#displacedwidow

[facemypast]

@displacedwidow​ liked this

     “I’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t have killed him... but          maybe less time there could be less clean up?”

[fxlconsnest]

gimme the good good Sam/Riley feelings (thanks for those btw)

send me a ship and i’ll tell you || ( sel. ) accepting 

who hogs the duvetriley which is always a damn surprise when you take into consideration how he grew up in  the middle of bum fuck nowhere georgia, where it gets dutch brick oven sweltering fucking hot, so hot you could breath in humid hot air. still doesn’t stop sam from waking up to rils, sprawled out over his chest, duvet tangled on his side. good thing sam runs hot.

who texts/rings to check how their day is goingriley, who blows up sam’s damn phone every other god damn minute when they’re apart, wants to know every banal thing that happened. but when they’re back together it’s sam tears his clothes apart, pressing up against riley’s skin like he’s trying to convince himself he’s here, that this is real. ( they spend so much time in the sky, like on the ground is suffocatingly, stiflingly small. they cope together. then without warning, sam copes. alone. )

who’s the most creative when it comes to giftssam knits and sews and DIYs like the best of them, which is always ceaselessly amusing to riley.

who gets up first in the morningriley could very well put the grinch to shame with how grouchy he is before midday. coffee sweetens him, and that’s how they spend their mornings, Riley’s head leaned on sam/s shoulder as they watch the light come in through the windows, paints them both in that soft gold light. 

who suggests new things in bedit’s not a “hey sam let’s try new things” it’s more of riley pinning him down on the floor or sam hoisting him up without warning, riley wrapping his legs around his waist so they’re flush together, mouth hot at his neck. they can’t ever seem to shake loose that edge of desperation, like at any moment, this could all fall apart. 

who fusses over the other when they’re sicksam, and riley hates ( loves ) that fusses. that sam checks his temperature every hour on the hour, cooks his food down to scratch, leaves sticky notes all over their place to remind him to take your fucking meds or so help me god riley.

who gets jealous easiestneither. you don’t hold down the line for each other out their, have each other’s backs and have time for petty things like jealously. they know what they are to each other with sheer-fire surety.

who has the most embarrassing taste in musicit’s the one time sam’s ever seriously considered leaving him, when he wakes up cotton mouthed and head ringing heavy, was the one time riley rigged up the speakers to blast dolly parton screeching about some dumb bitch named jolene.“ i’m leaving you. ” sam, rolling over, pressing the pillow over to his ear, and riley just presses himself up against him, that laugh echoing down under sam’s skin.“ you love me too much, sammy and you know it. ”( and, damn him, he’s right. )

who takes the longest to get ready“ sam stop fucking preening let’s go already you’re getting laid tonight. ”“ you can leave this house looking like whodunit what-for if that is your prerogative, but i was raised with a modicum of self respect, thank you. ”

who is the most tidy and organisedit’s like living with an overly tidy ghost, sam’s hardly set a cup down on the counter and riley’s already magicked it away. it’d be funny except it’s like this: in the moments where war doesn’t touch their lives riley washes dishes like trying to wash blood out from under his fingernails. sometimes he’ll wake up to it, the water splashing in the sink, steam pooled on the mirror and he’s scrubbing his hands raw, bloodied, and sam has to to draw his hands out from under the water, put his own between them. “ doesn’t ever feel like i’ll ever been clean, sammy. ” 

who gets most excited about the holidaysriley moonlights as santa claus and sam takes about am million pictures, and sam strings up mistletoe up in corners just to have an excuse to pull riley toward by his belt loops and kiss him sweet. they push each other down down as they go skating and drink 

who is the big spoon/little spoonsometimes it’s riley pressed against sam’s back and sam curled small. sometimes it’s sam carding his hands through the thickets of his hair. it depends on how the chips fall. who’s demons rear their heads on any given day. 

