I was suddenly hit with the realisation last night that my main blog is 10 years old. I created it back in 2015 before Thunderbirds Are Go premiered and have been here ever since.
However, since I want to be more actively involved in the Thunderbirds community again, I've decided to (finally!!) create a sideblog to do just that! My main blog is a bit of an amalgamation of... everything frankly, which isn't ideal XD
So in case we've never met, or you need a reminder:
Hello! My name is Abi, I'm in my 20's and am a lifelong Thunderbirds fan. I do have an A03 account where I plan to be posting stuff. Likes and follows will be from @thundergirl007.
I do have another writing blog (@kosmosian-quills) where I post mainly writing things, but I do have some of my own projects there! The main one is Angel, a story about a Princess forced to go on the run after the former army General overthrows her father and takes control of the country. It's an ongoing (and long suffering) project that I have spent years on, and I actually have a TAG!AU for the story which I plan to post here too!
I also have a whump sideblog (@whumping-newbie). A lot of the writing in the latter is years old and not necessarily canon anymore, but it's there if anyone is interested in that sort of thing.
I'll start posting things properly on here when I'm all set up. But for now, I hope everyone has a wonderful day :D
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Well, it only took me (checks) ALMOST A YEAR but i finally finished this lil thing!
Set as a very loose sequel to the events of my Captured story (A03) but can be read as a standalone.
POV: John
John finds himself helping Gordon out when he really needs it.
C/W's: referenced/implied past torture, referenced near death experience, PTSD flashback (from 3rd party perspective). (let me know if i missed anything!!)
I hope you enjoy!
If thereβs one thing that always seemed to mar Johnβs time on the island, almost exactly every time heβs got both of his feet on solid ground, itβs that gravity is out to get him personally.
Itβs not even that he hates gravity all that much. It has its purpose in the universe as a force and itβs nice to not float away when one is asleep, but he cannot deny the fact that the first day after arriving back on Earth is always the worst one because of gravity.
This time, the culprit was the bar stool he pulled out in the kitchen. Nose deep in a book written by a NASA colleague of his about a new black hole discovery, he felt the air fly by as he missed the soft cushion. By the time he realised that he had missed the seat completely, he spread his arms out wildly to try and catch himself, and felt his heart stop.
His body hit the floor and the sound that escaped him as he was subject to gravityβs cruel calling was frankly embarrassing. It took him a couple of seconds before he felt that he wasnβt injured enough to attempt to sit up and reach for the book, now just out of his reach.
The shock to the system as his backside hit the hard wooden floor was bad enough, but worse was the sound that met his ears from somewhere behind him.
βSpectacular form, Johnny,β Gordon laughed, βbe seeing you next fall then?β
John rolled his eyes, pulling himself up from the floor with the book in hand to see the blond brother stepping into the kitchen in his soaking wet swimming trunks, a towel draped over his shoulder, dripping all over the kitchen floor.
Grandma Tracy will not be pleased to see this mess when she returns from the mainland supply run.
βAnd the water is supposed to be in the pool,β he nodded at the floor, βnot the kitchen, Gordo,β
βAh, details, details - lighten up a little!β he smirks, coming up beside John and shaking his messy mop of hair, sending little droplets of chlorinated water flying everywhere, including Johnβs new book.
He quickly moved it behind his back to protect it from further abuse by water, βstop grinning at me, youβre acting like a dog thatβs just taken a swim in a lake just to spite me. Go take a shower.β
The younger brother, smile still plastered over his face, started moving towards the stairs with a spring in his step. Heβs such an idiot.
Properly taking the intended seat (the painful landing somewhat subsided now, thankfully) and reopening the book to his last read page, John couldnβt help but feel a little annoyed by Gordonβs antics.
As much as he knew that Gordon was just having fun, it was annoying fun all the same, like he knew just how far to toe the line before John would get truly angry at him. And thatβs saying something, he liked to think he was able to keep his anger in check very well. In fact, it had been years since he had been angry, even longer since he was truly angry at any of his brothers, and -
Gordon was stood perfectly still at the bottom of the stairs.
John frowned, looking up from his book to properly take in what he was seeing. He looked stiff as a board, one of his hands held up to the side of his face, the towel that was over his shoulder now discarded on the floor.
βGordon?β John called out, βare you okay?β
He didnβt answer.
With hope that this wasn't some immature attempt at pulling his leg, disturbing him from his book, he slowly rose to his feet, watching him carefully.
