#that is neither productive nor beneficial to anyone

[droughtofapathy]

Deeply bored and creatively uninspired. Might need to start up a physical craft project to keep busy.

[egberts]

i hope you take this as the genuine question it is and not someone trolling or trying to be obtuse. i think i just spent about an hour writing this! 😅 i am fat, i first learned about and “became a part of” so to speak the body positive/fat liberation community my senior year in high school (8 years ago now). i cannot stress enough how much this question is coming from a well meaning place i just am curious your thoughts on it.

(re:girl dinner)

when we talk about body positivity, it’s understood your health is not determined by your size, no one can look at you and determine how healthy you are. your health, as well as the amount of food you eat, also has no bearing on your moral character. eating a conventially unhealthy amount of food doesn’t give anyone the right to try and shame or silence you, no matter their personal feelings or discomfort for various reasons (“you’re glorifying an unhealthy lifestyle!!” etc).

these principles are not even a question, so why do they not apply to people eating smaller quantities of food? why is the knee jerk reaction to call out how unhealthy it is and how they’re glorifying an unhealthy lifestyle and encouraging others to do the same, especially when that’s what fat people have been accused of forever? it seems so, so disconnected from and counter productive to the entire point of liberation from societal body/diet standards.

if it’s purely concern for the possible encouraging or egging on of harmful eating behaviors, even that could be said to go both ways. i struggle with binge eating disorder and have horrendous troubles with impulse control. to the point that concepts like intuitive eating would leave somebody like me lying in pain on the floor after a triggered binge. i know i personally have to be careful with what i eat because trigger foods could end with me sick. yet how downright inappropriate would it be to make that the problem of someone just enjoying a larger meal? someone who goes about their diet in a different way and has different limits than me? or god forbid even just also struggling with binging!? i mean, underlying eating disorder or not, whether they eat that way frequently or not, none of these things really make it okay regardless to comment on how much someone’s eating or propose that showing the amount of food they eat is not okay.

something i personally have had struggles with in my journey of self acceptance and navigating life in a marginalized body is having to unpack the aspects, and what i believed to be values, of my body positivity that i clung to for reasons that weren’t truly in line with fat liberation. so much of my activism was just me serving my insecurities because i hadn’t truly worked through them yet. just remember to check in on yourself sometimes and really dig into the root of some of the values you hold and make sure they’re coming from a place that’s beneficial.

tldr; someone showing off their small meal is fundamentally and healthwise no different from someone showing off their large meal. neither is inherently bad nor good, it just is. so why do we show double standards(on an across the board principle)?

I cannot stress enough just how flawed your comparison of fat people existing to people promoting two almonds and some water as "girl" dinner is not the same thing. yes, fat people are ACCUSED of glorifying disordered eating, but they are not actually doing that. people who use the term "girl" dinner are actively linking the act of eating small amounts of food or no food at all with being a girl, that's the major takeaway from this discussion. this isn't about shaming big meals vs small meals, either. this is about calling out actually actively advocating for eating nothing for dinner and going to bed. nobody is looking at the thin people promoting girl dinner and calling them out for being unhealthily skinny, we're calling them out for promoting not eating, which is something your body needs to do to function or your brain will shrivel up and you'll die. "girl dinner" is a depression meal, it's food when you can't afford groceries, it's a snack between something more substantial. also, how can you actually come to me and think that defending the slippery slope into eating disorders is a logical thing to do? tiktok is full of teenagers, dude, somebody needs to tell them that it's not fucking healthy to eat a slice of cheese and nothing else for dinner. this also isn't about shaming people at home living their personal lives and eating what they can to get by, this is about people actively posting to thousands of young impressionable followers that it's cool and fun to eat nothing, and in some cases it's literally being used to justify weight loss and being skinny. I would legitimately be just as critical about this if it was fat people eating piles of donuts and calling it lard dinner. but ultimately none of this even matters to either of us, I'm not going on tiktok and telling the teenagers that they're learning dumb shit, I'm not going and personally calling out the women responsible for corrupting a harmless trend, I'm just here sitting on my couch giving my opinion on my blog, and while you might not be on your couch you are certainly here giving your opinion in my ask box, at the end of the day we are just two clowns honking around 🤡

[i-swear-its-only-ironical]

You know, it may be that the online mental health advice you think fits your situation still will not help you solve it.

Idk, I feel like this will be the time I start to be my own advisor.

1. I will not put myself into a position someone else is projecting on me, because I am not what others think of me or want me to be.

2. I am hurt, I am incredibly angry and shocked and I am in the right to be so, because this situation is stressing me out and my body currently responds in that way to regulate.

3. I will not let myself be shunned from social activities, I will not stop befriending people I think of as interesting.

4. I will not be overly protective of the boundary they asked me to take care of because: a. It's not mine, b. They try to draw their boundary into my personal space and life and this is not okay.

5. I will not assume what caused this situation to escalate and if they won't answer me what ticks them off, it is not beneficial for me or anyone to ruminate about it any longer. I cannot change what I do not know of. But I also will not assume that I am faultless, because I respect their view of the situation even if they're not emotionally mature enough to respect mine.

6. I try to not take it personally what they accuse my of as this is neither productive nor beneficial for the both of us. They want to hurt me, because they see someone else in me. I do not want to give them the satisfaction of being hurt longer than necessary for my own healing process.

7. I will not seek revenge, I will be happy for them having a social life and I will root for them to become better in the future so they will not hurt others the way they hurt me.

8. I am not a victim anymore. I will not think of myself as such. I am scared, but I will manage.

I am scared,

But I will manage.

[a-yarn-of-purple-prose]

rare pair game: Diluc/Navia or Wanderer/Furina

Both are extremely cute, though I'll have to go with Diluc/Navia because I was 100% run over by a stray fic just from thinking about it.

There are over 1k words of silliness under the cut.

*

Diluc and Navia met at work. Well at least he was working, trying to secure the distribution rights to Fonta in Mondstadt territory, and perhaps find a foothold in the elusive Fontaine wine market through those fascinating Fonta vending machines. So far, he had only managed to negotiate half of the deal, well three quarters if you counted convincing Mr. Heinry to give Dawn Winery Special Edition grape-flavored Fonta a shot.

“As much as I'd like our contract to be mutually beneficial, Master Diluc, I must inform you our lawyers are still working out some potential complications on the distribution method we discussed.”

“Potential complications?”

And then the she barreled into their meeting. Miss Navia Caspar, the Demoiselle of the Spina di Rosula, tall and gracious and oh so golden in her fine dress and ribboned hair. It almost made him overlook the fact that she was accompanied by two armed men with the heft of bruisers, or that the umbrella in her hands smelled of gunpowder.

“Dawn Winery has no place in Fontaine,” she said, her voice level, her eyes on Diluc, locking him in place. “Our wineries are family-owned and Spina di Rosula won't have them out of business because the big shots at the Institute decided to make a backroom deal with some foreign mogul!”

“Miss Caspar--” Mr. Heinry started, his tone clearly exasperated.

Diluc stopped him with a gesture, said, “No, let her speak.” Then, turning to her, he smiled and said, “Mr. Heinry was just telling me there were obstacles to our strategy. Care to join us and discuss this in more depth?”

A look at the table and the seat he had offered her, then she turned her face from it. “I'm not here to negotiate, just to inform.”

She refused to sit, thus politeness meant Diluc had to stand. “I understand you care deeply about this matter, but neither Dawn Winery nor myself have any interest in taking anyone out of business, this is not what this strategy is about.”

For some reason she took those words as a challenge, closing the space between them, umbrella clutched in both hands, her men spreading around the room like wings.

“Oh, so you mean to say Master Diluc Ragnvindr isn't aware that his fast-moving, things-breaking ways of doing business aren't exactly following the letter of the law in Fontaine?”

If he was to bottle the energy in those bright blue eyes, Diluc could possibly rule the world. But admiring her meant he hadn't answered, which probably made him look guilty. And, when Mr. Heinry spoke he just made it all worse.

“Nonsense, we have consulted with our lawyers and they said there were no laws against the introduction of foreign products regardless of method or breadth of distribution,” he said. “If you disagree, you should raise a formal challenge with the courts and see if they give you reason. Which won't happen unless there's chance of societal disruption. And, truly, how can wine sales disrupt society?”

That was something Diluc was very ready to answer, but he had no need. He saw how Miss Caspar smiled before she turned the full strength of that gaze upon Mr. Heinry.

“Well then it's good that our people have already organized to mail Maison Gestion and Maison Cardinalice requesting a review of the practices regarding the vending machines. We even organized a little protest to make sure they pay attention.”

“Protest?” he scoffed, gesturing at the open window, “I see no protest!”

At this, Diluc noticed the voices outside had grown in volume. They also had a rhythm, like they were chanting something.

She giggled, waving his comment away with a flick of the wrist. “Small thing, you know, placards and chants. No fires or anything like that. It would look bad on the cover of the Steambird.”

Diluc wasn't really thinking when he looked out the window to check, so the flashes that almost blinded him took him by foolish surprise. He flinched back, blinking away the afterimages, and bumped into the Demoiselle, soft and silky and scented like a rose by the sea. The sort of perfume you could track through a forest, he thought.

She didn't move away. In fact, she pushed closer, whispering next to his ear, “And would you look at that, I think that over there is Charlotte. Won't you smile to the camera, Master Diluc? You do smile very pretty.”

It was to his utter disgrace that he lost all capacity to speak. Frozen and tongue-tied, it was perhaps easier to notice the movement of the suspicious person that threw the bottle. Danger was easier to understand than whatever Navia got out of him, after all.

