#I hate this fucking job I hate this fucking company

[mysouleaten]

' DOC AND BOSS ' [part one] [REMASTERED]

mafia boss! izana x doctor! reader

summary ... finding an injured member of the tenjiku yakuza hiding in an alleyway beside your apartment.. you decide to help!... not knowing he's the one in charge..

warnings ... bullet wound, izana is a bit snappy right now, fluff?, author trying to put their somewhat good writing skills to use..

an ... THIS IS AN EDITED VERSION OF CHAPTER ONE!!... sooo this was inspired by DEAD GIRL'S BEACH by @kokoch4n3l but this fic is a lot more fluffy... lol

[DOC AND BOSS masterlist]

tenjiku was one of the biggest yakuza's that ran tokyo--they were second compared to toman

but still one of the biggest when it came to land and property.. and one of their properties was your apartment complex-- your home

most who lived in this apartment building paid their bills to tenjiku, as they were the ones who kept this building from being destroyed by the government and replaced by some fancy work company.. and also leading you to being homeless..

you were very grateful for the fact they protected this apartment building... it was the cheapest and the closest to your job and university

around 8:45pm you finally were able to leave your job and drive back in the rainy night, ready to get in your comfy pj's and watch crime moves for the rest of the night and maybe order some yellow rice and soup to eat while you watch....! yeah that sounds nice

finally parking in front of your building and having a look outside the car window to see the harsh rain pouring down

you can only imagine how cold it is outside your warm car... and how wet too..

looking behind your driver's seat and reaching for your umbrella to fight back against the pouring rain from soaking you to your very core

"alright.. let's just hope I don't get completely soaked through.."

quickly opening the car door and rushing to open the umbrella over your head, shutting the door and pressing onto your car key to hear the 'beep!' of the car locking

blowing a warm breath you start to carefully walk towards the stairs that lead to your apartment, careful not to slip and bust your ass on the pavement in the process..

but hearing a loud groan made you freeze in place and hearing another louder groan over the rushing rain made you tense again but you quickly walked up the stairs and ran into your apartment... you weren't risking any crime movie shenanigans..

putting your bag down onto the bench under the coat hanger and turning your head towards the door as the.. guilty conscience starts to eat you up from the inside

what if someone was in need of help? you're not taking classes to be a doctor for nothing..!

you groan in annoyance and throw your white coat on the floor before taking the raincoat hanging on the coat hanger and quickly putting it on

slamming the door behind yourself and cussing out: "I hate being a damn doctor..! hate having a good heart..to help others! damn!"

hugging your waist to fight the cold that the rain is giving off and carefully walk down the stairs to your doom

"hopefully it's just the fucking wind and no one is actually here so I can go take my ass upstairs and--" cutting your rant short when turning the corner and seeing someone laying on the muddy ground

drenched and shivering the person was also groaning in pain

"crap.." you whisper and slowly begin to walk toward the person still being cautious and mindful of who this person you were going to help was

crouching down, careful to not touch the muddy water below

examing the man who was shakily breathing through his mouth and scrunching his eyes shut

his white long hair was muddied up and drenched

you looked down to see him holding his abdomen--blood was soaking his uniform, he was wearing the uniform of a tenjiku member!!... craaaaaap...

quickly pulling your phone out of your pocket and covering it from the rain you dial the number for an ambulance but a rough hand grabs your wrist and tries to yank the phone out of your hand "ACK!!" letting out a loud yelp

you stood up--yanking your wrist out of his grasp, and letting your phone drop near the man

you glared down at the man but quickly your breath was taken away by his eyes --which were a beautiful shade of lavender and they were staring daggers right into your own.. but they softened? when his gaze met yours

swallowing the built-up saliva in your mouth "you've been shot.. you need to go to the hospital" voice a soft whisper

he shakes his head against the wet concreate "..no..."

no? this man really wants to suffer with a bullet then..

"you-" "you..help me" the man cuts you off

"what!? wait- no! I can't! I don't have the-" your rambling gets cut off with a soft but desperate cry from the man

were you really going to drag a muddy wet mafia man up the stairs and into your apartment?..

you nervously look off to the side again as the white-haired man has been staring at you consecutively for the past couple of minutes after his 'removing bullets' procedure, you'er even surprised he's still awake after that

he's lying on his back with towels beneath him soaking up the dirty water that dripped off of him, bandages wrapped around his entire abdomen and he was facing towards you with a soft but blank? expression, like he was trying to hide everything behind his face and not give you a clue of what he's thinking..

he would shiver once in a while from the cold and you weren't so sure if you wanted to get him a blanket.. and get it soaked muddied up.. maybe you should towel him off properly before getting him a blanket? that sounded like a plan!

