#soviet-ghost-story

[thespectralvision]

My dear friend @soviet-ghost-story​ started crocheting last fall and for Christmas she made me Wanda and White Vision! I love them, they are so cute and have little magnets so they can hold hands. 

She is also taking orders for custom dolls, and while she hasn’t set up social media specifically for them yet you can DM her if interested!

[sevenbulletsavior]

@soviet-ghost-story said, ❛ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. ❜ 

Too late now.

It was too late now for shouldn’t and couldn’t and wouldn’t. It was too late because Karen and Bucky had already been through so much together in such a little time, and as they stood in the low light of her apartment, the soft crooning of music filtering through on the record player she’d acquired, Karen stared at him with a smile mingled with sadness and fondness within it. His words were laced with a bitter memory to them, pain stitching everything together, and a hand moved up to touch his cheek, to brush against stubble before it fell down to grasp at the cybernetic arm. Her other hand grasped the opposite, placing it onto the slight dip of her hip, arm moving to wrap around his neck.

“I shouldn’t let myself get close to you either,” came the murmur in return, Karen’s body pushing against his own just enough to begin a slow dance with him in her kitchen. “But here we are anyway. So no point letting doubt or worry creep in now.”  Her mouth pressed against his, the kiss chaste, fleeting, and then her head settled against his chest as they moved to the slow, swaying rhythm of the music.

Too late now.

[americasfineasscaptain]

Blank Mind

He didn’t know his name. He didn’t know where he was. Tabula rasa. The man he’d once been wiped away and leaving behind nothing but an empty shell. He was quiet, blue eyes looking around at everything in the small room, but there was no recognition. Not even for the man before him with piercing grey eyes and dark hair. Not for the star on his arm or the metal that reached from fingers to shoulder. Simply curiosity and fascination for the gleam of metal.

There were starburst scars on his temples. The taste of something fake in his mouth. The air smelled like ozone and burnt hair. He wasn’t restrained, but he had been. There were marks on his body from something holding him still. The chair he was sitting in was Ill-fitting. Made for someone shorter and stockier, but it had done its job well enough.

[entrepy]

🪀 @soviet-ghost-story continued from here .

Steve wakes up a little earlier than the sun, as usual, despite experiencing a much deeper sleep than he was accustomed to. Restful enough to face the day, and being well rested were two different things, and the latter has escaped Steve for an indistinguishable amount of time. He takes his time coming to, in no rush to jump into his usual routine. In fact, there was very little that could make him leave this bed — and Bucky, before he was ready to. 

He lies awake for almost an hour watching the sun slowly shed its light into Bucky’s room. The room that Steve had stayed in that night. Light falls over the lump of sheets that was Bucky’s sleep form next to Steve, highlighting the deep browns of the messy hair that was the only thing of Bucky that Steve could actually see. He can hear his breathing though, soft snores, and the sound of his heartbeat if he strains his ears, which he does, before the sounds of the birds outside join the soothing rhythms. 

It’s a little while after that that Steve’s resolve finally dies and he gives into the temptation of reaching across to Bucky. He moves closer, the covers shifting around them. They get pulled down from Bucky’s shoulders, and Steve worries the sudden cold would wake him, so he places his still warm ( ever warm, really ) hand on Bucky’s skin, and traces up into his hairline. Flashes from the night before return to him, triggered by the sight of his hand in Bucky’s hair, and something warm grows large in his chest. Love. So much love. And gratitude. That him waking up to Bucky sleeping beside him was not a dream. Not anymore. 

Finally, Bucky was awake, and Steve moves a little closer, prompted by the touch on his hip, until most of his body was curled behind Bucky. ‘ Does it ? ’ He moves the hand under him out of the way, folding it behind his head so he’s more free to play with Bucky’s hair. He noses against his nape, indulgently breathing him in. ‘ You next to me when I wake up . . . that feels good. ’

[paintthisworldred]

@soviet-ghost-story sent “your shoulders are tense.”

Her body tensed, shoulders bunching up as she attempted to stay still, feeling his firm body behind her back. Not close enough to touch her but close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, the feeling of his breath against her neck enough to make her beg for him to stop. But, she was tougher than that so, she sucked in a breath and turned her head back until he was in her field of vision. Why did he have to be so close? Not that she disliked the feeling but she wasn't used to it.

Sin had remembered small fragments of her past life but shooting was not part of the fresh memories. Now here she was, with the ex-Winter soldier learning how to hold a gun properly.

“ I'm not really comfortable with this, yet..” she admitted, showing him the gun. “Why can't I remember?!” she asked, frustration and irritation in her voice.

[battletrio]

@soviet-ghost-story

For the first time in a long time, John felt like he was in his element. On a mission, chasing bad people, no eyes of the world on him, this was his thing, where he was most comfortable. And besides, he was chasing some new wannabe Hydra upstarts so he didn’t feel bad ruining all their plans and sending their henchmen flying.

