#'''(that they patently do not excel at)'*

[knightofleo]

Avalon Emerson | Astrology Poisoning

It all burned up Just like you said it would Hometown you left is ash and black When your family failed, and your city fell hard Heat death is all that awaits for you at home That moment kicked you out, and then a decade Running from a silhouette of crisis at heart Would you have felt it all, another day Of glamorous euphoria, in spite of it all And you returned again Water rights poisoning This desert isn't your friend

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fanfic Idea: Side Hustle

Barry needs more cash.

It's not that he is struggling, but unlike Bruce, he had student loans, a mortgage, and all the medical bills for Iris to consider. Even with his wife working, he knew they needed to keep a tight grip on their spending to ensure they didn't fall from the yellow into the red.

This means that sometimes he had to watch Wally's face fall when he admitted he couldn't afford to give him an allowance or even some money to go to the mall with his friends. It's not that his nephew complains—Wally is a very understanding young man—but it still tears Barry up inside to disappoint him.

Significantly when, their hero work cut so deeply into their funds just to keep their speedster metabolism under control. If he hadn't done his foolish experiment, Wally wouldn't be in danger of starvation for following his example.

Blood or not, Wally is like a son to him, and the idea that he can only provide the bare basics is painful. He has a high-paying job now, but it will take a while to get all his debt from when he was a student under control.

Before he married Iris, he was okay with that. He now had a wife and son who depended on him, and he couldn't wait around, hoping things would pick up after a few years.

He managed to pay off most of Iris' medical bills, and the house was an excellent step up from the cramped two-room apartment they shared when they were engaged. Barry knew that these two things were good, but he could do better.

That's how he applied as a research assistant to a strange family company called Fenton Works. The pay was decent, and it was only a short hour's drive from his home—he speed-ran it in five, but he needed a realistic distance to keep his ID protected. And best of all?

He mostly did office work. Half the time, he was allowed to do remote work documenting research data and organizing the owner's inventions and patents.

There were many funds coming from said patents and inventions. If the Fentons weren't so busy spending the money to fund their ghost research—the power grid they needed for the portal alone was almost as much as Barry's entire mortgage—then they could easily be among the few in Bruce's fancy galas.

Barry will admit that he was surprised to learn that Mr. Fenton had a PhD in engineering, applied physics, and robotics. Mrs. Fenton had a PhD in nuclear physics, functional analysis, and renewable energy. Both were currently working on getting a PhD in some form of biology, and Barry was flabbergasted that they spoke about it the same way people casually decided to start a new hobby.

It was hard, but they had the money to just sign up for classes. He wept into his student loan reminders whenever he thought about it.

They made the perfect team- one thought up the idea, and the other created a physical form while they ensured it worked together.

He knew his bosses were certified geniuses who appeared goofy was one thing, but to be confronted with their degrees stuffed away in a storage box was another thing. He hadn't even meant to find them since he had gone in there with Danny- his boss's kid- to find some paper research Dr. Jack Fenton needed.

It was even more shocking to find that Dr. Jack had sold some of his systematics to Wayne Enterprises and that Bruce had used some of his robotics theories in his Batman gear.

It also seemed that most of the Amity Park were unaware of how intelligent the Fentons were. When he was out and about in the city, he kept getting pitying looks for working for the local freaks. It was honestly shocking.

People talked about Jasmine Fenton's bright future, the only hope among the family, in the same breath as calling Jack Fenton an idiot or Maddie Fenton a washed-up housewife. The things they had to say about Danny Fenton were far more disheartening.

Barry knows a thing or two about troubled youths as the Flash, and no matter what the town told him, Danny Fenton was not one of them.

It seemed to Barry that Danny was suffering from blatant bullying and the pressure of his family's shadow. Adding to the confusion of being in the middle of puberty, it created the perfect recipe for Danny to be spirling. It was a rough patch, and it led to him skipping class, dropping his grades, and ignoring his responsibilities.

He overheard the Fentons talking about Danny. Dr. Fentons was starting to grow worried since Danny had never behaved this way before high school while Jazz attempted to defend her brother and excuse his disappearance.

She seemed very aware of why her brother seemed to change.

On the other hand, Dr. Fenton wasn't and mentioned more than once that she and Danny were very close when he was a kid, but lately, he seemed to be shutting her out. Her husband admitted that he figured Danny had gotten a girlfriend- someone named Sam?- but he started to notice his son kept coming home with what appeared to be injuries.

Barry wasn't sure if they were aware that Danny was getting bullied. He was carefully filing some of the old cabinets when it clicked.

"Jazz?" He called out as the Fentons finally stop talking about Dnany's behavior and moved down to the lab. The teenager poked her head into the file office with a curious smile.

"Yes, Mr. Allen?" No matter how often he told her to call him Barry, she seemed determined to keep that barrier between them. Which was fair. After all, he was only around the house three or four times a week for a few hours.

"I have a question, so please feel free to not answer." He starts carefully to keep his tone light. Her smile turns strained at once, and Barry almost tells her to ignore it, but the thought of Wally being Danny's place makes him push on. "What is your family's stance on gay rights?"

Jazz blinked slowly, tilting her head. "I don't mind, and neither do my parents, I think. Why sir?"

"Just curious," Barry said, but mentally, he wondered if Danny knew that.

Jazz didn't look convinced, but she didn't push the issue as she wandered away with a respectful by-your-leave. He waited until she was upstairs before abandoning his work to find the Fentons.

Carefully, he started by updating them on his work, then casually dropped the mention of taking Wally to Pride so he wouldn't be able to work the following week. Neither Dr. so much as blinked, telling him that it was fine.

Barry felt it safe to keep pushing just a little.

"Yeah, I still remember how nervous Wally was about telling me he liked girls and boys." He chuckles. "As if though I didn't notice the signs."

Dr. Fenton raises a brow, face twisted in confusion as the large man turns to Barry. "What signs?"

"Mostly, he is trying to think of excuses to be with his friends more. He wasn't sleeping a lot, got into a bit of trouble in school when some kids were giving him grief, and oh, the way his eyes followed young men about." Barry said as casually as one could.

Dr. Fenton looks pensive. "Interesting."

Ah, it seemed she had picked up on the possibility of Danny not being as straight as he claimed. She thankfully didn't seem bothered by it.

"Jack, honey, you don't think Danny could be....?" She asked carefully.

Dr. Fenton ran a hand through his hair. "It could be. But why didn't he tell us?"

"Oh geez, I wonder why!" Jazz suddenly yells from the stairway. Barry twists around to find her standing there with a defensive glare. She has obviously been eavesdropping, but for how long? "What did you two expect with the way you talked around the house?!"

Dr. Fenton looked mystified. "Jazzy-pants, what are you talking about?"

His daughter only raises her fist, lowering her voice to mimic her father. "What are we doing today, Maddie? I know; how about we rip the ghost boy molecule by molecule!"

Barry's eyes grow wide. He had been working for the family for about six months and had encountered Phantom more than once. He even fought him off as Flash a few times since the ghost was hell-bent on robbing and property damage but was less dangerous than his rouges.

Dr. Fenton's face went pale as she clutched to the table. "Jazz you mean....Danny and Phantom...."

Jazz looked ready to fight them all as she bit out, "If you try to do anything to Danny, I swear-"

"We would never Jazzy-pants." Jack cut in, looking off Kindle. "To think my son was dating a ghost behind my back and I...I didn't even notice."

"Oh, Jack, we have to apologize," Maddie started. "Who knows if Danny could ever forgive us?"

Barry was thinking Flash also had to apologize. Based on their last encounter, Phantom would likely not be willing to hear him out. He quickly pulls out his phone to see if Wally and his team could get close enough to have him consider speaking to Barry.

None of the adults noticed the way Jazz froze in confusion, nor did they notice the slow horror growing on her face as they came to terms with Phantom and Danny dating.

[nonasuch]

I do actually like a few things so far! Some legit 30s siren styling:

And Marion Cottilard wore actual vintage Chanel, bless her:

Glenn Close is allowed to do whatever she wants, forever:

This is such a welcome pop of color, and the contrast between the shiny patent (latex?) bodice, tulle skirt, and pearl shoulder drapes is excellent. Thank you so much, Salma Hayek:

There’s a ton of pale pink on this red carpet but Naomi Campbell’s is the only one I give a damn about:

And I have no idea why I like this but I do. I think it’s got Buffy the Vampire Slayer vibes but I can’t articulate how.

I might have been tricked into liking this because it contains actual colors, but also I do like the construction of the skirt and the ties falling down the back.

[ltwilliammowett]

The anti seasick ship SS Bessemer Saloon Steamship

The SS Bessemer Saloon Steamship- SS Bessemer for short - was an experimental Victorian passenger side wheel steamer designed to counteract seasickness and operated between Dover and Calais. Her inventor was Sir Henry Bessemer.

Bessemer Saloon Steamer, 1874

In 1868, Bessemer, who suffered from severe seasickness, developed the idea of a ship whose passenger cabin - the saloon - was to be suspended on a gimbal and mechanically held horizontally, thus levelling out the swell and sparing the occupants from the ship's movements. Sounded too good to be true, but more on that later. He patented this ingenious idea in December 1869 and after successful trials with a model in which the levelling was carried out by hydraulics controlled by a helmsman observing a spirit level, Bessemer founded a limited company, the Bessemer Saloon Steamboat Company Limited, which was to operate steamships between England and France. Capital of 250,000 pounds was used to finance the construction of a ship, the SS Bessemer, whose chief designer was the naval architect Edward James Reed.