“Look out!” he said, before turning to push her out of the way of the incoming projectile. The bottle exploded into a small fire in the place he had been standing. He watched one of the men that had come in with Miss Caspar jump in to put it out, while the other crossed the room to pull her out of Diluc's arms. Thankfully, she was about as embarrassed about it as he was.

“Oh,” she said, “I guess not everyone got that memo about no fires.”

Then she looked from him to Mr. Heinry-- who had thrown himself under a table and was whimpering softly-- before stepping back to the room's entrance. At this, her men filed around her, one keeping her company while the other checked the corridor. Like they expected something. Had been, the whole time.

Considering what he had just witnessed, it made sense, but he couldn't help being curious. Was this common in her life? What sort of life did she live to react to a firebomb with a simple 'oh'? Could he just ask? Perhaps over dinner?

But before he organized his thoughts enough to consider acting, she was gone out the door, head held high and not one lock of golden hair out of place. Absolutely stunning.

*

When she saw who had sent the letter, Navia frowned. What would Diluc Ragvindr want with her after all that in the morning? Is he suing for damages? But if it was that, the letter would have come from his lawyers, right? Right?

Overcome by curiosity, she just ripped the letter open, being greeted by a fresh, early summer type of smell. Navia was still wondering where she, too, could buy deep red ink that smelled of berries when she got to the meat of the letter. Then she had to put it down, cover her face with her hands, and give the tiniest of the screams so no one would show up with a gun.

What does he mean by asking permission to court her? Is he a vampire or something?

“Just ask me on a date you pretty idiot!” she muttered.

And that stopped her cold. Was she into him? Him? Oh, this called for some emergency girl time. Clorinde better be free for lunch.

[zequz]

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Especially for sensitive skin types, the anti-inflammatory properties of tulsi soothe redness or irritation, making neem tulsi face wash a gentle yet effective option for daily cleansing. For dry skin, neem helps to maintain moisture, preventing the skin from feeling tight or uncomfortable after washing.

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ZequZ has made this Neem&Tulsi Face wash formula easy to use at an affordable price. It is an ideal daily cleanser for anyone looking to achieve balanced,clean and healthy skin. Its natural ingredient offers a powerful fusion of antibacterial,anti-inflammatory, and detoxifying benefits, making it suitable for all skin types. By using Neem tulsi face wash every day, you can maintain clear,radiant skin while protecting it from environmental stressors and preventing common skin issues like acne and excess oil.

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[meizuone]

Inbuilt RO with Ionizer and Silver Water Ionizer by Miezu

In today's fast-paced world, ensuring the quality of the water we consume is more important than ever. That's where Miezu steps in with its innovative solutions, including the inbuilt RO with ionizer and Silver water ionizer. These advanced systems not only purify water but also enhance its quality, providing you with the healthiest and safest water possible. Let's delve deeper into these cutting-edge technologies and understand why they are essential for every household.

What is an Inbuilt RO with Ionizer?

An inbuilt RO with ionizer combines the benefits of Reverse Osmosis (RO) and ionization in one convenient system. RO technology removes contaminants, impurities, and harmful substances from the water, ensuring it is clean and safe to drink. The ionizer then takes this purified water and enhances it by adding essential minerals and balancing the pH levels.

Benefits of Inbuilt RO with Ionizer

Comprehensive Purification: The inbuilt RO with ionizer removes up to 99% of contaminants, including heavy metals, chlorine, and harmful chemicals.

Enhanced Mineral Content: Ionization adds essential minerals such as calcium and magnesium, which are beneficial for health.

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The Silver water ionizer by Miezu is another remarkable innovation designed to provide you with the purest water. Silver has been known for its antimicrobial properties for centuries. The Silver water ionizer utilizes this natural element to kill bacteria and other pathogens, making your water safer to drink.

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Why Choose Miezu?

When it comes to water purification, Miezu is a name you can trust. With their inbuilt RO with ionizer and Silver water ionizer, you get the best of both worlds: advanced purification technology and enhanced water quality. Here are some reasons why Miezu stands out:

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Final Thoughts

Investing in an inbuilt RO with ionizer and a Silver water ionizer from Miezu is a smart choice for anyone looking to improve their water quality. These systems not only remove contaminants but also enhance the water with essential minerals and antimicrobial properties. With Miezu, you can be confident that you are drinking the purest and healthiest water possible. So, make the switch today and experience the difference with Miezu.

[sullina]

btw, the fact that everyone is overworked and underpaid at the same time should probably tip you off on the fact that capitalism is neither sustainable nor beneficial to literally anyone other than the people possessing the means of production

mega-corporations are raking in billions at the cost of everyone elses lives, and i do mean lives, their time, their health, their families, their happiness, literally everything that makes life worth living is being taken from you by mega-corporations

[vistaketoacvgummiesreview]

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[ashadowofburnedoutstardust]

Ok so we're looking at the future here, un-f***ING surprising when it comes to me

There's a trail leading from the present to the future on the side of the cup that kind of makes it look like a balloon on a string in a way if you take into account the entire image

There's two ways to look at the image at the bottom but it depends entirely on whether you decide to use the dark or the light as the outline, lol getting karmic vibes

From my perspective, I see the balloon on a string, I see a flame light in the dark, and I see a right eye

If you turn the balloon the other way it looks like a drop of water, the flame turns into a tear, and the right eye turns into the left

This may sound odd and it may just be the effect of the cup but does it look like a eye to anyone else? The pupil in the middle, surrounded by the iris, and selera. It's like an eye looking at a flame, and the flame is the white part reflecting back the light

Anyway let's have a look at those original symbols:

Balloon/drop of water

Social life, celebrations, urge to travel/a positive omen for the future, letting go of the past

I don't like going out, I don't even celebrate my own birthday because the majority of people around me treated me like s*** my entire life, and then my child's father had to go and have his funeral on my birthday, so to be perfectly honest with you I prefer to ignore it as it's never been beneficial to me and it's relevancy in my life as never been significant and probably never will be

Yes I agree, if people stopped trying to use the past against me and let it the f*** go I probably would be a happier person overall in the future

It would probably require people to stop treating me like s***

A flame/a tear

Financial well being, transformation, destruction/Mourning

I'm going to go with generalized millennial misery here

A right eye/a left eye

In times of trouble you will be a good leader in your community, there is both good and bad outcomes, you will likely be targeted but with both eyes open you will see it coming.

It's giving eye of Horus and eye of Ra vibes, look into the past to see the future 🤷‍♀️

The outline of the eyes don't exactly have eyelashes but they do have a very dark outline like they are wearing eyeliner or something?

This whole part is neither good nor bad, maybe it's about accepting both exist and you can't have one without the other

An eye reflecting the light?

Is this what would be called a godly eye? I don't think so in this case.

Looks more like an optic to me, something about taking charge of your own life

It might be a little weird that the image of myself meditating or at least attempting to when I was a lot younger and discovering that the shape of the ankh can be seen coming out of a flame if you have astigmatism 🤣 I have no intention of taking up meditation, all it does is stress out my brain rather than quiet it down. If I want to shut mine off I have to overwhelm it, think about it in the way that they use stimulants and antidepressants and the way that it affects the synaptic nerves

Idle hands are the devil's plaything and all, you're better off doing something productive than nothing at all

Don't mind me I'm doing my woo-woo s***

[oftincturedwords]

title : solace chapters : 1/1 fandom : top gun ( 1986 ) , top gun : maverick rating : t+ chapter warning(s) : ¡spoilers! grief / mourning , canonical character death(s) , crying , tears , food mentions , cooking , etc. characters : tom ‘iceman’ kazansky , pete ‘maverick’ mitchell , mentioned nick ‘goose’ bradshaw , mentioned carole bradshaw , mentioned bradley bradshaw , mentioned ron 'slider’ kerner , mentioned sam ‘merlin’ wells pairing(s) : m/m. established iceman / maverick. background goose / carole. additional tags : emotional hurt / comfort , angst , post canon , pre - canon , affection , trust , hugs , affection , kissing , cuddling & snuggling , literal sleeping together , domestic , etc. word count : 5364 timeline : set post top gun ( 1986 ) , yet prior to top gun : maverick summary : when amongst the tide of grief, a tethering line is needed to haul maverick back before his strength gives out. and iceman won't let go, not when his wingman needs him. a/n : This is a sort of part two to ‘Steady’ , even though there wasn't originally intended to be one. I am posting this as a separate story since the other was already posted as one of one ( 1/1 ) & I don't wish to confuse anyone by adding another chapter there since it's been so many days since that first one was posted. Hopefully this one will be more soft & tender ending to help dispel with the sorrow & angst of the last one. I tried , but fair warning there is still some angst in the beginning / middle of this :| !! no beta thus all mistakes are mine. disclaimer : i do not own any right to top gun ( 1986 ) or top gun : maverick. neither am i associated with the production companies , nor any of the actors who portray these characters. i make no money off any of my stories , this is purely for entertainment purposes. read on : ao3 | below the cut

A muffled yet audible thunk had Iceman’s gaze deviating from where it was fixated on the road towards the passenger side of his car, where Maverick was seated and had apparently fallen asleep in. Exhaustion having won out it seemed, causing the smaller pilot to literally knock his head against the window when his head had dipped downwards once unconciousness hit.

It was a testament to exactly how deep the other man’s weariness ran since the incident hadn't jarred him awake. Not even a flutter of his eyelids nor adjust of the awkward way his neck was leant against the window. Perhaps it was the shadows cast along Maverick’s features from the low light of the rising moon and passing street lamps, but Ice doubted it was solely that that caused the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Although the lines of a soul entrenched fatigue Ice had seen carved into Mav’s face and reflected in his eyes had faded somewhat in his rest. Smoothing the gouges and marks of grief to their near seamless planes, no longer was there the scrunch between his brows nor the pull of a frown along his lips. However the paleness remained an seemingly ingrained hue for how drained it was, no trace of the ever present sun tan nor any colour for a healthy individual. The washed out tinge lay in contrast to the visible shadow under his eyes, deepening their presence and marking the entirely spent state his wingman had fallen into.