This was also a nice test of him being used to his enhanced abilities, figuring out new ways to do his job beyond his old skillsets. All in all, John had thought this mission had been smooth sailing. That is until he chased a bunch of them to a location only to find them engaged in a fight with someone all too familiar.

He was momentarily surprised, as surely Val hadn’t recruited Bucky Barnes too. But then he remembered that the man had old history with Hydra so maybe he’s just out here on his own dealing with this too. It was a bit of a deja vu if John was being honest, once again running into each other on mission. John almost hesitated jumping into the fight, he really didn’t know where he and Bucky stood, would the other be pissed off that John showed up? But John couldn’t very well leave either. What if Bucky needed help? What if something went wrong? He couldn’t exactly leave the other in a situation where he could die.

Sighing as he knew what his decision would have to be, John leaped into the fight from his position on the roof, activating his new energy shield to block a shot aimed for Bucky, “I see they don’t seem to like you anymore than they liked me.” He tries to joke in the moment.

[sevenbulletsavior]

@soviet-ghost-story​  →  continued from HERE 

They were supposed to go on a date: just a date, something simple, mundane, normal...and midday Karen had gone blind for about ten minutes, a forewarning of what was to come, and she’d immediately told Matt and Foggy that she would be going home and would not be back. It had taken about 30 minutes for Karen to get back to her apartment because of circumstances beyond her control - New York traffic was a bitch to navigate sometimes - and by the time she had stumbled through the front door, she’d only been able to get the deadbolt locked before she was moving as quickly as she could to the bathroom, the nausea slamming into her with a force that she should have been used to by now.

Whatever had triggered the migraine had done so stealthily, quicker than usual, and considering how her stomach had just handled it, Karen knew taking medication was out of the question. It would come back up before it even had a chance to maybe get into her system, so she settled on the floor, curled up and head covered, and did all she knew to do: she napped.

Sure, it was chilly on the tile of her bathroom, and perhaps the bed would be better suited, but Buck and Blue had joined her for a while. When Karen had finally woken up, the pain had abated to a degree that medication was possible, so a one-pill box was grabbed from her medicine cabinet and ripped into as she settled on the edge of the tub, turning the water on as hot as possible and reaching for an oil blend to aid in her recovery. Two capfuls of oil, music on, and her clothes in a pile near the tub, Karen sunk down into the scalding hot water, pale flesh instantly turning red.

A little laugh escaped her as she stared down at her legs. “Gonna be a cooked lobster when I’m done,” she mused, twisting hair up off of her neck so she could rest her head back and allow the heat to work its magic on her (which it did).

Bucky’s arrival was marked by no acknowledgement from Karen: the dogs had abandoned her as soon as the bath water had started running, so the pitter-patter of their paws and the excited tapping of their feet at his arrival went unnoticed. His voice carried through the apartment, mingled with the music, and Karen looked up and to the door as soon as he entered. Perfect timing to see that blush on his cheeks, the way his eyes went a little wide in surprise, but otherwise she sunk down into the water a little more. “You don’t have to apologize,” Karen pointed out, turning over so she could place her arms on the edge of the tub, head resting atop them.

“We are dating, and it’s pretty normal to see the people are you seriously dating in some form of undress now and again. Besides, it’s not like we’re some innocent virginal couple, Bucky. We have gotten a little hot and heavy before.” It was a tease, that smile on her face and her tone indicative of it. A nod was given to the floor, a beckon for him to join her. “You finished early so you decided to come by early?”

[sevenbulletsavior]

@soviet-ghost-story gets a little intimate.  →  [TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

When Bucky had mentioned maybe having an evening in where they enjoyed a meal they cooked together, Karen had agreed with no hesitation. Often times she was so swamped with work that her meals consisted of one too many cups of lukewarm coffee, but having Bucky in her life, having this grounding presence reminded her that she needed to take care of herself, that she needed to live, to enjoy things again because there was reason to enjoy it all, even the most trivial of things like cooking. They’d discussed a menu - something that was simple but also sumptuous, a study in extravagance without needing to be extravagant.

Gourmet on a budget, Karen had teased as they had gone shopping for the ingredients for their meal, a few bottles of wine included to pair with things for the evening (including to cook with).

The coq au vin that they were making was Julia Child’s recipe, just adapted enough to make things easier (buying a whole chicken and butchering it for the pieces was not on Karen’s itinerary for their evening cooking together). The instructions had been printed for both of their uses, Karen and Bucky tackling different aspects of preparing and cooking the meal, working well together in the kitchen.

Two cups of wine poured, the coq au vin simmering away and a slow-roast going on green beans, Karen shifted a little platter of spinach puffs towards Bucky, leaning into the counter as she hummed to herself, nibbling on a puff and reading over the upcoming steps that would need to be taken once the chicken had cooked. She was completely lost in the mental preparation, unaware that Bucky was behind her, but then there it was, that touch of a hand against her side, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her shirt, touching bare flesh.

The blonde went still, quiet, and looked over at Bucky with a smirk. “Now Mr. Barnes, are you trying to distract me?” she teasingly questioned, pushing herself to her full height, shifting just enough to angle her body to face his.