Awash with an all too familiar sensation, the feeling that normally comes when heβs on space monitor duty and can tell something is about to happen. A call about to come in, geological sensors predicting natural disasters, Langstrom Fishlerβs newest creation, whatever that may be.
Something was wrong here and now.
βGordon, can you hear me?β John stepped away from the counter he had been sat at and started towards him.
As he came closer, he could see his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall.
And Gordon's face was there too, eyes wide and features stiff, unblinking with his lips just parted, his hand just away from his cheek. Water was still dripping down his features from his wet hair, and John could just about hear his breathing change from over here. From practically not breathing at all, to fast and shallow. His skin was suddenly sheet white, as compared to just a minute ago.
Gordon took a deep, choked breath and then fell backwards on to the hard tiled floor.
John immediately rushed to catch him, just barely missing but hopefully alleviating what could have been a serious injury to a mere bump.
Before he realised it though, Gordon was practically thrashing his way out of Johnβs grip, and John instinctively released him once they were both on the ground.
He had never been on the receiving end of such treatment from the younger brother, because whenever Gordon engaged in play-fighting, it was exactly that - play. Fake. Not using full strength.
Gordon is a physically fit, powerful young man and slippery as an eel when it suits him.
And yet, the sheer, primal terror that he seemed to be experiencing was beyond anything John could have expected.
Gordon flung himself across the floor, curling up at the foot of the stairs, his breath ragged and laboured.
βGordon - Gordon - can you hear me?β John managed to utter out as he clamoured over to his brother.
The brother in question did not answer him, he was clutching his chest and breathing erratically - his eyes wide and full of panic.
John froze above him, trying to think - think what to do. He was experiencing some kind of traumatic episode, potentially flashing back to his experiences - although what had set him off the way it has, John had no idea - and he was racking his brains trying to remember what he needed to do to help someone in that state. It felt like a lifetime, though, before it all came back to him. As though he was not even here, as though he was back on board Thunderbird 5, unable to touch and hold someone but only able to communicate from a list.
He can do this.
John moved slowly. Carefully. With precise focus, as he brought himself down to Gordonβs level, looking him right in the eyes.
There was a world of hurt in those eyes. His pupils glazed and unfocused, yet scanning for anything and everything.
John didn't waver, though. He took a breath himself, steeling himself for what he knew he needed to do to help his brother.
βGordon,β he spoke clearly but quietly, βGordon, I want you to breathe with me. Inβ¦β
John took a deep inhale, watching for a reaction from his brother. It was shaky, it was laboured, but Gordon did take a breath
βand outβ¦ good job, Gordon. Inβ¦β
John followed through on this, too. Repeating, in and out, until Gordon's violent shaking was subsided to simply trembling, the whites of his eyes no longer quite as prominent.
Next step.
βGood job, Gordon - do you remember where you are?β
βTβ¦Tracy Islandβ¦β
βYeah, thatβs right. What colour is Scott's laundry hanging on the line, over there?β John slowly raised a finger to a spot towards his right side.
Gordon's gaze followed it, breathing slower now. He could see the focus come back into his eyes as he looked at what John had pointed at. βRβ¦Red underwear. Blueβ¦ shirt. Jeans. Black socks. Blue towel.β
βYeah, those stupid spider man ones, aren't they?β John smiled, βguess he loves to pretend he's spider man when he's grappling around on rescues.β
This elicited a very small chuckle from Gordon, a hint of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments.
βKeep breathing for me, Gordo,β John reached forward and patted him gently on the shoulder, before moving from his kneeling position to a sitting one directly beside him, completely ignoring the damp floor where Gordon had shaken off his swim.
He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out as they had been for the past few minutes.
βFeeling better?β John asked, tilting his head at him.
βDunno,β and a shrug was the response he got.
βI'll take that as a βnoβ then.β
βHeart feels like itβs going at a million miles an hour. Chest hurts.β
John nodded. βI know. Youβre doing great though.β
He was doing great, coming back down to earth (in a manner of speaking) largely unaided.
John was aware of the chance of an attack like this happening with Gordon after all heβs gone through, they all have had close calls with death over the years in their jobs at International Rescue, but never have any of them had an experience so violent. Scott has been known to take himself out into the jungle and vanish for a few hours. Virgil would retreat into something to keep him busy - the piano, cleaning something obessively, painting. Alan thankfully has not experienced much trauma in this regard, but considering that Alan has often been waiting on the sidelines while one of them is in troubleβ¦ heβs probably just too used to it, as awful as that is to think. Itβs normal for him.