Sighing quietly, Ice returned his attention for the road, deciding that whatever sleep Mav could catch would be beneficial, even if he woke up with a sore neck. The rest of the drive wasn't too much longer anyway, thus Ice would be waking him up to head inside long before any true crick could develop in the muscles.

The drive only lasting another few handful of minutes before Ice was pulling up and parking. Still Maverick slept on. Neither the deacceleration nor the stopping had woken the other pilot. And as much as Mav needed the rest, Ice wasn't about to leave his wingman to sleep in the car all night. Even had the position been a comfortable one, Mav needed a proper bed and they both didn't need the neighbours’ questioning about a man sleeping over in a naval officer’s car overnight.

“Mav? Maverick?” Ice called quietly, not wanting to startle the other man awake yet with how deeply it appeared Maverick had fallen asleep, simple words ( least not words pitched at his current volume ) may not work.

“Maverick?” That time was a touch louder, seeming overly so in the quiet of the cab and the stillness of the night, but it was a futile effort for the other man slept on.

An occurrence that Ice wasn't really surprised about. For years of conditioning to sleep through the various sounds aboard an aircraft carrier from the clustered popping of machine gun fire during gunnery drills to the reverberant harsh whoosh of aircraft taking off then landing whenever they weren't the ones flying them, and equally as long to grow accustomed to sleeping in close quarters spaces, ones that occasionally left cramped and sore muscles in the morning. Not to mention, Maverick was wholly exhausted now and it isn't as if Ice is using any sort of tone that'd inspire any intrinsically learnt hop-to.

Ice resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself in exasperation of himself for thinking that mere calling out to him, softly no less, would work to rouse Mav.

Perhaps he too needed sleep? The days and nights had been kinder to Ice than they had been to Mav, but insomnia and nightmares had creeped into Ice’s subconscious to disrupt his equilibrium. Elicited by his mounting concern and worry for Maverick, as well as for Bradley, as Carole began to grow more ill in these last few months.

Allowing himself the outwards motion to shake his head to dispel with any ruminations and from any creeping memories of those nightmares to sink their hooks into his conscious thoughts, Ice refocussed to the task at hand. Reaching out a hand to gently yet steadily lay against Maverick’s shoulder, Ice gingerly shook it whilst calling out to his wingman again.

Keeping his voice pitched firm and calm, but certainly more insistent than his eariler quiet tone. Desiring only to wake Maverick enough to get him inside, not startle nor waken him to the point sleep would be behind reach for hours yet again. Ice called to Mav again, this time gingerly reaching out to place his hand on the other man's shoulder, running his thumb along the length of his collar bone to trace it back and forth in a steady pattern.

At feeling Mav stir at the touch, witnessing the furrowing of his brow and the subtle shift of his head along the window, Ice continued, “Mav? We're at home. You can go back to sleep once we’re inside in bed.”

Whether it was the mention of being home or the prospect of sleeping in a bed that pushed the other towards wakefulness, Ice wasn't certain, but a quiet snuffle came from Mav as he squinted open his eyes. And Ice thought the gentle prodding had worked, but after a brief moment where Mav seemed to take in his surroundings more fully, his eyes widened and he practically jumped to sit straighter in his seat.

It was always one of two ways Maverick would wake up, it’d been that way for ever since Ice had come to know the other pilot enough to gauge his sleeping patterns. Mav was either impossible to wake, quiet and groggy until he managed to stumble his way to shower or eat breakfast, or he could snap awake in an instant, alert and ready for anything without hardly needing to blink the lingering vestiages of sleep away.

The latter was usual ways of things, seeing as Mav always enuded energy and enthusiasm for every day. Though the former wasn't so rare that it was an anomaly, and the tedium of life aboard an aircraft carrier could get to them all, even with the guaranteed prospect of flying almost everyday. Weather and extenuating circumstances allowing.

This odd blend of the two was something Ice took note of, but considering the events that have lead to this, he didn't think it was too concerning. Distrusted sleeping patterns combined with the grief over Carole’s passing and worry over Bradley had to have a strange effect on anyone. Ice was glad at least Mav hadn't suffered a nightmare during his short nap, and he hoped depsite it's briefness that the uninterrupted sleep would do him some good.

“Easy.” Ice soothed, removing his hand from Mav’s shoulder until he could catch the other man’s eye, his voice steady and with a hint of steel behind the lowness of its pitch, it wasn't percisely a commanding tone that they used at times in the cockpit to jar another pilot out of their own heads when vertigo or panic was setting in, but it was enough to have Maverick’s gaze flicking immediately to Iceman’s.

“We're at my place, in the car still. You fell asleep on the drive here.” Ice relaid, concise and clear, “Bradley’s taken care of, staying with Sam and Margret tonight. He's got Chris and Luke there with him too.”

It was the mention and assurance on Bradley that seemed to quell the tension that was strung across Mav’s frame. A gusty sigh fell fourth past his lips in a rush, his shoulders drooping and his head falling forward until his chin rested against his chest.

Reaching out again, Ice rested his hand against the base of Mav’s neck. Gripping there lightly with his fingers and pressing slowly with his palm, he felt the fine tremours that still coursed through Mav’s exhausted frame yet too he felt the muscles beneath further relax under his touch, almost seeming to wilt underneath it.

Thus Ice waited, content to remain however long Mav needed to collect the precarious hold he had and gather what comfort he could from the sparse contact. Neither rushing nor pushing, Ice simply began to gently trace his thumb in circles along where it rested against the lower curve of Maverick’s neck. Knowing the other man to be somewhat ticklish, he kept the motion more so along the crest and dip near his collar bone rather than any points he knew wouldn't be relaxing if touched.

“Bed?” Mav posed the single word as a tempting question, angling his head so he could face Ice without lifting it overmuch, keeping his features cast in shadow, away from the lamp post’s glow.

Ice nodded, not calling attention to the fact he was able to physically see the cracks about the forced levity his wingman was attempting to place into his tone and expression, “Yeah.”

“Give or take forty steps?” Mav continued in the same tone, wobbly yet light it was.

“It’s fifty-two.” Ice corrected automatically, which elicited a faintly amused scoff from the other man, whilst he shifted his hand along Mav’s back to lay it flat between his shoulder blades, “Think you can make it?”

Although the words had been poised as a mild taunt, aiming to match the energy Maverick exuded, but the mark was missed by the weight behind the single sentence. A seriousness that belayed the

“With you on my wing, how could I not?” Mav ignored the heft behind Ice’s words, forging on as if he hadn't heard the underlying meaning.

Taking the hint, Ice responded in kind, forcing a wiry smile to uplift a corner of his lips, “Having the best at your side tends to do that.”

That drew an outright snort from Maverick, the sniffled quality it held told of the buried emotion beneath it, yet Mav kept with the pretence, “You would know.”

Ice huffed at that return, shaking his head, unable to help the fond smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, even though he wasn't able to dispel entirely with the sorrowful edge it held, “You must really need some sleep then.”

“I could say the same of you.” Mav shot back, hitting closer to the mark than Ice would have liked.

It seemed the longer they remained the more they edged into territory that Maverick was striving to keep them from. Acknowledging the happenings, both recent and distant, that had brought them here none. Attempting to skirt by them and focus upon the very instant of the moment Maverick was.

“Then we should both get to bed.” Ice offered up, his words sounding more a suggestion than statement.

“Yeah.” Mav nodded, looking up towards the front door of the house, “Yeah. Let's go.”

Waiting until Maverick made to open the car door, did Iceman follow suit to hurry round the front of the car and walk with Mav up to the door. In hardly a matter of minutes they were inside and upstairs. Quiet the whole way and falling into the usual routine they held when readying for bed, despite Maverick at Ice’s this night inside of his own home. They’d stayed over at each others’ often enough, stealthily though they had to keep it, that it was an easy adjustment. Fitting seamlessly into one another’s life without hardly a hiccup in their everyday.

Once in the bedroom, they were both slow to undress. Exhaustion throughout mind and body had Maverick going through the motion of dressing down, movements hindered by the wavering energy of his limbs and the waning attention he could put towards any task at present.

Whilst Ice was dithering without trying to seem like he was to allow Mav to be the first under the blankets and to find a position that was comfortable for him. Occupying himself with his usual order and neatness, Ice took a touch of extra care with it tonight, observing Maverick throughout.

Noting the slump to his wingman’s shoulders that seemed to draw his head downwards, which in tandem pulled the other’s gaze lower, even when not focussed on something in hand or below. Maverick was the sort to face anything head-on and look straight in the eyes of whatever may be before him, whether that be person or problem or challenge. It caused Ice’s own heart to ache over the misery and sorrow the other man was experiencing, it hardened his resolve to see that it was him that pulled Bradley’s application despite the sting that brought to both conscience and soul.

For he too liked Bradley, and the kid had such potential. To set him back by tuning his chance with the academy would be a blow that Ice didn't think the dynamics between him and Mav nor his and Bradley’s could ever recover from, yet Ice would do it unflinchingly. Hadn't even given a second thought after Mav had confided in him about it in the cemetery.

The rustling of fabric drew Ice’s attention outwards, having gotten caught up in his own thoughts for a moment, as Mav untucked the blankets and flipped them back so he could lay down. Ice came over then, unclasping his watch to set it on the bedside table, he too untucked the military perfected corners to move the blankets so he could join Mav in the bed.

