#TAG: love&thunderbirds

[casualneonglitterpainterposts]

An early lil valentines piece of Alan and my TBAG OC Karol being cute space beans 💝

Karol is the same age as Alan (just a few days older than he is)-They are 21 in this, and she has burn scars on the back of her left shoulder from when she was three and the hood killed her family.

Also they are about the same height for a little while until so eine hits his growth spurt too. ( she does look a little taller than him in this, that is just because of the angle I drew it).

Eitherway, I just think they're cute, and I hope to draw more of them soon 🚀♥️

[lenle-g]

It doesn't matter the universe, there's always going to be a John Tracy 22,400 miles up on his space station, listening

Lucy suggested I create a 2004 and a 2015 version of the 1965 John I drew to make a cool transition aND-

[amethystsoda]

Under the "Brains' Laboratory" website page, the team snuck in a bunch of concept art for the ships I was able to archive 👀

[astranite]

CH2 Coming Home Loudly

John isn't okay because it sure is lonely up in space. Scott follows through on his promises; he's here for his brothers and nothing, not even the distance between Earth and Thunderbird Five could stop him. Gordon is also Making Sure This Happens. --After suffering in silence, John comes home.

@janetm74 's Suffering In Silence which this follows. Ch1 upon tumblr.

@lying4sport

---

It had been twelve weeks since anyone had last hugged John or touched him at all. Scott would've been the last, leaving him on Thunderbird Five months ago with a quick squeeze of his shoulder to say goodbye. If Scott had known then that it would be for this long or had put together the pieces about the debacle with Alan already, he would have given in to the urge to tackle John into a hug, professional dignity while on duty be damned. He only had now and his brother in his arms.

All things considered, the stifled sob John let out was far from surprising. 

How he tugged away from the contact fully was even less so. Scott let him go, not forcing his brother to put up with his personal space being invaded when he was so unused to having anyone else around. He wouldn't anyway, even if his own heart ached. John needed physical affection to be on his own terms as much as he did need it.

John's arms went back to hugging himself as he rocked on his feet from heel to toe and back again, sniffling. "It's really nice to have you here."

"I'm glad to see you too. I really am," Scott replied. That barely begun to express how badly he wanted only to sit at John’s side and talk about anything or nothing at all, simply to be close.

Pretending to inspect the big ol' International Rescue sign became far more interesting as Scott turned away to let John surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. Spelled out in blaring capital letters, it was underlined red on the front of their space station

Funny how they had built this massive sign into Thunderbird Five up here where only John saw.

Scott ran his hands through his hair. He'd heard his brother's voice, seen his image through their communications array every day and near every mission since John had last rotated out, but it didn’t compare. Never could. It had been so damn long since he'd actually been physically in John's presence. 

He missed him ever so much.

He spun back to John, slowly to give him warning but too fast because right now he needed his brother in his sight. John seemed a bit more with it, the mask of Thunderbird Five, the larger than life promise of salvation overshadowing the very human operator slipping back into place. There were still cracks in it to see his brother through as John fidgeted with his uniform, twisting his fingers around his baldric until it crumpled.

He was more the utterly exhausted, probably covered in mud and hangry level of put together of the others after a mission, than John's usual never less than perfect. Scott would take what he could get though. If John started crying again, Scott couldn't guarantee he wouldn't either. 

"You ready to head home?" Scott said suddenly. 

He craned his neck around to look at the gleaming control panels, their blinking lights shining as brightly as they should. There. Sorted. Given this was John, of course it was: he’d never leave Five anything less than gleaming. They could go home.

John paused, his movements dying down into unnatural stillness. He lifted his chin, looking Scott straight in the eye like he was presenting his case before a committee of the entire world judging him, instead of it only being them. 

"No."

The single word came out blunt anyway.

Scott tensed up. To leave without John… he couldn’t—

Scott forced himself to take a deep breath. John wasn't exactly making sense, but when it came to his oh so clever little brother, it was most often Scott who was missing part of the equation.

"You don't want to? Or is there something else?" he asked, hesitant. 