This was the closest that Gordon has been to death in a long time, and by some metrics, he did die. His heart was not beating and he was not breathing. He had to be resuscitated - by two of his brothers no less. As aloof an attitude as Gordon had to serious things like that, he was still human and still suceptible to the harsh realities of the aftermath to his experiences.
All the same⦠John was glad he was coming back around somewhat.
"Is there anything you want, Gordon?β he asked, watching as Gordon was breathing through his nose, deeply and with purpose, staring off at the opposite side of the room.
All he got in response was his brother reaching for - and squeezing - on his hand, pulling it to his chest.
Somehow that action - that small, tiny, inconsequential thing - was enough to trick Johnβs heart into settling back down from its adrenaline fuelled racing to something calmer.
Heβd be okay. Heβs Gordon. Of course he will be.
βI wasβ¦β he started with a crack in his voice, ββ¦ I was there.β
βI know you were. Youβre not there now, though. Youβre here, home, on Tracy Island.β
βNo. I was there. He was there.β Gordon managed to choke out, his grip on Johnβs hand firm, shaking it as he stressed the words. βHe was me.β
John couldnβt really think of something to say in response to his little brotherβs very broken, terrified statement. Whatever had happened to him, Gordon had kept a lot of it to himself - only Virgil knew more than the rest of them but that was purely from a medical standpoint - Virgil had treated Gordon for his injuries, and had said no more on what was there.
Just that he had been through a lot - and that he was going to need time to cope with it all.
βI donβtβ¦β Gordon started, before silencing with a hitched breath, tears building up in his glossy eyes. ββ¦ I donβt know how I can live like this.β
βGordon, you can and you will get through this,β John squeezed Gordonβs hand back, turning properly to face him, βno matter how long it takes, because we all love you and want to see you happy again.β
Gordonβs head dropped down, his chin on his chest, eyes closed.
βWeβve got all the time in the world to help you Gordon, and you know weβll never let you suffer on your own ever again.β
John heard something, and he could have sworn it was Gordon laughing, but his face betrayed nothing until he replied;
βIβll remember this next time youβre bottling everything up, John.β
John couldnβt help but crack a smile of his own. βAnd I will deserve all of it. Now, shall we get you dried off and sort out some lunch? Not any of Grandmaβs cooking, mind you. We both need our strength for whatever Grandma will have us do when sheβs back from the mainland.β
Well, it only took me (checks) ALMOST A YEAR but i finally finished this lil thing!
Set as a very loose sequel to the events of my Captured story (A03) but can be read as a standalone.
POV: John
John finds himself helping Gordon out when he really needs it.
C/W's: referenced/implied past torture, referenced near death experience, PTSD flashback (from 3rd party perspective). (let me know if i missed anything!!)
I hope you enjoy!
If thereβs one thing that always seemed to mar Johnβs time on the island, almost exactly every time heβs got both of his feet on solid ground, itβs that gravity is out to get him personally.
Itβs not even that he hates gravity all that much. It has its purpose in the universe as a force and itβs nice to not float away when one is asleep, but he cannot deny the fact that the first day after arriving back on Earth is always the worst one because of gravity.
This time, the culprit was the bar stool he pulled out in the kitchen. Nose deep in a book written by a NASA colleague of his about a new black hole discovery, he felt the air fly by as he missed the soft cushion. By the time he realised that he had missed the seat completely, he spread his arms out wildly to try and catch himself, and felt his heart stop.
His body hit the floor and the sound that escaped him as he was subject to gravityβs cruel calling was frankly embarrassing. It took him a couple of seconds before he felt that he wasnβt injured enough to attempt to sit up and reach for the book, now just out of his reach.
The shock to the system as his backside hit the hard wooden floor was bad enough, but worse was the sound that met his ears from somewhere behind him.
βSpectacular form, Johnny,β Gordon laughed, βbe seeing you next fall then?β
John rolled his eyes, pulling himself up from the floor with the book in hand to see the blond brother stepping into the kitchen in his soaking wet swimming trunks, a towel draped over his shoulder, dripping all over the kitchen floor.
Grandma Tracy will not be pleased to see this mess when she returns from the mainland supply run.
βAnd the water is supposed to be in the pool,β he nodded at the floor, βnot the kitchen, Gordo,β
βAh, details, details - lighten up a little!β he smirks, coming up beside John and shaking his messy mop of hair, sending little droplets of chlorinated water flying everywhere, including Johnβs new book.
He quickly moved it behind his back to protect it from further abuse by water, βstop grinning at me, youβre acting like a dog thatβs just taken a swim in a lake just to spite me. Go take a shower.β
The younger brother, smile still plastered over his face, started moving towards the stairs with a spring in his step. Heβs such an idiot.