"im going to go and get another towel to pat you dry so I can put a blanket over you, please- please don't get up or move around, ok?" you stated

he slowly moved his head in agreement "alright- uh- I'll make you some warm food too- any preferences?" you ask

"no, anything will be alright, just get me out of the cold" he growled

you stood up briskly and rushed to find a towel and bedcover for him before he decided to stop playing nice

coming back minutes later and thankfully he didn't try to move anywhere, wandering to him and crouched down on your knees

"ok, I'll towel you off quickly!.. then you can have the bedcover and I'll get some pain medicine for you, also to try to get some rest, your body needs it...badly" you rambled to him

he didn't say anything back but the look on his face told you to 'get on with it'

jeez...what did you get yourself into...?

an ... OK! i edited some parts in and out and extended the ending! boom!! now I have to edit the masterlist and everything should be good! yaaaaaaaay!!

taglist ... @sennkawwa @mariam12344 @khfviq @wutap @bontensbabygirl @m0onz1 @ilybbg @kazutora-kurokawa @riritvt @manji-hoe @firstdivisiongirl @ureuphoriasworld @haikyuusboringassmanager @kokoch4n3l @m-ilkiee

[SORRY FOR TAGGING YOU SO MUCH, IM TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHY SOME ARE NOT BEING TAGGED :( ]

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 3: ANDROID AUTOPSY (OR IS IT NECROPSY?)

synopsis: you start to work on the autopsy of the ortiz android. connor tries to establish a friendly rapport with both you and gavin. but gavin is, as always, a fucking cunt.

word count: 2.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: connor looks so fucking funny while he's falling in the break room scene 😭😭 like i hate that he's getting hurt but his face is EMOTIONLESS LOLOLOL

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

When you walked into work ten minutes ago, you expected something to be wrong. That’s just how it goes these days, with deviants running rampant in the streets and all. 

But not this. Not the deviant from last night, deactivated in his holding cell. Apparently, he rammed his own forehead into the wall and didn’t stop until he died. Thirium stains the wall, the floor, and his already-bloody uniform.

You sigh, holding a hand to your forehead. “блядь…”

“I recognize that one,” Chris mumbles as he unlocks the cell. 

You slip on your bib apron and tie it in the back. “Yeah, most Americans do.”

You walk into the cell and gently put your hand on the android’s shoulder. He doesn’t move. He really is dead.

“I fucking hate this job.” You grunt as you pick him up in a bridal carry. Thirium stains your apron as he slumps into your front. “Goddamnit. I’ll slap whoever triggered the deactivation so hard they’ll remember it ‘til the first of next month.”

“Sure you will.” Chris locks the door as soon as you exit. 

You huff out a light laugh. “Accompany me to the autopsy room?”

He smiles. “Anything to get out of being in Gavin’s company.”

You and Chris mostly walk in silence to the autopsy room. There’s early morning chatter and the scent of coffee floating through the air. People give you a wide berth when they see the limp android in your arms.

But the walk is short. The door before you reads ANDROID AUTOPSY ROOM. You adjust the body in your arms and press your right hand to the biometric scanner. It beeps once and the door opens.

“And this is where I get off,” Chris says.

You smile and bend at the knee, mimicking a curtsey. “Thank you for accompanying me. And if Gavin burns his tongue on hot coffee again, please! Feel free to get me right away.”

Chris laughs. “Yes, Officer!”

You laugh in kind and enter the autopsy room. The door shuts automatically behind you. Inside is a long steel table and lots of electronics – screens, wires, outlets, cords. You set the body on the table and get to work. 

You flick on the power switch and the computers come alive, one by one. The screens come on and quiet music starts playing – a string piece accompanied by softly-sung Russian. 

Once everything has come on, you move over the android and press just behind his ear. With a soft click, the plastic flicks open and a small port is revealed. When you open your left hand, the wires of your polymer glove snake out and plug themselves in. 

The screens light up with reports on the biocomponents – percentages, damage reports, the like. Your eyes flit over the numbers, trying to decipher what was abnormal. 

You unplug and the wires slither back into your glove. You sigh and start filtering through the data, finding what was important and worth noting down. You work that way for a while – looking over numbers and biocomponent data and listening to music.

