soviet-ghost-story

[soviet-ghost-story]

//Reminder that I am on a mostly hiatus semi hiatus for another week or so. Finishing up some real life crafty deadlines and dealing with some health things. ❤️

#ooc #psa

[soviet-ghost-story]

Nothing had turned out the way Bucky had planned either. Decades ago, he'd lived in a world on the brink of war, lived in a closet of his own making, and his plans had consisted of surviving in a world that wanted to destroy him and his best friend. When war had broken out, he'd planned to come home from it and marry some poor girl that he liked well enough to get by while still in that closet - but he'd expected to die. He supposed, in a way, he had died in the war, all those years ago, but he'd never expected to end up here, like this - in a modern world, fighting alongside modern people, superhuman in his way, decades of trauma behind him and recovery ahead of him. Nothing ever turned out on the way people planned. Today, he'd planned on handling this alone. He'd not planned on John Walker, or a decent backup, or something close to actual camaraderie. It was weird, but it wasn't bad. Bucky's smile quieted down a bit to his more typical slight smirk as they spoke, and he nodded. His frustration, when they'd named John the new Captain America, hadn't really been with John - it had been with Sam, with Steve, with the government. John's attitude had rubbed him the wrong way, but he had already been on edge to begin with and everything had just pissed him off. Now, they'd both moved on from that - or were making efforts to do so. With time came growth, retrospection, and reflection, and Bucky had healed enough to find a little of that by this point. Being a grouchy old man hadn't really done them any favors, but in the end, when they'd all come together to help, he'd enjoyed the bit of teasing he'd thrown John's way, rather than scorn.

"...Used to always have someone have my back," he said quietly as they made their way into the belly of the beast. "Well...I guess I was the one who had his back, truth be told, but same thing. Spent long enough on my own..." His voice dropped as they descended, and his eyes narrowed a bit as they adjusted to the gloom. He could see exceptionally well in the low light thanks to the serum, though...he did wonder about that. "...Bunkers are utilitarian. Power routed to more important things like...whatever equipment they're running down here. Not all of 'em are at the level of AIM, after all...But you're right. Grenades are pretty rude - aggressive conversation starters, for sure."

soviet-ghost-story​:

“Heh.” Bucky couldn’t help himself - he grinned a bit, the chuckle short-lived due to the situation they were in, but the grin made it honest. The entire situation surrounding John Walker’s rise to prominence during his brief stint as Captain America, and the downfall - it had been complicated. It had taken Bucky time to recognize that his frustrations with the man had been a secondary symptom of his outrage with Sam for giving up the shield, and with the government who so eagerly thought that they could fill Steve’s shoes. His anger at Steve had also been feeding into it, and no small amount of self-loathing. Having stepped back from the situation in the aftermath, Walker had made mistakes, including that murder on the streets of Riga - but Bucky had also made plenty of mistakes in his life, and he’d had to reflect hard on whether or not he would have killed a man who had killed Steve. He had, after all, almost killed Tony Stark in defense of Steve. Realization had come in time - people were complicated, and people made bad decisions when they were angry, grieving, and under stress. Even highly trained people who should have known better; humanity wasn’t as neatly cut and dry as people would have liked to have them be. John Walker was a product of the people who made him, the world he grew up in - of the military complex that chewed him up and spat him out when he had served his purpose, not unlike countless other veterans. Not unlike Bucky himself, or Sam. Or Steve. They were both complicated and complex people and would always have their differences, but when push came to shove - It was nice, to have back up. Bucky found he didn’t even mind his sense of humor. “Wouldn’t want to subject innocent puppies to this nightmare. Problem is, lust for power, that’s just human nature. Just not all of us take it to the extremes that groups like HYDRA do. Bullies on the playground want power. You gain military rank or job promotions for power. Giving the person riding shotgun in the car music choice - it’s all power plays. These clowns just do it on a world scale level, and people get hurt. People get used. They made soldiers once - don’t want them to think we forgot and that they can do it again.” Bucky flexed his fingers, and turned to look at John, smiling a bit. “Thanks for being here. I was always better having someone watch my six than I was alone.” Steve, the Commandos, Sam. Only the Soldier had bought alone. “Let’s see what these jerks are after then…” Reaching out, Bucky wrenched open a door and looked down a dimly lit set of concrete and steel stairs that vanished into a gloomy darkness. He considered it for a moment. “…Nothing that ever started with this view ever turned out great. Shall we?”