Properly taking the intended seat (the painful landing somewhat subsided now, thankfully) and reopening the book to his last read page, John couldnβt help but feel a little annoyed by Gordonβs antics.
As much as he knew that Gordon was just having fun, it was annoying fun all the same, like he knew just how far to toe the line before John would get truly angry at him. And thatβs saying something, he liked to think he was able to keep his anger in check very well. In fact, it had been years since he had been angry, even longer since he was truly angry at any of his brothers, and -
Gordon was stood perfectly still at the bottom of the stairs.
John frowned, looking up from his book to properly take in what he was seeing. He looked stiff as a board, one of his hands held up to the side of his face, the towel that was over his shoulder now discarded on the floor.
βGordon?β John called out, βare you okay?β
He didnβt answer.
With hope that this wasn't some immature attempt at pulling his leg, disturbing him from his book, he slowly rose to his feet, watching him carefully.
Awash with an all too familiar sensation, the feeling that normally comes when heβs on space monitor duty and can tell something is about to happen. A call about to come in, geological sensors predicting natural disasters, Langstrom Fishlerβs newest creation, whatever that may be.
Something was wrong here and now.
βGordon, can you hear me?β John stepped away from the counter he had been sat at and started towards him.
As he came closer, he could see his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall.
And Gordon's face was there too, eyes wide and features stiff, unblinking with his lips just parted, his hand just away from his cheek. Water was still dripping down his features from his wet hair, and John could just about hear his breathing change from over here. From practically not breathing at all, to fast and shallow. His skin was suddenly sheet white, as compared to just a minute ago.
Gordon took a deep, choked breath and then fell backwards on to the hard tiled floor.
John immediately rushed to catch him, just barely missing but hopefully alleviating what could have been a serious injury to a mere bump.
Before he realised it though, Gordon was practically thrashing his way out of Johnβs grip, and John instinctively released him once they were both on the ground.
He had never been on the receiving end of such treatment from the younger brother, because whenever Gordon engaged in play-fighting, it was exactly that - play. Fake. Not using full strength.
Gordon is a physically fit, powerful young man and slippery as an eel when it suits him.
And yet, the sheer, primal terror that he seemed to be experiencing was beyond anything John could have expected.
Gordon flung himself across the floor, curling up at the foot of the stairs, his breath ragged and laboured.
βGordon - Gordon - can you hear me?β John managed to utter out as he clamoured over to his brother.
The brother in question did not answer him, he was clutching his chest and breathing erratically - his eyes wide and full of panic.
John froze above him, trying to think - think what to do. He was experiencing some kind of traumatic episode, potentially flashing back to his experiences - although what had set him off the way it has, John had no idea - and he was racking his brains trying to remember what he needed to do to help someone in that state. It felt like a lifetime, though, before it all came back to him. As though he was not even here, as though he was back on board Thunderbird 5, unable to touch and hold someone but only able to communicate from a list.
He can do this.
John moved slowly. Carefully. With precise focus, as he brought himself down to Gordonβs level, looking him right in the eyes.
There was a world of hurt in those eyes. His pupils glazed and unfocused, yet scanning for anything and everything.
John didn't waver, though. He took a breath himself, steeling himself for what he knew he needed to do to help his brother.
βGordon,β he spoke clearly but quietly, βGordon, I want you to breathe with me. Inβ¦β
John took a deep inhale, watching for a reaction from his brother. It was shaky, it was laboured, but Gordon did take a breath
βand outβ¦ good job, Gordon. Inβ¦β
John followed through on this, too. Repeating, in and out, until Gordon's violent shaking was subsided to simply trembling, the whites of his eyes no longer quite as prominent.
Next step.
βGood job, Gordon - do you remember where you are?β
βTβ¦Tracy Islandβ¦β
βYeah, thatβs right. What colour is Scott's laundry hanging on the line, over there?β John slowly raised a finger to a spot towards his right side.
Gordon's gaze followed it, breathing slower now. He could see the focus come back into his eyes as he looked at what John had pointed at. βRβ¦Red underwear. Blueβ¦ shirt. Jeans. Black socks. Blue towel.β
βYeah, those stupid spider man ones, aren't they?β John smiled, βguess he loves to pretend he's spider man when he's grappling around on rescues.β
This elicited a very small chuckle from Gordon, a hint of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments.
βKeep breathing for me, Gordo,β John reached forward and patted him gently on the shoulder, before moving from his kneeling position to a sitting one directly beside him, completely ignoring the damp floor where Gordon had shaken off his swim.
