#because that was a compulsion. that was a compulsion.

[aismallard]

#+ also the pathologisation of trans people seeking out care as ‘obsessive compulsive’ or ‘sexually fetishistic’ or ‘drug seeking’ etc#like if you try Too Hard to get HRT you can be turned away for being ‘crazy’#like 100% to all of the above and also a compounding factor is that being transgender itself is seen as pathological#and therefore all of our behaviour is viewed as pathological

god I am not even that far into Whipping Girl and this comes up over and over. all behaviors are because the transes are freaks

they like sex? clearly sexual perverts doing this for a kick. don't like sex? they are not adjusting to their heterosexual role in society, they might be Faking It and not be a Real Trans. they are proud of being trans instead of trying to go stealth? there is a pathological obsession with [whatever]

and this is coming from the medical gatekeeper institution, the people who are ostensibly there to help trans people transition and get access to various necessary resources. to say the least of your typical cis person

something that should be taken with a grain of salt are the statistics talking about the high rates of mental illness + neurodivergence among trans people (ocd, bpd, adhd, autism, etc)

I see both sides of the political spectrum taking these studies at face value - conservatives say we're broken, and trans people try to come up with reasons why for example autism + gender dysphoria makes sense and why one of them feeds into another

at the end of the day you have to remember that we're the one category of people on this planet who are legally required to go see a psychiatrist in order to receive non-psychiatric medication and surgeries.

more trans people are in therapy by law than any other demographic of people, and as a result, this captures more comorbidities.

if I had to look at my own family & rates of mental illness?

mom, dad, 2 maternal aunts, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother, sister, sibling, and me all have OCD.

7/9 of them are cishet, never been to therapy, never diagnosed. 2/9 are trans, required therapy for hormone treatment, and were diagnosed.

you don't have to do any math to just see that the resulting statistics end up intensely skewed.

and we can think back to how autism was virtually never diagnosed more than 50 years ago - ruling out any grandparents being included in statistics - and even my parents' generation (they're in their 60s now) wouldn't have been included either.

I don't think it's to anyone's benefit to accept these studies uncritically. a lot of these things are hereditary and far more prevalent in the overall population than people realize

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ ᴡ ɪ ɴ ɢ ⸻

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Dick’s obsession isn’t born from malice or control—it’s born from love that he can’t let go of, love that consumes him and twists into something far more dangerous. His inherent empathy and need to protect mutate into suffocating possession when it comes to you.

You’re someone he meets while working as Nightwing—perhaps a civilian caught in the crossfire or someone aiding him on a mission. Your kindness, your bravery in the face of danger, captivates him. For someone like Dick, who has spent his life saving others, your ability to stand tall despite the world’s darkness becomes a light he can’t ignore.

But then the cracks begin to show.

You start noticing him everywhere. If you casually mention a favorite café, he’s suddenly a regular there too. When you run errands, he just happens to cross paths with you. At first, his bright smile and boyish charm disarm you. "What a coincidence," he says, as if he hasn’t been planning these encounters for days.

You come home one day to find an item you mentioned in passing—a book, a scarf, something small. There’s no note, but you know it’s from him. He swears it’s just a friendly gesture, but the way he watches you when you thank him says otherwise.

For Dick, these actions feel natural. He’s always been attentive to those he loves, always ready to go the extra mile. He doesn’t realize—or refuses to acknowledge—that these gestures aren’t innocent anymore.

When you’re hurt—even slightly—it awakens something primal. The fear of losing you mixes with the ghosts of everyone he’s lost before, and he can’t bear the thought.

Dick isn’t one to stalk in shadows; he convinces himself his obsession is protection. He keeps tabs on you, memorizing every detail of your routine. He tells himself he just wants to ensure your safety, but when you start to notice him everywhere—at the coffee shop you frequent, outside your workplace, even at your doorstep—it feels deliberate.

You confront him, but his response is calm, disarmingly charming.

“I’m just looking out for you. You mean too much to me.”

And there’s that vulnerability in his voice that makes it hard to push him away completely.

