"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.

"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.)

Everyone wants to marry Zoro. Hypothetically. Sanji can’t believe everyone would pick that useless patch of growing mold over him, and considers killing Zoro. Not hypothetically. He has a list on why Zoro would be the Worst Husband Ever, not that he spends a lot of time thinking of a (purely hypothetical!) situation where he is married to Zoro, fuck you very much. (a.k.a, the one where Usopp invented Fuck, Marry, Kill.)

It's not easy being in love with your best friend, but Sam has managed fine for the last ten years or so. Then Abigail had to go and make them do that stupid dare, and things suddenly got a lot harder. And more difficult, too.

"Never have I ever wanted to kiss Neil."

“Wait, it’s my turn,” Allison said, pushing herself further upright. She swayed dangerously, then narrowed her eyes and pointed at Neil. “We’re still targeting him, right.” “Jesus,” Aaron muttered. “Could you guys seriously—” Nicky clapped a hand over Aaron’s mouth. “Yes,” he said. “Definitely. Make the boy drink.” Aaron shoved him off and sulked at the edge of the fire, nursing his drink. “Alright,” Allison said. “I've got it. Never have I ever—told Andrew I love him.”