Chapter Text
To: The Avengers Initiative Executive Team
From: Virginia "Pepper" Potts
Subject: Public Relations Manager Position — Immediate Hire
Team,
I’ve been reviewing the last quarter’s media coverage, and frankly, we’re lucky Stark Industries stock hasn’t tanked. Between Stark’s “innovative” combat decisions, Barton’s habit of making enemies out of luxury car owners, and Thor’s complete disregard for what constitutes a press conference—our image is barely holding together.
The New York Times just ran an op-ed calling us “a necessary evil we tolerate because we have to”. Not exactly the legacy we’re aiming for.
This is no longer about cleaning up the occasional mess. We need someone proactive. Someone whose full-time job is to manage you before the next disaster hits, not after.
I’m hiring a Public Relations Manager. (No, Tony, you don’t get a say.) Their job will be:
- Assess the current public image of each active team member
- Oversee all press, social media, and public engagement
- Manage post-battle fallout reports before the press gets them
- Build human-interest campaigns so the public sees us as people—not just collateral damage waiting to happen
Yes, that means mandatory participation.
Yes, that includes you, Barnes.
I’ve scheduled initial interviews. If any of you scare off my candidate, you’re answering to me.
Harshest regards,
Pepper
Virginia Potts (she/her)
CEO of Stark Industries
Stark Tower
Annie shook out her hands as she waited for the elevator to rise. A guest pass was clipped to her blazer, giving her access to only the locations she was allowed into, and the AI that ran the security of the building had scanned it at every door and entrance without Annie needing to lift a finger.
Slowly, Annie ran through the job description she’d memorised online, forcing herself to recall the questions she’d come up with about the job and its requirements that weren’t already specified in the application package.
Just as she reached the last one, the doors opened before her, and Annie straightened, brushing her hands over her blazer to make doubly sure there were no wrinkles.
Stepping out, Annie’s eyes widened fractionally as she took in the entrance hall. It was two storeys high, with floor to ceiling windows on both sides of the space. Lining the room were plants a plenty, and Annie was almost certain that she caught sight of butterflies. Eyes wide, she pulled out her notepad, and moved further in. Her hand swiftly began to make notes, analysing what she could interpret from just the entrance, and how she could use it.
Across the other side of the room was a series of doors, all eight of them the same frosted glass, and unlabelled, separated by a large statement water feature. Shaped into an ‘A’, the water ran off it in a way that denoted elegance, giving the entrance room a peaceful atmosphere that Annie never would’ve associated with the organisation. Surrounding the water fountain, a woman stood, holding a clipboard.
Annie quickly finished scrawling her shorthand notes and flipped the notepad closed as she approached Pepper Potts.
“Ms Potts,” Annie said confidently, holding her hand outstretched. “My name is Anna Marion, it is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting me here today.”
“Ms Marion,” Pepper smiled, as bright and professional as Annie had researched her to be. She shook Annie’s hand with just a tight enough grip to assert her authority, but not so tight as to make Annie doubt her own. “The pleasure is mine. Thank you for joining us.” Pepper glanced at the notepad still in Annie’s hand, and she asked curiously, “eager to get started?”
Annie gave half a nervous smile. “I hope it’s not too impertinent of me.”
Pepper laughed, “not at all! Consider me impressed.”
Annie smiled, relieved. “I just wanted to ensure I had written down my personal impressions of the entrance. I’ve been coming up with some strategies in preparation for my first day on the job.” Annie glanced at Pepper, eyes widening just slightly. “Not to sound presumptuous!”
Pepper raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Not presumptuous, but it does make me think you’d fit in around here.” She turned towards the furthest door from them, in the left hand corner of the room, and started walking. “Follow me!”
Annie grinned, rushing to follow the powerhouse of a woman. Before she entered through the first glass door, she cast one look back to the entrance, and her eyes shone.
Gods be good, she needed this job.
Pepper was quick in heels, and Annie was thankful that she’d worn her short heeled boots.
Pepper led the way down a sleek corridor, the glass door hissing shut behind them. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and something sharper—like ozone after a storm. Annie resisted the urge to pull out her notepad again. Observe first, write later.
Pepper glanced back once, offering a smile. “Don’t worry, you’re not being led to your doom.”
Annie let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Good. I wasn’t sure if the glass doors meant futuristic office... or secret lair.”