SS Bessemer, by Henry Spernon Tozer 1874

And so she was built by Earle's Shipbuilding in Hull. She bore the shipyard number 197 and was launched on 24 September 1874. As already mentioned, she was a paddle steamer with four buckets (two buckets each on port and starboard, one forward and one aft). She had a length of 106.68 m (350 feet), a width on deck of 12.19 m (40 feet), an outside width over the bucket boxes of 19.81 m (65 feet), a draught of 2.26 m (7 feet 5 inches) and a gross register tonnage of 1974 tonnes. What also characterised her was that she was completely identical fore and aft, she had two bridges and two wheels, which simply made her faster and more manoeuvrable in both directions. Her maximum speed was about 17.4 knots.

The inner saloon was a room 70 feet long (21 metres) and 30 feet wide (9.1 metres), with a ceiling 6.1 metres above the floor, Moroccan-covered seats, partitions and spiral columns of carved oak and gilded panels with hand-painted murals. The press liked to call it the floating clubhouse. However, the swinging saloon was only intended for first class passengers. The second class, on the other hand, did not enjoy this and had to make do with cabins on the sides of the hull.

Harper's Weekly Interior Pages showing the newly building ultra Luxury Bessemer Channel Steam-Ship, 1874

The disaster begins

On 21 October 1874, the Bessemer had her first misfortune. She had just arrived in Hull to be fitted out when she was driven ashore in a storm. She was refloated and found to be undamaged, which was not entirely true, as would later become apparent.

In March 1875, the ship sailed on a private trial voyage from Dover to Calais. During this voyage she is said to have steered well and even had a top speed of 18 knots. Her swinging saloon is also said to have worked excellently. However, things didn't go so smoothly because on arrival in Calais, a paddle wheel was damaged when she crashed into the pier because it didn't react to the rudder at slow speed.

The first and only public voyage took place on 8 May 1875, with the ship sailing with her revolving cabin locked (some observers suggested this was due to the ship's severe instability, but Bessemer attributed this to lack of time to repair the previous damage). The ship was operated by the London, Chatham and Dover Railway. After two attempts to enter the harbour, it again crashed into the Calais pier, this time destroying part of it. Calais billed the company £2800 for the damage.

The Bessemer Saloon-Ship running foul of Calais Pier. Illustrated London News, 1875

Due to the poor performance, investors lost confidence and the company was dissolved in 1876. On 29 December 1876, the Bessemer ran aground on Burcom Sand in the Humber upstream of Grimsby, Lincolnshire, after the removal of the swivelling saloon and other extensive alterations. She was refloated and taken to Hull. The Board of Trade's investigation into the grounding found that the captain was at fault. His certificate was suspended for three months.After removal, the designer Reed had the saloon cabin taken to his home, Hextable House, Swanley, where it was used as a billiard room. When the house was later converted into a women's college, Swanley Horticultural College, the saloon was used as a lecture theatre, but was destroyed by a direct hit when the college was bombed during the Second World War.

The Saloon as a lecutre theatre

The ship was then docked in Dover until it was sold for scrapping in 1879.

The Theory of the Top. Volume IV, by Felix Klein, Arnold Sommerfeld, London, 2010

The Nautical Magazine for 1874

Sir Henry Bessemer, F.R.S.: An Autobiography, 1905

The Gale, The Times. No. 28140. London. 23 October 1874. col E, p. 8.

London, Chatham & Dover Railway Company

[dragonroilz]

The Lifesurger: Genetic Anomaly

**Given my track record, I'd like to state that there are no further plans for this concept.**

this concept was made because i hate how there's not a true support character in this game which i understand why thats the case. if youre in singleplayer theres no point for it. the medimarker and feedback loop passive gives a reason to want to pick up allies and heal people. maybe this game will never fit a true support archetype but as a permanent support class mf in games like OW, TF2, and LOL it scratches an itch in my brain lmao

Feedback Loop - Passive

Healing yourself(via items) or others will make your attacks stronger. Decays over time. Amount charged is proportional to healing done.

Feedback Pulse - Alternative Passive

Healing past a certain threshold creates a burst of healing around you, harming enemies and healing allies. The threshold increases with level.

Stimshot - Primary

A single shot that can be held down to do more damage. The projectile heals and pierces through allies, while dealing damage to enemies. A fully charged shot pierces enemies and heals more damage. While an uncharged shot is a projectile with gravity, the charged shot is hitscan.

DIRECTORY: MARK - Secondary

The Medimarker targets a selected enemy and attacks it. Additionally, all damage done to the target is tripled.

DIRECTORY: BLOCK - Alternative Secondary

The Medimarker targets an ally and shields them. The target is only able to take an amount of damage up to 50% of their max HP in one hit.

DIRECTORY: ESCORT - Utility

Recall the Medimarker and grab onto it to ascend upward. This skill recalls your secondary.

DIRECTORY: MOUNT - Alternative Utility

Recall the Medumarker and ride it. The drone is weighed down by you, but can be controlled for ten seconds. The drone has less gravity and is faster than your sprint speed.

Pulse Accelerator - Special

Empower yourself and surrounding allies, giving a 50% chance to critical hit chance, removing all debuffs(except void kills, cooldown debuffs like rings, etc.), and a slight healing aura to anyone within range of the skill.

THE MEDIMARKER V1.0.0 LOGBOOK ENTRY:

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is a prototype firearm that is meant for quick healing on the battlefield. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) excels in its ability to both heal organic creatures and repair machines, meaning that cybernetic enhancements can benefit from the effects of the firearm.

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is also able to hurt enemy combatants by disrupting cardiovascular tissue, genetic material, and electronic signals. Through the help of an accompanying MED-E to identify friendly and hostile entities, the Lifesurger(Patent pending) is slated to be one of the greatest supporting assets on the battlefield.

Side effects may include: Vomiting, nausea, soreness, sudden bruising, death, genetic scrambling of previous users, limb loss, fever symptoms.

-

LIFESURGER LOGBOOK:

[CAM 3]

Patient 4-B is seen through the facility. She is escorted by a damaged MED-E.

4-B: COME ON MED-E. JUST A BIT FURTHER.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM 4]

Patient 4-B is seen using Dr. A. Kurosawa's keycard to access Restricted Section 2.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response received.]

Patient 4-B is seen entering Restricted Section B.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response. Automatic alert issued to UESC authorities. This is the last alert they receive from this station.]

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM B-1]

Patient 4-B is seen running down the hall. Her IV is disconnected as she trips. The MED-E helps her up. They continue running. 4-B's vital signals are dropping as a result of loss of ?????.

She stops in front of ROOM 1.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM ROOM 1]

The door opens.

[Admin has been alerted to the breach. No response.]

Patient 4-B pulls the Lifesurger(Patent Pending) off of the wall. She misfires into her chest and falls unconscious.

The MED-E prods her body with stimulants. There is no response.

Something is pressed up against the glass. It's cracking.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[EXT. CAM A]

Dr. A. Kurosawa is seen standing over the corpse of an unidentified creature. Her hands are up as UESC-dispatched enforcers approach her. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is strapped over her back.

Enforcer: IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

KUROSAWA: I AM DOCTOR KUROSAWA.

Enforcer: DOCTOR KUROSAWA. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?

KUROSAWA: I DON'T KNOW. THERE ARE MORE INSIDE.

Enforcer: GET TO THE SHIP.

Three enforcers enter the facility. Dr. A. Kurosawa moves out of the FOV. The escorting MED-E follows her.

[Post analysis: Patient 4-B did not report to UESC authorities following this encounter. Her current location is unknown.]

Detective's Notes: I don't know how, but she somehow passed the genetic and facial recognition tests. Someone please let Captain ???? know about the background of his alleged "doctor". Although somehow I doubt he'll really care, seeing as how he's got some real screwballs on board.

[hijinxinprogress]

Young Justice spends all of their time violating the Geneva conventions or mocking their mentors bc they’re traumatized theater kids without any capacity for a verbal filter which is also why they’re not allowed to watch movies at the tower

YJ is watching some hero movie and a character with a gruff voice sternly says “we don’t kill…we’re better than that” so Tim gives the most dramatic sigh and goes “this is giving me back the migraine from our last lecture from the league” which leads to YJ doing their best to dramatically reenact disappointed justice league lectures

Cissie, offhandedly: Most superheroes having that dumbass code that’s some variation of “we don’t kill, we’re better than that…” make me fucking nauseous because who’s we? I’ll have you know my mother assures me that I’m a piece of shit everyday so no I’m not better than this.

