#letterheads online

[mdemn]

the lengths i have just gone through to forge a doctors note to get me out of work through thursday because my chronic illness (that i couldn’t disclose to my work due to potential discrimination & having my application turned down) has me in insurmountable pain… it’s actually crazy if you think about it. living in america!!!!!!!!!!! nothing like it 🫶🏾 /neg

[plexlogo]

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The sudden gust and subsequent chaos across your desk has you reeling. You wheel back as you raise your hands defenslessly and watch everything scatter. Mr. Hansen’s jacket knocks over your fresh cup of coffee and your favourite ornament of a little ballerina kitten. 

“My office now, critter.” 

You wince again, this time because of the cruel name. You hate when he calls you that. You stand and pick up your boss’ jacket before it can get wet in the spilled coffee. You hang it on the rack in the corner beside your own and go back to sop up the mess with a wad of kleenex. 

You have more down your tights and on your chair but it doesn’t matter. At least time, it wasn’t scalding tea. You gather up the rest of your things but leave them in an unsorted cluster. You know better than to keep him waiting. 

As you flit around the desk, you notice a pair of watching eyes. You almost forgot about Jensen. He was so quiet messing with the printer that you didn’t even notice him. He frowns as he sits up and shuts the drawer. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“Ahem, yea, thanks,” you try to smile but these days, it just isn’t easy. 

He gives you a look. Sympathetic and something more. You’re too embarrassed to worry about that. More so, you’re too afraid to make Mr. Hansen even angrier. Clearly something is wrong and the days only just begun. 

You approach his open office door. That’s a clear signal that he’s been waiting. You enter as one of your flats slips off your heel and claps loudly. You cringe as he stands at the window, glowering at the courtyard below. You like the green square. You go there to eat your lunches. When you get one.

“Tell me why my ex-wife insists on making me miserable?” He snarls. 

He doesn’t want an answer. When he asks you things, he never does. It’s rhetorical. He often only speaks to hear himself and anyone else joining the conversation only gives him a target. 

“I will get you your brown sugar espresso and croissant at once--” 

“Fuck off!” He chops his hand in the air and faces you. “I didn’t just call you in here for you to feed my like some pet. Come here.” 

He snaps his fingers and points to the chair across from his. You always hate the setup. The one behind his desk is tall and cushy and makes him look like a tyrannical king, whereas the one facing him is too low and made of the most uncomfortable acrylic. It doesn’t even have armrests. 

“Take notes.” 

You open up the notes app on your phone without hesitation. The smell of coffee wafter up from your stockings. You shift and focus on him. 

“Melora, you ice cold cunt, it’s been two years since I left your dry ass. If you send your attorney to my house again, I will show up to yours with a crowbar. My dick feels good without frost bite, thank you very much. Your regretful ex-husband, Lloyd ‘Fuck You’ Hansen.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking bitch.” You keep typing and he shakes his index at you, “not that part. Fuck. Oh, can you add the sick face emoji before you format that? Thanks, critter.” 

You hit save and stand up, “would you like your coffee now?” 

“Uh, sure, whatever. Make sure it’s hot. Oh, and you know what, I want that as a PDF before you forward it over to the former Mrs. Hansen. With letterhead.” 

He shoos you and you gladly take the dismissal. You never were one for arguing and never dared to say a single spare word to your boss. You assume that’s why he keeps you around. You’re no extraordinary assistant, just obedient. 

The tasks he gives you might not all be professional but as long as you get them done, you don’t get any trouble. You stride back out to your desk and stop short. Your things are all back where they belong and dry. Your cup is clean and rinsed out. 

Who did that? 

“Hey, uh, what kinda coffee do you take?” Jensen surprises you as he appears from around the corner. 

“Jake, uh I mean, Mr. Jensen, did you do all this?” 

“Ha, no one calls me mister but you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Took like six seconds. I was just thinking, I’m going to make a run down to The Grind and maybe I could get you something fresh.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I... no, please don’t waste your time,” you wring your hands, your chewed up nails aching from your nervous habit. “I gotta go get Mr. Hansen’s breakfast.” 

“Right,” he looks down and fixes his glasses, “well, I fixed that thing.” He nods to the printer, “shouldn’t eat anymore paper. I hope. You know, every tech bootcamp I’ve gone through and they never teach you about printers. I swear, they defy the laws of the universe.” 

You show your teeth in a half-smile. That’s silly. He grins proudly. 

“I didn’t mention, I... like that bow in your hair. It’s cute. Matches your little kitty.” 

You peek down at the figurine of the calico doing a pirouette. You blush. You only wish you were that dainty. You feel gawkish with the way you seem to loom over everyone else, yet somehow feel tiny at the same time. 

“Thanks. That’s... please don’t feel sorry for me. He’s not that bad and it’s my job,” you shrug. 

“Feel sorry? No, I’m just... being nice. Well, maybe another time. For the coffee,” he says. “Unless, I could go with you on your run?” 

“Uh, that’s-- you’re busy. Mr. Hansen only like Esther’s.” 

“Esther’s?” He exclaims as his eyes bulge behind his frameless lenses, “that’s all the way across town.” 

“I know some shortcuts,” you assure him as you bend to retrieve your purse from under your desk and drop your phone in. “Anyway, thanks for fixing the printer. I gotta go before he catches me dawdling.” 

