uncomfortablefandoms

[uncomfortablefandoms]

Phobias

femShep x Kaidan Alenko

Shepard is afraid of the dark.

She knows it’s dumb. It’s a fucking silly thing, to be afraid of the dark.

She’s seen the unimaginable: crawled through carnage, yet it’s shadows that wreak havoc on her mind.

It’s not monsters she’s afraid of, though at times it feels that way. Grotesque, vicious monsters reaching from below to wrap it’s tentacles around her, drag her to the depths of her imagination. Deep down to an ocean trench where the monsters are real, where she watches the tentacles turn blue and drip with acid, and grow massive blades for arms that thrash wildly, stab the soil mere feet from where she stands on weak knees.

The force of which sends her flying, careening toward a desert floor, where the last thing she sees before darkness falls is flesh melt off bones beneath a bubbling mask of maw spit, allies and friends turned to soup from which no identity or tags will be claimed. The air is thick with the scent of rancid flesh broiling in the sun and she is trapped in the dark, no choice but to listen to fallen soldiers sob, to pray for their gods to spare them; and eventually, pray to their gods to take them.

“Come on, I’ll go with you.”

Shepard blinks, glances through her periphery, unwilling to take her eyes from the hallway across the room, as dark and bleak as the gaping maw of the beast in her mind. Slowly, Kaidan comes into focus, his eyes heavy with understanding, his smile gentle and easy as always.

He places a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Shepard nods, stands only a second before she allows Kaidan guides her through the hall. Both hands on her shoulders now, supporting, steering, but not pushing. And Shepard stays well within his reach, back nearly touching his chest, eyes straight ahead and senses honed on the warmth from his hands, on the comfort he brings. Not only from body heat, but from understanding.

It’s not the dark, it’s what the dark doesn’t show, what her mind makes up to fill in the shadows.

[uncomfortablefandoms]

[uncomfortablefandoms]

me3 studies

[uncomfortablefandoms]

We will fight, we will sacrifice, and we will find a way.

Made this first, but i felt the first version i posted fit the mass effect theme better! I really like this tho so im gonna post it anyway

starry/eyes closed version

[uncomfortablefandoms]

Can you do reactions of the dai companions for an elven Inquisitor who likes to climb to the highest point they can to watch the sky when they're upset or overwhelmed because it reminds them of the mountains they grew up in?

I can definitely do that! What a sweet idea, different from the usual forest-dwelling Dalish. (Also, infinitely sorry to whoever doesn’t want to see these but they show up on your dash and you have to spend ages scrolling past.) This is some time during Inquisition, not when the romances have entirely finished up. Also went off topic at times! Sorry!

Cullen: 

He’d very much prefer that the Inquisitor, their saviour, the only person with the magical glowing green hand, didn’t climb to absurd heights and endanger themselves more than already necessary. 

He understands they’re a person before they’re a leader, and he wishes that could be acknowledged more. But still. Couldn’t they get a nice painting of some mountains instead?

Cullen (romance): 

“Too much?” He asks, careful to make his footsteps heavier. 

He’s seen her up here many times on her balcony, legs swinging off the side and eyes looking out somewhere further than the mountains. Yet still he gets flashes of her startling at his voice and slipping off of the edge. The thought of it sends his heart beating hard.

He prefers to avoid the possibility.

“Too much,” she agrees quietly, not looking away from that distance he can’t see.

It pains him still that she is the one who has to sit in judgement of all the criminals and prisoners that end up in the Inquisition’s hands. Josephine tries to make it easier, he knows, but still. She already has too many lives resting on her.

He walks over to her slowly, almost reaching out to touch but stops himself. He sits facing inwards, knowing it’s so he could catch her easier and berating himself for the worry.

Cullen rests his hand, hesitantly, near her thigh. I’m here if you need me, he hopes it says. And not, I’m stealing your time whether you like it or not. He fears intruding on these private moments. He should be satisfied to simply watch- he is satisfied to simply watch. Following the lines of her profile with the white winter sun behind it. The curve of her nose, the sharp jut of her pointed ear.

Still, something warm and sweet seeps into his lungs when he feels her shaking hand rest gently on top of his. He leans across to press a kiss to her temple, and when she’s ready to come back, she does so tucked under his arm.