Pepper chuckled, pausing outside another door—this one solid oak, far older than the rest of the modern decor. “Bit of both, honestly. You can never be too certain with superheroes, either way.” She gestured Annie inside.
The room was smaller than Annie expected—intimate, almost cozy. Two armchairs faced each other across a low coffee table. On the table sat a carafe of water, two glasses, and a slim leather folder.
Pepper waited until Annie sat before taking her own seat, crossing her legs with effortless grace. “I like to keep the initial interviews private. Avengers Tower has... a reputation. Intimidating, I’ve heard from some other candidates.”
Annie forced herself to sit straighter. “It’s impressive. I... won’t lie, it’s a lot. But that’s part of why I’m here, Ms Potts. The Avengers deserve someone who can handle ‘a lot.’”
Pepper’s lips curved, pleased. “I’ve read your resume. Crisis management, media strategy, political consulting... You’ve handled senators and Hollywood egos. But superheroes?” She arched a brow. “That’s new.”
“It is,” Annie admitted, “but image is image. People want someone to root for. Someone to hate, sometimes. It’s my job to make sure your team stays on the right side of that line.”
Pepper’s gaze sharpened. “And if they don’t?”
Annie smiled, just a little wicked. “Then I make sure the public thinks they do.”
For the first time, Pepper’s expression cracked into a genuine laugh. “Good answer. That’s what I need. Not someone who’ll ask permission—someone who’ll handle it.”
Annie nodded once, firm. “I’m not here to be liked, Ms Potts. I’m here to make the Avengers likable.”
Pepper leaned back, considering. “Alright, Ms Marion. Before we proceed, have you any questions for me?”
Annie leant forward. “I have to be honest, I wasn’t expecting the CEO of Stark Industries to be interviewing for a position with the Avengers Team. I am aware that the two companies are intrinsically linked, via Mr Stark, but I was under the impression that you ensured your business was kept separate.”
Pepper nodded, placing her clipboard on the glass table between them. “Ah, yes,” she mused, “see, due to the two companies being so intrinsic to each other, when one is struggling with image, the other quite often sees similar struggles. Stark Industries stock has tanked in the last three weeks after the most recent incursion.”
Annie sighed. “Yes, I saw the…fallout, shall we say?”
Fallout was kind for the absolute raking the Avengers Team had taken that month. News outlets were furious at the devastation wrought, and one video of the Hulk destroying a tent that had belonged to a homeless mother and her three children had caused a flurry of negative articles. The public opinion of the Avengers was suffering because of it.
“How would you go about fixing this?” Pepper asked inquisitively.
Annie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she sat back, exhaling slowly as she gathered her thoughts. Pepper watched her, head tilting slightly, as if testing her patience.
Finally, Annie spoke. “We don’t try to fix it. Not right away.”
That earned a raised brow. “No?”
Annie shook her head. “If we come out with some cookie-cutter apology tour, the public will smell blood. They want the team on the defensive right now—it’s human nature. It’s easier to punch up when the giants stumble. If we apologize too soon, we validate the anger and give the media another week of headlines.”
Pepper’s lips curved, just a little. “Go on.”
Annie leaned forward again, voice steady. “First, I buy us time. Release a controlled statement acknowledging the situation—but from Stark Industries, not the Avengers. Something clinical, corporate. It shifts the tone. Then I identify three smaller, human-interest stories we can float by the weekend. Quiet, no grandstanding.”
“Examples?” Pepper asked, eyes narrowing—not challenging, but testing.
“Hawkeye visiting that farm school he funds. Natasha—if we spin for a older sister angle—takes a girl she’s been mentoring to a charity event, off the record. Hell, even Dr. Banner visiting the families affected... no cameras, just word-of-mouth. And I leak it. Carefully. People don’t trust a headline, but they love a ‘friend of a friend said’ story.”
Pepper’s smile turned razor-sharp. “You want to weaponise gossip.”
Annie smiled back. “I am in PR, Ms Potts.”
Pepper nodded, slow. “And the Hulk footage?”
Annie’s jaw tensed. “We don’t touch it yet. Not until we humanise him first. If we try to explain, it’ll sound like an excuse. So we make him the story after the public’s ready to see him as more than a wrecking ball.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Pepper exhaled, laughing under her breath. “Alright, Ms Marion. I think you might just survive this.”
