#and i just kept drawing and giving it more evil attributes and thinking why am i doing this it’s supposed to be my partner

[arthur-r]

actually so relieved to run into this weird vent art from like a week before my partner broke up with me and remember how i was actually profoundly unhappy when we were together. like i literally would have broken up with him within the next couple weeks probably. all it would have changed if he hadn’t broke up with me would be that a valentine’s day together would be a lasting painful memory. whereas our relationship is nearly managing to comfortably fade into background noise.

[wisteria-lodge]

lion primary (bird model) + slightly burnt lion secondary

Hi there! I’m a fan of your sorting posts, and of your kind and insightful way of supporting people in finding out more about themselves. So naturally I’d be very interested in your take about my own sorting, if you’re game! :)

I won’t talk much about my Secondary, because now that I’m starting to unburn my Lion seems very clear to me, even when my explosion-prone Badger model still tries to get in the way of that clarity sometimes. The more interesting riddle is my Primary. So far I’m operating under the working theory that I am a Lion with a very strong Bird model - or is it the other way ‘round?

The supposed dichotomy between “thinking” and “feeling” in many of the more binary personality models has always bugged me, so it’s no wonder this is the area where whenever I feel like I’ve decided on who I am (for now) a new question mark pops up (so much fun!).

If ‘thinking’ and ‘feeling’ doesn’t work for you as terminology, it might help to think of Lion as leading with subconscious reasoning, and Bird as leading with conscious reasoning.

Instead of trying to formulate a cohesive text, which would have gotten even longer, I’m putting together an associative list of thoughts and stories that kept turning up while I was trying to figure out my Primary.

A very Lion primary way to solve a problem, not gonna lie ;)

- I think I got my Bird model from my father, who made quite an effort to teach me to look at things from all angles. As a child, whenever I got in a fight with this friend I had, he would sit me down and ask me to put myself in my friend’s shoes. It was hard, because a lot of the time my friend was being unfair to me and I actually could have used some support, someone to tell me that it was not okay to treat me this way. But I’m still immeasurably grateful for my father’s lessons, through which I’ve learned to understand peoples’ motivations and gained an understanding for the complexities of every conflict. He also taught me to doubt, to look closer, to not just believe the first thing I see, or want to see. To this day I still consider my ability to pin down the relevant factors of a situation before I make judgments one of my strengths.

That definitely sounds like a very strong, beloved Bird model.

- Whenever I had to write an essay at school or uni, I first had to come up with some aspect about the subject that I really cared about, even could be passionate about. (I am passionate about many things, so it was usually possible to find some connection to that.) Then I would use the essay to discuss this aspect in great detail, ending with a polemic flourish. I had the time of my life doing that; meanwhile the text would structure itself magically in relation to the issue I had chosen to focus on. Whenever I tried to write without such a focus, I’d get bored, stressed and the text would be of a much lower quality.

- Something similar happened in oral exams at uni: Only when I got the opportunity to bring a discussion paper (a few pointed statements regarding the exam topic) which I could then debate, I was able to recollect all the important details I needed for that. If I just had to report on the topic or answer questions, I often got confused, to the point of drawing a complete blank.

Linking things to emotion and passion - thinking with emotion and passion, basically - is a Lion primary thing. Especially if doing that makes you feel safe & comfortable & effective & happy.

- Even as a teenager I was very interested in philosophy, ethics and moral decision making.

I love teaching philosophy to teenagers. It’s the perfect time for it, they are so into it, and if it were up to me I would absolutely make it a required class.

I picked up certain philosophical ideas and concepts that I liked and integrated them in my belief system (yes, I know how very Bird that sounds).

I had my mind blown by Genealogy of Morals in high school, and I still won’t shut about Eichmann in Jerusalem. But what was so staggering to me in high school was… here are these ways of thinking that are possible and allowed. The fact that here they are in words in front of me made me a great deal more expansive.

Now that I think about it — I don’t remember adjusting my beliefs as in any way traumatic back then. The shift from a belief in the Christian God to Mother Goddess to my very own brand of agnostic paganism was smooth, natural.

Now that I think about it… I would describe myself as a mythic relativist (which is a term I just made up.) Systems of belief are metaphors, and they’re metaphors trying to describe and say something large and beautiful about what it means to be human, and what it means to live a good life. And since we are all human, they are all attempting to describe the same central, indescribable thing in different ways.

I feel this very deeply, but it took me a long while to be able to articulate it.

I constantly reevaluate, and I adapt.

You stop reevaluating and adapting, might as well be dead.

Still, there are some basics I’ve kept with me that just make too much sense to me to give up, and some that perhaps I keep because I just really like them and I’m kind of attached to them.

… somebody’s thinking with Pathos :)

- I’m a constructivist at heart, so that makes it much easier to tweak the content of my beliefs while staying true to the principle that we (socially) construct our reality, and (my take on this): that I choose what kind of world I want to live in, and according to that I make choices which are the most likely to create that world.

- At uni I attended a seminar about the development of moral judgment and action. What I remember most clearly about it is how much it bugged me that the other students didn’t seem to understand that morality always depends on the perspective. Even though I had definite moral convictions that I was ready to fight for, at the same time it seemed obvious to me that theoretically there could be a justification for every kind of moral guideline; it depended on your principles and the world you wanted to live in.

A human after my own heart.

I wanted to understand these different perspectives, not talk about empty categories like “right and wrong” or “good and evil” that meant nothing to me. I still feel that way.

Absolutely. I don’t use alignments when I DM Dungeons & Dragons. I mean, I can list evil *things* but that’s not the same thing as defining *being evil.* I want to know WHY these people did these evil things.

It just seems so impractical and complicated to base a conversation on those broad categories that don’t have any definition people can agree on instead of referring either to defined principles (in order to explain what good/ bad is *for you*) or consequences of certain actions, and whether you want them/ accept them/ don’t want them.

Oh that’s a fun discussion. Asking a highschooler to define “evil.”

(and then they have to figure out what moral systems Jigsaw, Pinhead, the Joker, and Bane all subscribe to.)

- Between “the Revolutionary” and “the Grail Knight”, I would love to be the former, but I’m clearly the latter. I’m someone who questions, not someone who knows.

Take my archetypes with a grain of salt, they are supposed to describe characters. (Who are different from people - but still useful, because they are attempts to describe us.) I actually want to write more about the differences I see between the way fictional secondaries are written and the way real-life secondaries work.

And just “knowing”... is dangerous. That’s how Exploded Lions happen. 

There are a lot of causes I find worthy to fight for, but I haven’t committed to any one, which so far I’ve attributed to my Burned Secondary (How do I do things?).

Sounds about right.

If I’m honest, though, it feels a bit strange to really, really fight for anything. I’d rather contribute to the cause by keeping an eye on whether we stay aligned to our values on every level of the fight, not by storming sightlessly in front of some army. (I got polemic again, didn’t I? ;))

So after all this Bird talk, why do I think that I’m a Lion?

… that was the Bird segment?

- I trust my intuition. It has never steered me wrong, with one exception: My Primary burned for a time when I first understood the concept of privilege and internalized bias, which was coincidentally at a time when I also went through a lot of changes in my personal life. Like many people unaware of their own privilege, I had thought of myself as “one of the good ones”. I learned that even with the best intentions I could cause great harm without even noticing it. This then also happened to me in a relationship, when I was already confused, hurt and more than a bit burned. It seemed like I couldn’t trust my intuition anymore, but I also couldn’t figure out intellectually what to believe, because I felt mentally overwhelmed by all those new concepts, all of which put my previous convictions into question. Which Primary burned then?

Been there, done that, it’s brutal. It sounds to me like a Lion dramatically changing direction - that’s what I mean when I say that it *hurts* when a Lion changes their mind. Birds see their past selves that thought wrong as almost different people. “I wasn’t aware of my privilege then, now I am, and can take steps doing forward.” But if you’re a lion it’s like… I *should* have been aware, and the fact that I wasn’t says something terrible about my moral/emotional calibration, and THAT has to be put right.

- I felt like everything I had learned about the world and myself didn’t count anymore. My concepts and my strategies didn’t serve me anymore. So I started to rebuild everything from scratch, this time with less pride and more practicality.

Yeah. That’s some Lion recalibration. With a Bird Model, to help.

- Anyway, I trust my intuition. It contains my experiences, instinct and all my accumulated unconscious observations of the situation, and it’s very reliable. Usually I use it as an important source of information which I try to back up with data/ understanding, but when push came to shove and the apparent facts would contradict what my intuition told me, I would be unable to set my gut feeling aside. I wouldn’t follow it blindly, of course. But I would never just go against it either. If the voices of my unconscious and conscious mind don’t align, I keep poking at the issue until they do. If I absolutely cannot come to a satisfying conclusion, I go with my gut. Since I know it usually knows what it’s doing, I’ll find out the reasons for my feelings later. (Weird, says my inner bird who is busy compiling these examples.)

I’LL FIND THE REASON FOR MY FEELINGS LATER. What a perfect way of articulating what is perhaps the central experience of being a Lion primary.

- Probably I’m just both, you know. Some interesting lion/bird-chimaera. I like it.

I read you as a pretty clear Lion Primary, Bird primary model. But as always, the decision is very personal.

- I have a weird way of processing information: I read/ hear it, work to understand it, work to connect it to existing knowledge in my mind, then my beliefs, my existing knowledge and my feelings about it all wind around each other, grow into each other, some dissolve together, becoming a swamp which then nourishes the plants of new ideas and connections that grow from it.

You grok it. And that’s not weird.

I often can’t remember where certain knowledge came from. I can’t take it out of a memory shelf and tell you about it. I usually remember that I’ve read a certain book and whether I liked it / it influenced me, but I won’t exactly remember what was in it, even if it was important to me. Because all that information is already processed/ digested/ transformed into something new. It’s much easier to access my memory swamp intuitively than consciously.

and you seriously had like… any doubt that you were a Lion.

In intellectual discussions I tend to get stuck because I just can’t remember enough of the details (for my satisfaction), just my conclusions about the topic and how I feel about it.

I’m inclined to think that not accessing the details is either a secondary thing, or an entirely unrelated processing thing.

What do you make of all this? I’m very curious!

:)

[On an unrelated note, I’d like to specify the compliment I made at the beginning of this post. I’m really impressed with your ability to pick up on what people need, not just what they say they want. As a counselor this is a skill I try to hone, so I know how difficult it is to not get too distracted by the story people tell and miss the more subtle cues. You have a powerful combination of perceptiveness, insight and so much kindness, which you use to effectively support people who have questions, are in distress or confused. You don’t generalize. You don’t judge. You see the people who talk to you.  I love that you’re a teacher, because I can see you’re using the influence that gives you in a way that contributes to making the world a better place. Fellow Idealist, I’d like to give you a High Five for that, if I may. :)))]

I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a better compliment. Thank you.

[talietikasero]

Stability

Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.

[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]

"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.

“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”

“You can prevent the end of it all.”

Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."

"..."

"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."

"..."

"Fighting to... s-save the world..."

"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"

"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."

Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."

With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."

"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."

Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.

After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.

The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.

Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"

She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.

"I know so."

The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.

_____

The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.

“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”

Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."

"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."

"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.

---

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.

Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."

"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"

"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."

"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Asuka."

"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."

"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."

"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"

"...Okay."

"Thank you. ~"

---

Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.

Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."

He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."

Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"

"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.

"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."

"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."

"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."

"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."

His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"

"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."

"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."

"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."

"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."

"Where you got your new start."

"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."

He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.

"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.

"Hey, Aria."

"Hm?"

He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."

Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.

A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words...

"I love you."

[kingbennyboyyy]

benny’s RWBY rewrite: the white fang

so this is something that’s been on my mind for a while, and i’ve been trying to formulate my thoughts about it. the white fang in RWBY, as it stands now, is a really poorly thought-out approximation of the black panther party, an actual organization that fought for the equal rights and the equal treatment of black people in the united states. the black panther party’s actions have been long pathologized by white society and academia at large, and have been falsely contrasted with the ideals and teachings of MLK. the false dichotomy of violent and non-violent action is reductive at best, and blatantly racist at worst. while there is a whole fuckton to be said about the real-life consequences of these discourses, i’d like to focus on their impact on the writing of RWBY. i’d also like to talk about how i’d change how the white fang looks in order to make things a little less uncomfortable.

content warning for real and fictional racism, antiblackness, violence against marginalized people, and discussions of white supremacy under the cut.

so, the white fang. the RWBY wiki describes the group as “ a Faunus organization in Remnant. Founded following the Faunus Rights Revolution, the White Fang was initially a peaceful activist organization created to improve relations between Humans and Faunus and improve the civil rights of the latter.” more concisely, i would describe the white fang as a faunus rights activist group, whose modes of operation have changed over time. within the story, after the peaceful leader ghira stepped down, the faction as a whole took a notable nose-dive into violence. but why did this happen? why was the white fang written like this?

first of all, all of the following talk comes from the subjective opinion of one black genderqueer writer. i am not the voice of the entirety of my community, and i can bet that there are people who disagree with me. i’m just here to say my piece.

that said, i think that the white fang’s writing grossly misunderstands what oppression looks like to marginalized people. the RWBY writing team obviously wanted to handle racism in some kind of way- they wrote racism into the story. however, it’s incredibly clear that most of the writers don’t really understand how deeply racism runs in given societies. the oppression of the faunus is clearly mirroring the oppression of black people in the united states, and yet there’s little to this oppression other than surface-level discrimitation. ghira’s direction of the white fang doesn’t seem to understand that personal prejudice is a very small aspect of the continued oppression of the faunus. alarmingly, it’s only when “radicals” such as sienna khan and adam taurus take control that actual, structural avenues of racism are acknowledged. this has several issues.

- whether the RWBY writers intended this or not, attributing the acknowledgement of actual systemic issues to violent radicals is inherently a really bad call. the dismantling and destruction of racist structures is the baseline of most avenues of anti-racist thought, but by only assigning these beliefs to people like adam “kill all humans” taurus, you’re telling the audience that only people like adam “i’m gonna kill all my ex’s loved ones b/c she hurt my feelings” taurus think that these things are a reality. make no mistake, institutional racism and structural violence against marginalized people is a thing. by giving these ideas to violent actors, you’re sending a really shitty message. 

