#My laptop is falling apart and I lost several asset files

[screensavorstudios]

Last minute delay for Jill O Lantern!

We are pushing back the release of Jill O' Lantern by a few days to ensure we have everything ready. Thanks to several issues such as power failures and corruption of files, it's taking a little longer to get everything ready, and while we do have a publishable version of the game ready, we are instead going to make sure we can deliver the complete and polished version that was promised.

Thank you for your patience.

[fanfic-scribbles]

By the Light of Day

A/N: Iiiiii accidentally an Avengers fanfic. I will admit I really debated posting this here, since this so far has been 100% Supernatural, but ultimately I’d like this to be a place for all my fics and I switch fairly often between Supernatural and Avengers, even if I’ve never posted most of them. That said, I write more Supernatural than Avengers, and most (80%) of my Avengers fic are variations on a very similar premise (normal!Reader/[Avenger/s] fluff) so take that for what you will.

Fandom: Avengers (MCU)

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare. You and Steve reassure him that you’re always here for him, and he won’t lose either of you.

Quick facts: Romance – Fluff – Hurt/comfort – Steve/Bucky/Reader – Female-pronoun-ed Reader

Warnings: Described nightmare involving Reader in peril, fem pronouns for Reader, angsty nightmare, fluff everywhere else.

Words: 1882

        Bucky wakes from a nightmare, chased to consciousness by screams not his own. It takes him a second to realize where he is– sitting, panting, in his own bed. Or, rather, the bed he shares with you and Steve. He catches his breath and grounds himself. He is not an Asset, he is not a Soldier, he is Bucky. He repeats the words, those awful words, in sequence; a tremor of fear passes through him at the last, but…nothing happens.

“Bucky?” Steve mumbles next to him and starts to stir. Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s back, running his flesh hand in soothing circles as his prosthetic moves to do the same for his other partner, only to find the space empty. His heart seizes again and he quickly scans the room. He says your name twice before he remembers that you didn’t come to bed with them, begging off for some last-minute work. When he listens, he can hear you clattering away in the living room.

For the first time since he woke up, he breathes easy. Steve squints and turns. “Bucky? You okay?” he asks and reaches to put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah Stevie, ‘m fine,” he mutters and puts his metal hand over Steve’s. It glints in the crack of light coming through the mostly-shut door and he drops it back down. “Bad dream but I’m okay. Gonna go see our girl.”

“Mm,” Steve says but with one reassuring squeeze he sinks back down and his eyelids flutter shut. “Bring her to bed, would ya? She works too hard.” He mutters something unintelligible but just as Bucky thinks he’s about to drift off to silence Steve says, clearly, “…jealous. Gonna– gonna turn myself into paper if it keeps up.”

Despite the dream, Bucky smiles. “Oh yeah? How you gonna do that?” he chuckles and sweeps Steve’s hair from his face. But Steve is already gone to the world, and Bucky files that comment away for future use. When he’s feeling better about it. But for right now he gives Steve a quick kiss, hops out of bed, and sneaks out into the living room.

He sees you there, sitting on the couch and leaning over a mess of papers and gadgets on the coffee table, working with the light of one lamp. He takes a second to admire you– your hair is messed up, you’re wearing loose pajamas, and he can almost see the bags under your eyes from where he’s standing.

He would swear his heart swells with how much he loves you, especially in moments like this where you are safe and soft. Seeing you alive and doing something comparatively mundane is a blessing, especially in dealing with the image of you his subconscious has just tortured him with.

You cover a yawn and mutter to yourself as you scribble something in your notebook and then type away on your laptop. Bucky plops next to you most unsubtly but still you jump and flail your arms, startled. Bucky chuckles and you blink your sleep-deprived blurred vision away before you turn your head to smile at him. “Oh, hey there Sleepyface.” You wrap an arm behind his head to pull him in for a quick kiss. “Just a few minutes.”

Despite himself, Bucky snorts. “You said that when Steve and I went to bed. It’s two in the morning, Dollface.”

