#the equivalent of your partner saying something dumb during a serious moment

[tsams-and-co-memes]

(Same anon who sent in the au idea of Frank being a normal animatronic.)

Imagine an Au where Ruin Monty ends up, by pure chance, avoiding Bloodmoon by not being in the boiler room at the time they were in canon?

Due to likely getting sick of being in there, being with Frank at the time, or both, they end up avoiding death.

Also, the Frank is Pisces theory is canon to this Au, cause I like to imagine Ruin Monty’s reaction to the reveal.

They just stare in awe at Frank’s true form before suddenly yelling, “I’m dating a f*cking space goddess?!”

I imagine them calling Pisces a goddess due to that time they called Frank their girlfriend.

Jsksks that'd be such a funny, sweet reveal, oh my god

Just. Ruined Monty, taking in the information silently and processing it while Frank is standing there, visibly nervous about potential rejection. The whole thing clicks in Ruined Monty's head, he has his little outburst in disbelief, ends up saying something goofy, and Frank's fear vanishes. Instead of being scared, he starts doing his cute little huff-laughter

[ashiversary]

One, Two, Three: Stuck As Second Best

Candela knows Blanche well enough to understand that Noire always comes first. Every time, in an instant, without question. So it’s no surprise that Noire is chosen as Mystic II.

So why does it still hurt so much?

@spiritedandloyal says: Happy 4th Ashiversary!!!! Have a MysticIII!Candela AU <3

AU Overview: Lucifel Bonded with Moltres, Carl never had his accident or a falling out with Spark, Noire and Blanche reconciled in their late teens, and both Noire and Candela are on Team Mystic. Click here to read on A03.

“Candela, if I offered you the position of Mystic III, would you accept it?”

The words rang in Candela’s ears, and not in a good way.

Three. Mystic Three. As-in-not-their-first-choice, as in not-their-second-in-command, as in your effort wasn’t enough, you’re not loyal enough, not trustworthy enough, not enough, never enough-

“Oh. I suppose you chose Noire as your assistant?” She asked dumbly, knowing that it wasn’t an answer and already knowing what Blanche will say.

“Yes.” Blanche gave her one of those little side glances, expression difficult to read even for Candela. “…I know the two of you don’t often see eye to eye, but-”

“No, no, darling, makes sense.” Candela cut off whatever Blanche is going to say. She didn’t want to hear them justify all the reasons why they had chosen their twin over her. She didn’t know why she held out hope that maybe she could stack up against her significant other’s other half. She should have known better from the start. Stupid of her to try.

For a moment, she thought maybe her bitterness had sunk into her tone, because Blanche’s brows furrowed. But then they paused, wavered. Uncertain.

“Do you require time to think before-”

“No!” Candela jumped in, somewhere between mortified and grateful. “Yes, my dear, I’ll accept the position. Thank you for choosing me.”

Before Candela could dig into herself for nearly making Blanche think that she didn’t want to be as close to their side as possible, Blanche smiled. It was faint, just a curve of the lips with the corners twitching up, but it made Candela’s heart flutter.

She would do anything to keep that smile around. Even if it meant… well, everything Candela’s been through so far.

And so Candela kept her face pleasant as the elevator approached their destination, even though Blanche had just slapped her across the face with a reminder that you will never be someone’s first choice. She felt like crying, really- like screaming and sobbing and hitting things, but she didn’t let that show.

Blanche took her hand and squeezed it, their PDA-shy equivalent of a kiss goodbye, and Candela was grateful because she wasn’t quite sure she would appreciate being kissed just then. Blanche left for a meeting on the second floor, and Candela punched in the number for the gym.

Knock knock, knock. 

“Candela?”

Blanche’s voice was quiet and strained. Tired, maybe.

“What do you want, Blanche?”

Candela’s response was definitely harsh. She’d been stewing in her anger all evening, and it was the kind that ran too deep to be set free with a few punching bags.

There was a pause before Blanche asked “Are you going to come to bed tonight?”

Oh. Right. Tonight was her turn to be Blanche’s personal heater. Because unlike most significant others, she had to share with Blanche’s twin.

“When’s the last time you actually had to come find me, instead of the other way around?”