Listening to Bucky talk about HYDRA and people’s lust for power, John finds that he can’t really disagree. What was that old saying about absolute power corrupts absolutely? Well, John would know all about that wouldn’t he? He himself had been so focused on being strong enough, being powerful enough, he had lost sight of what he had been fighting for when he took on the Captain America mantle.

“Yeah you’re right, better keep the puppies away from them. Puppies deserve better.”

Bucky’s comments about power plays and making soldiers made John think more about everything that led to him taking the serum. Nothing had turned out the way he had hoped for. He had let his need to be more powerful, to be strong, to match up to everyone else he was fighting, blind him from all the mistakes he was making. Hindsight is 20/20 they say, but time had given John a new perspective. There were better paths he could have taken but he had been so caught up under the pressure of everything, he hadn’t seen the way. And Lemar died because of it. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t blame himself for that. He had blamed Nico, blamed the Flag Smashers, even Sam and Bucky, but in the end it was his fault. Lemar was his responsibility, he had failed. He should have protected his best friend.

John blinks a bit in surprise when Bucky thanks him for watching his six and is actually smiling at him. He had been prepared for reluctance, or even grudging acceptance to working together. He hadn’t expected this smiling attitude and appreciation. John had wanted to hear that from Bucky since day one when they had met and he had entirely been ready to accept that they were never gonna be truly on good terms. He wonders if Bucky can read his face, if Bucky could see the emotions that well up inside John at being accepted. 

He smiles back, actually he’s practically beaming, “I’m better when I have someone too.”

Bucky’s acceptance mattered a lot. Ever since he had lost Lemar, John had felt alone, like something was missing. It had taken a while to get used to being alone with no one at his back. To have Bucky here accepting him, even if it was only for this mission. It made John feel whole again in some ways. John wanted to do good. He wanted to do it right. He’s not Cap anymore but he still wanted to do his part to help. Bucky’s acceptance lifted a huge burden on John’s shoulder. Just maybe, there is still hope for John yet.

When Bucky opens door to dimly lit stairs and gloomy darkness, John lets out an amused scoff as he activates a small flashlight that was attached to one of his shoulder straps, “Well, lucky for us, this view is my specialty. Shady people just love their dimly lit base of operations, sometimes you have to wonder if maybe lightbulbs just didn’t make the budget sheets. Last time I told a group of bad guys this, they threw a grenade at me. Very rude honestly.” 

John enters the doorway and carefully made his way down the stairs.

#era: recovery #battletrio

[soviet-ghost-story]

Our muses are sparring and my muse ends up on top of yours, pinning them down. Send me  ❝ Looks like you won. ❞ for my muse’s reaction.

#memes

[soviet-ghost-story]

7. describe your favorite relationship dynamic. (can be any kind, platonic, romantic, familial, antagonistic, etc.)

13. what themes/motifs do you hope other people notice most about your character?

Sorry these are late - it's been a hard week.

7. Honestly, I love writing shippy shit, in that slow burn sort of way. I love a good get-together scenario with all the tension. I'm trash that way I suppose. But I also really enjoy fleshing out non romantic relationships with characters as well - it really makes a character feel lived in when they have a variety of people in their lives.

13. I hope they notice growth in Bucky. Health. Recovery. I hope they notice the attention to detail in his family, his faith, as well as his trauma and struggles, that I put into it.

#ooc #late #munday meme

[soviet-ghost-story]

//Still taking orders. One - three slots open. :)

//so I crochet little dolls. And I need to make 2-4 immediate orders to cover something that just came up. I can make literally anyone you want. ANYONE.

$75 a piece, $125 for a ship or a pair. Fully poseable with accessories.

Free shipping to US, international negotiable. Please PM me if you are interested.

Here are some examples:

#ooc

[soviet-ghost-story]

QUESTIONS FOR MUNS.