- another thing to note is the role of fear in the white fang’s activity. blake is quoted as saying that under adam taurus, people only pretend to respect the faunus because they’re afraid of the white fang. this is also bad. there is an actual line of racist thought that thinks that people who just want equality are a bunch of thugs using intimidation tactics to get special treatment, and by affirming this in-canon, you’re giving credence to these beliefs. in addition, adam’s literal desire to put humans in cages and make them go extinct is also an actual white supremacist talking point. actual fucking white supremacists go on about how the white race is going extinct as a means to manipulate otherwise well-meaning people into committing acts of violence against marginalized people. but RWBY says, “no, the white fang actually wants humans to be wiped off the face of the earth.” i shouldn’t have to tell you how buck fucking wild this is. 

- there’s also the role of violence in activism. the black panther party has long been attributed with senseless and anger-fueled violence against white people, but this assessment of the party is completely false. in truth, the arming of black panthers was a direct response to overpolicing and police violence against black people. the black panther party advocated self-defense, and acted as its own protective force for black americans. they had guns so that they could protect themselves from the cops, who were assaulting and killing them in absurd numbers. if the RWBY writers wanted to draw parallels between the white fang and the black panther party, they could have very easily done so by actually doing their research.

the question becomes, is it at all possible to have members of the white fang as actual villains within the RWBY universe? i’d say that it is possible, but it has to be done very carefully. there’s several things that have to be kept in mind here, and the entire understanding of faunus oppression has be to restructured in order for this to work. i’ll outline what i would change below:

- firstly, there needs to be more evidence of faunus marginalization past the surface level. this could be evident in a phethora of ways, anywhere from the trend of faunus hiding their animal traits being more common (an important thing to note is how accessible passing as a human is to the faunus), to beacon actually having much more bias than humans are aware of. blake highlighting these biases would be extremely helpful in establishing how deeply anti-faunus sentiments run. the only racists being cartoon bullies and shady billionaires rings too closely to the sentiments that white people have about racism. this is also a comparatively minor gripe, but the whole “becoming the monster people think they are” mask thing is just so... dumb. there are legitimate reasons for faunus to hide their identities during protests, and pathologizing this is just such a shitty thing to do.

- next, the white fang as a whole cannot be a terrorist organization in actuality. people can believe that the white fang are a bunch of terrorists, sure, but this can’t be the truth. for example, it would make perfect sense for weiss to think such things. her being the heiress to the schnee dust company, being fed stories about scary faunus with weapons trying to hurt her and her family would make sense. but the stereotypes humans have about faunus activism can’t be true. in addition, there should at the very least be more than one faunus activist party. the fact that there’s only one in the entire continent of remnant is so fucking stupid. you don’t think that some group of people would be dissatisfied and go and do something else?

- adam and sienna cannot be the leaders of the entire white fang. i’m sorry, but it’s just way too fucking easy for racists to say “oh, the entire thing’s just an excuse for (insert minority here) to ransack property and hurt people!” ilia could have been promoted after ghira stepped down. it would be interesting to see how she uses her ability to pass as human to actually make some changes for the people of menagerie, and the power structures that led to its creation. sienna has the potential to be someone disillusioned by strictly pacifist ideals of ghira, but she can act more in accordance to the actual black panther party, advocating for self-defense and knowing one’s rights. the arming and training of faunus, as frightening as it may be to the humans in power, cannot and should not be depicted at the beginnings of terrorism. there’s potential for actual discussion of the effectiveness of pacifism and respectability politics in activism, but all of that was overshadowed by the gross villification and oversimplification of the white fang.

- finally, adam. i think that adam is able to remain mostly the same, with a few adjustments to the environment around him (along with the previously discussed changes). i don’t think that adam should be the only person whose violent oppression is readily visible. the trope of the oppressed person going “mad with vengeance” is just adding fuel to the fire of the belief that those who speak out against their oppression should be put down. as satisfying an arc blake and yang beating the shit out of blake’s abusive ex was, it did just kind of feel like two people being like “yeah! violence wrong! pacifism good!” the unification of faunus SDC workers shouldn’t be attributed to adam. the advocacy for faunus to be able to defend themselves shouldn’t be attributed to adam. adam needs to be labled extremely clearly as an outlier, and even then this is risky. i think that adam’s group should be miniscule in comparison to the other sects of the white fang, and i think it would be interesting for his dealings with roman and company to be based on the distribution of android soldiers. adam shouldn’t come from a good place. yes, he suffered atrociously at the hands of his oppressors, but as a character and as an element of the story, he should be uniquely evil. for the few actual people in his group, he should rule through fear and violence, and defectors should be common. his brand of violence should be unique: rather than actually aiming to make changes to help the faunus, he should be solely focused on revenge. blake’s leaving him makes more sense in this way: rather than her leaving because of the inherent evil of violence, she should leave him because of his twisting the good intentions of the white fang into a self-serving cruelty. this all has to be contrasted against the well-intentioned actions of the actual white fang. the terrorist logo that appears universally on white fang regalia should either be solely adam’s, or his group should have a different name entirely.

so there. there’s my thoughts on the white fang and the stuff that the RWBY writers were trying to do. what should be taken away from this discussion is this: it is possible to write racism into a fantasy story without it being an absolute garbage fire, but it takes work. it takes understanding racism, the fact that it’s not just cruel people, but people complicit in the structures that uphold it. it takes being mindful of actual racist talking points, and making sure that your work doesn’t play into them. finally, if you’re going to make a main antagonist a member of the fucking civil rights movement, please for the love of god make it abundantly clear that they aren’t the villain because they want equal rights.

i’ve read so many stories where this defanged, platitude-ridden form of activism is treated as the only valid form of activism. in reality, it’s the form that people in power are most comfortable with. people approve of the idealized version of MLK because his activism was one that made white people feel good. the MLK we read about in schools is an illusory one. the real man kept a gun on him because he knew that as much as white media would have you believe that people liked him, he knew that people still wanted him dead. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 31)

Sokka groans, she still hasn’t spoken to him since the night they’d looked at the lights. She isn’t being hostile, but Raava he’d almost prefer it to her cold shoulder. Frankly, he never thought that a firebender could be that cold, perhaps he hadn’t wrapped her in enough parkas after all.

He watches Azula emerge onto the deck and tries a little wave. She returns it with a degree of nonchalance.

Alright, he decides to himself, so maybe she isn’t giving him the cold shoulder but she has definitely been distant. They are two days into their boat ride and she hasn’t come to him with her sleep troubles at all.

The worst of it is that he isn’t entirely sure why. Had not answering her right away really been such an offense? “Can we talk?” He asks as she passes.

“No.” It is a single word and she slips away. Slinking across the deck as though he hadn’t spoken at all. He watches her find TyLee and reluctantly invite herself into whatever discussion the girl is having with Mai. He supposes that he is happy for her, she has managed to bring herself closer to the two of them again, even if she lacks some of the social graces.

“You two fighting again?” Katara asks.

“No!” He answers. “Yes? I don’t know. She’s just not talking to me. But she hasn’t lit my close on fire yet, so that’s a good sign, right?”

“Well what were you talking about before she stopped talking to you?” Katara inquires.

Sokka gulps. His face might be going a shade pink. He isn’t sure if he should tell her. How the hell is he supposed to break the news that he is falling for the person who’d persistently attacked them for the longest time.

“Well?”

“I uh...she asked me if I…”

“If you…” she encourages with a hand gesture.

“If I love her.”

Katara’s mouth falls agape. “And what did you say?” She sputters, her voice a hair higher than usual.

“Nothing.” He replies. “I didn’t say anything and then she stomped--sort of, she kind of tried to stomp but her feet kept getting stuck in the snow and so she had to just walk--back to our house.”

Katara sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, giving him the impression that he is absolutely clueless. “You can’t just say nothing when someone asks you if you love them!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Answer the question, Sokka.”

.oOo.

“Awww,” TyLee gushes and Azula has to turn away to hide the light shade of pink creeping over her cheeks. “And what did he say!?”

“He didn’t say anything, TyLee.” She crosses her arms.

“Hmmm…” She hums.

“What am I supposed to make of nothing?”

“That he doesn’t like you and you should find someone who isn’t a moron.” Mai shrugs.

“He’s not a moron. Unlike your boyfriend.” Azula grumbles.

Mai shrugs again, “all of the men on this boat are idiots.”

“I don’t know.” TyLee replies. “Maybe he didn’t reply because he’s still thinking about it. Or maybe he does love you! And he just got shy.”

“Why would he get shy?” Azula asks.

“Because you’re...you.” She replies. “You’re an intimidating person.”

And yet he has seen her bawling and shaking like a child or a cornered and wounded animal. He can’t imagine that, that is intimidating.

“And you’re pretty and smart and maybe he doesn’t think that he can match up!”

Her flattery is rather nice, but she takes it with a grain of salt. Granted, she has decided that TyLee is the prefect person to ask about this. At the very least, she is enthusiastic. Azula finds herself glad that she has chosen to try to mend things between the two of them. Though she wonders if it was a feat only made possible because there is such a large portion of her missing.

“I think that you should ask him again.” She smiles.

“And this time give him time to answer.” Mai adds in a monotone drawl.

.oOo.

She ought to do it, she ought to ask him again, or at least resume talking to him. Her mind is loud again, loud and full of dark visions as it takes her through moments she has already lived. She wants to wander in by Sokka again but she doesn’t want to leave him with the impression that she is using him. That she only speaks to him when she needs comfort. So her legs carry her back to Zuko’s cabin. As of late, when the phantom tingling in her arms worsen and the past replays itself in her nightmares, she finds herself pestering her brother. He lets her take the top bunk and talks to her until her words break off into a sleepy murmur. It isn’t the same as spending the night with Sokka but it is its own kind of reassuring. This time she doesn’t bother knocking. He is still awake and doesn’t question her as she climbs back onto the top bunk.

He gives her a few moments to settle in before asking, “what do you want to talk about tonight?”

Tonight has been ludicrously rough, her nightmares much more potent and she wants to attribute it to her hatred of the sea combined with how recently she’d relived her days in the compound. “Can you tell me about your scar?” She imagines that this is a topic that will have strength enough to keep her attention.

She hears him suck in a deep breath.

“Nevermind.” She mumbles.

“No. It’s fine, I’ll tell you.” He replies and then he goes silent again.

“Let me guess, that’s my fault too?” She asks softly.

“No!” He replies quickly and much more hushed he adds, “it was our father’s fault.”

Her brows furrow. Their father. Truth be told she hadn’t thought much of him. Hadn’t even considered how bizarre it is that she hasn’t seen either of her parents yet. There is so much going on in her mind… “why haven’t I met them yet.”

“Because Ozai--father is in prison and mom is visiting our uncle in the Earth Kingdom.”

“Did he go to prison for burning your face?”

Zuko shakes his head. “Sokka told you about the war right.”

“Parts, yes.” She answers. “He only really told me about my part in it.”

“Well it was our father who sent you out to go after me. He’s the one who…” he trails off. “I think that a lot of what you did was his fault. He was always turning us against each other.”

Azula inhales, her chest constricting slightly at that mention.

“He was evil. He’s still evil, but he’s evil in prison now. He was going to burn the entire Earth Kingdom to the ground so that he could rule over everything. And he had you go out and conquer things in his name and you. You liked it.”

Azula curls her hands into the fabric of the pillow. In and of itself it is disturbing to know. But that she had managed several successes… “what’s wrong with me?”

She can sense him going tense on the lower bunk. “I didn’t mean that. I mean…” he breaks off with a frustrated groan. “I don’t think that you’re like him. For a while I did, but you’re different now.”

This only sinks her heart further. “When we get to the Foggy Swamp, I was thinking that we can just shut the facility down, make the arrests, and be on our way. I think that I’m better off without my memories.  And besides, I’d rather not risk losing the ones I have now if something goes wrong.”

“Don’t say that.” He says.

“People like me more now, I’d rather have that. Anyways, my past doesn’t exactly sound cheerful.”

“If you’re worried about going back to the way he--father--wanted you to be I don’t think that you should. I think that everything that’s happened since you lost them will matter more to you than what came before that.”

Azula draws her legs to her chest.

“And if it helps, even before you lost your memories I realized you weren’t like him. Ozai is a lost cause. You’re more like me.” He pauses.

“Why would you say something so rude?” Azula snickers.

“Gee thanks.” He grumbles, she detects a faint trace of amusement before his tone goes serious again. “Did Sokka ever tell you what I did before making friends with Aang?”

“No.”

“Well for one thing, I burned a whole village on Kyoshi Island. It was where Sokka’s girlfriend lived. And I sent a hitman to kill them all…”

“Oh wait, he did mention that.” She mumbles more to herself. “The hit man anyways. I can’t picture you as the type to burn a whole village down. Not on purpose anyways.”

“Ha. Ha.”

She snickers again.

“My point is, our father got us both to do awful things. But I had mom and uncle. You only had him. I’m glad that he’s not around you anymore or me. Because you have a chance now.”

“I suppose that that’s good to know.” She notes, not even conveying half of the relief that is swelling in her chest. She supposes that she can’t be horrible to her core if it brings her that much comfort knowing that she hadn’t been completely unsalvageable before the Vine Facility.

“Anyways, I knew that our father was evil from the start. I was thirteen when he challenged me to an Agni Kai.”

“Agni Kai?” Azula sits up and climbs down to join him on the bottom bunk. He sits up and makes room.

“Oh right, you don’t remember what those are.” He says aloud. “It’s a one on one dual between two firebenders. It’s a fight for honor and ends when one opponent burns the other.”

Azula nods. “Father wanted to hurt you.” It isn’t a question but rather a repetition of what she already knows.

“Yeah. A grown man wanted to burn his thirteen year old son because he spoke out of turn. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight our father because I...still loved him. I believed in him.” He shakes his head. “And even if I could have fought him, I didn’t stand a chance.” She can see tears glistening down his cheeks and thinks that perhaps she should reach out. But she also thinks that doing so would be awkward. So instead she holds her hands in her lap and stares at her palms.

“And while I was looking up at him, begging him not to do it…” He touches his fingers to the scar. “You and uncle were there.”

She can add that to the list of things better off unmemorized.

“After that he banished me. Told me that he didn’t want to see my face again because I’m an embarrassment. You found me a few days later and were able to convince him to let me have a ship and a crew and uncle.”

“I did something good?”

He gives a soft smile and nudges her on the arm. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you that you’re not like him.”

“Our father burned you…” she trails off. Suddenly she wonders what he has done to her. Just as much, she doesn’t want to. “A man with honor wouldn’t fight a child. Or anyone significantly below his skill level.”