Clicking off the lamp at his bedside, Ice then turned towards Mav’s side of the bed, an arm already up to allow Maverick to scoot near and snuggle in close. His arm coming down to rest along Mav’s hip at the elbow, unconsciously running his thumb in an up and down pattern along his wingman’s back.

“Ice.” The abbreviated callsign was spoken like a plea, uttered with a breathless disheartenment, as Mav pressed his forehead into Ice’s chest with a palpable shudder.

“I’m here.” Ice reminded the second he heard that, holding Maverick closer by shifting to wrap his arm more so around his back, knowing the feeble dam that had been erected since they left the cemetery was finally breaking.

Easily his reach encircled Mav’s smaller frame, not bracketing but fully embracing and drawing him further into his arms. Ice felt Mav nuzzle more so against his chest, repositioning slightly to rest more comfortably as near as physically possible to Ice’s own body. Each stuttered exhale was a brief rush of warm air along his bare chest, an additional heat to Mav’s own flush against his, but neither was comparable to the hot droplets of tears he could feel pooling there from Mav’s muffled crying.

Small tremors that coursed through the other’s frame had Ice angling his head downwards to press his lips to the crown of Maverick’s head, remaining there as he held his wingman through it. Not shushing nor attempting to quell the overwhelming of grief that poured off in droves, simply remaining a staunch anchor as Mav weathered through it. Allowing Mav to feel and process without doing so alone, or without knowing Ice would be right by his side through it all the way to the other side and past that.

Ice held Mav, offering gentle touches and unhurried tenderness, until the jarring sobs that he tried to vainly to stifle had eased more towards the huffed breaths and wet sniffles. Only then did Ice move to lean over the edge of the bed to snatch a few tissues for Maverick to blow his nose and wipe at his eyes, uncaring that snot and tears had saturated the pillow beneath them and had surely smeared a patch on Ice’s chest.

“Sorry.” Mav had choked out, voice roughened and wet from the severity of his crying. Still his eyes were red and brimmed with moisture, cheeks pinked and puffy.

Plucking the used and discarded tissues up, Ice dropped them over the side of the bed into the bin that sat underneath his bedside table before leaning back towards Maverick. Reaching to gather his wingman back into his arms, the other needing no encouragement to cuddle up once again, Ice left enough room between them to gingerly knock his forehead against Maverick.

Ensuring he had the other’s gaze captured by his own, staring directly into Mav’s green eyes, Ice said with a deathly conviction, “You've nothing to apologise for, Pete.”

Witnessing the well of tears threaten to overspill again, Ice shifted back a bit to raise his hands up to delicately lay along Mav’s cheeks and brush a thumb beneath his eyes. Maverick’s eyes had closed at the gesture, not flinching away nor ashamed, but wholly trusting and accepting of Ice’s touch to remove the tears that had tipped over the edge to trace wet riverlets down his cheeks till they were brandished away by Ice’s thumbs.

And when Maverick leant forwards to press a kiss to the corner of Ice’s lips before shifting a touch closer to huddle against Ice chest once more, Ice manoeuvred with him. Returning the chaste yet meaningful kiss to the crest of Mav’s head as he tucked his wingman closer still.

Even when Mav’s frame relaxed fully and his breathing mellowed out and deepened in a sure sign of true sleep, Ice didn't let go nor move away. For content his wingman seemed, slack jawed and snoring softly against his neck, and Mav himself would have to shift away because Ice loathed to shatter this tentative peace the other could obtain in sleep for a second time this night. And content Ice was to stay.

…

Maverick woke to sunlight streaming directly into his eyes through a cut in the curtains, the blinding light had dispelled with sleep and dragged his consciousness back to into the waking world. A sluggish annoyance washed over him at this, not yet wanting to give into the necessity of getting up.

His mind not having caught up with the events of the night previous, remaining within that clouded limbo that lay between the edges of drifting back to sleep or fully awakening. Shrouded by the clinging vestiages of sleep were his thoughts, laden and muddled but the sunlight was working against him to ensure Mav couldn't trip back over the ledge to slumber. Not without shifting to roll over away from the persistent sunbeam.

Yet in doing so, it allowed for his mind to clear enough to latch onto the memories of the night prior, drawing with it all the days that lead to yesterday. A tidal wave of grief crashed over Maverick’s heart, swelling the distant ache that had lingered in the background there since he opened his eyes to a brimming fullness, one that threatened to spill over at the slightest sway.

The knowledge of what was to be done and to come only added to the anguish that had entrenched its way into his centre, seeking to sit its whole encompassing weight upon his chest. Tightening his breath and constricting along his ribs, fighting against every breath and each thumped beat of his heart. A stuttered breath that may have been a sob had there been any true breath to allow it's fruition caught in Mav’s throat then, leaving him to clutch at the blankets and bury his face into the soft pillow under his head.

Not so to truly stifle the sound, but in order to ground himself against the tide of gut-wrenching sorrow he felt. It'd been a method he’d employed several times throughout the years, from the death of his father when his mother was too lost in her own tears that night to have his in addition to her own to when she too had joined his father in death, then when…

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Maverick willed away the thoughts of his lte RIO and dearest of friends. Already everything with Carole and Bradley was tearing at his heart, to further think of Goose after all this, he didn't think he could bear it this morning. Not that it helped much since his mind had already drifted towards that vien of memories. Dredging up a swirl of guilt and fondness, love and regret, laughter and tears, Mav felt overwhelmed to the point he didn't know whether crying or running would help him now.

Perhaps nothing would.

A muffled clatter followed by a sharp yet short hiss brought Maverick’s head up on its own accord, whipped upright from where to had been pressed into the pillow. Unbeknownst to him until this moment, tears had leaked past to wet the fabric and create a sheen of moisture along his upper cheeks. Sniffling wetly, Mav rubbed the heel of his hand underneath his eyes and along his tear dampened eyelashes before reaching out to throw the blanket off himself and shift round to stand.

The noise had quieted to nothing beyond that intial commotion, but that hiss had been a sound of pain, Mav knew, and since he had woken up alone in bed, that only meant that clamour had been Ice... Or maybe Slider, but that had been one time years ago after the party that left everyone waking up wondering where the fuck they were and if surviving the next few hours was even possible with that degree of hangover they all had.

And that certainly didn't happen last night, thus it had to of been Ice downstairs.

Shuffling forwards, his bare feet scuffling slightly on the carpet, Mav made his way over to Ice’s wardrobe to grab a shirt to slip over his head before heading out of the bedroom and to the stairs. Forgetting for the moment about Carole and Bradley and Goose, the despair falling second for the time being to finding out how Iceman, a master in the kitchen as much as he was in the air, had managed to hurt himself enough whilst cooking elicit that kind of noise.

Or so Mav had assumed his wingman had judging by sound alone. Years of knowing the other man had Mav keenly aware of Ice’s habits and ways of doing things, thus a noise that'd chance waking him up occurring after such a night? That wouldn't have been purposeful nor planned, Mav knew.

Coming down and around to peer into the kitchen, Mav observed Ice at making breakfast. It seemed no injury had occurred that was worth more than a quick run under the tap since it dripped lazily after recently been turned on, yet Ice was already back at the hob. Standing, posture perfect abilet a tad tense for cooking on a morning they didn't have to report in.

The other man’s jaw was working, chewing noticeably, but Mav didn't see any of the food prepared near enough for tasting. A glance to the left of the worktop revealled the packet of gum that Maverick knew would be set there, just beside the left of the recently stocked fruit bowl. It was opened, two wrappers oddly still crumpled next to it rather being thrown into the bin. Unlike the ever-tidy Iceman to do.

Even before Ice had told him that it was subtle form of expending nervous energy when he was stressed or was thinking hard about something, Mav had noticed Ice didn't go anywhere without gum. Slider even had carried a few sticks with him for Ice when stationed together, just in case. And not even the regulations and protocols about it being banned and unsafe in the cockpit had stopped him.

The need had formed throughout the years of attempting yet always failing to impress his father by continuing to reach and exceed perfection in everything he did, there wasn't room for visible crutches or helping hands when under his father’s insatatble scruntiy, thus gum chewing, and in a lesser extent, pen twirling, had taken up residence in Ice’s habits to expend upon pent up negative energies whenever it wasn't safe or proper to use other avenues.

Helping craft that persona of being ice cold and being entirely uneffected by anything that may shake amy other man, the epitome of the the three ‘C’s , thus bred an arrogance from the knowledge and truth of him being one of the best in everything he sought to do.

It’d taken a handful of months for Mav to realise the scope of depth to his wingman, the military didn't really host an environment for coming to know each other intimately yet it did allow exactly that in certain facets. Although Ice hadn't been easy to know at first, neither had Mav if he was being honest, they had meshed together as matching opposites beyond well in the end.

Thus it was obivious to Maverick that Ice’s mind was elsewhere, not on cooking despite all appearances of trying to make eggs. The level of concentration Mav could see Ice putting into the simple task, one that he had to of done a thousand times over by now since eggs on toast was one of Maverick’s favourite meals and thus could likely do it half asleep with one hand, would have been funny had it not worried him.

“You know I don't mind if they're a little burnt.” Maverick said, and judging the way Ice went absolutely rigid across his shoulders, Mav had managed to startle him.

“Jesus Mav.” Ice breathed out, turning to look over at the other man whilst his frame relaxed from it's taut posture.

“Sorry.” Mav apologised as he gave a facsimile of a lopsided smile, usually he’d take a twisted sort of joy out of catching Iceman off guard. But not today.

Seeming to notice the mockery of the usual glee Ice knew Mav would have had any other day, Ice’s features tensed all over again. The muscles along his jaw sprang and his brow dipped at the centre to create a line between them. A tightness came around his eyes whenever he did that, although to those who didn't know Ice, it didn't appear overly expressive, it told Mav a hundred unvoiced words of Ice’s thoughts.