It was rare for John to be this thrown by anything. But then this wasn’t an everyday situation, or rather it never should’ve become one so ceaselessly.

“Jay, what’s going on?”

Scott didn’t know how not to worry.

"No!” John shook his head frantically. “No, I want to go home."

His hands flailed through the air as if he was trying to sketch out a diagram of the problem for Scott. They rose upwards before John brought them down fast, flicking them, flapping them in rapid, repeating succession.

It struck Scott how long it had been since John had let him see him do that. With came the piercing realisation of long since he’d been physically in front of John to see him. In front of a camera and across comms, John held his hands below the field of view unless one was delicately wrapped around his microphone.

A tiny piece of the tension eased. John took a deep, shuddering breath, placing his words deliberately: "Father told me to pack my bags. I'm not packed. So therefore I'm not ready.”

To leave without John… he couldn’t—

As Scott reached for him, out of an instinct to comfort his brother in any way he could, John flinched back. He flattened himself against the wall, limbs compressed inwards as if he wanted to to sink through the glass and disappear into the star punctured void outside. 

John had always had the talent of making himself small. Scott was the one here on Five who was too loud and out of place.

 “So therefore I can’t go home,” John murmured. Or rather he mumbled, barely audible syllables clinging to each other instead of cutting through the noise clear as day. Scott had nicknamed the latter as his newsreader's voice once upon a time, on a day they’d been messing about over the comms as each brother requested John do different voices and Jeff pretended to not hear. 

It was what the world heard of Thunderbird Five, through and through. But not all there was to him.

Scott's hands found their way into his own hair again, tugging at it. He hadn’t thought. Grabbing him into a hug wouldn’t work with John. Never had. Sometimes that meant Scott wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

This was unfair, so fundamentally unfair that Scott didn't know what to do with it. He wanted John, down on Earth for however long he needed, happy and safe, but this wasn't the kind of rescue where Scott could throw him over his shoulder and carry him out of the burning building. It wasn't that sort of strength Scott needed. 

What he needed was John’s own quiet strength, to calm and care for and carry people through to hope on only his voice. Yet what he had was himself.

[silverstarfics]

Annnd that’s a wrap on this lil fic (which I will probably revisit because I love writing Tracys and cats)

[flyboytracy]

[navigatorsnorth]

Thunderbirds fanart in my 2024? It's more likely than you'd think.

Still wish that they'd done more with fashion icon Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.

[coffeebookslovegt]

John & Clarice

[mo-ok]

the evil forest destroying machine is the cutest thing ever, actually

[skymaiden32]

Off Duty

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 10: Mute

While off duty at an event, Gordon meets someone very special…

Continuity: TAG

------

It was the latest in a string of children’s hospitals that had been founded and set up in recent months. As frequent donors to these causes, a member of the Tracy clan had been present to see the opening ceremony almost every single time, only missing out when the whole family were out on rescues. This time around, it was Gordon’s turn to attend.

He stood amongst the crowd, trying his best to be inconspicuous. It hadn’t worked. Within the first ten minutes, he’d been bombarded by journalists from about six different papers and tabloids, all wanting an exclusive or just straight up taking a photo without his consent. He thanked his lucky stars that Brains had given him his new favourite gadget, designed to distort images of him. That man was a literal miracle worker.

Gordon watched as the owner of the hospital finished off her speech, and reached her hand out to beckon a young boy up to the front with her. The child tentatively took the little golden scissors, and helped by another woman Gordon was sure was his mother, cut the ribbon. Raucous applause followed the opening. After a few moments, it finally quieted down, allowing the guests to mingle.

He’d been speaking with an associate of the Dandridge Corporation when he felt a tug on his leg. Looking down, he saw the same boy from before, who was looking up at him curiously. Saying farewell to his conversation partner for the time being, the aquanaut crouched down to the child’s eye level, a small frown on his face. 

“Hey kid,” he started, a little uneasily, “where are your parents?” The boy just looked up at him, blinking. Now that they were face to face, Gordon noticed a small scar running along his neck. His frown deepened, lifting his head to see if he could spot the woman who had helped the kid cut the ribbon, or even just the hospital owner. He sighed, not seeing either of them. “Let’s go find them, shall we?” 