“Right. Guess I should get to accounting. Guess they had a server crash and some stuff got lost. See ya round.” 

“Sure,” you agree. You don’t see too many people around. They avoid Hansen and more often, you’re running around at his beck and call. 

[autisticadvocacy]

ASAN has been informed that there is a scam currently using ASAN’s name and logo. 

In this scam, a Facebook account using the name “Madison Daniels” has posted an advertisement claiming to be recruiting copywriters for an upcoming autism-related conference on behalf of ASAN. If contacted, this person claims to be a contractor for ASAN and will send a fake contract using ASAN’s logo as letterhead. Eventually, the person claims that there is a second writer who they are unable to pay by check, and that the victim will need to help get this second writer paid by sending money to them directly. The person claims that the victim will be overpaid by digital check to compensate for this. This is called a fake check scam.

All of this is false. The person claiming to be an ASAN contractor does not work for us. The contract they send is not real. ASAN never asks our contractors to pay other contractors — and you should never agree to do this, even if the person you are speaking to claims they will pay you. ASAN has no upcoming in-person conference and has no contractors recruiting copywriters. ASAN has reported the account to Facebook, but it is possible that accounts under different names will use the same scam.

If you are ever in doubt about a claim you read online regarding opportunities to work for ASAN, feel free to contact us at info@autisticadvocacy.org. Thank you to the community members who alerted us to this scam, and please contact ASAN immediately if you see another scam like this posted anywhere online.

[iammissdistress]

Payneland Alive AU fic recs. Part 6

Can't Buy Me Love by @thenyoumaykissthebride

Rating: Mature

Words: 29,331

He was a lawyer looking to pay someone to fool his family into thinking he was in a relationship, he was an out-of-work musician looking for a paying job... Can I make it any more obvious?

I'm so sick of online love by @thenyoumaykissthebride

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 17,722

Edwin Payne is 22, a law student, terminally offline and horrifically single. His best friend, Niko, thankfully has a plan to sort him out once and for all.

or,

the one where they fall for each other no matter what, no matter when

Prologue by singtome

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 6,065

Charles looks him dead on, deep brown eyes shining. The mid-morning sun accents the striking features of his annoyingly perfect face, and Edwin digs his heels in. The anger over the whole situation outweighs the niggling desire to point-blank stare at Charles’ six-foot-one frame, all bed-head and boxer shorts, but only just.

At the end of the day, Edwin is, by every definition of the word, a professional.

(Or: the recording artist/manager au)

(don’t you) forget about me by ObsessedWithFandom

Rating: Mature

Words: 10,332

Edwin returned to the envelope, from which his attention should never have veered, and opened it with a single, precise cut. The letter opener was returned to Charles – another brief, searing touch – as Edwin carefully removed and unfolded the glossy paper. The crest in the letterhead, a bloody wound against the white background, immediately caught his eye. “St. Hil’s, innit?” Charles, leaning over Edwin’s shoulder, confirmed what they both knew. They exchanged a dark, speaking glance. No, neither of them had fond memories of that place. Or: Edwin attends his high school reunion and is very normal about his (legal) partner.

Transparent Charade by Scarlettfire

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7,194

Even Charles could probably have figured out the pretense for what they were doing was so, so flimsy, and he was bloody thick as hell, wasn’t he? Edwin had to know. He had to.

Still.

Charles sucked hard on Edwin’s neck.

[rscroogedraws]

Our Beloved Docktor Frogg Part I

Note: The last time I tried to write a L.O.S.E. fanfic was 2013. So, I'm pretty rusty.

In a nutshell: Docktor Frogg is starting to wonder if the grass is greener somewhere else. Maybe he'd feel more satisfied with his career and life overall if he was a mad scientist under an actual supervillain instead of Voltar the Saturday morning cartoon villain flop?

This is also me introducing my fan character Firecracker to what may, potentially, be a new series of L.O.S.E. fics after this one. I also plan on including Professor Venomous from O.K. K.O.! as a minor recurring character in this particular fic.

Without further ado:

“Oh, Docktor Frogg! You got some mail!” Red Menace chirped as he passed over a surprisingly fancy gold embossed envelope.

Frogg nodded and took the parcel. He was relieved Voltar was out doing who-knows-what since the little gremlin would insist on getting first look at the mail just because of how shiny it was. He muttered a few choice words under his breath as he carefully opened said envelope, imagining Voltar scoffing, rolling his eyes, and whining that he never got anything good.

Honestly, Frogg was expecting spam about a credit card for the ‘elite’ supervillain or glossy, unbelievable photos of equipment he’d never be able to afford (or steal) in a million years. Instead, it was a wedding invite. And as soon as he saw the name and picture attached, his heart dropped a little.

There was the beaming and lovestruck face of Professor Venomous holding hands with a shorter man that had teal, swooped hair on one side of his head and one red cybernetic eye. The mystery beau looked great in a powder blue tuxedo, his smile almost hidden behind a big matching tie and a sea of ruffles. Frogg glanced at the letterhead again: “….formally invited to the wedding of Professor Venomous and Lord Boxman.”