With seeing that expression, Maverick moved to cross the short expanse between himself where Ice stood, slow yet determined were his steps. Captivating Ice’s sole attention by maintaining eye contact throughout, green to blue their eyes kept ahold of one another. Even as Mav came near and Ice’s gaze had to follow downwards and Mav’s had to lift upwards to keep it, their respective height differences all the more enhanced by proximity and the fact Ice had slippers on whilst Mav was bare footed.

That few centimetres made a difference.

Thus onto his tip-toes Mavercik stretched up, again slow yet meaningful, whilst Ice reached out with his free hand to wrap it around Mav’s waist to ensure the shorter man kept his balance as well as to press him closer. In tandem with Ice’s movement, Mav reached up underneath Ice’s arm to grasp tenderly at the back of his neck.

Exurting a light and brief amount of pressure with his fingers along Ice’s neck, silently asking and directing. Ice willingly obliged the request to dip his head down, his lip twitching at the corners in a want to smile at the familar action, but the subdued nature of the morning curbed it's fruition.

Yet instead of capturing his lips in a kiss, Mav had stretched further to press his lips to the space between his eyebrows. A beat, then two passed before Maverick pulled away only so far to catch Ice’s eyes again. The earlier concern that reflected so virulently in his blue irises remained, yet it was dimmed and faint in light of the confusion Mav’s action had brought.

Seeing this, Maverick titled his chin up to press his lips against Ice’s cheek. Soft and tender depsite how quickly his lips left to kiss the cheek opposite Ice’s nose, distantly relishing the deepening of the other’s befuddlement as it warred with growing desire that gleamed hotly within the recesses of Ice’s gaze.

Unwilling to take the leap unless Mav did, not pushing nor pressuring to pursue anything more than Maverick was ready to do this morning. Despite any want Ice felt, the allure was plain for Mav to see behind Ice’s forefront emotions, shoved back and held in place to ensure Mav was taken care of first. Never willing nor wanting to take advanatage of an emotional vulnerability, Ice seemed to not even take note of his own desire.

And although the restraint was appreciated, allowing him to set the pace and direction of events, Mav really would like Ice to take the hint and kiss him back.

Wishing to smooth the worried lines from his wingman’s features via kissing had only seemed to add lines of bewilderment and a rigidness of uncertainty rather than ease those edges. Ice’s affinity for perfection was at times his undoing.

“If you don't kiss me back soon, I’m going to be offended.” Mav whispered, his lips close enough to brush against Ice’s own.

In spite of his words, Ice didn't immediately move to kiss Mav, but at the aoft vibrance he saw alight Ice’s eyes at hearing his words and the way his other hand came up to mirror Mav’s posture in holding the back of his neck, Maverick knew his intent had been telegraphed.

Leaning forward to gently knock his forehead against Mav’s, pausing only a moment to relish in the proximity of the other man before he moved down to give that kiss that had been so longed for. Keeping it slow as Mav had since he’d first came downstairs, but deep and filled with every ounce of affection he held for his wingman that he could place in the sole action. Drawing it out and lavishing in the feel of the other lips on his own, warm and soft.

Only breaking apart to take a breather, fractionally separated as Ice ensure he remained leant downwards to rest his forehead once again against Maverick’s. Both of their breaths were a slight ragged from the length and intensity of the kiss.

Mav could feel each of Ice’s exhale ghost along his skin, the promenant scent of fruit from the gum Ice had been chewing mingled with the faint one of mint from Ice’s toothpaste he favoured most had Maverick closing his mouth and folding his lips between his teeth as he pulled back somewhat. Ice’s eyes had flicked open at the motion of departure, a confused and mildly worried look laced through his features. Likely wondering if this was becoming too much or that Mav had changed his mind, Mav thought.

“I just realised I never brushed my teeth before coming down here.” Mav said in way of explanation, keeping his words quick and closed mouthed as he could, an light pinking hue came to the highlights of his cheeks at the admission.

A smile came to Ice’s expression then, the sort that was slow curve up the corner of his full lips and would have appeared shark-like had it lacked the severe degree of adoration Ice was able to place into it whenever he looked at Maverick, “I love you anyway. Morning breath and all.”

Ice leant forward back into Maverick’s space, there hasn't been much distance placed between them to begin with, to nuzzle into Mav’s neck. Trailing upwards to kiss his cheek then at the corner of his lips, Ice proved his words to be true. So long as Mav was smiling with a genuine light returning into his eyes and the strained edges to his features softened, then Ice would have kissed him had he not brushed in a week.

Receptive to the tracing touch and intermittent kisses, Mav turned into the gesture to press his nose into the crook of Ice’s neck, smiling wider than he had in weeks, he whispered, “And I love you anyway too. Burnt breakfast and all.”

Those short few words had Ice’s frame freezing before he whirled around with vehement, “Oh shit!”

Maverick merely laughed lightly before he stepped up beside his disheartened wingman to help fix the disaster that was breakfast. Grief not forgotten nor dispelled with, but briefly overshadowed for this moment filled with love.

[my-mt-heart]

Maybe I should clarify something that seems to be getting in the way of communication? Yes, this is a fan blog and people are expressing their personal opinions—everybody is entitled to theirs and I'm not trying to silence anyone, but to me and MT (please, correct me if I'm being presumptuous in speaking for you here) it also resides in a murky hinterland where we need to be aware of our professional personas/reputation. It's a public forum, so I'm focusing on certain talking points over others. That doesn't mean I'm blind.

(Also, sometimes, thoughts live in the spaces between words, not unlike coins and cookie crumbs underneath the cushions of a couch.)

"I understand the mission, what's helpful and what's not. But completely ignoring and dismissing his part in it all ain't it."

@satireplz, I'm neither dismissing, nor ignoring the man's flaws. (I'm well aware of them.) It's just not a productive conversation in this particular context. He's not running for public office, nor does he decide if the spinoff gets canceled, so it'll just fuel the current wave of 'misunderstood white men' who complain about being persecuted. We don't need someone going on a 2 am rage tweet spree about being bullied out of all his privilege and for media to pick that up and run with how unhinged fans are. Being the headline would be counterproductive when we want to draw attention to mistreatment of both employees and consumers.

AMC needs to change their practices. All executives need to be vigilant regarding their behavior and decisions: they affect real people and their livelihood. That's where we can have an impact right now.

@mmbangel:

"The facts are AMC loves Norman & they will do anything for him and he had always wanted his own spin off. The move to France has been very beneficial for Norman & trying to paint him as some victim is bullshit."

AMC is a business set up to make money, so their primary motivator is financial gain, not love. If the studio can make a profit out of Norman, it will. If he won't give them enough of a return, they'll invest elsewhere. He's a commodity. AMC has also had a massive overturn of personnel in the last year and working for the company doesn't make you part of a hive mind. Most of the key execs have moved on from their positions and Gimple doesn't love Norman or any of the other actors or the writers.

He isn't blameless, but there's no spinoff and probably won't be regardless of where Norman lives.

"If you love Melissa as much as you claim you wouldn't want her anywhere near Amc, Norman and Gimple. They treated her like trash and as if she wasn't important to TWD or the fans."

I don't want anyone anywhere near Gimple, but Melissa, as a competent adult, can choose for herself what she wants to do. It's difficult for female actors in their 50s to get work. It's a humiliating process if you're not a select few, coming mainly from film. That's also being treated like trash. Regardless, it's not for me to tell Melissa what to do and I think MT's collective just wants to give her the option to choose what she wants.

"People are upset because if NR and AMC treated the women tied to this spin-off as disposable….it does not speak well of them."

@cool-avaspuppies, I agree with you, but I think it's also important to remember that AMC isn't a monolith (even if they may seem like the Borg) and the people who oversaw the TWD franchise are no longer at the company. That gives a window to having some kind of impact on working conditions and the creative output that gets greenlit. Like you said, it's currently more important to target the people in power if we want good programming that is mindful of both its audience and the people working on the production.

If anyone minds being mentioned by name when I quote or address topics they've raised, please let me know and I will respect your wishes. I'm not here to hurt anyone's feelings. Just trying to work out where our common ground might be. :)

[SF]

I feel like I haven’t been successful yet in explaining why I’m always so diplomatic so thank you for bringing that up. It is a safeguard when you work in an industry where reputation and relationships are everything even if I’m confident nobody knows who I am. But also? It comes down to principles for me. We’re all human beings behind our handles and/or TV personas, so I think we all deserve to be treated that way. Getting publicly attacked, harassed, or threatened by people who don’t know you can be extremely damaging and I would never want to subject anyone to that when I know there are blind spots (not that I am fully blind either). That is a far cry from believing someone can do no wrong or hasn't done anything wrong.

I think we’ve been pretty successful finding common ground by showing our appreciation for Melissa, not to be confused with trying to force her into something she doesn’t want to do, and also loving Caryl, so that’s what I tend to focus on. 

[fullmetalscullyy]

For the sharing a bed ask bc I can't remember for the life of me if I've sent one to you yet 🙈 'they took turns sharing it while the other was on watch' or however exactly that one was worded ❤️❤️

aaa tysm for the prompt! i loved it and i hope you enjoy! continuing with the no plot just vibes agenda~

send me a prompt

rated: g | words: 3679 | tags: royai, there was only one bed, shelter from the storm, snowstorm, tending to wounds, comfort, fluff

read on ao3

Exhaustion followed both occupants of the crumbling bothy like a shadow. It clung to them, slowing their movements, as if it was physically attached to their ankles like two weights. Booted feet were dragged across the polished, undulating stones underfoot, worn down after years of use, and finally came to stop in the centre of the main room.