He reached out a hand to the boy, who gladly took it, and made his way up to the front steps of the hospital. If any of the responsible adults were somewhere, that’s where they’d be. Gordon hummed thoughtfully when he didn’t see anyone. The boy was still clinging to his hand. “What does your mother look like, kiddo?” No answer. “Or your dad?” He tried again. Still nothing. Gordon chuckled. “A quiet one, huh?”

Dodging a few more cameramen and frantic press with notebooks, the two of them continued their search. Further investigation finally yielded results when the woman from before dashed in front of him, dropping to her knees in front of the young boy. “Thomas!” She almost cried, relieved that he was okay. “You had me worried sick! Never run off like that again…” The boy, now known to Gordon as Thomas, nodded his head. “Now, your father will take you home,” she pointed to a man behind her, “go to him and try not to wander off.” Thomas’s mother held his cheek in the palm of her hand, giving him a loving kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be back with you and Dad later, okay?” 

Gordon felt Thomas’s hand slip from his, and both he and his mother watched as he ran to his father, still not uttering a thing. “Quiet, isn’t he?” Gordon mentioned, causing the woman to look at him. “He didn’t say a word while he was with me…”

The mother sighed. “He’s mute, but he wasn’t always...” She explained, sadness etched into her words. “He actually used to be the most talkative boy you’d ever meet.”

The aquanaut raised an eyebrow. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It wasn’t that long ago.” She stated apologetically. “I don’t really feel comfortable yet talking about it.” Gordon simply nodded in understanding. “But, you’re something of a hero to him, Mr Tracy. Even off duty, you saved him before something awful might’ve happened.” She beamed from ear to ear. “I can never thank you enough for bringing my Tommy back to me.” She reached forward to shake his hand. He took it in an instant.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs…?” He hung onto the end of the sentence, waiting for the woman to reveal her name.

“Carter.” She answered quickly. “Blanche Carter.”

“Well, it’s my pleasure Mrs Carter.” Gordon smiled warmly. “Your son is very special indeed…”

[lenle-g]

Inspired by this WIP by @melmac78:

John was near the stern, looking out to sea. He had enjoyed looking at all the planes on board as well as the ships sailing by - business and pleasure, but this too was a sight to see. Especially as he had grown just a smidge annoyed of hearing Scott talk about the T-34 Mentor to the Scouts, so he had a bit of peace to enjoy it. John was amazed at how the light and clear blue sky would reflect off the Gulf of Mexico, turning the normally brownish waters the same beautiful color. Out in the distance, some offshore oil rigs still dotted the distance. While biofuels and renewable sources were finally being produced with an even lower waste footprint, there still was the need for some oil products. He was feeling a bit tired and warm from the sun as he leaned over the side to look at what appeared to be a pod of dolphins swimming by... or were they those blue men-of-war that Gordon said don't touch? There were others sounds, but they seemed distant and blurred. John watched the pod seem to double and triple in size, confusing him. Then his head started feeling light. "Oh no." He thought vaguely, as a few moments later as he hit the rail at his waist. The pilot gave a faint yelp as he tilted over, the vertigo getting worse as he saw thick netting and a more angry water churning by the hull. His vision started to swim as he kept moving forward. He tried to grab the rail, but caught air instead... A pair of rough hands grab his baldric and pulled back. John stumbled from the course correction and fell back, still feeling as though the world was going down a drain... The same hands cradled him under the arms now as he was then set on the ground. The person was propping him up against their legs and chest. There were running sounds on the deck toward them, but they sounded about the same as the waves - ocean or his ears John wasn’t sure. The person holding him had a hand on his jaw, trying to get him to look at them. He could see someone, even though the image was slightly blurry as grey edges flickered in his blind spots. John just couldn't speak. There were more muddled sounds nearby, vocalizing a sound similar to a distant flock of seagulls. That was until louder bass timber - a voice John reminded himself - shooed them away. The same voice then tried again to get John to speak. He tried this time, but all that came out was a soft moan. John then felt the other person's hand run through his hair, who also assured him he was all right. Between the hand and then a light kiss on the top of his head, John realized he was indeed conscious and being held by a brother. Otherwise, he'd be stretched out on the deck - and admittedly the kiss would be a little odd. Then the same gentle hand was at his throat, checking his pulse. "John - can you hear me now?" said Virgil as he leaned into John's view, gently lifting his chin again to check the redhead's eye reaction.

