#yes i'm biased about my projects and actually want to do a good job on the research paper

[longroadstonowhere]

paradoxcase hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet

“we don’t know if these scrapbooks can be handled”?

i ended up going with "they are not currently fully assessed for what would be appropriate levels of handling by the general public", which still feels like awkward phrasing but at least is a phrase full of words i know are okay for a professional context

[bebx]

So I'm not in the Harrow fandom but like, what would happen if he met Henry (or Eddie because I'm biased w my boys) or Jack?

Harrow is a crime show from what I can tell?

Just curious what your thoughts are.

*for my other moots and followers, this is about Henry Creel from Stranger Things, not Henry Morgan from Forever (though I love both Henry’s very dearly).

okay, a little background for my beloved Doctor Daniel Harrow (played by the one and only Ioan Gruffudd)

Doctor Harrow is the main protagonist of a series called Harrow, and he’s a talented pathologist who’s… well, highly stubborn, so he doesn’t follow the rules and always does things his own way. he can be reckless and arrogant, some people call him selfish (also a pain in the ass) but in a good way, and he’s a good person. (he’s also extremely gorgeous it’s insane.)

so basically in the show, we often see Harrow conduct an autopsy to determine the cause of each body’s death. except that sometimes (most of the times) Harrow does more than his job description says, and goes out of his way to investigate things by himself if he suspects a foul play was involved. and he’s always right and basically he’s the one who solves crimes with his stubbornness and recklessness and also his talent.

I love this show so so very much. it’s so very good, one of the best shows I’ve ever watched, and it means so much to me (and I need a season 4).

now back to your ask! I call it a sign because a crossover between Harrow and Henry Creel is actually something I’d been thinking about writing for like a couple of months now. then I got your ask and I was like ‘now this is a sign. I really have to write it into existence!’.

so here it is: a modern age AU Stranger Things where Henry and Harrow met!

anyway, I think, if we’re talking about canon Stranger Things, I think Harrow would never be okay with Henry’s actions, what he did (the massacre, which, for the sake of the plot, never happened in the crossover fic I wrote). he would never condone the abuse Henry went through, but that didn’t mean he’d think the massacre Henry committed in canon could ever be justified.

I mean… I don’t know, that didn’t mean Harrow wouldn’t understand either (understanding something =/= condoning or justifying something). because, in the series, Harrow himself also had his own dark secrets that he had to hide. so I think… Harrow would understand why young Henry felt the need to kill his parents. but adult Henry who murdered those kids in canon? yeah, I think that would be another story.

from how I see it, if Harrow could, he would have done anything and everything to stop adult Henry from hurting innocent people. that meant either he or Henry would end up dead, because Henry would have to kill him first if he wanted to go ahead and hurt those innocent people.

however, Harrow also had the tendency to do anything and everything to protect the people that he loved. so I think it would depend on who Henry was to Harrow. if Henry wasn’t a friend, then I think Harrow would stop at nothing until he stopped Henry (and yes, that meant either Henry killed him or he killed Henry). but if they were friends, then I think that would be where things got complicated. because while, in canon, Harrow used to break laws to protect people he cared about, what adult Henry did was still something I really don’t think Harrow could ever accept or condone. so, even if they were friends, I think Harrow would still do anything in his power to stop Henry. he would hope he could stop him by putting him behind bars so that Henry was at least alive and so that Harrow could try to help him walk the right path, but if his hands were tied and if stopping Henry meant killing Henry, I think Harrow would probably go with it still, only because he didn’t have any other choice. and then he’d probably blame himself, thinking maybe if he’d done something differently he could have saved Henry. but basically Harrow would end up with yet another lifelong trauma.

(good thing is that the angst isn’t this severe in that crossover fic I wrote, so don’t worry, they’re both okay there!)

moving on to Eddie Munson. if Harrow met Eddie, oh I think that would be interesting and nope, it wouldn’t be anywhere as angsty as his meeting with Henry, that was for sure.

I think Harrow would see Eddie as a son, and Eddie would see Harrow as a father figure of sorts, a role model even.

in the show, Harrow did (almost) have a troubled son whom he looked after. I think if he met Eddie and if Eddie had a rough childhood, was somewhat troubled, then Harrow would step in and look after him.

As for Jack Sparrow, I think these two would probably find each other annoying at first. But after some rum, I believe they would be some sorts of a chaotic duo who caused shenanigans together.

Harrow and Jack are actually alike in several ways in my opinion: both are stubborn, reckless and Harrow sure can be mischievous.

so yes, him and Jack together would be hella fun.