A shorter pause this time. “You’re upset with me?”

“Maybe.” She snipped.

“C’mon, Candy, don’t be passive aggressive about this, it’s not-”

The last of Candela’s restraint snapped at hearing Noire’s voice. She grabbed the nearest object and threw it.

“STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THIS, NOIRE!”

The decorative throw pillow thunked against the door with enough force to make the nearby artwork rattle against the wall. There was a pause, during which she was sure the twins were whispering to one another, and then one set of feet padded off down the hall.

“Noire has left.” Blanche announced. Candela didn’t respond. “Candela, open the door, please.”

Candela didn’t move.

“Candela, don’t make me override the lock, please. I don’t wish to have to do that.”

Candela sighed.

“Go be with your precious twin, lovely. I’ll be fine.”

“You are,” Blanche hesitated, just for a second. “Precious to me as well. Please let me in so we can discuss this properly.”

Candela was quiet for a moment, emotions swirling inside her like one of Articuno’s storms of legend- chaotic and disorienting, cold and burning all at once. She didn’t want to. But she never could say no to Blanche.

She stood up and crossed to open the door.

Blanche’s breath left them in a little gasp when Candela opened the door, like they’ve been hit in the gut. Candela realized she must look terrible; puffy and red-eyed, smeared make-up, bloodied knuckles and rumpled gym clothes.

She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Blanche murmured a thanks as they entered and shut the door softly behind them. They didn’t reach for her, nor say anything. They just watched, gaze calculating as always.

“Yes.” Candela said finally.

“Yes..?”

“Yes! I’m upset with you!” Blanche’s face dropped. “And you’re not the only fucking one!”

“With Noire too?”

“No, darling, I’m perfectly fucking peachy with them. Everything is fantastic.”

Blanche was quiet for a second.

“Did you want to be my assistant?”

Candela stared at her, mouth agape.

“Wait, wait- are you serious?” She asked. “Really, darling? Was that not obvious?”

“Not precisely.”

[The worst part, Candela realized, was that they were being honest.]

“I’ve spent the last month working my ass off to try and impress you! I did all those reports! Took extra notes in meetings! Reminded you of events and brought you food! I beat Instinct II’s ranking!”

Now it was Blanche’s turn to be stricken speechless. Candela realized that she is shaking, not with fury or sorrow, but with something that blended both into one and the same.

That feeling, she realized, is heartbreak.

“I know you’re not the greatest with reading people, Blanche, but- how in Arceus’ name did you miss that?”

“I didn’t miss it.” Blanche retorted. “I just assumed that it was your typical ambition fueling you. I didn’t… you didn’t tell me you were vying for the assistant’s position.”

Candela fumed. “Did Noire tell you they wanted to be your assistant?!”

Blanche had the decency to look slightly abashed. “…No.”

“Exactly!” To Candela’s mortification, she realized hot tears were already spilling out of her eyes. “And that’s just it! It always is!”

“That I chose my twin over you?” Blanche asked, a hint of a snarl in their voice.

“That everyone chooses somebody else over me!” Candela snapped, whirling around. The crack in her voice, the weakness, horrified her. “I am NEVER somebody’s first priority!”

“Candela-”

“Four older brothers! You think I was ever anything but the leftover? The fifth wheel? And I’ve never escaped it! Ever!” Her voice cracked on a sob. “And then I had to go and fall in love with the one person who I would throw everything away for and they would still always have someone more important!”

“Candela…”

“Everyone in my life has someone more important. Everyone. You have Noire, Carl has Spark, and my family disowned me. And it’s not fair.”

“Life has never been fair.” Blanche murmured from behind her. They seemed calm, if Candela ignored the frost spreading across the nearest windows.

“No, Blanche, I mean that it’s not fair of me to blame that on everyone else.” Candela said, and the worst of the anger suddenly drained out of her, taking her strength with it. She slumped to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes like it would block the flow of tears.

Blanche hesitated before speaking, and Candela pressed on. “I’m not dumb, Blanche. I’m the common variable.”

“Oh.” Blanche sat on the floor next to her. “This is an issue of self-worth.”

“No shit.”

A silence hung over them.