Dick’s obsession grows insidious. He’s subtle, using his charm and resourcefulness to insert himself into every corner of your life. A coworker who’s been bothering you suddenly transfers to another department. Your apartment’s locks mysteriously upgrade overnight, and Dick is the first to offer to show you how they work.

When someone flirts with you, the shift in his demeanor is terrifying. The usually affable, kind man becomes something colder, his jaw clenched as he watches from the sidelines. Later, the person who dared approach you ends up in a minor but suspicious accident.

“Don’t you see?” he tells you, his voice laced with desperation one night when you question his behavior. “I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”

Dick doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. His obsession is rooted in his fear of abandonment, his compulsion to save everyone he cares about. But in trying to protect you, he becomes your greatest danger.

"You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.” He leans on you emotionally, making you feel guilty for trying to push him away.

"I’m doing this for us.” He convinces himself every action, no matter how bad, is for your benefit.

When you try to leave, it shatters him. Dick isn’t someone who handles rejection well when it comes to people he loves. He pleads at first, his voice breaking with emotion. But when you insist, you see the darker side of his devotion.

“I can’t let you go. Don’t you see? I need you.”

His obsession becomes suffocating. He starts isolating you, not out of malice, but because he genuinely believes the world outside is too dangerous for you.

The most chilling part of Dick’s obsession is his duality. By day, he’s the same charming, selfless man everyone admires. But with you, behind closed doors, he’s desperate, controlling, and unrelenting.

He’ll kiss your forehead softly, whispering, “I love you,” as if nothing is wrong.

But then he’ll cage you in with his presence, ensuring you can never leave.

In his mind, he’s your protector, your savior, and your soulmate. He would go to any lengths to keep you safe—even if that means keeping you locked away from the rest of the world. After all, he’s lost so much already. He won’t lose you, too.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[hanzajesthanza]

geralt: i’m no knight-errant ✋ i’m a professional, i’m a witcher 🤨 knights who save people out of the good of their hearts spoil my business 😠 so i resent them because money is what matters 🥶

also geralt: i wanted to be called geralt roger eric du haute-bellegarde! i left with nothing but the swords on my back and my conviction and faith! 😊 faith that i am needed to save and defend people 😇 when i’m unable to save lives it tears at me horribly and i can’t stop thinking about it 😰 i become friends with knights because we have so much in common 😄 i have principles and a strong moral code i don’t deviate from 🙂‍↕️ i will protect the innocent forever and ever and ever even after i die i will come back and save them 🥺

[neoyorzapoteca]

"The internal compulsion that drives some people to make art obviously differs from the external demand that we work for bread; that was Marx’s whole point, in distinguishing “the realm of freedom” from “the realm of necessity,” and aligning unalienated labor with the former, and exploitative work with the latter. No doubt this was the distinction Berardi was drawing on when he so annoyed Sillman with his veneration of “not working” (though I’m willing to bet that Sillman would agree that “staying up late…trying hard to make a ‘better’ oil painting” is distinct from, and preferable to, putting in a double shift at Target; she indicates as much when she calls painting “not alienated labor, nor a commodity precisely”).38 And yet, Sillman’s wanting to barf in the face of such distinctions doesn’t seem to me solely a misunderstanding. I also hear in it a resistance to the certainty of classification, an insistence on the fact that, when we make art (as when we mother), we often don’t know what we are doing. We can never really be sure if it’s need, leisure, compulsion, transaction, freedom, or submission—likely because it can be all these things at once, or in turns. Sillman’s own difficulty in describing it (“what are we doing? I can still only call it looking for this fragile thing that is awkwardness”) serves as a happy reminder that, more often than not, we stay in the shit, as in Sillman’s description of making art as “a way of churning the world, as your digestive system churns food.” This churning need not be disciplined into emancipation, reparation, or obligation. It can be a sign that we are, or once were, alive."

Maggie Nelson, On Freedom: Four Songs of Care and Constraint

[gabessquishytum]

I feel like unfortunately everyone who knows Hob thinks that he is a compulsive liar because occasionally he slips up and says something completely insane that cannot be true. Like someone mentions Andy Warhol and Hob absentmindedly says "oh yes I knew him!" It's a shame, he'd be such a nice guy if he would just stop making up weird little anecdotes that are so obviously not true! (Poor Hob has to embrace the compulsive liar thing because it's better than everyone discovering that he's been telling the truth.)