“You always fought me.” He points out.

“Then I must have found that you could hold your own against me. Even if you couldn’t win.” She shrugs.

“You think that I’m a good firebender?”

“I haven’t see you do it much, but if you can fight me and come out alive then you have to be at least somewhat competent.” She pauses to consider the alternative. “That or we’re both horrendously subpar.”

He laughs. “You’re not subpar.”

She stands up and heads for the ladder.

“Thanks.”

“It’s the truth. You can’t be that bad if…”

“No. For telling me that it’s father who has no honor.”

“Oh, yes, well that is also the truth.”

He laughs once more. “You’re still terrible at being comforting.” Before she can climb up he adds, “but somehow that is kind of comforting.”

“Glad that I can help?”

“If you have trouble sleeping, I’m down here.”

“Yes, I know. Good night, Zuzu.”

She hears him give an exaggerated groan. “Why is it that no even a memory wipe could erase dumb that nickname!?”

“Because it holds more power than the both of us.” She murmurs. “Good night, Zuzu.”

“Good night.”

Azula pulls the covers up to her chin. She thinks that she might just have a peaceful night after all. She only needs to sort things out with Sokka. In the meantime it is a kindness to know that she isn’t resented. That, even at her darkest she hadn’t been so truly terrible that her own brother could write her off. Again she finds herself toying with the idea of calling her memories back. She sighs and decides to put that line of thinking aside for the night and take comfort in ridiculous nicknames and potential and highly cringeworthy sibling bonding.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Happiness Can’t Be Arranged, Chapter 31

He’s not sure that he even slept.

His head is throbbing at the temples and behind his eyes, and he feels vaguely nauseous. His mouth is dry and pasty, and when he swallows, he can taste the liquor in his mouth, though it’s been hours since his last drink. He hadn’t been picky about what he started with, and worked his way through the whiskey his father always kept on hand and a nice bottle of cognac that was kept for special occasions that never seemed to come. He’d drank until his vision was hazy and his thoughts were blurry, and when he’d fallen back into the armchair in front of the hearth, he’d thrown his glass into the dwindling fire, lamenting there was no more within his reach to drink.

He’s not sure what happened after that. Everything just sort of… blurred together.

His thoughts flitted aimlessly back and forth and around again. They moved from what happened that night with Jefferson to the sting of Regina’s words and the guilt that bubbled up in him as soon as she said them. The jumped from the favor his father had done for him to the riddles Mr. Gold spun to the good day he and Regina had been having before entering the tavern. For whatever reason, that last bit--the lightheartedness of Reigna’s mood, her laugh and smile, and how it all came crashing down--made him the angriest.

He’d seen none of this coming, but especially not that.

Eventually, though, the fire faded out and eventually the morning sun came in through the windows.

And eventually, the regret set in.

This had been a stupid choice--a stupid choice to cap off a night of stupid choices.

Grimacing, he sits up, groaning as the ache in his head pulses.

His eye catches a glimpse of the portrait above the hearth that’s been there for as long as he can remember--an oil painting that his father commissioned when he was young. He’s sitting on his mother’s lap, and she’s sitting in a stately-looking chair while his father stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder and the other tucked into his pocket. His mother wears a faint smile and he looks as angelic as any two-year old might as he twists a long pearl necklace between his little fingers, but his father gazes out sternly--and it’s that stern look that finally pushes him up and out of his chair.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve found you this way.”

Robin blinks as a blurry John looks up from a newspaper. He squints and rubs at his dry eyes, then looks again to his valet, sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the table in front of it. “What time is it?”

“Oh, well before eight,” John says easily, glancing up again from the paper. “There’s a story here… about a brawl at the local tavern.”

Robin grimaces and presses his eyes closed, mutter a low fuck me under his breath.

“Says the assailant looked an awful lot like the town’s benefactor’s son--”

“Looked--”

“Yes, but upon further inquiry, the watchmen came to the conclusion that the younger Mr. Locksley was at home with his wife and children,” John says, looking back to the newspaper. “Something about in the midst of a bedtime routine.”

Robin’s eyes open and instantly narrow. “It really says that?”

“It does.”

“Oh--”

“It nearly sounds believable.”

Robin nods. “Yes. Nearly.”

“Upon further inquiry at the tavern, the watchmen determined that the men who witnesses the brawl couldn’t be certain of the man’s identity… which, they attribute to the alcohol.”

“I see.”

“Apparently, the assailant’s target had been drinking and gambling all day,” John says. “Cheating at cards. He got caught earlier that day.”

“So surprising.”

“Mm, so, the watchmen believe that someone he swindled came back for him.”

“Interesting--”

“It is,” John agrees, setting down the paper. “It’s complete and utter rubbish, but it is interesting.”

Robin’s brow arches. “Suppose I have an evil twin.”

John nods. “I could… except for the fact I was the one who saddled up your horse when you said you needed to run an errand into town… and then explained it was to pummel Jefferson Hatfield to a pulp.”

Robin feels a prickle run up his spine. “Well--”

“Of course, I somehow managed to forget those details when the watchmen asked me last night.” A grin twists onto his lips. “I’d just finished putting your horse into his stall when they arrived. I told them I was checking on Henry’s horse.”

“Ah--”

A little chuckle bubbles out of John as he rises. “You know how young boys can be--so eager to do things for themselves, but not always careful about detail.”

“Yes,” Robin says, nodding as he clears his throat and thinks how unlike Henry that would be. “Indeed.”

“So, no harm, no foul, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Did you get in a good punch?”

“I got in a few.”

“Good--”

“I’m not so sure,” Robin says, sighing. “Regina’s upset.”

“Of course she is. You lied to her--”

“And did exactly what she asked me not to do.”

“But did it feel good?” John asks. “Did hitting him make you feel any better?”

“I… don’t know. In the moment, yes. In the moment, it felt so good. But then… something overcame me, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

“Then--”

“Then, I came home and…”

“You didn’t feel so good.”

Robin frowns. “No.”

“Because Regina’s upset about it.”

“And because I owe my father.”

“How much?”

Robin sighs and shakes his head. “Too much.”

“I’m sure he said he’ll take it from your inheritance,” John says, shrugging. “He always says that and then never does.”

“I don’t like owing him.”

John nods. “Debt of any kind to someone who you don’t get on well with is always an uncomfortable thing.”

“I have enough to cover it,” Robin says, talking more to himself than to John. “More than enough.”

“So, problem solved.”

Robin nods. “I hate to take it from the return on the investments Regina and I made, but--”

“If it’ll clear your head--”

Again, Robin nods. “It will, and that money is mine, free and clear. It’s nothing to do with my father.”

“So, the debt will be erased completely.”

“Yes.”

Robin draws in a breath, turning his head from side to side and letting his neck crack. He doesn’t want to go into town or sit in the bank manager’s office or fill out the necessary withdrawal forms. Instead, he wants a warm rag, a headache powder, and his own bed.

“Will you get my horse prepared for--”

“After I prepare you.”

Looking down at himself. “Oh, I’m fine to go as I am.”

John’s eyes narrow. “Are you?”

“I’m dressed and--”

“And look like you were in a brawl last night.” John’s nose scrunches slightly. “At least put on a shirt that doesn’t have blood on the cuff.”

Blinking, Robin looks down at his sleeve. “Son of a bitch--”

“Wash up. You look like hell. You’ve got bags underneath your eyes and your hair looks like some little woodland creature tried to make a nest of out it.”

Robin blinks and his temples pulse. “I know I’ve always encouraged you to speak your mind--”

John laughs. “You’ve known me far too long not to allow that.”

Robin frowns. That’s true enough. John has been with him since he was just a bit older than Henry is now. He’d been hired as a companion for the lonely only child--an only child who struggled to make friends because he had a penchant for stealing things he felt they didn’t need or properly care for.

“Come on,” John says easily. “If you’re nice to me and do as I ask, I’ll put a little honey in your wash water.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Why would you do that?”

“Vapors.”

“Vapors?”

John laughs. “My mother swears by it, and who am I to argue?”

“Everyone knows vapors are made up--”

“I won’t argue with my mother and experience tells me honeyed water works to relieve a headache.”

Sighing, they start toward the stairs. “But--”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

Robin blinks. “And what is the alternative? Other than a medication that actually works?”

A tight, coy smile stretches across his lips. “Well, short of an eel to send a shock through you, trepanning.”

“You mean… drilling holes in my head. That’s your other suggestion?”

“People have been doing it for centuries.”

“And dying.”

John laughs. “Well, their headache goes away, then, doesn't it?”

“You’re an asshole,” Robin says, sighing as his eyes roll.

“An asshole, but your only friend.” Then a hearty laugh escapes him. “And a paid one, at that.”

“You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“Sure, I can.”

“Yes, when your father dies.”

“I have… other friends.”

John laughs. “Sure, I’ll give you that. You have one more friend.”

“See--”

“But she’s mad at you right now.”

Robin groans as they start toward the stairs. He’s not in the mood for any of this--not the banter, not the pending errand, and certainly not the cackle he hears coming from the top of the stairs.

Bewildered, he looks to John.

“Zelena awoke early,” John says, rolling his eyes. “To everyone’s great delight.”

“Did she stay in her suite? I hardly need her blabbing to my father that I slept--”

“Yes. She had a guest, I think.”

“A guest--”

“Early this morning, she took a meeting in her sitting room.”

Robin’s brow creases. “With whom?”

“I didn’t care enough to inquire.”

Robin shrugs. “That’s fair.”

“She’s probably going down to breakfast now.”

Stepping off the stair, Robin shakes his head and starts toward the opposite end of the corridor. “We’re taking the servant’s stairs. I’d rather not bump into her.”

“Fair enough,” John says, chuckling slightly. “You’ll get no complaint from me. The less I bump into her the happier I am.”

They end up in his former bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed while John choses a new set of clothes and prepares a pitcher and basin--and just as promised, he adds a spoonful of honey to the water. He cleans him up and combs his hair, dressing him before sponging on the honeyed water, which Robin begrudgingly allows.

When John is done with him, he looks almost as if he didn’t spend the entire night drinking--almost, but not quite. And he makes it a point to inform him that the honeyed water did not work to relieve his throbbing head. John shrugs and tells him he’s stubborn, then helps him into his coat.

John stays back to clean up while he goes downstairs, intentionally circumventing the dining room where his father and Zelena are eating. From what he can tell, the mood is tense--his father’s scowling and Zelena looks vexed--and if he didn’t have such a headache, he’d pop in, just to rile things up. But instead, he passes by unnoticed.

He walks to the stables, finding the air is bitterly cold, and his cloak is entirely too thin. He’s shivering by the time he reaches the stables. Quickly, he saddles up his horse and takes the same shortcut through the woods he took the night before, and he arrives just as the banker is opening up the doors.

The banker greets him gingerly as he always does--which is entirely based upon the amount of money his family holds there and nothing to do with being personable--and Robin explains his situation. As they enter, the banker opens up the office and fishes out the necessary forms. Robin sits at the desk and scowls at the small print--his eyes aching as he struggles to read it--and finally, when they’re filled out, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Then, finally, he’s handed a slip that indicates the transfer from his personal account to the Sherwood account that his father micromanages was made.

It stings a little and as he leaves, guilt prickles up his spine. He hates that the had to use some of this money--money meant for him and Regina and their boys to start a new life, money meant for his family’s security--to pay off a debt to his father over an incredibly stupid mistake.

Then, kicking the sides of his horse, he shrugs it off and races back to Sherwood, hoping to be back before Regina wakes--and hoping that sleep has calmed her down.

______

From the window of the small sitting room attached to their bedroom suite, Regina watches as Robin rides across the lawn--and she wonders where he’s coming back from and how long he’s been away.

The spot beside her was cold when she woke, and the pillow and blanket undisturbed. After walking away from him the night before, she undressed herself and got into a nightgown. She’d kept the fire going as she crawled into bed, and she stayed up as late as she could, just waiting to see if Robin came to bed.

She hoped that he would.

She hoped that they could talk.

She hoped that she could more calmly explain herself--tell him that she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, that she’d poorly chosen her words, that she hadn’t meant to accuse him of making her a kept woman. And that hadn’t been at all what she meant, despite the way that it sounded.

But she was upset and her emotions raged. Her words got jumbled in her head and when they came out, they came out wrong. She’d been too frazzled to correct herself and too mad to want to--but she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, and deep down, she knew that he didn’t mean to upset her.

He’d been angry at the situation--and this sort of behavior was still new to him.

She’d learned to deal with it, to shroud in the shadows and make herself as invisible as possible--after all, if she was out of sight, she was out of mind, and the longer she stayed that way and the longer people didn’t think of her, the more her indiscretions would fade away. When she and Henry moved back to Dragon Head, that had been her plan, and it’d worked. People eventually stopped talking about the disgraced, prodigal daughter returned.The scandal didn’t go away, and as she well-knew, the story cropped up every now and then, but for the most part, she’d been able to give a quiet life away.

And that was how she spent the earliest months of her marriage.

But Robin wasn’t used to that and he didn’t understand it.

Sure, he’d been a relative recluse, not often attending social engagements or fraternizing with the men or couples of his age group.

But he lived by a different set of rules.

He could do that. His gender and position allowed that--no matter how strange people thought he was.

But Robin hadn’t come up to bed and she never got the chance to explain herself.

She’d waited up until the sun was peeking up over the trees and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. It seemed she’d barely closed her eyes when Mal was waking her up, explaining in too-quick a voice that Belle was still feeling under the weather, and she’d made an executive decision--which she knew she had no right to make--to give her one more day in bed to ensure she’d kicked whatever bug had overtaken her.

Regina nodded blindly, agreeing--and she thinks she meant it--and only half listening.

Mal led her into the little dressing room at the back of her bedchamber, and stripped her down, offering up two choices of dresses. She’d only shrugged and told Mal to pick, and she stood there like a inanimate doll, letting Mal stuff her into the the cream-colored long-sleeve dress spotted with little brown flowers.

When she was dressed, Mal took out her braid and pinned her hair, letting it hang down over her shoulders. Mal giggled as she chose an ivory comb for her hair. Regina shrugged when Mal asked if she wanted the rest of her hair up, and when she indicated didn’t care, Mal patted her shoulders and told her she was going to wake the boys.

Regina nodded and watched her go, then frowned at her reflection.

