clint barton application.
out of character portion.
name: kyros
pronouns: he/him
age: the dancing king young and sweet only 17
kik: diraeaeri (multi-muse, please SPECIFY who you’re talking to)
skype: thespainey
blacklist: police brutality, black holes. all of the other stuff i need tagged is on the list.
anything else you’d like to add about yourself:
i’m going to be in school five days a week (starting august 17th) and it’s my senior year so scarcity might be a thing when there are class obligations
One of the first things you learn as an assassin or more specifically, a sniper, is how to sit still. It’s one of those things that never leaves you after it’s taught. Sit still, blend in. Become a ghost, but pay attention to your surroundings. Avoid collateral damage.
Those rules still apply for Barton (no, Hawkeye, his codename is Hawkeye in the field, he’s with S.H.I.E.L.D., this isn’t right) even when some extra-terrestrial force is whispering “truth” into his head, telling him to take out the one, wait no, there’s two armed guards (they’re innocent, they’re doing their jobs, God, please don’t let them have families) on the roof of this building. He’s in position, there can be no witnesses, those were his orders. The fact of this situation is that he lives to serve, and he has no desire to face the wrath of the Asgardian again. Barton takes aim, the familiar creaking of his bowstring being no comfort for the archer whatsoever.
For a brief moment, he makes eye contact with the first guard (he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, he has no choice), only for him to release his arrow into the man’s eye socket, and reload as fast as he can, and do the same to the other guard before his comrade is fully able to fall to the ground in a pathetic, lifeless heap (he’s never going to get out of lockdown for this). Against his will, he smirks, lifts his communications device to his face.
“Perimeter secure, sir,” he says in a cold tone he never thought he was capable of. “We’re moving in.”
From there, the rest of the mission is easy. He sweeps in with a single flip and lands as he had during performances so many times before. He approaches the door, he hands off his bow (no, don’t take it, please don’t take that, it’s not yours, get your filthy fucking hands off of it), his lifeline, to a member of his team and puts the device in position on the retinal scanner. He waits.
headcanons: no farm no laura none of that. none of it. ew. can’t stand it. the circus is still a thing. he became a s.h.i.e.l.d. asset after a secret military thing left him mostly colourblind. shot and killed a couple of soldiers during an attempt to leave, s.h.i.e.l.d. took control. blah blah. he lives in both the avengers mansion and bed-stuy with pizza dog and kate. still fucked up from the tesseract incident. during the events of tws he was in a s.h.i.e.l.d. prison bein tested by pierce/hydra i have. so much about him i’m jsut too tired to type the rest of it
direction: i’m pulling a lot from the mcu, 616, and ultimates, tbh. ready fr civil war
gender/pronouns: dmab agender, he/they/it
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