Greta, in a mocking disappointed tone: Cissie! I’m very surprised at your behavior, we’ve taught you better than that! We’re here to protect people not to hurt them

Kon, in his best angry Cissie impression: Well, who’s gonna protect my sleep schedule? You woke me up at 3am to stop some idiot that wanted to steal kryptonite? Are you serious?They’re not going to jail they’re going to the nearest cemetery that I can promise you

Anita, in a dramatic hero pose: I’m not like you…you made me realize something, I have friends and people that love me so I’m not going to-

Bart, doing an excellent mimicry of Anita’s unimpressed face: He killed your family wdym you’re better than that, that’s dumb as hell you even look at anyone I know with the tiniest hint of malice you’re leaving in a bodybag

Kon, turning to Bart and making his voice echo the way Greta’s does when she’s annoyed: what is this nonsense I wouldn’t let anyone get away with doing that to you guys I promise they’d suffer immensely

Cassie, hovering in the air doing a terrible impression of disappointed superman: We can’t kill because then we’re no better than they are

Anita, glaring at Cassie with her best Kon impression: I’m okay with that…let’s not pretend you don’t expect this from me, am I supposed to care? They deserve to suffer, why should I be the only one that has to suffer?

Anita, pretending to storm off dramatically while Cassie tries to look disapproving:

Cissie, doing her angry Bart impression: You’re not gonna waste people I actually like then get to chill in jail and breakout in a couple days

Tim, in a dramatic ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ tone: I’m not sure how you did things in the future but you can’t do things like this, do you understand?

Cissie, snorting and crossing her arms in the agitated way Bart does: I understand that our first fight will be our last because we’re not doing this shit again I’m not superman

Greta, in a gruff Batman voice: People can change if you give them a chance

Cassie, in a sarcastic Tim impression: I’ll start a timer I’ll even give him five minutes why are you playing with me rn Batman

Bart, sighing disappointedly: You're so angry and I wish you’d find an appropriate outlet for all this aggression. You don’t know what taking a life will do to you, what it’ll take from you….

Tim, in an irritated Kon impression: why not? we can find out let’s do an experiment and find out I like science I’m game hbu??

Cassie, who does the second best Batman voice: Neither of you can even begin to understand-! How do you know you won’t end up ending low tier criminals like pickpocketers? We can’t play judge, jury, and executioner… what happens when you’re wrong? What’s going to stop you?

Greta, fiddling with a phone and shrugging before giving Cassie Tim’s patented ‘I can ruin your life and you’ve just given me a reason’ look while doing her impression of the way Tim stands when he’s pissed and rolling her eyes: Self control? Common sense? When have my hunches ever been wrong? Don’t play with my intelligence, it will not work out for you

Bart, doing his best to copy the way Cassie stands and messes with their hair when they’re pissed: I’m just saying, if you blow up a city block you lose air privileges I have debris in my shoes rn for what?

[JL was meeting with a bunch of reporters in the tower and later had to do a lot of damage control after the press released a statement about the JL failing to rehabilitate young villains]

[sgiandubh]

Lallybroch: copyright vs. trademark

An excellent question was asked by our friend @rosfrank in the comments thread to 'The door faces North' post and given the cosmic amount of uninformed bullshit being ventilated for almost ten years in this fandom, I think it's time to answer it once and for all:

Whenever we are informally talking about 'owning the rights to something', I think it's very important to bear in mind a fundamental distinction between two different categories of ownership rights: copyright and trademark.

The copyright is the most familiar one to many of you. It is what you usually find on those annoying and apparently useless first or last pages of all the printed or digital editions on this planet. Something like this:

In the US, copyright issues are regulated by the Copyright Act of 1976, as included in Title 17 of the US Code. The US public authority competent for registering and managing copyright is, as predictable, the US Copyright Office.

Perhaps the most seminal US Supreme Court decision, as far as copyright is concerned, is the 1991 Feist Publications, Inc., v. Rural Telephone Service Co. In it, the Court ruled that mere compilations of information or facts (such as, for example, telephone books) are not protected by copyright, according to US law. In other words, the ancient legal concept of 'sweat of the brow' (which simply means the amount of work required to gather and compile those facts/information) is not enough to qualify a work for copyright protection, if no creative effort is added to enhance its content. This is why I have always considered absolutely ridiculous Marple's efforts to watermark public information screenshots: it is useless (to the extent that it legally protects her from nothing) and, as her timelines, a mere compilation of facts (legally ditto). A similar approach is preferred by the UK and also by many Roman law legal systems, such as the French one - just making things clearer, here, by the way.

See how 'Erself is roughly doing, right now, in this department:

But I am rambling. In my view, Lallybroch, as a pivotal concept used in Diana Gabaldon's books, is protected by the copyright granted to each and every of her books mentioning it, according to the Roman law principle 'accessorium sequitur principale' (the accessory follows the principal). So it will remain protected for at least 70 years since the last of her books mentioning it would have been published under copyright. Unless she chooses to separately protect the entire finished cycle as a whole, once Book Ten (fingers crossed) is published, preferably during our foreseeable lifetimes.

That being said, that goes only for one copyright category: (published) text - you cannot copyright that secret diary in your drawer, LOL. This is why, the current US Copyright Office records concerning Lallybroch look like this:

Sony Pictures Television Inc owns the copyright to the fictional name Lallybroch in the motion pictures category, as it is the title of the Episode 12, in Season 1 - DG has been handsomely compensated for this, no worries. And someone I have no idea about owns the rights to an original musical score she has written and titled Lallybroch in the music category, since October 2013.

Onwards to the trademark. This is something different and this is all about making your name/concept/idea profitable. It is all about branding it, putting it on a product and selling it under that brand. It includes all the graphic elements and the logo of the brand (accessorium...) - in short, its visual identity to the consumers. In the US, trademark issues are regulated by the 1946 Lanham Act and the public competent authority is the good old US Patent and Trade Office (USPTO).

Right now, the situation for the Lallybroch trademark is as follows:

So, we see three different trademarks: two of them, owned by Diana Gabaldon, are classified as 'dead' (cancelled and/or abandoned) and the third, Lallybroch Spirits, owned by S's Great Glen Company is pending approval - he will not be able to label any booze bottle Lallybroch Drink Me before permission is granted by the USPTO.

Let's unpack:

Both Lallybroch trademarks formerly owned by Diana Gabaldon were filed at the USPTO on February 21, 2000 and granted on December 12, 2000. The first was aimed at producing 'tartan fabrics for the manufacturer of clothing' and it was abandoned in December 2003:

The reason is that the owner did not file in any Statement of Use after the trademark was granted. She had three years to do so, and since she chose not to do anything about it, the trademark was deemed abandoned (Stacy K. Smith is the attorney hired by Herself, btw). That means she specifically implied not to intend using it in the future. As such, she may claim NO rights on a now free to use mark:

The second trademark was aimed at producing 'clothing, namely, t-shirts, dresses and headwear' and also 'jewelry, namely, rings, pins and necklaces'- to cut the story short: OL merchandise - and it was cancelled on March 1st, 2013:

The reason is that the owner did not file the Section 8 declaration (of continuous use for five years) within the allowed legal timeframe (6 months after the fifth anniversary of the trademark granting renewal). Her trademark federal rights are now deemed canceled (but not her state law and/or common law rights!) and if she wants to ever use that name again, she would have to start the whole process over, bearing in mind the trademark could have been granted to someone else, in the meanwhile (not her case).

And for anyone who might ask, 'Erself does not own any other trademarks whatsoever:

The other (Doll Lab - LOL for ages) Diana Gabaldon is a pharmacist from Albuquerque, NM. Chill. 🤣🤣🤣

The owner of the copyright to the fictional toponym Lallybroch, as far as published text is concerned, is Diana Galabdon.

The owner of the copyright to the fictional toponym Lallybroch, as far as motion pictures are concerned, is Sony Pictures Television Inc.

The owner of the copyright to the fictional toponym Lallybroch, as a personal work of music, is Mrs. Kelly Ruth Davis, of Pennsylvania, USA.

The owner of the Lallybroch Spirits trademark will be Sam Roland Heughan, when that trademark is granted by the USPTO.

I hope this answers your question, @rosfrank. Thank you for asking.

[ixlander]