[dcjokerhs]

8 shows to get to know you

i was tagged by @arrysa-clair so... thank u huney /p ^w^

Katekyo Hitman Reborn: 🎵HELLO MY LUVELY HELLO MY HUNEY, HELLO MY RAGTIME GALLLL!!🎵 This wasn't the first fandom I wrote fanfic for, but I just,,,, YES!! 100%!! YES!! Because this shounen I Binged because of 1 CardFight! Vanguard/KHR crossover and THEN I WAS INVESTED, and now I am The Biggest Simp... It was also the fandom where I had to admit that I'm a filthy filthy multishipper so... OOPS, GUESS I CAN NEVER UNDO THAT!!!

Bagpuss: 🎵Bagpuss, oh Bagpuss, soggy-old-cat puss, wake up and see this thing that I bring, wake up, be bright! Be golden and light! Bagpuss, oh hear what I sing.🎵 THIS SHOW!!! THIS SHOW IS MY LOVE, MY BLOOD, AND NOW ONE OF THE LEAST-KNOWN SHOWS, EVEN THOUGH IT'S BLIMMIN GREAT (apart from one episode that suddenly comes to mind because HHHH IT WAS MADE IN THE SIXTIES AND THE OBJECT WAS A PAIR OF BOWING MEN) But think, like, Toys coming to life to check out this neat little thing their owner's brought, using songs, stories and poems to tell what the thing *really* is, working together to fix or clean the object, then moving it into the window "So anyone who had lost [the object] Would see it, and know it was found" AND THAT ENTIRE SHOW!! I LIVE FOR!!! If I need to sew, or if I'm sick, or even if I just don't want to watch much and snk into a pile of plushies, I can pop this show on, and listen to a soggy old pink and white cat, a raggedy old bookend, a toad with a banjo, a music box of mice and a well-loved doll explain why a small cushion is really the seat of the boney king of nowhere's throne. I Am Soft.

Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds Are Go: THIS SHOW, THIS SHOW I WROTE FANFICTION FOR BEFORE I EVEN KNEW WHAT FANFIC WAS!! I still even have the cute li'l notebook it was written in, now sans cover, IT IS UPSTAIRS IN A BOX AND I WAS SO YOUNG my handwriting was a full 2cm/0.8inch TALL, SO EACH PAGE WAS BASICALLY 5-7 LINES OF WIGGLY TEXT, because of course the paper doesn't have lines, and MY WRITING WAS SO CUTE AND SIMPLISTIC I WANT TO SQUEEZE YOUNGER-ME'S CHEEKS!! And then younger me made it have a crossover with Lazytown, because I was a sucker... AND NOW WE HAVE T.B.A.G, AND CHCGHCG I WAS ECSTATIC, my dad and brother less so, BUT I LOVE IT, and now I am back on my thunderbirds bs. /lol

Tantei Gakuen Q/Detective Class Q: I adore both the anime and the live action for this one. They may have slightly different stories, but they're still both quite powerful, and very fun, but also able to talk about some topics in ways that make me tilt my head a little, like the idea of an area cut off from the outside world, finding peace within the smaller things, or, from the live action, how far one person can go in search of freedom, and how that can then be framed by others during the uncovery of that story. Also! The cases!!! They can seem so complex, yet, then the answer will turn out so simple, and I absolutely adore that! ^w^

Gravity Falls: IDK what it is, but the idea of some kids just having fun, finding something, then having fun solving the issue, or going hrough an experience, and then supporting each other on the other side, getting the support of their chaotic family.... HHHHHHHH /pos. I am Very Soft. Also, fxghxfcghcfgh, Bill and Dipper's Entire Dynamic brings me life. Jesu Maria.... AND THEN I REMEMBER THEY'RE 12!! THEY CAN'T EVEN OWN A BANK ACCOUNT YET, SOMEONE GET THESE KIDS THERAPY OH MY GOODNESS!! bUT!!! SOOS!! YEEEEEE!! idk ok NEXT ONE!