Blackwall:

He wants to see how far they can climb, and promptly regrets it when he does. Them stood there, wobbling on one leg, arms stretched out for the balance on a rocky outcrop who-knows-how-far-from-the-ground would be impressive. If he wasn’t near soiling himself from fear.

He begs them to come down.

Blackwall (romance):

He wakes up to the cold and groans into the pillow. Cold because the furs have fallen off, cold because she’s not there, cold because of where she’s gone. Cold because she always leaves those bloody doors open.

He stands with a sigh, dresses with the practised precision of a man who’s spent plenty of the time on the road. Time still feels like a luxury. Time is a luxury, he knows, though he wishes it wasn’t.

He looks at her as he tugs a loose shirt over his head. She’s still in her bedclothes, thin and translucent. He can see the lines of her figure beneath it. His annoyance melts like honey in tea; he pads softly across the room and to the balcony with a blanket in hand.

She must feel his presence before she sees him, because when he’s a step behind her she turns. Her face is streaked with tears, eyes red, mouth in a wobbling line that makes his heart twist. He opens his arms and she falls into them, her entire body shaking with sobs that become harder when her wraps the blanket around her.

Blackwall can hear it in the loud, broken sounds she makes. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

He allows them to sink to the ground slowly, pulls her legs over his lap and tucks her against his chest like a child. Drags his fingers through her hair, across her scalp, feels the hotness of her tears through his shirt.

Despite himself, staring at the mountains that meant so much to her, the cool greys and blues and biting air, he cries quietly with her.

Solas:

His plans are going to unravel because they’ll fall from a cliff and their hand will be far too broken and splattered to close any more rifts.

He makes peace with it. He’ll call it fate.

Solas (romance):

The quiet of the Emerald Graves at dawn is a relaxing one. Solas doesn’t often rise first, but he finds some appreciation for the ethereal peace that lives in a waking forest. 

The fire is already going, a decent lot of porridge bubbling at the side of it. Their clothes are washed and dry. He wonders, in the back of his mind, whether these were her duties while she was with her clan or if she simply did them because they needed to be done. Either way, she was up and had wandered.

He shrugs off the last aching dredges of sleep, eyes scanning until- ah. Yes.

The rocky outcrop is close enough to the camp to be his best best, and it proves to be the right one. When he reaches the top, panting a little from early morning exertion, it’s to the sight of her watching him.

“You could have just asked me to climb down, Solas,” she says, the edge of a smile gracing her face.

He huffs, brushing himself down and furrowing his eyebrows. “Do not even joke.”

“Is everyone up? Am I needed? Because if not, I’d like to just rest for a-”

“Everyone’s still asleep, vhenan,” he says, feeling heavy and clumsy at the way the word trips over his lips. Her head ducks downward at the acknowledgement. Adorable, he thinks, admonishes himself for it as she lies back down into the grass. He follows suit beside her.

 “I feel claustrophobic, in here,” she says eventually, and he can hear the slight shortness of her breath. “Not able to see the sky past the canopy, not really. I don’t understand how… Why, some of the clans adore forests so much.”

He reaches out and holds her hand, gently.

“Close your eyes,” he orders, squeezing her fingers. When she does, he tells her every story of mountains and sky he knows.

Josephine:

Oh, Maker, of course.

A Dalish, elven, heights-loving Inquisitor who seemed entirely unaware of anyone’s concern or suggestions about perhaps not hopping the battlements like stepping stones in a duck pond.

She is going to die from stress. She knows it.

Josephine (romance):

“No,” Josephine gasps, eyes bright with mirth.

“I’m being honest, I swear,” the Inquisitor says, hands and face animated as they tell the story excitedly. “So there I am, six years old and fighting off an eagle large enough to carry me because, of course, wanted some of its eggs for breakfast.”

“Of course,” she interjects, pressing her eyes with the bottom of her palms, delighted.

“I managed to hit it with a rock, which appeared to stun it for around ten seconds. I grab two eggs as trophies and absolutely leg it until I reach a cave small enough I can hide in and it can’t reach me.”

“Did it get bored?”

“Oh, no, never. I was there for two days. An egg for each, I suppose. I still can’t hear large birds without having a nervous breakdown,” they say, their eyes becoming light as they look around. Josephine had searched for days for this spot, just a little out of Skyhold. Warmed by the sun with hardy winter wildflowers.

Softness in the strangest places, she thinks absently, staring at her love in silence.