[why-bless-your-heart]

“Is it normal to be repulsed by sex?”

Are you repulsed by the idea of sex because you’re quite literally not ready for it? Are you repulsed by pornography you’ve seen because pornography is repulsive and you haven’t been exposed to enough of it to damage your brain? Are you repulsed by conversations and stories about it because it’s meant to be private and treating it as a public phenomenon is repulsive? Are you repulsed because you have sensory issues? Or cleanliness compulsions? Are you repulsed because you’ve been traumatized in the past? Have you just never fallen in love with somebody and sex without love and commitment is repulsive? Are you on medications that interfere with your libido? Are you looking at the post-sexual revolution mindset of anything goes with anyone as long as you feel like it, and you know in your heart that that’s disgusting, but you don’t have any vocabulary to condemn the culture’s attitude towards sex without feeling like you have to condemn sex itself? I promise you, all of these are actually very normal.

[silver-flame-alchemist]

As someone who has been clinically diagnosed with OCD; I cannot stress enough how little media covers the depth and breadth of symptoms for this Disorder.

It is SO much more than "washing your hands and bunch" or "wanting things to be symmetrical".

It's texting people you JUST SPOKE TO to make sure nothing happened in the five seconds since you spoke to them.

It's restarting a process six times because it "didn't feel right" the first five times.

It's making exhaustive checklists and to-dos, for fear if you forget something, a tragedy will occur.

It's convicting yourself of thought and moral crimes, and then avoiding people for fear of "being found out" about errant thoughts.

Again, not to pathologize or diagnose anyone via Tumblr Post of all things, BUT--

I do recommend you look into OCD Workbooks or Mindfulness Practices/Meditations if you struggle with these kinds of things.

They really can help reframe and rework those impulses and compulsions that don't benefit you, and help you live a less stressful, fearful, life.

i genuinely think ocd is incredibly underdiagnosed bc i will see people posting what are obvious rituals, compulsions, intrusive thoughts, spiralling, hyper morality, etc and its like Have You Considered This Might Be An Issue

[skmhlml]

Pyramid Head x Reader (HC)

Note: Im not gonna try to sugar coat this character, I'm a top-level MonsterFucker. 😈

💉 Pyramid Head will always be taller than you, larger than you, and stronger than you. He is not nice he isn't soft, he is rough and mean if you do not do everything he wants you to do. Much harder because he physically can't talk.

💉 His fixation isn’t borne from love or desire- it’s a relentless compulsion to enforce retribution. Once he singles you out, it’s not about affection or connection; it’s about control, terror, and inevitability. You are a symbol of something deeper, though he never explains it— he simply looms, silent and oppressive.

💉 once he takes more interest in you than regular victims you're done for. It doesn't matter how much you cry and beg, he isn't sympathetic in the slightest.

💉 He won't listen to anything you say, and he won't stop either, there is no escape no matter what. You are stuck here, your ankle or wrist huffed to a single old hospital bed in a small room, with barely any view from the half-boarded-up window.

💉 Pyramid Head’s inability to speak only adds to the terror. His lack of words means no explanations, no reasoning, and no warnings. When he approaches, the screech of his dragging blade across the floor is the only indication of his mood. Sometimes, it feels almost as though he waits for you to speak just so he can disregard it.

💉 his actions are always harsh, whether he’s feeding you scraps, dragging you back to the bed after the 100th failed escape attempt, or simply looming over you, his grip like iron shackles. You’ll leave with bruises if you’re lucky.

💉 Over time, you begin to lose hope of escape. You might start rationalizing his behavior, attempting to please him, or convincing yourself this is some form of warped survival tactic. Even when you give in, though, his intensity never wavers—he is relentless, because that’s his nature.

💉 If he ever shows mercy, it’s indirect. Perhaps he doesn’t chain you as tightly one day or leaves the room for longer than usual. Even these moments feel more like calculated psychological games than genuine kindness, designed to keep you questioning his intentions and your sanity.