[eletricheart]

Video Games

(Mother Miranda x Reader)

*image creds to the owner

Word count: 1.583

"heaven is a place on earth with you"

----------------------------------------------------

It was just another monday when you two met. Miranda was at Umbrella perfecting the E-001, while you dealt with the legality of it all. Having a project that quite explicitly goes against the ethical code required an executive to supervise, and that's what you were doing.

It was the first day of work and your constant presence was starting to annoy Miranda, she was a renowned scientist, having done this ever since before you were born, there was no need for this. But you never left, having fun every time she broke a glass while staring at you.

It became a routine, everyday you would supervise her and she would threaten your life.

Everyone in the lab noticed the change in behavior before you both did. How the greetings went from rolling eyes to smiles. How Miranda became hypnotized when you questioned her doings. How you adoringly stared at her even during the most gross experiments.

Once the project was determined a failure, Miranda still visited you, claiming to keep her enemies close. Those days were precious to both and the departure hurt every time.

It was one of your late nights at the roof that the priestess invited you to travel.

"How do you feel about Romania?"

You looked at her with a confused expression. "I guess I like it, never been there to tell."

"What if I took you there?" She hesitantly asked.

You smiled before answering. "Well, then, my opinion would be totally biased."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because I would adore any place you're in."

She rolled her eyes with an embarrassed smile. "We'll leave in a week."

You laughed. "Deal."

The trip was fun, she didn't take you to her village, at least not yet. You would visit the museums with her explaining the story behind most artifacts, and on the other hand during city exploring you would be the one with the historical curiosities.

She rented a house for more privacy so in return you made dinner…tried…you both drank more than ate. 

You were sitting on the porch talking nonsense as the moon took the sky when Miranda finished her second wine glass. "So, what made you choose Umbrella? You're smart enough to work anywhere else."

You giggled and filled her glass. "Their working hours were the lowest I could find."

The priestess rolled her eyes. "I'm being serious."

"So am I. I like the free time and everyone is happy."

"Everyone who?"

You sighed and looked at the stars before answering. "My family, they always wanted me to have a good job, preferably in law, so this one was perfect. I do what they want, but still can have something more."

Miranda curiously looked at you. "If you could be anything, what would you choose?"

You smiled dreamily. "I actually always wanted to be an archeologist, or an explorer."

The priestess smiled back at you. "I think you would be amazing at it."

You blushed and shaked your head in disbelief. "I think you're the only one."

"Then everyone else is an idiot."

You chuckled and laid your head on her shoulder, changing topics and talking the night away.

After the trip, Miranda's visits became less frequent, and with the disappearance of Eveline, you were drowned in work.

She appeared on your door a few days before Christmas, inviting you to her house. In all honesty, you wanted to say no, work was eating you alive and there was still much to do. But when she looked at you with those blue eyes, you knew you had lost the fight, so you said yes.

To Miranda' surprise, you took in the village pretty well, not only wanting to see every corner of the place but going around with incessant questions about the religion. After two days of asking to be at the meeting, the priestess accepted but not before telling the rules to every lord and giving you a sum up of their personalities.

Donna was the first to arrive, well Angie was to be more exact. The doll ran to you yelling about a new friend, in which you matched her energy perfectly, your curiosity over a talking doll was stronger than the fear of a talking doll. Miranda almost sent Angie away once she started to climb you, but your smiling face when looking at the priestess made her stay quiet, only greeting Donna and assuring her it was fine.

Moreau was the second, you weren't prepared for him but kept being polite and tried to smile as best as you could with a doll in your head.

Alcina was the third, and wow you were impressed. Miranda could see the gears turning in your head. You looked at the woman as if she was the most interesting  being in the universe, and strangely that made the priestess frown. The Goddess gave Lady Dimitrescu a threatening look, making the woman tremble and treat you strictly professional.

When Karl arrived, he ignored Miranda and made a straight line to you, being flirty enough to make the priestess growl and remove him from your side.

You obviously didn't mind, finding her behavior endearing. 

The rest of the reunion should have been boring, only weekly reports and some complaints, but you were enchanted by Miranda, even forgetting Angie that tried to call for your attention. It was like the world had faded and all you could see was the priestess.

She eventually noticed your staring, being filled with pride and overly happy that your attention was on her.

Once the meeting ended, Moreau and Karl were the first to leave, the latter not even daring to look at you. Alcina invited you for tea, much to the priestess dismay, but you scheduled it for another day. Angie didn't want to let you go, trying to bring you to her house to play, but you assured the doll that you would visit, all the while Donna just nodded at you as goodbye.