You squint at the nearest clock, ready to correct him. ‘2:19’ makes you scrunch your face in distaste. “Oh. Oops. I guess I should go to bed…”

Before you can even glance at where you are, Bucky closes the laptop for you and stands up, extending his hand. His prosthetic first, but when he realizes he quickly switches it for the other. You notice, but don’t comment on it. “Come on, sweetheart; Steve and I are getting lonely. Besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. You can work on it then.”

You sigh but give in, accepting the help up and leaning in to hug Bucky once you’re on your feet. And if you need the extra support, you certainly aren’t going to tell him. “Yeah. But I want to spend the weekend with you guys, not with work.”

“Don’t worry, Steve and I won't let you work too hard,” he says and starts to pull you along. You plant your feet, though, and Bucky turns to look at you.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you ask gently. Bucky’s face shifts through micro-expressions faster than you can name them. Not that you have to– the action is answer enough.

“How’d you know?” he asks.

“It’s two in the morning, Dollface.” You press a finger to his nose and eke a little smile out of him. It falls just as fast. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

He’s quiet for several seconds. “Not right now.”

You nod and nuzzle his chest. You leave the mess as it is and go to crawl in next to Steve (who is sprawled in the center, the bed hog), and Bucky pushes you closer, crowding you from behind so he can drape his arm over the both of you. “Better?” you ask.

“The best,” he says with a sigh and kisses your shoulder. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  When you wake up again it’s still early enough that the sky outside is still mostly dark, made even darker by the appearance of some very foreboding clouds. You look at the bedside clock over Steve’s shoulder and grumble at the measly few hours of sleep you just got. You feel something tremble behind you, but the second you feel it is the second Bucky gets himself under control and he strokes your hair. “What are you doing up already?” he mumbles.

‘Not right now’ has become ‘right now’ to you. You turn and wrap your arm around Bucky, pulling yourself closer since moving him is a feat and a half. “Did you get any sleep?” you ask. Bucky looks sheepish but you’re not going to let him deter you, no matter how cute he looks. You wait for your answer.

“Buck?” Steve asks, startling the both of you. He presses close behind you, putting his head right above yours on the pillow. “It’s not polite to ignore a lady asking you a question.”

Bucky snorts. But you and Steve don’t budge, and you can see Bucky swallow. “I really don’t– I don’t want you to–”

“We’re not gonna judge you, Bucky,” you say and start stroking his hair. He flinches but leans into your touch, so you lightly stroke his face while Steve runs his hand over Bucky’s (real) shoulder. “Was it a memory?”

“No,” he says so softly you almost have to read his lips to understand him.

“Then share it. We’re all in this together,” Steve says. Bucky’s eyes turn up and it almost breaks your heart, how sad and scared he looks. You stop stroking his face and bring his hand up to hold.

Bucky visibly steels himself and his face goes blank. Not Soldier blank, thankfully, but he definitely detaches. “There were…” He frowns in frustration. “Hydra? I don’t really know, just…people. Bad people. In our room. They had me…I was under their control, but just my body. I was standing still but inside I was screaming. They had you, Stevie, beat to hell and restrained on the ground. You were yellin’ at me to help, do something, ‘cause one of them had (y/n) pinned on the bed, a gun at her head, ready to pull the–”

His voice breaks as he talks about it and you ache for him. It would be disturbing for anybody and Bucky’s nightmares are more realistic than others. As though real events seep in through the cracks and add extra weight even to the imagined horrors. You...try not to think too hard about that one, in light of the subject matter.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you,” Bucky says hopelessly.

“(Y/n)’s fine and so am I. No filthy Hydra is gonna get either of you on my watch; I’m here to protect you,” Steve says fiercely and kisses you both. The protectiveness makes you smile, and even seems to make Bucky relax.

“Same!” you chirp and kiss Steve and then Bucky. And you kiss Bucky a few more times. “I’ll kick ‘em in the shins. If they’re as tall as you two they’ll never see me coming.”