She looked tired and she felt worse than she looked--and that made her grumpy…

Blinking, she looks to the door, listening as footsteps near. She swallows. She knows the footsteps--and for a moment, she thinks up a quick apology. But everything she thinks to say seems to fall short or not quite explain what she really means--and that only frustrates her.

“You look like hell,” she says instead as Robin enters the room.

Robin blinks, almost blankly. “Yes. Well. Good morning to you, too.”

She bristles. This isn’t how she wanted to start the conversation. “Where were you?”

“What?”

“I saw you riding across the lawn.”

“Oh. Right,” he murmurs. “The bank.”

“Why?”

“The same reason anyone goes to the bank. I needed to make a transaction.”

Regina frowns as Robin flops down into one of the chairs by the window. He’s usually not this short with her.

“What was the transaction for?”

“My father,” he says., sighing as he reaches for the cord on the window, tugging at it until the curtain falls. “I needed to pay my debt.”

“How much?”

He blinks. “Too much.”

“That’s not an amount.”

She grimaces. It doesn't matter. What’s done is done, and truly, she doesn't care about the amount of money. She meant to sound curious, but her voice sounded more frustrated than she intended.

Robin doesn’t reply, instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a bank slip. His eyes close and his head falls back as he extends the slip to her on his fingertips. A bit awkwardly, she shifts herself to him and takes it; but she doesn't look at it, instead, she just looks at him, again trying to muster an apology.

“You… didn’t come to bed last night.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Well, you… you share this room, so…”

“I’ve spent the last several nights sleeping elsewhere,” he tells her. “What’s one more night?”

She frowns. She hadn’t expected that. “Well, that was… different. Henry was sick and--”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I passed out. In the library.”

“Oh--”

“I fell asleep in a chair.”

“That sounds… uncomfortable.”

Robin shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

Again, she bristles, not quite sure what that means or how to take it; but nonetheless, it annoys her. “So, you… drank yourself stupid and passed out. That’s what you’re telling me?”

“I suppose it is.”

Her jaw tightens. “So, instead of facing me, you… got drunk.”

“I suppose that’s the sum of it.”

Again, she tenses. She spent the night worrying about him--worrying that she’d ruined something between them, that one poor word choice changed something between them--and all the while, he was downstairs, drinking.

“I just wanted to forget it all.”

“So, you wanted to forget… me and what I said.”

“Well, it was a shitty thing to say, but--”

“Well, you did a shitty thing.” Her shoulder square as his eyes open, and she feels herself growing defensive. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said what I said, but perhaps you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

Robin stares blankly at her for a moment, then, with a sigh, his head falls back. “This isn’t worth the fight.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she asks, again her defense piquing. “It was worth getting stupid drunk. So, you obviously care, so why not--”

“Damn it, Regina. I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

She feels her jaw tighten as her cheeks warm. “Well, I can tell you what I don’t want you to do. I don’t want you to blow things out of proportion, as you’ve already done. I don’t want you to lie to me or dismiss my wishes or feelings, and I don’t want you to make an uncomfortable situation worse--”

“So, we’re back to this--”

“Did we ever leave it?”

Robin sighs, rubbing two fingers against his forehead. “Your situation is only uncomfortable because--”

“Because of my choices. No one else’s. No one else is to blame. It’s just me. And you can disagree with that, and to be perfectly honest, I love you for disagreeing with that, but at the end of the day, you’re the only one who sees my situation as you see it.”

Robin blinks--he looks like he’s not quite following.

“But I’ve lived with this longer than you have, and I understand there are different rules for different people. That’s just the way the world works. I don’t make the rules, but neither do you, and we both have to live by them, whether we like them or not.”

For a moment, he’s silent--and then, he shakes his head. “I don’t accept that.”

“But I have to.”

Again, he shakes his head--and then, he offers a sardonic little chuckle. “Right, because you’re not just at my mercy, you’re at the mercy of the whole world.”

She swallows. That’s not an inaccurate statement. She is at the mercy of the world; but she’s never felt as his mercy. She’d said it, of course, but she hadn’t meant it in the way that he’d taken it. She’d meant that the only reason anyone was inclined to treat her nicely was because of her marriage to him and his status within the town, and the only reason she was allowed to live a comfortable life was because he’d decided to marry her and give her that comfort. As a man of considerable wealth, he could make those choices, and everyone just had to grit their teeth and accept it, no matter how undeserving they deemed her.

And they did deem her undeserving--from the barkeeper at the tavern to his father--she was not worthy of the second chance her husband had afforded her. So, if something happened to Robin, the world wouldn’t hesitate to take it all away--and her father-in-law would be at the front of the line to do so.

“You should know that’s not what I meant--at least not about you.”

“Should I?”

“Robin, this is all very complicated and--”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Because you don’t have to see it that way!”

“Or perhaps you’re choosing not to.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “I don’t have choices.”

“Sure you do. We all do.”

She nods. “To an extent.” Drawing in a breath, she tires to tamp down her anger--and she is angry that he doesn’t understand and that he doesn’t seem to even be trying to understand. “I didn’t mean that I am living at your mercy… not exactly.”

“Yet, that’s what you said.”

“I misspoke! Damn it, Robin. I misspoke. I was upset! I was mad at you! I was mad at myself! I hate myself for doing what I did, and I hate myself for the way it’s affected my son and the way it now affects you. But there was some truth in what I said. Mercy wasn’t the right word, I’ll own that. But I am here at your grace.”

“Is that different?”

“Yes! It is! If you weren’t here, if something happened to you--”

“I have a will,” he says simply, cutting in and shrugging in a way that seems to diminishing. “You are my benefactor.”

“And your father would not hesitate in challenging it.”

“It’s legally binding--”

“No! It’s not!” she cuts in. “The laws are not on our side. I can’t inherit.”

“But you can hold--”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It is so kind and so wonderful that you included my son in your will--”

“I consider him my son, too--”

“I know you do, and I love you for that, but the truth is, the law does not see it that way--”

“Yes, it does. I signed--”

“Your father could easily convince a judge to say that you were persuaded, that I forced you or blackmailed you or....” She sighs, throwing up her hands as tears burn in her eyes. “I would lose everything you think I’d be left, including Roland. Your father would be sure of it--if not to stick it to me, then to stick it to my mother.”

“Your mother is irrelevant to this.”

“No, she’s not, and I am not claiming that she’s innocent or deserves anything from your family, but--”

“But all of this is irrelevant. Nothing happened, Regina. You’re getting upset over--”

“It almost did! It almost happened last night!”

“No--”

“Robin, if your father hadn’t just written a cheque--”

“And this isn’t nothing.”

“Yes, it is. Nothing--”

“Are my feelings nothing?”

Her voice cracks when she asks, and he sighs, again rubbing his fingers at his forehead. He looks frustrated and when he looks back at her and sees her trembling jaw, he shakes his head and looks away.

“I… am too hungover to do this right now.”

“Robin, this isn’t--”

“I can’t do this right now,” he tells her again, this time, stepping around her. “Perhaps later would be a better time, perhaps then we can talk about this more rationally--”

“I’m not irrational.”

“And I don’t think I am either.”

He says no more.

He just leaves.

And then, the tears burning in her eyes being to slip down her hot, flushed cheeks; and once again, she hates herself for every stupid choice that led her to this moment, the stupid choice that seems to taint every good thing she has, the stupid choice that won’t fizzle into her past, the stupid choice that sentenced her to the life of a marked woman.

_____

The rest of the day is uncomfortable, at best.

She doesn’t see Robin after their brief and snarky exchange that morning--and that only further proves her point to herself, making her feel isolated and alone.

The boys ask again and again where Robin is, and she tells them the watered-down version of what she knows--he didn’t sleep well, so he’s napping.

She picks at her breakfast which earns another round of questions from Henry and Roland. Roland accepts her excuses, but Henry looks worried, asking again and again if he got her sick--a possibility he seems quite anxious and guilty over. So, she puts on a smile and tries to reassure him, all the while trying to avoid Mal’s narrow gaze.

When breakfast is done, Mal sends the boys off to their room to put on sweaters and change from their shoes to their boots. She makes a passing comment about how fortunate they are that Henry has two good, thick quilted coats because Roland’s arms are getting too long for his own, and Regina tells her about the appointment she wants to make with Ruby to fit the boys for new wardrobes.

Mal laughs and says she hopes that’s tomorrow because both boys are growing like weeds, and Regina says when Ruby comes to drop off a package later that afternoon, the three of them should talk about it. Mal tells her to make the appointment, and she’ll work the boys’ lessons around whatever she chooses, then asks permission to take the to Dragon Head for the late morning and afternoon. Mal doesn’t say it’s to get them out of the house or because Henry’s already picking up on the tension, but it goes without saying--so, Regina agrees, explaining that the boys had a great time playing with the animals and her father in the barn the last time they were there.

Together, they get the boys ready and Roland chatters on about the fat cat that cuddled with him before--and when Mal corrects him, telling him the cat was pregnant with kittens, he only shrugs and adds that she was still fat and still cuddly. Henry asks if they can ride horses instead of walk and Mal nods easily as she looks to Regina, who also nods--and then, before Henry can celebrate, she adds a stern you can ride with Mal, not on your own that leaves Henry scowling at her.

After they leave, that lonely, isolated feeling returns, so she busies herself with going through the boys’ things. She spends the day measuring shirts and breeches and casting ones that won’t fit either of them into a donation pile, and she makes a list of all the things each boy will need. She moves some of Henry’s old things to Roland’s side of the closet, and when she sees how much longer Henry’s list of needs are compared to Roland’s, she adds a few extra things to Roland’s list. She hesitates momentarily--considering the cost of redoing an entire wardrobe for two still-growing children--but then, reminds herself that they’re not exactly on a budget.

She bristles as she thinks about the banking slip Robin had handed her--the one she didn't look at, but knew likely noted a hefty sum--and decides if they can afford to pay off watchmen, they can afford a few extra woolen sweaters and linen shirts for Roland.

Biting down on her lip, she looks at the mess she’s made--things that should be donated and things that can be repurposed or mended--and she begins to sort. She arranges the clothes to be donated by type, laying them out on each of the beds. When she looks around, the mess is only minorly better, and she sighs.

It’s not lost on her that no maid has come into the nursery--likely knowing that she’s in there--so, she steps into the hall in search of either a hall boy who can assist her or a linen closet that might have something in it to bundle up or store the donations.

She roams around for a few minutes, finding no hall boy in that part of the hall, but she does find the linen closet at the end of the hall, near the servants’ staircase.

I heard she had a gentleman caller.

Ooh, from who?

One of the hallboys told me.

Regina’s eyes roll as two maids giggle from the stairwell.

Well that isn’t what I heard. I heard that Mr. Locksley didn’t sleep in his own bed.

At that, Regina stiffens.

The old one or the young one?

Ew, the young one. He and the wife had a row.

How do you know that?

A hall boy overheard.

Regina’s eyes roll as she stands in front of the cabinet, rooted in place, barely able to breathe.

So, Mr. Locksley slept in Ms. Mills’ room with Ms. Mills--and that’s the Ms. Mills that isn’t his wife?

That’s what the hallboy said.

Regina feels heat rising up the back of her neck, her jaw tightening as she thinks of all the times Robin and Mal have pointed out the maids’ rudeness where she’s concerned. She doesn't believe a word of what they’re saying, they’re just stirring up gossip, but she’s hardly in the mood for it. Drawing in breath, she holds it in her chest as she works up the courage to slam the cabinet’s door--and then, when she hears both maids gasp, she pushes open the door to the stairwell, finding them frozen and wide-eyed.

“I’ve done some sorting in my sons’ room,” she says curtly as she looks between the maids, her fingers gripping the door handle to keep herself from shaking. “The donations need to be bundled.”

They stare blankly, nodding.

“There’s also a pile to be mended and some things that are beyond repair that can be repurposed, too,” she says, her hand that’s hidden aching as she holds on a bit tighter. “And while you’re in there, the beds need to be made.”

“Oh, I--”

“Isn’t the nanny--”

“No,” she cuts in. “My husband made it quite clear when Mal was hired what her obligations are and what obligations belong to you.” Taking a short breath, she looks between them, hoping she doesn’t look as scared as she feels. “Now that you’ve had a reminder, this shouldn’t happen again.”

“Y-yes, of course--”

“And for the record,” she says, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she looks to the one she assumes was speaking. “Where my husband slept last night isn’t for you to speculate about or even to wonder about.”

The maid looks down as the other maid’s cheek’s flush, both seeming quite embarrassed--and both likely very much needing the job at Sherwood.

“And I can say, quite confidently, your informant had it wrong--he was not Zelena’s gentleman caller.”

Regina takes a step back and the maids scurry away toward the nursery--and as soon as they’re out of sight, she falls back against the door, her heart racing and her lungs desperate for the air she’d been depriving them. She takes a minute to try and calm herself, taking long, deliberate breaths and hoping Robin didn’t drink so much he lost memory of what transpired the night before--and when a little voice at the back of her head, one that sounds an awful lot like her mother and always creeps out when she’s feeling most insecure, reminds her of the rumor she heard about him kissing Zelena weeks before and the fact that he once got so drunk that he took a maid from another house to bed while married to Marian, her stomach churns.

_____

It seems an eternity before Mal returns with the boys--and even longer before Robin emerges from his former room.

A footman brings up their dinner, and as they’ve lately done, they eat in the boys’ sitting room around the round table by the hearth while Mal takes a much-earned break. As they sit down, she notes that Robin looks decidedly less rough than he did earlier that day; it’s obvious that the sleep was needed and did him some good. She also notices that he keeps looking to her--looking like there’s something he wants to say--but time and time again, he doesn't say it.

All through dinner, the boys keep the conversation going, telling story after story about their afternoon adventures at Dragon Head. Henry goes on and on about her father taking them for a ride on his horse--how fast he let the horse run and how much colder and more refreshing the wind was when when they were riding, and how he took both him and Roland separately, twice. Henry also tells stories about the young goats and how much bigger they are, how he and Roland laughed and laughed as they jumped over each other and head-butted each other, and Henry explains how important he felt when his grandpapa took him into the little back office in the barn and showed him the ledgers that tracked grain production.

“That’s where we saw the kitties!”

“Kitties?” Regina asks, looking to Roland.

“The fat cat had her kitties!”

“How many were there?” Robin asks.

“Six.”

“They were really tiny,” Henry adds. “They were just born a couple of days ago.”

“One was even tinier than the rest of ‘em,” Roland says. “He was my favorite.”

