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As per your ever-so-dickishly worded request, allow me to clarify a few points regarding our current living situation IN WRITING. Just to be CLEAR. Perfectly, transparently clear.

When I extended an invitation to the team to live in the fucking awesome swanky midtown tower I just happened to have laying around, it was no way indicative of a desire to actually live WITH you people. Fucking terrorists blew up my house, and now I’m stuck sleeping on the fucking couch in my own fucking tower.

Regarding your remarks regarding my three floor penthouse being behind schedule on the relevant post-Loki renovations – fine, whatever, it’s not my fault Pepper wants fucking Makassar Ebony hardwood floors that are backordered until fuckoff November – believe you me as soon as I have those floors in place you won’t see hide or hair of me down in the common areas. Until then you have to get my back.

We are a team, we are not a family and we’re barely even friends – and you may be the boss, but Stark Tower is MY tower and I don’t have to put my name on my leftover Chinese if I don’t feel like it – IT’S MY FUCKING TOWER.

Seriously, If Clint keeps eating my fucking leftovers there might actually be blood. This shit is on YOU.