Steve snorts and even Bucky cracks a small smile. “Also there’s that security system Stark installed. Without my permission,” you mutter the last part but think a little bit. Well, now’s a good time as any. “Though I admit…I’ve considered Tony’s offer to move into the tower.”

“Really?” Steve asks and you imagine his eyebrows are up in his hair. Even Bucky looks more shocked than sad. That’s worth it alone.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a little while now,” you admit. “I know I’ve been a little…overly stubborn about it.” Made even more stubborn when Tony makes jokes about your little bachelorette pad, but that’s neither here nor there. “But I don’t like you guys having to commute every time disaster strikes when you’re with me and I’d rather have you two all the time.”

“You want us so bad you’d live with Tony?” Bucky smiles wider. “Doll, I’m touched.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you realize how difficult it’s going to be for me.” You roll your eyes. “It won’t just be tolerating normal Tony, oh no. He’s going to be smug. ‘How do you like it here? Isn’t this so much better than x-thing at your old small apartment?’ He’s going to try and get me to say he was right even though, just by moving in, I will have conceded defeat.”

Both your boys chuckle at that. Bucky is the first to turn serious, though. “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have to give up anything else.”

“I haven’t given up anything. I’ve gained two wonderful boyfriends who I love more than anything in this world.” You pull Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “Also, making you feel safe is worth it to me. If you’re worried about just the two of you not being enough to protect me there’d be, like, fifty other superheroes and master assassins to get through, plus Jarvis.”

“And Pepper, Jane, and Darcy,” Steve ‘jokes’.

“Redundant.” You flit your hand dismissively. “I already said ‘superheroes’ didn’t I?”

Bucky’s smiling now, really smiling, and you know you’re set to do this no matter what. “We’ll…talk about it more later, I guess.”

“M’kay.” You stretch out. “Pancakes good?”

“Sounds great. I’ll make ‘em,” Steve says and gets out of bed.

You snort. “The hell you will,” you say and follow behind him.

“I didn’t set off the alarm last time!”

Bucky stays in bed for a few extra moments and rolls his head, feeling a looseness in his neck and shoulders he can’t ever remember having. As you and Steve bicker from the living area he shakes his head and gets up to run interference. This sort of peacekeeping he could do forever, and if he has anything to say about it, he will.

[therealjammy]

Somewhere, In a Land Close to Home

A fic for @marina-does-things based around Shaw’s lovely hair, entirely from that painting she did: http://marina-does-things.tumblr.com/image/156497648006

I tried to make it fluffy but some angst got mixed in because, well, you know me. Angst touch instead of the Midas touch. But the ending is happy, I promise! (It was also supposed to be sexier but unfortunately my Filter wouldn’t let me.) 

Enjoy! 

Read it on Ao3 instead: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9504224

1.

Shaw glared at her reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t that the dress was ill-fitting, or that her hair didn’t have a single, wavy strand out of place, or that she looked hideous. She looked good. It was just the occasion that this was for: going undercover at some fancy gala where a few of the new assets would be. Suspiciously close to her fortieth birthday. There were suspicions in the back of her head that the gala was fake and the number was too and that it all was just a cover-up for some giant party the Machine and Root had planned, even though they both knew Shaw detested parties and people and birthdays.

           “What’re you wearing a frown for?” came Root’s voice from behind her. She was leaning against the doorway, dressed in a suit this time instead of a dress, her hair done up in a professional-looking bun. She pushed herself away from it and warm hands settled on Shaw’s waist, thumbs running over the silky fabric of her black dress.

           “I dislike galas,” Shaw said. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, noticing a few streaks of grey that weren’t there before. Her mother always said age was not necessarily a sign of getting older but of getting wiser, and the grey hairs that showed up only proved that you were gaining wisdom. There was temptation to pluck them but like everything else it would just grow back.