“You were Professor Willow’s first assistant to be chosen.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you beat me at every test.”

“And you beat me repeatedly in battle despite disadvantageous type match-ups. That is not what we’re talking about. Willow did choose you first and you know he didn’t make that choice lightly.”

“That was just one-”

“And once sets a precedent.” Blanche insisted, reaching forwards to brush Candela’s bangs out of her face. Their fingers were icy cold and Candela flinched automatically. Their hand left and she wished she could call it back, but she felt tired and heavy and weak.

“Darling, would it have even changed anything?” She asked. “If you knew I wanted to be your assistant, before?”

Blanche was quiet for a minute. Stock-still, but in the way a frozen river was: all the turbulence of intense thought kept beneath a shell of serenity, with no way to tell if the ice was thick or thin. Candela watched their eyes, the way they flickered and glanced over her, the minute micro-expressions that didn’t reach the rest of their face. She was searching for something in those troubled green irises. She didn’t know what she was looking for.

Blanche sighed.

“I will not lie to you and pretend that you could ever eclipse Noire in the scope of my general priorities.” Blanche murmured. “But Noire is… a part of me. An extension, like a limb. Like Articuno is. I am not complete without them.”

“I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to your therapist if you keep talking like that.” Candela threatened, but there was little heat behind it. Resignation had replaced rage a while back; after everything Blanche had endured, no one expected them to be fully independent.

“My point is,” Blanche continued, “That after Noire, you are my first priority. My best friend, my romantic partner, my ally in battle. To count Noire against your importance would be like counting Articuno.”

“Don’t.” Candela sighed. “Don’t try and make it out like Noire doesn’t count. I will always come in third to your bond and your twin. That’s… I knew what I was getting into with this. Don’t pretend you should change for me. I wouldn’t want you to if you could.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Blanche asked.

“I would, and it would be selfish, and I would regret it forever!” Candela snapped. “Trust me, dear, I’ve spent enough nights awake thinking about it.”

A cool hand rested on Candela’s knee. She wanted to put her own atop of it, but her own hands were gross with tears and snot and split knuckles from hitting punching bags too hard, and Blanche deserved better than that, so she didn’t.

[She was so sick of not being good enough.]

“Let me re-frame what I was going to say.” Blanche said after a long silence. “Just because you are not my first priority does not mean that you are not critically important to me.”

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Candela swore that the frost-burnt symbol over her collarbone grew colder with the words spoken, a reminder of the crest of Articuno branded on her skin.

“It is no secret that if something were to happen to me, Noire would not make for a good leader. Not even for a short duration of time if I were, say, injured.”

“They’d be out for blood, you mean.” Candela snorted.

“And then presumably glued to my bedside, yes.” Blanche agreed. “Which is why I need you.”

Candela paused at that. Blanche didn’t elaborate.

“You’ve lost me, darling.”

Blanche sighed. “I am… not proficient in heart-to-heart conversations.”

“I know that, babe. But I was following up until then.”

Blanche groaned. They took a long minute to find their words.

“If something serious should happen to either Noire or myself, the other will not be in a state fit to handle Team Mystic. That is the responsibility I am entrusting to you as Mystic III.”

“…I think I get it.” Candela said finally.

“Do you?” Blanche said. Their freezing cold hands grasped Candela’s jaw and lifted her head to face them. Blanche’s eyes held a startling intensity normally reserved for battle, but they were as green as the sea. No hint of Articuno’s icy will- just Blanche. Always Blanche.

“Team Mystic is my greatest responsibility. It is my life’s work. It is lives, people and Pokémon alike, balanced on my shoulders. Its upkeep and prestige are of utmost importance. The team’s well-being is crucial to the balance of this city and of this region. And when something happens to me, which I have no doubt it will one day, I am entrusting it to you. Not to Noire. Not to anybody else. You. And Articuno agrees with me. This is what I meant by making you Mystic III. You are not a backup for Noire. You are your own person, and I love you for that.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t what she hoped for. It wasn’t quite enough to heal her aching heart. But at the same time, it was so much more than she dared to dream of. Maybe more than she deserved. And it’s honest and true, and it came from Blanche.