💉 You aren’t just cuffed to the bed; you’re often restrained in ways that leave your wrists, ankles, or even neck raw and bleeding. He doesn’t care about the injuries he inflicts; your pain is secondary to keeping you exactly where he wants you.

your still a victum just a little more wanted…

[maxdibert]

Having a shitty past is no excuse for being a horrible person, and Snape was a horrible person. Snape fans always try to turn him into a tragic hero, but there was nothing heroic about him when he was just an obsessive bigot who followed a group of genocidal maniacs

Well, I think I’ve said this a million times already and explained in exhausting detail why growing up in a particular environment—lacking social, emotional, economic, or essential support—and being subjected to violence during the most crucial years of cognitive development creates the perfect breeding ground for antisocial behavior. It also makes vulnerable or socially excluded youth prime targets for sectarian groups (whether religious, political, or otherwise) that prey on their situation, offering them promises of protection, safe spaces, surrogate parental figures, or social progress. These groups actively seek out kids with emotional voids caused by dysfunctional family dynamics, minimal to no financial resources, and a profound sense that the system has failed them at every turn. They offer these kids an alternative system—one that gives them a roof over their heads, a hot meal, a place to belong, and people who won’t marginalize them like the rest of society has—at the simple price of blindly following the group’s ideology. And they do it. Of course, they do. Because what other choice do they have? This group gave them life, a place in society, and restored their status as human beings.

But since I’ve spoken about this at length before and about how Severus’s life shaped his decisions, I feel like I’m starting to sound like a broken record. So, since I’m also reading a legal ruling I need to memorize by Friday, I’m going to indulge myself and dissertate as freely as I please—because hey, if you’re going to throw hate, I’m going to grant myself the privilege of replying however I want.

Here’s a question: why does it even matter? Seriously, what does it matter if he was a shitty person? Do you know that people go to space today thanks to the work of physicists and engineers who were literal SS members? That after WWII, all the top scientists, physicists, chemists, and engineers were granted amnesty and fast-tracked into citizenships so they could work on government projects? That people working within a stone’s throw of concentration camps are the pioneers behind some of the greatest technological advances of the 20th century? And you don’t care that the products you consume are derived from the work of collaborators with mass genocide, but you’re upset that people find a fictional character interesting? I don’t want to sound cynical, but honestly, it’s ridiculous to get so morally high and mighty about a character who doesn’t exist and who followed an extremist cult for, what? 3 or 4 years tops? and then canonically worked actively to take it down. If we put Severus in a real-world, wartime context, the guy would be a literal war hero with medals to his name. No exaggeration. If he survived, he’d be recruited with a fat paycheck to work in internal affairs for some major world power’s secret projects. That’s just how the world works.

And yeah, he was obsessive. But in an era where everyone suffers at least one anxiety episode a month, where the best-case scenario is that your panic attacks don’t spiral into chronic mental health issues—can we really judge him for that? Like, most of the people I see being ultra “snater” are folks who openly declare themselves neurodivergent, and one of the common denominators of all neurodivergence is obsessiveness. All of them. Whether it’s chronic anxiety, depression, OCD, ADHD, paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder or autism. Every single one has an obsessive component. So it’s kind of ironic—and even hypocritical—for people who are themselves pretty obsessive (because let’s face it, we’re all compulsively doomscrolling here to soothe our anxious compulsions with little dopamine hits) to judge this character’s obsessiveness as a negative trait. Maybe let’s take a good look in the mirror, too.

And let me just say, no court would convict Severus of collaborating with a terrorist group. Not a single one. Impossible. Especially since he literally collaborated against said group, so any judge would happily clear him—not after the war, but the moment he struck his deal with Dumbledore. Severus is what’s known as an informant. He worked from the inside, exposed himself to greater dangers than regular agents. Legally speaking, there have been cases where people guilty of heinous crimes—including crimes against humanity—were let off because they provided critical information. So imagine someone like Severus, who, as far as we know, didn’t even kill anyone during his time in the group, willingly spilling the beans and agreeing to work as a spy. He’d be celebrated as a hero of war. Hell, they’d probably buy him a mansion in Florida if he wanted one. That’s just how our system works, and honestly, this kind of moralist posturing is pretty cringy because you’re talking about a guy who literally saved half of magical society’s asses and without whom the kid destined to save the world would’ve died in his first year at school.