Annie’s grin was grim but genuine. “Gods be good, I hope so.”
Pepper smiled at the phone, before she said, “why should I pick you? Out of the hundreds of applicants... why are you our public relations manager?”
Annie’s mouth went dry, but she forced herself to hold Pepper’s gaze. “Because no one else in that pile has been running media simulations in their head since they applied for the job. Because I already know three angles to spin Iron Man’s image friendlier, and I haven’t even met him yet. Because I want this job too much to screw it up.”
A sharp smile. "Now." Pepper leaned forward. "Scenario: The Avengers just finished a mission. Minimal casualties, but someone—let’s say Stark—made a comment on a hot mic. Something just ambiguous enough that the internet latches on."
Annie nodded slowly, already running mental calculations. "What did he say?"
As if summoned by the sheer force of chaos, the door burst open. "Did someone say my name?"
Tony Stark strolled in, phone in one hand, sunglasses perched unnecessarily atop his head. He looked from Pepper to Annie. "Who’s the new hire? Are we doing interviews without my input? Rude."
Pepper sighed. "Tony, meet Anna Marion. Our new PR manager—if she passes."
Tony gave Annie a once-over. "PR, huh? Well, you’re about to get your first real test." He turned his phone screen to face them. A tweet draft was open, the cursor blinking after the words:
@TonyStarkOfficial (Verified) : "Sometimes I think New Yorkers are only good for two things: pizza and screaming while I save their asses."
Annie stared. "You’re about to post that... now?"
Tony shrugged, grinning. "It’s funny. And true."
Annie’s mouth opened—then closed. She inhaled. "Mr Stark, may I?" She held her hand out, steady.
Tony raised a brow but handed the phone over, curiosity piqued. "Let’s see what PR does under pressure."
Annie skimmed it, fingers flying as she edited. A beat later, she turned the screen back around:
@TonyStarkOfficial (Verified) : "Nothing gets me through a mission faster than the promise of New York pizza at the end. Well... that, and the screaming. #OccupationalHazards #Avengers"
Tony read it. Blinked. Smirked. "Huh. I like it. Impressive spin, PR. You kept the bite but made me sound... almost relatable."
Annie gave him a tight smile. "That’s the job, Mr Stark." She glanced at Pepper. "Any other tests?"
Pepper—who hadn’t said a word since Tony walked in—leaned back, arms crossed, grinning like a shark. "Nope. I think that’ll do."
Tony pocketed his phone, shooting Annie a finger gun. "You might actually survive around here, Marion."
Annie grinned back. “Pleasure to meet you too, Mr Stark.”
He was already on his way out of the office, but he called over his shoulder, “call me Tony!”
Annie looked back to Pepper, to the analytical way the woman was watching her, and she raised her eyebrows. “Ms Potts? Was that…okay? I apologise if I overstepped.”
Pepper studied her a moment longer, before a smile split her face, a real, genuine smile. “You might actually survive this.”
Annie froze, even as Pepper picked her clipboard back up.
“Right, Ms Marion,” Pepper was saying, “I’ll have Friday reassign your guest pass to a worker’s pass, and get legal to send you the NDAs and contract. When can you start?”
Anna pulled the packing tape across the last box with a satisfied huff, sealing the top shut just as her phone buzzed where she’d left it on the kitchen counter.
Dancing to her morning playlist (Doechii), still in her duck pyjamas, she ignored it, grabbing the Sharpie from between her teeth to scrawl kitchen utensils across the cardboard in careful, curly handwriting.
The phone buzzed again. Twice. Quick succession.
She still ignored it. It’s my day off. I’m packing. The world can wait.
The Sharpie went up into her messy bun, and she hefted the box onto the growing stack of kitchen-labeled chaos.
The phone buzzed again.
Anna froze, hands on her hips, scowl pulling at her lips. Who the hell—
With a sharp exhale, she crossed the kitchen, snatching up the phone—
—and the scowl slid clean off her face.
Her notifications were lighting up.
Headlines. Tweets. Reddit threads. Piling up like a slow-motion car crash she couldn’t look away from.
Her new media alerts were working. Too well.