School Babysitters: I may not be able to handle children irl, but the stories between the kids, the way the students handle caring for the kids, THE RELATIONSHIP OF THE CENTRAL DUO!!! HAS MADE ME CRY!! SO MANY TIMES!!! ARARARARARARARARA!!! I LOVE THEM!!! HHHHH!!

SCOOBY DOO! WHERE ARE YOU?/SCOOBY DOO, MYSTERY INCORPERATED!: My first crush was Daphne. I didn't realise it was a crush, I was just like "yeah, the others are pretty cool... But Daphneee..." And Nowadays I go "oh dearheart, Oh Sweetie" BECAUSE, HAHA, SHE IS STILL A FICTIONAL CRUSH, THIS WOMAN IS A COMPETENT QUEEN, tho some shows they make her a little mean, AND THAT'S WHY SB:WAY AND SB:MI ARE MY FAVOURITES, because Daphne is Adorable-- OMG I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT THE baby version of scoobydoo, oh my goodness that was adorable, though THE FACT THEY DECIDED THAT THE YOUNG VERSIONS WERE JUST WHO THE CHARACTERS ARE FROM BIRTH WHEN CGJHCHJCGJCGHJ YOU CAN'T TELL ME VELMA WASN'T THE CHEEKIEST BABY! YUHUXFH\OEW7SZDUFIYFWZPS9OUFZHRXDC8ZOSEYRHFNRICKUJFZBXED!!!!!

And last, but ne'er least: CUTE HIGH EARTH DEFENSE CLUB LOVE/BINAN KOUKOU CHIKYUU BOUEI-BU LOVE! That Show!!!!! THIS SHOW!!!! AAAA!!! Think, like, Genderbent Magigirl anime, but, again, Genderbent, and it's so cute, and funny, and yet it SOMEHOW, SOMEHOW, DESPITE BEING THE LIGHTEST THING SINCE FREE!, I AM a total mess mum plz come and pick me up i will cry from CUTENESS ISTG!!!

Gods, picking out stuff was so hard, but so fun, because I had to say "No" to Dream SMP, I had to turn down shows like the Katrielle Layton Anme because I ONLY GOT TO WATCH THAT ONCE, AND I AM SO SALTY 'CAUSE THAT WAS SO CUTE!! But then, hhhhh!!! /vpos /lovinglyfrustrated. Other shows skipped are Ouran High School Host Club, Free!, How to Keep a Mummy, Merlin, Dr Who, M.I.High, Good Omens (Good God do I love Good Omens), Love Stage!! aaand Marginal Prince.

Anyway!! Tagging!! I have no clue!! UUUUUUUUUHHHHH

@captaindragonsgold @snailraffle @slytherinroyaltyblogs @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @silverdrip

^w^ Have Fun! ^w^

[riallasheng]

Oh Captain, my Captain!!

Happy Birthday, Troy Tempest ^^

you ridiculous, kind hearted, short-tempered, well-meaning bundle of Hero!! (with zero-people skills)

[silverstarfics]

Today’s @thunder-pride prompt is ‘can we talk?’ and I’ve had this partly written for a while but didn’t get around to finishing it until this morning, so hopefully it reads okay and doesn’t feel weirdly disjointed in the middle! 

AO3 link

It was approaching eleven-thirty. The pale light of dusk had long since been replaced by the depths of night, yet John had made no move to switch on a lamp. He was still sat at the same tiny table in an equally small kitchen in his apartment and had not moved since his hasty retreat from a restaurant downtown.

