#monkey wr

[techno-sys]

They don’t stand super well….. so I’m making a base and the logo for them to lean on AND UNRELATED NOTE LOOK AT THIS STUPID APPLE?!?!! HOW DID I PAINT THAT i literally just draw cartoons but im proud so there it is lol

[amelia-yap]

Dumb question did you ever end up watching Ice Queendom?

i have! waiting for each ep every week was pain.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror..............Part IV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Letha prevents the assassination of the Emperors and picks up a wound in the process. Caracalla's indulgent tendencies prove useful in a pinch. Geta has feelings.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood. Reference to Letha's Voyeurism if you squint, 18+ only

Word Count: 3.3k

Part 4 of 15

[ Part III ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: And here we go. I hope you like this one.

Letha held the glass to her lips but didn’t drink, letting the wine stain her lips. She couldn’t afford a lapse in concentration, not now that she knew anything could happen. She was given no guidance, no indication of who could be responsible. She would only know once someone was making a lunge for Macrinus. The hand in her lap clutched the handle of the blade tucked into her dress, in a pocket she’d watched Hyacinthia sew in as she spouted dreams of a seaside home, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep.

She had to get this right. Sure, for Macrinus’s plan’s sake, but also for her own sake. She’d drawn blood before, plenty of it. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to kill this would-be assassin herself. She wasn’t sure she had the stomach for it and there wasn’t exactly an opportunity to practice. In the weeks leading up to this celebration, she’d sparred with a select few of Macrinus’s gladiators. Those he trusted to actually help her.

She would do this.

Geta had looked over a few times, but he was currently attached at the hip to Lyra, a generous gift from senator Thraex, as he had loudly proclaimed at the start of the dinner. Probably hoping to garner favor now that his coffers were beginning to dwindle. Caracalla sat beside his brother, half out of his own chair, his arms slung around a pretty man’s bare shoulders. He had loudly praised Thraex for his thoughtful gift of new outfits for Dondus, the small monkey currently sitting on the table before them, plucking abandoned grapes off his plate in a shining outfit. Dondus was clearly used to the cacophony of sound that accompanied the Emperors wherever they went.

She couldn’t be distracted by Geta either, despite how his greeting haunted her all afternoon. Pretending like they had never met. Protecting their secret encounter as if it could mean something to him. Surely not, with the way his large hand squeezed at the flesh of Lyra’s bare thigh. No, perhaps it meant so little it had completely left his mind as soon as she slipped out of the room.

Letha could hardly stomach it. The jealousy was overwhelming. Macrinus noticed, but again mistook her half-hidden look of anger for her desire for revenge. 

“Soon, Letha. Channel that rage. Use it for this, in the right way, and soon you will certainly be in their employ. Then you can come and go as you please, and no one will ask questions of you. You will be able to do what I cannot. Just bide your time,” Macrinus instructed. She wished she still felt as angry towards Geta as she now did towards Lyra. It would certainly make her position in all this much easier to navigate. “You are my shrike,” he reminded her. “I’m letting you off the leash.”

At Macrinus’s words, Geta stood, having eyes for no one but Lyra. “As my lovely companion has reminded me, we are all here to celebrate. A toast, to Macrinus, and his hearty barbarians,” he smiled, lifting a cup in Macrinus’s direction. Most others did as well as Macrinus sat comfortably, smiling under the attention of the elite of Rome. Basking in it, even as he intended to ruin it. 

“And to Thraex, for his wonderful gifts,” Caracalla shouted, throwing himself up onto his feet suddenly. He reached down for the table to steady himself. Geta seemed a bit perturbed at his brother’s state of inebriation, but said nothing of it. 

Everyone drank, but Letha hadn’t lifted her glass. As her eyes were forced away from Lyra’s searching hand at Geta’s wrist, she spotted someone striding forward through a break in the columns on the opposite side of the room. Her heart caught in her throat. He wore the dark armor of the Praetorian guard, but something was off. Her adrenaline spiked as she spotted the glint of metal in his palm. She waited, watching for someone else to notice, but no one seemed to react. He strode forward, towards the tables. 