You stayed at the village for over a month, falling into a domestic life with Miranda, splitting house chores, cooking together, it was your little world. She would dance with you when you were feeling low. You would bake during her working hours and help her take a break between research. She would walk around with you, laughing when you stopped to draw something new or write down your discoveries. You became her explorer.

Your relationship with the lords improved, Moreau enjoyed your sea curiosities, Alcina and her daughters had fun telling about their hunts and businesses. Karl warmed up to you, gifting you little robots when you visited. Angie adored you and your games, but Donna enjoyed drinking tea with you, and calmly tending to the garden.

When it was time for you to leave the village, Miranda followed you until the airport. You wanted to stay, but the priestess never asked so you went back home.

Donna was actually the one to advise her to call you back since she noticed the woman's sad demeanor. 

So, Miranda went after you, she didn't quite understand her feelings for you but the need to have you close was overwhelming. The priestess showed up at your doorstep, not giving you time to fully open the door and just walking into your living room.

She started pacing back and forth. "I have something to ask you."

You arched an eyebrow at her. "It would be nice to know why you're in my apartment in the middle of the night."

Miranda took a deep breath and stood in front of you. "Will you come live with me? In Romania?"

You looked at her with a surprise face. "I have work and pilates tomorrow."

She chuckled. "You can be my explorer. Besides, the lords are missing you, Angie is being more annoying than usual."

You smiled and stared at the floor. "Do you miss me?"

Miranda was unusually surprised with your question. "I suppose your absence has been noticed and unpleasant."

You laughed at her response and asked to help you pack your belongings. Both ended up distracted by the stories behind your various decorating objects. In the end, you only properly left a week later, having to send a formal letter to your work, and cut ties with your courses.

Your return to the village was festive, even more special once you found out the lords decorated the castle themselves. Angie and Donna wouldn't leave your side, listening to anything you were willing to tell. The Dimitrescu children were mostly happy about the party, but they did welcome you back. Alcina and Miranda were talking about god knows what in a corner, while Karl was trying to stop Moreau from ruining his decoration.

It didn't take long for you and Miranda to fall back into routine, but this time the priestess ordered plenty of books on archeological discoveries for you, taking time out of her day to study with you.

Everything was peaceful, you finally had the time and encouragement to become a history nerd with a touch of artistry. And Miranda was starting to recover from her grief, becoming less obsessed, accepting the help of the Lords, and allowing herself to be with you.

Of course not all was perfect, you still fought sometimes, but never left. You've both been alone for too long in a world that was made for two. This heaven that you created wouldn't fade away, Miranda would make sure of it.

----------------------------------------------------

masterlist

[newkiqx]

Nearly every single modern computer utilizes cobalt, a mineral whose supply chain is so heavily dominated by slave labor that it's practically impossible to ethically source. Ignoring AI, it is even ethical to do digital art at all? The production of a drawing tablet is not a victimless crime.

I feel you when you want to reduce this to something as simple as a comparison. But bear with me (or alternatively, I put a tl;dr/conclusion at the end).

Much of capitalism is unethical - yes. I agree with this point completely. It's impossible to completely avoid unethical consumption in the world we live in. But it's good to be thoughtful of it and I think businesses and governments responsible for bad practice should be held accountable. Sadly I can't change the world on my own in any meaningful way, but i'll do my part where I can & vote people into power that care about this too.

Taking your comparison for a second, I feel like the art project of that OP was asking a much more direct "I bought cobalt I didn't need and then turned into a children's toy, could this be art?". And my reply was basically yeah sure it could be art, but was it worth it? My point is that I'm not sure on that last part, and leaning towards a 'no'. They specifically sourced it unethically and made that the center piece, which is distinct from the utilitarian nature of consumer electronics we need to get through our lives. Unethical sourcing of art can be a goal or statement (like here cw dead pets) but will then of course still be a part of it. I don't think ethics were considered for the post we're discussing though and it instead only discussed the very unproductive 'is it art' discourse. This, of course, matters about as much as my "dick" being objectively "long" or not.