         What is the family? So deep runs the idea that the family is the exclusive place where people are safe, where people come from, where people are made, and where people belong, it doesn’t even feel like an idea anymore. Let us unpick it, then.          The family is the reason we are supposed to want to go to work, the reason we have to go to work, and the reason we can go to work. It is, at root, the name we use for the fact that care is privatized in our society. And because it feels synonymous with care, “family” is every civic-minded individual’s raison d’être par excellence: an ostensibly non-individualist creed and unselfish principle to which one voluntarily signs up without thinking about it. What alternative could there be? The economic assumption that behind every “breadwinner” there is a private someone (or someones) worth being exploited for, notably some kind of wife—that is, a person who is likely a breadwinner too—“freely” making sandwiches with the hard-won bread, or hiring someone else to do so, vacuuming up the crumbs, and refrigerating leftovers, such that more bread can be won tomorrow: this feels to many of us like a description of “human nature.”          Without the family, who or what would take responsibility for the lives of non-workers, including the ill, the young, and the elderly? This question is a bad one. We don’t hesitate to say that nonhuman animals are better off outside of zoos, even if alternative habitats for them are growing scarcer and scarcer and, moreover, they have become used to the abusive care of zoos. Similarly: transition out of the family will be tricky, yes, but the family is doing a bad job at care, and we all deserve better. The family is getting in the way of alternatives.          In part, the vertiginous question “what’s the alternative?” arises because it is not just the worker (and her work) that the family gives birth to every day, in theory. The family is also the legal assertion that a baby, a neonatal human, is the creation of the familial romantic dyad; and that this act of authorship in turn generates, for the authors, property rights in “their” progeny—parenthood—but also quasi-exclusive accountability for the child’s life. The near-total dependence of the young person on these guardians is portrayed not as the harsh lottery that it patently is, but rather as “natural,” not in need of social mitigation, and, furthermore, beautiful for all concerned. Children, it is proposed, benefit from having only one or two parents and, at best, a few other “secondary” caregivers. Parents, it is supposed, derive nothing so much as joy from the romance of this isolated intensity. Constant allusions to the hellworld of sheer exhaustion parents inhabit notwithstanding, their condition is sentimentalized to the nth degree: it is downright taboo to regret parenthood. All too seldom is parenthood identified as an absurdly unfair distribution of labor, and a despotic distribution of responsibility for and power over younger people. A distribution that could be changed.         Like a microcosm of the nation-state, the family incubates chauvinism and competition. Like a factory with a billion branches, it manufactures “individuals” with a cultural, ethnic, and binary gender identity; a class; and a racial consciousness. Like an infinitely renewable energy source, it performs free labor for the market. Like an “organic element of historical progress,” writes Anne McClintock in Imperial Leather, it worked for imperialism as an image of hierarchy-within-unity that grew “indispensable for legitimating exclusion and hierarchy” in general. For all these reasons, the family functions as capitalism’s base unit—in Mario Mieli’s phrase, “the cell of the social tissue.” It may be easier to imagine the end of capitalism, as I’ve riffed elsewhere, than the end of the family. But everyday utopian experiments do generate strands of an altogether different social tissue: micro-cultures which could be scaled up if the movement for a classless society took seriously the premise that households can be formed freely and run democratically; the principle that no one shall be deprived of food, shelter, or care because they don’t work.

Sophie Lewis, Abolish the Family

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty

The Haven gets a new donor, Silco wants a side deal.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 4,900

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, veiled references to organized crime, arguments, oral sex (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, and blackmail

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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You did your best not to squint at the men on the other side of the table. Doing so would only make it look like you were suspicious of them. 

You were suspicious of them, of course, but there was no need to be obvious. 

“My apologies, gentlemen,” you said slowly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but with all of the opportunities available to you, I don’t understand why you are so interested in helping to fund the Haven.”

“It’s complicated.” Jayce Talis, the most famous Piltover inventor in recent history, rubbed at the space between his heavy brows. 

“I do own and operate a relief organization and facilitate certain healthcare treatments, including minimizing the effects of Shimmer withdrawal,” you pointed out mildly. “Maybe, if you explain it slowly, I can follow along.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward, emphasizing the fullness of his lips. He was famously handsome and infamously unavailable, but that was fine. Your tastes ran in other directions. 

His business partner - a man who was known around the Undercity only as Viktor - crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat. You tried not to judge it as a show of poor manners, especially when he straightened his leg with a wince. It was very likely Viktor just needed to adjust positions. Of course, it was equally likely that he didn’t find you very amusing. 

“Make your point, Jayce,” Viktor muttered. “We have important business to take care of at the lab.”

“Yes, the lab,” Jayce said, adding a nod in your direction. “As you may already know, HexTech is doing well. We have made several important advancements and are set to debut more over the next few years. We own the patents to everything outright, so all profits come to us. Piltover has given us a few dozen grants and investments have flooded in. We have plenty of money to pursue the further development of HexTech.” 

You nodded. It all seemed simple to understand so far.

“There is one particular area where HexTech does not excel: outreach.” Viktor interrupted with an impatient look at his now-pouting business partner. “That is why we reached out to you.” 

“Yes, but is there a particular reason you want to support the Haven rather than any other Undercity outreach?” you pressed. Maybe you were a little paranoid, but your recent experiences with Silco had convinced you that being more discerning was probably a smart move. 

Jayce sat forward slightly. “The Haven’s track record is impressive. Your expense justification reports have all shown remarkably low operating costs, your residents have started to find work with other Undercity businesses, and there’s plenty of buzz about the dent you’ve made in the Shimmer trade in your neighborhood.” 

The blood roared in your ears at that. “That’s an overstatement, of course. Drug use waxes and wanes in neighborhoods over time. It’s just coincidence that Shimmer use decreased when the Haven opened.” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, but Viktor looked like you had finally said something interesting. “I assume that is the line one must repeat vehemently if one wants to avoid the attention of the chem barons.” 

“Chem barons?” Jayce repeated, now frowning harder. “They’re a local legend, a convenient shadow government that the people can blame their problems on.”

“Of course,” you agreed. 

Viktor looked darkly amused. “Nothing more than a legend, certainly.” 

“Yeah…” Jayce said slowly, glancing between you and Viktor. “Anyway, we’ve heard about the decreased drug use and we want to support that as much as possible. You and the Haven seem like the best choice to make that happen.”

“How is your security?” Viktor asked abruptly. 

“We have a small team of guards for the exterior of the building,” you said honestly. It probably wouldn’t help anything if you told them exactly who was paying for that small team of guards. “There is almost no Enforcer presence in the Lanes, so we can’t count on a patrol happening at a crucial time.” 

“I can pull a few strings,” Jayce assured you, totally confident. “I have some connections with the Enforcers. Piltover wants to support new development, especially when it isn’t tied to the drug trade. And they’re not going to find anything better than an anti-Shimmer organization with a proven track record.” 

You nodded in acknowledgement of his point, but looked to Viktor. “And you? Do you also think the Haven is a good match for HexTech’s goals?”

Viktor lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I fail to see what impact your outreach could possibly have on the Undercity. The politics are snarled, the people are desperate, and there is too much money to be made from exploitation.” 

That was a harsh assessment, but it was true. Jayce cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Viktor spoke again before the better-mannered of the pair could offer any reassurances. “That being said, I am… reluctantly impressed by what I have heard of your meetings with Silco. There are few willing to argue with him.” 

You stiffened slightly at Viktor’s mention of Silco. Up to that point, you had both pointedly avoided using his name, as evidenced by the way Jayce was glancing between the two of you. 

“I don’t understand,” Jayce admitted. “Who is Silco?” 

“You will find out,” Viktor said, the statement sounding both threatening and utterly inevitable as he stood. “I must return to the lab. Jayce, I agree with whatever choice you make.” 

You watched as Viktor leaned heavily on the cane and left the building. It was situated at the edge of Piltover, just across the bridge from the Undercity. Jayce had assured you multiple times that, if they were not working on time-sensitive experiments at HexTech, they would have been more than willing to meet you in the Undercity. He may have even been telling the truth. 

Jayce was still half-smiling when he looked back at you. “Who is Silco?” 

You got the impression that he would keep pushing until he got an answer, so you chose your words carefully. “He is a… major player in the Undercity. He wants- well, he says he’s working for the good of the people. That’s up for debate.” 

“But what does he do?” Jayce pressed. 

“He’s an industrialist.” You sat very straight on the edge of your chair - not quite standing, but giving the impression that you were ready to leave. “Speaking of helping the Undercity, I need to get back to the Haven. When you’ve made a decision about your outreach, please let me know.” 

“Easy enough,” Jayce said, standing to offer a hand over the table. “HexTech would like to provide funding for the Haven, to be used in whatever way you think is appropriate.” 

You were giddy with excitement, and it rushed through your veins like adrenaline. Somehow, you managed to keep a straight face long enough to thank Jayce and accept the check he filled out for the Haven. It was generous, which made your heart soar. You would be able to help so many people!

The good news put a spring in your step and you were still bouncing as you climbed the stairs to Silco’s office. Thankfully, no one was around so early in the day - you had serious doubts about your ability to look cranky and irritated right then, but you would have been obliged to put on a performance if there were onlookers. 

“You seem cheerful,” Silco noted as you closed the door behind yourself. 

“So far, so good,” you told him, walking over to his desk. “What’s the plan for today?” 

He ignored your question. “Productive morning, I take it?” 

“Very.” 

You peered out through the window. The Last Drop was just barely tall enough for you to catch glimpses of the building projects happening over near the Haven. The mechanic’s shop was well on its way to being completed, the construction crews had broken ground on the second apartment building, and the grocers were taking over an existing building, so they were already in the process of hiring staff. 

As you leaned back, you caught sight of a familiar handprint on the glass and your lower belly tightened with the reminder of how it had gotten there. 

“And how much will HexTech be allotting you?” 

With the casually conversational way Silco asked his question, you didn’t immediately notice that anything was wrong. Your attention was split between the handprint on the window and the ever-increasing needs of your body. At last, awareness filtered through and you froze. 

‘I-” You cleared your throat, giving your best innocent expression as you turned to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

Silco gave an impatient gesture. “Come, pet, we have already discussed that I know all that happens in Zaun.” 

“Nothing happened in Zaun,” you said blandly. 

His answering look was dry. “But a potential alliance between the Haven and HexTech undeniably concerns Zaun and her future. Do me the courtesy of assuming I know of your meeting with the two inventors behind HexTech.”

“Fine,” you agreed, largely because he gave no indication of moving on. “I met with the owners of HexTech.” 

“Thank you,” Silco said, gaze drifting to the window. “And how much has young Talis decided to give the Haven?” 

