#ted nelson

[fabulaturbatory]

(from “computer lib” zine by ted nelson, september 1970)

[joshuahowls]

What is a footnote? It’s a thought trying to escape in another direction.

-  Ted Nelson

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

Lo and Behold: Reveries of the Connected World

Ted Nelson, information technology pioneer, philosopher, and sociologist talking about his way of considering reality and the original role of copy and paste on the internet. Director: Werner Herzog Release: 2016 Distributor: Magnolia Pictures

[boredtechnologist]

Ted Nelson's "Computer Lib" manifesto - 1st Edition

[z-zzzzzzz]

[shiberamune]

send post

[nameless-jamie]

Offside Tension - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist

Chapter 10: Under the Floodlights

The flat was too quiet.

Y/N sat on the edge of her sofa, elbows on her knees, hands tangled in her hair. The television was on, some random late-night rerun humming faintly in the background, but she wasn’t watching it. The air in the flat felt stifling, as if the walls were pressing in, shrinking with every minute she spent replaying the day in her head.

The pub. Jamie. His words. His smile. That look in his eyes when he’d said, Don’t shut me out.

She groaned, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling as if it would offer her some kind of answer. But it didn’t. All she could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and all she could feel was the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest.

She’d spent her entire life on football pitches. The smell of fresh-cut grass, damp leather boots, the sharp whistle of a referee, the thunderous roar of a crowd—they weren’t just familiar; they were home. When her playing career had ended, it had felt like losing a piece of herself, like she’d been cast out into the world without a map.

But coaching had brought her back. It wasn’t just about strategy and drills and matchday speeches. It was about being part of something bigger than herself, about helping others find their place on the pitch—just like she had all those years ago.

And now here she was, trying to make sense of it all, trying to separate her role as a coach from the feelings she’d started to develop for Jamie.

Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag in the corner of the room, still packed from training earlier that day. Without thinking, she grabbed it, slinging it over her shoulder as she grabbed her keys. The flat felt too small, her thoughts too loud.

She needed space. She needed clarity. And there was only one place she knew she could find it.

Y/N pushed open the side door, her key clicking softly in the lock. The stadium was dark, except for the faint glow of the emergency lights lining the hallways. She walked down the familiar corridor, the soles of her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

When she stepped out onto the pitch, the floodlights flickered to life with a low hum, illuminating the empty stands and the pristine grass. It was like stepping into another world, one where time slowed down, and the weight of the world disappeared.

She dropped her bag by the sidelines and pulled out a ball, rolling it beneath her foot as she stared out at the goalposts.

This is where I belong, she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the lights.

She set the ball down and took a few steps back, her body moving on autopilot as she lined up her shot. The moment her foot connected with the ball, a rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins. The ball sailed into the net with a satisfying thud, and for the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe.

She grabbed another ball and did it again. And again. Each kick was a release, a way to channel all the frustration and confusion swirling inside her.

The stadium was eerily quiet at night. Y/N walked across the empty pitch, her footsteps muffled by the damp grass. The floodlights hummed softly above, casting long shadows that stretched across the field. She felt like she was standing in another world—one that belonged only to her, stripped of the noise and chaos that usually defined her days.

She reached the penalty spot and stared at the goal ahead. Her chest felt tight, her mind a tangled web of thoughts she couldn’t untangle. Jamie. Coaching. Jamie. Doubts. Jamie. Her career. Always Jamie.

Frustration bubbled up, and before she could think twice, she kicked one of the stray balls scattered on the pitch. It sailed into the goal with a satisfying thwack. She grabbed another ball and did it again. And again. Each kick was harder, more forceful than the last, as though she could release all the emotions clawing at her chest.

Jamie Tartt couldn’t sleep.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint sound of traffic filtering in through the partially open window. His body was tired—training had been grueling—but his mind was restless, replaying every moment of the day over and over again.

Y/N.

She was all he could think about. The way she laughed, the way she challenged him, the way she looked at him like he wasn’t just a footballer, but a person with depth and worth.

And the way she’d pulled away.

It wasn’t rejection. He knew that. He could see the conflict in her eyes, feel the tension in the air whenever they were near each other. But knowing she was holding back didn’t make it any easier.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. His flat felt too quiet, too empty, too... wrong. He needed to clear his head, to do something other than lie there and drive himself mad.