His skin was still crawling with discomfort. He couldn’t shake the sight of disappointment in his date’s eyes. If he had to make a list of the top five worst feelings in the world, disappointing people would be in third place. And it hadn’t even been his fault. He hadn’t intentionally led her on. He hadn’t realised that it was a date in the first place, notably because there was supposed to have been four of them, only Kenny had got sick at the last minute and Scott had conveniently had ‘something come up’.

Yeah, right. The flat Earth theory was more believable, not to mention the fact that his brother had then texted him good luck. Also, this was the third night out on which Scott had abandoned him with some random stranger in an excruciatingly romantic setting. Restaurants with friends were fine, but not when it was just you and a person who you only knew vaguely but whom Scott had seemingly befriended despite only having been on campus to visit John for an extended weekend.

The spare key scratched in the lock, then the door squeaked open. Scott fumbled for the light switch and promptly let out an undignified yelp.

“Jeezus, Johnny.” He kicked the door shut and dumped his jacket on the kitchen counter. “What the hell, man? Why are you sitting in the dark?” He winced. “I take it the date didn’t go so well?”

“You set me up.”

John had been aiming for a neutral accusation, but his voice sounded a little more betrayed and upset than he cared to let on. He settled for scowling at Scott, but quickly grew tired of this. Frankly, he was just exhausted full stop. He was half-tempted to forget the whole experience and go to bed early. But he’d learnt that problems didn’t miraculously vanish if you ignored them, which was a shame given that was his preferred strategy. So, if he didn’t discuss this with Scott then it would be a recurring issue and he was so done with unwanted, spontaneous blind dates.

So.

Scott pried open the fridge on the hunt for the beers he’d stashed there earlier. “You make it sound like I framed you for murder.”

Logically, John knew Scott meant well. But his teasing tone was just irritating. He was unintentionally making light of a subject that was actually pretty serious and John sort of wanted to strangle him.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” Scott cracked open the bottle with his key. “Was it that bad? She seemed like a nice girl. You said Adam wasn’t your type, so I figured… Anyway. It’s chill. We’ll find you someone eventually. And hey, I’m here for a few more days. I’m an excellent wingman. Ha, literally.”

“Scott, this isn’t-” John cut himself off and took a deep breath to calm down. He tried again once he was certain that his voice was steadier. “Can we talk?”

“Oh, boy,” Scott joked, slightly muffled as he bent down to unlace his shoes. “Sounds serious.” He glanced up when there was no reply and caught John’s unimpressed stare. “Oh, shit. Okay. Sorry. Give me a minute.”

He kicked his sneakers onto the mat and sank into a chair opposite, cradling his drink between his hands. There was a glint of humour in his eyes, presumably aided by whatever he’d drunk at the bar he’d vanished to for the evening, but to give him credit he did seem to be earnest about listening.

John dropped his gaze to the whorls in the table. There was a faint blue stain from spilled ink when he’d been working formulae out on paper earlier in the semester and he focussed on that to keep himself from overthinking and letting the matter drop again.

“You’ve got to stop trying to set me up with people.”

He was speaking too fast so that the words seemed to blur together, unable to shake the nerves that came with explaining this aspect of his self to people because more often than not they didn’t understand and told him that he just hadn’t found the right person. It was bad enough hearing that from anyone but not from family. He wasn’t sure what to say if Scott didn’t get it.

He continued in a rush before Scott could get a word in edgeways, “I know you mean well, but it makes me really uncomfortable. I don’t want to date anyone. Adam wasn’t my type, but Becca isn’t either, because I don’t have a type. I’m not interested in people like that. I have friends and family and that’s all I want. So, please stop tricking me into dates because it will never lead anywhere.”

There was a brief pause. The silence was broken only by the distant wail of sirens across the city, the hum of the refrigerator and indistinct voices from the apartment across the hallway. John finally risked a glance up to glimpse Scott’s guilty expression.

“Can you say something?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I- Shit, John. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise…” Scott sat back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m an idiot. Sorry. Oh, God, I’m the worst. I spent this whole weekend trying to- I am so sorry, Johnny.”