You paused, uncomfortable with the idea that you needed to place a boundary. You and Silco shouldn’t be close enough to need things like boundaries - the clear divisions between you should have been so obvious as to be implied. “I’m not sharing that information with you.” 

“Why not?” he asked. “If I know the size of their donation, I can exceed it.” 

“I don’t need any more donations at the moment,” you told him. 

Silco’s brows unfurrowed. “Ah, that much? Congratulations. You may rest secure in the knowledge that the sale of your morals has fetched so high a price.” 

You recoiled at the slight before you could stop yourself. A drug lord was going to lecture you about morals? That bothered you. Surely that was the cause of your discomfort. Any other reason would imply that Silco was important enough to you that his opinion mattered. 

“I didn’t have to sacrifice my morals to accept their donation, unlike others the Haven has received in the past,” you told him icily. 

Silco stood abruptly, his chair lurching back with the movement. You held your ground, though it took more effort than you were comfortable with. “My donations served your residents just as well as the ones from HexTech will, and at far more dire a time. Do not act as though I were not there to support you every time you have needed me.” 

You gaped at that. “Because we’re in a deal! Every donation served you just as well as it did me - it increased your leverage over me and the Haven. Convenient, since you need me around for an easy source of sex.” 

He scoffed, looming over you. “Do you truly believe that there are not others who throw themselves at my feet? I receive more offers of easy sex than you would believe possible.” 

“Then why keep me around?” you pressed. 

“Because you are the only one who offers the slightest hint of a challenge!” he snapped, breathing heavily. You had stepped into him rather than away, and he was already so close that your chest and his were nearly touching. You glared at each other from inches away before one or both of you closed the gap separating you.

His mouth was hard and unyielding against yours, disinterested in any hint of refusal. Fortunately, refusing his kiss was the last thing on your mind. The energy of securing the HexTech donation was still crackling through you, and sex was a wonderful outlet. The slight tinge of irritation accompanying it only served to increase the appeal. 

You met him with lips that were already slightly parted, and your tongues were dueling in a moment. Kissing Silco wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to you, but it was still rare enough that you considered it a novel experience. 

Your toes were curling at the slow luxury of his mouth on yours. Silco was rarely in a hurry, even now, when you were apparently taking a break in the middle of a fight. Your interest was only piqued further when he started removing your clothing with rough movements. When he had finished, he pushed you backward as you gasped with shock.

Fortunately, Silco had thought far enough ahead to position you close to his desk. The sensation of your bare ass on the cold surface of the desk was jarring, but you watched Silco eagerly. You were more than willing to brave the temperature difference in order to watch him undress for you. 

To your surprise, Silco lowered himself, fully-dressed, into his throne-like chair. You eyed him, frowning as he took your ankles in his hands. They were placed to either side of his chair, leaving them supported by the arm rests at his sides. It went without saying that your knees were forced open by the position, leaving your core exposed to the air… and to Silco’s gaze.

That mismatched stare was fixed between your legs, studying the most private parts of you as you tried not to squirm. When he reached out to touch your cunt, you felt his fingertips like electric shocks… but he only parted your folds and continued his silent observation. 

Irritation, embarrassment, and need swirled together in you until the pressure pushed words from your mouth. “Silco. What are you doing?” 

“Studying my favorite acquisition,” he replied distantly. Even lost in your own distraction, you could feel the echo of your first time together, in this very situation in this very office, when Silco had said something similar. “And wondering how my pet can be so very unyielding, yet yield so delightfully in other areas.” 

You frowned at him - not that Silco was looking at your face. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find them down there.” 

That made him glance upward, a small smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you lay back.” 

You complied, though not without rolling your eyes. “If we’re having a repeat of our first session, I hope the sex is more satisfactor- Oh!” 

Without any sort of warning, Silco’s mouth had closed around your clit. You half-lifted back off the surface of his desk, staring down at his face between your legs. You could only hope that your expression was less desperate than you felt, but wicked pleasure filled Silco’s gray-green eye, so you didn’t think that was accurate.

And then he set about making you forget all about expressions and irritations. Silco buried himself between your thighs, teasing you with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. He nibbled, he stroked, he thrust… He used every hint of weakness he had gathered from you over your time together, recalling every sensation that drove you wild and subjecting you to all of them at once.  

You arched up off the desk so sharply that the muscles in your back and abdomen protested. Your knees tried to close around Silco - either to keep him close or to force him away from you, you weren’t sure which - but his shoulders kept you spread open and subjected to his torment. 

By the time he had pressed three fingers deep inside of you, your body was glistening with sweat. You were panting, your hips trying to both ride him and grind closer to the lips that were wrapped around your clit.

Silco always ate you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else, but this was more intense than anything you had experienced with him before. You didn’t remember when you had sank your hands into his hair, but it didn’t matter. You were using him only as an anchor; he never moved far enough away for you to need to pull him back. 

At last, he removed himself from you, pulling away almost entirely. The only parts of his body that was touching you were his shoulders, still holding you spread open for him. 

“Silco?” you asked, an edge of desperation clear in your voice. 

“Shh, pet,” he soothed. “I am trying to decide whether you deserve the reward of coming on my tongue.” 

You whined, lifting your hips as if you could convince him to come back. 

“I am less than thrilled by your association with the Piltover business,” Silco admitted slowly. Torturously slowly. “Yet I suppose you may have earned a treat for coming to meet with me anyway. Is that correct?”

You nodded. 

Silco leaned slightly closer. “You would not break our deal over a single donation from another business, would you?” 

You shook your head. 

Silco came even closer then - still not touching you, but near enough that you could feel every exhale on your damp folds. “Does our deal still stand, pet?” 

You nodded, but Silco shook his head. “I need to hear it in that lovely voice. Tell me, darling: does our deal still stand?”  

“Y-yes,” you stammered, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Yes!”

“Ahh…” he mused. “How long will it stand?” 

He watched you with a gaze so sharp you understood instinctively that he would only accept a spoken answer. This one was more challenging; he hadn’t told you what he wanted you to say and thinking was difficult when your brain was soaked in hormones and arousal. 

“Until- ah!” Silco had darted a long lick up your folds - not touching anything firmly enough to throw you over the edge, but still startling. And distracting. “As long as I’m in the Undercity.” 

“Our deal will stand as long as you are in the Undercity,” Silco repeated. You nodded and he looked thoughtful. “I suppose I must offer sufficient incentive for you to stay, then.” 

As if the shock of it removed you from the situation, you noted it dispassionately as he parted you a little more, nestled his nose against your clit, and thrust his stiffened tongue up inside of your heat. 

And then the moment of observation passed. You were thrown back into your body just in time for it to go through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your body arced up off the desk again, muscles spasming so hard that you had the vague sense of Silco holding your hips against the surface so you didn’t throw yourself onto the floor. 

But that was a dim knowledge, far in the background of your thoughts - the vast majority of your brain was caught in a stranglehold of pleasure. How could you be expected to lay still when every bit of you was crackling with such intense energy? You had to move. It was not possible to do anything else. 

At last, Silco removed the live current that was his mouth against your core. He had to struggle against the grip you had on his hair. You weren’t really trying to keep him in place, but your muscles had locked down in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

“How do you feel?” he asked conversationally, when he had freed himself from your grip, losing a few strands of hair in the process. 

“Nnn umm…” Nope, those weren’t words. You tried again. “Needum mint.” 

“Take your time,” Silco invited, relaxing back into his chair. He licked his lips, cleaning the shine of you from them with his tongue. Watching the process made your uncomfortably sensitive body tighten, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. When he had licked everything he could reach, Silco retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, chin, and cheeks. 

If you were capable of higher thought at the moment, you might have been embarrassed by how much of a mess you had made on Silco’s face. Fortunately, the brain fog was still too dense, and you just watched him vacantly. 

Rather than rush you into another round, Silco snagged a piece of paper from beside your hip. He lifted it and started to read. From the light that filtered through it from the window behind him, you could see that there were schematics of some kind drawn on the page. They were highly detailed, but something about the writing looked young, like it had been done by someone without fully developed fine motor function. 

And then Silco’s fingers wrapped around your ankle and you stopped thinking about anything else. Especially when those fingers began to play idly against your skin, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on your anklebone. 

“How much more reading do you need to do?” you gritted out at last. 

Silco glanced up at you instantly, eyebrows raised. “I can stop at any time, pet. I was under the impression that you needed a moment to recover.”

“I have recovered.”

“Why did you not tell me immediately?” Silco asked. 

Despite the censurious words, he lazily tucked the schematics into a desk drawer before he stood. In a moment, he had opened the front of his trousers, pushed aside the layers of fabric, and lined himself up with you. 

There was something almost sweet about the fact that Silco was so hard. He had brought you pleasure without being touched in return, and yet his erection hadn’t flagged while he sat quietly reading for minutes. For all that he was a selfish, manipulative bastard, Silco was surprisingly impacted by the way he affected you. 

Any hints of altruism were shoved aside as Silco plunged inside of you. Rather than hesitating or asking if you were ready, he surged powerfully forward until he was seated as deep inside you as he could be. Your hips shifted to accommodate him and your legs trembled against the arms of his chair as you struggled to surface against the pressure of him stretching your walls. 