Frogg sniffed and closed the letter. Years ago, he found Professor Venomous on a mad scientist forum. His specialization was crafting bio-mass attachments and creating artificial life. He was Frogg’s dream lab partner; a scientist whose demented imagination matched his talent, zeal, and determination to create bigger, worse, and deadlier things. A few of Frogg’s better organic monsters over the years, the ones that lived longer than five minutes, owed their existence to Venomous’ equations and thorough notes.

When Venomous first shared pictures of what he looked like, it awoke something in Docktor Frogg. The man was as gorgeous as he was brilliant. He had a purple complexion that he carefully matched with turtlenecks in the same color family. His dark hair was glossy and combed back into a flattering wing shape. And he wore eyeliner.

Venomous had a touch of Goth aesthetic and Frogg’s heart always skipped a beat around Goth girls with tastefully put-together black outfits and make-up that made her look like the Grim Reaper’s next willing target. That applied to Goth guys too. It also better explained what Frogg previously chocked up as just “admiration” for the icon Rock Gothington.

It hit Frogg like an unpleasant satellite from the heavens above: He’d been crushing on his long-time online friend Professor Venomous. He’d held onto a slim hope, the slimmest most gossamer thread of hope, that Venomous might reach out one day, ask to be partners, and sweep him away from his dreaded day-to-day as a minion for a Saturday morning cartoon flop. Someone else beat Frogg to the goal he hadn’t realized he had.

Boxman. Frogg blew out a breath. Lord Boxman.

If Venomous had fallen for him, he probably had some blueprints or research worth raiding. At the very least, Frogg might find a devious new idea for a pet project and maybe even a new villain penpal. It’d help buffer his ennui if he had just one more person to talk to that knew what real evil was instead of continuing to insist that playing Ding Dong Ditch on their neighbor Steve was the height of villainy.

“What’d you get, Docktor Frogg?” Red Menace asked with a friendly grin.

“Junk mail.” Frogg deliberately looked away from Red’s face as he tucked the invitation into the inner pocket of his lab coat. “Just junk.”

“Why did you discretely put it away in your coat then?” Red raised an accusatory finger and eyebrow. “That’s the pocket you put important documents in.”

Suddenly the door burst open and Voltar puttered in, tapping his fingers and chuckling sinisterly. Even his antennae curled slightly backwards.

“Men! I’ve found a fantastic new way to annoy the neighborhood!” Voltar made a few showman gestures before sticking his hands behind his back.

Red leaned in curiously. For a moment, Frogg was actually grateful for Voltar’s interruption. As Voltar was pulling out his monumental find, Red shot Frogg a knowing glance and raised his brows. Of course he wasn’t just going to let Frogg off the hook.

Frogg swallowed heavily as Voltar raised a fistful of colorful kazoos.

“I’ve found a treasure trove of horribly played songs on NikNak!” Voltar carried on with a gleeful laugh. “And the fools shared their sheet music! For free! We’re going to learn how to play these songs. The worse. The better. Feel free to ad lib. And we’re going to knock on all our neighbors’ doors. And give them a kazoo concert that will make them groan in sheer agony!”

“I think you’re mistaking recorders for kazoos….” Red interjected.

“I got these from the dollar store for 25 cents. I’m not made of money, Red.”

“Wouldn’t recorders be more irritating?” Frogg said, frowning. “I’ve been to some pretty bad recorder recitals, Voltar. That’s the stuff of nightmares for some parents…”

“And grandparents!” Red added.

“Hmmm…..” Voltar idly scratched his chin and shook the kazoos mashed between his fingers. “I really want to do a bad kazoo concert today.”

With that, Voltar shoved the kazoos at Frogg and Red. Red excitedly started tooting on his while Frogg rolled his eyes and held up the pathetic plastic instrument between his claws.

As if Red’s tweeting and buzzing wasn’t bad enough by itself, Voltar joined in. In his case, he was pitifully trying to play two kazoos at once. Red sounded at least close to competent while Voltar was wheezing and blowing raspberries barely a minute later.

Is this really the rest of my life….? Frogg raised his kazoo and half-heartedly blew into it.

“Let’s gooooo!” Voltar cheered, pointing and marching back towards the door.

Frogg slumped forward and followed the peppy, jaunty strut of his comrades with significantly more somber energy. Maybe today he’d finally discover a Skullosus recruitment poster that didn’t have all the little “take a number” strips pulled off.

Instead of the neighbors, Voltar decided to drag L.O.S.E. to the park instead. Because he was hungry. And there was a specific hot dog cart there that had quality brats-not the cheap meat tubes everywhere else had-and a certain brand of spicy mustard that you just couldn’t find anywhere else in town.

While Voltar beelined for the cart, Red Menace noticed Mrs. Johnson parked on a bench and feeding pigeons. He casually strolled over with a certain grin on his face that better fit a superhero sidekick than a burly evil henchman. The elderly woman immediately perked up when she saw him. She fished out a couple pieces of the awful candy every old person ubiquitously carried on their person and offered Red the ones with the strawberry-themed wrappers. Of course, he gasped with sheer delight and popped one in his mouth.

Docktor Frogg rolled his eyes and looked down at the kazoo pathetically dangling from his claws. He raised it to his lips and started tooting a tuneless ditty. Only he could hear it. Otherwise, he was overpowered by bird chatter and laughing children.

Oh, look. Glory Guy’s superpowered spawn recently learned how to fly. The child was cackling as he flew around in a few dizzy circles, a little gray hare hanging onto his ankle for dear life. Glory Guy’s concerned cries followed a minute later.