“Caw,” she finally says, grinning, and giggles as they kneel over her, giving warm kisses that tasted of bread and jam between fits of laughter.

Sera:

“Higher! The higher you go, the better you’ll feel!”

Sera (romanced):

“Oi, mountain goat,” she calls, eyes bright when she sets sight on the Inquisitor sat with her legs hanging through the gaps on the railings. She always manages to get to the weirdest places - especially in Skyhold - so finding her on the balcony is a bit of a relief.

Climbing up to the roof of the keep takes way too long.

The Inquisitor turns, an eyebrow raised at the nickname.

“Does that make you just a goat?”

Sera snorts, flouncing down beside her with an exaggerated grunt and sliding her legs through the gaps next to her. They sit in quiet for a while, playing footsie over the drop below them before Sera lays flat on the rocky floor.

She likes it here. Even though it’s fucking freezing. Quizzy’s got a lot of stories, and even if some are a bit too elfy for her to like, a lot are funny. She loves picturing a little version of Inky running around the mountains getting into shit. Makes her think of the funny stuff she did when she was that little.

Would they have been friends? Part of her can imagine two raggedy kids becoming best friends, yeah, but another can imagine them trying to tear at each other’s throats. She’s glad they met when they did, at least.

“So, why are we up here today?” Sera asks when the Inquisitor lowers herself so she’s laid down too. Her chest inflates and deflates shakily, and she looks away for a moment before turning back with a little smile. Her hand reaches out and fusses with Sera’s hair until they’re both laughing.

“More stuff with my clan, that’s all.”

Fuck.

“Is…”

“They’re okay.”

The for now hangs in the air, and Sera wants to shove an arrow through it. Watching the Inquisitor hurt is like feeling herself hurt, and she really frigging hates it.

She can’t think of anything to do but pull the Inquisitor closer, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Making her giggle when it tickles and… Other things, too, and making her forget. Just for now. Don’t need any mountains for that.

Dorian:

They’re like a cat with hands and a title that can get them most places.

Unstoppable, to say the least. He’d find it endearing, if he wasn’t feeling dizzy just from watching.

Dorian (romanced):

“Did it take you long to figure out where I was?” The Inquisitor asks jokingly, looking over his shoulder at Dorian. The tired circles under his eyes make him wince. As much as the Tevinter mage might encourage him to sleep and rest, it will never be enough as long as his duties are so heavy and cruel.

“If you want more alone time, perhaps you should find a new hiding spot.”

The Inquisitor laughed at him, gently. “As if I want time away from you, vhenan.”

The endearment is as sweet and strange as when he first used it, almost makes his steady steps hiccup as he walks to stand beside him. They’re quiet for a long time, staring out at the massive rocks landscape.

“You’ve worked yourself thin,” Dorian says, eyes dragging over to the comforting constant lines of his love’s vallaslin. 

The Inquisitor reaches out, a tired smile on his face, and brushes a loose hair away from Dorian’s forehead. It hovers there for a moment as if he’s uncertain whether he wants to touch his jaw too before the arm joins his other folded on the railing.

“Find me an alternative and I’ll gladly take it.”

The words sound so bitter that Dorian almost flinches. Honesty. Finally. If only I had one.

“Run away, perhaps? Somewhere no one will expect us. Somewhere horrid.”

“The Fallow Mire?”

“Somehow that makes this look ideal,” he groans. The Inquisitor’s laugh makes everything seem brighter, before he turns solemn again.

“It is ideal. I like it here. The work has it’s moments. And I… I like you here, Dorian,” he confesses, “I just… Need a little more of the latter.”

That, he can do.

Cassandra:

She feels like a mother to a very small, very capable, very quick child. It is making her grey, she feels fairly certain of it.

“GET DOWN,” is now her most commonly yelled phrase.

Cassandra (romanced):

“He caged her with his arms, his gaze smouldering and dark upon her own. She could feel his body pressed against her. ‘We shouldn’t,’ she whispers, ‘we cannot d-’”

Cassandra propped herself up with one arm, eyes narrowed.

“It takes me entirely out of the moment when you do that high pitched voice for the women,” she complained. The Inquisitor was propped up against a tree, the only one that rested at the crest of the hill they had climbed. He laughed brightly at her.

“But it’s what makes it fun.”