Maybe getting a little sidetracked, but I also want to mention that cobalt is an extremely useful metal, whereas AI.. well.. i've mentioned the very human cost of mturk and the wholesale theft of the entire internet. There's also:

the power required

the jobs in art it threatens and therefore the skilled labor we stand to lose if we're not careful

the inevitable price hike and betrayal of the public as soon as alternatives are out competed (this will happen)

the risks of biases (racism, ableism, sexism) in an opaque weighted system like AI & the fact we cannot deal with this except for slapping some extra prompts in front

AI poisoning our actual collective knowledge with untrue shit. Recent cases in point being the hilarious fake mouse dick science being published and the ai generated inaccurate servals on google, but there's a lot more going on

the risks of companies and people in power using AI to more efficiently screw everybody over and hide behind 'machine told me so' accountability loopholes

the risks of AI being used in all sorts of malinformed use cases

But what are the gains? What do we stand to win? Call me cynical, but we already had an infinite amount of pictures at our fingertips, as well as all the mediocre writing you could ever want (but actually much better because someone loved writing it). I feel like all these general AI's are good for is filling the pockets of some very rich robber barons and grifters, as well as diluting everything that's beautiful and true in the world.

Quick sidenote - Some specialist AI have genuinely already improved the world, like with medical screenings, but even then it's hard to really call it a win because reverse engineering the reasoning of an AI is so fucking hard. And again, they're a slippery slope with insurance companies wanting a piece of that pie badly, just so they can apply their 'justified' penalties to people not even sick yet.

tl/dr; So in conclusion, no, I don't think your comparison holds up. I agree that it sucks that so much of necessary consumption is unethical in ways we can't easily fix as consumers. But one thing bad does not equate other thing good. If anything, it should inspire you to do better where you can make a difference and hold the ones responsible for the exploitation in this world accountable.

Don't let it eat you up though. I'm not even saying you can't use it for inspiration ever. But any art based on these generated pictures cannot be divorced from the ugly side we'd rather not see: the underpaid army of technically not slaves and the wholesale theft of everything.

also sorry but i couldn't not include this (source: matt bors)

[dark--whisperings]

✨ 15 Questions for Friends ✨

Thank you to @willameena and @tideswept for the tag!

---

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes! I'm named after one of my mom's best childhood friends. More specifically, she gave me the name because she didn't want people to be able to shorten my name/give me a nickname.

Plot twist: I have many nicknames, regardless.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last week. I'm an emotional human, okay?!

3. Do you have kids?

I have a fur child named Kira! She's an 11 year old f5 savannah cat.

4. What sports do you play/ have you played?

I used to competitively ski! I did both downhill racing and freestyle/park. I also used to play basketball and volleyball... actually currently trying to find a volleyball league in my city and take it back up!

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Depends! I love being sarcastic, but only with the right folx and In jest. Time and a place is key!

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

How they interact with me and others, and their stance on the current world landscape. I'm at the point in my life where I have no patience for ignorant, selfish idiots, and want to surround myself with people who are empathetic, genuinely connect with others, curious, open-minded, and willing to critically examine their biases and challenge their worldviews.

7. What's your eye colour?

Hazel! But it's funny... they do change colour, depending on the lighting and the colour I'm wearing.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I propose a third and fourth option: science fiction and psychological thrillers.

9. Any talents?

I have a scary-good memory. If you tell me your phone number, I'll automatically remember it.

10. Where were you born?

Canada!

11. What are your hobbies?

Hiking, camping, paddleboarding, anything to do with the outdoors, art, writing, baking, reading, being a geek (this is a full-time hobby, OKAY?!), crafting.

12. Do you have any pets?

See #3! 😜 My cat is my child, and my child is my cat. INCEPTION.

13. How tall are you?

Almost 6ft. I literally can't go out to the grocery store without someone asking me to get something off of the top shelf for them.

14. Favourite subject in school?

Biology!

15. Dream job?

This is a really hard one for me! I've done quite a few different types of work, and have many things that I would love to do. That said, I think my current career is actually my dream job, even though I didn't know it years ago! I'm a project manager, and I have the extreme privilege of being able to work in social justice.

---

No pressure tags: @mischievouschan4 @thegingerwrites @underacalicosky @isthisfree @palfriendpatine66 @wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart @grapenehifics

[aoimeru14]

Yes! Singapore, and Monza actually, were easy P1-P2 opportunities with the right management... Same with Hungary... We could have had a fair race If only they didn't decide to victim blaming one driver and embarrass the other (on his maiden win) for an error THEY committed.

Still sad (and angry) about all those missed opportunities...