He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out as they had been for the past few minutes.
βFeeling better?β John asked, tilting his head at him.
βDunno,β and a shrug was the response he got.
βI'll take that as a βnoβ then.β
βHeart feels like itβs going at a million miles an hour. Chest hurts.β
John nodded. βI know. Youβre doing great though.β
He was doing great, coming back down to earth (in a manner of speaking) largely unaided.
John was aware of the chance of an attack like this happening with Gordon after all heβs gone through, they all have had close calls with death over the years in their jobs at International Rescue, but never have any of them had an experience so violent. Scott has been known to take himself out into the jungle and vanish for a few hours. Virgil would retreat into something to keep him busy - the piano, cleaning something obessively, painting. Alan thankfully has not experienced much trauma in this regard, but considering that Alan has often been waiting on the sidelines while one of them is in troubleβ¦ heβs probably just too used to it, as awful as that is to think. Itβs normal for him.
This was the closest that Gordon has been to death in a long time, and by some metrics, he did die. His heart was not beating and he was not breathing. He had to be resuscitated - by two of his brothers no less. As aloof an attitude as Gordon had to serious things like that, he was still human and still suceptible to the harsh realities of the aftermath to his experiences.
All the same⦠John was glad he was coming back around somewhat.
"Is there anything you want, Gordon?β he asked, watching as Gordon was breathing through his nose, deeply and with purpose, staring off at the opposite side of the room.
All he got in response was his brother reaching for - and squeezing - on his hand, pulling it to his chest.
Somehow that action - that small, tiny, inconsequential thing - was enough to trick Johnβs heart into settling back down from its adrenaline fuelled racing to something calmer.
Heβd be okay. Heβs Gordon. Of course he will be.
βI wasβ¦β he started with a crack in his voice, ββ¦ I was there.β
βI know you were. Youβre not there now, though. Youβre here, home, on Tracy Island.β
βNo. I was there. He was there.β Gordon managed to choke out, his grip on Johnβs hand firm, shaking it as he stressed the words. βHe was me.β
John couldnβt really think of something to say in response to his little brotherβs very broken, terrified statement. Whatever had happened to him, Gordon had kept a lot of it to himself - only Virgil knew more than the rest of them but that was purely from a medical standpoint - Virgil had treated Gordon for his injuries, and had said no more on what was there.
Just that he had been through a lot - and that he was going to need time to cope with it all.
βI donβtβ¦β Gordon started, before silencing with a hitched breath, tears building up in his glossy eyes. ββ¦ I donβt know how I can live like this.β
βGordon, you can and you will get through this,β John squeezed Gordonβs hand back, turning properly to face him, βno matter how long it takes, because we all love you and want to see you happy again.β
Gordonβs head dropped down, his chin on his chest, eyes closed.
βWeβve got all the time in the world to help you Gordon, and you know weβll never let you suffer on your own ever again.β
John heard something, and he could have sworn it was Gordon laughing, but his face betrayed nothing until he replied;
βIβll remember this next time youβre bottling everything up, John.β
John couldnβt help but crack a smile of his own. βAnd I will deserve all of it. Now, shall we get you dried off and sort out some lunch? Not any of Grandmaβs cooking, mind you. We both need our strength for whatever Grandma will have us do when sheβs back from the mainland.β
so i feel like John is pretty good at dealing with situations as a "first responder". Doing stuff over the radio is his whole thing. He's probably able to sort of explain first aid basics over the radio to someone helping a casualty if they don't know what to do.
but i'm struggling to decide:
How does John deal with/react to one of the brothers having a trauma response right there in front of him when he's on his own with them?
He instantly knows what to do.
He "panics" and isn't sure what to do.
secret third option?
Voting ended onAug 19, 2025
For context:
Following Gordon's rescue after the events of the last few chapters of Captured, he's grounded on rest and recovery at home. John happens to be on the island (reasons). Gordon catches sight of his reflection at a particular moment and has a traumatic flashback to his experience being mimicked and tortured by "himself". John is the only one nearby who can help him.
I just can't decide how he would react.
He instantly knows what to do. Is able to jump right in, help ground them, stay with them until they calm down.
by "panic" i mean, sort of freeze and be very caught off guard, possibly make a mistake or two in an attempt to calm them down. This is something he would probably be able to do over the radio, but seeing it happen to his brother right in front of him very suddenly catches him off guard.
honestly, this is all I have. Please let me know what you guys think.
Well, it only took me (checks) ALMOST A YEAR but i finally finished this lil thing!