“We are not doing it for fun,” she interjects, smiling despite herself. She does that now, she finds- smiles simply because he is there. “We are doing it so you feel better.”

His face straightened, mock serious.

“Ah, yes. I forgot this is entirely for my benefit.”

“Good literature can soothe most ills.”

Not that this counts as particularly sophisticated, she admitted to herself, solidified when he lifted the book to show off the spectacularly smutty cover. But it was so he felt better, though she hoped her company was doing that more than the smut. 

She had found him atop the hill that morning. The day before had been… Poor. Death. Caves. It had been alarming, watching the colour and life drain from his face every moment. It glowed with colour now. A book, some food, warm sun, company- and their height, of course, helped. Anything with a view, she had found.

“I know what would make me feel better,” he says, rolling over her, caging her with his arms. She pressed her lips together, cheeks reddening.

“We can do that.”

The Iron Bull:

He’s entirely encouraging of whatever helps the Inquisitor cope. He’s a little too heavy to get to where they do, though, so he’s pretty fine with staying on the ground.

The Iron Bull (romanced):

He finds their lithe frame, their strong arms, their ability to scale a cliff face and leap ravines like he walks a path… Hot, obviously. Burning, scalding, white hot.

And heartbreaking, sometimes.

The dragon corpse behind them was steaming, smoking, half buried under the approaching tide, and when he turned to call out something to the Inquisitor -probably about what he wanted to do with them later- they hadn’t been there.

They’d been scaling the rocks beside the fight, blindly, slipping and nearly falling from the wetness of the surface. It was slick with seaweed and limpets, breaking apart and shifting, packed with seagull nests.

Impossible to climb really, but even as he yelled it up to them, they ignored it. In the end, he has to climb as high as he has to before he can grip their waist and drag them off like some stubborn cat that had dug its claws in. They thrash wildly, and he loses grip and ends up breaking their fall with his body.

“Kadan- Kadan, what the fuck are you doing-” They don’t seem particularly interested in listening, still trying to pull away from him. Then he sees it, the tears, the glazed eyes, the broken doll fighting. He knows it. “Kadan!”

He says it sharply, digging his nails into their waist until the shock of pain seems to drag them back. Their breathing is hysteric, their eyes are wild, but they’re there.

“What were you seeing?” He asks, bluntly but kindly, a hand brushing their cold, seawater crusted cheek. Holding their head still, so they had to look into his eyes.

“The dragon. Corypheus’ dragon. Him. Haven- everything was on fire, I just wanted to be up there- I wanted to get away from the smoke, be in the sky, Bull, I-” they heave in a breath, tears flowing unbidden, sobs racking them and he pulls them gently to his chest.

“I know,” he says roughly against the top of their head, holding them both steady with his arms. “I’m here. I know.”

[uncomfortablefandoms]

Remember this post about my WW AU where Link’s Grandma dons the hero’s clothes to save Link and Aryll? Well I wrote out a whole little comic to introduce the concept. 

I was thinking of having a whole little zine with this comic and some new drawings in time for DINK next month! So look forward to that in the future!

[uncomfortablefandoms]

A writing prompt for the week: Your character has an amazing dream about being a mage and hearing a voice telling them to “awaken.” They wake up to start the day and everything seems normal until they find a strange star-like marking on the back of their hand. Was it really just a dream? What powers did your character get? How does your character react to having powers? Do they use their powers for good, or evil?

[uncomfortablefandoms]

[uncomfortablefandoms]

Tony Stark *Wakes up in the middle of the night to see Peter an inch from his face*

Peter: So we had this id- stop screaming- so we had this idea

Tony Stark: What the hell, who’s we?

Shuri *directly beside his face*: We had this idea

Tony Stark: Christ there’s two of them

[uncomfortablefandoms]

Azure Chapter One

Bridget Adams is my Marvel Universe OC. I’m obviously in a bit of a creative flow at the moment so am making the most of it. Based in the current Marvel Universe after Spider-Man Homecoming.

Minor warnings for some bad language and fighting.

Bridget hated the dark.

Not in the way that some people hate to eat their greens, or hate a particular song. Bridget truly hated the dark.

She found that darkness was claustrophobic and cloying against her skin.

However, on an almost equal level of hatred was the cold. Put the two together and Bridget was downright miserable. She hoped, at least, that it would be worth it.