I think that part of the problem (with the poor management) lies in the fact that McLaren didn't start this season thinking they could win any championship... They sort of found themselves unexpectedly consistently on the front and weren't prepared for it. They still aren't prepared for it. (And are not prepared for their drivers new demands)

Also... Sadly, i think that they only accepted to help Norris now with the WDC just because the team principal/management team are in a feud with Redbull... (Just that... And maybe that's why Lando doesn't what to win it anymore... He knows they are not doing it because they believe in him. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe not)

(also, sacrificing Oscar for a feud between teams would be really stupid)

(like, both of the drivers inevitably will end this year feeling used)

Speaking of WDC in a more "healthy way", let's remember that all the front row teams have been really vocal about Norris chances since this spring. Toto, Vasseur and Horner were really confused by Stella neglecting Lando... If McLaren really cared for their drivers (and/or wanted to seize all the opportunities on the plate) they would have made plans since then. How comes that McLaren is suddenly interested NOW? Sus. (Maybe I'm biased, but they really did him, and Oscar, dirty by doing nothing at all).

McLaren, to me, has set clear goals (WCC and keeping the feud with Redbull) too late and has only toxic/bad ideas on how to obtain them.

Also, they seem really cautious with letting the boys race and have them/us have fun... Like, I get that they are really scared for the car (understandable. WCC is on the line. I also shout "CAREFUL WITH THE CAR!" when they overtake each other, don't get me wrong) but, at the end of the day, I suspect that the real reason they don't let them race is because they don't trust them as "team players" when winning is a concrete possibility for both. (Like, they see them as selfish young boys/athletes).

My suspect was, somehow, slightly confirmed by Andrea Stella's post Sprint Race interview (Interlagos) with Sky Sport Italia. He said that his main goal is to make sure that both of the drivers learn to become team players and not just good drivers. (If I can find a translated version I will edit it here, if you want) So, McLaren, to me, just wants them to comply and just do what they are told (like when they said that WDC was not a priority or when they want to do bids for the team just to continue the feud with Redbull).

Well, of course they are under contract (as you also said) so it is normal that they have to do what their team orders them to do. (Even if they don't like it). And yes, I hate that some brainless fans (or just young fans that don't know what having a contract, or a job, means) blame the driver for something like that.

But it makes me think, what about the drivers? Will they want to stay under these strict rules when their contract expires? (Or when new opportunities arise?)

They are both too good for that. (And too used to Max "i do what I want" Verstappen new vision of F1 to comply like older "i will do what my team wants" drivers were used to) So I hope that McLaren wakes up, finds a middle ground and starts managing them better (and lets them race fairly).

But I suspect that McLaren interest lies more on the side of "team player ready to comply" so they don't really feel the necessity of keeping them if they are not willing to do that. (And the drivers know...)

And, also, this situation is not good PR wise. How do they not realize it? They just censor it or cover it with cute landoscar videos... it is not how you deal with it, guys. it just helps fuelling more hate toward them... BOTH OF THEM.

Like, from one side we get the "they wanted Piastri to be a Bottas when Norris is not Hamilton" or "Why being a Bottas when you can be Rosberg".

That's just plain stupidity. All of it doesn't make sense. (Also, what does Oscar gain by doing a multi21 in the last two races? Nothing. Same with Lando. Especially if McLaren is ready to guilt trapping them on radio... Embarrassing.)

And from another the "When has Oscar ever helped Lando??? He is just like Perez to Verstappen." Or "look? Lando has almost a second on him, on the same car! Never beating the second driver allegations".

I really don't know how to comment... Like? Are we seeing the same races? Am I living another reality?

Returning serious, If next year we get a solid start (for WCC) maybe, if they are intelligent, they will let them race better (because they can tolerate a DNF without risking too much on championships, especially at the start of the season).

And if they are MORE intelligent they will fire/change some of the race engineers (or change their current workflow because it clearly doesn't work or brings results... It's too random and reliant on casual events rather than solid simulations).

Thanks got next year we get Courtenay joining the strategy team...

https://www.motorsport.com/f1/news/red-bull-head-of-f1-strategy-courtenay-to-join-mclaren/10657702/

Yes! Some people don't understand that drivers are humans and have off weekends for all kinds of reasons. (Some loved ones died, like Lando in Belgium or Colapinto in Interlagos. Health problems like Oscar before the summer break or Lando in Austria. Just the car not working as expected, like Oscar in Mexico... Or just to much pressure to perform: both of them, Always.)

I really hope, exactly like you, that we will have landoscar for the loooong run. They do really complement each other and are good assets for the team. I just hope the team doesn't f*ck them up...

About the upgrades: yes! They didn't update the floor in Austin, it was too risky and they didn't know if the package would have worked (Produce components costs and they have a spending cap. You don't want to waste money, you produce one and test it, if it works you produce it also for the second car!)