Years of use didn’t warrant years of upkeep apparently, Riza thought, as she did a sweep of the building. It was not in the best condition however it was still standing, and it was shelter from the storm outside. That was all Riza was currently concerned with.

There were only two rooms, plus a bathroom with a functioning sink and toilet – surprisingly enough. The pipes grunted and groaned, screaming in protest at being used, but it worked and was clean. A worn plaque above the sink indicated the water was drinkable as well, which was the best news she’d heard all day. A small blessing in this wretched situation they’d found themselves in.

To counteract that thought, at that exact moment, a howling gust of wind rattled the door thoroughly and whistled through the cracked class of the windows to its left and right. The Colonel whipped around to stare, partly in fright and partly because he was on edge. They both were. The sudden scream that sounded as the wind tried to force its way inside through the glass made Riza jump as well.

They shared a look and the Colonel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“So much for the famed northern hospitality,” he muttered. His words held a bite to them, however Riza was unsure whether it was directed at the situation itself or at anyone in particular.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault they’d found themselves in this situation, however it was not ideal, nor was it pleasant. The first point on their ‘bad things that have happened today’ list (at this point, they were up to around number six) was a snowstorm had rendered their transport from the station in North City to the town they were supposed to be visiting useless. The truck owner boasted it was an all-terrain, all-weather vehicle, that he was handpicked by the military for transport because of his “beauty’s” prowess. He quickly stopped bragging though and started muttering angrily at his prized possession, kicking the tyre in fury as it sat pitifully in a snowy ditch, unable to escape the confines of it. It was safe to say his “beauty” fell short of the mark for the two soldiers. No amount of pushing from the three of them would shift it. However, they had deadlines to meet, so were forced to say their goodbyes and go ahead on foot.

There was no way they’d make it in time but at least they could honestly say they had tried when questioned.

It was by a stroke of luck they’d stumbled upon a walker’s bothy. Night was creeping in quickly, especially with the ongoing snowstorm. The world was turning greyer by the second and when Riza spotted it, she made a beeline straight for the shelter. The wind was too loud to talk over, but the Colonel saw her beckoning gesture and nodded, following behind her without question, already trusting her judgement and thought process.

The main room housed a single wooden bedframe with no mattress. There was another spot where another bed frame should be, but only half it remained. It had been broken in half. Whether that had been from an accident, an act of vandalism, or due to the passage of time, Riza wasn’t sure. Not that it would be of any use to them split in half, but simple curiosity had the Colonel searching the rest of the small building for the other half. There was a large stone fireplace that was bereft of any wood, they noticed with dismay, however after venturing through to the second room on the left, there was a massive pile of it within. It was a supply for the winter months for anyone who needed it, so the piece of paper tacked to an old corkboard on the wall said. There were two chairs placed around the fire and some cast iron cooking utensils stacked in a neat pile upon the hearth, lifting their spirits slightly. They had rations from the truck driver that would not require their use, but the sight of them was still a positive.

“I think we’ll be safe enough to sleep here tonight,” she announced, ignoring the Colonel’s petulant comment.

“Lieutenant,” he called quietly to her, catching her attention. When she turned her head, he gestured to one of the chairs. “You should rest.” He glanced down at her feet, and Riza knew exactly what he was thinking.

She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle while they walked. The pain had eased completely the more she’d walked, so Riza assumed it would be fine. Now they’d stopped, it was throbbing in time with her pulse. It appeared to be worse than she’d thought.

Just what they needed.

She sighed and mentally added that as number seven to their list.

Sitting on one of the chairs, Riza sighed quietly in relief as it lessened the pressure on her injured joint. The Colonel followed suit and he too sounded extremely relieved to finally sit down.

“What a day,” he muttered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Riza hummed in agreement, causing him to reopen his eyes and glance tiredly over at her. She shifted in place, feeling a shiver travel down her spine.

Without a word, the Colonel stood and ventured into the other room. He came back with arms full of firewood and started the process of arranging them within the fireplace. After a single snap the fire roared to life, filling the room with a soft orange glow and warmth. A few minutes later the invading bite of the winter chill was beginning to alleviate and Riza could feel her muscles relaxing.

“Do you think there will be anything outside waiting for us?”

His question was so sudden as he stared into the fire that it took Riza a moment to process it.

“Pardon?”

The Colonel blinked and tore his eyes away from the dancing flames. He repeated his question as he turned to look at her, expression serious.

“Like what?”

“What about bears?” He looked genuinely concerned.

Riza blinked at him. “Probably. I think so, yes.” She faintly recalled hearing stories about the size and might of the bears in the north but elected not to bring it up. She didn’t think that would have been beneficial or productive in that moment, especially not after recognising a faint glint of fear that was discernible in the Colonel’s eyes.

“Do you think we should be concerned?”

Riza glanced over her shoulder at the door as it rattled on its hinges. “I don’t think so. We’ll be safe in here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you know any bears that can open doors?” Both her brows lifted as she regarded him.

“I know a bear could open that door,” he scoffed, jerking his head towards it. “It’s hardly a strong line of defence.”

That was true. One more gust of wind might snap it off one of the hinges. The top one rattled playfully to emphasise his point.

“I think we’ll be okay, sir,” Riza replied smoothly, trying to keep her amusement out of her tone.

The Colonel scowled at her anyway. Apparently she hadn’t been entirely successful.

Riza chuckled upon seeing his expression. “City boy,” she muttered to herself, her tone light and playful.

“I would say it was a legitimate concern,” he replied haughtily.

“You also thought there were bears in the woods outside my father’s house.”

“I think my point still stands.”

“Bears do not exist in every wooded area and forest, Roy.” She rolled her eyes at him in amused exasperation, momentarily forgetting herself.

It was so easy talking to him like this. The two of them were alone together and stuck in a predicament that neither could have ever predicted or conjured up, yet here they were. It was surreal, but it was nice. Despite everything that had happened today she was still relatively happy. She was grateful to be with him. Ideally, she’d have neither of them stranded in a snowstorm, however she was glad he was here. If there was anyone she’d want to be stranded with, it would be him.

After she’d realised her minor slip up, Riza paused and glanced over at him, noting his soft expression and smile. It was so genuine and happy that she didn’t cringe or apologise. She didn’t feel the need to.

“We sound like we did when we were children,” he replied.

Riza felt her own nostalgic smile spread across her face. “We do.”

“I’ll take first watch,” he offered.

Riza opened her mouth to protest but he’d already shoved a threadbare blanket he’d found towards her. Riza didn’t particularly want to use it – she had no way of knowing how clean it was – however the building was not heated in the slightest, aside from the fire. It was built for hikers who were well prepared with sleeping bags, which they were not. For survival, Riza had to accept any kind of warmth she could get.

“You need to rest that ankle,” he added.

She nodded and took the blanket from him. Riza settled herself on the hard, wooden bedframe so she was facing into the room. It was warmer than facing the cold stone of the wall beside the bed.

“Colonel?”

He glanced over at her expectantly.

“Watch out for those bears.”

* * * * * * * *

The wind had died down throughout the night at least. Roy had been partly joking when he brought up the bears that may be lurking outside for them, however now that he’d put the idea inside his own head, he couldn’t help but take an extra glance every now and then out the window.

Just in case.

It was worth bringing it up to hear the Lieutenant’s laugh. To hear her accidentally call him by his first name. It had been so worth it.

To whittle away the time his mind tried its best to summon a plan of attack against any bear that did appear, going over how he would react and how he would fend one off, but Roy had come to only one conclusion after about half an hour of plotting. It was folly. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take on a bear. His eyes narrowed at the rickety old door and took solace in the fact the doorway looked too small for a bear to fit through. They were safe from them so long as they stayed inside, and that was good enough for him.

Now the bear appearance dilemma, likely or not, had been put to bed, Roy’s thoughts turned towards the Lieutenant. He glanced down at her ankle as she lay sound asleep, remembering how she’d stumbled and fallen in a snowdrift. Insisting she was fine, they’d pressed on. They didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway, but he was still concerned. He had a strong inkling she was suffering for it as they travelled. A sprained ankle under normal conditions would ease with rest, but that was not a luxury they’d been afforded as they traversed the snowy landscape to safety. Snowdrifts up to their knees were common and Roy had felt dead on his feet when they finally came to a stop inside this shelter.

That was one blessing of the day, at least. He’d simply laughed at their luck, shaking his head, now they were safe beneath shelter, dry, and out of the storm.

But if he’d felt tired down to his bones, then he couldn’t imagine how the Lieutenant must have felt upon their arrival.

Steadying his resolve, Roy determined there was no imminent danger. No bears coming through the night to get them. Now the storm had eased, looking through the shards of the window, Roy could see the gorgeous landscape splayed before him, illuminated by the moonlight, and enhanced by the heavy snow. It looked a lot more inviting than it had a few hours ago.

He wouldn’t, but he was tempted to wake up the Lieutenant to show her how beautiful it looked.

Roy smiled to himself, the thought dredging up an old memory from their past. He faintly recalled doing something similar when he’d experienced his first winter at the Hawkeye house. He’d ran to her room without a thought, excited and eager to show her how the dark forest outside had transformed into a silvery white and green wonderland.

It had been something he’d been desperate to share with her.

“Colonel?”

A tired voice called to him, and Roy immediately lost his interest in the world outside. He turned, seeing the Lieutenant blink tiredly at him.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted, an air of concern about him. He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, and if she did, he knew she’d want to take over watch duties.

She shot him a small smile, placating his nerves somewhat. Pushing herself up into a seated position, the Lieutenant stretched her arms over her head.

“How’s the ankle?”