"Captain America Sparks Controversy After Posting ‘Some of You Wouldn’t Survive the 1940s’ Meme"
"Iron Man Mocks Protestors, Says ‘Build Better Signs Next Time’ in Now-Deleted Tweet"
"Spider-Man’s Official Account Tags Senator Bloomfield in Meme: ‘Clown to Clown Communication 🤡🤡’"
"Thor Declares Midgardian Poets 'Pathetic' in Instagram Live. Internet Explodes."
"Hulk Posts Cryptic Tweet: ‘Smashed. Don’t ask.’"
Anna stared. Blinked. Stumbled back like the words physically hit her.
Pepper hadn’t been exaggerating. This—this was a media apocalypse.
And she wasn’t waiting four days to start damage control.
Anna grabbed her keys, practically threw on her blazer—then glanced down at her feet. Pikachu slippers. She shrugged. Fine.
Slippers and all, she stormed out of her apartment.
It was time to show the Avengers what real damage control looked like.
Annie was so glad that she’d left her Avengers keycard in her car, because she hadn’t thought to grab it when she’d left her apartment. She only remembered that she needed it when she was approaching the front doors, uncaring what she looked like as she stormed through the ground floor lobby. Face set in what her sister had once dubbed The Look (trademark pending), Annie waited at the staff elevator for it to open.
The receptionist, whom Annie had stormed past, carefully approached, confusion etched into her face. Annie’s phone buzzed as the receptionist asked, “umm, Ms Marion, you don’t start until Wednesday. What are you doing here?”
Annie glanced at the woman, a young college student who was inevitably connected to some of the Avengers team or a Stark Industries employee, and she smiled. “Sorry to show up like this, Miss Wilson. Something urgent came up, and I’m having to start early.” Her eye twitched as her phone vibrated in her hand once again, and Miss Wilson flinched as she saw it.
“Shall I, err, let Mr Stark know you’re here?” She asked, and Annie pursed her lips.
“You know what? That would be wonderful, Miss Wilson. Thank you so much.” Annie smiled at her again, much to Miss Wilson’s discomfort.
The elevator opened then, and Friday’s voice came from within to say, “Ms Marion, what an unexpected pleasure.”
“Thanks again, Miss Wilson!” Annie said, stepping into the elevator. The doors closed on Miss Wilson’s very confused expression. “Hiya Friday. Can you take me to a conference room?”
“You’re not due to start until Wednesday, Ms Marion. Would you like me to book the room for first thing on Wednesday, instead?” Friday asked.
Annie raised an eyebrow, glancing at one of the visible cameras in the corner of the elevator. “Friday, I need a conference room, today. And I need every available Avengers team member seated within that conference room before I walk in. And I need them now. If they’re not dying, then they can be considered available.” Annie’s smile turned sharp. “Get them all, Friday. Thank you.”
“Of course, Ms Marion. Does that include Ms Potts?” If an AI voice could sound intimidated, then Friday was shitting herself.
Annie’s smile softened. “If she’s not in another meeting, it would be appreciated.”
The elevator hummed as it rose, and Annie forced herself to breathe. In. Out. She adjusted the blazer she’d thrown on over her pyjamas, Pikachu slippers warm on her feet. The mirror in front of her showed that she'd left her sharpie in her messy bun, but she had no time to deal with it. She hadn't even put make-up on yet.
Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t even check this time. Later. After she had their heads on a plate.
FRIDAY’s voice returned, quieter now. “Conference Room 3B is open. I’m… compiling the team, Ms Marion.”
“Good girl,” Annie muttered, rubbing her temple. “Tell them it’s urgent. Non-negotiable.”
“Yes, Ms Marion.” A pause. “Mr Stark is currently on the rooftop… testing something.”
“Then tell him his next test is surviving me,” Annie snapped. “Five minutes, FRIDAY. If I’m in that room waiting, it’ll be worse.”
There was silence, and then the AI’s meek, “Understood.”
The elevator doors opened directly into the conference floor. Annie stepped out, smoothing her blazer once more, every inch of her vibrating with the calm-before-the-storm energy.
This was it. Time to show them exactly who they’d hired.
Conference Room 3B was labelled—thank the Gods—and Annie stepped inside without pausing, shoulders squared. She was pleased, if not surprised, to see most of the team already gathered.
Steve sat stiff-backed at one end of the table, hands folded, brows creased in quiet confusion. Natasha was lounging, arms crossed, assessing Annie like a threat level. Thor beamed at everyone, sipping on a boba milk tea. Clint was slouched, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. Peter shrank into his hoodie, looking like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. Bruce sat quietly, his laptop open in front of him, tapping away at the keyboard. Bucky was stood in a corner, wary gaze on Annie the moment she walked in. Sam was leaning against the opposite wall, still sweaty from an interrupted workout.
