Crossed Wires ||

        Other than the sound of the fans coming from James’ computer, the only other sound was the pop of his spine as he stretched up from his chair and eased out the aches that had gathered from the hours in front of the computer. The project he had been working on had just been uploaded and James always loved the rush that came from posting the truth online. He’d just exposed a doctor for performing illegal plastic surgery and being the cause of the deaths of several hundreds of people. Something the government had covered up due to the amount of money the doctor had been raking in.

        He dragged his hand over his eyes and yawned, the headset hanging squint over his ears as he tried to ease the tiredness aching over his mind. Living where he was, a small rather shitty apartment, it would be hard to believe that Bucky had been a soldier in a past life. Fighting in a war that had taken more from him than any man deserved to lose and it had turned him sour to the government, to the way the world ran. As such, his years spent on therapy had given him the time he needed to hone in that mind of his, turning his skills to a technical warfare.

        It was all details that didn’t matter now, it was from a past life that didn’t matter. James swung his legs down from the edge of the desk and leaned forward, only to leap up cursing and swearing when he knocked over what remained of his coffee onto the keyboard and transceiver. He knocked the cup away, grabbed an old t-shirt and dabbed it over the mess, only to stop when the shouting and swearing, and what could be interpreted as a scream, filled his headset. James stopped, reaching up and pulling the device fully over his ears while watching his transceiver flicker, die out then roar back into life. The voice stayed though, and James could recognise the sound of gunfire anywhere. But how the hell did a feed like that find him?

            “The fuck–?”

hawksvane said: The archer responded with startled silence, blinking in surprise but not displeasure, the hint of a smirk on his face. “…huh.”                                                                

Steve cleared his throat and backed away from the other. “I.. I uh.. apologize about that, sir…” He stammered, cheeks flushing pink.

Phone calls.


the hell?

He was standing there in the rain staring at God knew what. Just the rain. It felt really nice, falling nonstop against his burning head.

Oh, there it was again. A subtle vibration, something he shouldn’t have noticed in this state, nor in this atmosphere.

A cheap, throwaway phone appeared in his hand, the source of the vibration. It had been in his pocket this whole time. A miracle it wasn’t busted all to hell in this rain.

Not really thinking about it, he flipped it open easily without checking to see who the hell was calling him; neither did he say anything when it reached his ear.

External image

Coulson stopped breathing for a second when he heard the phone pick up, stunned again. Stunned the burn phone was still active and that someone had answered it. Now please just let it be in the possession of the right person.

“Agent Barton, please report. Status, location. Do you require a pickup?” He made himself enunciate carefully, in case reception was bad where Barton was, then hurriedly adding on, “Don’t hang up, Hawkeye. Please.”

And hoping, hoping, that against the curl of ice in his gut and veins, that his Hawk was okay, so he could apologize for so many failures.

Archery for Beginners || hawksvane & triednotto

It wasn’t logical that Ariadne was ever going to need to use a bow and arrow. But in her slight acquaintance with Clint Barton, Ariadne knew that he knew a lot more than just archery, and in her quest to defend herself she figured he was a good resource to tap.

Hopefully bribery would work.

Stark Tower was impressive, but frankly Ariadne had some questions about the ‘glass box’ aspect of the architecture. Skyscrapers didn’t have to be devoid of detail…

Hopefully he liked peanut butter cookies.

Your Testament On My Lips ||

            One month.

        That was how long it had been since James and Clint had been in the same room. After Clint had been taken away, Lukin had beaten James bloody until the HYDRA agents had dragged him off and then dragged the crazed man out of the room. Pierce was not impressed with what had become of the Russian but he was impressed with the obedience the Asset showed. He was then loaded up into the chair and wiped several times consecutively to remove any and all traces of Russian programming from his mind before the new implementations was place in. His obedience, his skills; everything built back up to re-create the deadly Winter Soldier with a few new touches and some upgrades to his arm.

        The Red star on his shoulder was even altered a shade to match.

        That month was a learning process. Who to respond to, whose commands to follow and the strictest tests of obedience had him nearly ending his life over and over just because he was told to. One agent in particular, Rumlow, took a great interest in the weapon that was molded up and became his charge. He experimented with his levels of obedience, worked with different weapons and techniques and of course, late at night, he took stress relief with the assassin in ways that sickened even some of the guards.

        But now HYDRA was moving. Fury was dead and Rumlow had just returned with the Winter Soldier, wiped his memory of the assignment and had been on his way to store him in cryo when he’d decided to test out a little sick theory. He left James in his cell and went to find the one other prisoner in the opposite cell block, the one that had been starved of help, attention and medical attention though there were rumours that Lukin had said one last goodbye.

        James sat on his knee’s, hands clasped together and head down. His hair was longer, straggly and shrouding the muzzle that kept him silent. He wore only the black combat trousers and boots, torso bare and bruised, fresh scarring clear and yet an increase in muscle mass and leaner. They didn’t feed him, felt no need to but a drip gave him what nutrients his body needed to survive. He sat there and waited, calm and quiet, for whatever his handler would need him for and there was, just a flicker of apprehension, of fear as he knelt there and waited.

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Hi I’m intimidated by all of you and your quality Okay Bye
Whisker Kisses ||

        How long had it been? He’d lost count of the hours that had ticked by as Clint slept. Occasionally Bucky could give him a nudge with his nose to make sure he was still alive, that he hadn’t somehow died during the night. The snuffles he got in return were relief enough to assure him that Clint was still very much alive, only very much asleep. After their initial bonding, Clint had walked out and Bucky had respected that, understood it and made it known that he would be here if Clint ever needed help with his Heat or anything else.

        Then, about a month later, he had turned up on James’ doorstep, beaten and bloody and managed a hello before he’d collapsed. Bucky had known Clint was scared by the way he reverted down to fox, so Bucky had set him up in the nest and let him sleep. His own worry had drive him to wolf and as the hours crawled by, he paced a worn path into the floor in his worry about what had happened to his Mate.

Crαѕн αɴd вυrɴ

            Taking a mission like this, together, had to be James’ favourite thing. Sure in about four hours they’d be be fighting for their lives most likely and snarking at each other over the coms. But they worked well together, better than anyone James had ever worked with and maybe it was because they were so in sinc that they flowed well in and out of the sheets. Which is where James’ thoughts are drifting as he watches Clint wander through from the cockpit and stretch.

           They’d been in the air for eight hours already, James catching up on sleep and Clint doing what he did best, keeping them in the air and off the radar. Clearly he was tired though and James lounged back watching the fabric of his shirt ride up and the way his neck tightened as he yawned. “You know, wearing something so light and stretching like that should be a crime,” James commented, spreading his legs a little yet feigning a stretch of his own. There was nothing about Clint that James did not love.