Set as a very loose sequel to the events of my Captured story (A03) but can be read as a standalone.
POV: John
John finds himself helping Gordon out when he really needs it.
C/W's: referenced/implied past torture, referenced near death experience, PTSD flashback (from 3rd party perspective). (let me know if i missed anything!!)
I hope you enjoy!
If thereβs one thing that always seemed to mar Johnβs time on the island, almost exactly every time heβs got both of his feet on solid ground, itβs that gravity is out to get him personally.
Itβs not even that he hates gravity all that much. It has its purpose in the universe as a force and itβs nice to not float away when one is asleep, but he cannot deny the fact that the first day after arriving back on Earth is always the worst one because of gravity.
This time, the culprit was the bar stool he pulled out in the kitchen. Nose deep in a book written by a NASA colleague of his about a new black hole discovery, he felt the air fly by as he missed the soft cushion. By the time he realised that he had missed the seat completely, he spread his arms out wildly to try and catch himself, and felt his heart stop.
His body hit the floor and the sound that escaped him as he was subject to gravityβs cruel calling was frankly embarrassing. It took him a couple of seconds before he felt that he wasnβt injured enough to attempt to sit up and reach for the book, now just out of his reach.
The shock to the system as his backside hit the hard wooden floor was bad enough, but worse was the sound that met his ears from somewhere behind him.
βSpectacular form, Johnny,β Gordon laughed, βbe seeing you next fall then?β
John rolled his eyes, pulling himself up from the floor with the book in hand to see the blond brother stepping into the kitchen in his soaking wet swimming trunks, a towel draped over his shoulder, dripping all over the kitchen floor.
Grandma Tracy will not be pleased to see this mess when she returns from the mainland supply run.
βAnd the water is supposed to be in the pool,β he nodded at the floor, βnot the kitchen, Gordo,β
βAh, details, details - lighten up a little!β he smirks, coming up beside John and shaking his messy mop of hair, sending little droplets of chlorinated water flying everywhere, including Johnβs new book.
He quickly moved it behind his back to protect it from further abuse by water, βstop grinning at me, youβre acting like a dog thatβs just taken a swim in a lake just to spite me. Go take a shower.β
The younger brother, smile still plastered over his face, started moving towards the stairs with a spring in his step. Heβs such an idiot.
Properly taking the intended seat (the painful landing somewhat subsided now, thankfully) and reopening the book to his last read page, John couldnβt help but feel a little annoyed by Gordonβs antics.
As much as he knew that Gordon was just having fun, it was annoying fun all the same, like he knew just how far to toe the line before John would get truly angry at him. And thatβs saying something, he liked to think he was able to keep his anger in check very well. In fact, it had been years since he had been angry, even longer since he was truly angry at any of his brothers, and -
Gordon was stood perfectly still at the bottom of the stairs.
John frowned, looking up from his book to properly take in what he was seeing. He looked stiff as a board, one of his hands held up to the side of his face, the towel that was over his shoulder now discarded on the floor.
βGordon?β John called out, βare you okay?β
He didnβt answer.
With hope that this wasn't some immature attempt at pulling his leg, disturbing him from his book, he slowly rose to his feet, watching him carefully.
Awash with an all too familiar sensation, the feeling that normally comes when heβs on space monitor duty and can tell something is about to happen. A call about to come in, geological sensors predicting natural disasters, Langstrom Fishlerβs newest creation, whatever that may be.
Something was wrong here and now.
βGordon, can you hear me?β John stepped away from the counter he had been sat at and started towards him.
As he came closer, he could see his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall.
And Gordon's face was there too, eyes wide and features stiff, unblinking with his lips just parted, his hand just away from his cheek. Water was still dripping down his features from his wet hair, and John could just about hear his breathing change from over here. From practically not breathing at all, to fast and shallow. His skin was suddenly sheet white, as compared to just a minute ago.
Gordon took a deep, choked breath and then fell backwards on to the hard tiled floor.
John immediately rushed to catch him, just barely missing but hopefully alleviating what could have been a serious injury to a mere bump.
Before he realised it though, Gordon was practically thrashing his way out of Johnβs grip, and John instinctively released him once they were both on the ground.
He had never been on the receiving end of such treatment from the younger brother, because whenever Gordon engaged in play-fighting, it was exactly that - play. Fake. Not using full strength.
Gordon is a physically fit, powerful young man and slippery as an eel when it suits him.
And yet, the sheer, primal terror that he seemed to be experiencing was beyond anything John could have expected.