There was a chair empty at the head of the table—clearly Stark’s usual seat.
Annie pulled it out deliberately, and stood there. She placed her phone face-up on the table, vibrating with constant alerts.
“I should be sorry that this is our first meeting,” Annie started clearly, eyes peering at each person as if she could see into their souls, “but you’ve brought this upon yourselves. My name is Anna Marion, and I am your new Public Relations Manager.”
The doors slammed open.
“Alright, what the hell is this?” Tony’s voice rang out before he even fully entered, phone held to his ear. “I was promised she’d be an asset, Pepper. A benefit. I haven’t seen so much as a press release, and now I’m being dragged off mid-experiment for some urgent meeting?” He stalked in, phone in hand, irritation rolling off him. “Where is she? Where’s our PR saviour?” He glanced toward the head of the table—
—and froze.
Annie was already there. Standing behind the chair. Her hands rested on the back like she owned it. Face carved from stone, expression flat, eyes full of absolute, barely-contained rage.
Tony’s mouth opened—closed—then he blinked. There was something within Tony that told him not to cross her.
Without a word, he veered left, avoiding eye contact entirely, and dropped heavily into the nearest empty seat.
The room was silent. Annie waited until she felt Tony’s attention fully land on her.
Then, voice calm, clipped, she stated, “thank you for joining us, Mr Stark. Now that you’re finally here, let me address the reasons why I’m starting four days early.”
Annie swiped up on her phone, and Friday took the screen and displayed it on the holographic display inbuilt into the table. She smiled, glad it had worked.
“I was hired yesterday. I signed the contract at 16:32pm. It is 9:49am. At 9:02am, I set up alerts for all of your known names and aliases. Who would like to guess how many notifications I’ve received since setting up these alerts?”
Silence.
No one moved. No one dared move.
Peter, wide-eyed, sank deeper into his hoodie. Clint risked a glance at Natasha, who shrugged like she wasn’t paid enough to answer. Steve stared ahead, jaw tight, as if thinking very hard might protect him from the inevitable.
Tony slouched in his chair, scowling—but even he wasn’t stupid enough to break the quiet.
Annie’s lips curved. Not a smile—something sharper. “No takers? Pity.” She tapped the table, once, sharp as a gunshot.
The holographic display flickered—headlines, tweets, posts, all of it flooding the air. A wall of PR disasters projected in glorious high definition.
Annie didn’t flinch. “Since 9:02 this morning, I’ve received thirty-seven separate alerts. Thirty-seven. That’s thirty-seven distinct fires—ignited by this team—within forty-seven minutes.”
She let that hang for a long moment, seeing each team member react to it, before she swiped across to sample the different disasters that had occurred.
“Captain Rogers, your ‘1940s’ meme is trending in five states. The Atlantic just published a piece titled ‘When Nostalgia Turns Dangerous’.”
Steve paled.
“Dr Banner—thank you for telling that reporter to, and I quote, ‘try surviving a gamma blast and then talk to me’ in the comments section of a charity livestream with your official Hulk account. Very diplomatic.”
Bruce blinked. “I—that was supposed to be private.”
Annie didn’t even flinch. “The internet is never private, Doctor. You’re lucky it wasn’t ‘smash’ in all caps.”
Bruce immediately shut his mouth. Wisely.
“And Peter.” Annie turned, slow. “Our budding journalist. Clown to clown communication, really?”
Peter let out a soft, mortified sound somewhere between a whimper and a dying breath. “It was… it was a meme—”
“It was a gift,” Annie cut in, cold and surgical. “A beautifully wrapped, legally admissible gift—to the senator’s entire legal team.”
Peter wilted, sinking into his chair as if it could hide him from Annie’s wrath.
Annie exhaled sharply. “You’re lucky I haven’t been here long enough to inherit a stroke yet.” She turned to the room. “Effective immediately, all social media privileges are revoked. You do not post. You do not tweet. You don’t even like a post unless it goes through me first. You breathe on the internet, it’s because I said you could.”
Tony scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
Annie smiled—all teeth, no warmth. “Try me. You just lost me three full days of sleep, Stark. I am so serious.”
