disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to chloe this is her fault
notes: barfs.
title: SO YOUR BROTHER IS A TOOL
summary: The Deconstruction of Mythical Siblinghoods and Their Effect On Modern Psychopolitical Thought. — Darcy.
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The world changed, after New York.
Darcy totally knew that this was going to be a thing. Everyone want to know everything they could about the Avengers, which, obvious, was going to be an issue. Things had to be kept private, yo! People were all up in Jane's business, and that just wasn't okay, because Jane was precious and sweet and gave Darcy free coffee.
And besides.
There was only so much a single person could take before they blew their top.
And so Darcy, in her infinite wisdom, decided to write a paper.
About Thor.
About Thor's brother, actually, written for and to Thor. Darcy liked Thor, really she did, but he was a little iffy on the actual mechanics of what a megalomaniac was. Like, Loki. Loki was a bad fucking seed, okay, and yes, she understood the whole he-is-my-brother thing, but for real?
Loki's shit was so off the charts that Darcy couldn't even give him the benefit of a doubt.
And so, for her senior thesis, she sat down and wrote a thirty-page paper on brother-complexes in historical myth. She didn't stop to eat or to sleep, wrote for sixteen hours straight until he eyes were buggy and she felt like a strung-out probably-dead hooker (Jane would have been proud). Darcy stared blearily at her computer screen for another couple of seconds, and then a horrible smile crossed her face.
She had the best fucking title in mind.
No, seriously, it was the best. Who the fuck would think of using something that shitty as title? No one, that's right. Darcy was the best motherfucking title-er on the planet.
She probably sounded crazy. Whatever, not the point.
Good job, Darcy, you are the crazy title queen, it is you!
Darcy nearly choked on her fourth cup of coffee, spat it everywhere because she was laughing so hard. Fancy-dancy all up in the lingo, she grinned to herself. This paper was going to get an A and she was going to be the happiest person alive. It was gonna get published, and then they'd have her write a book because SHE WAS THE TOTALLY THE FOREMOST AUTHORITY ON THIS SHIT, OH YEAH.
Also, Selvig would probably get a kick out of it.
Darcy, happily consumed with megalomaniac depravity, hit print.