With a sigh and a roll of her shoulders the teenage girl continued to walk along the sidewalk, pulling her coat a little tighter around her for warmth. The trees around the park rustled noisily as a sharp breeze served as something of a slap in the face making her frown unhappily. Perhaps the tip had been wrong. They weren’t usually but perhaps this time…

She froze, hearing footfalls step out behind her. Before she could turn a hand was clamped over her mouth and nose, the other grabbing her right shoulder. Her body tensed as she felt breath tickle her ear.

“Don’t make a sound. Make a sound and you’ll regret it. Got it?”

The voice was somewhat muffled but masculine. Something covering their face perhaps?

Bridget’s heart thumped in her chest so hard she thought it might burst out as the adrenaline surged through her system. She managed a small nod before being dragged backwards away from the dimly lit sidewalk. Her feet stumbled a little as she brought a hand up to her eyes, passing it off as wiping tears. The attacker did not seem to care, his grip tightening across her face slightly and pinching at her shoulder.

A very faint shimmer from her hand left an eye mask of dark purple. Bridget’s eyes glowed a faint green just as the sidewalk and dim light of the park lamps disappeared in a mass of bushes and branches.

“We’re gonna have some fu-“

The attacker’s statement was cut off as Bridget slammed her left elbow into his gut and twisted down and away, out of his grip.

“Fuck. You dumb bitch!”

He took in a gasp and stood up, reaching for the knife he had stashed in his boot.

A boot knife. Really?

Bridget raised one eye brow and shook her head, shrugging off her coat to reveal a tight and form fitting combat suit underneath. Thick soled boots adorned her feet and her hair had now been drawn back out of her face. The assailant looked a little taken aback for a second.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Bridget cracked her neck, fists raised and feet spread into a ready stance, “The names Azure. And you’re the piece of shit that’s been attacking people in this neighbourhood right?”

“Azure? What, you some stupid little girl playing at hero? This isn’t a game sweetheart. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about little old me. Why don’t you come here and see just how well I can play ‘superheroes?”

“Be a shame to cut up that pretty little face of yours. I’ll put that smart mouth to good use when I’m done though!”

Lunging forwards the thug darted towards her with his knife aiming a strike at her upper chest. Azure dodged to the side, swinging her right hand down towards his wrist. Out of the dark evening air a rod of light materialised in her hand, cracking down hard against his wrist bone causing him to drop the knife. He grunted in pain and Azure slammed her left fist into the right side of his face. This sent him off balance and gave her the opening she needed to slam her open palms into his chest sending him flying backwards to land on the ground with a satisfying thud. The light rod disappeared into a shower of sparks, illuminating the area briefly before darkness returned.

“Tch.”

Azure moved to kick the knife away into the bushes before sauntering over to the brute that was laid on the floor wheezing. She rolled her eyes and used her boot to push him onto his back, pushing the heel of her boot down hard on his sternum.

“Did you really think you’d just get away with it?!” Fury engulfed the young teen as she stood defiantly before the crumpled body in front of her. “You honestly thought you could just carry on?!”

He let out a pain filled grunt as his hands flew to her ankle, desperately trying to release the tension and pain in his chest from her boot. He seemed surprised to find her impossible to shift.

“P-Please…” he gasped painfully.

She glared down at him with nothing but disdain in her marbled green eyes. They darted over his features, taking in the swelling of his right eye. Her own knuckles still stung from the blow she had inflicted upon him.

“Please?!” she echoed back at him, mockingly, “Please?! How many times did the people you hurt beg you? How many times did they say please?!” She ground the heel of her boot harder into his breast bone, “Did you listen?!” she bellowed venomously.

“Who are you?” he whimpered.

“I told you. I’m Azure. Not that it matters.” She replied through gritted teeth.

She clapped her hands together and as she drew them apart a glowing light emanated from them, illuminating her hardened features and causing the man to panic and squirm beneath her.

“Don’t kill me! I’m sorry! Don’t kill me!” he pleaded.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m not a murderer,” her boot remained planted firmly on his chest, pinning him in place, “You’re going to the police station. They have a warrant for your arrest.”

The light brightened, causing the defeated assailant to squint their eyes, turning their head to the side. A feeling of pins and needles coursed through his body and he felt nauseous. Soon the light dimmed and as his vision cleared he felt the damp earth beneath his back change to cold concrete. The blackness background noise of the park was gone, replaced by the cool artificial lights and sounds of the New York police department. The girl was gone and instead three police officers stood with guns drawn pointed at his face. Gingerly he raised his hands above his head.

