I AM GOOD. I HAVE LOVE INSIDE OF ME.

❝ again and again, I tell you to pick up your socks. you are allergic to the hamper, bob. ❞ she can't let him get away without one last projectile. yelena actually pries her own socks off just to thwack them in his direction with a barely smothered smile.

she gestures to her hair, freshly trimmed and having lost an inch or two. there's nothing at all out of place that isn't intentional. ❝ do you see this? I am losing hair because of you. shedding like fanny. ❞ she waves in the direction both dogs fled in. ❝ the second I spot a grey hair, it's over for you. ❞

❝          duh,      of course     !      i’ve been      to multiple galaxies,      bud.          ❞           Peter says with a soft chuckle escaping his throat.      he doesn’t judge the question,      really.      he thinks it’s kind of adorable, even.           ❝          somethin’ on your mind     ?          ❞

Bucky  turns  the  alleged  candle  holder  over  in  his  hands,  staring  down  at  the  damned  thing  as  he  fishes  for  something  to  say.  “Ah   …  gee,  thanks,  buddy,  that’s   …  resourceful  of  you.  I  was  actually  thinking  about  buying  some  candles soon,  so  your  timing  is  perfect.”  

He  hadn’t  bought  a  candle  …  ever,  really.  In  the  century  he’d  been  alive,  he’d  never  managed  to  find  a  decent  excuse  to  do  so,  or even had the opportunity to consider it.  Now  that  he  was  a  homeowner,  in  dire  need  of  some  form  of  decor, it had been on the back of his mind.  

an assortment of dialogue prompts.

the moment the words leave @thesntry's lips, yelena's brow is furrowing and her insides are twisting in a way she doesn't at all like. her immediate instinct is to argue, to cross her arms over her chest and stare him down until he takes it back— but she's not oblivious. she's seen the way other people look at him, the names they call him when they think she isn't listening. the mere memory of it all has her feeling violent in a way that goes against her careful, precise training. the levelheaded detachment she usually carries.

❝ people are stupid, they don't know you. ❞ she reaches up for his face, that ever insistent urge to touch getting the better of her, palm coming to cup his cheek. ❝ there is nothing you could do that would ever scare me. ❞

" there's always the void, " comes his quiet correction. the void scares him, it should scare her too -- how close is he to plunging whole civilizations right into the sea? why pretend it's not a discussion that the others are having? why pretend people don't walk on eggshells?

The bag slides awkwardly, heavy fabric weighing it down. But the intention is clear. Peeking through the thin plastic is a dark jacket. Probably a touch big, but he figures that's not bad for Bob. Kinda blue, with a dark collar. Not too far from the sweatshirts Bob wears. A little sturdier, and lined. Better for outside, if Bob wanted to go. Package delivered. He dusts his hands for a job well done, and to shake off the crumbs. Hank turns to the fridge, rooting around for a soda. "Want a drink?"

usually everyone just settles for delivery — there’s not enough interest from anyone to go out and find a place, wait in line, deal with the public after some mission or otherwise. or maybe bob only thinks it’s what they all do because it’s what he does, fear creeping over his shoulders and pulling him far back from ever reaching the front door. he’d been just about to fall back onto the safe, usual means of getting food, been hit with a hard realization he hadn’t eaten much all day when hank returned — perfect timing, and even more perfect that hank’s gotten him food too it seems.

leaning over, his finger pokes at the lid of the pizza box, sliding it up in a curious peek. “ oh, thanks, man, that’s super nice of you. ” but as the bag roughly slides his way, his thanks turns out to be premature.

eyes a little wide, settling on hank rather than the pizza that his stomach still has its sights on or the bag that has all sorts of questions beginning to generate in his mind. but hank’s already turned, and bob’s left speechless and standing, “ ha— ” hank has placed between them an obvious gift and moved on like it’s nothing at all, on a day and occasion bob’s not certain he’s ever made known. in his grasp, the bag crinkles loudly, too loudly he thinks. “ you got this for me? ”

alice comes bearing a neatly wrapped present in star patterned paper and yellow ribbon. inside is a walkman and four cassette tapes — two that bob would know (the bends and hail to the chief by radiohead) and two he might not (either/or by elliott smith and dummy by portishead). a secondhand book, picked up from the thrift store, sits at the very bottom of the stack (she's not sure that he will like this one, but offers it just in case).

"i don't know how to pick out video games, otherwise i would have gotten you something from a video game store."

" we are BOUND TOGETHER. you, me, ALL OF US. we are bound together by the future. we all share the same TOMORROW. "