#backinblackwidow

Eyes focused. Still breath. Not a blink to be spared. And fingers coiled around the smooth grip of his weapon... ...an archer hung high in the air, cradled in a harness hugging a very old tree. He was so aptly named after a raptor. The Hawk. He and his old friend, high above ground. Like a beak his arrow will seek to pierce, and oh how it craved to fly free. His arrow needed to feed. It needed the sweet taste of meat as it swept through the air and buried in the Earth. Just. Like. A. Bird of prey. Not that Barton was one to sit still for so long, considering both the time constraints of most if not all given assignments, and the lack of luxury to be so pensive with his choices on the field... Yes, Clint was high up and picking off the enemy one man at a time. In fact he had been up there for a real long while. The last time he’d been assigned quite the perch was where he had met Thor, God of Thunder. That day it had even rained. 

Now?The cold breeze kissed his cheek as blunt fingers lifted away from the drawstring, shooting with pin point accuracy down below. A thump and crunch against the amber sea below was the only thing to make a sound. Then the archer relaxed, lifting his watch close to his lips as he added to the kill count and reported the temporary, “Clear.”

Send me a “☔️“ for a para about our muses getting caught a massivedownpour.

 It was a long day. One of those daysin a city with a foreign language, people of a different culture…a long, long day.Clint had been at the market looking for loaves of bread—something simple tohave on the move and not go hungry. Nat had given him the money to make thelight trip and had insisted on staying behind to get ahead in their assignment.

He stood with a scarf wrappedaround his neck and an outstretched hand to point out the exact bread hewanted. When he was done he hopped on the bicycle he’d been using to getaround. With traffic in a city like this? A bike was the way to go.

His ears lit up pink along withhis noise as the whipping wind beat the cold against his face. The bike wasn’tlong, and soon he was slowing down to the safe house he and the Widow wereholed up in. Nat was waiting for him outside—she’d just found new information on the culpritthey were hunting down. She greeted him. He smiled, hopping off the bike togreet her. And then, seemingly out of nowhere at all, the water came. Quick andunforgiving, it raced down the sky and descended on Strike Team Delta like a smallarmy. Clint laughed, lifting his bike to bring it up to their safe place.

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon meme || Accepting ||

2) Do they have any daily rituals?:

Natashas mornings tend to start the moment the sun is up. Before commuters take to the streets and the morning air is polluted with fumes from cabs and buses alike, she will run through the city. Headphones block out the noise pollution, and the beat of the music drives her on. Feet pounding against the concrete sidewalk. On her way back to her apartment, she will often indulge her cravings, stopping into the small cafe on the corner, purchasing an apricot pastry and fresh vanilla bean latte. As she consumes both, she will take her usual window seat, and watch as the city comes to life before her. Such is only her morning routine, the rest of the day she leaves to unfold before her.

8) Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging:

Rich dark chocolate, and fine Italian wine are Natashas indulgences in life. Where most would focus on materialistic things. A new pair of shoes perhaps. Or even a new car. The assassin chooses to live in the moment. Such indulgences have always been considered luxuries, for it wasn't until she was a young woman she first tasted chocolate, and to pair it with a full bodied, rich & fruity glass of wine is all she could want at times. To simply relax. For once to feel as though her world is at peace, and even go so far as to feel a little human

13) Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

If one were to put a label on Natashas sexuality, she would identify as bi-sexual. Though she does not take kindly to be labelled as such. To her, a physical attraction is merely skin deep, and to be truly attracted to a person, above all else there must be a certain level of trust, respect & acceptance. All of which are things that do not come easily. They are earnt, and once broken, incrdibly difficult to regain, if not impossible.

26) Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Such a contingency plan has already been put into effect for Natasha. To go off of the grid, far away from where anybody can find her. No paper trails, no electronic trails. Like a ghost, she will disappear from existence, as if she was wiped from the earth as insignificantly as the day she first came to be a part of it. Though she knows there are certain parties who will never stop looking for her, never stop hunting her down, she will forever keep them guessing, from one day to the next.

42) Hobbies

An admitted petrol head, a hobby which takes up most of her time, unbeknownst to some, is working on both forms of transport she possesses. A 1967 Stingray (of which she has been the only owner), and a Harley Davidson v-rod. Both of which are her pride and joy, and have been for many years.

50) Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

“Is Steve always like this in the morning?” Wanda asked the redhead as she poured some cereal, nodding her head to the door Steve had just walked out of. 

::@onyovrleft​::

The pitter patter of the rain that falls outside of the cafe is almost mesmerising. Perfectly shape droplets pool on the ground, reflecting the city in a distorted mirror image within them. They cling to the canopy that overhands the outdoor seating area, where 3 or 4 smokers all crowd together in a vain attempt to escape the rain, a cloud of smoke raises above them.  From her seat at a table safely concealed in the warmth she watches them, once upon a time there would have been a moment where she would have joined them. But such a habit is long behind her.

Besides, the fellow commuters out on the street, and those settled within the cafe were not the reason she was here. Just across the road, a red brick building stretched up into the sky. Modern compared to most around it. It’s crisp clean lines and clean black railings at its windows giving it cause to stand out against the rest. 

The home of the captain. 

Before city dwellers would clamour to stand at the foot of Stark Tower, hoping to catch the briefest of glimpses of the billionaire, but since word had spread of Steves residence, they were now all clamouring for a completely different view. 

It’s the roar of his bike coming down the street that draws Natashas attention, and laving a tip on the table, she gets to her feet, crosses the street and behind the blonde, easily navigates her way into the building. 

A manilla envelope is tucked into an inside pocket of her jacket, for this isn’t a friendly visit it’s all business. 

::@darcylewisinaction​::

Protection details are not Natashas forte. She takes no pride in them rarely does she enjoy them, yet the gruelling drive through the desert is taking her to a safe house in the middle of nowhere, where her mission- if she could be considered as such- was holed up waiting for her arrival. The steady rhythmic thumping of the window wipers back and forth are the only thing to keep her attention on the road, for it’s monotonous at best and the sooner it comes to an end, the better.

Traversing the drive up towards the house, she alreadys sees face at the window, eyes wide and doe like, practically begging to be freed from her somewhat extensive prison. Both Darcy and Jane have answers to the numerous questions SHIELD wish to pepper them with, and with an even higher number of threats looming over their heas due to simply being connected to Thor. Being left to their own devices is not an option.

A flash of her badge and a courteous nod releives the agent sat in the kitchen of the safe house, though perhaps such is not needed, for the moment the young brunette agent lays eyes on Natasha, he’s fidgeting nervously, and a blush has already coloured the perky apples of his cheeks. With the door closing over him, the dead bolt is slid across, chain put into place, and through the hum from the refrigerator, and the stir-crazy ticking of the clock mounted on the wall, they’re alone.

🕷 “ You seem to want me here about as much as I wish to be here. But the fact of the matter is, until this whole mess blows over. I’m here whether we like it or not, so we might as well be amicable to one another--”

There’s a pause, her brow draws together.

🕷 “ If you don’t step away from that window, a rookie sniper could drop you with their eyes closed and their hands tied behind their back.”

Striding across the living room, she drops the blind, shielding Darcys view, and nods for her to go and sit on the couch.

🕷 “ Penny for your thoughts?”

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Every ounce of him wanted to groan at how badly it hurt to be laying on his back but it was far better than laying on his recently bandaged shoulder one one side or the deeply bruised, possibly fractured shoulder on the other side. There was a patch of red near his eye, though it had stopped bleeding shortly after he obtained it. Another badge he wore to show he’d been through Hell and back.