She grimaced, but only slightly. “Better now that I’ve taken my weight off it.”

That didn’t answer his question entirely. “Is there any pain?”

She was silent as she looked down at her legs. “It does throb every now and again. That’s what woke me up.”

Roy nodded, dismayed to hear she was in pain. If he could take it away, he would, but they didn’t have painkillers in their first aid kits. The only thing that would help was a support, which the Lieutenant had already put on after gently easing her boot off. She didn’t react to the angry red hue of her skin, but Roy felt his stomach tense. It hadn’t looked good. The compression support had been slipped on slowly, but Roy saw the way her eye twitched twice and how her jaw clenched while obviously trying to conceal any kind of pain.

“Why don’t you try and get a few hours sleep,” the Lieutenant offered. “I think I’ll be up for a while now.” She swung her legs around and to the floor, visibly wincing when her sore ankle contacted the floor. Another appeared when she tried to stand, but Roy quickly scrambled towards her.

“Please, stay seated,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

The Lieutenant shot him a strained smile. “That doesn’t bode well for us for tomorrow,” she quipped.

Roy opened his mouth to reply, but she was right. Still, hewas right. She shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.

“Regardless,” he admonished, placing his hands on her shoulders as a gentle restraint to keep her in place. “All the more reason to remain seated and keep resting it then, right?” Triumph flashed through him, and he smirked when the Lieutenant’s lips pursed, because she knew he was right.

“You can’t sleep on the floor, though,” she warned.

His shoulders fell in defeat, glancing down at the bed. His mind rejoiced with the idea that sprung into it, however it was so far out the realm of what was appropriate that it was completely out of the question.

Roy retracted his hands as the Lieutenant placed both hands by her sides and effortlessly slid herself backwards, so her back came to rest upon the stone wall behind her. She made herself comfortable and looked at him expectantly, patting the space beside her to indicate he should join her and sit.

Even if it wasn’t appropriate to share a bed with his Lieutenant, Roy only needed to take one look around them both and remember where they were. This day was already bizarre enough. What was one more occurrence to add to that list?

He wouldn’t particularly class it as sharing a bed with her either. They would both be sitting upright, looking out at the room, with considerable distance in place between them.

“We can take turns with the blanket,” she smirked as she handed it over.

Roy snorted lightly and gratefully received her offering. The room was warm enough with the fire but the stone behind his back still stubbornly clung to the icy temperatures from outside, refusing to accept the warmth they’d provided the room. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Roy settled back in place and made himself comfortable.

He woke with a start a few hours later. His head jerked upright and swung left and right, unseeing as he still tried to shake the vision from his dreams.

“Colonel? Colonel!”

He paused for a second, recognising the voice. It was from someone he thought he’d lost in his dream.

“Roy,” the Lieutenant called to him.

It was enough to surprise him, that it brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw his Lieutenant still seated next to him, eyes wide and concerned.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes were searching his, moving back and forth frantically as she scanned his face with worry.

“Yes,” he breathed, trying to get a hold of his racing heart to slow it down. He was all right. She was all right. They were safe. He gulped down air, trying to get enough into his lungs and take away the fear that had both restricted them and wrapped tightly around his heart. “Just… A bad dream.”

The Lieutenant nodded in understanding and patted his forearm. That was when Roy realised she didn’t remove it, and that it had been there the entire time.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roy shook his head. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Thank you, though,” he quickly added. “It was just… the usual,” he offered. The usual nowadays was him losing someone dear to him. The Promised Day had not been kind on his mind. To this day he still suffered, and he didn’t particularly want to relive it after it was so fresh. His reply was code enough that the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was referring to. They’d already been open about what their ‘usual’ nightmares consisted of nowadays.

As suspected, realisation dawned upon her features, and she nodded in sympathy.

“I… I need some time before I can sleep again,” he admitted. There was no shame in his voice though, not with her. Never with her. They were both very well acquainted with the reasons the other struggled to sleep. “You should try for a while.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. She gave his forearm a squeeze and again, she didn’t remove it. “Wake me if you need anything, all right?” She waited for him to verbally agree with her. Only once he did, did the Lieutenant’s eyes close.

Watching her do so caused Roy’s brow to furrow slightly in confusion.

She must have moved closer to him as he slept, because where there had been about two feet of distance between them before, there was now mere centimetres. Just enough distance for the Lieutenant’s head to loll and fall against his shoulder comfortably as she slept.

He’d been startled awake, so Roy hadn’t realised he’d initiated it. In sleep, his head had bowed and rolled to the side, seeking out her presence. After shifting closer, the Lieutenant had eased him from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head to lie upon her shoulder.

Now recovered from the turmoil of his dream, Roy smiled down at her and relished in the comfort her presence brought him. The weight of her head against him eased his mind and slowed his racing pulse. He could breathe easier with her lying against him. A peace washed over his body, relaxing his taught muscles, and soothing his very soul.

Despite their predicament, he was glad she was here with him.

The grip she had on his forearm loosened, so Roy snaked his hand over to it, hooking their fingers together and holding on tightly. The Lieutenant stirred next to him, disturbed from sleep.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

There was a brief pause with no reply, then the Lieutenant’s grip on him tightened and remained.

“Okay,” she exhaled peacefully. She moved next to him, shuffling closer, which Roy was more than happy to indulge in.

As she was lulled back to sleep, her grip on his hand slackened but Roy never let her go. He anchored himself to her.

They’d get through this and get home. Not that she’d allow it of course, but Roy would carry her through the snow with that ankle if need be to ensure their safety. It had been the day from hell professionally, however ending it with the two of them curled together on that uncomfortable bed, gripping onto one another, was not bad in the slightest. Roy thought that was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.

* * * * * * * *

Their luck must have finally been turning for the better, as that morning a group of hikers entered the bothy loudly, laughing and joking with one another, while Roy helped the Lieutenant strap up her ankle. They were offered food and directions to the nearest town, which was only two miles away. The group set off with them, insistent on offering their help and support, and even assisted the Lieutenant with some painkillers as well.

After the day of travel they’d had before, it brightened up both soldier’s moods somewhat as they set off again through the snowy northern landscape with their new company.

Thankfully, they didn’t come across any bears.

They made it to the town in one peace and called North City Headquarters for assistance. And also requested back up for that assistance.

Just in case.

[gothhabiba]

of course if you brought this up with anyone who had shared that video the response would be "some people cosplay colonists to cope" or a similar invocation of the (obviously very real) trauma of being misgendered and abused as a child.

the thing is that 'trauma' in this formulation (that is, a mitigating circumstance that can be appealed to—not just to explain and excuse whatever behaviour—but to make that behaviour appear healthful and beneficial on an individual or societal level)—this kind of 'trauma' is something that only white people can possess.

people of colour—in this instance we ought to be talking about Indigenous & African americans—are not subjects or people who can be traumatised. they're not thought of as people whose trauma matters—but, more than this, they're not thought of as having the kind of mind that can be traumatised in the first place.

they don't have the kind of mind that can 'heal' from 'trauma'—a mind at its core healthy and sanitary, but corruptible—a mind flexible enough to rejuvenate or regenerate itself. regenerating potential, complex individual psychology, a 'clean' state prior to trauma that can be corrupted and ought to be protected from corruption—these things belong to whiteness alone.

these are the aspects of whiteness that make an appeal to corrupted white childhood especially powerful for reactionary and progressive people alike. the white child is in the ultimate state of fragile purity and simultaneous elastic rigour. the white child's purity must not be challenged or complicated (thus ideas such as 'white children ought to be shielded from the realities of racism which their peers of colour are presumably already dealing with')—but white people can, once corrupted, still become productive citizens of a healthy national body politic with sufficient attention to 'recovery' of that previous un-traumatised state.

this 'recovery' employs discourses of medicine and psychology as sanitation and the (white) mind both as originally pure and robust, and as recoverable, regenerative, &c. enough to re-attain that original state. these discourses also posit that white psychological recovery serves a national function. the frequent invocation of nationalist imagery and nationalist myth-making in marginalised white people's attempts to address their marginalisation is a noted phenomenon.

so Indigenous & African americans cannot be traumatised. they can be foreign (yeah, foreign, however counterintuitive it sounds) antagonists and villains, collective hoards, drains on resources, sources of labour, the tragic dead, or tragic victims, but even in the more apparently sympathetic of these formulations they are not psychologically individual or complex enough to be traumatised as people. they especially cannot be thought of as traumatisable or regenerative as populations, since that would entail an acknowledgement of usamerican colonial wrongdoing and the admission of a possible future not predicated on white hegemony.

if they are 'traumatised' populations it is a kind of trauma that is tragic but irrecoverable, or else self-imposed and self-perpetuated; they don't have a mind, an individual, psychologically complex mind, the kind of mind whose individual experiences matter and ought all to be taken into account and sympathised with in understanding behaviour, the kind of mind that justifies and necessitates any action taken in order to maintain its hygiene. their minds are neither originally 'pure' (such that they must be protected from trauma) nor robust and elastic enough to recover (such that they can ever really be healthy members of the us national / political body).

an appeal to white trauma, and especially to white childhood trauma, is just sort of a sympathy magic bullet that the stars rarely align enough to allow a person of colour to discursively counter ime. "colonialism and slavery traumatise people" is not admissible evidence to these people.

“heartwarming ❗️✨💕 local trans man finally takes the old-timey Western photograph dressed as a colonial-era soldier that he had wanted to take as a child 🥰✨”

there’s something deeply, deeply wrong with white LGBT people. like mentally and psychologically there’s something soooo so wrong with them

[amarynthian-fortress]

In light of the recent negativity chaos within the tag regarding the streams: while it is perfectly alright for someone to dislike a piece of media, it is a completely different thing to willingly spread cruel falsehoods or mindless hatred for either creator and staff. It is neither healthy nor productive behaviour, and it isn’t beneficial for anyone. We are all human beings at the end of the day.  