After a while, you feel a buzz in your pocket. You pull out your phone, read the text that just came through, and send a quick one back.

Chris: Connor just came thru. Said it was looking for you and Hank. Sent it your way You: you sent an ANDROID to an ANDROID autopsy room?? Chris: Humans are in human autopsy rooms all the time dumbass You: true. just hope connor doesn’t freak. hank here yet? Chris: What do you think? You: axaxa you’re right ))

You look up from your phone as there’s a knock at the door. You get up and unlock it, revealing who’s behind it – and, of course, it's Connor.

“It’s nice to see you again, Officer.” He smiles. “May I come in?”

“Nice to see you, too. And, uh…” You move to the side, gesturing inside. “Yeah, sure. I know a deactivated deviant isn’t the most welcoming sight, but…”

“It’s okay.” Connor moves inside, rubbing his hands together as he observes the room. “I’ve seen plenty of them.”

“Ah.” You move back over to the computers. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or concerned.”

“Impressed, Officer.” Connor stills in place, his eyes flitting over the computers and the numbers on them. “I’m the one who deactivated most of them.”

“Oh. Okay.” You glance over your shoulder at him – you’re not used to having someone else in your workspace. You gesture to a chair that’s tucked into a corner. “Uh, you can sit. If you want.”

Connor nods. “Thank you.”

He moves over to the chair and sits, folding his hands in his lap politely. His eyes are still on the computers, quietly watching as his LED flickers yellow and processes the data. The only sound is the soft music and your footsteps as you move between screens, noting down abnormalities.

Connor cuts the semi-silence. “Where are you from, Officer?” 

You glance over at him, then back to the computers. “Chelomey, Russia. Why?”

“I want to establish a friendly rapport. It’ll be easier to work together if we know each other better,” Connor says. “I’ve heard Chelomey described as ‘the first city of the skies.’ It’s on the first successful flying platform – the Icarus, correct?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “That’s right.”

“How was that?” Connor asks. “Living there, I mean. What was it like growing up?”

“Eh.” You shrug. “Got a nice Makarov Pistol when I was ten. Never had a snow day in school – we were just above the clouds. Was surrounded by children of astrophysicists and bioengineers.”

“You say that like they’re a separate group of people,” Connor says. “What are your parent’s career paths? If it’s not too intrusive to ask.”

You turn, leaning back against the autopsy table and facing him. “Sounds unrelated, but – do you know how the Icarus Platform works?”

Connor furrows his eyebrows, his eyes flitting to the floor as his LED turns yellow and flickers. After a moment, he looks back up at you. “The engines operate on the principle of the Archimedes Screw. The propellers don’t interact with air currents, but directly with Earth’s magnetic field instead.”

You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Did you just look that up?”

“No.” Connor’s gaze immediately falls to the ground. “Yes.”

You cough to hide your laughter and turn away. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t expect you to know anyway.”

Connor clears his throat. “Please, let’s return to the topic at hand.”

“Yeah, okay.” You scratch the side of your nose and smile. “The engines take up a ridiculous amount of energy, yes? So there are nuclear reactors on the platform to supply a continuous energy flow. My parents worked in the northern reactor together.”

You shrug. “Not much more to them. Named Olga and Yegor. Nice people. Doubt you’ll ever meet them.”

“True,” Connor says. “I doubt they would let an American-made android into the USSR. I also doubt that the travel ban to and from the USSR will be lifted anytime soon.”

Your head dips in a nod. “Maybe if you were manufactured back in my home. But there’s a chance that, if you were, you’d be dancing ballet in the Maya Plisetskaya Theater.”

“I feel like that’s a metaphor.” Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “But I don’t understand it.”

“It’s not.” You laugh, hiding your smile behind a hand. “There are specialized robots that dance ballet in the theater – I went once, not my style. Just a chance that, with how nimble they made you, you could’ve been a ballet bot.”

“There are robots made specifically for ballet?” Connor asks. 

“Well… they’re…” You cringe a little. “Multifunctional?”

Connor shifts so that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows on his knees and his hands together. He seems intrigued. “Multifunctional how?”

You look away and cover your mouth with a hand. You can feel your face start to warm. You really don’t want to talk to Connor about this. He obviously knows about sex and prostitution, because it might be involved in the cases he’s handling. But you don’t want to talk to him about either of them!

You bite down on the inside of your lip, hard, to dismiss wandering thoughts. (Because, honestly, you shouldn’t be wondering what his model is capable of doing! Not when he’s right there in front of you!) You swallow thickly and try to talk.