Silco’s hands were tight on you. One was wrapped around your hips, providing an anchor point as he began to thrust in and out of you. His other hand was firmly on your ass, half-lifting and half-squeezing as he rolled his hips against you. 

That rolling motion made your lips part for air as you stared up at the ceiling. Silco was big enough to fill you, but something about that motion put pressure against your walls in a way that felt almost cyclical. It was like he was fucking a little circle inside of you every time he pushed in, which meant that you got intermittent pressure against your g-spot. It was magical. 

You tried to lift against him, to counter-thrust and speed things up, but Silco wasn’t having it. His grip was firm enough to hold you utterly still, making sure that all you could do was experience the way he was taking you apart for a second time. 

“Silco, please,” you gasped out. “Faster. Harder. Please.” 

“No,” he denied simply. Silco’s hand momentarily released your hip to grab your wrist instead. He tugged it downward until your fingers were brushing the throbbing place between your legs. “If you want your pleasure, you’ll have to take it.” 

You were tempted to deny him and yourself, if only to prove that he wasn’t in charge of you, but the slight graze of your fingertip over your own clit made you squirm. But if you were going to be responsible for your own orgasm, you were damn well going to make sure that Silco helped.

With some effort, you lifted your legs from where they were still resting on the armrests of Silco’s chair. It took only a moment to wrap them around his waist, and when you tightened them, the pull was strong enough to force Silco forward against you. 

When he had bottomed out inside of you, Silco’s grip shifted upward, pressing against the surface of the desk on either side of your hips to support the shift in his center of balance. His eyes widened, startled as you kept him close. You used your newfound freedom to thrust your hips, moving him and out of your core as you strummed at your clit. 

The resulting sensations were enough to take you sailing over the edge again. This orgasm was less abrupt than the last one, but almost more satisfying because your inner muscles had something to lock down around. 

Dimly, you registered that Silco was trying to withdraw from you, but couldn’t escape the grip of your leg muscles. You only understood his reasoning when his body stiffened, face tightening and growing slack as he reached his own peak. 

Silco’s orgasms tended to be subtler than yours, but even his legendary poker face failed him. His expression tightened, then went slack as his body spasmed in a series of explosive surges. He hissed out a curse that sounded like half a prayer, his lips continuing to move long after he had stopped speaking loud enough for you to hear it. 

Slowly, you let the tension seep from your leg muscles. When your feet were dangling toward the floor once more, Silco eased himself out of you. The first spill of your combined mess seeped directly onto the surface of Silco’s desk, but he cleaned it up and caught the next with the same cloth he had used to wipe his face earlier. 

When Silco was seated in his chair once more, you took the cloth and held it in place as you slid down from the desk. Silco smiled wryly. “I never intend to make such a mess, but you are irresistible. Especially when you’ve wrapped me in those lovely legs. If I must be trapped, I will say that I prefer to be trapped in your embrace.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused gently. 

“It is a lovely benefit when the truth is flattering,” he replied, giving you a look you didn’t quite understand… until he added, “Now, pet, tell me how much I should write for the amount of my next donation check.”

You turned toward him with an irritated huff. “Are you still talking about this? I don’t need an extra donation from you, especially not when your motivation is simply to outdo someone you consider a threat.” 

Silco’s lip curled. “I hardly consider those two boys to be a threat.” 

“Then what is your problem with them supporting the Haven?” 

“I dislike the idea of Piltover gaining a foothold here in Zaun,” Silco explained after a moment of thought. “Even if their influence is only over a small outreach. It could hinder the growth of Zaun’s independence.” 

You bit back the irritation that rose at the Haven being referred to as a small outreach. It was a small outreach, of course, but it was so important in your life. It hurt to be reminded that your work was considered minor to other people. 

“Fine,” you said instead of telling him any of that. “What are our options? I’m not telling you how much they donated.”

“Very well,” Silco said tightly. By all appearances, he was displeased with your insistence, but something about the look in his mismatched gaze gave you the distinct impression that he was getting something he had been angling for all day. “If you will not allow me to match HexTech’s donation amount, I would be willing to overlook their involvement in the Haven…” 

“And what will it cost me?”

“I want to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.”

It took a beat for you to remember what that was. “Jazper’s group? No. Absolutely not.” 

Silco watched you in silence. His brow creased and it was like watching a far-away storm building into something catastrophic. 

“I have no control over that,” you expanded. “I can’t risk everything I’ve built - I can’t risk the Haven - to argue for you being part of the meetings.” 

“And I would never ask you to,” Silco assured you smoothly. “I have other resources at play. All I need from you is not to argue against me being on the committee.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So you don’t need me to fight for you? Just don’t tell them not to let you join?” 

“Yes.” 

It seemed simple. Almost too simple. And yet… it had been a long day. You could use some simplicity. “Fine, I agree to those terms. If someone else brings up the possibility of letting you join the committee, I won’t argue against it.” 

“Perfect.” Silco took the end of your conversation as an opportunity to refasten his clothing, so you started to get dressed as well. 

By the time you had finished, Silco was holding out a slip of paper toward you. You looked from it to his face, unwilling to accept an unknown item from him. He continued to offer it anyway.

“If I understand, your objections were not to me making a donation, but to me trying to make a larger donation than HexTech,” Silco explained. “I do not know how much they donated, but here is my offer.” 

“Silco…” you lamented, arms still folded across your chest. 

He lifted a brow. “If you prefer, I could resume trying to discover the HexTech donation amount…” 

You sighed loudly so there could be no mistaking your irritation as you snatched the check from his hand. You didn’t look at the amount, but the way Silco grinned as you shoved it into your pocket didn’t seem promising.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you next month with another update!

Quick reminder: this story does take a lot of time and effort to write, edit, and format every month. At this point, we're up to roughly a 200-page book. I appreciate the likes that you guys give me, but reblogging my work is the only way new people can find it. I would really appreciate it if you would reblog not only my fics, but any fics you enjoy!

[ihrtsevyn]

HOW TO GET THE GIRL: A LOVERS GUIDE

CHAPTER ONE: tutoring who? (1k)

WARNINGS: none :)

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You couldn't help but sigh in relief as the end of the school day approached. A lack of sleep and the constant build up of assignments further dug you into a tiresome zombie-like state.

You repeatedly tapped your pencil against your opened notebook with pages that remained blank. Your unwavering blank gaze watched as the once vibrant green leaves turned into a warmer palette indicating the approach of your favorite season. Nothing felt more serene in that moment as you watched the pretty mix of oranges, and yellows carelessly flow through the air and land to create an intricate pattern.

The peaceful motion of the leaves lulled you into a peaceful state, your eyes and head getting heavier by the second. You fought the flutter of your eyelids as long as you could before finally deciding to succumb to sleep, but before the darkness could fully take over the final bell had rung, signaling to your relief that it was finally time to pack up and head home.

Your once wearied body made quick work of packing all of your belongings, tuning out whatever your teacher had continued to ramble on in a haste. The only thing that seemed to pull you out of your autopilot-like state as you were preparing to leave the class was your deskmate, Yoon, who linked her arms with yours after slinging her backpack across her unoccupied shoulder.

"I'm so ready to go home." she whined with a forced pout. Yoon had complained to the group earlier about her lack of sleep as well, which after some bribing and forced puppy dog eyes to lily, she was able to get the meeting moved back to tomorrow. "You and me both." you sighed out before slinging your own backpack across your shoulder.

"Feels like i've been here forever." you added on as the both of you slowly trailed behind the other bustling students. "We're gonna grow old and die in this place." Yoon murmured with a tired smile, making you quietly laugh beside her. "God, I hope n-"

Before you could finish your sentence, your teacher, Ms. Park had called your name. Her tone laced with an uneased urgency making both you and Yoon snap your heads towards her desk.

She beckoned you over with a gentle smile. Slowly you untangled your arm from Yoon and headed towards her desk. "I'll wait for you outside." she reassured you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. You nodded back before slowly making your way to sit in front of the now open chair placed beside Ms. Parks desk.

She gave you a reassuring smile despite her patent anxious demeanor.

As all of the students cleared out of the room and the hallways started to get quieter and quieter she finally spoke.

"Well, first I want to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. You're excelling in my class with the highest grade and you turn all of your work in on time." she quietly consoled while fixing her glasses.

Her efforts to comfort you were futile as you knew you did well in her class, the only thing you were anxious about was the sudden disruption of your exit, and why.

"Do you know the basketball team's star player?" she suddenly asked, her once busy and frantic hands now stilled as she brought a packet up to her face.

"Nishimura Riki?" you questioned with a slight tilt to your head. Of course you knew him, you had been making fake scenarios of the two of you so you were able to sleep at night since you were 13.

She hummed in response before pushing the stack of papers over to you. "These are your current grades." she informed before clasping her hands together.

You slightly hunched over her desk to view the papers. Both of your names were highlighted, yours sitting at the top with a grade average of 99.7, while his remained at the bottom with a grade average of 28.6.

Your eyes widened at the gap but in the end you weren't that surprised. He had been absent for most lessons and if he did end up attending once every blue moon, he'd have to leave in the middle of it because of practice.

"Well, as you see his grades aren't the best, and now that the basketball team is training for their upcoming winter game, he's become more occupied than before."