She lunged forwards and their lips met, sudden and a bit messy. Blanche gasped into the kiss but returned it eagerly, still cradling Candela’s face in their hands. She could taste her own tears in the kiss, salty and sharp, but Blanche didn’t seem bothered by them. She could hardly find room to breathe but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, grounding herself in the feeling of cool lips on hers, cold and yet still so animated and alive. Blanche, gorgeous Blanche, intelligent Blanche, witty, clever Blanche, proud, snarky, brilliant Blanche- she was theirs. Not their first priority, but theirs nonetheless.

“Je t’aime, ma feu bleue.” Blanche murmured as they broke the kiss. Their foreheads were pressed together. Blanche’s hands cupped her cheek and wiped away tears with their thumbs, Candela’s own hands tangled in their white locks. “Come sleep with me?”

Part of Candela wanted to say no, that she needed time and space to process this. But she doesn’t. She’d already given up so much just to be with Blanche: her family, her old team, her pride. It would be ungrateful to waste a second of it, she thought- “I don’t know, darling.” She offered them a smirk. “I think maybe I deserve a hot shower first~”

-and Blanche’s mischievous smile reminded her why it was all worth it to be in second place.

[gvaf-radio-blog]

I'm in an open relationship with coffee and mental trauma

I’m hunkered down inside my favorite coffee shop in Southeast Portland having a cup of black liquid love to recharge my body and mind due to me having to dodge a blitzkrieg from the flying commie bastards. The Cupids are a unique kind of chaos as they are technically survivors of a horrific nuclear accident that irradiated an entire Provence. You know the one I’m talking about, y’all won't stop posting screen-caps of the damn thing on tumblr clogging up my steady feed of nihilism and satanic teddy bears. These cupids where re-homed to Portland because the social worker was from Los Angeles and since it works for them and another hundred thousand overpaid yuppies they thought Southeast would be perfect for the bastards to rehab. So the main problem with this (other than rising rent costs) is that their brains got rewired and now do everything hell-bent for leather. So where I get involved with the soviet love bastards is that they got dropped into my neighborhood and there is a  sense that they have of loneliness and urgency for love that attracts them to a person and to help them scratch that itch. The problem is that sense is corrupted and given a slightly sadistic bent and they have started matchmaking and sending people that I am comically ill-suited for or in some cases homicidal, Cat eared woman would be an example. Love is a battlefield, I’m a veteran of this war and I got tired of pulling heart arrows out of my ass so we’ve been fighting ever since but today is going to be a major encounter.You see I have a date in one hour and they started to fly around in attack formation as soon as I left the house firing toxic love arrows at me trying to get me to return to past modus operandi and self-sabotage this relationship that hasn’t even started yet. I dodge an arrow called “new love energy” and panic at might bit at how close it came to hitting me. They can’t get into the coffee shop, the smell of burnt bagels and french roast causes them to enter a seizure state that takes days to recover from, honestly french roast has that effect on most people but  are too tired to give a fuck and just assume the annoying anaphylactic shock is just a morning caffeine detox. I already thinned the ranks a bit by blowing up a fully automatic bow, this monstrosity looks like a mad man combined a Roman ballista and church pipe organ that can fire arrows like the President throws out lies and is painted pink and violet with both Greek and Russian equivalents for “love is a wet prophylactic”. I had left my own bows hanging at home since I was heading for a date and we agreed on melee combat for this round so I armed myself with only a bokken. I couldn’t reach the artillery positioned on the house across from me I had to do something and that something  set the bastards to full rage mode. I took a bag of cans and bottles from the recycling bin shook it good and violently like I did last night before bed while reading the new Warren Ellis comic and threw the bag at the little winged artillery battery. There was a moment of confusion  and I might have heard the Russian equivalent to “what the fuck” but then from all over 82nd Ave tweekers arose from under their rocks smelling of steel reserve and four dollar cigarettes and converged on the Cupids moaning about spare change and smokes. I felt bad about doing that but I was left with no choice! the Eros tribunal might clear me due to the circumstances or as a penance, they might require me to date a vanilla person who thinks beige is a proper color for everything and fucking lights on in doggy is kinky with “ow” being a safe word. Wouldn’t be the first time but I’d rather join a monastery than do it again, I can only hear so many Cake songs before my psychotic side goes into Hulk mode.Between the Cupids dive-bombing the windows like some kind of  Russian kamikaze toddler pilots and rattling the hipsters enough that they had to go get a vegan vodka shot and this little crotch goblin bouncing around and getting into people’s faces, I'm thinking about how this date is going to affect my partner and I’s relationship. I’m also wondering how my date’s spouse is going to handle things if we hit it off. Polyamory on paper sounds like a plot to a high production value hardcore porno but the truth is (mostly) different. You have to navigate multiple schedules, expectations, and multiple people's emotions and try to figure out how to get what you need without hiding pain, jealousy, and your own fears. Being poly also means being on the outskirts of society in away, there is a sense of resentment and fear