1. how do you feel about reblog karma? 2. is it hard for you to write with characters you don’t know/don’t know well? 3. whose writing has impacted your writing style the most? (you can choose anyone! famous writer or not.) 4. which muse of yours is your all time favorite? if you stopped writing them: why? 5. is there a muse you really want to try? if yes: what’s stopping you? 6. is roleplaying the only writing-based hobby you have, or are there other things you like to write? 7. describe your favorite relationship dynamic. (can be any kind, platonic, romantic, familial, antagonistic, etc.) 8. do you expect your answered memes/asks to be turned into threads? regardless of answer, what’s your reasoning? 9. when you look at a new blog, what is it that makes you press the follow button? is it the muse, the aesthetics, the writing–? 10. what genre do you most enjoy, whether in roleplay, or fiction as a whole? (fantasy, period, superhero, etc.) 11. describe your ideal outcome/endgame for the muse you are currently writing. if you are a multimuse blog: do this for your current favorite muse, or the muse of the last reply you posted. 12. what roleplay trends do you remember from the year you started tumblr rp? how did you feel about those trends? 13. what themes/motifs do you hope other people notice most about your character? 14. which roleplay community has been your favorite to write in? 15. icons, or gifs? you can only pick one, and cannot say ‘neither.’

#munday memes

[soviet-ghost-story]

//I’m sorry I’ve been silent this week. I have a sudden rush of non crochet deadlines rising to meet me so I haven’t had time to write. But they will be past soon!!

#ooc

[soviet-ghost-story]

“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

— Unknown (via thehopefulquotes)

#quotes

[soviet-ghost-story]

It had taken time, and effort, and therapy, for Bucky's nights to not consist of back to back nightmares and memory on a regular basis. While they still persisted, they were becoming less frequent as time went by - a process of healing that was being marked by more and more bouts of restful sleep and less and less wakeful nights. It would have been a touch maudlin and a little incorrect to say that he had slept better than ever with Steve sleeping beside him, but there was an undeniable comfort in awaking to his familiar weight and warmth behind him. His body, despite the rapid recovery granted to him by his serum, ached in a delicious way that bodies should have ached the morning after the sorts of things he and Steve had gotten up to. He kept smiling as Steve curled up behind him and practically buried his face against his neck. A pleased shiver ran down his spine, gooseflesh in its wake, as he lightly ran his fingers up and down what he could reach of Steve's hip and thigh behind him. "Yeah...it does," he confirmed, his voice still a bit hoarse from waking up. He tilted his head to the side slightly, granting Steve more access to his skin. It pulled the growing hair away from his neck just a little, revealing bit more skin - a not-so-subtle invitation to continue with the show of affection. "...Maybe we could make this a regular occurrence," he postulated, almost thoughtful despite the affectionate touches he was offering up and the press of his lower body back against Steve's own. "Waking up in a shared bed. Sure, you've got the whole upstairs to yourself, but...if you wanted to downsize..."

🪀 @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. ’

#era: recovery #maavel: steve rogers

[soviet-ghost-story]

"...What's House of Wax?"

The reference to the film was lost on Bucky, who had never seen nor heard of House of Wax. He frowned a little, and instead went silent while he was listening to what Rumlow said. "...If you think Steve was a tight ass, then you never really knew him," he said quietly - always quick to come to his defense, no matter how far apart in space or in time they were. "You just knew that stupid Captain America schtick that he's worn as a mask for...since always, I guess." His grip tightened around the backpack in his lap; mementos and notes about Steve and the shared past that was public knowledge hidden within - more precious to him than anything else. He kept it close - in case he forgot again. Once Rumlow had taken the food, he shrugged a little at the mention of therapy. "Back when I was growing up, if you needed a shrink or a therapist, it was seen as a moral failing. I'm not sure if it's the same these days...but even I know I need help. I just know that the only people I can trust to not try to control me are the only people I can't be seen going to, so I keep away from everyone." He went quiet at the admission that Rumlow wasn't going to let anyone control him, and frowned a little more. It seemed so at odds with how he'd been before that he didn't understand. "You had no issue with...them controlling me before. I get that you got out and want to give them the finger, but why go to all the trouble of keeping me out of their clutches?"

Blank mind -hailhydrasheads

It was unfortunate then, that it wasn’t Zemo who thought to track down and use the Winter Soldier first. The words had come filtered in through a small radio Bucky had kept in his apartment in Bucharest, so subtle that he hadn’t even noticed at first. By the time the words were nearly finished and he had realized what was going on, it had been too late - and that was how Rumlow found him, standing still in the middle of his tiny kitchen, dressed in street clothing and looking hardly menacing aside from the distant, dead look in his eye. He raised his head and looked up at his former captor and handler, his expression utterly blank. He’d been running for so long, trying to escape, to live quietly and not get taken back - in the back of his mind, suppressed behind programming and conditioning, the vestiges of Bucky Barnes screamed and beat fiercely against the words and the coldness that came with them.“Я готов отвечить.”