You nodded along quietly as you fidgeted with your fingers, you had a burning feeling in your gut that you knew where this conversation was headed and you couldn't tell if it excited you or made you want to throw up.

"And since you're my top student in class and have tutored other students before who have come out with great results— I was hoping that you'd be able to take some time throughout the week to tutor him?"

She continued to drawl on and on about why she picked you but it landed on deaf ears as you drowned out her rambles. Tutor, Nishimura?

The kid you had a crush on since you were 11 because he sat and ate lunch with you when nobody else did? The boy who would give you his umbrella if you forgot yours because he knew you had a longer walk home than him? The Nishimura that hadn't spared you a glance now that you were in highschool and he was popular, while you were stuck reporting about his achievements?

The both of you were mere acquaintances back then but it still stung when you two stopped interacting altogether. Even when your interactions dispersed into nothing, your feelings still lingered and possibly even grew stronger.

"Are you up for it?" she suddenly asked, her hopeful and soft tone drawing your once occupied gaze away from the paper in front of you and back onto her.

Your mouth sat agape for a moment as you went over the information in your head again and again. Ms. Park seemed to sense your hesitancy in accepting her offer which made her add on to her proposal.

"If you're willing to do this i'd really appreciate it. You're the only student I fully trust to take on this task considering many of the other self-proclaimed tutors don't take it as seriously."

Another lengthy moment of silence passed through before you released an exhale you didn't even realize you were holding.

"Okay, I'll do it."

𓂃 . ࣪ ˖ ∿

"YOU'RE TUTORING WHO?!"

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah my sweet sweet babe can you do a story where Eddie is a single dad of twins who are maybe in like 5th grade and Reader is Steve’s sister who works at the library and that’s where he meets her? Their names can be whatever you want!❤️❤️❤️

Hiii lovey!! So I am just now noticing you said 5th grade and not them being 5 so I am very sorry about that😂🙈 I went with them being 5 and this is very short but it’s to give you an idea of how a story like this could go? To test the waters if you will? I hope you enjoy💖

*The girl’s names are super random and can change if you have something you like better! It will 10000% not hurt my feelings if you hate the names lol*

*Eddie just wants to take his girls to get some new books but as always they have other ideas*

“Daddy is not going to let you get all those.” You place your hand over your mouth to cover your giggle as you see two little girls walk past you, both with their arms full of books.

“He will too they are his favorite.” You slowly follow behind them with your cart full of books to place back in their correct spot on the shelves. You can’t help but notice the section of the library they wondered out of, science fiction, which wouldn’t be an issue if they didn’t seem to be no older than maybe five or six.

“How do you know? You can’t even read.” The blonde one stops in her tracks and turns so she’s glaring at her brunette haired sister.

“Now that’s just rude.” You’re about to ask the little girls if they need help finding their dad when all of a sudden someone rounds the corner and lets out a dramatic sigh when he sees them.

“It’s about time.” He says as he reaches down and fixes the bow in the blonde girl’s hair that’s keeping half of it up while the rest flows freely past her shoulders. “I was about the send out a search party.” The girls laugh as he kneels down so he’s eye level with them. “Let’s see what we’ve got here….Rachel first since she’s the one who asked oh so nicely to visit the library in the first place.” The brunette little girl grins as she hands the man her pile of books.

You lean against your cart as you watch the interaction between the three of them. Rachel is all smiles as the man who you can only assume based on how all three of them have the same curly hair and big brown eyes is their dad, looks over her selection of books putting one in a stack next to his converse covered foot. The other little girl is patently waiting her turn but also smiling as her dad puts another book on the stack next to his foot.

“Excellent choices sweetheart but I say let’s maybe stick with the Harry Potter series for now and let’s save the Hunger Games for another time?” You feel your eyes go wide as he mentions two book series that are usually read by much older kids. Rachel just nods her head and picks up the two books next to his feet, both being Harry Potter books. “Now let’s see what you’ve got going on over here little miss Lydia.” You smile as she proudly hands over her stack of books and the man instantly smiles and nods as he picks up the first book on the stack. “Really? Again? We’ve read it six times already princess.” You see that the book in his hand is the Hobbit and you’re not surprised based on the other little girl’s selections.

“I like Bilbo.” Lydia explains and the man just smiles and puts it on the floor next to his foot, creating another keep pile like he did for Rachel.

“Honey…this is the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy…don’t you want something you haven’t heard before?” Lydia just shakes her head and he just lets out a sigh of defeat as he places the three books on top of the Hobbit. “Okay well let’s help Rachel put her books back that she’s not getting.” With that Lydia grabs one of the books that Rachel picked that didn’t make it to the keep stack as the man picks up the lord of the rings series.

“Told you he’d let me get them all.” Lydia smirks as Rachel just playfully rolls her eyes, you quickly try to act busy so it’s not painfully obvious you just spent the last five minutes watching a man and his little girls pick their next library books.

“Excuse me ma’am,” You turn your head and all of a sudden you’re face too face with the dad and you have to admit he is extremely handsome up close and personal. “Can they give these to you? I’d normally take them back myself but we are running late for someone’s music lessons.” He smiles down as Rachel before looking back up at you with hopeful eyes.

“Oh of course.” Rachel and Lydia each hand you a book and give you kind smiles before they turn and take off towards the front of the library so they can check out their books. “They have great taste.” You joke as you place the first two volumes of the hunger games on your cart full of go backs.

“They do don’t they? At least for two kids who can’t read yet and just make their dad do it all for them.” You laugh making Eddie smile as he moves the books in his arms to one side so he can reach his hand out towards you. “I’m Eddie…Munson.” You make a mental note of his name in your head because you swear you’ve heard it before as you reach your hand out to shake his.

“Nice to meet you Eddie.” You say after you introduce yourself. “I think you’re being summoned.” Eddie raises an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder and low and behold there’s his two girls waving him down and pointing at their wrists letting him know he needs to hurry because they’re already late, not that they are old enough to tell time but they just are impatient and want to leave the library.

“Ah yes my little timekeepers.” You laugh as he looks back at you and smiles. “Nice meeting you…maybe I’ll see you next time?” You’re not sure if he meant to ask it like a question but you just nod making him grin before he turns and heads off into the directions of his girls who are now visibly showing their annoyance of having to wait for him.

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT, I hope you are doing well! who is your favorite Weasley?

Thank you! Absolute treat of a question. Oh, man. It's Ron, right? It was always going to be Ron.

So here's the thing: the Weasleys are a really well-characterized family in that you can kind of see a lot of character emerge through limited sketches and contextual information. Bill is Number One Boy, the best at everything, oldest child who was always confident and at peace with his indisputable place in the family; so he's a chill, cool, incredibly competent guy who naturally takes-charge. Charlie is a patented never-grew-out-of-your-middle-school-dragons-phase Weird Kid, but like, mindfully and enthusiastically so, because his parents probably still had plenty of time to support and nurture his interests; plus he's also different to Bill and excels in different ways, so they aren't too competitive (as we see). Percy is the first one to suffer from the pressure of mounting expectations, and he's very quickly followed by the twins, who do the classic "if I can't be the best I'll be the worst" late-sibling trick of acting up for attention, so he gets lost in the shuffle. (The fight between Ron and Percy in Chapter 58 is, hence, in substantially about the relationship between the two most-ignored members of the Weasley family, and that's why Ron is so much angrier at him than the rest of them. Like I've said before, Ron always thinks he's got it the worst, but he takes pride in being able to kinda "tough it out," and nothing pisses him off like other people's self-pity.) Ginny is obviously the baby of the family, a girl with everyone wrapped around her finger, and I love her, but I feel like we didn't get enough grit in her portrait— she's just really successful in everything she does, in a way that can read as flat to some people, and certainly read as flat to me my first time through the books. In fact, Ginny reminds me a lot of Bill: first daughter/first son, described often as "cool" and clever and good at basically everything, charming and generally liked by all. Which is lovely. A delight to read, just like the twins are. But my taste in characters ranges way more fucked-up and mean.

Ron is the last boy, "sixth son of a woman who wanted a daughter" (fascinating line that complicates everything we know about Molly's relationship with her kids — and BTW, how the hell does Ron know that, and how old was he when he learned it? And this also comes into play with Molly's cry of "not my daughter" to Bellatrix which like, as a moment obviously fucking rules, but also — there's a reason she says daughter, not "child," right? Do you see what I'm digging at? Anyway). Ron meets Harry and recognizes himself in how Harry defaults to thinking people don't care about him, or won't help him if he asks, because — although they come from very different circumstances, Ron's home was completely loving, just not as nurturing as he always needed it to be — Ron usually goes in assuming people don't care about him, too. So his first instinct is to go: "Alright. Well, I'll care about you, then, weird stranger. Do you want to share my horrible sandwich, and also my life, perhaps?" Goddamn! Sixth of seven in a house with never enough to go around, and he's immediately like: "fuck it, room for one more." Because he could have been Percy — and you can see it in the way that Ron is mean, sometimes, he's not careful with his words and he struggles with empathy and he's got a vengeful streak that comes out when he's pissed — but he isn't selfish enough, he loves too much and too easily, and it takes shockingly little to earn his loyalty. You just have to pay a little attention to him.

[kodamaghost00]

30 Alastor Headcanons

———————————————————

[Disclaimer!!]