“Христос, khm…” You groan quietly. “It was also a, uh, brothel? Kinda? The clients were human, but the whores were… not.”

“Oh.” Connor looks down at his hands. He rubs them together, almost like a nervous tic. (But androids don’t have nervous tics. Do they?)

“Yeah.” You scratch your cheek, trying to ignore how warm it is. “I’m, uh… I need a coffee. And I can’t leave anyone alone in the autopsy room if they’re not authorized to be.”

“I understand.” Connor stands. “I’ve been meaning to explore the office. May I accompany you to the break room?”

You nod. You really hope he’ll continue to act like the past half minute didn’t happen. 

As soon as you have all the computers in standby mode, the music paused, and your Thirium-stained apron hung up, you lead Connor out of the android autopsy room. The walk to the break room is short, and he adjusts his pace to match yours as you walk. 

Internally, you really hope that Gavin isn’t there. Maybe he got hit by a car coming back from O’Mansley Donuts.

But, of course, hopes are meant to be dashed. And that dream is crushed when you hear Gavin scoff as soon as you enter the break room. 

“Fuck, look at that…” he says. You tense as soon as you hear his voice. “Our friends, the plastic detective and the werewolf, are back in town!”

“Please, not today, Gavin.” You spare a glance at the poor officer that Gavin has trapped in conversation. Then, you move over to the counter to find a spare paper cup and the coffee pot. 

“What? I just wanted to congratulate it on its good work last night!” 

“Thank you, Detective Reed.” Connor nods politely. 

You scoff under your breath and internally curse him for being programmed to be so nice. As you pour yourself some coffee, you wonder: would it really kill him to tell Gavin to fuck off?

When you turn around, hot coffee in hand, Gavin is standing a few feet away from Connor. You lean back against the counter and decide to let this play out.

“Never seen an android like you before.” Gavin looks Connor up-and-down. “What model are you?”

Connor stands, unfazed. He doesn’t even blink. “RK800. I’m a prototype.”

“A prototype!” Gavin parrots. He turns to the other officer, gesturing at Connor vaguely. “Android detective!”

He looks back to Connor – looks up at Connor. It would be funny if you weren’t so on edge.

“So machines and commies are gonna replace us all.” His eyebrows raise. “Is that it?”

Connor stays silent, just looking at Gavin.

“Hey.” Gavin clicks his tongue. “Bring me a coffee, dipshit.”

“Gavin,” you cut in, a warning unspoken in your tone. Connor blinks once and tilts his head slightly to the side. 

“Get a move on!” Gavin snaps.

You set your coffee on the counter and hurry over. You put a hand out towards Gavin – again, a silent, unspoken warning.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “But I’m not permitted to take orders from you.”

“Oh! Oh.” Gavin cracks a wicked, sarcastic smile before driving his fist straight into Connor’s solar plexus, quick and unpredicted.

“Вот черт!” You immediately move to catch Connor as he almost collapses, wrapping an arm around his front and steadying him with your other. He recovers after a few moments and blinks hard before pulling himself away from you. He adjusts his tie (which, honestly, didn’t need readjusting) and sighs sharply.

“Are you okay?” You ask. You’re tempted to hold a hand out just in case he collapses again.

“Is it okay?” Gavin laughs sarcastically. He jabs a finger at Connor. “If Hank hadn’t gotten in the way yesterday, I would’ve fucked you up for disobeying a human.”

He steps backwards. “Stay outta my way. ‘Cause next time, you won’t get off so easy.” Gavin’s eyes turn from Connor to you. “Same goes for you, werewolf. If you stay in my way, I won’t fucking hesitate to trample you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Last I remember, wolves eat pigs.”

Gavin just scoffs and turns to the other officer. He exchanges a glance with her, and they both walk out together. He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out.

You turn to retrieve your coffee from the counter, then lean back against it. “What an asshole.”

“Is Detective Reed usually like that?” Connor asks. “That… aggressive?”

“Yes.” You blow the steam off your coffee and take a sip. Way too bitter, but you don’t have any other choice regarding caffeine.

Connor moves beside you, facing the entrance of the break room. “And what did he mean when he called you werewolf?”

“There was a Russian serial killer called The Werewolf.” You look down into your coffee. “He was a cop. It spread, and now corrupt cops are just called werewolves. Gavin thinks he’s smart, calling me that, even though I’m not technically a cop.”

Connor hums. When you glance over, his LED is flickering yellow. You choose not to comment on it.