“They were all cute,” Henry says.

“But this one was definitely the cutest of the whole liter,” Roland states, as if absolute fact. “He was orange.”

Both she and Robin chuckle softly, and for a brief second, their eyes meet--Roland seems also smitten with the tiny kitten and she’s sure he finds it as cute as she does--but then, he looks away.

“Were any of the other kittens orange?”

“Just him,” Roland says, beaming as if an orange cat is something truly rare and spectacular.

Roland keeps talking about the kitten all through dinner--and every now and then, she or Robin pipe in with a question or a comment, and from the outside looking in, it appears that everything is normal.

But it feels like they’re each having a separate conversation, each time they respond to one of the boys, rather than talking to them together. They don’t play off of each other the way that they normally do, and aside from that one brief moment, they don’t make eye contact.

And there’s a tension between them. She can feel it, and given the way Henry keeps looking between them, he can feel it, too.

As Robin and Henry shift the conversation away from the orange kitten that Roland’s so enamored with--shifting it to a discussion about Henry’s horse and when he can ride him on his own--she can’t help but notice this is the sort of topic that Robin would normally include her in on, even if Henry’s questions were directed at him.

But she sits beside him, almost unnoticed, watching as Roland happily eats a bowl of chocolate pudding. She shifts uncomfortably as she thinks about their fight and thinks about how dismissive he seemed that morning. Of course, he didn’t look well, likely due to a hangover, but he could barely look at her and he barely accepted her explanations. Perhaps, he disagreed, or perhaps, he was still too angry to have a conversation, or perhaps he just really was that hungover--but that nagging little voice in the back of her head that she couldn’t shut up before starts chirping again. It reminds her of what the maids said, of what the hallboy supposedly knew, of where Robin might’ve spent his drunken night--and her stomach lurches.

She doesn’t think he’d intentionally hurt her that way and she doesn’t think he’d ever intentionally make that choice--but the voice reminds her that he was very drunk the night before and quite distant that morning, and as much as she doesn’t hold his drunken, adulterous one night stand against him, the voice reminds her that this has happened before.

And she knows Zelena, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to seduce him.

A wave of nausea hits her and she clears her throat, feeling hot tears burning in her eyes and beads of sweat forming on her brow.

“Mama,” Henry says, abruptly shifting the focus to hers. “You didn’t eat.”

“What?” She looks down at her plate. “I… I suppose I wasn’t very hungry.”

“You… look sick.”

“Oh, I’m just… not feeling as well as I could.”

Roland blinks up at her from his pudding, looking concerned. “Are you getting sick?”

“No. I’m just--I just took a turn, briefly--”

“I was sick,” Henry says. “I could’ve gotten you sick.”

Regina forces a smile, decidedly not looking at Robin. “No, I just… it’s not that sort of sick, Henry.”

“How do you know that for sure?” he asks, sounding alarmed.

“There’s different types of sick?” Roland asks.

“Regina,” Robin murmurs, finally chiming in as he reaches for her hand--and instinctively, she pulls it back, an action she immediately regrets. “You know, I think I’m going to go and lie down.”

“Should I send in Mal?” Henry asks. “She was really good when--”

“No, I think I just need to lay down,” Regina says, her stomach twisting as the voice in her head continues to scream things she doesn't want to believe, things that she doesn’t believe. “After a quick nap, I’ll be good as new.”

It feels like the walls are closing in.

Her heart is racing and she feels on the verge of tears, and she just wants the patronizing voice in her head to stop. She reminds herself that she doesn’t believe that Robin would intentionally hurt her in that way, that he knows how fragile she feels her security is, and that his standoffish behavior was simply the result of an argument--and really, that was more of a misunderstanding, at least on his end.

Logically, she knew that. In her heart, she knew that. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t convince herself.

She’s not sure what it is about this particular moment, or why it’s taken all day for her to feel this way. Once upon a time, it hadn’t been so uncommon. When she was married to Daniel, it popped up occasionally, catching her off guard; then, after his death, it’d been her near-constant state. In the earliest days of her marriage to Robin, she second guessed everything. But she’d learned to trust him--and he’d earned that trust and deserved it now, even if she was mad at him for acting like a fool the night before.

And while she knew that, she couldn’t seem to make it matter--and she hated that his eyes were now on her, watching as she melted down, and worse, that both boys were watching.

“Mama--”

“Are you okay?”

Robin reaches for her, taking her hand--and she grimaces at herself when she pulls away again.

“I’m just feeling a bit under the weather,” she says, swallowing hard and doing her best to keep her composure. “I think if I just lay down--”

“I can come with--”

She shakes her head and smiles, hating that Robin looks alarmed--and hating this seems to be what broke the tension between them.

“Regina, I can--”

“No, you stay and finish dinner.”

“Did I get you sick?” Henry asks again.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, rising up from the table. “I just need to lay down.”

She can feel their eyes on her as she leaves--and as soon as she’s in the hall, her tears begin to fall and she’s heaving for air. She stands outside the door, taking long and deliberate breaths, focusing on that and not the voice in her head and wishing more than anything she didn’t feel so insecure.

_____

Robin stands in the center of his old bedroom, feeling lost.

Though this bedroom had been his for most of his adult life, it no longer feels like his space. It feels lonely and isolated, and so incredibly foreign without Regina’s things scattered amongst his.

When he’d tucked the boys in--and reassured Henry for what felt like the umteenth time that he hadn’t gotten his mother sick--and turned them back over to Mal’s care, it occurred to him to join Regina in their bedchamber, but as he made his way down the hall, he’s pace slowed and he wasn’t sure that she wanted him.

He’d spent the better part of the day in this room, laying in bed and metaphorically kicking himself.

Regina had some valid points--and when she explained herself, he couldn’t help but realize how clear it was what she meant the night before. Then, emotions had been running high and he couldn’t see it, but now that he was calmer and had more of her perspective, he knew that he’d crossed a line.

They both did.

That morning, it seemed that she was ready to talk, but he’d been too hungover to do that. He’d been short and distant, and he knew her feelings were only further hurt--and he knew that an apology was in order.

Of course, that was if she’d still accept it...

“Ah, here you are.”

He turns at the sound of John’s voice. “Yes.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t find you here,” John muses, “But I suppose it’s an improvement on last night’s condition.”

“I’m not in the mood for teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” John says. “That’s a perfectly accurate, straight comment. No jeers intended.”

“She’s still mad.”

“Of course she is,” John says, looking directly at him. “She asked you not to do something, and you did it.”

“I know--”

“She asked you to drop a matter, and you didn’t.”

Robin’s brow creases. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Mal.”

“Ah--”

“Then, to make matters worse, the watchmen show up, drag you out of your children’s nursery and--”

“I know that,” Robin says, his jaw tightening as he cuts in. “I get it.”

“Alright, so have you apologized for your end of it?”

“No.”

“Well, I think we’ve figured out why your wife’s still mad at you.”

Robin blinks as John chuckles. “I… don’t know that she wants to see me. She couldn’t wait to get away from me earlier, she practically recoiled when I reached for her hand.”

“Again, I’m sure if you were to apologize for being a complete ass--”

Robin sighs and his eyes fall away from John’s. “And suppose the damage is already done?”

“I doubt--”

“Regina doesn’t trust easily. She doesn’t think…” He sighs, rubbing his fingers to his brow as he looks back to John. “She’s convinced that the entire world is against her--”

“Minus you.”

Robin shrugged. “Two days ago, sure--”

“You’re on her side,” John says. “You just… had a shitty way of showing it.”

“She asked me to let it go and I didn’t, and--it’s not the first time I lied to her about something stupid.”

John nods. “The rumor about the red-headed nightmare kissing you?”

“Yes,” Robin sighs. “Only that it wasn’t a rumor. Zelena did kiss me.”

John’s face screws up. “Did you kiss her back?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “I pushed her away.”

John nods. “Were you near a hearth?”

Robin’s eyes narrow and his head tips, as a little chuckle escapes John. “What?”

“A bit of a harder shove, and she’d have been in the fire. Then, we’d all be rid of that witch.”

“And the watchmen would have surely arrested me on charges my father couldn’t pay to have dropped.”

“But it’s still technically legal to burn a witch at the stake. You were only missing a stake, and I’m sure a judge could’ve forgiven you that?”

In spite of himself, Robin laughs. “You really hate her, don’t you?”

“With the passion of a thousand suns.”

“Why?”

“She acts like she’s the Lady of the House, yet can’t seem to differentiate between a footman, the butler and a valet.” John’s eyes roll. “The next time she catches me in the hall and demands a bit of tea in her room, I’m going to pretend I’m hard of hearing.”

“She’ll lose her mind.”

“And hopefully make a scene your father can’t ignore.”

Robin grins. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a plan.”

“I’ve many plans for ridding us all of that woman.”

“Another time, I think I’d like to hear them.” He takes a breath. “And I think Regina would, too.”

John nods, as a soft grin edges onto his lips. “Go talk to her, before she goes to bed, go and talk to her. Smooth things over.”

“Suppose she doesn't want to talk to me?”

“Then she’s not ready to talk, but at least you’ll know, and at least she’ll know that you cared enough to try.”

Robin smiles and nods, but nonetheless, sits on the edge of the bed. He feels terrible--about last night and this morning, the fact that she went through the entire day on her own in a house full of people who didn't like her, and the fact that so much of what she said had so much truth to it. He knew the world didn’t share his outlook--it was why he usually hid away from it--and he knew that the laws and societal opinions weren’t on her side. No one would give her the benefit of the doubt, and no one would give her her due in his absence--that was, after all, how she ended up in the position she did after Daniel and that was, after all, why he’d initially felt so inclined to marry her.

His apology--no matter what he said, no matter how heartfelt--would fall short. He couldn’t fix the way the world was and he couldn’t make the world understand.

Well.

Not as it was and not here.

Now, a change was possibly pushed back--financially speaking--on the account of his poor choices and the heavy debt that came with it. And the worst of it was he wouldn’t feel that financial cost--not personally--but she would and that wasn’t fair.

“We were supposed to leave here.”

“What?”

He looks up. “My plan was to move Regina and the boys up to the hunting lodge.”

“You can still--”

“I wanted to be independent of my father.”

John shakes his head. “I don’t understand what--”

“I was going to buy him out,” Robin explains. “I was going to buy the hunting lodge, and have it as my own, free and clear.”

“Would he have agreed to that? It’s not his favorite piece of the estate, but a piece of the state nonetheless, and he’s always so adamant about keeping the estate together.”

“He loves money more than this estate, and it’s more the idea that I could,” Robin explains. “It’s the idea that… that I don’t have to live by his rules anymore or minute details of his will.”

John’s brows arch. “You’ve done that well with all those railway investments?”

Robin nods. “Thanks to Regina’s advice.”

“You two make quite a pair.”

“I had nothing to do with this. I was leery. Everything I wanted to do, flopped--”

“And everything she trusted flourished.”

“Exactly, and… I can’t even put her name on the account at the bank, did you know that? That my wife can’t even be listed on an account filled with money that she earned?”

“I… knew vaguely of that rule.”

“Of course, I have no reason to think the money will stop--”

“No, rail is an industry that’s only growing.”

Robin nods. “But we were nearly there. By Christmas, I could’ve sent my father a check and… and been gone.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I could have taken her away from here and brought her to a place where she’s comfortable, where she’d never be refused service, where people in town don’t know every private detail of her life.”

“How much did you have to repay your father?”

“Nearly half.”

John’s brows jut up. “Oh--”

“I… think Regina knows,” he says, sighing as he shakes his head. “I gave her the bank slip. I don’t know if she looked.”

John frowns. “Like you said, the money won’t just stop.”

“I know, but… how many more days will she have to walk on eggshells? How many more nights will she have to ignore gossipy maids and hallboys? How long--”

“You know,” John cuts in. “You could still go.”

“I know, but the point was to not have anything hanging over me. I could still manage the estate, of course, I doubt he’d disinherit me.”

John nods. “He’s too much of a traditionalist to do that.”

“But he couldn’t hold my inheritance over my head the way he does, using it to manage my choices.” Robin sighs. “You know, last night, I kept looking at that portrait over the hearth…”

“The one of you and your parents--”

“Yes,” Robin says, nodding. “My mother was such a kind soul. Everyone said so. Kind and forgiving, almost to a fault.” He smiles wistfully up at John, remembering the way his mother’s friends used to talk about her--how willing to listen she was, how she never judged their choices, but always offered advice, how she warmed a room and--

His thoughts stop abruptly as a memory flickers.

“John, do you remember that summer when my father went to visit, um… what was his name?” His eyes narrow as he strains his memory. “He had a son just a bit older than me, and stepsons--”

“William was the son, I remember.” John sighs. “There was another boy in the family, Augustus, who liked to be called John--”

“It was his middle name--”

“And he told me nearly hourly.”

Robin grins. “He was young.”

“And obnoxious.”

“I stole a pair of dice from him,” Robin muses as John chuckles. “That’s all I remember of any of those boys.”

“Why… are you suddenly thinking of them?”

“Because the mother was a friend to my mother. She spoke so kindly of her. They wrote letters,” Robin says. “She showed me one that my mother wrote to her announcing that she was pregnant with me.”

John’s eyes narrow. “I… I still don’t understand.”

“When I came home, I found the letters in my mother’s cottage.”

“I imagine that you did.”

“You kept watch while I hunted for them.”

“I… think I remember that,” John says, chuckling softly. “You paid me in desserts.”

“There was one, in particular, that was just full of scandal--”

“Ah--”

“I need to find it.”

John blinks. “Now?”

“I want to be sure.”

“Why?” John asks, shaking his head. “I… I don’t understand.”

“I just… don’t want to speak in falsehoods. I’ve told Regina enough half truths and have been vague about stupid things, and while this might not fully matter, I don’t want to misspeak.” John blinks as Robin gets up from the bed. “If Regina asks, please let her know that I went to retrieve something from my mother’s cottage and I’ll be back before ten.”

John just blinks and nods as he moves to the wardrobe, fetching an old coat and putting it on. It seems silly, he knows, but he wants to be sure before he tells the story that doesn’t belong to him, but a story that’s not unlike his wife’s--a story in which a good woman fell from grace, then successfully rose back up to live a respectable life that many envied.

_____

Regina’s head turns at the sound of the opening door, and she sighs in disappointment when she watches Mal come through.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Mal says, smirking at her. “Belle will be back in commission tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s not why--” She stops and sits up. “Never mind.”