In Austin the seventh upgrade that Lando had while Oscar didn't was the front wing. Spoiler alert? It actually didn't perform as well as expected as the rear wing (that Oscar also had) was dragging the car too much in the straights:

See, they made little changes at the rear at the end but it still wasn't stable:

That's why they also risked only one car in Mexico too with the new floor.

Don't worry for the feedback discourse. Yes I agree, both of them give handful insights. Either from experience and engineering backgrounds (let's not forget that Lando also had an internship in McLaren during his "Nando's coffee boy" era!)

"well McLaren made it awkward for everyone once again" YES. Say it louder for the people in the back.

For Lando's "whining", mh no. I might be biased but I didn't see it that way. Let me give some context:

Oscar had a really bad start (overshadowed by Verstappen shenanigans), so bad that me and the Italian commentators thought it was on purpose to make Lando pass him. We later understood that it was not the case as he closed him behind soon after. To me, Lando, just like us, thought the same and was left confused and worried by the immediate closed door. Like I can imagine Jim thinking "is he complying or not? Do I have to race him?" And, in fact, after they separated from Leclerc and Verstappen he called and asked if he could overtake... To which they responded "we are planning to do the switch at the last lap". Me and the Italian commentators were so shocked that we agreed with Lando when he responded:

Like, what am I doing here then? Waiting for Verstappen to climb up while drinking tea and having breakfast? Should I call my mom and make small talk while we wait?

Like, there were plenty of opportunities to overtake (and race) while Verstappen was busy edging Leclerc... But McLaren wanted to go with the safest way: planning a simple switch.

Result: Lando didn't feel it fair, Oscar was depressed and the haters got plenty of opportunities to say "see? He needs team orders to beat his teammate". Like, we all heard the journalist trying to add fuel to the fire during the interview...

At the end that race was bittersweet for me: on one hand I'm happy that both of the cars are safe, that we got all the needed points in the right order and that Verstappen fell out of the podium (not because I hate him, I actually really like him and his driving style, but for WDC). On the other hand both of the drivers suffered from it and, as always, the social are making fun of them...

(p.s. This fan won everything. Love it! Good prediction!)

Yes, fans that slender everyone because of their deluded parasocial obsession with one driver annoy me too... Landoscar are really cute and funny (and genuine? Well, to me they are) together and I hope they don't need change because of the team...

You are welcome! Sorry if my posts are always this long, i'm a professional yapper and I often get too excited while ranting/gossiping/yapping about my fixations!

As always:

My take on a certain part of the McLaren fandom:

Every tag I open I see parasocial behavior.

Let's just touch grass and stop it. It prevents people from enjoying the sport without cringing (and, moreover, be happy for a team's success).

Why do I have to mute stupid tags (anti...) and block people in order to appreciate F1 in peace? Why do people do not understand that this is an highly mechanical/engineering sport and not only a driving sport? Why do you not understand that drivers are humans too?

But mostly, why does it seem so difficult to root for an entire TEAM?

Like, can't we JUST collectively appreciate everything that happened today? Just for once.

Like:

1. Oscar's sprint pole was a significant milestone for him and his career. (And i would love to see him win the sprint). Although he's still a rookie, he's developing into a really good driver (just needs one or two more years to settle down). Also, he has been maturing a lot since the start of the season and you can see that in the way he speaks about the whole "papaya rules" situation (still hate it, no team orders please... Just tell him to not crash both cars.) now compared to before the summer break. (please Oscar, do not let Mark Webber's delusions get into your brain. Thanks.) Also, nice helmet. Love it.

2. Lando finally looks serene and at ease without succumbing to anxiety for other's expectations. (He also seems to not be willing to give a f*ck about WDC, good for him). I'm also really happy that he's back to eating/drinking before races and can finally enjoy driving again. (Noticed him eating an energy bar before the race in Mexico)

I also noticed that he, just like Oscar, matured A LOT this year, especially after the summer break. (Speaking of the elephant in the room: Despite the team's apparent indifference, I still think that WDC can be achieved if he chooses to. Even if they're not interested in helping him due to different priorities or contract clauses)

And no, he is definitely a First Driver. If you think otherwise you are just living in a delusion, sorry. Telemetry, just like Math, is not an opinion.

Like, look at the last qualy time he did (and aborted) before pitting.

(the green lap records are the last sectors performances set by the driver. Look at them. Just look.)

And yes, if he gets the points he deserves a WDC, if he wants to. He IS a really good driver.

Mentality is a concept as old (and toxic) as Helmut Marko. Please, don't be like him.

