’d made a big mistake” p. 162). It is also a typical example of how science is communicated: using well-established metaphors, extracting metaphors from scientists who use the ones they always use or create new ones on the spot, and giving that mix some creative twirls.

Conventional metaphors

As we have seen, there are lots of more or less conventionalised metaphors floating about that can be used to talk about organelles. Some are indispensable to science, what one can call theory-constitutive metaphors, some are didactic, some are explanatory, some are so clichéd that one has to cringe etc. The article under the microscope doesn’t use all of them, only some. Here they are:

Creative metaphors and similes

These are not the only metaphors used by/collected by Elie Dolgin. She also uses more creative ones, as in the title (“The secret conversations inside cells: Organelles – the cell’s workhorses – mingle much more than scientists ever appreciated”) and also in the section headings, which also use alliteration: “first contact”, “tether together”, “function junction”, “bad dancers” – we’ll come back to the dance metaphor! Here is a list of the creative metaphors and comarisons (similes) I found:

Extended metaphor

Now we come back to the dance metaphor, because one scientist interviewed for this article uses it as an extended metaphor to tell a whole new story about organelles.

“Gökhan Hotamışlıgil, a metabolic-disease researcher at the Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health in Boston, Massachusetts, likens the relationship between the ER and mitochondria to a sensual and dynamic flamenco performance. Just like dancers, the organelles ‘contact and separate, and then come into contact again, and flirt a little bit and go away’, he says. But in diseased liver cells, the two organelles stay entwined, and the rhythm is sluggish. ‘It doesn’t look very elegant,’ says Hotamışlıgil, who has shown that excessive contact between the ER and mitochondria in mouse liver cells is linked to insulin resistance, diabetes and obesity. ‘You can’t slow-dance flamenco — and that’s how the mitochondria–ER relationship becomes under metabolic stress,’ he adds.”

Verbal and visual metaphors

I have now dissected this great article in terms of the metaphors it uses. While doing so, it became clear that focusing on the verbal is not enough and that images and visual metaphors also play an important role in doing organelle science and communicating organelle science, from the end of the 19th century onward. The article itself contains a wonderful little cartoon of dancing organelles but also a (I believe) video still of the Endoplasmic Reticulum ‘swapping goods with various organelles’.

In fact, video footage of organelles doing their stuff was important in persuading sceptics that organelles are in constant conversation with each other. Images or pictures also made scientists themselves enter into conversation with each other: “scientists studying vesicles did not generally communicate with those who specialize in signalling through calcium ions. ‘There was no contact in the contact field,’ Levine says.” (p. 163)

Images changed from drawings to traditional microscope images to “super-resolution light microscopy to capture kaleidoscopic-colour 3D movies of intricate interactions between six organelles: the ER, mitochondria, the Golgi complex, peroxisomes, lysosomes and fat deposits called lipid droplets” (p. 164) Some researchers made “black-and-white films that showed the ER ensnaring mitochondria and other organelles in mouse neurons” (p. 164). Here we see a nice coming-together of verbal and visual metaphors.

However, as Dolgin points out, text book images of organelles have changed little since 1896. “From the ER to the Golgi to the vacuole to the endosome, each organelle is still shown in isolation, not as a dynamic dance of parts that continuously embrace and separate. ‘Nothing is drawn the way the cell actually looks,’ says Voeltz. ‘It would be nice to update that image.'”

Do we also need to update the language? It seems to work quite well at the moment, I think.

  Featured image: Animal cell and components (Wikimedia Commons)

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