Grabbing his jacket, he headed out into the night, his feet carrying him down the familiar streets. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he rounded the corner and saw the glow of the floodlights in the distance.

Y/N was mid-swing when she heard a voice behind her.

“Blimey, remind me never to get on your bad side.” Jamie's voice rang in her ear. “Didn’t know breaking and entering was part of your coaching style.”

She spun around, startled, to see Jamie standing at the edge of the pitch, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets and a cheeky grin on his face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his lips curving into a half-smile. “Saw the lights on and figured someone was nicking the grass. Turns out it’s just you, takin’ out your frustrations on innocent footballs.”

She shrugged, gesturing to the goalpost. “Sometimes you just need to kick a ball around.”

He smiled, but there was something softer in his eyes as he looked at her. “Mind if I join you? Again...”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sure.”

They kicked the ball back and forth for a while, the steady rhythm of the game filling the silence. Jamie cracked a few jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but he could tell something was weighing on her.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips during their wordless interaction. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.” He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he took her in. “You alright?”

The simple question made her throat tighten. She looked away, toeing the grass with her shoe. “I don’t know.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”

“Alright,” he said, stepping closer. “Then I’ll talk.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers. “You don’t have to say anything. But I need you to know that you’re not just a coach to me. You’re... everything.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him.

“You make me better,” he continued, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Not just on the pitch. You make me want to be better, to do better. And I know I’m not makin’ this easy for you, but I need you to know that I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Because you’re worth it.”

Eventually, she stopped the ball beneath her foot and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how to do this, Jamie.”

He tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“This,” she said, gesturing between them. “You. Us. Coaching. Feeling…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s all so much.”

The rain started softly, the cool droplets kissing her skin. Jamie laughed, looking up at the sky. Their bodies were now mere centimeters from each other.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “We really do look like a rom-com right now, don’t we?”

She laughed despite herself, the sound breaking through the tension. “Yeah, we do.”

Their laughter faded, and when her eyes met his again, the air between them shifted.

“This feels familiar,” she murmured.

“Déjà vu, it's kind of our thing,” he said with a small smile. “Guess the universe is tryin’ to tell us somethin’.”

She laughed at his little banter in this serious moment. "I guess the universe wants us to finally get it right."

Her heart pounded as he stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t shut me out, Y/N.”

And this time, she didn’t.

“Jamie…”

He tilted his head, his voice a whisper. “Yeah?”

She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance between them, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as she pulled him into a kiss. The moment their lips met, it was like the world disappeared. The rain, the floodlights, the empty stadium—it all faded into the background.

Jamie’s hands cupped her face, his touch gentle yet firm, as though he couldn’t believe this was real. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“About time, love,” he said with a grin, his voice low and warm.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Shut up, your moves were lacking too.”

"Jamie Tartt has all the moves, baby," he smirked, but it faltered. "But you had my head proper fucked. This whole unrequited love thing really messes with your head, and I just wanted to kiss you the whole time, but the moment wasn't right and—

Y/N stopped his rambling with her own. "What the hell, unrequited—wait, love? Don't tell me you fell in love with your coach, Tartt. That is totally unacceptable."

Y/N smirked, still teasing him a bit for his sudden confession after the best kiss she'd had in her life.

"Oh, come off it, babe. The coach had her eye on me since day one. Love at first fight, that's what you call that."

Y/N laughed at Jamie's cheesy wordplay. They did banter a bunch, but that was just them. "Love is the right word to describe it, Tartt."

And with that, a smile broke out on both their faces, brighter than anyone had ever seen them smile.

They stood there for a while, letting the rain wash over them, neither of them wanting to break the moment.

For the first time in weeks, everything felt right. Let’s see what the future holds for Jamie Tartt and Coach Y/L/N.

[dcdreamblog]

A bit of an odd question but who was/is the best dancer in the JSA? The one mystery man who was only killed on the dancefloor?

Now this is a FUN question, though honestly one that would be hard to answer. I'll just keep it to the membership of the core, Golden Age JSA for simplicity's sake.

Let's check things off as we go.

