Last light, Mary Mattingly
$LAYYYTER

Kiana Khansmith

"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
YOU ARE THE REASON

ā
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@icarus-enthroned
Last light, Mary Mattingly

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by Mark Harris
i love to think about liam getting irrationally possessive about the passenger seat of theo's truck.
because somewhere along the way it became his seat.
that's where he sits when theo picks him up. that's where he steals his fries. that's where he falls asleep during late-night drives. that's where he puts his feet on the dashboard and gets yelled at for it.
so, one day somebody else gets into the passenger seat and liam immediately goes:
"....really?"
and everyone can hear the annoyance in his voice. it's obvious that he is two seconds away from growling.
the funniest part is that liam genuinely thinks he's being subtle.
he isn't.
because suddenly he's glaring at whoever's sitting there like they personally wronged him, while theo is trying not to laugh because he knows exactly what's happening.
and the thing is, liam probably doesn't even realize why he's upset at first. he just looks at the seat and his brain goes:
wrong.
incorrect.
illegal.
remove.
and of course theo becomes completely insufferable about it.
"hey liam, looks like somebody stole your seat. aren't you gonna fight for it?"
"theo."
"what?"
"don't."
but theo secretly loves it.
for years, theo was disposable. replaceable. useful when people needed him and ignored when they didn't.
and then there's liam, getting genuinely upset because someone else is sitting where he expects to be.
not because of the seat itself.
because that's their thing.
because that's where liam belongs when they're driving somewhere together.
theo would roll his eyes and call him ridiculous every single time.
and then make sure nobody else ever gets the passenger seat again.
theo always has the upper hand because he knows what heās doing and if it seems like liam has the upper hand itās only because theo wants him to, like for example him ragebaiting liam so he pins him down
The way of the Brat
A lot of criticism of delivery apps focuses on the fact that they offer convenience and variety, which I find much less compelling than criticizing the fact that the apps often send their contractors on fetch quests from Hell.
There are real labor problems here. Base pay is often insulting. Customer tips carry too much of the burden. Workers need better protections, more transparent algorithms, protection from arbitrary deactivation, and actual recourse when the app or a customer screws them over. Car-dependent delivery is also an environmental and infrastructural problem, though in a denser city Iād still be doing this work; Iād just be doing it by bike.
But when people talk about delivery work, I rarely see them talk to actual delivery workers. I see a lot of abstract arguments about convenience, consumer decadence, āhustle culture,ā and internalized neoliberalism. Meanwhile, when Iām out working and waiting in restaurants for orders, the other Dashers I meet are usually people who only speak Spanish, people who read as neurodivergent, visibly physically disabled people, or some combination of the above.
I have not met this mythical Disco Elysium poor ultraliberal hustlegrinder-wannabe people seem to be arguing with. Maybe that archetype exists somewhere. If it exists among any kind of gig worker, it would probably be rideshare drivers. But most of what I see looks less like ārise and grindā and more like āthis is one of the few forms of work available to people who need flexibility, low barriers to entry, limited managerial surveillance, or a way to work around language barriers, disability, burnout, chronic illnesses and injuries with symptoms that come and go unpredictably, caregiving, rĆ©sumĆ© gaps, or discrimination.ā
That does not make the current system good. It means the current system is filling a real gap that a lot of supposedly better systems do not even acknowledge.
As a disabled person who is burnout-prone and demand-sensitive, contracting as a delivery driver has given me an unprecedented level of financial flexibility. I can work when I have capacity. I can stop when Iām deteriorating. I can build my day around my actual body instead of being trapped under a manager who thinks āreliableā means āable to perform the same way every day no matter what.ā That matters. It does not cancel out the exploitation, but it is also not fake just because it is politically inconvenient.
And delivery itself is not some inherently decadent evil. Sometimes people live alone. Sometimes they are sick. Sometimes they are disabled, exhausted, overwhelmed, grieving, overloaded, or recovering from something else - perhaps the stress and fatigue induced by their own job. Sometimes they need medicine, groceries, or a meal that will actually unplug their sinuses instead of whatever generic community-care slop someone thinks they should be grateful for. Humans are allowed to need specificity. āFoodā is not the same as āthe food I can actually eat right now.ā
A serious labor critique would ask how to make delivery work safer, better-paid, less tip-dependent, less car-dependent, less algorithmically punitive, and less precarious. It would ask what kinds of flexible, accessible work should exist for people who cannot thrive in conventional employment. It would ask how cities could support bike delivery, worker cooperatives, public infrastructure, and real protections without simply replacing one bad system with a moral sermon about how nobody should ever want takeout.
But a lot of the discourse does not do that. It treats convenience itself as suspicious. It treats wanting flexible work as false consciousness. It treats the needs of disabled people, immigrants, and other people who can't fit into traditional employment structures as details to be swept aside in favor of a cleaner political image.
I guess the opinions of delivery workers only count when they are politically convenient.