#era: on the run #hailhydrasheads: brock rumlow

[soviet-ghost-story]

//Happy Munday, all. :)

#ooc #munday pic #my cosplay

[soviet-ghost-story]

//so I crochet little dolls. And I need to make 2-4 immediate orders to cover something that just came up. I can make literally anyone you want. ANYONE.

$75 a piece, $125 for a ship or a pair. Fully poseable with accessories.

Free shipping to US, international negotiable. Please PM me if you are interested.

Here are some examples:

#reblog #ooc #munday #amigurumi #my art

[soviet-ghost-story]

The strange thing about home was that, even after decades of existing without one, after existing as the Winter Soldier for far longer than he had ever been James Barnes, Bucky ached for Brooklyn. He knew, in his heart, that if he were to show up on Steve Rogers' doorstep one night, he would have been welcomed in immediately, protected, guarded. He knew this - but he also knew that it would have been the first place HYDRA would have looked for him. The last thing he wanted to do was to put Steve and his newfound friends in even more peril; he was a ticking time bomb awaiting activation codes to explode. He didn't want to wake up over a near dead Steve Rogers ever again. So, Lima was where he was. Peru was a beautiful country, and one he'd not set foot in as himself before - the Soldier had been here on a mission, years before, but naturally, he'd not been allowed to immerse himself in the culture or enjoy the people. He spoke the language well and quietly blended into the crowd as best he could for an American born individual, and no one thought much of him other than he must have been some American ex-pat with artsy or hipster leanings, judging by the long hair he still sported. The market was busy that day, as it always was. Local farmers peddling fresh fruits and vegetables, fisherman near to the docks had their catches - he ambled through the stalls making meager purchases, stocking up for a few weeks so that he could limit the amount of times he had to step outside of his door. It was a hermetic existence, but it kept him alive, and it kept him safe. He saw her out of the corner of his eye - trained for decades to be the top assassin in his field, he knew when there were eyes on him, and he felt the prickle of such a presence on the back of his neck. Their eyes met, and a cold rush of fear doused any sense of ease that he had. They found me. They sent her to find me. Gotta move. Hide. Heart thundering, he turned his eyes away, and quietly paid for his last purchase, and began to walk away into the crowd. He knew countless ways to return to his crappy little apartment; he wanted to devise the best one to lose her in the crowd, just to buy him enough time to make his escape. He had an escape plan; he had several, and already knew which country to flee to in advance. Mindful of her presence as she moved through the crowd, he began to move - fluidly, without being overt that he was in flight - and away from her general vicinity. Time. All he needed was time.

@soviet-ghost-story

H.Y.D.R.A and The Inferno had never truly been allies, but enemies wasn't the way to describe them either. The two wicked organizations worked in tenuous harmony. Though clearly planning to take the other out when the time was right, they occasionally joined forces if there would be mutual benefits. One of those benefits being a way to gage the conditioning that was being done on both War and Winter Soldier. This was mostly done by pitting them in fights against each other. The Winter Bastard had broken War's femur clean in two the last time she'd seen him.

That had been seven years earlier. Before her belief in The Inferno crumbled. Before Wrath... Before she'd run to become Shiloh. In the short time she'd been traveling freely, War had seen flashes of the Winter Soldier in the news. Something about H.Y.D.R.A being exposed and his disappearance. There was some doubt in War's mind that H.Y.D.R.A was really down for the count. The whole cut off one head, another grows thing. Because of that doubt when she spotted the supposedly vanished Winter Soldier in that market in Peru, War instantly assumed the worst. Of course Dante would enlist H.Y.D.R.A's help in getting her back. He wasn't about to let her betrayal stand. But there was no way War was going back to the Inferno. Not even the Winter Soldier would be able to make her. Either she would be killed resisting capture or she'd kill him to prevent him from reporting back on her recent whereabouts. War was keeping her freedom.