“I’m… here to turn myself in?”

Back at the park Azure sighed, wiping her hand over her face to remove the mask and let her hair down. The boots and combat suit faded away in a dim shower of sparks, replaced by jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. She slowly picked her coat up off the ground, dusted it off and put it back on before digging her phone out of her pocket. Silently she traipsed back to the sidewalk, stepping carefully over the tree roots and pushing the bushes out of her way. Dialling a familiar number Bridget held the phone to her ear, scuffing her feet a little as she headed towards the park entrance.

“Hey, I’m done. You ready to pick me up?” she smiled as she heard the reply, “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hanging up Bridget put the phone carefully back in her pocket before disappearing in a burst of sparks.

True to her word, a minute later Bridget reappeared at the entrance of the park and let herself into the waiting car.

“Hey sweetie,” the woman driving greeted her warmly. They had the same curly dark hair and nose shape, “Everything go okay?” She was an older woman but her face was gentle when she spoke to Bridget, obviously having been expecting her. In her outstretched hand she held a steaming take away cup of hot chocolate.

Bridget took the drink gratefully and held it with both hands, letting her fingers warm back through, “Thanks mom. Yeah. Same old same old.”

“You did good sweetie, were you hurt?” the woman put the car into drive and pulled away from the park and onto the main road.

“No mom, I’m good.”

“Let’s get you home.”

“That sounds amazing,” Bridget took a sip of the hot drink, hunkering down into the seat.

The drive home did not take long and Bridget entered the apartment after her mother, still swigging the hot chocolate.

“Marcus?” her mother called as she shut and locked the apartment door behind them, “We’re back!”

“Hi Eleanor, hi Bridget!” he called back, “Everything go alright?”

“Smooth as butter!”

Bridget walked into the lounge where her father was sat watching the TV. He muted his show and turned to grin at his daughter, offering her a high five. She clapped hands with him, wearing the same grin that wrinkled her nose as her father before finishing off her hot chocolate and throwing the empty cup into the trash can. She glanced over as her mother entered the room and sat on the couch with her father.

“I’m going to have a shower and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sure sweetie,” Marcus smiled as he put his arm round his wife’s shoulder, “Sleep sweet brightness.”

“See you in the morning darling,” Eleanor said softly.

Eleanor nodded at them both before walking down the hallway and into the bathroom. She turned the shower on, perhaps a little hotter than she normally would, and stripped out of her clothes. Pausing briefly at the mirror Bridget’s fingers traced over the fine gold chain that hung from her neck down to the crystal pendant that hung from it before stepping into the bathtub and drawing the shower curtain. She let the hot water run over her, closing her eyes and leaning forwards to press her forehead against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. Inhaling threw her nose Bridget took a moment to calm herself before picking up the shower gel and scrubber. The young teen scrubbed every inch of her skin till it was red and the same with her face; a scalding hot flannel to scrub away at where he had touched her mouth. Then she washed her hair and turned the shower off.

Stepping carefully out of the tub she felt the soft rug between her toes and pulled a towel off the rail to dry herself with before wrapping another around her wet black hair. Standing up straight she wiped the fogged up mirror down with her hand and blinked at the blurry reflection staring back at her. She did not linger long in the bathroom, choosing instead to pick her clothes up and deposit them in the washing hamper. Satisfied Bridget walked out and back down the hall way to her bedroom.

Passing the lounge Bridget glimpsed in briefly to see her parents sat together on the couch. Eleanor’s legs were drawn up under her and her head was resting on Marcus’ shoulder. His arm was still wrapped around her shoulder as he played with her hair. As she headed into her room she caught snippets of their whispered conversation.

“…sure she’s alright?”

“…young but strong. She’s done so well…”

“…should’ve been me…”

“…can’t change it…”

Closing her door quietly Bridget leant against the door frame for a minute. Her bedroom was softly lit through various lights dotted around the room, though none had any visible power source. Flexing her left hand a few times she looked down at the knuckles. They were a little swollen but that would go down over night. She dropped both towels to the floor and got dressed for bed, climbing under the soft duvet and shifting slightly to get comfortable. One by one all the lights around her room dimmed to darkness save for the orb by her bed which faded to a very gentle glow. Curling tightly into herself not Bridget rolled over to stare at this orb as her eyes began to grow heavy. As her weariness finally overtook her Bridget drifted to sleep, her damp curls spread about her face and pillow, cheeks and lips still pink from the scrubbing she had given her. The soft orb remained throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning.