Frogg chuckled sinisterly. Maybe in the next ten years Glory Jr. would be a delinquent on the quick path towards a supervillain that could easily rival the likes of Skullosus or greater instead of yet another boring and cookie-cutter boy scout like his old man.

“….you’re absolutely sure?” Speaking of Skullosus, the skull in a jar was sitting across a picnic table from a character Frogg hadn’t seen before. She certainly wasn’t dressed like one of his typical minions and she wasn’t Skullosus’ gender-bent galaxy-conquering girlfriend either.

“Yeah,” she said with a firm nod. “I appreciate the opportunity, but it’s just not what I’m looking for.”

The mystery woman was barely a foot taller than Voltar from Frogg’s rough mental height estimate. She had short gray hair slicked back into sharp quill-like shapes at the base of her neck and cat-like yellow irises. Colored contact lenses maybe? She was dressed in a dark double-breasted suit and silver tie matched with black and white shoes Frogg had only seen in 1940’s movies. Based on her outfit alone, Frogg guessed she was probably a franchise rep for one of the big-name suppliers Skullosus had access to as an A-list villain.

Despite himself, Frogg cast a venomous glare in Voltar’s direction. His boss was happily chomping down on his stupid bratwurst. With a snarl and a few curses, Frogg turned his attention back to Skullosus. Maybe Voltar would be extra slow today and indulge what he liked to call his “foodie” sensibilities. Yes, Voltar, the man whose usual diet consisted of a big bucket of fried fast food chicken or cheap microwave pizza, was a fount of knowledge on fine dining.

At the very least, Frogg wanted to find out who Skullosus’ mystery supplier was. It’d be another brand name to add to his ever-growing list of mad scientist’s equipment he idly daydreamed about.

“I could really use a decent mad scientist right now.” Skullosus tapped the table top. “Do you like foosball? We just had a foosball table installed in the lounge!”

Frogg’s goggles bugged while the woman in the suit rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a mad scientist. I told you I’m more of a publicist. Or spin doctor for a more accurate description. My mad science is ad hoc at best.” She made a “so-so” gesture. “And I don’t like foosball.”

“But it’s so fun to make the little men kick the ball! It’s like….” Skullosus gestured vaguely. “And then the other guy goes-” He gestured vaguely again. “So fun.”

“Have you actually played it?” She folded her arms.

“My son likes it.” Skullosus shrugged. “I also just got orange soda in the employee vending machines!”

“Hire an actual mad scientist. Call me when you need a brochure for the people on your first conquered planet or whatever.”

“Firecracker, no mad scientists-”

“ ‘No mad scientists want to work anymore!’ Yeah, yeah….” Firecracker made a rude, dismissive gesture that eerily reminded Frogg of Voltar.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with the mighty-”

“You can’t eject me out the airlock.” Firecracker grinned in a menacing fashion. “This is a no disintegrator ray zone. Plus, Glory Guy and General Sargent are here.”

He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes, but huffed in defeat.

“We’re still on for brunch Monday, right?” Firecracker adjusted the lapels of her suit jacket.

“Of course! Galactea is dying to meet you.” Skullosus’ entire demeanor shifted from intimidating to casual in mere seconds. He cleared his throat and tapped the front of his mech suit. “It’s disappointing that we’ll no longer be business associates. Please send any promising mad scientists my way?”

Firecracker nodded as she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “Yes. Of course.”

Skullosus nodded again and stood up. Then he ambled away towards Glory Guy who had just managed to catch his ball-of-chaos rugrat.

The gears in Frogg’s head started turning. If only Glory Guy wasn’t here. If he could just find a way to get himself in front of Skullosus-

“Enjoy the show, Goggles?”

Frogg’s thoughts were interrupted by Firecracker looking directly at him with tightly folded arms and a smug smile on her face.

It was that moment Frogg also realized his goggles had extended out a bit. He had unintentionally zoomed in on Firecracker and Skullosus when he got wrapped up in his eavesdropping. Also, he’d only been standing...ten feet away from their picnic table.

“Oh….” Frogg raised the tip of his claw to his chin. “A-ahhm….”

“Skullhead has a bad habit of using his outside voice.” Her smile grew and she laughed a little, her shoulders bobbing. “So, you’re an aspiring Skullosus minion then?”

“Yes.” Frogg pushed the tips of his claws together, blushing in embarrassment. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“I’d hold off from applying right now.” She held up a warning index finger. “Skullosus thinks he can juggle wedding planning with an evil operation that’s about to expand from not-yet world destroyer to galactic conquerer. It’s a circus!”

“...g-galactic conquerer?!” Frogg was salivating a little now.

“I can see the evil little twinkle in your eye.” Firecracker snorted. “Seriously. I’ve been ejected out of his airlock two different times because of pre-wedding jitters! Wait. Wait at least a month. Then he’ll be back to ejecting minions from the airlock twice a week. Only once if he’s in an especially good mood.”

The tone of her voice and imagining himself floating about aimlessly in space made Frogg very, very aware of gravity keeping his feet attached to the earth beneath him. He looked down at the grass and swallowed thickly. “Mm-hmmm….”

“Good news is you’re a shoo-in,” Firecracker lightly clapped Frogg’s shoulder. “I got my foot in the door because Skullosus caught a whiff of mad scientist on my CV. I can only piece together mad scientist scraps with duct tape, gum, and a miracle!”

