“Welcome, newbies, to the only class SHIELD has to offer on surviving this shit. I'll be your teacher today, hi, Tony Stark, Iron Man, CEO of awesome."

There are some staff changes going on at SHIELD.

Steve had body-modesty trained out of him in boot camp, and apparently his attitude is infectious.

One day Steve was going to figure out how Tony kept talking him into these things, he really was.

One of Pepper’s favorite activities after a long day is putting on sci-fi movies and watching Tony dissect their bad science. He’ll happily spend two hours curled up against her and ranting about the flawed central plan in Armageddon and how REALLY, HE HOPES AN ASTEROID HEADS FOR EARTH, HE’LL SHOW HOLLYWOOD HOW TO REALISTICALLY AVOID AN EXTINCTION-LEVEL EVENT, DAMMIT. Pepper finds it oddly relaxing, like angry genius white noise. Add in Bruce, and she could sell tickets.

"Actually, you know, I get it. Rogers would be an excellent MARRY choice. You know that he'd never leave the toilet seat up, would never drink the last of the milk, and would clean the rain gutters without prompting," Darcy says. She's never really considered Steve as anything other than Captain America who is impossibly unapproachable; weirdly enough, the things she finds intimidating about him as a person oddly work for her in a domestic setting. "Ugh, plus you just KNOW Barton would be the type of fucker that would eat the last oreo and then shove the empty box back into the cupboard." "So what's your list then, Darcy?" Jane asks, turning back to look at the mold, which has done exactly fuck all in the last half-hour. "Don't rush me! I need to make an informed, calculated choice." Darcy looks down at her pad, then back up at Natasha. She purses her lips in thought. "You've fucked Barnes, right? How dexterous is that metal hand?" -- The ladies of SHIELD play a mass game of MARRY FUCK KILL, Avengers edition. Wherein everyone marries Steve, kills Tony, Jane betrays science and Darcy hypothetically turns Thor into a llama.

Tony used to think that the 1940s were repressed. Steve's repertoire of racy songs makes him reconsider.

"Jane's cute," Clint says, shoveling yet another sloppy joe into his pie-hole. Darcy has been watching him inhale a disturbing amount of food for the last half-hour. This is why she likes eating lunch with the guys instead of why-yes-I'd-love-some-brussel-sprouts-on-the-side Sharon. They're good for her ego. She may eat like a hippo, but she'll never eat as much as Steve, Clint, or Barnes. "She's totally on my FUCK shortlist." All of a sudden the crystal clear sky outside cracks with the loudest thunder Darcy has ever heard in her life. The windows rattle. Everyone freezes. Darcy can practically hear everyone's assholes tighten in fear. Because across the commissary, Thor is looking at their table. And it ain't raining panties this time. Just righteous, godly anger. -- The dudes FINALLY play MARRY FUCK KILL, not-so-Avengers edition. (Because there's like ONE actual female Avenger. Thanks, SHIELD.) Wherein no one follows the rules, everyone still kills Tony, the Mets suck, (lots of theoretical threesomes?!), and Darcy turns Clint into a hypothetical honey badger. (And honey badger don't care. Honey badger don't give a shit.)

“You’re Captain America!” I said, because he was. “Uh, hulloooo, standing right here,” Tony told me. He was using his obnoxious voice. “I know you’re there,” I said. “But Captain America! You didn’t tell me Captain America was going to be here!” A sequel to 'A Connection Is a Thing Which Requires Maintenance.'

Some villains have the kinkiest superhero traps.

aka Steve Accidentally Joins the NY Pride Parade. He had just meant to go to the grocer’s. They needed eggs.

The Avengers discover that there are fans who write explicit RPF fic about them. Some of them are very confused. Some are proud. Some don't understand why everyone writes the pairings who aren't together but hardly anyone writes the couple who actually is together. Much silliness ensues.

Clint Barton's presidential campaign started as a joke. It didn't end that way, except for Steve.

Sam feels really cheated by history now.

The name’s Deadpool, and I’m here to tell you about how me and the great Steve Rogers hooked up. Spoiler alert, it was banging hot.

They were in another timeline. It happened occasionally. Who even knew how Wade got involved. He was just trying to show Darcy how many tacos he could fit in his mouth (six), and then blammo: Big flash of light, whirling space vortex, the indescribable sensation of the universe contracting with you inside it to the size of a single electron, and then everybody was spat out in a heap on the sidewalk of a place that looked like -- but probably wasn’t -- New York, and all of Wade’s tacos de sesos were lost to the interdimensional void. “Nooo,” Wade whispered, heartbroken. “Tacos.”

fic where there is a supernatural threat to New York City and the Avengers show up to handle it but when they get there the Ghostbusters are already dusting off their hands and hosing off the slime

Darcy thinks maybe her new intern is a slut. Like–a big one. Big ol’ slut. Both metaphorically and literally, since he's 6’3” of Kansas beefcake and maybe the literal only human being alive who has a build remotely comparable to Thor's. So like, a billion steroids or secretly an alien, Darcy’s assuming.