You can dislike him or think he’s a jerk, but he was damn good at his job. And compared to the people he’s often unfairly measured against (Sirius, James, Remus...), he actually did something. They didn’t. Absolutely nothing. Contribution: negative one.

[fuck-customers]

Confused shout out to the guy angrily demanding I help him apply his Shamazon Sprime account to get his discounts without pulling up his phone app because he "[doesn't] want to work for Shmezos" (yet you'll happily pay him for Sprime?)

Then snidely mentioning as he's on his way out that he went through self checkout "so there are fewer jobs for people like [me]".

Who are "people like me" and what do you have against us? White chicks? What'd we do to you? Was your family murdered by a horde of overly polite middle-aged lesbians? Why so angry?

Or do you mean Smol Foods employees (then why are you shopping here?) People who work for Smezos (again, why are you paying for Sprime, then?) Self checkout clerks (so you're using self checkout, therefore giving me something to do other than compulsively clean the registers/stare into the endless void?)

Uhhh. Sure, Jan. Way to stick it to the man. 💪

Posted by admin Rodney

[travelingmaster-inspirations]

"Welcome Sir..." my secretary said. "I'm ready... Willing... And eager to serve you and make your work day as pleasurable and efficient as possible."

Once the initial shock of finding my secretary kneeling half naked on my desk wore off, I smiled as I realize how effective the new company training video I developed turned out to be.

Although looking at her state of undress, one could argue that it might be a little TOO effective.

"Maybe the implanted compulsion to show her body off combined with the compulsion to dress in a way to inspire lust in her immediate superior..." I muttered to myself. "And if THAT also combined with the 'see yourself as a sexual object' suggestion... That would certainly explain this..."

"I'm sorry Sir." she said. "I'm afraid I didn't quite hear you. Is it anything I can help you with?"

"No no... Just thinking out loud..." I said, admiring her figure. "So you are eager to serve?"

"I am Sir!" she said, smiling broadly.

"You are dressed rather provocatively... Am I to assume that your eagerness to serve includes a lot more than simple clerical work?" I said as I stepped up close to the desk.

"Why else would I be dressed like this?" she said smiling coyly.

"You are huh? That's very surprising..." I said, smiling. "Especially when you consider that just last week, you stood in this very office and threatened to file an official complaint with HR if I didn't stop hitting on you."

"I'm sorry about that... Sir..." she said, visibly blushing. "I had this misguided notion that being a proper and professional secretary meant that I needed to keep business and pleasure separate."

"And now I assume you know otherwise?" I asked.

"Yes Sir! I thought you were hitting on me because you wanted to go out with me, but hat training video made it so clear that I was completely wrong." she said, smiling even as she bit her lower lip. "You were obviously within your rights and it's my fault for not understanding that being a proper secretary is all about using pleasure to boost your Boss' business performance."

Somehow, I managed not chuckle at the complete conviction in her voice as she repeated the idea my video had brainwashed into her mind.

"I'm glad you finally understand and that further more... You are willing and eager to be a proper secretary for me." I said as I took her chin, caressing her lower lip with my thumb. "Not all secretaries do and it often creates embarrassing mix ups. As well as extra work for HR."

"You don't have to worry about me creating extra work for the HR department..." she said, clearly a little aroused by my touch. "I'm very eager to serve ALL of your needs without restrictions in the hopes of being your perfect secretary."

"All of my needs huh?" I said, smiling.

"Yes Sir." she said, kissing my thumb. "All of them..."

"In that case, no reason not to take advantage of your lovely display and see how well you can fulfill my desires..." I said as I removed my hand. "After all, we still have time before our lunch break ends. So be a dear and go lock the door before you get yourself out of those stunning garments..."

"Right away Sir!" she said excitedly as she got off my desk.

I knew the training video probably had it's flaws, but for now, it looked like it worked marvelously well and I as I watched her incredible form slip out of her bra and panties, I couldn't wait to start tweaking the program to see how much more I could brainwash her...