“What exactly does Skullosus need a mad scientist for?” Frogg asked around the growing lump in his throat.

Before Firecracker could answer, Voltar popped up and sprayed a mix of spit and terribly played kazoo music in her face. There was a big, stupid smile on his helmeted face and he narrowed his eyes challengingly at Frogg and Firecracker.

“Time to move out, Docktor Frogg!” he declared.

Firecracker had a tight-lipped smirk on her face as her pupils shrank and she blinked a few times. She sniped one of the kazoos Voltar still wielded between his knuckles, raised the cheap instrument to her lips, and took a deep breath. She tweeted into the kazoo, as loud and obnoxious as she could. The resulting foghorn bellow was bigger than Frogg thought the instrument was capable of. It was followed by enough wind to push Voltar’s antennae back and at least a gallon of spit.

Now it was Voltar’s turn for shrinking pupils and rapid blinking.

“What was that for?!” he cried indignantly.

“You started it.”

Voltar tweeted the kazoo again, this time waving his hand off to the side with a few conductor-esque gestures as he seemed to try and remember some tune.

“...is that supposed to be Jingle Bells?” Firecracker asked.

“Nightshade smells! Bobbin lost a pin!” Voltar sang off-key. Frogg cringed when Firecracker started playing her pilfered kazoo actually in tune with Voltar. “The Shade mobile lost a wheel and the Cuckoo got away!”

“Oh, my God. I remember when Nightshade had such a cow about that on national TV.” Firecracker snickered. Then her eyes bugged and she raised the kazoo, tapping the air with it a few times. “Can you imagine putting together a choir of these and playing it right outside his house? Bonus points if its kids in Nightshade’s official shirts and carrying his stupid new action figures.”

“Ooohhh, he’d hate that!” Frogg chimed in, an evil smile tugging at the corners of his lips for the first time in awhile.

“Do you have more of these?” Firecracker shook the kazoo again for emphasis.

“No.”A few more fell out of Voltar’s pockets as his eyes shot back and forth like pinballs.

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Firecracker laughed as she pocketed the kazoo and extended a hand to Frogg. “I’m Firecracker, the spritely and unpredictable! Pleasure to meet you.”

“Docktor Frogg,” Frogg spun his claw once with a little showy flare before taking her extended hand. “The ah...insidious and dement-cru...malicif-ignant.”

“Um, excuse me!” Voltar glared at her. “I’m the illustrious leader of the League of Super Evil, Voltar. But I don’t really need an introduction. You’ve probably heard of me.”

He puffed out his chest and made a display out of looking at his nails.

For a moment, Frogg tensed up and braced himself for an incoming Voltar tantrum. Most people were barely aware that they existed, saw them as minor nuisances that could be deterred with a “shoo” motion and a spray bottle, or worse, asked who they were even after several events that had almost leveled Metrotown.

“Yeah!” Firecracker tapped her palm. “The balloons? You kept everybody on 4th street up all night after popping a bunch of balloons...Where did you find enough?”

Voltar made a pleased noise. “The dollar store foolishly threw them out! They were all there in an alleyway dumpster! Free for the taking.”

While Voltar was laughing as if he discovered the secret behind perpetual motion, Frogg groaned and rolled his eyes.

“That’s where we find all of our equipment,” he snarked.

“Frogg! Don’t give away our secrets.”

“You already gave it away.”

“Do you think there’s more kazoos back there?” Firecracker interrupted.

“I didn’t think to look there!” Voltar sighed. “I actually bought these.” He glared at the kazoos still stuck between his fingers.

“Recorders would be more annoying,” Firecracker said. “We should stock up on those instead.”

“I told you!” Frogg said in a sing-song with a pointed stare at Voltar.

“Wait a minute.” Voltar folded his arms haughtily. “Who said you were joining us on my genius plan?”

“Fair enough.” Firecracker mimicked his body language before leaning in and blowing a raspberry. “But I can find cheap recorders and I know at least six evil parents that would love to use this as an internship opportunity for their kids.”

���I can recruit an entire neighborhood of annoying kids!”

“Brilliant.” Firecracker smirked. “If we teamed up, we’d have that neighborhood plus six kids. It’d maximize how annoyed Nightshade would be!”

“Wait, wait, wait…” Voltar shook his head. “Our goal is to annoy my neighbors. Especially Steve.”

“Okay.” Firecracker leaned in closer. “Let’s give Steve nightmares.”

The cold, icy tone Firecracker used actually sent a slight shiver down Frogg’s spine. For a moment, Voltar looked a bit phased. His yellow pinprick irises dilated a few times and he took a step back. A moment later, Voltar regained his nerve raised a triumphant fist. “Steve will pee himself in terror!”

“Great.” Firecracker fished a business card out of her pocket and slipped it into Voltar’s hand. “Call me when you’re ready to discuss the plan! I’m always excited to team up with other villains.”

With that, she waved and walked towards the same bratwurst cart Voltar was at a few minutes ago. Frogg watched her passing form, wondering why someone that had connections with Skullosus of all villains would want anything to do with L.O.S.E. Whatever her intentions, she could help Frogg start moving ahead in the world. He’d keep a wary eye on her but until proven otherwise, she’d given him a small spark of hope. He was mildly disappointed that the evil scheme was still Voltar’s small-peanuts vision but at least it’d been upgraded to real nuisance instead of mildly irritating; like a housefly aimlessly larking about exchanged for a mosquito nipping at someone’s neck.