“Are you okay?” You ask. “Like, actually. Gavin punched you pretty hard.”

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor says. “The impact disrupted my Thirium pump for a second, but it quickly regulated itself.”

“Good.” You take a sip of coffee.

Connor turns to look at you. “Why are you concerned, Officer?”

You glance at him, then look down into your drink. “I don’t know. Just don’t need Gavin putting sticks in our wheels, that’s all. And putting you out of commission would be a major problem.”

You can see Connor still looking at you out of the corner of your eye. His eyebrows draw together a fraction of an inch, then he looks away.

You turn the other way and choke down another sip of bitter coffee. 

[momotonescreaming]

wrap it up baby i'm takin' you home

Rating: M | WC: 10k | Tommy/Steve/Carol Future Fic, Polyamory, Fade to Black

“Can we not have a serious conversation with your dick out?” Carol huffs, rolling her eyes, before turning to glare at Tommy where he’s leaning on the wall at the entrance to the living room of their and Steve’s apartment.

“No,” Tommy replies, completely naked, not making any move from his spot against the wall. He’s fresh from the shower, Carol can see, hair curling up just ever so slightly at the base of his neck. The rest of it slicked back with water, unstyled, dripping onto his shoulders and down his pecs. Sliding down his freckles like connect the dots. He sends droplets of water flying as he gestures with one hand. “Because this isn’t a serious conversation. We’ve talked about it before, and we’ve got it fucking sorted.”

Carol sighs again, looking up at the ceiling, decidedly not looking at Tommy. At his skin, damp and glistening from the shower. The breadth of his shoulders, his pecs, the lines of his torso — drawing the eye down along his happy trail. His cock, thick and pretty, nestled in tidy dark pubes. Pale thighs, dusted with hair, and with freckles. He’s unashamed, in the safety of their apartment, where the only people around to look are the people he wants looking.

“You mean I’m the one sorting it.” She feels the paper of her notebook crumple slightly in her hands, the plastic of her pen creak where she’s gripping it tightly. Looking over at Tommy, glaring, she tries to let the tension ease off her shoulders. It doesn’t quite work, but she lowers them so she’s not wound quite so tight with them right up by her ears.

Tommy’s so blasé about these things, and it’s both refreshing and stressing her out. His gaze is soft, his eyes warm, as he watches her from his spot on the wall. No trace of humour, of jokes, of teasing. There’s no one around for him to perform for. To put on the act for. It’s just her, and him, and Steve.

“I mean,” Tommy says, pushing off the wall and stepping towards her. He doesn’t have to go far, their apartment is tiny — before he’s right in front of her. “We’ve got it fucking sorted. They’re gonna ring you back, they’re gonna give you the job, and you’re gonna be the best assistant events coordinator Chicago has ever seen.”

“He’s right, you know.” Steve interrupts, voice echoing through the hall of their apartment as he appears behind Tommy. Slides a hand around his waist, thick, tanned, and a steady weight as he gently rests it there. Hooks his chin over Tommy’s shoulder, not caring about the dripping water. He’s wearing blue jeans, fitting tight around his hips, and one of Tommy’s stretched out muscle tees. They’re probably getting damp too, but he doesn’t look like he minds. “Plus, we have enough to cover the next few weeks while we wait to hear back. You should know, you helped Tommy do our budget.”

She did, is the thing. Help Tommy do their budget for the next three weeks. Counted up their savings, Tommy’s income from his new office job, bills, groceries, and gas. Figured it all out so they had enough to get them through. It’d be better if she got the job, at this fancy event company she had been eyeing up. It was a job she thinks she could genuinely like, plus it would provide a nice buffer to help Steve figure out exactly what he wanted to do. Where he wanted to go from here.

They did the budget without him, he’d stress himself out and offer to get another shitty minimum wage job to help out. Which was sweet, and Carol knew how much he loved working with Robin, but no. He was theirs, and he wasn’t working in some shithole if she could help it. And Carol could help it, so she planned. Used her bitchy powers for good, or whatever.

“So put down your notebook,” Tommy starts, plucking it from her hands, and Carol hates that her first thought is that he’s going to get the pages all wet. Smudge her neatly organised notes. He grabs the pen next, clicks it, and tosses them both aside onto the nearby coffee table. Watches it land on the newspaper, next to the remote and a pile of her old management textbooks she had gotten out. Guess she’s not using those anymore. Sighs, and draws her eyes up the length of Tommy’s body, the way Steve’s pressed in close behind him, and lets herself look. “We’ve got this. Right, Babe?”