“That had the potential to be a great apology, but then you had to ruin it by calling me Johnny.”

Scott stared at him for a long moment, evidently trying to repress laughter. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” John stole the bottle and took a cautious sip. “What the hell is this? Are you drinking battery acid? This is disgusting.” He twisted it to spy the label. “I’ve never even heard of this brand. Where did you get it?”

Scott made a vague gesture which translated to you don’t want to know. Which was correct, because John really, really didn’t want to know. He slid the bottle – which most definitely wasn’t beer – back to his brother and got up to find something to rid the taste from his mouth.

“So,” Scott called, still lounging at the table. “How long have you known?”

John shrugged, then realised he was hidden behind the fridge door. “Uh, a while. Since high school, anyway.”

It was slowly dawning on him that he hadn’t actually eaten anything except free bread in the restaurant, shortly before he’d made his excuses and fled. He shoved a box of leftover takeout into the microwave and leant back against the counter to wait.

Scott was staring down at the table where light from the street was spilling through the curtains. There was a certain tension in his shoulders which betrayed the fact he was secretly upset. He didn’t look up as he asked, quietly and uneasily, “Were you afraid to tell me? Because if so, I’m sorry. I never intended to make you feel that way.”

John hesitated, then glimpsed the flash of pure panic in Scott’s eyes.

“No,” he confessed. “I wasn’t afraid of telling you. I’m just tired, I guess. College is… I’m here to learn. A lot of people seem to be here for casual hook ups and parties. So, I’m constantly having to explain that I’m not interested in any of that and after a while it becomes tiring. It’s not a one-time experience. Every time I meet someone new and the topic turns to relationships, I have to… well, come out, I suppose. So, I’m tired of it. But that’s not your fault.”

“I just feel like I should have realised.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I bet Virgil realised.” Scott drummed a hand against the bottle with a sigh. “I thought you were just shy. But now- Yeah, it makes a lot of sense. I still feel like an idiot, though.”

“Oh, you are an idiot,” John informed him. “But not for this reason.”

“Thanks,” Scott deadpanned. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking a little less guilty and more genuinely curious as John carried the takeout over to the table and sat back down. “So, is there a specific label you use?”

John raised a brow. “Do I have to use a label?”

“No,” Scott replied quickly. “I was just wondering. Because if there is, then I want to be able to look it up and do some research. I mean, this is who you are, John. Of course I want to understand that better.”

Sometimes – this weekend being a prime example – Scott could be an absolute idiot. But he was an idiot with good intentions. And, right now, John was reminded that he was actually pretty fond of this idiot for a reason.

“Are you going to remember this?” he asked.

Scott flipped his phone out of his pocket and opened a new note. “Yep.”

“Look up the terms aromantic and asexual. Then come back to me if you have further questions.”

“Cool, cool, cool.”

John offered him a spare fork and slid the takeout into the centre of the table. For a few moments, they ate in silence. He was surprised by just how much lighter he felt, unaware that the issue had been worrying him.

“Hey, John?” Scott had that soft, proud smile again, the same one that he’d worn when watching one of Virgil’s concerts or Gordon’s swim races. “Thanks for telling me.”

John fought back a smile of his own. “No more dates, okay?”

Scott held up his hands. “I promise.”

[flyboytracy]

[astranite]

Reread kudos again :)

A little bit of indulgent fluff with a wiff of angst (because Scott), informed by TAG's reluctance to give the boys a variety of civilian clothes. Gordon gets to feature with a bit of an insight. Scott's brothers, of course, love him three thousand.

DRESS CODE

-Do you own anything that's not blue, grey or Armani?

Scott Tracy doesn't startle easy. But the voice coming out of the walk-in closet in his bedroom made him jump. Gordon was not supposed to be there. Well, no little brother was supposed to be there, period. Scott himself wasn't supposed to be there this time of the day - but he needed to change due to a minor juice box incident that got kinda out of hand and resulted in a multi-brother pile up ON TOP of a Virgil holding an oil palette. Scott had long adopted an aversion to gather a documentary of stains on his clothes, unlike the younger brothers. The compulsory (obsessive, if one asked Gordon) need to be impeccable at any given moment was equally informed by Dad's military-cum-astronaut habits and Scott's own experience of marinating in his filth, blood, sweat and tears for the unbearable months in THAT PLACE.

