#sovietsylph

[xstrange]

"      well   if   it   isn't   the   most   TERRIFYING   WOMAN   i've   ever   met.      i   do   hope   you're   not   here   to   chew   me   a   new   one,      again   ?      "

@sovietsylph

[becomelions]

@sovietsylph​ asked: 👑 + logan (wolverine), harvey dent, william stryker, mystique // MEME ( Always Accepting )

Wolverine: 

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO

ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION): It’s honestly been a maybe for YEARS on if I’d ever write wolverine tbh. I might or I might not, we’ll see at some point but I don’t think I would for now. 

Harvey Dent: 

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO

ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION): Interesting villain for sure but never caught my eye enough to ever write. 

William Stryker:

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO

ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION): I know I write assholes but idk if I could pull off THAT asshole lol pus doesn’t entirely fit for the kind of villain I like to write either. 

Mystique:

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO

ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION): She’s dope but I can’t write females, idk why but I definitely can’t pull her off. I can only write guys for some very strange reason. She’s too sauve and smart for me xD 

[murkyhazed-hasmoved]

@sovietsylph​​   ♡   →   bruce.

               ❝   i   think   you’re   greatly   OVERESTIMATING   by   abilities   here,   nat.   ❞

[winterbranded]

[ ✮ ] ——  SHE’S A THREAD CONSTANTLY SLIPPING THROUGH HIS FINGERS.  the snow is harsh with the diagonal winds of the storm.  goggles and mask shield from the icy burn of the cold.  raising his scope again, he can see her figure in the far distance darting between the trees. despite the howling winds, two more shots are taken out of frustration.  he already knows they will miss.  quietly he hisses beneath the mask, sniper rifle before discarded before he slides down the snowy drop in front of him.      

he stalks through the snow with determined purpose.  keeping an estimate on how far she might be ahead -- or hiding within the trees.  his gaze is continuously scanning, searching, hunting.  he will not let her get away this time, not again.  whether he knows directly or not -- there were consequences on the horizon for him if he were to fail.  his programming driving him forward like an unstoppable force as his pistol is now drawn.  armed and at the ready.  she cannot run forever.   / @sovietsylph​​ liked for an unhinged starter !

[withoutawar]

@sovietsylph said :  ♟ my muse says the wrong name during sex (this is half a joke but nat saying james)

Once upon a time, they stumbled into a shower together for the water to wash away other people’s blood from their skin. Natalia missed some on the outer shell of her ear and Steve rubbed it clean with a soapy thumb. He’d seen her breasts, and watched water trickle down the crease of her thigh. She’d seen his cock, and the brand spanking new wounds that now looked a week old, the rest of his body, pristine, white, and scarless, like the day it had come out of Erskine’s pressure cooker. They’d fucked that night. Didn’t speak about it again, until it happened again two weeks later. Then again, and again, and . . .

Steve doesn’t understand Natalia. There’s too much unknown about her. Too much that he has to fill in, and he’s so afraid of filling in wrong that he forces himself to just not know. There are bits that she does offer up, that he laps up like a thirsty dog, doesn’t doubt for one moment that she might be feeding him lies, bless his good ol’ American heart. He understands that she’s in pain --- maybe it’s physical, maybe emotional. He understands that she likes him enough not to send him on his way when business is done and dusted. He understands that there’s attraction brewing between them, that she reacts to his touch and the words he whispers and he doesn’t think she’s pretending, he’s blissfully ignorant. Steve understands, that despite her lack of clothes, Natalia is never the naked one in the room. He understands that he might be close to getting her there, though. He’s been naked since the day they met. 

Her hand on his chest, almost at his shoulder, digs in painfully, but he doesn’t mind as long as it stays away from his trachea. It doesn’t really register much anyway because she’s quickened the pace she moves down on him, chasing something down that she manages to catch with more precision than Steve can --- though he’s learning, attentive and . . . well, endowed, that sometimes, yeah, all he has to do is be there. It’s not always the case, but he’s certainly handed the reigns over to her this time, not wanting to interfere with her crazed climb, save for hands on her breasts that he can’t resist when they’re bouncing in his face like that. He gets noises out of her as he squeezes flesh, tugs and twists a nipple, leans up because despite the hand keeping him down he wants a taste, just a quick one, then he’ll go back down again . . . Fingers claw at the back of his head, and the moan that sounds as she sinks down on him is different. He could have misheard, but then she stops moving, and he thinks maybe he hadn’t misheard.  