           “I know.” Root kissed her neck despite the fresh lipstick applied to her mouth. “It’s just for a little while.” The tip of her nose brushed against the shell of Shaw’s ear. “Have I ever told you I like you with your hair down?”

           Shaw leaned into the touch despite the fact that they were running a little behind schedule. “You like me no matter what state I’m in.”

           Root hummed. “I can’t help it. You’re very beautiful.”

           In her purse, Shaw’s phone vibrated once, a frantic, strong note. She fixed her hair one last time when Root pulled away, telling her, “I think your other half wants us to leave.”

2.

It was late, just after eleven o’clock at night. Root was still feeling full from dinner even though it had been three and a half hours ago. The unpleasant coil in her belly was telling her that she ate too much and that walking back to the apartment afterwards hadn’t been the greatest idea. She disentangled herself from her laptop, reaching over into her desk drawer for a Pepto Bismol chewable tablet. The very artificial cherry flavour made it feel as if she was swallowing her tongue; it took several small sips of water for it to go away.

           Just behind her Shaw sat on the bed, hair down. It was shiny and soft to the touch, the equivalent of an inky waterfall with a little more grey at the roots. She was cleaning her weapons until they shone like they were new, a crease between her brows that showed concentration. The muscles in her forearm flexed and the tendons in her hand stood proud and suddenly Root was wishing they were tense from other things.

           With a sigh she shut down her laptop and made her way to the bed, sitting beside Shaw and letting her finish up her cleaning. When her guns were put away she ran her fingers through Shaw’s hair. When down, it nearly reached her waist. Root questioned softly, “Are you ever going to cut it?”

           Shaw shrugged. “I was thinking maybe a couple inches. The last time it was short was six years ago, when I was still working for the ISA. A few stricter regulations.” She was leaning into the touches and Root thought she would start purring in contentment. She kissed across the crown of Shaw’s head, where the most grey was showing. She didn’t like to think about the fact that they were both getting older, or the fact that the Machine had recently brought up candidates for a new Analogue Interface and Primary Asset. She wasn’t ready to hand down the torch just yet. She thought her body was still in perfect working order even if, nowadays, she got sleepy around nine o’clock at night and her joints were a little stiffer than they used to be. Root wondered what Shaw thought of all this, the getting older business. Did she think of retirement? Did she feel her own body slowing down like Root did?

           “Your hamster wheels are turning,” Shaw said, breaking the reverie. Root’s hand continued the stroking, having paused with her intrusive thoughts.

           “Sorry. I was just thinking about earlier.”

           Shaw had seen the files too, having peered over Root’s shoulder at the right time. Her body had been warm when she’d stood behind her, the tips of her bangs brushing against the exposed part of Root’s neck. There were, out of the entirety of new assets, three candidates for Analogue Interface, and five for Primary Asset, all in their mid-twenties to early thirties. They discussed it with the Machine, Shaw getting her words in first and then leaving to get dinner but not before kissing Root lightly on the head. In the end Root told the Machine it was entirely Her decision.

           “You chose me,” she’d said. “I had no say in the matter.”

           Yes, the Machine agreed, but the new Analogue Interface has to meet your standards as well. You have to make sure that they will be able to fill your shoes. I firmly believe that your input is just as important as mine.

           “We should think it over for a little while,” Root said after a long silence passed. “We’ll design tests to put them through over the course of a month, then hopefully make a decision by the end of them.”

           What of the candidates for Primary Asset?

           “Talk with Sameen. I’m sure she’ll have a few suggestions.”

           Root leaned her head on Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw’s hand settled on her knee. Shaw said, “It’s a big change.”

           “I don’t want to step away just yet,” Root whispered, shutting her eyes. She felt a pebble forming in her throat. “I’ve got a few years left in me.”

           “We both do, and we’ll keep at it until we’re both too old or She gets so insistent that we throw in the towel and retire and take that three week tropical vacation you’ve always wanted.” That got a small chortle from Root. “Maldives, Bora Bora, Grand Cayman. Wherever you want.” Shaw’s fingers settled under Root’s chin, tilting her head up until their eyes met. Her voice was soft when she said, “It’s taken me a while to realise this, but when I feel most… content is when I see you smile.”

