TEASER for Into the Night Ch 14
aka “could you tell I don’t care about wedding plans even though I’ve frickin’ written over 50,000 words of an arranged marriage au” also wow that font totally does look like a click-bait article header
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“You didn’t say there weregonna be dance lessons, too!” Darcy squawks indignantly, and Jane hands her a freshly re-filled champagne flute, like a true friend. “I thought today was supposed to be about relaxation.”
“Only for the first dance; we just need you to not fall over,” Jane replies in what she probably thinks is a reassuring tone. Darcy mentally takes back the ‘true friend’ comment. Gee, thanks. At least I’ve never dropped a new laptop on the ground because ‘Thor startled me.’
“And who said the day before a wedding was ever relaxing?” Pepper adds, rummaging through a pile of pie charts (when Fury promised that Ms. Potts would have everything covered, he definitely wasn’t exaggerating). “Steve, could you pass me that notebook?”
Captain America himself (also known as the one Avenger who didn’t bail) is sitting awkwardly at the other end of the table, his Dorito-chip proportions looking comically ridiculous in the context of one of Stark’s ergonomic desk chairs. He stares helplessly at the pile of identical black notebooks in front of him, and Darcy sinks lower in her seat.
11 a.m., and she’s already certain that she’s going to need a lot more Bellinis to be able to get through the day.
Loki isn’t being forced to help with wedding prep. No, he managed to conveniently incur Thor’s wrath right before they were called down to the meeting room, and it simply couldn’t wait, because ‘after all, this is a matter of honour.’ Darcy calls bullshit.
Bruce and Tony, meanwhile, had been let off the hook with their claim that they needed to, quote, ‘do science.’ And Clint and Natasha… well, those two have a habit of disappearing.
Darcy’s entire morning has consisted of Pepper holding near-identical colour swatches to her face and asking things like “Does ‘Tundra Dreams’ or ‘Celery Salt’ look more… wedding?”
It feels like being at an optometrist appointment, Darcy’s palms growing sweaty as a clinical voice asks if Lens A or Lens B is better. Maybe this is actually a trick and they’re the same colour. I mean, they’re both fucking white. How many different shades could there possibly be? (Over fifty-seven, apparently – way, way over, but Darcy gave up after ‘Cloudy Bliss.’)