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sportssam, and it’s riley’s favorite thing in the world, to rile him up, but the victory of success still doesn’t beat the after party: “ i let you beat me. ” sam, kissing that spot on his throat that makes him shiver.“ likely fucking story. shut up and let me claim my prize. ”

who starts the most argumentsriley, he’s a good guy…. with a short fuse and sam’s never stood for any kind of bullshit not a day in his life, and isn’t gonna start now. riley raises his voice high and sam snaps back, low and hard and frustrated. it’s not always easy, for them to say the things they mean, but no matter what, no matter who storms out angry. they always come home. 

who suggests that they buy a petthey talk about it all the time, what happens next, because there is a next after this, when you find love like this you hold it tight with both your hands. after they get out, they’re gonna get a dog, a big one, one sam can take out running. they’re gonna get rings, riley’s mapped out where he’s going to build their house, out someplace they can see the sky, the stars. 

how they spend time together as a couplethey take leave always, always make one at least one road trip, riley ripping through road at speeds that are illegal but it’s fine. there’s something calming to them both about the swathes of wheat and corn as far as the eye out can see, just green below and blue up on high, windows all rolled down wind ripping in their faces. they hike, hold hands up in the mountains where no one sees but the trees and the breeze. sam watches for the birds and riley rolls up his ankles, skips rocks on the river and catch trout with his hands. 

who made the first moveboth. it’s how it should always be, like to trees growing towards each other who’s roots are bound together under down where you can’t see, riley and sam crash together that night after their first test run under their wings. it’s this: lips, teeth, tongue, heat, licking the grit of the desert from their windswept faces under the weight of a million stars, shrouded in darkness. 

who brings flowers homesam. he like he way riley brightens up. how he trims the stems careful, sets them in clay jars. 

who is the best cookgeorgia boy that he is, riley can make a damn good peach cobbler, sweet as can be that melts warm on your mouth, but that’s just about it. the kitchen is sam’s domain thank you very much but he learned early on that if he didn’t keep those clever quick hands of riley’s busy they’d be all over sam like they ain’t nobody gotta eat round here. so sam cooks, riley chops, and one of them is always served up for dessert, later.

[hxwkey3]

plotted starter for @displacedwidow​ from Clint

there  was  supposed  to  be  a  wedding.  a  small  one  but  a  wedding  nonetheless.  he’d  been  getting  himself  excited  for  it.  telling  himself  this  was  the  start  of  something  brilliant,  trying  to  make  himself  believe  this  is  what  he’d  wanted.  but  she’d  seen  through  him.  laura  was  good  like  that.  they’d  met  at  shield.  clicked  as  friends  and  he’d  thought  they  worked  as  romantic  partners.

clearly  that  wasn’t  the  case.  two  weeks  before  the  big  day  and  she’d  sat  him  down  to  tell  him  they  couldn’t  do  this.  they  couldn’t  get  married.  it  wasn’t  fair  to  either  of  them  to  try  and  force  what  wasn’t  there.  that  had  been  a  slap  in  the  face.  he  hadn’t  thought  he  was  forcing  anything  but...after  a  week  of  reflection,  it  was  clear  that  he  was.  he  loved  laura  but  he  didn’t  love  her.  and  she’d  known  that.  could  tell  that  his  heart  was  long  gone  with  someone  else.  that  he  didn’t  have  it  to  give  away  anymore. 

he  wishes  he  did.  he’s  sorry  he  doesn’t.  god,  laura,  he’s  sorry. 

of  course,  that  leaves  him  with  two  plane  tickets  and  a  hotel  reservation  in  venice  for  ten  days.  seems  a  waste  not  to  use  them.  and  that’s  how  he  got  here.  in  front  of  natasha.  trying  to  explain  that  he’s  no  longer  getting  married  and  he’d  very  much  like  it  if  she’d  go  on  his  honeymoon  with  her.