           A single tear streaked down Root’s cheek even as she smiled happily. “Sameen.” She kissed Shaw warmly, sighing into it. She pulled away after a few minutes, earlier feelings rising to the surface. She licked her lip, tasting the slight tang of blood left over from Shaw’s teeth.

           “Now I think there was something else you were wanting.” Shaw leaned back, peeling her tank top off. Her hair settled around her shoulders, the lamplight glinting off it. Root thought she looked like a goddess. “I want to distract you for a while.”

           Root hoped Shaw couldn’t taste the artificial cherry of the Pepto tablet when her tongue slipped between Root’s teeth.

 3.

Shaw sighed when the front door of her apartment closed behind her. Salon smells assaulted her nostrils. When she lifted her hands to touch her hair it felt soft and foreign, much shorter. It had been time to cut it, she’d told herself that morning when she was looking in the mirror. Her locks had reached her waist and she knew if she’d straightened them they would’ve been even longer. The ends had been dry and frayed, reminding her of rope. Root had taken to calling her a mermaid, not often enough to be a nickname but often enough that it was a form of affectionate banter. Now, if Root saw her, she would say, “Sameen, you’ve lost your mermaid status!” even though Shaw’s hair went to just above the middle of her back. Still something Root could bury her fingers in when they found themselves in bed.

           Bear greeted her when she came into the kitchen, standing up on hind legs to lick her face. His muzzle was getting white. Shaw kissed him on the head and scratched behind his ears in that furious way he loved that caused him to elicit a long groan of pleasure. “Looks like we’re both getting old, huh?” He grunted, gave her cheek one last swipe of tongue, and lowered himself to all four limbs.

           A little later, around lunchtime, Shaw gathered his leash and the Ziploc baggie of his favourite treats. She would be meeting Root at Park’s Deli for lunch, and then they would walk together in Central Park or find themselves a bench to enjoy the early fall weather. She didn’t wonder what Root would think of her haircut, only that she may think Shaw smelled different because the salon used a different brand of shampoo.

           Outside, the leaves were just beginning to change colour. It was still early enough that the weather still got warm in the daytime but not bitterly cold at night, so most of the trees would keep producing chlorophyll until mid-October or early November, and by the time December hit a lot of them would be bare and the snow would dump itself onto the city, bringing with it a cold wind from the north. Maybe then, Shaw thought, she and Root could take that tropical vacation. Shaw tolerated the cold but it was Root who hated it, complaining about her joints or that cold wasn’t proper working weather. Root was from Texas, after all, so naturally that made her a wimp in weather that was less than forty degrees Fahrenheit.

           When they got close to Park’s Deli Bear tugged on his leash. They walked a little faster and found Root standing near the entrance of a restaurant, arms casually crossed over her chest, wearing black skinny jeans, boots, a comfortable-looking blouse that was slightly see-through, and her leather jacket. She smiled when she saw them approaching and, when Shaw was close enough, her hands automatically went to her hair.

           “Your hair’s gone,” Root said, fingers running through it and pulling a little when they got caught in knots. The sting was pleasant.

           “It was getting ropy.”

           Root’s smile widened. “Ropy? Never.” She crouched down to give Bear a kiss. “You’re getting a little grey around the chops, bud.” He licked her palm. “Want lunch? She says you haven’t eaten breakfast.”

           They ate their sandwiches in Central Park, seated on a bench in one of the more secluded patches of grass. The fall sun was pleasant on Shaw’s skin and once her sandwich was gone she tilted her head back on the bench, exposing her throat to it. She sighed, feeling content. Root’s leather jacket squeaked when she threw Bear’s tennis ball.

           “The results of the new Analogue Interface and Primary Asset came in,” Root said around the last half of her sandwich. She’d torn it in half to give the other to Shaw. “It took a little longer than I was expecting.”