Gordon flung himself across the floor, curling up at the foot of the stairs, his breath ragged and laboured.
βGordon - Gordon - can you hear me?β John managed to utter out as he clamoured over to his brother.
The brother in question did not answer him, he was clutching his chest and breathing erratically - his eyes wide and full of panic.
John froze above him, trying to think - think what to do. He was experiencing some kind of traumatic episode, potentially flashing back to his experiences - although what had set him off the way it has, John had no idea - and he was racking his brains trying to remember what he needed to do to help someone in that state. It felt like a lifetime, though, before it all came back to him. As though he was not even here, as though he was back on board Thunderbird 5, unable to touch and hold someone but only able to communicate from a list.
He can do this.
John moved slowly. Carefully. With precise focus, as he brought himself down to Gordonβs level, looking him right in the eyes.
There was a world of hurt in those eyes. His pupils glazed and unfocused, yet scanning for anything and everything.
John didn't waver, though. He took a breath himself, steeling himself for what he knew he needed to do to help his brother.
βGordon,β he spoke clearly but quietly, βGordon, I want you to breathe with me. Inβ¦β
John took a deep inhale, watching for a reaction from his brother. It was shaky, it was laboured, but Gordon did take a breath
βand outβ¦ good job, Gordon. Inβ¦β
John followed through on this, too. Repeating, in and out, until Gordon's violent shaking was subsided to simply trembling, the whites of his eyes no longer quite as prominent.
Next step.
βGood job, Gordon - do you remember where you are?β
βTβ¦Tracy Islandβ¦β
βYeah, thatβs right. What colour is Scott's laundry hanging on the line, over there?β John slowly raised a finger to a spot towards his right side.
Gordon's gaze followed it, breathing slower now. He could see the focus come back into his eyes as he looked at what John had pointed at. βRβ¦Red underwear. Blueβ¦ shirt. Jeans. Black socks. Blue towel.β
βYeah, those stupid spider man ones, aren't they?β John smiled, βguess he loves to pretend he's spider man when he's grappling around on rescues.β
This elicited a very small chuckle from Gordon, a hint of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments.
βKeep breathing for me, Gordo,β John reached forward and patted him gently on the shoulder, before moving from his kneeling position to a sitting one directly beside him, completely ignoring the damp floor where Gordon had shaken off his swim.
He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out as they had been for the past few minutes.
βFeeling better?β John asked, tilting his head at him.
βDunno,β and a shrug was the response he got.
βI'll take that as a βnoβ then.β
βHeart feels like itβs going at a million miles an hour. Chest hurts.β
John nodded. βI know. Youβre doing great though.β
He was doing great, coming back down to earth (in a manner of speaking) largely unaided.
John was aware of the chance of an attack like this happening with Gordon after all heβs gone through, they all have had close calls with death over the years in their jobs at International Rescue, but never have any of them had an experience so violent. Scott has been known to take himself out into the jungle and vanish for a few hours. Virgil would retreat into something to keep him busy - the piano, cleaning something obessively, painting. Alan thankfully has not experienced much trauma in this regard, but considering that Alan has often been waiting on the sidelines while one of them is in troubleβ¦ heβs probably just too used to it, as awful as that is to think. Itβs normal for him.
This was the closest that Gordon has been to death in a long time, and by some metrics, he did die. His heart was not beating and he was not breathing. He had to be resuscitated - by two of his brothers no less. As aloof an attitude as Gordon had to serious things like that, he was still human and still suceptible to the harsh realities of the aftermath to his experiences.
All the same⦠John was glad he was coming back around somewhat.
"Is there anything you want, Gordon?β he asked, watching as Gordon was breathing through his nose, deeply and with purpose, staring off at the opposite side of the room.
All he got in response was his brother reaching for - and squeezing - on his hand, pulling it to his chest.
Somehow that action - that small, tiny, inconsequential thing - was enough to trick Johnβs heart into settling back down from its adrenaline fuelled racing to something calmer.
Heβd be okay. Heβs Gordon. Of course he will be.
βI wasβ¦β he started with a crack in his voice, ββ¦ I was there.β
βI know you were. Youβre not there now, though. Youβre here, home, on Tracy Island.β
βNo. I was there. He was there.β Gordon managed to choke out, his grip on Johnβs hand firm, shaking it as he stressed the words. βHe was me.β
John couldnβt really think of something to say in response to his little brotherβs very broken, terrified statement. Whatever had happened to him, Gordon had kept a lot of it to himself - only Virgil knew more than the rest of them but that was purely from a medical standpoint - Virgil had treated Gordon for his injuries, and had said no more on what was there.