Bridget really did hate the dark.

[uncomfortablefandoms]

just a reminder:

a black girl character growing her hair out long breaks more stereotypes than a black girl character having short hair

a black girl character getting to be soft and fragile breaks more stereotypes than a black girl character being strong all the time

a black girl character being protected and comforted by others breaks more stereotypes than a black girl character having no one to look out for her but herself

a black girl character being considered pretty or cute by other characters breaks more stereotypes than a black girl character being considered unattractive

not everything that is empowering for white girls is empowering for black girls

the sexism we face overlaps, but it is not the same

[uncomfortablefandoms]

it’S nOt OkaY to seXuaLiZe cHiLd actOrS aND chaRAcTEEEEERRRRRSSS

[uncomfortablefandoms]

“You’ll be the death of me...” “At least it would be a good death.” “The best.”

DISCLAIMER: This is the first time I have written fluff like this. It’s not great and it is not perfect but hey, it is what it is! Bridget is my Marvel OC. I’m still building her and adapting her. I might even write some more one shots around her. She has powers pertaining to light and sound. But yeah. It’s just fluffy fluffy goodness.

Triggers: None. Just some awkward teenage fluff!

Peter winced as he landed on the rooftop of the apartment block with a soft thud. He let out a breath he wasn’t entirely aware he had been holding and almost immediately hissed through his teeth in pain. Touching his ribs gingerly he flinched and sighed. At least it was the weekend and he wouldn’t have to worry about being healed in time for school.

“You are in pain. Would you like to run diagnostics?”

“No Karen, it’s okay. I’ll be fine in the morning” the teen replied as he walked towards the edge of the building.

“I see. Very well.”

Peter didn’t reply as he slowly scaled down the wall, moving carefully to avoid aggravating his injuries. It was still late at night and this part of New York was reasonably quiet, by New York standards that is.

He quickly found the apartment window he was looking for and was surprised to see a light on inside the room. Quietly he pulled himself down to the fire escape balcony and peered inside. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Oblivious to the outside world Bridget was dancing around her room in graceful twirls, dips and spins to what Peter assumed was a new song she had composed.  The sound was dampened through the window but placing his hand on the glass he could pick up the vibrations. Peter smiled through his mask at her antics and his breath hitched in his chest as she twirled once more, arms wide.

Knock you idiot. Don’t sit here watching her like some pervert.

Peter lifted a hand to knock on the glass and froze as Bridget came to a stop, smiling to herself as her chest rose and fell for her to catch her breath. She bent over her desk to save the composition, closed her browsers and then shut the computer down. Taking a step back from the desk she stretched up on her tip toes, arms up and then out wide before shaking out and picking her phone up from her desk. Peter frowned as her face fell and she flopped down on her bed face first before rolling over.

Knock dammit!

Again Peter balled his fist to rap upon the glass just as Bridget stood up; phone discarded momentarily on the covers, and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, in one quick motion that caught Peter off guard, she hooked her hands under the hem of her top and pulled it off over her head. Peter’s heart started racing and he swallowed hard averting his gaze downwards. She was wearing an exquisite grey bra with pretty pink detailing. It was too much… He risked a glance up and almost died right there.

Bridget had slipped out of her jeans and was walking over to her wardrobe. She was wearing pretty grey panties that matched the bra. Her body was well toned and her silhouette was shaped perfectly. Peter swallowed hard and once more tried to avert his gaze. She opened the wardrobe and picked out a t-shirt that looked very familiar to Peter. She smiled as she smelt it before throwing it over to the bed and bringing her hands up behind her back to unclasp the bra.

Oh God. Oh geez.

Peter jumped at the sound of knuckles rapping on glass before realising that he had finally managed to bring himself to knock on the glass. Bridget jumped as she turned, her face stern and a little frightened for a second, a blade of light forming in her right hand before she realised it was Peter and everything melted away. Her face broke into a smile and she shimmered over to the window to pull it open.

“It’s unlatched silly,” She said grinning, moving aside to let her boyfriend into the room.

