Clint in the vents and that’s his whole personality because he wasn’t fleshed out in the movies → Ava in the walls and that’s her whole personality because she wasn’t fleshed out in the movies
Thor eating poptarts and overusing proper words because English isn’t his first language and he’s the comedic relief → Alexei eating Wheaties and overusing proper words because English isn’t his first language and he’s the comedic relief
Natasha pranking and laughing at everyone from the sidelines because fanon decided she’s just silly like that → Yelena pranking and laughing at everyone from the sidelines because canon decided she’s just silly like that
Bruce being a sweet, soft-spoken, unassuming guy but also the most fucking unhinged monstrosity if you catch him on a bad day → Bob being a sweet, soft-spoken, unassuming guy but also the most fucking unhinged monstrosity if you catch him on a sad day
Steve being handed the de facto title of goody two shoes leader despite being the LAST person on board with this → Bucky being handed the de facto title of goody two shoes leader despite being the last person on board with this
Tony being a big-mouthed asshole that’s secretly haunted by his past mistakes which involved publicly supporting the US military via PR stunts as a weapons manufacturer → John being a big-mouthed asshole that’s secretly haunted by his past mistakes which involved publicly supporting the US military via PR stunts as a weapon himself
In Bruce's estimation, Iron Man was rapidly transitioning from strategic asset to unacceptable liability. Tony was loose end with a drinking problem and a god complex, playing defense contractor in open airspace with all the subtlety of a meteor strike.
And they wouldn’t let that stand. Not for much longer.
There was a personal sting in it, too. Tony, for all his reckless brilliance, had (so far) somehow managed to evade the more intimately upsetting layers of institutional vendetta. Maybe it was the charm, or the PR team, or the money (likely a bit of all three). Tony didn’t seem to need to operate within the system—he was a system, complete with its own rules of engagement.
Bruce hadn’t even been offered legal representation when he’d first come to, groggy and concussed, in a reinforced containment cell. No statement, no rights, no Miranda, just a battery of tests, a dozen loaded rifles, and enough surveillance to make Orwell choke. But they’d fucked that one up spectacularly. They hadn’t understood the underlying biology. Back then, they’d still thought the Other Guy was a switch you could simply flip off.
Well, they knew better now.
The same public that cheered for Iron Man wouldn’t cross the street to stop Bruce Banner from bleeding out. To them, Tony was a libertarian fever dream with a glowing reactor core. Bruce was the monster under the bed, a thing that could be used to scare kids into behaving.
At the end of the day, Tony could take off the suit, hang it up, pour himself a scotch, and be a genius billionaire philanthropist again by morning. Iron Man was a costume—a brilliant, terrifying, technological marvel of a costume—but a costume nonetheless.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to the screen, where Tony Stark was basking in the attention of his rabidly adoring—or equally loathing—public. The kind of audience he seemed to polarize. So, nothing unusual there. Men with more money than sense and egos large enough to eclipse their morality were a dime a dozen in Natasha’s world.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to sleep with him.
Tonight would be her last night as Natasha for a while. Tomorrow, she'd shed her own skin and slide into the polished heels of Natalie Rushman, a pretty PA with a paper background as a paralegal.
Assignments like these were par for the course, but that subtle, persistent itch returned with every new brief she reviewed. In her line of work, complacency was a quiet killer, and every honeytrap, every small-time seduction or petty score-settling mission made the creeping thought grow louder: What if this was it? What if this was her future now?
It was hard to ignore the insidious possibility that her career was beginning to fade into a series of routine assignments, slowly chipping away at her skill and edge, as efficiently as it eroded her patience. And then one day, they’d simply slot her into a desk job in Analytics, her field days a thing of the past.
Natasha could see the trajectory too clearly: a few more years of being just sharp enough to justify the effort before the “maintenance” would begin: a tweak here, a discreet procedure there, each intervention a reminder of her shelf life, the ticking clock on her utility. One or two breast augmentations, no doubt suggested with the subtlety of a hammer, as if a little more appeal might stretch her run. And for what? A pension, if she was lucky. If she managed to dodge every bullet, avoid every knife in the back, and survive long enough to clock out of this life permanently.
At least with Clint and STRIKE Team: Delta there had been… more. Real missions that needed real skill, real grit—the kind of work where a mistake meant more than a slap on the wrist. Something worth the bruises, the scars, and the long nights.
Trapped in a Chitauri-infested New York, the Avengers must fight for their lives. With the grid down and no help coming, the city quickly turns into a boiling pot of violence and destruction.
While a gravely injured Tony battles with the consequences of his free-fall from space, Natasha tries to escape through Manhattan’s underground. In Queens, Peter Parker finds out what it means to lose everything in an instant while Kate Bishop watches her life crumble in front of her eyes as aliens lay waste to her home.
But sometimes the direst situations can lead to the strongest of alliances.
Read it on Ao3.
I think the funniest possible modern textual adaptation of Dracula would be Jonathan as a part time recipe blogger and you have to scroll through 10 paragraphs of the most harrowing thing you’ve ever read in your life just to get the recipe for paprika hendl
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