“Fine.” Carol huffs, conceding to Tommy’s point, while still not sure if she wants to be doing so. She can’t just sit here and wait for their lives to slowly spiral out when there’s something she could be doing. Their budget will only last so long, and that doesn’t include whatever bullshit life decides to throw their way. Because something will be thrown their way. A car that needs repairing, a rent increase, a trip to the hospital — something that will throw Carol’s plan completely out. But Tommy and Steve are here, and they’re calm, and they believe in her. “Whatever. I guess.”

“You’re just stressing yourself out,” Steve says, tilting his head as he speaks, leaning towards Tommy. Hair brushing up against Tommy’s wet strands. “Plus, I doubt they’re gonna call you until their office opens on Monday.”

“So there’s nothing you can do but fucking relax.” Tommy adds on.

[Read the whole thing on AO3]

[inkskinned]

i hate how commodity and capitalism has ruined so much storytelling . i hate how sequels and prequels and whatever else all ring like merch sales; i hate that i as an author have to include any social media following i have as a marketable trait; i hate that everything feels like a xerox of a copy of a dream of a memory.

i hate that my nostalgia has been turned into profit. i hate that companies fear consumer backlash so no real commentary may be made; i hate that companies care more about quantity over quality. i hate that so many artists and creators are being overworked to the point of complete collapse rather than being allowed to tell the story their way. i hate that every point of representation has to be fought for. i hate it i want us all to go back to living in a cave .

when you sit with friends over a bonfire and the night is getting long and people start telling this slow, almost hypnotic story - in this quiet voice, like they don't expect you to listen while they say the most fucked up shit you've ever heard - that is storytelling. who cares if the punchline is car hand hook door. storytelling has always been about community, about us all sitting in the dark, choosing to fill the silence while the last embers are dying. we forgot that storytelling is spellwork. hallucinating together, our breaths held, waiting for the ending we already knew was coming.

[samthechaotic]

At this point, DC is a social experiment. I refuse to believe those people are real.

[lynnbutlertron]

^^ might be getting a job at a cute little ice cream shop on the beach in my town GRAGGHHH. i have a trial shift tomorrow i hope i dont cock it up

[elysiumcalled]

Next time somebody at work asks if I can help I’m just saying no idfc anymore

[yardsards]

living in america is literally just like. yeah i could probably benefit from inpatient mental health services but honestly the resulting medical bills would just make me want to kill myself even more

[stiffyck]

watching a video about AI "art" and im losing braincells over some of these people oh my god

[genderfluidgothwitch]

For those who are unsure of whether or not they really have the "sensitivity to cold" symptom of fibromyalgia, because you think that it's just you not being able to handle colder temperatures like other people, that's one way of putting it. The other way is, when it's winter and the temperatures start dropping, do you feel your pain more intensely? Do you feel like you have more problems with your joints? Is your partner always commenting how cold your fingers and toes are, but it somehow gets more frequent in winter? Those are other ways to consider being sensitive to the cold.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

why is job hunting.

that's it that's the post

[silvermoon424]

There's an actress named Ellen Barkin. Last night, she posted on her Twitter that her health insurance is no longer in service because the insurance company says that residual pay doesn't count. Btw Ellen Barkin is a senior. Boy, the USA is really ableist when it comes to people who are sick or elderly or both.

It's insane how ableist the US is and how ableist conversations around universal healthcare are. Like people will go straight up mask-off and say that they think people who don't "contribute" to society don't deserve to get healthcare if they can't pay for it themselves.

It always makes me laugh when conservatives cry about "death panels" in other countries (basically, they argue that with universal healthcare the government decides who gets to live and who dies) when in reality insurance companies are de-facto death panels in the US. Like you can literally have insurance, have been paying for that insurance for years, and they'll still decide helping you will cut into their bottom line too much. Fuck them.

[duckdotcom]

literally can I just lay down in a hole and fall asleep until I return to the earth as mulch

[sga-owns-my-soul]

wow made it three whole months at the new job before things went to absolute shit and i want to quit

[fereldanwench]

i've been considering resuming job hunting again but i think I'm still, like, traumatized from what i went through in 2021 lmao

[marxism-transgenderism]

I hate this fucking job but it's one of the only ones I can find that allows me to sit and allows me to work form home or wear a mask in office. Any others are either standing jobs or I have to work front desk and they no business wants someone working front desk who's wearing a fucking mask