“Gross. Did she just ask me on a date?” Voltar held out the business card as if it was a bag of dog poop.

“As if.” Frogg rolled his eyes. “Girls give you their phone number on scraps of notebook paper or napkins with little hearts on them. Or they just put their number in your phone.”

“How would you know?” Voltar looked at him suspiciously.

“I’ve been out on a few dates!” Frogg said, a bit more defensively than he would have liked. “Anyway, business cards are common. A lot of big-time supervillains and minions have them. This would be our first major collaboration with another villain. It might gain the League more notoriety.”

“We’re known!” Now Voltar was getting defensive. “We’re a household name…”

“We might actually get on the front page of the newspaper.” Frogg mused. “Or better yet, convince a social media influencer to make a video about us…”

“It’d be nice to see my face on the front page,” Voltar muttered.

“Alright, I’ve decided! The League will team up with this Firecracker. Only temporarily!” Voltar snickered. “Your nights of blissful slumber are numbered, STEVE!”

Before Voltar started on an evil laugh, Red joined them. He waved casually and held up a kazoo. “I’m ready to toot, Voltar!”

“Change of plans, Red. We’re going back to the drawing board…”

“Can we go back to the drawing board over subs?” Red Menace held up a coupon with a giddy grin. “Mrs. Johnson had a leftover Get 3 Subs free for Gene’s Sandwich Shoppe!”

“I could eat,” Voltar agreed.

“What about Doomageddon?” Frogg asked nervously.

“Oh, I have enough leftover grocery money to get him a sandwich. Besides, Doomy has very specific tastes!”

“Yeah, I bet…” Frogg shuddered. Thankfully, a big meaty sandwich was far more appetizing than Frogg’s string beany body.

Yet another reason Frogg was excited by the prospect of potentially leaving L.O.S.E.

[votsalot]

i don't know how phone-scam literate people are but if someone calls from an "official office" etc etc and asks for more info than your name and birthday do not give it to them. if they are legit they will not pressure you if you push back or ask for an alternate means of communication. for example, if this caller is your healthcare provider they should be able to contact you over your online portal (if you have one), send an official notice on letterhead with verifiable address and contact methods, or provide a callback number you can independently verify should you request it. that being said, be careful with callback numbers and do your own investigation because some scam callers get really crafty with it.

[mudwerks]

(via Florida surgeon general fudged data for dubious COVID analysis, tipster says | Ars Technica)

Florida's health department opened and then closed an investigation into the state's polarizing surgeon general, Joseph Ladapo, after a tipster claiming to have insider knowledge alleged that Ladapo "manipulated data" and committed "scientific fraud" in his final edits to what became a contentious, widely panned analysis on COVID-19 vaccine safety in young men.

“Batshit study”

The dubious analysis at the center of the controversy was posted online last October by the health department. Oddly, though, it did not list any authors or bear the health department's letterhead or other identifiers. Ladapo used the analysis as the basis for the state's concerning recommendation that males aged 18 to 39 should not receive an mRNA-based COVID-19 vaccine. That recommendation goes against the recommendations of all other major health organizations, including the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

As Ars previously reported, the analysis was roundly criticized by outside epidemiologists and other health experts, who described it as "utter rubbish," "extremely misleading," "comically bad," "seriously flawed," and "the absolute most batshit study design and analysis plan I have ever seen." Others noted that the conclusion "smells of p-hacking" and data cherry-picking.

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[psychic-refugee]

Thanks to the Anon on @heyharoldsboo 's page who gave me a shout out. Sorry I don’t do Anon Asks, frankly I don’t believe in anons. I barely believe in people who have fully developed blogs that have been operating for years. People curate and create online personas, myself included. It’s smart to not put your real life online. So, I take everything I see and hear on the internet with a grain of salt.

I do very much believe in protecting my peace, however. I’ve seen way too many people get brave behind the anon feature and just go absolutely vile.

As much as I know some anons are sweet and well meaning, “I won’t set myself on fire to keep you warm.” Tumblr and writing are a hobby, my mental health is the biggest source of wealth for me. I’m going to protect it at all costs.

My other justification is that Tumblr is free, it doesn’t cost anything to create a blog and to do the minimal work to make it not look like a porn bot. People can create a blog and ask me things that way if they really wanted to.

Sorry if a newcomer with an empty blog has tried to follow me, I’m pretty heavy handed with the block feature if I presume you’re a porn bot.

I do appreciate the thoughts and shout out.

So, lets talk about Cease and Desist letters. They mean nothing. lol That’s the long and short of it. They’re used as an intimidation tactic. Sometimes the threat of a lawsuit is enough to get the recipient to back down. It’s part of legal theatre.

They are not legally binding on either the sender or the recipient. If the accusers got anything, they could wipe their butts with it for all that it technically matters. You can write as many demands as you want, the recipients have the choice to ignore it. Most firms send it as an extra-judicial way of hopefully avoiding litigation. Why litigate for thousands upon thousands of Can$ if they can just send a warning shot? Sometimes, C&Ds are bluffs. Now, most people would take threats of legal action seriously, but given the accusers’ erratic behavior and immaturity they’ve shown thus far, they could also just as easily dismiss it as a joke.