from others that don’t get it but not nearly as the violent oppression that us in the LGBTQA+ have had to duck for a few hundred years.My partner and I don’t tell others that we are dating since there is a fear of them being disowned, I tell my family the type of relationships I have because they really can’t take anything away from me since I lost the ability to care about their thoughts on my life. I’m not completely happy with this situation where I feel like a secret but it’s not just my life it’s my partner and their spouse’s lives that would be effected. I’m not saying that everyone in a poly or open relationship should go out with a megaphone and belt out a manifesto of why they decided to break their minds with more than one neurotic trauma victim at a time or telling what happened when you  tell a lovers wife that you pegged their husband with a strap on because the wife refused because she felt it was icky and has a lube phobia. What I am saying is that those of us in relationships should start a conversation about non monogamy with our partners and maybe others so we can hear their thoughts and help root out our own.It’s not Polygamy, lets get that one out of the way because I talked with a lot of very intelligent people (and at least one military mandated lobotomy survivor) and they all have said “Oh like the thing Mormons do?” No, more love, openness, and freedom less magic boxers and misogyny.  With poly all relationships there are going to have vastly different dynamic from person to person where Bob and Tim are more open and each can have a person to have casual relationships with and sometimes they both have that dynamic with another person. Karen and Jess now are in several relationships that run casual, serious and potential for a marriage. Stacy, Jim, and Jared are in a closed trifecta where Jim and Jared being straight and not with each other they only have relationships with Stacy who only wants to have a relationship with Jim and Jared.Honestly the only thing that all these relationships have in common is communication and the bad poly relationships are non communicative, half truths, full lies, or worse one sided. I've heard the stories where on person would be dating (fucking) someone new every month but their partner was told to be monogamous and not date outside or they would be dumped, to add to this they lived together and the other partner can’t afford to live on their own. So basically one person was a Controlling , cheating waste of mommy and daddies quicky and the other was borderline being mentally and emotionally abused. Predators and halfwits will be part of every aspect of life and will find a way to manipulate or destroy said aspects of life given enough time and opportunity.Nothing is Idiot proof, nothing is safe so get your life set up how you want it and be prepared to guard this fortress against predators. When (not if) the halfwit comes stumbling in like a newborn colt on ice and manages to destroys your life because the dumb fuck is trying to help or by removing the wrong brick in the wall because it was shiny and it’s now their favorite red rock thingy, you better have a plan B to rebuild. The good news is that you now have enough bricks laying  on the ground  to stone the halfwit to death, I’m a silver lining kinda guy.The Little crotch goblin in the shop is now skipping to a fro all while  chanting what I think I recognized as the ritual to raise an evil elder thing that resembles a puppet from some children's program and then banging their fucking little fist on bookshelves. I’ve ordered a hot chocolate for the little bastard and added a bit of full spectrum oil so the crotch goblin will either soon enter torpor or start seeing a god in whatever app the frazzled parent downloaded and handed off to the kid to try and quite the goblin down. I can write now without the music blasting through my headphones  being drowned out but I did check to see how the goblin is doing, they passed out on a couch, maybe pissed themselves or just spilled water on the floor hard to say . My date shows up and we talk about ourselves or I talk too much and have to stop myself to ask them a question, after both realizing that the online interaction , attraction, and communication is also very present in a real life situation we agree it was time for the duel . We meet via social media site that specializes in the way of the Gaijin and us weebs must prove our saiyan power rankings so we walk outside and I unravel the sacred condom of holy audience and stop the Cupids dive bombing  us while each and every one of these sawed off Kalashnikovs are humming “rock you like a hurricane”. The cupids form a half circle around us and since the invoking of the spirit of The holy Pope  Ruth Westhimer the Cupids agree to not interfere and will also leave me alone until after I get off work the next day.Later that night after coming home bloodied , bruised and then the injuries I sustained during the duel I think about the date and how good it went. Talking about our partners, wants, needs and what we can and can not provide for each other, we hold off on saying we are in a relationship, we decided we’re in a trial relationship pending approval from our respective partners. Important to remember that our other partners can be affected by what we do and the clear communication transfers (or it SHOULD) to the other partners. Poly is not easy it can be worth it or as I’ve found utterly heartbreaking at times but I’m not built to be monogamous so my options are to be lonely the rest of my life, be constrained in a monogamous relationship that I may or at least fight like hell not to cheat in or I can just be honest and say this is who I am, you can stay or go. I find a dead mouse on my front porch with a note stating they were worried I hadn’t been eating, one day I’m going to spay this cat eared woman with a soldering iron.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, berserkbookworm!

