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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In all seriousness, if it is the Smosh Pit Fan Fiction episode and for some reason they do read something of mine here is my plan ✨️
1. I will be at work, so any action on my part won't be taken until 4 pm.
2. If I get anon hate as a consequence on here I will block and or delete them and not post them to give them the attention they want/will be seeking potentially.
3. If I get hate comments on ao3 on the fic they read from, the comments will simply be deleted.
4. I will not read the comments on the video itself.
5. If Ian or Anthony makes fun of me, it's over for me, and I will have to turn in my ianthony girlie card.
(BONUS: I am not going to do this but you can if you're nervous or anxious: lock your ao3 fics so you have to have an account to read them or comment on them and/or set comments to be moderated on your end.)
Ultimately, there is no stress or fear. I feel that, in general, they will be kind. It's more so the other fans that see fic as creepy I worry about but I have not seen one person overstep a line into being unhinged or dangerous or threatening irl and we are all just having fun. 🤷
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