Dr. Fate, Dr. Midnite and The Sandman: Were all noted as being incredibly mousy and introverted.

Charles McNider (Midnite): Was a lifelong bachelor who was always more concerned with his various intellectual pursuits. He didn't drink and his natural position at any function was in the corner, feeding our d'oeuvres to his owl.

Kent Nelson (Fate): Equally so, being a book learned archeologist whose wife was more likely to share a night at the library than the dance floor. At any social function, Kent and Inza Nelson truly only had attention for one another. You'd leave them alone at a candle lit dinner table and come back to find them sharing the light over some dusty scroll.

Wesley Dodds (Sandman): Was noted as being instantly eclipsed in any social or hosting capacity by his companion Dian Belmont. His teammates were often known to comment that the Dodds with and without his mask seemed like two entirely different people. Jay Garrick is once noted as saying that an unmasked Dodds "struck me most as a clerk, juxtaposed against Belmont's gothic elegance."

Starman: Would usually have been noted in a similar category to those above. UNTIL his marriage to Adele Drew. Drew was noted by a contemporary Daily Planet reporter as "Homely in appearance but of excellent humor and infectious energy" making her the perfect fit for the often melancholy intellectual she married. (That is NOT how anyone who knew her would describe her. Hippolyta once said Adele Knight was "Gorgeous of spirit and overflowing with love") While they DID dance, Knight was noted as being VERY unskilled, mostly floating along on his wife's ever present enthusiasm.

Green Lantern: Was an interesting conversationalist, and often popular at social functions, noted as having a voice for speeches. However his heavy build and more serious air kept him from being much of a dancer. (The only evidence I can find of him ever dancing is from memoirs about the reception of his wedding to his second Wife Molly Mayne (AKA Harlequin) which speaks more to the outsized effect she's had on him than anything.)

Wildcat: Any boxing historian can tell you that Ted Grant was not a sportsman known for his footwork. I read one account that described his style as "pouncing on the other guy and giving better than he got". Those more familiar with the sport can comment there. He was however known as a boisterous presence, especially when drinking.

Atom: Al Pratt was a man with a lot of good qualities. He had a lion's heart, he was loyal to a fault and he was tougher than a team of oxen. He was also 5 foot nothing and could be described as having two left feet if you cloned him and taped them together. His wife Mary wasn't known to be much better. Their "dancing" mostly included the two stepping on each other's toes, apologizing at the same time, and giggling about it.

The Spectre: ...let's be serious here.

Hawkman and Hawkgirl: Were just a TAD too self serious to be "cutting a rug" among the styles of the time. They were noted as accomplished classical dancers, the kind of couple that could draw eyes when something fancy was playing. As noted with the Nelsons above, though. It was often said that the two only ever had eyes for one another. It was running joke that the Hawks would always be the last to leave any function because they were slow dancing in each other's eyes 3 hours after the band had gone home.

Wonder Woman: Is a literal Queen. Not exactly the kind to be circling the floor at a cocktail party.

Hourman: For a born scientist, Rex Tyler was also known as particularly energetic especially in the aftermath of a battle. His wife, Wendi, being a stage actress was also trained as a dancer. Due to Rex's general lack of grace and Wendi's spontaneous, laughter prone personality however, their dancing was usually described along the lines of swinging each other around until they fell into a heap. Dr Midnite once said "It was common knowledge that any party where the Tylers only destroyed a single digit number of chairs was a sign of good fortune."

Johnny Thunder: DID dance. That does not, however, mean that he COULD dance. As the youngest and "hippest" of the JSA's number, he was always stumbling his way through the steps of this or that new dance craze that was sweeping the teenage population. He always seemed to be having fun, even if the flying debris of hands and feet made his space on any dance floor a rather wide berth.

Black Canary: I cannot describe to you the amount of a sexpot this woman was for her time. Like. Wavy hair over one eye, netted stocking, slit up both thighs, low cut, smoky eye shadow, wolf whistle, eye popping, hummina hummina AWOOGA sexy. Every single time the original Black Canary walked in the room, every monocle hit the floor and a bunch of upper class ladies discovered what lesbianism felt like. The woman could dance, and she could make the whole room WATCH her dance. But let's be clear in that no one was watching her "dance". You get me?