This is for entertaining purposes only,so if you don’t enjoy these things just scroll past please!This post will contain: Sfw, Fluff, Romance!

It’s also Genderless for the girls,gays and theys! You are a new Resident at the Hazbin hotel in these scenarios.

———————————————————

Let’s begin!

The first day you checked in the Hazbin Hotel he came up to you. “Hello Dear! And what does a sinner like you do here?” You just look down with a frown on your face. He pulls your chin up to look at him “Smile dear! You’re never fully dressed without one!”

He never makes the first move. He patently waits till someone approaches him just to turn them down.

The first time you saw him eat lunch you were… disturbed to say the least. You knew that cannibals are common in hell but you never saw one in person.

You were a long fan of Alastor. You listened to his broadcasts long before you met him in person. You were also super sad when he went missing for 7 years.

Alastor walks around hell knowing that no one’s going to challenge him. So he hums sweet melodies to himself while walking around.

He loves to dance with you while listening to jazz music.

After he lost Mimzy he had basically no friends at all that he knew from the living realm. Not that it matters to him but you feel sad somehow.

He drinks wine mixed with blood. Only sometimes though since he begins to ramble when he’s drunk. “Have you listened to my RADIO broadcast before dear??”

He was suspicious of you when you first entered. He didn’t know if you truly wanted to be here. You might cause trouble to him.

He has a bunch of scars on his body due to his fights back in the day.

He is an excellent cook. He sometimes prepares breakfast for the people in the hotel.

Charlie is such a cutie. She’ll go up to you and ask if you and alastor are doing well. And if you’d say “no” she’ll try to cheer you up.

He loves taking you out to fancy dinners around the town. No one interrupts your little dates. “Are you enjoying it, dear?”

Sometimes when you’re overwhelmed with everything he comes into your room and puts up some relaxing jazz. “Care to dance with me my love?” You nod and begin to dance.

He lets you touch his ears occasionally. You can tell they’re well maintained by the fluffiness. You even asked if you can see his tail. He allowed it after a long discussion.

Husk and niffty get along with you super well. You began talking to them, trying to get more out of them about Alastor. Husk would tell you about his past if it was appropriate.

When you asked him if he’s sad about not having any friends he just laughed. “Haha! Dear you know I’m better off without them.” He smiles brightly.

He sings under the shower. Mostly old jazz songs.

Cats>>>> Dogs. Mostly related to his past but he’s over all a cat person.

He wouldn’t understand the new terms for the sexual agenda, even though Charlie tried to explain it to him multiple times.

He and Rosie are best friends since forever. He also promotes her shop every now and then.

He’s super old fashioned so he’d call you “Dear” or “My love”.

He actually cares about the reputation and safety of the hotel.

He is a mamas boy. He treats woman super nicely since his mom raised him to be a gentleman.

Him and Zestial were fighting buddies back in the early days of hell. He calls Zestial old just to piss him off.

He likes being the small spoon while cuddling.

He punched Susan once after she called his staff tacky and useless. She truly is an old bitch.

He used to live in cannibal town near Rosie. They would go out and talk about everything.

Rosie was the one to show him how to style his hair. She also did his makeup once and since then he never tried a new style.

He defends you every time someone is mean to you. “Huh? Oh… I shouldn’t have killed them? Well! It’s done now so there’s no going back!”

———————————————————

MASTERLIST

Thank you all for reading! Alastor has been my favorite Hazbin character since 2019. The moment I laid my eyes on him I couldn’t resist but love that fellow! I hope you enjoyed the little headcanons. Have a great day/Night!

- Your Ghost ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

[thirteenemeraldcats]

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣

[sergeifyodorov]

nhlers who should go on gbbo

finding this old ask in my inbox and realizing.... it's finally time for you king...

i'm also putting connor mcdavid in here for this one. Known One Sport Athlete Connor would be historically bad at this. i'm picturing vividly him staring into his oven door with his patented mcdavid thousand-yard stare, wondering once again why the gods have forsaken him

quinn hughes i feel. not only do we know he possesses some kitchen-based competence he also has the gentle yet assertive spirit required to communicate with yeast in the baking of breads and doughs. also he would have a flour handprint in his hair or something and just walk around like that unaware, which would be hilarious

sidney "banana bread" crosby. he would win easily though so maybe not...

the other hugheses but they have to work as a team and quinn is NOT allowed to help

pastrnak... he'd be bad at it but he'd approach his misshapen failures with the same joie de vivre he approaches everything

dylan strome. not only because connor mcdavid being there would potentially incur some excellent dynamics but also because dylan is a) a nerd and b) an overthinker so he would have EVERYTHING parsed out and meticulously detailed in advance. does he have the natural Spirit Of Baking? no but none of them do really. does he know what a madeleine is? if you told him he was about to be on GBBO he would be able to recite the 1755 recipe off by heart by the end of the week

[dragonroilz]

The Lifesurger: Genetic Anomaly

**Given my track record, I'd like to state that there are no further plans for this concept.**

this concept was made because i hate how there's not a true support character in this game which i understand why thats the case. if youre in singleplayer theres no point for it. the medimarker and feedback loop passive gives a reason to want to pick up allies and heal people. maybe this game will never fit a true support archetype but as a permanent support class mf in games like OW, TF2, and LOL it scratches an itch in my brain lmao

Feedback Loop - Passive

Healing yourself(via items) or others will make your attacks stronger. Decays over time. Amount charged is proportional to healing done.

Feedback Pulse - Alternative Passive

Healing past a certain threshold creates a burst of healing around you, harming enemies and healing allies. The threshold increases with level.

Stimshot - Primary

A single shot that can be held down to do more damage. The projectile heals and pierces through allies, while dealing damage to enemies. A fully charged shot pierces enemies and heals more damage. While an uncharged shot is a projectile with gravity, the charged shot is hitscan.

DIRECTORY: MARK - Secondary

The Medimarker targets a selected enemy and attacks it. Additionally, all damage done to the target is tripled.

DIRECTORY: BLOCK - Alternative Secondary

The Medimarker targets an ally and shields them. The target is only able to take an amount of damage up to 50% of their max HP in one hit.

DIRECTORY: ESCORT - Utility

Recall the Medimarker and grab onto it to ascend upward. This skill recalls your secondary.

DIRECTORY: MOUNT - Alternative Utility

Recall the Medumarker and ride it. The drone is weighed down by you, but can be controlled for ten seconds. The drone has less gravity and is faster than your sprint speed.

Pulse Accelerator - Special

Empower yourself and surrounding allies, giving a 50% chance to critical hit chance, removing all debuffs(except void kills, cooldown debuffs like rings, etc.), and a slight healing aura to anyone within range of the skill.

THE MEDIMARKER V1.0.0 LOGBOOK ENTRY:

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is a prototype firearm that is meant for quick healing on the battlefield. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) excels in its ability to both heal organic creatures and repair machines, meaning that cybernetic enhancements can benefit from the effects of the firearm.

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is also able to hurt enemy combatants by disrupting cardiovascular tissue, genetic material, and electronic signals. Through the help of an accompanying MED-E to identify friendly and hostile entities, the Lifesurger(Patent pending) is slated to be one of the greatest supporting assets on the battlefield.

Side effects may include: Vomiting, nausea, soreness, sudden bruising, death, genetic scrambling of previous users, limb loss, fever symptoms.

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LIFESURGER LOGBOOK:

[CAM 3]

Patient 4-B is seen through the facility. She is escorted by a damaged MED-E.

4-B: COME ON MED-E. JUST A BIT FURTHER.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM 4]

Patient 4-B is seen using Dr. A. Kurosawa's keycard to access Restricted Section 2.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response received.]

Patient 4-B is seen entering Restricted Section B.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response. Automatic alert issued to UESC authorities. This is the last alert they receive from this station.]

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM B-1]

Patient 4-B is seen running down the hall. Her IV is disconnected as she trips. The MED-E helps her up. They continue running. 4-B's vital signals are dropping as a result of loss of ?????.

She stops in front of ROOM 1.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM ROOM 1]

The door opens.

[Admin has been alerted to the breach. No response.]

Patient 4-B pulls the Lifesurger(Patent Pending) off of the wall. She misfires into her chest and falls unconscious.

The MED-E prods her body with stimulants. There is no response.

Something is pressed up against the glass. It's cracking.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[EXT. CAM A]

Dr. A. Kurosawa is seen standing over the corpse of an unidentified creature. Her hands are up as UESC-dispatched enforcers approach her. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is strapped over her back.

Enforcer: IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

KUROSAWA: I AM DOCTOR KUROSAWA.

Enforcer: DOCTOR KUROSAWA. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?

KUROSAWA: I DON'T KNOW. THERE ARE MORE INSIDE.

Enforcer: GET TO THE SHIP.

Three enforcers enter the facility. Dr. A. Kurosawa moves out of the FOV. The escorting MED-E follows her.

[Post analysis: Patient 4-B did not report to UESC authorities following this encounter. Her current location is unknown.]

Detective's Notes: I don't know how, but she somehow passed the genetic and facial recognition tests. Someone please let Captain ???? know about the background of his alleged "doctor". Although somehow I doubt he'll really care, seeing as how he's got some real screwballs on board.