           “We had to make sure they were the right choices,” said Shaw. She cracked an eye open but Root wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at Bear as he ran back with his ball in his mouth, tongue lolling happily out the side. Root picked up the thing that held the ball so that her hands wouldn’t get leaves or drool on them. When the ball was released it sailed through the air, much further than it would’ve if Root had thrown it with her hand. “Want to tell me who they are or do I have to break into your laptop in order to get the info?”

           Root chuckled and handed over the other half of sandwich. “Well,” she said, gathering her words, “She chose Gen for Primary Asset, though a temporary has been assigned—Jason Kramer—until she reaches eighteen in two years and has had extensive hand-to-hand and weapons training.”

           Shaw nodded. “Gen’s a good choice.”

           “She has all the skills necessary save for the two I mentioned, and She highly favoured her over others because of her skills in counter espionage and the amount of languages she’s learning.”

           “What about Analogue Interface?”

           “Claire.”

           “Samaritan’s former asset switched sides, then?”

           “It took some convincing,” Root said amid a sigh, bending down to put Bear’s ball away and instead take out his Frisbee. “Claire had first-hand experience with an ASI. The other candidates didn’t. She was also proficient in weapons training—got the highest scores—and showed great skill with cover identities. It made the best sense.”

           Shaw chewed the inside of her cheek. They had both been hesitant at the thought of Claire’s candidacy. She had worked for Samaritan after all, and who knew if some of those values she learned over there would come back to haunt them?

           “They’ve been talking more often,” Root added, now looking at Shaw full on. “The Machine thinks she’s the right choice. She’s hopeful of a recoding, like She did with me.”

           Shaw nodded slowly, absorbing the words. She sat up straighter and gobbled down Root’s other half of sandwich. She wanted a scotch to mull things over. “I need a drink.” She stood up from the bench, crumpling the wrappers and paper bag up before throwing them into the nearby bin. She whistled for Bear, who came running over. He dropped the Frisbee in Root’s lap and she wiped it off with the sleeve of her leather jacket before putting it away inside her purse. Shaw fed him a few treats before clipping on his leash.

           Root’s hand wove itself into the crook of her left elbow. “I think they’ll work well together.”

           “We’ll see,” Shaw said. “If I remember correctly, Gen’s got a knack for annoying the shit out of people with her firing off questions every five seconds.”

           Root snorted.

 Epilogue

Shaw’s hair smelled strongly of salt water and her brown skin like the sand. She’d darkened everywhere except where her bikini covered. It reminded Root of stripes, for some reason. Maybe because she thought of Shaw as a tiger sometimes, tough and fierce but secretly soft on the inside for the people closest to her. When she kissed her neck Root tasted the salt on her skin.

           It was three weeks into their tropical vacation. They’d stolen a small yacht and cruised to Maldives, Bora Bora, and their final stop was their very own private island in the Bahamas. The sun was low in the sky and a pleasant heat, though Root could feel her back getting sunburned. There would be new freckles on her shoulders that Shaw could press her mouth to.

           “She tells me that they blew up a basement,” Root said against Shaw’s stomach, slowly untying the knots that held the bottom half of her bikini together. “Seems like they’re having fun.”

           “What about the flash drive?” Shaw asked. She groaned deeply when Root began kissing up her inner thighs.

           “Secured. Guards were taken out, kneecaps only. It’ll be arriving at its destination in forty minutes, thirty three seconds.”

           “And the number?”

           “Safely behind bars for the next fifteen years.”

           Shaw’s hands buried themselves in Root’s hair. “Not bad,” she admitted.

           Root glanced up at the cottage. Her back hurt. She pulled away before she could kiss any higher, much to Shaw’s disappointment, and said, “My back’s burnt.”

           Shaw groaned and her head thumped back onto the sand. “That’s what sunscreen’s for.”

           “I’ll reward you generously if you massage aloe into my skin.”

           It was impossible to say no to that.