when-it-rains-it-snows:

samsvimes:

clint barton + the circus

how badly I want Clint,

wearing spangly purple,

and shooting arrows while standing on the back of a galloping horse. (A white horse, very dramatically white, if you know anything about white horses then you know this means the horse is old, older perhaps than Clint).  It’s the circus, so naturally at some point or other the horse is nonchalantly jumping over fire.  

Greasepaint to cover the bruises (learn easy, learn hard, as long as you learn)

The horse is hungry,

Clint is hungrier, (the animals eat first, it is ever thus)

the show must go on.

Seventeen years old and two hundred and thirty-two miles from Waverly, Iowa (it’s the farthest he’s ever been from the place he was born, although he doesn’t know that)

white horse (twenty years old, born in Texas, has travelled farther than the archer standing on her back has ever dreamed, Clint has never seen the ocean, the old circus mare has),

fire (eternal),

arrows (stick and string from the paleolithic era)