Peter entered the room wordlessly, eyes cast down to the ground as Bridget closed the window behind him.

“Peter?” she said his name worriedly. It was unusual for him to be this quiet.

Peter stood still for a moment before reaching to pull his mask off. His face was splotched with red and a tangle of curls obscured his vision of her slightly.

“Pete, are you okay?” Bridget asked as she walked round to look over him.

“C-could you, er, put something on?” Peter’s lips felt thick as he forced the words out, “You’re killing me here…” The last part of his request came out as a quiet whisper as Peter’s heart hammered in his chest.

Bridget blinked before her cheeks flushed with realisation, “Oh shit. Yeah. Sorry. Hang on.”

She shimmered over to the bed and hastily threw the t-shirt over her head before smoothing her hair down and turning back to face him.

“Better?” she spoke softly, still blushing.

Peter ran a hand through his hair and dropped the mask to the floor, crossing the space between them in a couple of strides. One hand slipped through her hair to the back of her neck, the other rested gently on her hip as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“You will be the death of me,” he whispered, eyes shut.

Bridget smiled warmly, wrapping her arms round his neck as her fingers messed with the curls at the back of his hairline, “At least it would be a good death,” she replied, moving to kiss the corner of his lips.

“The best,” Peter answered back with a smile before he winced.

Bridget pulled away, cupping his face in her hands gently, “You hurt?”

“It’s no biggie,” Peter reassured her as he took a step back, “Is my back pack here?”

Bridget nodded, as she pointed at a red back pack by her door, “Right where you left it. You staying the night?”

“If that’s okay?” He asked and she nodded in reply, “Thanks Bri, I’m er, I’m gonna get changed… Okay?”

“Oh right, yeah.  Let me just…”

Bridget bought her hands in front of her and dragged them palm out in a downwards motion. A sheet of light shimmered into view obscuring her view of the unmasked superhero.

“Just double tap it when you’re done alright?”

Peter gaped at the light screen before shaking himself back to reality. Bridget’s powers never ceased to astound him. He was out of the suit quickly and paused for a moment to assess the damage. Bruises were blossoming under his skin on his right side but he couldn’t see any other serious concerns. Not bad considering the fight he’d broken up tonight.

“Note to self, crow bars hurt.” He said quietly to himself as he slipped into his jogging bottoms and t-shirt.

He folded the suit up into his bag and double tapped the light screen as Bridget had instructed. It shattered into sparks before disappearing completely, leaving the young teen a little awe struck.

Bridget was sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. She looked up as the light screen vanished and Peter put his bag down. Bridget smiled kindly and Peter could feel his heart begin to pound again.

“You okay?” she asked softly, setting her phone down.

“I’m good. Are you okay?” Peter asked, one hand reaching to scratch the back of his head.

“I’m fine…” Bridget cocked an eyebrow at him quizzically, “You’re being weird tonight.”

Peter moved forwards and sat down on the bed beside her, “I just- Well- You know…”

“Come on Peter, what is it? You can tell me.” Bridget spoke reassuringly, placing one of her hands gently over his and rubbing her thumb across his skin.

Peter made a frustrated noise and flopped himself down on the bed, pulling Bridget down with him with a surprised squeak. She squirmed into the crook of his arm, turning to cuddle into his side. One of his hands held here, the other tangled in the ends of her hair.

“You just, you looked amazing alright. Like. Incredible, unbelievable, what are you doing with a guy like me amazing.”

Bridget wrinkled her nose in response, “Peter…”

“I’m serious Bri!” He pulled her fully onto the bed, ignoring the protest from his ribs, and rolled to face her, cupping one hand to her cheek and stroking across her hairline tenderly, “You have no idea about the power you have over me.” Peters deep brown eyes skimmed across her features, taking her in.

Bridget hummed at his touch, eyes fluttering closed, “Mmm… If it helps, you’ll be the death of me too.” And she smiled.

“At least it would be a good death,” Peter replied, pressing his forehead to hers and tilting her chin upwards.

“The best,” Bridget breathed as their lips met and she melted into her boyfriend’s embrace.

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maybe it’s…. subtle.

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This is gorgeous!

Armored Zelda~

I wanted to paint her breath of the wild design because her hairstyle and eyebrows are so cute!

Insta l Deviantart l Twitter

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carrie managing to get an “oh shit” into star wars unnoticed. an icon

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the DLC we want