“You were hoping for Robin.”

“He’s still upset with me.”

“Well, you overreacted. You blew this whole thing completely out of proportion.”

Regina blinks as she sits up. “I admit, I… was a little off base with what I said--”

“Jefferson Hatfield had it coming.”

Regina sighs and looks away. “No--”

“Yes,” Mal counters, folding her arms. “The fact that Robin only punched him a few times really showed restraint, in my opinion.”

She bristles. “I asked him not to--”

“Regina,” Mal says, cutting in as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “The reason men like Jefferson Hatfield are able to get away with the things they get away with is because no one holds them accountable. Not ever.”

“The rules for--”

“Rules can be changed with time,” Mal says. “And the way to do it is to not let the status quo continue.” Regina looks away and shakes her head. “I’m not saying it’s easy or comfortable or doesn’t draw negative attention, but that rumor--the scandal of what happened between the two of you--was dying down.”

“Until Zelena dredged it up.”

“She couldn’t have done it without Jefferson’s compliance.”

“I know,” Regina murmurs. “It’s just--”

“Hard.”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t it comforting to know that for all the emotional turmoil you’re facing, he’s got a bloodied up face and a crooked nose to contend with?”

Regina looks back to Mal and blinks. “How do you--?”

“I don’t,” Mal sighs. “But a girl can daydream, right?”

For a moment, Regina just stares at her, and then she laughs. “You have a very strange outlook on life, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that, once or twice,” Mal says, smirking as she nudges her. “Just… cut him some slack. He loves you and wants you to be treated well, that’s not so bad, right?”

“No,” Regina murmurs. “It’s not.”

“It’s sweet--”

“I know.”

“He’s a catch, Regina. You’re lucky. He’s not perfect and he’s going to screw up every now and then, but he loves you without condition.”

“I know,” Regina says again. “And I’d like to apologize, but… he doesn’t seem interested in hearing it.”

Mal’s brow furrows. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s not here,” Regina says simply, shrugging. “Mal, what if I ruined--”

“Oh, stop. You didn't ruin your marriage. You got into an argument. He’ll come back...probably with his ears back and his tail between his leg, but he’ll come back.”

“I miss him.”

“And I’m sure he’s missing you.”

Regina nods and then looks at her hands, folded in her lap, watching as her fingers twist around the fabric of her skirt. “I… had sort of a panic earlier.”

“Is that what happened? Henry thinks he got you sick.”

“Oh, I know. I--”

“Robin reassured him.”

“Did he?” she asks as a smile edges onto her lips. “That’s sweet.”

“It is. He’s sweet with him.”

Regina’s eyes press closed. “I just… it’s selfish, but… but if I lose him--”

“You won’t.” Regina nods, though she doesn’t believe it--last night was a reminder of that, and even if he never did something so foolish again, life offered no guarantees. She, of all people, knew that. “Look, Robin--”

“Did you hear a rumor?” Regina asks. “Are the maids talking downstairs?’

Mal offers a tight grin. “Giggly maids don’t really talk to me.”

“Oh--”

“Is there something specific?”

Regina shakes her head. “I don’t believe it,” she says. “There’s no point in voicing it.”

Mal’s eyes narrow, but she nods, then rises up from the bed. “Alright, let’s get you changed and ready for bed.” Regina nods and Mal takes her hand, pulling her up and leading her toward the dressing room. “What… what’s that?” she asks, pointing to a white box on the bed that’s tied up in a red bow.

“Oh, Ruby dropped it off. It’s… just something that I ordered.”

“Did you talk to her about the boys’ wardrobes?”

“I did,” Regina confirms. “She’s going to check her calendar and write me with a few dates tomorrow.”

“Good. You’ll keep me informed?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Mal says, with a curt nod and a smile. “Then that’s that.”

“I’m sure the boys will be thrilled about it. They hate being still, especially for long periods of time.”

Mal laughs. “Maybe we can turn it into some sort of game or contest.”

“Perhaps--”

“Can I?” Mal asks, pointing to the box. “Ruby always makes such lovely things.” Regina’s eyes widen and she feels her cheeks warm was she thinks about the lace robe hidden in the box, and as soon as Mal notices her obvious embarrassment, she grins. “Oh, well, now I just have to look!”

“Oh--”

“Please?”

Grimacing, Regina nods. “Fine. I mean… you’ve dressed me, so you’ve seen me naked. This can’t be worse than--” She stops and watches as Mal unties the ribbon, and she holds her breath as Mal lifts the top of the box--and then, with one eye open, Regina watches as she carefully lifts the lace robe.

“So, something tells me this isn’t the dress you’ll be wearing to Mary Margaret Blanchard’s little soiree,” Mal says as she slowly turns to look at her.

“Um, no,” Regina murmurs, her cheeks burning. “Not quite the occasion I had in mind.”

“Oh?” Mal asks, her brow arching as she looks back to the robe. “This little number has an occasion?”

For a moment, Regina hesitates, and then with a deep breath and a soft giggle, she tells her. Some of it isn’t new information and some of it is, but she tells the whole story--from what happened the morning after she and Robin were together at the hunting lodge to the tea and assurance caps that Mrs. Beakley sent her home with to Robin’s absolute patience with her.

“So, tonight was… going to be the night.”

Regina nods. “It was going to be.”

“Why can’t it still be?”

Regina’s brows arch. “Did you… just forget everything about what happened yesterday and today? Including the fact that my husband is nowhere to be found and… well, to do what I was planning on doing, I… sort of need him.”

“Well, he’s around here somewhere.”

“Mal, he’s… not… interested in…”

“How do you know?” Mal asks. “He’s not here.”

Regina’s eyes narrow. “Yes, that’s… that’s my point.”

Mal just laughs. “Let it get around that you’ve got this thing on and he’ll be stepping out of the woodwork.”

A grin edges onto Regina’s lips. “But, it’s… it’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Mal insists. “And truly, I think you’ve preemptively figured out a way to smooth things over with him.”

“Have I?”

“Seduce him and have makeup sex.”

Regina nearly chokes.

“Oh, come on. He won’t stay mad at you and… if he’s still upset, this might just be the thing that snaps him out of it.” She looks back to the robe and grins. “Because if he looks at you in this, there’s really only one place his mind is going to be.”

Regina’s cheeks flush deeper. “And… suppose he doesn't come tonight? What if I’m just… standing here alone, practically naked and he doesn’t come?”

“Oh, he’ll be coming.” Mal laughs out. “In more ways than one.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “Oh my god. Mal--”

“Come on, let's get you changed,” Mal says, draping the robe over her arm and laughing, “And maybe we can return you to a human shade of skin.” Regina’s eyes roll as Mal reaches for her and tugs her into the dressing room. “I’ll have John send Robin in. I swear, he’s like a bloodhound when it comes to him.”

“They’ve been together forever.”

Mal nods as they enter the dressing room and she immediately reaches for a hanger. “Last night, we couldn’t find him. I spent twenty minutes searching empty bedrooms, and the whole time, he was in the library. John found him in under five minutes.” Her eyes roll as she turns Regina toward the mirror. “Drunk and passed out, but of course, he didn’t tell me that.”

“Why were you looking for him?”

“John was,” Mal says, shrugging. “Like I said, he likes to keep tabs on him.”

“Oh…”

A little grin edges onto Regina’s lips as she thinks about what that means, and her shoulder relax as Mal works on buttons at the back of her dress.

“What should we do with your hair?” Mal asks, snapping her from her thoughts. “Up? Down? What does he like?”

“Oh. I--”

“Does he like to get his hands in it? Or does he--”

“Mal--”

“What?” Mal asks, her eyes widening innocently. “I want to help.”

Regina's eyes press closed and a giggle bubbles out of her--and then, as she draws in a breath she concedes and answers all of Mal’s questions, regardless of how embarrassing she might find them.

_____

All the way back from his mother’s cottage, he rehearses his planned apology.

It starts with a mental list of things he wants to say--things he wants to apologize for--and by the time he reaches the front doors of Sherwood, it’s morphed into a full fledged speech.

He’ll tell her that he’s sorry--that he’s sorry for everything.

He’s sorry for not listening to her, for ignoring her request to leave it all alone and let the gossip die out, for agreeing to do so and then doing the opposite.

He’s sorry for not being more understanding of her situation--it’s one she’s lived with for years now, and it’s still new to him--and regardless of his personal outlook on the world, he knows it’s not one that many share. He can’t change the world on his own. It’s not fair--especially not to her--but he should’ve been less focused on righting the injustice of the world and more focused on what he could do to create more security at home, where it mattered.

He’s sorry for scaring her--for rocking the fragile security she’d come to know since they married--and, he’s sorry for scaring their sons.

He’s sorry for the financial burden that his poor choices, and the long-term impact of a few foolish minutes.

He’s sorry that he hasn’t always been completely honest, that he’s tried to shield her from truths he feared would be too difficult, that he wasn’t totally honest about his whereabouts or intentions, and that he’s sorry for any additional stress that it’s caused her.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen; he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She was right, there was a lot he hadn’t considered--there was a lot he’d never thought to consider, there were things he’d never had to consider. But they were things that were always at the forefront of her mind, and he should have known that, or at the very least, respected it when she voiced those concerns.

That’s, of course, if she’ll hear it.

Taking a breath, he opens the door to their bedroom, stepping quickly through the little sitting room of their bedchamber that connects to their proper bedroom--and when he arrives, he frowns when he doesn’t see Regina at her dressing table combing her hair in her nightdress or in bed with a book propped up on her knees.

The room is dimmer than it usually is at this time. There are a few candles lit and the fire is burning at the hearth, and he squints as he waits for his eyes to adjust as he looks around aimlessly, wondering what comes next.

“Regina?” he calls, not expecting a reply. “Are you here?”

“In the dressing room.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, smiling. “I’m glad.” He shifts toward the open door. “Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

“No.”

“Oh--”

“I’ll be out in a second. I’m just finishing up.”

He nods, though she can’t see him and sits down in the chair by the hearth, fidgeting with his fingers as he waits, silently rehearsing his little speech.

It’s not lost on him that the box that Mrs. Beakley gave to her is sitting on the end table beside him; but he thinks nothing of it, assuming that Regina simply had her tea later than she usually did.

And then, she appears.

“I’m sorry--” he says in a burst as he looks up, and as soon as he sees her, his voice halts.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I--”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she tells him as she moves toward him, coming into better view.

He swallows hard and nods dumbly, unable to find his voice.

She looks… stunning.

Her hair is up in a loose bun atop her head, showing off her neck and shoulders--and she’s wearing lace.

Just lace.

See through lace.

It covers her shoulders and her breasts--though he can see them almost plainly--and then ties with a ribbon beneath her bust before belling out over her hips and pooling around her feet. It’s open from the navel down, and her skin looks soft and smoothing--and it’s nearly impossible to resist touching it.

“Can you forgive me for overreacting?”

Again, he nods as he stares.

“I’m glad,” she tells him as she crosses the room toward him. “I hate it when we fight.”

“Me, too,” he says, swallowing as he reaches for her.

Her touch--which is something he should be used to--sends a shiver down his spine. As her hand coasts up over his stubbly cheek, he turns his head into her palm nuzzling it. He missed this. He missed having her close to him, and for a moment, all he wants to do is savor it.

He kisses her palm as he draws her in by the waist, holding her closer as he kisses her wrist and the back of her hand, and then, he looks up at her, smiling at the soft grin on her lips, watching the way she relishes in the soft touches, enjoying being near him as much as he enjoys being so near to her.

“I missed you,” he tells her as he leans in and presses a kiss to her neck and then another to her chin. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” she tells him as she presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I missed this.”

He thinks to point out that it’s only been just a little longer than a day, but that would be a stupid thing to say--and, in truth, it’s felt like so much longer than that.

“I’ve come to realize that I don’t like sleeping alone, anymore.”

“It’s miserable,” he tells her as he pecks her lips and lets his hand slide down the back of the lace robe--he can feel the warmth of her skin through it, and he loves the contrast of it against the cool silky lace. “Absolutely miserable.”

“We should make up for it,” she tells him. “We owe each other that.”

Again, he nods--and again, he finds that he lacks the words as she steps back. His eyes linger over her body--barely clad in lace--and he can’t wait to touch her and to taste her again.

“I thought I’d ruined this.”

“Hm?”

“I planed this whole thing,” she tells him, “And then--”

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s not just your fault.”

He grins. “I… think you could’ve ended it a lot sooner by showing up in that.”

She giggles and her cheeks flush slightly. “Well, I don’t know about that. I really think it’s a matter of timing.”

He nods--dumbly--as he looks down at her. He doubts that, really, considering the difficulty he’s having thinking about anything besides her in that robe and the fact that he wants to ravish her, right here, on the spot. He barely remembers what he was thinking about before she came out from the dressing room, much less something as complicated as what he was feeling.

“Well, regardless, I was thinking that we could… um…” Her cheeks flush adorably, as she bites down on her lip and her eyes shyly meet his. “It’s been more than month,” she tells him as she takes a step back, and takes him by the hand, “And it’s been much longer than that that we’ve been together, well, properly.”

“Properly--”

She nods as her hand presses to his chest, gently pushing him back to the chair in front of the hearth. “I want to be with you again. I want… to feel you inside of me again, and I want us to be able to enjoy that part of marriage, fully.” She grins, biting down her lip. “That is, of course, if you want that, too.”

“I do,” he tells her, thinking of all the late nights and early mornings he’s fantasized about a moment like this.

“Good,” she tells him, stepping in and forcing him to take a step back. “I’m so glad.”

His lips brush over hers as she pushes forward again, and this time, he sits down in the chair, pulling her down into his lap. Her hands settle on either side of his faces, her fingers rubbing against his scruffy cheeks as her tongue parts his lips--and eagerly, he opens his mouth, letting her tongue slip against his.

He pulls her closer and kisses her back, enjoying the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath. She bites down on his bottom lip as she pulls back slightly, adjusting her body over his so that she’s straddling his lap. His hand dips inside of the lace robe, sliding over her ass, his fingers kneading gently at her skin.

She smiles at him as she leans in and kisses him again. Her hand slips between their bodies, her fingers working over the buttons of his vest. He wriggles out of it, discarding it on the floor along with his coat, and she lets out a shaky breath as she pulls back and sits up a little straighter. She runs her fingers down the front of his shirt--back and forth and down again--before her fingers finally begin to work on the buttons of his shirt.