When their gazes finally met, War narrowed her eyes. Her stance appeared casual to the normal people moving around the market when in reality her muscles were tensed for action. Her fingers twitched, ready to pull out any one of the many knives she had hidden on her person. Her hackles were up. All she could do was wait for the Winter Soldier to make his move.

#itmeanspeace #era: on the run

[soviet-ghost-story]

//I'm really sorry that I've been really slow. I'm incredibly sleepy today but I'm trying to work on drafts as the brain allows. <3

#ooc

[soviet-ghost-story]

"Hey - hey, watch it there; they probably got enough painkillers pumped into you to stop a rhino." Bucky immediately rose when Steve began to cough, and went over to the sink. There was a thermos there, though there wasn't any ice inside of it, but he filled it with water anyway. Walking back over, he reached over and gently held the straw up so that Steve could get a drink. "...They also probably intubated you. Got your throat all kinds of raw...Drink this. Just water - it'll help." Always, it had been like this - Steve would get into a scrape, or get terribly sick, and Bucky would always have been there by his side, helping him limp along until he could stand on his own two feet again. Faithful to a fault - it had been that loyalty that had kept him in the battlefield at his side during the war.

“hey, look at me. i’m slowing you down, we both know it. it’s okay. i’ll hide and wait for back-up; you get yourself out of here." (from steve)

“If you think for one second I’m about to leave you behind for any reason, you don’t know me well at all.”Bucky turned his head towards Steve when he spoke, his expression intense through the strands of long, dark hair. This had been a smash and grab, essentially - get in, secure the target, get out - but someone had compromised their position, and Steve had been wounded. It wasn’t a fatal wound, not for him, but it was bad - and yes, it was slowing them down. Frowning deeply as they crouched low in their hiding place, Bucky reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up at him. They’d been on countless missions together - before being apart for decades, and after being reunited - and the fact still remained. Wherever one of them went, the other would follow - and leaving the other behind wasn’t an option. Even when Bucky had fallen into the icy river at the bottom of that alpine ravine, Steve had followed him symbolically into his own watery depths. And still, even after all this time, Steve had to be the goddamned martyr.“I told you once, I’ll tell you a million times. I’m not leaving here - not without you.”

#heroesofbr00klyn #era: recovery

[soviet-ghost-story]

MY  MUSE  HAS  BEEN  MISSING ,  YOUR  MUSE  HAS  HAPPENED  UPON  THEM.  TELL  ME  YOUR  MUSES  REACTION.

Margot's eyes blinked rapidly as she did a double take, her brown eyes slowly filling with overwhelmed tears. ' Ada? ' she asked, disbelief pliable. Because he had been gone, again, missing again, and Margot had been looked and looked to no avail and yet here he was. ' please don't be a trick. please be real, ' she mumbled, worried that she had finally cracked. Swallowing, she shook her head as she felt quiet tears slip down her cheeks, ' you're alive? please be alive. please be here. '

"...Margot?" Her name left Bucky's lips cracked and dry, sounding close to the way a desiccated lakebed might have. It took a lot to apprehend him, a lot to overcome the serum that ran through his veins, but someone had managed it. Spirited away in the middle of a busy city one day, and no one had known what had become of him. They'd stopped coming to his cell, whoever was responsible - either abandoning him here or defeated by unknown foes. Now that Margot was here, he wondered if perhaps the Avengers or others like them had managed to track him down - or it was just a happy coincidence. Turning his head, he looked up at her through the cell door, just barely visible in the door's barred window. They'd engineered these cells to withstand the Hulk - he'd been unable to escape, and they'd kept him suppressed. Filthy and bruised, he pushed his way to his feet, bruising on his face having started to heal already from his most recent abuse. He'd managed because, quite frankly, no one held prisoners the way that HYDRA held prisoners - this was nothing compared to decades of that torture. They'd removed the elegant vibranium arm from its socket, and now it was missing somewhere in this compound. "How'd you find me? Are you...here with others?" he asked as he approached the door. "It's not safe. We have to get out of here..."

#era: recovery #wintershieldedheart

[soviet-ghost-story]

//so I crochet little dolls. And I need to make 2-4 immediate orders to cover something that just came up. I can make literally anyone you want. ANYONE.

$75 a piece, $125 for a ship or a pair. Fully poseable with accessories.

Free shipping to US, international negotiable. Please PM me if you are interested.

Here are some examples:

#ooc #reblogged #my art #crochet #amigurumi