❝——————Long  story  short,  wedding’s  off  and  I’ve  got  these  tickets.  I  could  sell  ‘em  but  I  thought....we  both  deserve  a  vacation.  The  world’s  been  pretty  quiet.  What  do  you  say?❞  he  waves  the  printed  off  tickets  in  front  of  her,  the  departure  date  two  days  from  now.  if  she  says  now  then...he’ll  go  ahead  and  try  to  sell  him  or  maybe  just  go  alone.  ❝You  can  have  the  bed...❞

[wardogsong]

Hi, so um, I just wanted to pop in and tell you that I LOVE your portrayal of Frank. There's something about the style of writing that you use when you type up responses that just...Perfectly melds with who he is, as a man. I can hear his voice in your writing - and I don't just mean in the dialogue. It's in the way you set a scene, or describe a situation, like...Like we, the audience, are actually there to witness it personally. It's so vivid, and I feel so lucky to have found your blog

Man, oh man! That is the GOAL!!!! And it’s also, tragically, why I’m so sporadic on here. I’m sitting on memes due MONTHS ago, where I know what’s supposed to happen, I’ve got the scene in mind, the inspo is there, hell, there are words in the draft-- but if I re-read it and it doesn’t sound like a Frank post, I will literally just lay in a ditch and wait to be collected for recycling. Like, that’s all I want in life, besides health and wealth and maybe to take over the world like the maniacal Leo that I am, is to make my writing partners feel like they can hear and feel Frank in my replies. ♥

[thedarcydichotomy]

@displacedwidow

It took some fussing, but Darcy had finally gotten the couches set up just how she wanted them. Which meant they were practically an entire fort, of blankets and cushions and carefully stacked side tables to hold it all up. She stopped just long enough to survey her work proudly before diving in.

[bkybrns-archived]

displacedwidow replied to your post: There’s nothing sexier than Bucky speaking in...

I see your Bucky speaking in Russian and raise you: Bucky speaking in Russian between his partner’s thighs

you win

[battlesthatmatter]

Smash or Pass + a widow, a falcon, and a Bucky ;)

Smash or Pass | THE SQUAD

“Well, I’m gonna have to borrow the big guy’s phrase. But all of above are definitely a smash.”

[gctbackup]

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Rog- Steve...Isn't coming back."

e x c u s e   y o u 

She had seen many of her son’s coworkers before. She didn’t intermingle with them too much, they held busy lives. She made no illusions that she was a part of their dangerous world. She preferred the fringes actually. It was difficult enough to continue and adjust to the world she was in now, let alone wade through the horrible news that was in print at these times. Sarah held a warm smile for Ms. Romanoff and greeted her in. The woman had a face that was difficult for her to get a read on, but there was something in her posture that had Sarah off put. She tried to shove such concerns down. She had always been one to worry herself, to the point of illness. It was nothing new to her, but as soon as the woman asked her to sit down...She didn’t need Natasha to say anything else; her heart knew the truth.  

Steve wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t coming home.She swallowed hard and tried to keep a straight face. Denial was strong and she wasn’t going to cave to such a thought so quickly. She’d done this song and dance before, but...before...they had given her a letter. Before, it was her husband she had to bury; not her son. - Not the sunshine of her life. The blonde fiddled with her apron, needing something to do with her hands to try and quell the ache in her throat that was quickly climbing up to her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach all of a sudden. Within her chair she leaned forward, one hand clasped over her mouth while she worked to try and let the news settle. It seemed wrong...it seemed so wrong.She knew his life was dangerous now. She knew that he went on the front lines time and time again for the sake of others. She felt a kinship with families of firemen and first responders, but the worry she had worked so hard to keep at bay was spilling over. She only realized she was crying when she felt the heated dampness trail down her face. Sarah quickly moved to wipe the trail away; nobody needed to see her cry. Though if Steve was gone...she could live on knowing that she had fulfilled her promise to herself. He couldn’t see...He’d never see again. Steve wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t coming home, at least not alive.“No,” she rasped, her voice choked with a smoldering anger; not at the messenger, but at the world. “No that can’t be it.”Her face was flushed, eyes red rimmed as she looked to Natasha for some sort of answer; some horrible game. She knew it had to be true though. They wouldn’t send one of their own if it wasn’t...if it wasn’t real. She had expected to bury him when he was far younger, far smaller. She had tried to prepare herself for this but she had gotten comfortable with his new life; his robust health. She needed to find that strength again but it was a lifetime away. The last bit of strength was sapped from her. She buried her face, her shame behind the cloth of her apron as she wept into her hands.“Please, not my boy.”