Just that he had been through a lot - and that he was going to need time to cope with it all.
βI donβtβ¦β Gordon started, before silencing with a hitched breath, tears building up in his glossy eyes. ββ¦ I donβt know how I can live like this.β
βGordon, you can and you will get through this,β John squeezed Gordonβs hand back, turning properly to face him, βno matter how long it takes, because we all love you and want to see you happy again.β
Gordonβs head dropped down, his chin on his chest, eyes closed.
βWeβve got all the time in the world to help you Gordon, and you know weβll never let you suffer on your own ever again.β
John heard something, and he could have sworn it was Gordon laughing, but his face betrayed nothing until he replied;
βIβll remember this next time youβre bottling everything up, John.β
John couldnβt help but crack a smile of his own. βAnd I will deserve all of it. Now, shall we get you dried off and sort out some lunch? Not any of Grandmaβs cooking, mind you. We both need our strength for whatever Grandma will have us do when sheβs back from the mainland.β
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If another live action Thunderbirds movie is ever made,,, I'm gonna need at least one fanfiction writer on the team cause I NEED the brothers to use nicknames for each other...
Scott: Scottie, Smother Hen, Scooter
John: Johnny, Space-case
Virgil: Virge, Tank, Picasso
Gordon: Gordo, Gords, Fish-face
Alan: Al, Allie, Sprout
LIKE PLEASE!!!!! I'm even open to new nicknames not on this list!!! It's like,,,,,,, it seems a tad weird when they don't, cause it makes them seem overly formal to not use nicknames.... at least 2004 gave us 'Sprout'!
I am a PASSIONATE commenter on fanfiction, but sometimes it slows down my reading because I don't want to read if I don't have the mental energy to leave the long comments I want to
Still, as an author, I know even a short note can mean the world.
So, I put together a little guide with different βlevelsβ of comments, so itβs easier to leave something without overthinking!
for maximum impact with minimum effort can I strongly recommend the quick highlight?
copy pasting a particular line and your reaction to it is a phenomenal way to quickly provide specific, unique feedback!
it can even just be a keysmash or an emoji response to the quoted bit
authors have SO many micro decisions and careful word choices that go into the writing process and that they'll almost never get to see a specific reaction to
it's so fun to get even one of these things highlighted
authors have SO many micro decisions and careful word choices that go into the writing process and that they'll almost never get to see a specific reaction to
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- Whumpee being tied to something heavy and dropped into a deep pool of water. Straining/pulling against ropes chains as they run out of breath, their body slowly going limp
- Similarly, whumpee seeing a form swimming towards them (caretaker?) through bleary eyes
- Whumpee has a near-drowning experience but makes it out and assumes theyβre fine. Later, they end up developing pneumonia from the leftover water in their lungs
- Whumpee being pulled out of a body of water and needing cpr, caretaker wincing slightly as they break whumpeeβs ribs
- Caretaker swimming with an unconscious whumpee and trying to keep both their heads above water (bonus points if the water has waves/is choppy af. Bonus bonus points if caretaker runs out of strength and they both start to go down)
- Whumpee who has to swim a very long distance finally makes it to shore. They drag themselves onto land and immediately pass out/collapse from exhaustion
- Caretaker shaking/screaming at a whumpee they just pulled out of water to wake up
- Whumpee coughing/gasping as they struggle to get the water out of their lungs
name a character (literally any character: book, movie, musical, etc) of any type, that is canonically straight (or their sexuality is never mentioned..?) but you, or the fandom in general, have a different opinion (and you can list the HC you have for them !!)
Ill start: JACK KELLY
tags (not forced): @youllstealannuduh @theloverislost @deizzyx @billthebratbastardslank @burnttoast7272 @burnininhell @kaihasmoreswagthanyou3 @atthispointeverythingischaos @onionflavoredbread @asexualbert @mikeandwillsweddingofficiant @raventhecrispy-offical @genderqueernoelgruber @soda-pop-22 + OPEN TAGS BECAUSE I FORGET
so one of my oc girlies in my TAG crossover, Zofia, has a prosthetic leg.
And nothing has brought me more joy than imagining the following conversation over breakfast:
"Can you please come to the l-lab to t-try out this new leg I made for you?"
"Am I about to get launched at the ceiling of Thunderbird 1's hangar again? I'd like a parachute in advance this time"
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So for the last week I've been quite sick, sent home from work kind of sick, I'm fine now but by god I can't state enough how much TAG alleviated my boredom whilst I was home alone feeling sorry for myself.