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not doomed by the narrative but saved by the narrative. yeah i know you'd rather die than keep suffering but the story doesn't actually care what you want. you have to keep going, even when it hurts. even being erased from existence won't stop you from being salvaged from the wreckage of un-being. get up. keep pushing. keep bleeding. keep living.
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! we all agree that I should draw hollanov like this now, no?
Oh to be a cat sleeping on a giant Snorlax plushie
Just took his dad's whole face. Also look at the TV!!!
мама и папа!

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On the bright side, there is something endlessly sweet and endearing about Geno and his son getting up at the ass-crack of dawn on the kiddo's birthday to watch Sid play on the other side of the world when they could have slept in.
EVGENI MALKIN ā ONLY IN PITTSBURGH
I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my home, and you canāt frighten me.
happy christmas @rose-tylers from your @gotsecretsanta
Hey, I was wondering if there are any First Son/Bodyguard, that sort of thing... type of fic maybe?? ( & an fyi, this blog is the reason I'm alive!) Please & thank uuu
Wow, thank you so much!
And we actually know a bunch of them so fasten your seatbelt!
FIRST SON / BODYGUARD AUS
First Son, Last ChanceĀ byĀ elephantfootprints
When First Son Stiles Stilinski, beloved public figure and the bane of his private security team, goes missing without a trace, ex-security officer Derek Hale finds himself tangled up in the world of Argent Security, a world he was forced out of when rumours abounded that he was sleeping with his charges.
Thereās no leads, no time and no way Derek is going to rest until Stiles has been brought home safely.
Bite Down HardĀ byĀ KuriKuri
For a moment, Derek canāt breathe.
Because moles arenāt the only thing marring the pale skin of Stilesā neck. Oh no, thatās ā
ā thatās a bond bite. A bond bite which Stiles definitely did not have yesterday, and which appears to have roughly the same dimensions as Derekās own mouth.
Shit.
(Or: In which Secret Service Agent Derek Hale accidentally gets bonded to First Son Stiles Stilinski. Oops.)
reGuardless byĀ raisesomehale
The president had been to the point when he explained to Derek the rules of the job.
Stiles was in the room while these rules were recited: Never take your eyes off of him in public. Thatās how he liked to dodge his last bodyguards. No more than an armās length apart. Heās more slippery than youād think. Escort him to and from appearances. Intervene in any situation that might tarnish the Stilinski imageā¦
The list went on and on. As did the games of chicken Stiles initiated to test Derek with these rules.
A Strong Heart and a Nerve of Steel byĀ lupinusĀ andĀ uraneia
Stiles and Derek wake up married in Vegas. Well, they would have if it was legal.
In which Stiles is the presidentās son, Derek is his bodyguard, and Papa President orders them to pretend to be in love for the sake of gay rights.
Or in which uraniea and lupinus combine meeting the Hales, President Papa, waking up married, fake/pretend relationship, First Boy Stiles, and bodyguard Derek into one fic.
Strike Softly (Away From The Body) byĀ qhuinnĀ (Not exactly First Son but worth the read!)
Derek is a bodyguard and Stiles his spoiled, resistant client.

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