#coldleads

They all have their hard days. There was once a timeframe where the god of thunder would pretend everything was fine, when it wasn't. There was also another phase in time where he'd let the sorrow completely swallow him whole with nothing more than a shell left of who he used to be.

Clara bit her lip nervously as she waited for Bucky to make his way over, her feet shuffling back a small, uncertain step. She hovered there, torn between staying and running, she didn’t want to get into trouble, as her father slowly lowered himself to her height. When he asked gently if she could show him what had happened, Clara hesitated, her fingers curling into the hem of her sleeve before she gave him a sharp nod.

She turned and led her father into the living room, where she had set up her art supplies, ready to make something. But instead of the neatly arranged materials one might expect, yellow paint was everywhere, smeared across the coffee table, the couches, the floor and just about any surface it could reach.

“Like I said… it was Alpine,” Clara spoke, her voice small and hesitant, instinctively lying in hopes of avoiding trouble.

"Oh okay, but I'm the untrustworthy one of the two." If anything, more information was good and could be at leased used to his advantage. He was already accustomed to practically sleeping with eye open, and now he was wondering just how far he could push himself to stay awake. "Just as long as the cats are okay, I'll be able to make peace with that."

"Well i'm telling you 'll do it so.... I'm trustworthy." He commented. That sounded like horse shit even to him. He wasn't sure why he was this paranoid? there was new sounds in the house but his twin seemed to not be as bothered. "You really don't think the noises in the house has changed?" He asked, pausing for a moment. "I'm not hearing voices."

“no, it’s more likely that my own brain turned it into word salad all by itself— does that sometimes. but just to be safe- can you go again from the top? i’m sorry if that’s me being a pain or just dumb—“

@coldleads || a meme continuation || from here!

oh look at mister grumbly pants over here. droppin' the f bomb when all dean was trying to do was give him some hip slang or whatever. okay. okay. fine. fine! hands swing up as if he's warding off some kinda attack via sardonic wit, a sharp tongue and pearly white teeth. seriously. this guy's teeth. have you seen 'em? WHITE! they glow.

pouted expression does not abandon him as he turns his attention from the flask in his hand back to bucky. "your woke up on the wrong side of the bed no matter what side it was--doesn't do you justice." there's no malice in his tone. humor teetering on appreciation? more than you might think.

continued from here {x}

Clint let out a short, startled laugh before he could stop it, turning his head to give Bucky a long, sideways look as the words finally sank in. “Wow,” he said dryly. “I’ve heard a lot of arguments for why the future’s better, and somehow that one feels… deeply on brand for you right now.” His eyes flicked over Bucky’s loose posture, the way his thoughts wandered just enough to give him away. Drunk. Not falling-over, just reflective enough to be dangerous.

He shifted his weight, arms folding loosely as his tone softened without losing its edge. “You’re not wrong about the nostalgia thing, though,” Clint went on. “People love the highlight reel. They forget the hunger, the fear, the dying. History’s a lot easier to miss when you edit out the parts that hurt.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he glanced back at Bucky. “Still—two wars, a century-long nap, and the big win is goth mommies.” He shook his head once, amused despite himself.

"You missing it?"