It’s probably true that they do not have the money for attorneys. By that same logic, they do not have the money to make a suit worth it on PHW’s end. Will he really spend that much money on principals? Not sure a C&D is worth the time and money either.

If they say they haven’t gotten anything, I’m more inclined to believe them.

One anon made a good point regarding addresses. PHW’s representation might be having a hard time locating these women. Assuming he hasn’t spoken to them since high school, we’re talking at least three years. That’s plenty of time to have moved to a bunch of places if they don’t have steady employment. Did they go to university? Are they still in university? Could they be staying with a friend and don’t have a legal address? Could they still list their parents house while they’re living somewhere else?

So far, they’ve done PHW’s legal case more of a favor by continuing to post rather than to go dark. Given how toothless C&Ds are, it’s not worth the billable hours or fancy heavy stock letterhead to write one IMO, plus on top of hiring someone to find them.

I also see these women as being petty enough to have posted the letters if they got them. It’s not illegal to show a letter you’ve gotten. It’s their letter, if they show they got one, then they’re just stating facts. There’s no implied or enforceable gag order on not revealing they got a C&D.

His legal team may not want to prematurely reveal themselves either. Given how volatile Twitter and Tumblr could be, I wouldn’t want to expose my firm to trolls.

C&Ds aren’t required either. If I was going to sue, which they may still be considering at this stage, then I would just serve them an actual complaint. I don’t think a C&D is worth it at this stage if ever.

[jlilycorbie]

On Sunday, I went roller skating.

My silliest wish for years now has been to put wheels on my fat, hypermobile, arthritic self. Like that could go badly, right? Investing in skates and pads definitely seemed like an expensive way to get a trip to the ER (which is, itself, prohibitively expensive).

But it turns out there's a skating rink in my town, and it hosts a weekly adult skate. Price of admission includes skate rental.

So I went. And it went well!

Well, not in a 'how did I do with wheels strapped to me feet' kind of way. I could skate ok (never well) back in high school, but high school was...a long time ago now. Turns out roller skating does not come back to you the way riding a bike does. I made very, very slow rounds of the rink, clinging to the wall for dear life the whole time.

But!

People were so nice!

Most people ignored me, which is honestly ideal, but a few people were sweet and encouraging. After my third round of the rink, I sat to rest, and someone else struggling a bit came out and I offered space by me on the bench, and we ended up spending most of the evening sitting here, talking about horror movies. We took one last round together before the place closed down.

I think most of the other people there could have made four rounds during a single one of mine, easy. But whatever. I did it. I didn't fall. I didn't get hurt. I talked to another person until I went hoarse.

On Friday, I found a local (very queer) business that sells roller skates, and I thought hey, if I do well on Sunday, I could come back here to buy skates! I wouldn't have to risk ordering online, and I could support a local business. Perfect!

It's about a half mile from my house, and parking there is a nightmare that badly sets off my anxiety, so if I got there, I walk. And after I got home on Sunday, I thought about buying skates and if it would be worth it when I'm hilariously terrible at it.

No way to learn without doing, though, right?

So I thought how about if I keep at it, I can buy my own skates if and when I'm confident enough on them that I can walk to that business, buy a pair, and skate home. I definitely don't want to carry roller skates for half a mile, after all.

Now I'm debating really hard if I want to go back to the rink at all. I could go tonight. It's a general skating session, so it will probably be much more crowded.

And also...

When I was in college, I decided to give publishing a real swing. This was before email or digital submissions, so that meant stamps and trips to the post office and such. And I took a swing at a particularly large publication with a very well known and loved editor.

And they rejected me, but! They sent that rejection on nice paper, on company letterhead. They said nice things about my story and suggested somewhere else I should submit. I was so happy. My favorite editor read and liked my story!

I did send it to the place they suggested, which also rejected me, that time with the usual form letter, and I went well, what did I expect? My favorite editor read and liked my story. I had succeeded. It was greedy to expect more.

I didn't even try to submit more work anywhere else for literal decades, because brains are ridiculous, and I'd accidentally flipped the 'success' switch and moved on.

But of course...considering how my more serious attempt at publishing went, maybe I should have ridden on those happy vibes for the rest of my life. I could have left writing in the 'success' part of my memories instead 'humiliating and complete failure.'

So now I'm looking at skating and I'm thinking hey, I sucked really bad, but I didn't fall or hurt myself. People were nice. I talked to someone and had a good time. It was a success! Who am I to ask for more?

Basically, I'm not sure if I'm going to go back. Maybe tonight? Maybe I'll wait until the next adult skate on Sunday?

But also, if I do go, and if I break my arm or something, I did tell me I should have been happy with a success and moved on.

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[thesaintcomes]

[𝙍𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙤]

– TOKYO FM "Nippon Yūbin SUNDAY'S POST" (17 October 2021) –

[𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩]

Uga: What did make you take the Nogizaka's audition?

Seira: My big brother has always been very fond of Nogizaka and he told me, "Why don't you give it a shot?" Then I felt like taking it.

Koyama: Did your big brother tell you like, "Go get someone's autograph!" when his little sister joined?