February 5 - Daisy/Wanda, something fluffy maybe with them being soulmates and Wanda trying to meet her soulmate for the first time. There is something that stops her every time she tries, so they meet in the oddest way possible please! for @berserkbookworm

Written by @ladywinterlight

Note: In this story, the Maximoffs are technically crossed over from the X-Men universe. The situation is AoS/Avengers-verse, but the twins didn’t need Strucker to give them powers. This is set pre-Avengers and well pre-AoS.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in approximately ten minutes…”

Skye tuned out the rest of the announcement; this was the fourth time through, and she’d understood it well enough when the second language used was Mandarin. Instead, she looked out the window to get her first glimpse of Sokovia.

The country was going through a major period of unrest, and the Rising Tide wanted someone there to get first-hand information and possibly hack the local officials for data to spread. Skye had volunteered, partially because Miles was getting overbearing about how she didn’t have to wait for her soulmate and she should just screw fate and have sex with him.

She hoped that by the time she went back to the States, that he’d be fixated on someone else.

When they landed, Skye gathered up her duffel bag and her laptop case and walked out of the airport. She had no checked baggage, and she was staying at a cheap hostel where she’d been assured they spoke English and were open and accepting of college students who wanted to experience the world.

Not that Skye was in college, at least not officially, but they didn’t need to know that.

The next few days were interesting as she joined up with the local equivalents of the Red Cross and Habitat for Humanity, trying to clean up after the most recent terror attacks. The people were grateful for the help and polite enough to always pair her with someone who spoke English as well as Sokovian.

Her partner of the day was a young man named Pietro, who was rather striking with streaks of silver in his dark hair despite the apparent youth of his face. They were working to patch broken drywall before repainting.

“So what has brought you here?” he asked conversationally in his delightfully accented low voice. “You are staying with the students, but you do not behave like the tourists.”

Skye shrugged as she finished cutting around a small hole to make a square that they could fit a patch into. “I know what it’s like to need help and not get it. So when I got here, I decided to help.”

Pietro warmed to her after that admission, and they worked together cheerfully for the remainder of the afternoon. Skye thought it was odd that whenever she asked Pietro for a hand or to pass something over, he was right there with it. Almost as if he were anticipating her requests or something. She just shrugged it off and didn’t ask, though.

One of her interests in the Rising Tide was the notable increase in people with extra-normal abilities, and she didn’t want to scare him off if he was one.

They didn’t work together again for a few days, and Skye rather missed Pietro. But she didn’t complain; maybe he was busy. She assumed he probably had family and some other sort of job and so wasn’t always available. She chatted amiably with whomever she was assigned and learned an awful lot about the Sokovian people and why they were so unhappy.

Things had not been good in this country since the fall of the Soviet Union, and not only were neighboring governments clashing but they were also closer to the middle east and the problems with extremists there. In short, the situation was a mess and most of the so-called civilized countries were keeping out of it. Sokovia didn’t even have a representative in the United Nations.