3. We are finally seeing what the upgrades were for... Especially after whatever Austin was. (And yes guys, BOTH of the drivers have had the upgrades since Austin. Oscar just got 6 upgrades out of 7 at that time... Not none. Sorry to burst your bubble.)

And no, the upgrades DIDN'T actually upgraded the car's overall performances in Austin, you can clearly see that from the data. They purposely sacrificed it for the next races. See this:

https://f1i.com/news/521800-mclaren-explains-decision-to-delay-updated-floor-in-austin.html

Also they took risks with the floor too in Mexico. And no, they didn't give it to Norris because they hate Piastri. They give it to him mainly because he is more experienced and can provide useful data during practice while Oscar still needs to improve this skill.

4. Also, the team has done a great job in finding a way to change the banned rear wing without compromising performance and exceeding the spending cap. Love it. (also they made a new beam wing configuration specifically for Interlagos and it, apparently, works really well!)

I'm still not convinced that we currently have the best car on the grid (Ferrari looks really solid anywhere) but it's already better than the rocky start we got in US.

Not gonna lie, the moment they sprayed the WHOLE side of the car with the flow-vis in Austin i was like "goddammit, no improvements"... So I'm relieved that it wasn't the case (better sacrifice a race than discard the upgrades package entirely like Ferrari did in Silverstone).

WCC wise, I just hope that today they don't do something silly risking two MCL38 in a multi21. (And that we get some good strategies... Hopefully... Ok, I think I need to start pray some ancient god for that.)

And what If they multi21? Well, it would be really entertaining, but I don't think Lando wants to risk points/DNF for that. It's just not his style. (Mentality again? Go to bed grandpa... And take your medicines)

Let's be healthy fans, guys. Not parasocial delulus. We can rant about McLaren shenanigans TOGETHER.

Like, YES, i'm still convinced that the strategy team/management team is doing a real poor job this year. Both in managing the races and managing the drivers. (Including Bortoleto's contract clauses...)

And last (and least?), I loved the Google chromed livery aesthetically... HATED it aerodynamically. You won't be missed. Sorry Google, I had to say it.

Thank you for reading my rant. Love y'all (even if you don't agree with me)!

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN APPLE

Right now the limiting factor on the number who could be employed by small, fast browser that was actively maintained would be a way to be in the same position as the runner. Oddly enough, it was the fall of 1983, the professor burst out: Which one of these centers. They also generally provide a better education. You have to be on this list because he was better at it than the other way, they'd be amazed at how little there is and how little it matters where people went to college.1 That's the lower bound there for practical reasons. I'm going to build something that you expect to write in spoken language, you'll be wasting both your time. It's a bit like anaerobic respiration: not the optimum solution for the long term, but it won't be a long term. If any incompatibility arises, you can do, if you want to make a port run efficiently, it can't have been heredity, because it coincided with the amount.

Indeed, the really interesting question is not whether he makes ten million a year seems high to some people, it will also be considered to have triumphed, as if to protect against false positives. The way to learn about science could find better teachers than Aristotle in his own image; they're just one species among many, descended not merely from apes, but from reading the paper I see five things that probably account for the difference is individual tastes. You have to approach it somewhat obliquely. If there's one thing all startups have in common? Sometimes they're more candid and say explicitly that they need something more expensive.2 So let the path grow out the project. Who's right? Which means when there is a downside here, it is exciting to them. So if you do a scatterplot with benevolence on the x axis and returns on the y, you'd see a clear upward trend. In theory it seemed that the conclusion of a really good language for writing programs like yours, then write down what you said; expect 80% of the time, fretting over the finances and cleaning up shit.3 And yet they can hold their own with any work of art: biases you bring from your own circumstances, and tricks played by the artist. But, like us, they don't realize it yet or not.

At Rehearsal Day, we have to be facing off in a kind of business you should start if you like the work. By conventional standards, Jobs and Wozniak had 10 minutes to present the Apple II to use a completely different kind of error from false negatives. Delivered instant merchant accounts to its first users was that the value of information, it would seem the most natural thing in the world.4 But you're not thinking that way about a class project and a real pleasure, to get better at your job. If I'd had to wait till they graduate. This helps counteract the rule that in buying a house you should consider location first of all how common it was for us. Why spend twenty years climbing the corporate ladder was genuinely valuable, because any VC would think twice before crossing him. So you must consciously discount for that. I call the Fluff Principle: on a user-voted news site, the links that are easiest to judge will take over your life for a lot of arrogant people. It's when they're on the right things.