Seira: It's nothing like that! He got irritated after it was decided (that i made it). He was like, "My little sister will be a bother, won't she?" It was like as if he could no longer support (the group) with an unmixed feeling (LOL). Now he only supports me from a parental point of view.

Uga: I see! (LOL).

—

Uga: This time, we have Hayakawa-san here because you often write letters, right?

Seira: I write (letters) at milestones, I like to receive them, and I often write in response to people too.

Koyama: Is there any trigger that made you do that?

Seira: I have loved writing letters since I can remember. I wrote so many letters to my mother that she even set up a letter box in our house.

Koyama: Even now, do you still write letters to your mother?

Seira: I no longer write that many, but I do write to her on her birthday and when I give her presents.

Koyama: Your mother must have all the letters you have written to her up until now.

Seira: She said she keeps them in a big box.

Uga: Do you have a favorite letterhead, or envelope, or maybe postcard?

Seira: I like slightly retro postcards. If I find myself in a general store and get attracted to it, I would buy it even if I don't plan on writing. After buying, I would start planning what to write on it.

Koyama: You obviously receive fan letters as well. Do you read them all?

Seira: Yes, they are in the office. And I read them from end to end, even though there is a little time lag (since the letters were written).

Koyama: Is there any fan letter that left a lasting impression on you?

Seira: Nogizaka has a talk session (with fans). We're currently doing it online, but there was a time when I was told, "I want to work hard in job hunting, so please cheer me up!" by one of my fans. I told them, "Do your best!" and then they wrote me a letter, telling me that they found a job. I think it made me really happy in doing my work.

Koyama: So you sent a yell of encouragement, which cheered that person up and got them into the company of their dreams. That's great, a job that creates a turning point in someone's life!

Seira: For real, I'm incredibly happy!

Uga: Do you exchange letters with people you actually know?

Seira: Yes, with friends, family members, and also the members, and so on.

Uga: You meet them, but you go out of your way to write for them.

Seira: I do it on their birthdays, or at the time of my senior's graduation. Also one of my seniors, Ikuta Erika-san has been having a theater stage performance. And since I have been unable to visit her these days due to the corona outbreak, I wrote her a letter on the spot after (watching) the performance and handed it to the manager to deliver it to her.

Uga: That's a great idea, since it's impossible to meet and greet her at backstage now.

Seira: I really wanted to convey the emotion I felt right after watching the performance. It was like my brush ran fast.

Uga: I will copy you on that (LOL).

Koyama: Is the relationship between senior and junior members kind of rigid?

Seira: Basically, they treat me kindly. But after all, they also give me a lot of attention when it comes to important stuff. I really depend on them.

Uga: Say, Hayakawa-san, what's the most memorable letter you have ever received?

Seira: I once received a letter and a book together from my mother when I was 15 years old. And the letter said, "I think you are at the turning point between a child and an adult, so why don't you read this book to organize your feelings and cultivate your way of thinking?"

Koyama: What was the book?

Seira: It was a book called "Nishi no Majo ga Shinda" (The Witch of the West is Dead).

[The book has been adapted into a movie with the same title.]

—

[Next corner: Seira reads a letter she had written beforehand]

Seira: I wrote this to my grandma who lives in kyoto ... I'm getting embarrassed.

"To Grandma.

Recently, I often think of Grandma and the trips we used to take together. Whenever I feel a little down at work, or when I have a painful time, I remember the good times we used to have. I feel very much better when I remember the good times we had in the past.

The buffalo we rode on taketomi island, the sea grapes we ate at the Kokusai-dori Market, the corn we ate every year in the lavender fields of furano—Grandma's favorite place, the rafting and hot air ballooning, and the potato chips we ate on the ropeway. Our memories have no ending.

I heard from Mom that you have been feeling unwell lately. Are you alright? I have been missing you so much because of my work and the corona outbreak that it's very lonesome. I heard that your store has fewer customers than before because of the corona outbreak. I know it's a lot of hard work, and sometimes things continue to be difficult, but I am most happy when Grandma is healthy.

Take lots of rest when you can, rely on mom to take care of the store, take it easy and get well soon. when you get well and the corona outbreak settles down, let's take lots of trips together again. This time, I'd like to be the one who takes you. I hope you live a healthy and long life. I love you so much.

From Seira."

Koyama: You sure travel with your grandmother to lots of places!

Seira: My grandmother loves to travel very much, but she can't go very often due to the corona outbreak and I can't go either due to my works. Also she's not in a good shape right now, so she can't go as much as she would like to. I've been really concerned about her lately, so I took this opportunity to write (a letter) to her.

Uga: That's very kind of you.

Koyama: When the outbreak settles down, if you were to travel together, where would you like to go?

Seira: I want to take her out of the country. It seems that my grandfather and grandmother met in Rome ....

Koyama: ROME!?

Uga: How romantic!!

Seira: Hence I would like to take her to Rome for a bit.

Koyama: How did they meet in Rome??

Seira: I heard they met while traveling.

Uga: A true Roman holiday, isn't it?

—

Uga: Hayakawa-san, i guess many young people have not written so many letters, do you have any advice or that would make them want to write?

Seira: It's not an unexpected pleasure when I receive a letter or find one in the mailbox, but the day suddenly becomes brighter (when I receive it), so I think delivering such feelings to others will brighten my own day, too. Everyone, why don't you try writing letters?