Skye dedicated her next few weeks to learning everything she could. During the days she spoke to whomever she was working with, including Pietro several more times. She even started picking up some Sokovian through exposure more than anything else. Every evening she typed up stories she’d heard from the many local friends she was making. She did research to learn why international aid groups weren’t here in larger numbers. And she sent reports back across the DarkNet to her Rising Tide contacts, so the news could spread further. And occasionally she worked on her side-projects - the ones that paid the bills.

A few weeks later when Skye and Pietro worked together again, he greeted her with a brief hug and a wicked grin. “My sister would like to meet you,” he informed her cheekily. “She says she has tried to find you all week, but you have always been gone.”

Skye blinked. “Why would she want to meet me?” She rolled her eyes, though her tone was teasing. “Are you telling her all about the dumb American you got stuck with?”

Pietro laughed and shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Why, then?”

He studied her for a moment, his usually jovial expression turning serious. “I cannot really say,” he replied after a long hesitation. “Just that she would like to.”

Skye shrugged and smiled. “I’d be happy to meet her. We could grab dinner after our shift tonight, maybe?”

Pietro nodded, his usual smile returning. “Good.”

Except that it didn’t work out that way. Pietro got a call midway through the afternoon that had him zipping off quickly with a curse in Sokovian. The next time they worked together, they meant to try again but Skye wound up with food poisoning from something at lunch. She had no idea how Pietro moved fast enough to catch her before she hit her hands and knees, stomach heaving, but she was too sick to give it much thought.

In the end, it was an accident that they met. Skye was headed back to her hostel, her attention on her phone because Miles just wouldn’t quit texting her. She was aware enough to skirt a major construction site, staying outside of the designated barricades, when she suddenly heard the screech of tormented metal.

“Look out!” a female voice screamed from across the street. Skye barely had time to look around before a blurry figure slammed into her, knocking her breathless as he propelled her out of the way of a falling I-beam. When she landed on the ground, she watched with wide eyes as a red-tinged energy manipulated the beam to land where there were no people present.

A moment after the energy faded away, a young woman dashed over and fell to her knees beside Skye and her rescuer.

Pietro. Her friend and sometimes work buddy, who apparently somehow moved faster than she could see to get her out of harm’s way.

“Thank you,” Skye said finally. Her eyes darted from Pietro to the other woman. “Both of you, I think?”

The woman broke into a wide grin and Pietro began to chuckle. “Skye, my friend, please meet my sister Wanda. Your soulmate, I think.”

Skye tilted her head to the side, realizing all of a sudden that the mark on her lower abdomen did indeed say “look out!” She’d just heard that sort of yell all too often in New York City and figured the chances of her actually meeting her soulmate were pretty low.

Wanda’s expression settled into a serene smile, though a hint of red light flickered briefly in the depths of her dark eyes. “I am so happy to finally meet you, my Skye. I have seen you so many times in my dreams, but each time I looked where I saw you, you were not there.”

“I’m sorry,” Skye answered gently. “If I had known you were looking, I would have tried to be there sooner.”

Wanda shook her head. “It is all right. Now that we are together, nothing will part us again for long.”

Skye arched an eyebrow. “You seem rather sure of that.”

“I do not see everything, and what I see can be changed sometimes, but we promise that you will never again be without a family. You belong with us, now,” Wanda replied firmly.

“You’re welcome to leave the hostel and stay with us,” Pietro added. “We do not have much, but what we have is yours to share.”

“I… I don’t have much either. But…”

“We will be together,” Wanda crooned, brushing gentle fingers through Skye’s long hair. “It will be enough.”

“Yeah,” Skye finally agreed. “It will be enough.” Deciding to just jump in, she leaned in and kissed Wanda’s full lips with gentle pressure. Their arms wound around each other’s necks and for a brief eternity they lost themselves in each other.

It was Pietro’s chuckling that eventually parted them again. “Come, sisters,” he cajoled them. “You may kiss to your hearts’ content when we are home.”

Skye smiled at the idea. Home. Damn, was she glad she’d come to Sokovia.

 End note: I don’t know if that was an odd enough meeting, but I hope you like it anyway!