PROMPT: Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff. Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN. Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy. TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends. SUPER BONUS: The Avengers get a petition pleading from the nail salon and his therapist and various instructors for them to please not kill him because he's a considerate customer and is actually a very nice young man.

Steve takes things like personal responsibility and respect seriously. Tony's got people he pays to take care of that kind of thing, and anyway, he's pretty sure that he's going to die of some exotic disease in his workshop, because Dummy's still a little spotty about what is 'clean' enough to put on an open wound. The rest of the Avengers are in this for personal gain, except for Clint, he just enjoys being a dick. And some things shouldn't be a chore.

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.'

Nick Fury circles the realm Midgard with his coils. Phil Coulson has seen enough of chains for one lifetime. Darcy Lewis is taking a break from Helheim. But there's still the matter of their brother Sleipnir...

What it says on the tin. (Including Follow-ups to: Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, and One Of Those Things, and Mrs and Mr Pond..)

"In which Darcy gets Steve's number and proceeds to drag him into the modern world via text messaging and their friends start to ship it."

"Things the men of the Howling Commandos are no longer allowed to do in the SSR."

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.

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.”

The Asgardians' ship stops for supplies. The price is not what Thor and Loki had expected; the aliens demand nothing less than a public royal fucking. Ok, it's not like it's the weirdest thing they've ever done.

“Oh, fuck,” Squalo says, thankfully at about a quarter of his normal volume, as he tumbles to lean against the wall beside Xanxus. “This is like with that shitty Bronco all fucking over again, don’t you fucking dare.”

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.