Mr Terrific: I mean obviously. There was not a single goddamn skill that one could quantify that Terry Sloane did not possess. All the big, fancy dance steps that people take classes for he could do inside, outside and backward inside an afternoon. Among his medals and accolades are evidently national ribbons in Salsa, Waltz AND Flamenco. He's Mr. Terrific. He could dance.

But then there's the actual ANSWER to the question.

The Flash: Jay and Joan Garrick were gaga for each other. Happily, loudly, publically, head over heels in love. The kind of love that starts a clan (which they eventually did, neither here nor there). The JSA is an organization RIFE with all time great love stories. But Jay and Joan Garrick were not a love story, they were the kind of light up the room, keep the conversation going, huddle the whole gang around the fireplace talking about nothing until sun up kind of couple. Socially, the entire JSA revolved around them.

And they danced. Boy did they DANCE. The kind of dancing that only a midwestern couple like that CAN do. The kind that got everybody up on their feet and clapping with the steps. The kind where a sweep of her simple dress somehow made her look like a twin city princess. The kind where a simple flourish and a dip made Jay seem like the most romantic leading man of all time. They danced because their happiness was infectious, and every time they did, a simple benefit party became a barn burner.

(A picture, originally secret. From Jay Garrick's bachelor party. June, 1947. For those of you wondering. That makes this June their 77th)

[knobbysocks]

I know this place fucking stinks

[alexanderkirk]

commission

好久之前的稿子了

[sapphyreblayze]

Justice League International by Kevin Maguire

[evilhorse]

Justice Society of America #9 (Tony Harris Variant Cover)

[melonnabar]

Heads up, I opened an INPRNT if any of y’all are interested !

[z-zzzzzzz]

[dailyjsa]

Scooby Doo Team-Up #77-78 cover by Dario Brizuela and Franco Riesco

[nameless-jamie]

Offside Tension - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 4 - Lines Crossed, Hearts Questioned

The past few days had been... strange for Y/N. She wasn’t exactly sure when things had shifted, but something about Jamie Tartt had lodged itself in her thoughts, and it was beginning to feel impossible to shake. The banter between them was harmless, playful even, but every smirk he gave her lingered longer than it should have in her mind. Every time he called her “love” in that casually cheeky way, her stomach did this ridiculous little flip that made her want to kick herself.

Why, of all people, was Jamie Tartt starting to get under her skin?

She didn’t have much time to dwell on it this morning, though. Training had wrapped up smoothly, and the team was dispersing. Y/N was standing near the pitch, watching the players file out, when Jamie walked past her, his usual swagger on full display.

“Good drills today, Coach,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind. Then, after a beat, he added with a smirk, “Maybe next time, I’ll let you win one-on-one.”

She raised an eyebrow, biting back a retort. “Let me? Pretty sure I wiped the floor with you, Tartt.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, and for reasons she couldn’t quite place, her breath hitched. She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on gathering her clipboard and whistle. When she glanced back up, Jamie was already walking off, but he glanced over his shoulder and gave her a quick wink. Her face flushed, and she quickly turned away, hoping no one had noticed.

Unfortunately for her, Keeley Jones had. Keeley saw her from Rebecca’s office and wanted to say hello to her new friend, but didn’t expect the heavy flirting with a certain Mancunian.

Later, as Y/N sat on a bench reviewing her notes on the sidelines of the pitch, Keeley’s voice broke through her concentration.

“Alright, spill.”

Y/N looked up to see Keeley standing in front of her, arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.

“Spill what?” Y/N asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Keeley said, plopping down beside her. “You’ve been all distracted today, you didn’t even show your face in the locker room. And don’t think I didn’t notice that little... moment you had with Jamie earlier.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It wasn’t a moment.”

“Babe, it was totally a moment,” Keeley said, nudging her playfully. “So what’s the deal? You fancy him?”

“No,” Y/N said quickly. Too quickly. She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, it’s just... he’s Jamie Tartt, you know? And we’ve only ever had this... flirty banter thing going on. It’s not like it’s real.”

Keeley tilted her head, studying her. “Why do you think it’s not real?”