Peter raised his hand, voice small. “Even me?”
“Especially you,” Annie snapped. “You’re supposed to be media literate.”
Peter winced.
Annie took a breath, straightened her blazer. “Congratulations all of you. You now speak when I say you speak. And Gods help you if I catch any of you opening the Notes app to draft more nightmare campaigns of social media hellfire.”
Tony lounged back in his chair, spinning his phone lazily between his fingers as Annie laid down the law. "Wow. Someone’s feeling bold."
Annie barely spared him a glance. "I’m feeling tired, Mr Stark, and I’m not even supposed to be here yet.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Tony smirked, thumb tapping his screen. "Well, since I’m already in trouble—"
Annie’s head snapped around. "What are you—"
The alert hit like a missile.
Her phone buzzed violently. She snatched it up from where it sat on the table. Her eyes narrowed. The hologram displayed it clearly for all to see, still linked to Annie’s phone.
@IronManOfficial (Verified) : Freedom of speech is dead. Send thoughts and prayers. #Oppressed #Avengers #PRNightmare
Retweets were skyrocketing, with comments including:
@RandomUser897: I give it 24 hours before the mystery babysitter reveals themselves. #SomeoneFinallyStoppedHim #FreeTony
@ConspiracyBros: Not a coincidence. This is government censorship. Who’s pulling Stark’s strings?? #SWORDDidIt
@Ir0nM4nF4n: THIS GOES AGAINST HIS FOURTH AMENDMENT RIGHTS #FreeTony #Oppressed #DownWiththeGovernment
@uranidiot7219: @Ir0nM4nF4n: wrong amendment idiot #moron
@SuperheroFanBlog: Wait… did they hire a PR Manager? Did someone finally DO IT? #ThankPepperPotts #ShutTonyUp
Annie blinked. Steve’s jaw dropped. Peter audibly gasped.
Annie slowly turned to Tony, voice deadly calm. "You really just did that?"
Tony grinned. "What? Just reminding people who the fan-favourite is."
Annie inhaled, plan already forming in her mind. "FRIDAY?"
"Yes, Ms. Marion?"
"Effective immediately—lock every Avenger’s social media access. Change all passwords. Send the new ones to my email in an encrypted file. I want triple-layer encryption. Password-locked with credentials only I know. Mr Stark is not to have backdoor access. No one is."
There was a pause as the Avengers team processed her words, and Friday actioned them.
"Understood, Ms. Marion. Password change in progress."
Tony’s smirk faltered. "Wait—FRIDAY, I’m your creator."
“Ms Potts has given Ms Marion ultimate authoritative control over any aspect of your online presence that may relate to her job description as PR Manager.”
Peter howled laughing. "Oh my god—he’s locked out!" Until he paused, and his eyes widened. “Wait, that means I’m locked out!”
Annie grinned slowly, deadly. "Oh, we’re not done."
She snapped a picture of Tony—arms crossed, sulking, actual puppy eyes of betrayal. A log in with his new password and a quick caption later, it was live:
@IronManOfficial: "I’m in social media jail for crimes against my PR manager. #AvengersDamageControl #InternFinallySnapped #SendThoughtsAndPrayers
[Image Description: Tony Stark, pouting like a grounded teenager]
Comments were immediate.
@RandomUser897: I KNEW it. The babysitter is REAL. #InternFinallySnapped #FreeTony
@SuperheroFanBlog: @RandomUser897 I want to personally thank whoever hired them. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to this cursed website. #AvengersDamageControl #ThankPepperPotts
@uranidiot7219: LMAOOOOO bro got grounded by HR. Love that for us. #SocialMediaJail #BabysFirstMeltdown
@Ir0nM4nF4n: Let him tweet you cowards!! HE HAS RIGHTS!!! #FreeTony #DownWithTheBabysitter
@uranidiot7219: @Ir0nM4nF4n: you still don’t know what amendment that is huh #moron
@ConspiracyBros: Wake up sheeple—this is PR spin. Stark’s being replaced by a Skrull. #SWORDDidIt #OpenYourEyes
@LawyerUpMatt: Tony, stop tweeting. You’re just making my job harder. CALL ME.
@CaptainAmericaStan: I feel like Cap’s just quietly grateful he’s not trending for once.