James. Unmistakably not the ah!s and oh!s that have been filling the room for the past half an hour. In fact, not a sound that Steve’s heard come from Natalia’s mouth ever before. James. There’s something he hadn’t known about her. Something she, likely, hadn’t meant to offer up. Steve laps it all up anyway. It’s stings a little --- the serum had made him strong but nothing has been known to cure the male ego. But it’s almost soothed by the knowledge that there was a part of Natalia’s defences that was short-circuiting. That Steve, the big, blonde, dumb American who believes in the right dancing partner and that there is good in everyone, had done that. Well --- unless James is just the coffee guy or something, Steve’s gonna be pissed if that’s the case.  

‘ Keep going, ’ he urges softly, moving his hips minutely, enough to pull away an inch and move back in. The pace they’d been going, he’d been close. He figures she had been as well, maybe even right there, hence the envisioning of this James or whatever else had prompted her to say his name. Maybe he was the past --- Steve wouldn’t mind that. Maybe he was the present --- that would be a grand ole’ fuck you to Steve’s ‘ right partner ’ theory, but he couldn’t be mad considering their lack of communication on what exactly the fuck they were doing. He gives her another moment . . . then reaches an arm around her shoulders to pull her down to him, holding her to his chest, letting her face bury against his neck, letting her think of James. If she wants. 

[lostsouldierbye]

@sovietsylph​ said: 😈 + photograph

There’s a flash, and the shutter sounds, and the polaroid prints out a moment later. He’d been quiet before, but the sounds of the camera are sure to draw her attention. 

He smiles when she does turn to him, straightening after adjusting a bandage around her lower calf, dropping her foot from the edge of the dresser back to the floor. The slip robe settles back around her, thigh no longer exposed. 

He’s laid out on the bed, a large mattress, possibly a King, with posts at the corners and a seat at the foot. He’d taken the drapes off and changed the sheets. The house has been abandoned for years, if the carpet of dust that had welcomed them was anything to go by. As far as accommodation goes, the vacant double story at the end of a forgotten neighbourhood was one of their better stays. The camera left downstairs on a sideboard in the living room was one of the many things Bucky was delighted to find still functioning. 

He rolls onto his back, camera sitting on his chest as he waits for the polaroid to lighten. He isn’t reckless enough to take her face, though he would have loved to have a lasting reminder, something to carry with him when things like memories were as easily pickpocketed as a wallet. There’s a shine on her shin, the same one on the borrowed silk robe she wore, peaking from the corner of the photo. The flash has washed out many of the lasting scars and fading bruises, but Bucky knows where they are, and his mind fills in the blanks for him. As the picture forms, he traces a thumb over her knee, and up her thigh, stopping at the lace trimmings of the robe. 

He cants his head back, searching for real thing. ‘ Care for more ? ’ The pictures would likely be burned before they leave the house in a few weeks time . . . but it was fun to pretend that they could have something like this. 

[belyvuk]

👀👀✨✨⭐mm✨👀here's 👍some✨🍌🍌🍌🍉good👍🍓 food🍏🍑right thERe🍓🍅 goOD🥝👀 food and i mean... 👍👍good writing 👍mm 👀👍i really 👌admire 👌👌your🥨 portrayal🥖🔥

no no no that's right back at you wtf --

[mansteeled]

shippy memes for you hoes

┖ ☀*.:｡⋞ @sovietsylph​ said:  “ you had a dream about me? ”

     ❛ Don’t read too much into it. ❜

     He looked at her sideways, brow rising and lips pressing in a firm line. The corner of his lips turned upwards in a smirk but he shook his head and looked away from her. What did she want, a play by play?

     ❛ Just thinking about all the ways I could have done more. Thinking about if there was a better way. I still don’t agree with what you’ve done. Dreams tend to relive the things you think about most. ❜