“Because...” Y/N hesitated, searching for the words. “Because I’ve seen the way he is with people. He’s charming and cocky and—”

“And completely different from who he used to be,” Keeley finished for her. “Y/N, I know Jamie can come across like he’s all bravado, but he’s changed so much over the past couple of years. You should’ve seen him when he first came back to Richmond. He was a nightmare. But he’s worked so hard to be better—as a player and as a person.”

Y/N frowned. “What changed?”

“A lot of things,” Keeley said. “Ted had a big impact on him, obviously. And then there’s his dad...” She paused, her expression softening. “Jamie’s dad’s in rehab now. But before that, he was... well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly Father of the Year. Jamie’s had to deal with a lot of crap from him. But instead of letting it drag him down, he’s used it to push himself to be better.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the thought. She’d seen glimpses of vulnerability in Jamie—moments when his confidence seemed more like armor than arrogance.

“I didn’t know that,” she said quietly.

Keeley smiled gently. “He doesn’t always let people see that side of him. But it’s there. And I think... maybe he lets you see more of it than you realize. I think you could be that person for him.”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered at the implication, but she pushed the feeling aside. “I don’t know, Keeley. I’m his coach. This... whatever this is... it’s complicated.”

Keeley shrugged. “The best things usually are.”

That evening, Y/N stayed late at Nelson Road to finish up some paperwork in her office. By the time she was ready to leave, the parking lot was nearly empty, save for a few cars. She climbed into her own car, an old, beat-up thing she’d bought on a budget as soon as she arrived in Richmond. Better to have a car than no car at all. She turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing.

“Great,” she muttered, leaning her head against the steering wheel. She shouldn't have listened to the guy at the car dealership, but she had a habit of being bad at saying no to salesmen.

A knock on her window startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Jamie standing there, his brows furrowed in concern. She rolled down the window.

“Car trouble?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “It won’t start.”

“Pop the hood. I’ll take a look,” he said.

She hesitated. “You know anything about cars?”

“Not a clue,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’ll give it a go.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she popped the hood. Jamie peered inside, poking at a few things while muttering to himself. After a few minutes, he stepped back, wiping his hands on his track pants.

“Yeah, I’ve got no idea what I’m doin’,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure this thing’s not goin’ anywhere tonight.”

Y/N groaned. “Fantastic.”

“Come on,” Jamie said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

She hesitated. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, his tone softer now. “But I want to.”

Something in his expression made her relent, and she grabbed her bag, following him to his car. The ride started off awkward, the tension between them palpable. But as they drove, the conversation began to flow more easily. They talked about football, about their favorite players and matches they’d seen. Jamie told her about growing up in Manchester, and she shared stories from her own childhood. They found out that they both think Messi is way better than Ronaldo.

"No, I know. And the whole goal celebration thing. Like, it’s a team sport. I mean, who only celebrates themselves after a goal? A little arrogant, if you ask me." Y/N knew what she was saying and to whom she was saying it. She’d seen some of Jamie's old goal celebrations. But teasing him was just too tempting at the moment.

"Wow. Ok, foul play. I'm a changed man now, love. These days I would even consider celebrating with my coaches," he side-eyed her.

By the time they pulled up outside her flat, the air between them felt lighter, though the tension was still there, humming just beneath the surface. Jamie turned to her as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. "And for taking a 'proper look' at my car."

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice quieter than usual. "You should get it checked out by a professional tomorrow."

"Oh, so you're not professional enough to fix my car for me, Tartt?" She stopped the light banter mid-sentence because Jamie tucked the loose strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes behind her ear in such a loving way. It took her breath away, literally.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their eyes met, and Y/N’s breath caught. Jamie leaned in slightly, and for a split second, she thought he might kiss her. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt herself leaning in, too, before reality crashed down around her. You're his coach, for heaven's sake.

“Goodnight,” she said quickly, pulling back and fumbling with the door handle. She practically stumbled out of the car, her cheeks burning.

“Goodnight,” Jamie said, his voice tinged with disappointment and definite confusion as she hurried inside.

Once she was safely in her flat, Y/N leaned against the door, her heart still racing. What the hell was happening to her? Jamie Tartt was turning her world upside down, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.