There is still so much I need to read and process about the information that was just released, but first I need to say this: THANK YOU POMME AND DAPPER ADMINS!!!
You both are amazing and I want you guys to know that you will always be beloved by all of us here on Tumblr. I'm so serious.
For months, I have loved staying up very late with y'all, watching and liveblogging everything that you guys got up to. You guys made such interesting characters and your efforts will never be forgotten.
Almost every night, you brought smiles to my face and brought inspiration to this entire fandom. Whether it was fluff or angst, you both breathed life into a game of Minecraft in such a cool way. So many amazing works and moments were created because of how much you guys put into this project, and all of us here know how deeply you cared.
In case you're looking around here on Tumblr, I need you to see this and know the positive impact you both have had. So from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU! <3 <3
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Heeyy a bit of a self indulgent ask here but I had a phobia/trauma trigger today and it caused me to have a messy sobbing panic attack. Do you have anything on how Homelander would deal with his s/o having a panic attack like that? almost completely inconsolable. I know this is self serving and indulgent and I’m sorry for over sharing homelander is a comfort character for me and you write him exquisitely. If you’re not comfortable with this just ignore
Homelander was sixteen when he had his first panic attack. He'd flown further and faster away than he'd ever had the freedom to and collapsed in a dense woodland, sobbing and rocking his body against the cool forest floor.
He'd pulled his hair so hard it should have come loose, grit his teeth so tightly they should have cracked, and choked so badly on his own constricting throat that it should have caved in.
They didn't. He's invulnerable, after all. As solid as marble.
It was the first attack, but not the last.
That's how he recognizes it so quickly in you.
"Hey," he says, ears attuned to the rabbit-like pound of your heart. "Heyy, hey, it's okay. I'm right here, you see me? Hey." He's only just found you, he doesn't know yet what your trigger was, but he can ascertain that later.
Your staccato breaths and sharp sobs, the sea salt smell of tears streaking your cheeks, are nearly enough to rouse his own panic by proxy. He needs it to stop. He needs you to stop. He cares about you too much for you to scare him like this.
"Hey, you hear me?" He asks, cupping either side of your face. You can't answer through it. Your tongue is gnarled with panic and you're sobbing so hard he fears you'll choke yourself on it. He's not even sure you see him.
He takes you into his arms, one moving smoothly around your waist while the other cups the back of your head. He holds gently at first, grip gradually tightening, compressing your body against his in the hopes that the hammer of your heart will meet and match the steady beat of his own.
"Sssshhhhhhh," he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take from you the weight of your own body.
"I've got you. Whatever it is, it's okay. It's okay. I've got you. M'gonna take care of it, alright? Ssshh," he says, rocking you the same way he used to rock himself in the corner of the bad room, soothing himself with the thump of his own skull against those sterile white walls.
He knows it's working when you slip your arms around him in turn. He continues to hush you, whispering more honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.
I'm here. You're safe. I love you.
It's everything he can think that he always wanted to hear in these moments of raw, horrifically human weakness.
Eventually, your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder in his ears, still convinced that the danger hasn't yet vanished. He tries not to take that personally and scoops you up the rest of the way into his arms.
"That's it, just like that," he coos, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. "Breathe. Breathe. Good... Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly," he tells you, sharing the greatest comfort he's ever known. His only real escape has always been his weightlessness, the ability to shed gravity at will. He uses his strength in an attempt to share even a sliver of that sense of freedom with you.
Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't. All he knows is that your heart starts to slow alongside the flow of your tears. He kisses your wet cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. He whispers praise and love with each one, voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," you choke out. He's appalled that would be your first instinct.
"Don't," he says firmly, though his voice is still low. "Don't. I can carry it for you. Carry you. What's the point of super strength otherwise?" He murmurs, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.
You almost smile back, and that's enough for him. He kisses the crease between your brows until it smooths, and the highs of your cheeks until the tears dry up, and your lips until they're ready to speak again.
He'll hold you for as long as it takes your body to realize the threat was only ever in your mind, and that there isn't a thing in this goddamn world he would ever let hurt you.
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Hiii Hal. Can you give us a tease of your next chapter? 😄
Teaser Tuesday at your service!
Familiar, Chapter 13
[Danny] thought about school, his elemental powers, the fortune he had at his fingertips. His brain wouldn’t relax. He was restless, fidgety.
And lonely.
He rolled over. The pillows were just as soft, the sheets just as creamy smooth as the ones in Vlad’s bed, and yet...
Danny sighed and turned onto his stomach. He only stayed that way for a minute before he turned onto his side again and stared at the opposite wall.
He never thought that sharing a bed with Vlad Masters would end up a habit. It was embarrassing. And weird. And wrong. He knew that down to his marrow. But here he was, craving the man’s closeness. He wished Jazz was here. She would know what to make of all this. Then again, if Jazz were here, Danny wouldn’t be. If she had lived, if Mom and Dad and Sam and Tucker and Mr. Lancer were all still alive, he wouldn’t be lying here wishing he could go downstairs and slip into Vlad’s bed and just bask in his warm, comforting presence.
The bond has been established. Your nexuses are linked, perhaps indefinitely.
He growled and kicked the covers off.
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