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There’s a thunderous crash, an explosion of rubble, and Thor’s booming voice singing, “I CAME IN LIKE MJOLNIR!”

He snatches the hammer out of the sky and uppercuts a Skrull. “I NEVER HIT SO HARD IN WAR!”

And that’s how they find out Thor likes Miley Cyrus.



Turns out Darcy introduced Thor to the wonders of Midgardian music and the God of Thunder has taken a liking to pop music. He bounces around to the upbeat melodies and sings along in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

“These tales of love and adventure are very similar to our Asgardian ballads.”

Tony frowns sceptically. “I’m not sure trying to get laid in a club is quite the same as your tales.”

Thor waggles his enormous blond eyebrows. “You would be surprised. Our most famous stories always begin with a great warrior trying to win a beautiful maiden’s heart.”

“And the drinking? Aliens do shots?”

“Yes, but we call it mead and our shots are much larger than yours.”

Tony’s not going anywhere near that one.



Everyone knows about Tony’s love for classic rock. It’s kind of difficult to ignore when he’s taken to blasting AC/DC every time he shows up to a fight.

“It’s my theme song.”

“It’s ridiculous. And playing it over comms is dangerous, Stark.”

“It’s morale boosting. It announces my arrival and what’s more uplifting than that?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and vows to have words with JARVIS before their next call out.



Natasha claims to only listen to classical music. Last Christmas she had wordlessly sat down at Tonys (mostly decorative, at least to him) grand piano and flawlessly danced Tchaikovsky over the keys. They’d desperately tried to persuade her to play another song, but she’d given them a sly smile and walked away.

She only ever tunes the radio to the classical station and the only music that is heard from her room is filled with strings and soft cymbals and harsh pianos.

But one time Steve catches her in the kitchen, singing something softly to herself, something with actual words.

Later, he asks JARVIS what it is. He listens to Fast Car on repeat for a while, and vows that he’ll keep her secret to himself.



Steve’s still trying to catch up with all the music he’s missed. He works through every recommendation people give him, from acid punk to reggae, Blackstreet to Backstreet Boys.

He loves Jazz the most.

“It’s ethereal.” He breathes, thrusting the vinyl jacket at Bruce, eyes wide. “They have such skill, such pain, they could make it into anything they want. And they make it into that!” He points vigorously at the speakers, as though Bruce could be oblivious to the blaring trumpets.

“It’s a bit... messy. For me.”

“It’s unpredictable, that’s the point!”

Bruce shrugs his shoulders, handing the John Coltrane album back to Steve.

Later, Steve asks Natasha to teach him how to play the piano. His first attempts are stilted, but she smiles softly at him, and he thinks he’ll never be Art Tatum but damn, it feels good.



Bruce surprises everyone when one day they hear a heavy bassline thrumming from his lab. Clint goes to investigate and is greeted by a cacophony of electronic screeches that can only loosely be described as music.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a dubstep fan, Doc. Kinda thought this... noise would be not-so-great for your temperament.” Clint pulls at his ears in distaste.

 “I find it soothing. It’s actually very structured, built up in careful layers. I focus on unravelling it back down to its individual beats.”

Clint tilts his head, smiling slightly. “Make order out of the chaos?”

Bruce’s smile is somewhat sheepish and he quickly turns back to his work. “Something like that.”



When he’s alone, Clint plucks away at his guitar. He sings along to old country songs and the upbeat ditties they used to sing in the circus. He’s got an alright voice, if he does say so himself. In rare moments he lets himself drift into the kinds of songs that risk being called sentimental, if he had time for that kind of thing.

He plays Rascal Flats and if he thinks of Natasha while he sings, well no one needs to know but him.



It’s takeaway night in the Tower and there’s a frankly alarming array of Chinese food spread out over Tony’s coffee table.

Tony leans over to replenish his bowl of Dim Sum and says “All I’m saying is that all good parties play the same songs. That’s what makes them good parties.”

Clint scoffs and uses his chopstick to flick a dumpling onto Bruce’s plate. “Prog rock and giant poodle hair isn’t my idea of a good party.”

“That’s because you have no taste. No one can resist singing along when the Jovi is playing.”

Nat raises a slightly disgusted eyebrow at him. “Please don’t ever say “the Jovi” again in my presence.”

“Seconded.” Bruce says.

Tony clutches his chest in mock horror. “Traitor! Did our duet mean nothing to you?”

Bruce buries his blush in his chow mein. “That was Guitar Hero. And I was drunk.”

Tony humphs.

People say Thor doesn’t have tact, but he sure has good timing. “On Asgard there are many songs played at celebrations. The best of them are the ones that always get everyone dancing, singing, taking part. Even the most reticent of party goers cannot resist the revelry, for the sake of that one song. Does Earth have any songs like that?”

There’s a sudden flurry of opinion, each getting shot down faster than you could hit ‘next song’.

“Fine, no classic rock. Bruce, what you got?”

“Tarantula’s a pretty good ‘club’ track, I suppose.”

Clint frowns. “I don’t even know what that means. Achey Breaky Heart?”

“Wash your mouth out with soap, Barton.”

“Someone Like You!”

“Rogers that is the most depressing suggestion I’ve ever heard.”

“I like it. Fine, Mr Brightside?”

“That’s actually pretty good, but it’s too modern.”

They continue to argue while Natasha grabs Tony’s Starkpad. A few seconds later, a voice interrupts them.

Is this real life? Is this just fantasy?”

Everyone turns to stare at Natasha.

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.”

“Yes!” Clint actually fist pumps the air.

“Red, you’re a genius.” Tony clambers over a pile of noodles to turn up the speakers.

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see.”

Steve and Bruce are both smiling but Thor frowns. “I don’t understand. What is this song?”

I’m just a poor boy. I need no sympathy.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “This, my friend, is Queen. And you must stand for Queen.”

They all stand up and somehow Clint has managed to find a pair of drumsticks and Bruce has tied one of the complimentary napkins around his head.

“Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low.”

“I’m appalled that Darcy missed the most vital part of your musical education.”

“I still do not understand what’s happening.”

“Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me. To me.”

Natasha smirks at him. “Hey, Thor? You ever headbanged before?”

“I have banged many an enemy’s heads together.”

She beams. “Watch and learn.”



They’re not the A-Team. They’re not Thunderbirds, or Ghostbusters, or Buffy.

They don’t have an official team theme song.

But they do have a Party Song.