When it’s opened, she pulls it apart and leans in, peppering a few kisses down his bare chest and then, she works her way back up to his lips.

He grins at her as he leans in to kiss him again. He likes letting her set the pace, letting her choose what’s going to happen, while he sits back and just enjoys it.

For awhile, they kiss--her on his lap, his hands exploring beneath her robe--trading warm kisses.

Beneath her, he can feel himself hardening in his trousers--slowly, but surely--as his body reacts to her touches.

Pulling back, she grins a bit coyly--she notices it, too.

He draws in a breath as she slips off of his lap to kneel in front of him, and he swallows hard as a little anticipatory shiver runs through him as she works on the buttons at the front of his pants.

Robin lifts his hips as she pulls off his pants, freeing his cock--and that alone brings a bit of satisfying relief.

Regina smiles up at him as she licks her lips--and then she looks back down as she takes his cock in her hand.

Of all the intimate experiences they’ve shared, this act is the thing they’ve done the most--and she knows exactly what he likes and how to make him come.

Her hand slips up and down his shaft as her tongue and lips swirl and suck on his tip--something she does for several minutes, and something he always loves. If she did only this, he’d be coming in no time, but she wants it to last, so she lets her tongue slip down his cock, flattening out and working over him like a feather, and then she pulls herself back up before taking him completely in his mouth.

His head falls back and he offers an encouraging groan as she sucks him--it feels so damn good, each and every time, it feels absolutely incredible, never getting old.

Her hands cup his balls, her fingers massaging gently, and every now and then giving them a harder squeeze as her mouth works its magic on his cock--and truly, there’s a part of him that wishes this could never end.

Slowly, she pulls herself back, grinning as his hard cock and then up at him as if praising herself for her handiwork. Her hand replaces her mouth, stroking him slowly.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“So much.”

“I’m glad.”

“Your mouth feels amazing.”

She grins, proudly. “You’re not the only one who's getting worked up, you know.”

His eyes slip down her body as she stands, his eyes immediately going to the uncovered-by-lace spot between her legs--and he reaches for her. He pulls her down to his lap and slides his hand up her thigh--and she grins, watching as his hand slips up and between her lips. His hand cups her as his thumb slides through the wetness there, circling around her clit, as she leans in and kisses him.

They stay like that for a while--kissing and with his hand between her legs--and all the while his cock aches for attention.

This time, when she pulls back, she bites down on her lip as she reaches for the box beside the chair--the box that he’d almost entirely forgotten about.

He watches as her fingers flip it open and with her free hand, takes his cock, stroking it as she pulls out one of the wound up little caps.

“Do you… want to try it?” she asks, her voice shaky. “I know the tea alone should--”

“I’ll try it,” he’s quick to say--he’d try anything for the chance to have sex with her again.

“Alright,” she says, slowly unfolding it in a way that’s somehow erotic. “So, it just… slips on, I suppose.”

He nods, taking it from her.

It’s made from a thin, cool material. It feels waxy, yet skin like and at the end, is hard little ring.

“Do you want me to… um, get up or… or help… or--”

Robin shifts his arm around her and shakes his head. “No. I think it just…” He positions the hard ring at the tip of his cock and pushes it down over the head. “There--”

Biting down on her lip, Regina watches. “Here,” she murmurs, slipping down to the floor and sitting on her legs in front of him. “Let me help.”

She licks her hand, then presses it to his cock, lubricating it and allowing the cap to slide down more easily. It sticks to his cock, forming around it. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable and after a couple of minutes, he finds that he barely feels it.

“It’s… alright?”

He nods. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” she says, rising to her feet and taking him by the hand. “You can… feel through it?”

He draws in a breath as her finger slips down the length of it. “Yes.”

She grins, almost shyly as she takes his hand, lacing her fingers down through his and leading him over to the bed. He follows, not taking his eyes off of her. When they reach the bed, she pushes his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving him completely naked before her.

Regina sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his hip as she pulls him to her--and he grins, rubbing his hand over her cheek and lifting her head. Gently, he rubs the back of his fingers against her cheek, grinning at her as she looks up at him with wide, waiting eyes.

“Lay back,” he tells her.

She nods and complies.

Reaching out, he tugs at the ribbon holding the top of the robe closed and when it’s looser, while it doesn't free her breasts completely, the sides become visible--looking so round and soft, and squeezable behind the loose layer of lace.

Drawing in a breath, he tears his eyes away from them and lets them linger down her body as he crouches down in front of her. His hands run down over her thighs to her knees, and slowly he parts them, looking up her body and watching her writhe with anticipation of what she knows is about to come.

He loves watching her this way--comfortable and exposed, taking no guilt in enjoying what pleasures her.

Leaning in, he swipes his tongue over her, from her clit down and then back again. His lips close over her clit and he sucks on it, as his fingers stroke her--slowly and gently, careful not to enter her. Little moans escape her as she gets wetter and wetter.

He pulls his fingers away and releases her clit as her hips began to squirm. He slows down, taking his time as his tongue laps at her. She breathes out a long, deliberate and shaky breath as his tongue slips into her, curling and twisting and teasing.

When he momentarily looks up, he sees her fingers curled around the blanket--and he decides not to end it there and move on to what’s next--after all, there’s no reason she can’t come more than once, and the slicker she is the more they’ll both enjoy what’s to come. So, he pulls back, dragging his tongue up the length of her, letting it twist and circle around her clit as his fingers dip inside of her. He goes slowly at first, making her hips wriggle as she tries to control the pace--and then, his fingers start to pump in and out of her. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle, either--and given the way she moans and the way her fingers grip harder at the blanket, she likes it.

His fingers curl inside of her, then flatten out and withdraw, before pushing back in and curling up again, hitting on the spot that almost always make her come within a few minutes time. He hits on it harder and faster as his lips clamp down on her clit, sucking hard as his tongue wriggles against it--and then, as he wiggles his fingers back and forth inside of her, her hips begin to buck against his face. Her breathing becomes increasingly erratic and then in a burst, she’s coming--gushing against his fingers.

He pulls back and licks her slowly, letting her orgasm take its course and smiling.

Usually, this is where they’d end it.

But Regina smiles as she tries to catch her breath, pulling herself onto her elbows.

“Come here,” she says. “I want to kiss you.”

He easily complies, crawling up onto the bed with her.

His body covers hers as he kisses her deeply and lets her taste herself as her arms come up around his and her fingers tangle in his hair.

Then, when her legs come up and wrap around his hips, he pulls back and looks at her. He grins and licks his lips, sitting up and pulling himself back slightly, gazing down and appreciating the way the lace robe frames her body.

“I want you on top,” he tells her.

She grins and draws in a breath, nodding.

“And leave the robe on.”

Her brow arches and she looks at him, giggling softly as they adjust themselves on the bed.

Robin lays back against the pillows. He reaches for her, and she comes along easily, kneeling over him as her hands fall to his shoulders.

He steadies her with a hand to her hip, and with his other hand, he adjusts his cock.

Regina bites down on her lip as she looks down, and then slowly, she begins to lower herself onto him. She goes slowly, needing a moment to adjust to him, and he takes a moment to savor the eroticism of his cock disappearing inside of her.

When he’s in, she looks up at him and smiles, blushing slightly as she holds him there. Her hands slip to his chest and he sits up a little straighter, wrapping his arms around her, letting his hands dip beneath the lace to eventually settle at her hips.

“Is it okay?” he asks, looking up at her.

She nods, and grins, and then begins to move her hips. Slowly she rocks against him, working up her pace until she’s riding him. He slides in and out of her, and it’s almost mesmerizing to watch--mesmerizing and incredibly erotic, watching the way he fills her, the way he stretches her and the way she slides against him with ease.

Leaning in, she kisses him, and it changes their angle, making her tighter and squeezing his cock with each move she makes. His tongue slides into her mouth and one hand squeezes at her ass while the other roams, gripping at and sliding against her sleek skin until it eventually finds her breast.

His hand covers it and his thumb rubs at her nipple--and for a moment, he thinks he could easily stay this way forever.

And then, she pulls back and breaks the kiss. Her skin is flushed and her eyes are filled with lust.

“Fuck me,” she murmurs in a low voice as she sits up. “Please.”

And suddenly, he finds himself no longer eager to stay complacently as they are.

He rolls them over, her legs wrapping around him as they shift to the other side of the bed--and she laughs at the quickness of his movements.

He grins down at her and sits up a bit straighter, looking down at her and once more, taking a moment to appreciate the way the lace frames her figure. This time, though, her breasts are free and the ribbon lays against her stomach--and somehow her neck looks longer between the lace over her shoulders and the crown of hair piled at the top of her head.

Leaning in, he kisses her jaw and down her neck, teasing her as she wiggles beneath him--this isn’t what she wants, but he wants her to ask again.

He wants to hear the words as she asks to be fucked.

His lips slide against her clavicle and his arm slides between her body and the robe, his fingers ghosting down her ribcage and making her giggle.

His lips glide up her throat and over her jaw, pecking her cheek as his nose brushes against hers. He licks her bottom lip and when her lips open and she tries to catch his, he pulls them away, kissing his way down her jaw and over her clavicle. He pulls back further, her legs fall open on either side of him, falling away from his body as his tongue swirls around her nipple--and when she moans, she smiles and reaches for her other breast, kneading it roughly in her hand.

“Robin,” she murmurs as her legs come up and tighten around his waist. “Please. I-- I want--”

“What? What do you want?”

Her eyes are wide. “I want to feel you again.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Please.”

His lips peck at her chin before he leans in and kisses back down her throat.

“Robin. Fuck me. I want--”

He doesn’t wait for her to finish.

He slips into her, easily sliding in fully and groans as his cock disappears--then, he looks up at her, and watches her eyes closed and smile stretched over her lips.

He thrusts in and out of her, slowly at first, but quickly increasing the pace. He groans--and when he looks down at her, it’s obvious that she’s enjoying it as much as he.

He fucks her fast for a few minutes, then slows down, trying to make it last as long as possible--and for awhile, it works.

“That feels so good,” she tells him, as his thrusts slow and he reaches for her clit, rubbing it as he fucks her slowly. “So good--”

He grins and his pace speeds up, grinning as he feels her tightening around him.

He’s close too, but he thinks he can last through her orgasm--and as she begins to thrash beneath him, he feels a thrill of victory run through him. He holds his pace until she’s done, his balls aching for release, and then as he slows and her breathing becomes less erratic, he buries himself inside of her and lets himself come.

She smiles as she rubs his thigh, moaning softly as he continues to thrust, slowing down with each movement until he can’t do it any longer. He rolls off of her and collapses at her side, and almost instantly, she rolls onto her side, turns his head toward her and kisses him--softly and gently as he comes down from his high.

“That was so worth the wait,” he tells her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah--”

“It wasn’t… different with--”

“Different, yes,” he says, looking down at his softening cock as it lays against his thigh. “But not bad.”

She grins. “You’re not…just saying that.”

Reaching to the nightstand, he pulls out a handkerchief and removes the cap from his cock, chuckling softly as he looks over at her. “There are some things a man can’t fake.”

She giggles and kisses him, and he drops the handkerchief to the floor, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

“In fact,” he says, as he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “I think it’s better than its been in the past.”

Her brows arch. “Really?”

“Well, you wanted to do this, you were ready to and… we were able to let go completely, no stopping.” He grins and strokes her cheek. “And as far as I know, this time your decision to go to bed with me wasn’t influenced by too much wine or whiskey or--”

“No, no alcohol involved.”

“Good, then no regrets.”

“None,” she tells him as she leans in and pecks his lips. “Not a single one.”

They lay together for awhile, then get out of bed and clean themselves up.

Regina puts on a favorite soft, woolen night dress and hangs up the lace robe, while Robin puts on new pajamas. Her brows arch at the new button down shirt and pants set, and he grins excitedly while stuffing his hand into the pants pockets offering the simple explanation of Granny had Ruby make them for me.

Robin grabs the extra thick, down comforter from the shelf while Regina changes the top layer of the bedding. She hands them off to Robin and he dumps them into the hamper, grinning when he returns to find her already in bed.

He slips in beside her and she slides close, resting her head on his chest.

He holds her, feeling relaxed, as they chat lightly about nothing in particular, and it’s somewhere around then that he remembers his conversation with John and his trip to his mother’s cottage.

“Have you ever been to Devonshire?”

“No,” Regina says, turning her head to look at him. “Why?”

“We used to go--my father and I--when I was a boy.”

“We didn’t travel or go on visits,” Regina explains. “My mother wasn’t exactly popular in many social circles.”

“Shocking--”

“Right? So shocking.”

She laughs and he smiles.

“Well, my mother was friends with the Duchess--”

“The Duchess of Devonshire?” Regina asks. “I know that title. I don’t know why.”

He grins gently. “She was involved in quite a scandal. She had a daughter who’s about our age.”

“Ah--”

“With a man who was not her husband.”

Regina’s brows arch. “How do you know this?”

“She and my mother exchanged letters.”

“As friends would.”

“Yes.”

“And she told her about this?”

“She did.”

“Oh--”

“She had to give her up,” he explains. “To the baby’s father’s family.”

“I can’t imagine--”

“Nor can I,” he says, nodding. “She got to see her, still.”

“But not raise her.”

“No--”

“I’m sure she didn’t have much of a choice in it.”

“He wanted to marry her,” Robin says. “Her daughter’s father--”

“But she couldn’t do that?”

“No.”

“She must’ve been miserable.”

“I’m sure,” he agrees. “She had other children.”

“So it was complicated.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, nodding. “She was stuck in a loveless marriage, watching her child and love from afar with a husband whose mistress lived with them”

“That sounds terrible.”

“I imagine that it was, at times.” He pauses and looks down to her. “And I believe that’s the double standard you spoke of this morning.”

“Yes,” she admits. “It is, exactly.”

“The point to this is that everyone knew about all of this--”

“Of course they did, and I’m sure they did. That’s the sort of thing that spreads like wildfire.”

He holds her a little tighter. “She was a good person, she didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does, really. It’s terrible to be on the receiving end of that.”

“She came back from it though.”

Regina looks up at him and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“She ignored it. She immersed herself in culture and society. She took up causes that were important to her, and kept showing up--”

“I can feel where this is going--”

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t trying to be coy.”

“Is this about Mary Margaret’s party? I’m not even sure I want to go anymore, not that I ever really did.”

“Yes, the one you think you were only invited to because of some sort of obligatory guilt--”

“Well--”

“I think that’s your new start.”