@ThorFanThirst: ngl he looks kinda cute sulking like that. Send more pics pls. #TonyStark #AvengersDamageControl
@MemeDepot: This is the exact energy of “my mom said I can’t hang out anymore” and I’m LIVING for it. #GroundedAvenger #TonyGotBenched
Tony spluttered. "You can’t—"
Natasha snorted. "Oh, she can. And she did."
Peter wiped tears from his eyes. "Think of the meme-ability!"
Annie smiled, all business. "Welcome to the new world order, boys and girls. You don’t speak unless I say so."
Steve raised his hand, looking somewhere between deeply amused and cautiously concerned. "Just to clarify… we’re all grounded?"
Annie’s smile widened, sharp as glass. "Yes, Captain. All of you."
A moment of stunned silence.
Thor leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Even I, the Prince of Asgard?"
"Especially you," Annie said dryly. "You called Midgardian poets ‘pathetic’ on an Instagram livestream. Do you have any idea how many literary scholars are out for your blood? Who even showed you Instagram?"
Thor’s eyes widened. "I did not mean to—"
"Yeah, well, they mean to, so sit down and behave."
Tony scowled, arms still crossed. "This is a dictatorship."
"No," Annie corrected, flipping her phone face-down on the table. "This is a consequence. Learn that word; you're about to experience it a whole lot more."
Peter sniffled dramatically. "This is the best day of my life."
Sam, who had been quietly watching from the side of the room, leaned toward Bucky. "We taking bets on how long she lasts?"
Bucky barely glanced at him. "We taking bets on how long Stark lasts before trying to hack his way back in?"
Tony sat up suddenly. "Oh, shit, that’s a great idea—"
Annie turned so fast it was almost inhuman. "FRIDAY, if Mr Stark attempts to bypass security, lock him out of the laboratory."
"Which one, Ms Marion?"
"All of them." Annie smirked.
Tony gasped. "Betrayal!"
FRIDAY, sounding entirely too smug, replied, "Understood, Ms Marion."
Tony slumped back in his chair. "This is the worst day of my life."
Clint snorted. "Man’s survived a cave, wormholes, and time travel, but screen time caps is what breaks him."
Annie exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Alright, listen up. Your social media access is now a privilege, not a right. If you want to post anything, it goes through me first. No exceptions."
Annie’s gaze slid next—slow, deliberate—to Natasha. "And you, Natasha Romanov," she said, voice deceptively calm, "don’t think I didn’t notice you sitting there all smug because you don’t post anything."
Natasha arched a brow, feigning innocence. "I don't. Haven’t touched my accounts in weeks."
Annie smiled coldly. "Sure. Because why post, when you can leak instead?"
A flicker—brief, but there—in Natasha’s eyes.
Annie pressed on. "That photo of Barton asleep during recon? The one that miraculously ended up online with a caption, 'World’s Deadliest Nap'? Five meme pages, Nat. Five. Care to explain?"
Clint blinked. "Wait—that was you?"
Natasha shrugged, casual. "Shouldn’t fall asleep on the job."
"Shouldn’t leak internal photos, either," Annie snapped, sharp as a whip. "*Do you have any idea how many 'discipline' think pieces were posted after that? ‘Are Earth’s Mightiest Heroes Just… Tired?’ 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes Versus Their Strongest Enemy Yet: Exhaustion'."
Natasha almost smiled. "They’re not wrong."
Bucky smirked. “There were some funny memes from that, too!”
"I’m not laughing," Annie cut in flatly. "From now on, leaks count as posts. You hand anything to anyone, you run it through me. You sneeze in the direction of a camera, I better have signed off first. Understood?"
Natasha’s smirk faltered—just a little—but she nodded once. "Understood, Marion."
Annie’s smile returned, all teeth. "Good. Next time you leak something, you’ll be leaking a formal apology."
Peter let out a strangled noise that was half laugh, half wheeze. Clint just stared at Nat in betrayed silence.
Annie checked her phone again, sighing. "Alright, let’s wrap this up. Any final questions?"
Tony raised his hand. "Yeah—do I at least get visitation rights to my Twitter?"
Annie stared at him. "No."
Tony groaned, throwing his head back. "You love this power, don’t you?"
Annie’s smirk returned. "Welcome to my era, Mr Stark." She sighed, falling into the seat behind her. “Thank you, all! You can head back to…whatever you were doing.”