- What are you doing in MY CLOSET?

Gordon in one's room, unsupervised, was bad news. It usually meant a blackmail raid, a snack stash raid, glitter in parts of the wardrobe that shouldn't, REALLY SHOULDN'T under any circumstances contain glitter, or a forlorn little Fish that was in pain or needed comfort. The pain, thankfully, didn't seem to be the case that time.

-We ran out of your old tee-shirts in laundry.

Scott was too perplexed to pay proper attention to the "we" part of the statement.

-I thought the dryer shreds them.

He'd been noticing a depleted supply of old, well-worn and broken in tees here and there, but things were so busy lately... all the time... He didn't pay much attention.

-Nah, we just tell you that so we can borrow them.

There was that "we" again, that got Scott's brow to crease. Gordon was eyeing a neat stack of identical navy blue cashmere pullovers, clearly intended for a colder climate than the island. Scott finally cobbled together some appropriate indignation:

-Why do you steal my things?!

- Comfy. You.

Gordon shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world and padded out, clutching a ratty tee-shirt that had clearly seen better days. Something from way back of his freshman year at Yale, that somehow survived the Move. Not a sound was uttered about big brother's current state of improper attire. Not even a smirk.

Scott looked down on his now garishly colorful shirt that was probably beyond salvation and should be better off donated to fill the ranks of Virgil's oil cloths or brush cleaning rags, then back at the immaculately organized closet. So maybe he hadn't been a Scott Tracy since he was about eighteen. Maybe a lot earlier than that. It was just as well. He was a brother, a son, a Dad, a Captain of Airgroup, a prisoner #368901, a Thunderbird One, a Jeff Tracy 2.0, a CEO - in that order. He was what he needed to be for whoever needed him to be that. He was fine. Lines of high end denim and dress shirts, bought in bulk, and sharp suits on the racks were as much a uniform as his IR blues. Suits of armor designed to protect and conceal him. The suits were tailored to his IR uniform measurements, actually, so they'd fit like a glove. Brains was asked to forward those to one Italian fashion house or other. Penny probably remembered which better. His dress uniform was stashed away in a zip bag and was unlikely to see the light of the day again. Just like his fighter pilot career. A couple of his standard issue fatigues and undershirts were sent over to Dad with what few belongings he had on base, once he was first presumed KIA. They were probably still in the back of a closet in Kansas, in his childhood room. His running and free-climbing gear was a little bit more customized - but he'd allocated one hour sharp to running each day (rescues and injuries permitting), where he didn't have to be anything at all, and he hadn't taken up any vacation time for free-climbing that wasn't Gran Roca training in... he didn't really remember how long. John would probably know. Virgil definitely knew and held the information over his head for an opportune moment. Scott balled up the now ruined denim shirt and pulled an identical one off the rack. There was still a lot of day to face and power through. He was on duty.

TBTBTB

As much as the curious case of disappearing clothes was a subtle and clandestine affair, the equally unusual case of reappearing attire was conspicuous. Things made it into his folded laundry pile or were found directly in his closet. Virgil's plaid shirts here and there, soft and soothing. John's NASA and Harvard tees. Gordon's Olympic team jumper, Alan’s band shirt (a tight fit on the biggest brother, that one, but infinitely endearing). But also some new items: tee-shirts with cheeky novelty logos, designed so well it could only be Virgil's art and Gordon's input - "World's #1 Big Brother", "Mr. Blue Sky", "Top Graple Gun", of course, helmed the chart; splotches of color, expertly introduced to his usual palette of blues, blacks and greys, that could only mean his semi-automated online shopping routines hacked by John and guided by Penelope; odd hand-knitted scarves and gloves for when he'd need to set aside the suit of armor and feel a touch of home in the unfriendly business climate of NYC. Home was everything Scott Tracy ever wanted to be.