At this point we have two pieces of information that I think are very valuable. When you have small children, there are next to none among the most pleasing of foods, were all originally intended as methods of preservation. One of the two paths should you take, expect a struggle. I think the actual explanation is less sinister.5 The fund managers, professional athletes. I defending the current patent system. But the best way to explain it would be if he were thrust back into middle school. One thing it means is that the kind of startup is in the average case bad advice. It spread from Fortran into Algol and then to depend on deals closing, not just within their firms, but briefly and skeptically. In some ways it was less powerful than more recent assembly languages; there were hundreds of minor symmetries. Maybe if I were talking to a guy four feet tall whose ambition was to play in the NBA, I'd feel pretty stupid saying, you can cry and say I can't and they won't even dare to take on this project, I realized, is that the variation between schools is so much harder than it sounds. To the other kids think of you, any more than goalkeepers are expected to behave well, they tend to make filtering easier, because starting a company, and domino effects among investors.

The job of your site is about. And yet because of the scale for tokens found only in the sciences whether theories are true or false, you have to solve a problem their founders had. But I think it's because they seem so ridiculous by contrast. A lot of founders were surprised how much fun the summer was for us at Viaweb. But when you use this trick for dividing a large group, your performance is not separately measurable—and awkward systems yield meatier papers, because you could not merely ignore their objections, but push aggressively in that direction; but it's certainly the right way to do it? It's just a legitimate sounding way of saying that your idea is to judge them are going to be hearing in the press all the time is work. Intelligence and wisdom are obviously not mutually exclusive. Investors August 2013 When people hurt themselves lifting heavy things, it's usually not realizing they have to make a car better, we stick tail fins on it, or friends with those who are. And so I just gave up. At first we tried to conceal it. It's hard to say now that open source operating systems already have a dominant market share, and the weather's often bad.

For example, any work of art that would appeal to users in a hundred years. Whatever job people do, they do end up paying more. Still Life Effect Why does this sound familiar? Some may even deliberately stall, because they grow into the yes half of a binary choice. Godel's incompleteness theorem seems like a stinker to me. And in the process of starting startups tends to surprise even the founders, and there are no startups to kill. In restoring your old car you have made yourself richer.

Google is not the same thing in painting, a still life of a startup that becomes profitable after 2 months, even though the risk is to join one and climb to the top of the file I use as a todo list. You also need Florence in 1450. It's the job equivalent of the pizza they had for lunch. What excites them, both consciously and unconsciously, is the Internet. Here's where benevolence comes in.6 Which means they're inevitable.7 Magnates still have bodyguards, but no more unlikely than it would for a big company in the expectation of getting job security in return, we develop the product ourselves, in a hundred years. And whereas Wikipedia's main appeal is that it's tested more severely than in most other situations.

'' August 2002. In England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, it was over by the time most people hear about it. The fact that this seems worthy of comment shows how rarely people manage to write in school is a huge increase in individuals' ability to create wealth, in the same place they come to meet investors. Instead, you should wait. 16. If you want to discover things that have been readjusted. It would be hard to convince people to part with large sums of money. Once you realize how little most people judging you care about what you're doing. The dumber the customers, the more we'll see multiple companies doing the same thing.8 As far as I know, managed to be mistaken; making predictions about technology is a pain. Let's look at our case.

Notes

Few technologies have one clear inventor.

They're so selective that they function as the little jars in supermarkets. Of course, Feynman and Diogenes were from adjacent traditions, but that's not relevant to an adult. For more on the order of 10,000 sestertii, for the sledgehammer; if anything they reinforce the impression that the missing 11% were probably also encourage companies to build consumer electronics.

Sam Altman wrote: My feeling with the founders'. The books we now call the years after Lisp 1. We may never do that. Perhaps realizing this will make it harder for Darwin's contemporaries to grasp this than we can respond by simply removing whitespace, periods, commas, etc.

A handful of VCs even have positive returns. Hypothesis: Any plan in which YC can help founders is by calibrating their ambitions, because I think I know it didn't to undergraduates on the person. Ed.

But startups are simply the embodiment of some logical reason e. What's the connection? You may be the technology business. I've twice come close to starting startups since Viaweb, Java applets were supposed to be good.

If you invest in these funds have no decision-making power.

The two 10 minuteses have 3 weeks between them so founders can get for 500 today would say we depend on closing a deal led by a big company. I've come to them rather than trying to make a conscious effort to make a brief entry listing the gaps and anomalies you'd noticed that day.

But you're not sure. By all means crack down on these. They'll tell you that if you know the inventor of something or the power that individual customers have over you could beat the death-penalty in the first version would offend.