Faye Reagan

[goosemixtapes]

max's october 2023 reads

weird reading month. lots of shortform articles/comics; lots of early modern english literature. also still experimenting with my format for these, so have a listening tab.

fiction

Edmund Spenser's Faerie Queene, books 3-4

the latter two episodes of What Happens Next comic

Epistolary by Sacha Lamb (again, for reasons of Got Sad)

Fresh Meat comic (cw for suicide and psychiatric hospitalization)

Something's Not Right by yves. @yvesdot (review + promo)

Edmund Spenser's Amoretti & Epithalamion (review)

Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane by Suzanne Collins (review)

Blankets by Craig Thompson (review)

Shakespeare's Coriolanus (again, + Janet Adelman's lecture "Anger's My Meat")

the first half of Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin

nonfiction

The Way We Weren't by Jules Gill-Peterson (↳ on hypervisibility and the history of passing)

Fiona: The Caged Bird Sings by Chris Heath (↳ fiona apple is the only celebrity i actually read about)

Can ChatGPT Do My Job? by yves @yvesdot (↳ on AI, book reviews, copyright, and capitalism)

Picture Limitless Creativity at Your Fingertips by Kevin Kelly (↳ linked in the former--on the potential of AI image generation)

The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism by Jonathan Lethem (↳ also linked in the former--on plagiarism, and one of the coolest things i've ever read)

Allies Behaving Badly: Gaslighting as epistemic injustice by Rachel McKinnon (↳ on allyship and 'allies' who refuse to believe you)

Debunking "Trans Women Are Not Women" Arguments by Julia Serano (↳ i knew a lot of this, but it's still a really good breakdown and a good link to have on hand)

the first half of Laziness Does Not Exist by Devon Price (the book, but i also recommend the article)

the first fourth of Down Girl by Kate Manne (rapidly becoming one of my favorite reads of the year)

The Spectre of Orientalism in Craig Thompson's Habibi by Nadim Damluji (↳ i haven't even read habibi but this was fantastic anyway)

"Half-Envying," from Reading and Not Reading the Faerie Queene by Catherine Nicholson (↳ delicious supplemental reading for class)

The Gaza Diaries via the Guardian (↳ not sure what to say about this one. very harrowing but very important)

The Landlord, the Tenant, and a House Fire in Milwaukee via ProPublica (↳ cws for child abuse and child death. extremely powerful piece of reporting that quite genuinely ruined my night)

listening

Mike Duncan's History of Rome, episodes 14-19

WordofGodcast, episode 2

Fiona Apple's Extraordinary Machine

Dorian Electra's Fanfare

[sensitiveheartless]

Part 4 of the "Dazai and Chuuya being competitive, mutually pining disasters" comics!

<- (Previous part) (Next part) ->

Most of this one is under the cut because it got LONG

[uncanny-tranny]

Part of harm reduction is recognizing that abstinence or sobriety, whenever these terms are applicable, is not the inherent goal for so many people. Forcing complete abstinence or sobriety can absolutely be detrimental, which is why we must not idealize either one or force it on people. It should be an option, yes, but that does not mean it is the only option or the only option worth pursuing.

[charon-cries]

when OTHER people try to distract or comfort themselves, they call it "coping" and "self-soothing," but when i do it, it's a "mental compulsion" and "you have OCD"

[silverskye13]

random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."

i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.

"You didn't answer my summons."

Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.

"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."

Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.

Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.

Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.

[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]

"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.

"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."

Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.

[Good.]

"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.

"I'm a fighter."

Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.

"So?"

"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."

Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"

It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.

[Like ash on a burn.]

"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.

"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.

"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."

"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"

"A crusade well fought I'm sure."

"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."

"Right. And you're fighting because--"

"Because I'm protecting Tango."

"-because it's for his own good?"

Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.

"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"

"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."

"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."

"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."

"No, you came here looking for a fight."

"I didn't."

"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."

"I didn't come here for a fight."

"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."

"Shut up."

"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"

"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.

Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.

"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"

"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."

"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."

Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.

"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."

"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."

Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.

"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"

Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.

"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.

"I'm unarmed."

"That doesn't matter."

Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.

"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."

He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.

"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"

There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.

A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.

"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.

"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.

"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."

Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"

"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."

"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."

Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.

[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]

"Helsknight? The door is locked."

"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.