[philosophycorner]

Musings on Attitudes and Western Philosophical Culture

It doesn’t take a lot to notice that people in the West are obsessed with binaries: in ethics an action is either right or wrong, with no gray areas; in politics there’s only left and right or conservative and liberal, with no one truly occupying the liminal and no one venturing outside the boundaries of right- or left-wing ideology. This is why it is crucial to eventually leave the Western hemisphere and study Eastern philosophy. The Taoists following Lao (hereafter called Laoists) identified a position that is neither objectivist nor subjectivist.

Interestingly, psychologists and moral pluralists have identified this approach without making it explicit. When making moral considerations, I am consistently and now unconsciously Kantian, but I recognize in certain situations, a Kantian analysis doesn’t get the job done. That does not make me an objectivist nor a subjectivist; it makes me what Laoist Shih were, an attitudist. Do I consider that a person is an end in themselves if I realize that this person is a Narcissist or anyone on the Dark Tetrad? For sake of myself, I simply cannot proceed with a Kantian analysis. I now have to prefer, for this specific situation, an egoist approach. The best course of action caters to my self-interest. Anyone who cares about their mental well-being knows that they have to cut this toxic person out of their lives, completely and utterly. Once you realize that someone has been treating you as a means, there is no sense in which you can continue to treat them as an end. The basis of most Tetrad relationships is transactional, i.e., what can I get out of you? This is emotionally and potentially, financially draining and for your own sake, you have to cut this person out of your life.

What if instead you’re a CEO with a department full of employees near retirement who are less productive than a department full of upstart, younger employees? On a business analysis, firing the former group who presumably earn higher salaries or wages makes the most sense. Despite being a Kantian, I can see here that a utilitarian approach makes sense. Which group is harmed less? The former group is near retirement and is less capable of pivoting if I were to lay them off while the latter group is more capable of pivoting, of picking up the pieces, and finding a way to continue their careers. So in the interest of causing less harm, my attitude in this case assumes the character of a utilitarian.

This is the essential hallmark of moral pluralism. It isn’t relativist nor does it have any pretense of objectivism. It is like the Laoist sayings in the Tao Te Ching. It is the undertaking of an attitude that either assails conventional wisdom or opens up the mind to other possibilities. It is the old “slow and steady wins the race.” This isn’t to contradict the prevailing objective fact that the faster participant usually wins, but that it is entirely possible to win a race strategically and methodically. It is to take a certain attitude toward a tradition or norm.

Eastern philosophy has the potential to disabuse the West of its infatuation with binaries. I can identify as a moral objectivist and in a given situation make the most nihilist of statements: at bottom, there’s no such thing as good and evil. For human purposes, it is perhaps necessary to proceed as though a moral act is a universal law; this is the perspective of any Kantian. However, absent human minds or minds roughly equal to our own, there is no sense in which we can call a supernova evil because it wipes out a solar system and causes the extinction of fish on a planet 65 lightyears away (which is actually a strong theory scientists have with regards to an extinction of massive fish during the Devonian period, about 360 million years ago). We can’t call a blackhole evil for spaghettifying a cornucopia of celestial objects. Likewise, we can’t call a star good for eventually providing warmth to a solar system, even on the assumption that the system is life-bearing. For non-sentient purposes, qualifications of good and evil are simply vacuous. It is no doubt a nihilistic attitude, but it says nothing about my approach to sentient ethics.

Attitudism is inherent in moral pluralism and elsewhere, but it should be allowed into the philosophy of the West. Binaries, either-or, all-or-nothing, my way or the highway, present no solutions whatsoever. Binaries create more problems than they solve. In politics, I assume right-wing attitudes all the time. I have never been a proponent of the vacuous “Defund the police,” for it is a simple fact that Police Reform will require more government funding and that even defunding the police to divert funds to other causes like education or mental illness awareness guarantees complacency with the same, corrupt, failing system of policing currently in place across many inner cities. I think the call to defund the police has harmed left-wing candidacies, which is the same thing right-wing politicians say. Does that make me right-wing? Absolutely not. Yet it is the case that I have adopted their attitude for this specific situation.

Upon closer analysis, my readers will realize that they do this sort of thing often. Lack of civility, charity, and a penchant for being disingenuous describes today’s dialogue, especially in the United States. Leave it to an opponent to accuse you of a position you don’t espouse. Christians often assume that every atheist in the world is a moral relativist, leaving no room for the possibility that an atheist can be an objectivist. This happens because of attitudism, namely an attitude an atheist shares about a specific situation or even a general state of affairs. Richard Dawkins, famous for pointing out the universe’s blind indifference, was speaking about the general state of the universe and this is now taken to mean that Dawkins is a moral nihilist. I share his attitude with regards to the universe, but I don’t share that attitude as it concerns human relationships and society, nor do I share that attitude in matters concerning the Earth like Climate Change, the humane treatment of household pets, hunting and poaching, discussions on the personhood of non-human animals like primates and dolphins, and so on. 

For Western philosophy to progress beyond where it is, it needn’t fear relativism. It should also allow for attitude-based statements speaking to pertinent scenarios. It should renounce binary thinking altogether and accept gray areas, incorporating the insights of thinking in a more diverse manner. Western philosophers also have to stop categorizing thinkers into traditions not robust enough to honor the thought of given philosophers. For purposes of ethics, situational and contextual approaches have to be included as well. 

Readers, do you think Western philosophy’s obsession with binaries is not as detrimental as I think? Is it possible that it is beneficial?  

[princeescaluswords]

I'm using this method so it doesn't get muddled within the other discourse. What did you mean by this? "Everyone complains about how Scott should just listen to Derek, but I don’t think a single one of them would have liked Derek murdering Boyd & Cora in Fireflies (3x03) if Scott had said “If you think it’s best, Derek.”"- I'd like to know which situation you're referring to and how it fits into Scott listening or not listening. I'd initially glimpsed over it, but it's been piquing my curiosity.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that parts of the fandom believe that Scott constantly rejected what Derek and/or Stiles tried to tell him.  This is, of course, a point of view without nuance.  Scott did listen to Derek, sometimes, and Scott did listen to Stiles, sometimes.  In fact, he always listened, but sometimes he rejected what they had to say for his own decision, which is part of the process of growing up.

Let’s take Allison.  Fandom talks as if Scott was obsessed with Allison, but throughout Seasons 1 and 2, he often made decisions that threatened his relationship with Allison, to the point where that relationship finally ended.  In contrast, I think it’s clear that, if anyone was obsessed, it was Derek.  Even though he had no proof that Allison was like Kate (and she wasn’t), he constantly tried to prevent Scott from seeing her.  Scott ignored him and for good reason -- people shouldn’t be judged by their last name.  Now, Derek also had good reason to fear what might happen  because of what happened with Kate.  The production’s position I think is clear -- decisions made based on hope and love are better than those based on fear and despair, yet it didn’t say that Derek’s fear was unreasonable, only wrong.

The scene I was referring to specifically, where it was beneficial that Scott refused to listen to Derek, happens in Fireflies (3x03). I reproduce an image and the dialogue.

Scott: I mean real help. They're too fast for us, for all of us. They're too strong, too rabid. 

Derek: We'll catch 'em. 

Isaac: What happens if we do? We just gonna hold them down until the sun comes up? 

Derek: Maybe it would be easier just to kill 'em. 

Scott: Killing them isn't the right thing to do. 

Isaac: What if it's the only thing to do? If we can't even catch them, what else do we do? 

Scott: Find someone who knows what they're doing. 

Derek: Who? 

Scott: Someone who knows how to hunt werewolves.

In this scene Derek is willing to kill Boyd and Cora before they reach the populated areas of Beacon County in order to protect innocents from the moon-fueled wrath.  He sees it as his call to make because he is their alpha.   It’s not an unreasonable position; it’s just wrong.  Derek is also highly resistant to involving Chris Argent in an attempt to contain Boyd and Cora, expressing reluctance and doubt.   It’s not an unreasonable position, it’s just wrong.  

My earlier statement came form the idea that parts of the fandom have portrayed Scott as stubbornly intransigent towards both Derek and Stiles, while it was actually a very good thing that Scott was able to reject their advice/instructions on occasion.  In this instance, if he hadn’t rejected Derek’s proposed solutions and proposed and fought for his own, Chris Argent wouldn’t have been able to help Derek, Isaac, Scott, and Allison contain them until sunrise.   

You see, parts of the fandom are so eager to make Teen Wolf a zero sum game, and this fuels their hatred of Scott.  Since they think in terms of dominance, they believe that Scott’s rejection of Derek’s leadership was the cause of Derek’s troubles.  But the truth is -- the mistakes that Derek made were Derek’s mistakes.  They were neither created nor justified by his conflict with Scott over the proper form of leadership.   Derek (and even Peter) didn’t lose their alpha status because Scott gained his in the scheme of the show.  Derek lost his saving Cora, and Peter lost his because he was a murderer.  

On the other hand, Scott for his part didn’t become a True Alpha as a rebuke to Derek and Peter, but because he decided on a course of action that valued every life equally and stood up for it.   But he wasn’t a True Alpha in Episode 1, Season 1.  He grew into that.  And part of that growth was rejecting the positions of his foils -- Peter’s coercive force, Derek’s fear-ridden command, Stiles’ possessive and exclusive violent love, Jackson’s extreme self-focus,  Gerard’s greed for survival, Deucalion’s poisoned philosophy, and Jennifer’s willingness to hurt others for the greater good.