Chapter Text
Cover Art by Sileya
When Thor suggested introducing Midgard to a pair of representatives from each of the other seven realms ruled by Asgard, not-so-dead-after-all Agent Coulson had agreed that it sounded like a good idea. Get folks used to aliens existing, in a totally peaceful, friendly situation. Of the fourteen visitors, four could easily be mistaken for human (and had been, at various times and places: the Middle Eastern jinn, European elves, and the Eight Immortals of China); two were giant, blue, and frosty; five were shapeshifters (only the female Dilhoa could shift), and two had tentacles (also appearing in Japanese mythology). Regardless, it sounded like a mild mannered, “get to know the neighbors” kind of picnic. It was held in Switzerland because Coulson actually did have a sense of humor.
And for once since the fall of SHIELD a few months ago, nothing went wrong. The visit was almost a non-event, totally calm. Everyone was well behaved, no one was accidentally poisoned by foods or beverages from the other realms, no one was deeply offended by innocent cultural misunderstandings. No one declared war on Midgard.
Perfect.
Well. Almost perfect. It went fine, really. The only tiny little drop of a hint of a hiccup was that the empathic pair from Qusul were horrified that humans spent so much of their lives seeking a partner to mate with. And the Qusullians were magic users. So of course, it seemed like a wonderfully generous parting gift for them to cast a spell on all the homo sapiens on Earth.
The homo sapiens had a slightly different opinion.
*****
Darcy woke up Sunday morning, went to the bathroom, showered, and guzzled a fairly large cup of black coffee before she noticed anything was amiss. When she did notice, she assumed that the writing on her finger, 1) was Sharpie, and 2) that she got way more drunk than she thought she had last night. She puzzled over it for a moment, shrugged, and went to get the rubbing alcohol, when Jane called.
“OMG Darcy did you get one? I didn’t.”
“...What?”
“Did you just wake up? Turn on the news. And drink more coffee.”
The last part was universally good advice, so Darcy put the phone on speaker, turned back around to the kitchen, and flicked on CNN as she poured herself another mug, this time adding some caramel macchiato Coffee-mate.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck,” she said a few moments later, blinking at the TV.
“Right? I mean, it seems harmless, but God knows that’s never backfired before. Terrans and magic do not historically mix well. And it’s the whole planet, geez.”
“Those cute, kind of lavender-colored folks with the tentacles thought humans were lonely?”
She could hear Jane shrug over the phone. “Well, from their perspective, we do waste an awful lot of time on sex and romance. Spawning would be far more efficient.”
Darcy turned that over in her now very-much-awake brain. “True enough. Less fun though.”
Jane made a sound of agreement. “So…?”
“What?”
“Duh, do you have a name on your finger?” Jane asked.
Darcy inspected her right ring finger, trying to make out the tiny script. “It says James—”
“Do you know a James?”
“¬and Steven,” Darcy finished.
Silence.
“Do, uh, does anyone else have more than one name?” Darcy asked, feeling like she’d maybe done something wrong.
Jane cleared her throat and rejoined the conversation from wherever she’d gone in her head. “Yeah, actually, a few people have reported that they have two names. No threes yet. And a lot of blanks. And—”
“And apparently kids just have a smudge,” Darcy said, reading the scrolling bar on CNN as she drained her second coffee, and went to make a third. It was definitely going to be a three-coffee day.
*****
Over the next several months, people started calling the magic names on their hands “soulmate marks” and similar bullshit. Darcy didn’t know anyone named Steven or James, and she resented feeling like she was supposed to be actively looking for these two dudes. She was only twenty-four, had her entire life ahead of her, and still no idea what she wanted to do with it once she finished her PhD. She wasn’t going to let these two hypothetical men affect her life choices. Fuck them; maybe she’d start dating ladies again.
The whole thing had caused a fuckton of problems, world-wide—big surprise. Married people who had built happy lives together were splitting up to find and be with their “soulmates.” As if there was just one (or two) people in the whole world that they could happy with. Something like one-fifth of the population didn’t have names at all; did that mean they would never find happiness with anyone? Some of the “soulmate” pairings had turned out to be platonic friends with no sexual chemistry or passion between them at all, and a rare few “soulmates” were siblings, who all swore up and down that there wasn’t any freaky incest thing going on. So much for “mating.”
A big segment of the American population who were under forty years old and not paired up, collectively decided that freedom of choice was more important that this weird alien magic, so fuck it. Getting a tattoo to cover up the names on their hands became a trendy thing.
Darcy considered a tattoo, but she didn’t want to make the mistake of rushing into something that would be on her hand for the rest of her life. She didn’t like seeing the names and feeling like she was supposed to be with this James and/or Steven, though. She compromised and went with the less-permanent trend, buying a ring wide enough to cover both names, and moved on with her life.