“Robin, I don’t even know that I want to go. I’ve told you that.”

“Why not?” he asks. “We have an invitation. We’ll go and have a nice meal that isn’t spent cutting up someone else’s food or reminding anyone to chew with their mouth closed. We’ll drink expensive champagne and dance—”

“You know, as it turns out, I very much enjoy dancing with you.”

Her eyes roll, but she grins.

“And we’ll prove to all of those people that you have no reason to hide away.”

“Except--”

“You don’t, Regina. Not really.” He sighs and shakes his head as she looks up at him with wide eyes. “When the story about you and Jefferson came tumbling out that evening, I asked you if you regretted what you did.”

“I remember--”

“And I remember that you said no. You said no because it meant Henry didn’t go without food or shelter--”

“That’s true. It doesn't mean that I’m proud of it.”

“I understand.”

“I have nothing to prove to--”

“But you do.” Taking a breath, he smiles. “You can prove to them all that you’ve moved on, that you’re not your mistakes, and eventually, people will see that.” She looks down, but he lifts her chin. “There’s a precedent for that, you know.”

“Your mother’s friend?”

“Yes, and I’m sure there were others.”

“Robin--”

“I’m proud of you, Regina. I’m proud of our marriage and the life we’re building together, the future we’re building for our sons.” He grins. “We’ve so much more to be proud of than we have to hide away from.”

“I don’t know--”

“Please don’t let this one--albeit terrible--encounter at a public house force you into hiding. Don’t let Jefferson win this way.”

Reigna bites down on her lip. “And suppose… none of the other women talk to me? Suppose no one wants to sit next to me--”

“I’ll talk to you and sit next to you, and be right at your side, beaming proudly.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” he admits. “But you’ve been through much harder than this.”

She nods, but says nothing.

And then, she takes a breath and looks up at him, rolling onto her stomach and resting her chin on his chest.

“You won’t leave me on my own?”

“Not for a second.”

“And if I want to leave, we can?”

“The second you want to.”

She pauses, biting down on her lip. “You promise.”

“I promise.”

Her nose scrunches. “You really want to go? You don’t even like--”

“What I like is spending an evening away with you, and I’ll admit, I won’t mind rubbing our happy marriage in the faces of some people I don’t much like.”

Regina’s eyes roll, but she laughs.

“I’m serious. I like you. I like spending time with you. You’re a friend as much as you are my wife, and while all the poor saps I’ve never much cared for are trying to ditch their wives for games of darts and drinks for an evening of escape, I’ll be happily dancing with mine, and when it’s time to go, they’ll be miserable with their company, and I’ll be happy as a clam.”

She laughs again. “You’re such a child sometimes.”

“But you love me.”

“I do,” she says, nodding as she grins at him. “I love you a lot.”

“So, you’ll go?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Alright. I’ll try it.”

He pulls her closer and hugs her, kissing the top of her head--and he can’t help but think that this is a much better way of helping her overcome her past--and the gossip that comes along with it--than what he chose to do the night before. And as he holds her, he can’t help but be glad he didn’t do any irreparable damage with his foolishness.

[blueraith]

Because I Was So Fucking Bored

I decided to take up reading Actual Published Books (TM) again. A lot of fanfiction was updating as fast as my eternally bored, temporarily out of work, crazed, self needed. It was one of the very few leisurely activities I could take on without getting constantly questioned. I couldn’t decide what fictional book I wanted to buy, and didn’t want to take the time to research any, so I decided to go non-fiction. Besides, haven’t read a non-fiction book in literally years.

In the end, I settled on The Coming of the Third Reich by Richard J Evans. Always wondered how the fuck Germany allowed themselves to be taken in my Nazism, and also because of recent events. My high school always hand waved the World Wars. Like, ‘oh, yeah, then there was this war with the Germans, ‘Murica came in and kicked their asses, saved some Jews, and that was the end of it. Read this diary about this kid and that’s about as far as we’re gonna take you.’

So, I’m reading this book, and I can’t help but draw some alarming similarities to what happened with Germany, and what is happening now. Similarities, mind you, not one-to-one causation, before any mentions of Godwin’s Law comes up. Because, as it turns out, the German political landscape was much more complicated than ‘Eviillll Natzis!’ At least, before said evil Nazis came to power. What I was most alarmed by, was America’s rising fanatical Nationalism and how that relates to both World Wars. (I have also been listening to Dan Carlin’s podcast on World War I.) Turns out that both world wars had countries with raging cases of nationalism out the wazoo. But Dan doesn’t really get into the meat of nationalism like this book does.

There were several reasons Germany ultimately dove into that fanatical, and outright murderous case of nationalism. First, the book points out that one can’t assume that Germans were fatigued or lazy in their voting. The opposite is actually the case, Germans were apparently great voters. Turn outs of around 80%. That’s insane by American standards. These Germans lived in a very different time. Politics were often the center of their social lives. These guys made clubs for pretty much everything. If you were interested in joining a book club, for instance, you’d probably have to join one that fit your political ideals. If you were a Social Democrat, then you’d join a Social Democrat book club. But wait, there are two different types of Social Democrats, because the party split along nationalist issues. So, if you were more into nationalism, you’d probably want to join a Independent Social Democrat book club.

And that’s really a symptom of why Germany fell into control of the Nazis. Their political parties were insane. There were six major political parties at any given moment during the Republic years. (The years following the end of WWI and the start of WW2. Wiemar Republic years, basically.) The Social Democrats were the most popular, but their parliament was ultimately unstable because of how many parties there were, and there could be more, smaller parties, than those six if the major parties had any schisms like the Social Democrats ultimately did.

Another was the resentment of the Treaty of Versailles, which is probably the most well known symptom of the rise of Nazi Germany. Germany, and the world, fell into a great depression, but nowhere was this economic collapse more pronounced in Germany. They suffered a case of hyper inflation, one of the worst cases history has seen before or since, and the treaty was not helping any matters with the reparations. Many Germans resented that their government’s money had to go to these other countries, more specifically the French in particular, while their economy collapsed around them. And this hyper inflation was extreme. Before its start, around four German marks were needed to match an American dollar. Towards its height, well over a billion marks were needed to match the dollar. That’s right. Over a fucking billion. I’m not exaggerating whatsoever. Prices in stores were often written in chalk because they would change on the hour.

But these two issues are specifically German. America did go through a depression recently, but nowhere to the extreme as the pre-WW2 hyper inflation that Germany suffered. We have two political powers, and therefore aren’t as unstable and hard to predict as Germany’s six.

Where we are similar to pre-Nazi Germany is our growing sense of nationalism and paranoia that something is out to get us. In Germany’s case, it was the Jews, the ‘societal unfit,’ and the gays. Ours are illegal immigrants, Muslims, quite frankly black people, and—similarly—the gays. In Germany’s case, many far-right pundits blames the Jews first and foremost for their country’s complicated and far reaching issues. They blamed the Jews for the economy, accused them of getting rich while of the rest of the people’s misfortune. They blamed them for society’s move to secularism, ironically, and for ‘stabbing the army in the back’ during WWI.

In our case, American alt-right figures blame illegals for taking jobs that not a single white, middle class, American male would ever want to take on. They blame the Muslims for not ‘policing their own’ and committing what are honestly statistically rare terrorist attacks, and are ignoring the fact that growing nationalism and xenophobia are causing a radicalization of young, conservative, white males who are actually committing more acts of terrorism than radical Islamics are. Black people are protesting against issues of institutional racism, and white people are attributing this only as an unjust attack against their ‘people’ and ‘culture’ along the right. And the right are blaming LGBT issues for ‘distracting from the real issues’ and are attributing the community to a growing sense of immorality. Also similar to the Germans and their views of ‘the gays’ pre-Nazism.

And, now that I think about it, perhaps our political spectrum is similar to the Germans’ all those years ago. With the split of the conservative voting block into the Republicans and the Tea Party movement, and the Democrats with an as of unnamed voting block that is more socialist in nature. These were more than likely Bernie Sanders voters. Both splits are, in my opinion that I have admittedly not researched very heavily so take this with a grain of salt, probably what caused such an odd choice of presidency that Trump is. He is not what the good ol’ boys would have wanted in the Republican party. The GOP utterly failed to see where the wind was blowing with their more rural and working class voters and didn’t adjust. Just kept throwing up rich white guys with political pedigrees for generations behind them. My own family often spoke of how they wanted someone in power who wasn’t ‘part of the system’ and ‘politically corrupt.’

As for the left, the Democrats had a similar issue. Bernie Sanders isn’t someone they ever would have chose for their front runner. And depending on who you ask, allegedly sabotaged him appropriately. Anecdotally, I have seen many left and liberal voters complain that the system was broken, declared they wouldn’t vote, or even voted for Trump themselves because, while some of Sanders voters were economically left, they were extremely to the right on social issues. This likely doomed Hilary’s chances in the long run.

And this isn’t even getting to Germany’s issues with staunch, traditionalist values. Many Germans feared a loss of cultural identity following their loss of WWI. This was the time of the Roaring ‘20s, remember, and world wide rise of secularism. Feminism was sweeping through several countries, Germany included. Sex was increasingly on the rise thanks to contraceptives. All of this saw a swift backlash of the religious, sexist, or traditional. The Catholic Church, both in the Vatican, and the leadership in Germany, wrote harshly against contraceptives. Men, young and old, of the far-right started ever more clubs against both feminism and voting rights. There was this rather extreme doubt towards the Wiemar Republic during this time. The Army and courts staunchly refused to uphold laws in any neutral capacity. The courts in particular were egregious. Often giving slaps on the wrists for actual political assassins of the far-right because their ‘selfless nationalism’ was ‘inspiring.’ This due almost entirely to the fact that the judges in these courts were from the time of Imperial Germany and still wanted the Kaiser to return to power. The resented the democracy, and so did the army. Many traditional Germans wished for a return of an authoritarian figure as staunch, powerful, and unyielding as the Bismark had been. In fact, here’s were the Treaty of Versailles comes back because Republic supporters had signed it, many traditional, far-right Germans blamed the Republicans for forcing them in this humiliating position.

Again, this is not a one-to-one comparison. Thank God, because America would be in a lot of trouble if we were in such a mess as Germany was back then. In all of that, where we are most similar to Germany is this growing backlash among young men towards issues like feminism and the left. I am on Reddit quite frequently. I see, anecdotally admittedly, many young men grow a resentment towards what they call ‘feminazis’ and, more rarely thank the lord because this term is particularly cringeworthy, ‘libtards’. Reddit is primarily made up of young men from 18-30 years of age. Most of them are American or Canadian, and white. There are some alarming Reddit communities where some of their more radical members’ resentment towards women and feminism is extremely apparent. The Red Pill, and its many spin off communities, MGTOW (Men Going Their Own Way), and at its most radical, Incels. Which, disgustingly, stands for involuntary celibate. Now, those are extremists. There is a more general sense of sexism within the most popular communities too. Any /r/news story that features a woman getting arrested is likely to have an upvoted phrase of ‘pussy pass denied’ in there somewhere. There is even a subreddit of the same name, actually. I regularly see young men post about fearing marriage because apparently women are all out to get what are likely, given how young Reddit actually skews, non-existent, imaginary assets. TumblrInAction is a community entirely dedicated to these guys going out, finding the most radical feminist posts they can, reposting them of Reddit where they mock them, perpetuate lies that this is what modern feminism looks like wholesale, and pretends that many of the more extreme posts aren’t satire in and of themselves. In many parts of Reddit, feminism has grown synonymous to crying wolf by ‘special snowflakes,’ ‘SJWs,’ and ‘feminazis.’ Or, women who have become manhating, boogeymen out to get them in particular. Granted, this is just Reddit. I use them as an example here because this is a community largely made up of young men and it is easy to watch them propagate ideas and thoughts among their many communities in real time. I am certain there are other sites where this can be done, but I honestly have no desire to visit some of the more extreme.

Where this concerns Germany, there was this growing sense among the far-right that German women were not doing their duty in raising and tending to the next generation of noble, strong, young German children, though they were most concerned with boys. German women had gained the right to vote, they were getting jobs increasingly, and the birth rate was falling due to the use and education of contraceptives. As I mentioned, clubs were literally made to protest feminism. There were also clubs created that focused on hiking, camping, singing nationalist songs, all excluding women. For the most part, far-right Germans blamed their women straying from the ‘German ideal’ on Americanization. This was also a time when censorship was lifted, and movies, books, art, and radio shows were increasingly embracing modernism.

I’m not about to claim that America is about to become a dictatorship as murderous as Nazi Germany. But with the rise of nationalism, the fact that many white supremacists and racists have come out of the woodwork and homophobia too, it has become apparent that we are forgetting what can happen when these types of ideals are allowed to perpetuate without consequence or thought. Nazism ultimately dehumanized many of the groups they victimized to an alarming degree. Portions of America are doing this to a lesser, but still alarming, degree. The right has grown to fear these groups as a threat against them and the stranglehold their constituents have held for decades, when in reality, they aren’t ‘losing’ anything by the country becoming more egalitarian across the board. And as this is happening, both political sides are becoming more radicalized in response to the other. I cannot claim who ‘started’ the whole thing, nor do I care to. I believe this problem is more along a feedback loop, a circle of cause and effect. It does not matter who started it, ultimately our politics are becoming more partisan. Our government is becoming increasingly unwilling to cooperate across the aisle. And this is creating a political fatigue for voters across the nation. Moderates are growing less in number because the noise, irrationality, and extremism is becoming exhausting.

And this issue is getting perpetuated wholesale, across the board. I cannot even begin to assess how to fix it without sounding like a keyboard warrior. There are extreme and hostile minorities in feminism. And, despite it being a minority, for some reason, groups of young men, like those on Reddit, seem to believe that they are the majority. They react by dismissing feminism entirely, which fuels the extremists on the left, Reddit reads it again.... And the problem moves up and up. The left focuses on immigration amnesty, the right reacts with xenophobia, the left tries to streamroll over the issue because of the racism, the right reacts with more racism....

Ultimately, the Nazis came into power because of a variety of reasons, but you can boil it down to nationalism, political instability, and a growing sense of paranoia from without and within. You can see similar themes in America right now. How to fix it, who knows. All I know is that America’s radicalization is ultimately growing more violent and reactionary on the right. Hopefully they won’t grow as bad as Nazis. You know, despite the fact that there are literally neo-nazis coming out of the woodwork lately.