Before she could think twice she got to her feet, gathering her dress as she fought to get out of the chair without falling over on the hem. The man advanced, no guards yet intercepting him, the atmosphere in the palace giving everyone a false sense of ease. Perhaps if she wasn’t tipped off she might not have noticed him either. But she did, either way. And now, her inaction would get someone killed.

She passed around the edge of the long table, nearly breaking into a sprint as she realized he wasn’t headed to where Macrinus sat. His eyes were dead set on the center of the table, and his legs were carrying him there, right to where the Emperors currently stood, enjoying their party and the company. 

No.

Letha intercepted the man uncomfortably close to the table, startling everyone out of their revelry. The blade in his hand seemed prepared for a stab, probably between the ribs of one of the Emperors. She reached for the arm, forcing it up and away from her own ribs, pushing hard against him with her body, forcing him back away from the twins. The man grunted, trying to force her off her feet, but she was stuck firm, as if roots grew from her feet. She knew his center of balance was higher than hers, she could keep her position quite well. He let out a frustrated roar and opened his hand, changing his grip on the knife before plunging it straight down towards her with renewed force.

Chaos ensued as people began to realize what was happening. A scream cut through the noise of the panicked guests and Letha felt the bite of the blade in the top of her shoulder. Hot, searing pain radiated from the injury as her skin split. The pain had her sweating. She saw white, her breathing becoming uneven. She had to do something more, she was stuck here otherwise. If she had been smarter she would’ve drawn the blade tucked away in her dress before now. Still, it was her only recourse. She knew what she had to do.

Letha freed a hand and accepted the blade deeper into her shoulder in favor of drawing the blade hidden within her dress. Any hangups she might’ve had about killing the hired attacker went out the window as soon as he’d stabbed her. She sank the small blade into the unprotected space beneath his arm, just above where his chestplate began at his side, striking bone, just like Viggo had instructed her. The force exerted on the knife in her shoulder ceased and she felt some small relief. She pulled her blade free and stabbed again, her other hand gripping the lip of the chestplate firmly, drawing him in close as he gasped. Once more for good measure.

After a few more agonizing breaths, he was pulled away from her, her knife wrenched free from his side as she held it in a vice grip. The guards stood around him as his blood poured out of the wound and onto his scrabbling fingers pulling at his armor as if in disbelief, spilling out onto the ornate marble floor. He fell with a loud clatter, blanketing the room in silence. She stared down at the blade in her hand, sick at seeing his lifeblood staining her skin. 

She felt faint and took a step back, stinging emanating from her shoulder. She remembered the attacker’s blade and reached up for it, pulling it up and out of her flesh, the pain a white hot flash that blinded her for a moment as she swayed on her feet, her own blood falling over her shoulder and dripping onto the floor in large droplets, the rest soaking into the dress she wore, the deep purple of it turning black. She would need to apologize to Hyacinthia.

“Letha, come here, give me those,” Macrinus soothed, his hands like hot coals on her arms. He gently removed the blades from her hands and tossed them aside before returning his hands to her upper arms, steering her away from the scene and back to her empty chair. Her vision was blurred, but she could see Macrinus knelt down before her, something close to worry in his eyes as he turned to rifle through the contents of their table, eventually finding cloth to press down into the wound at the top of her shoulder. 

He couldn’t lose his asset, she thought bitterly.

“Press down, Letha,” Macrinus barked, pushing her left hand down over top of the linens. “Hold that there,” he muttered, not quite panicked, but as close to it as she’d ever witnessed.

“Summon a healer!” a roar reached her ears. “Everyone get out, please,” the stressed voice ordered. Geta. “Where is Tegula?!”

A warm hand overtook hers, lifting it away from the cloth and pressing down itself, much harder than she could’ve. She hissed, swiping out at her abandoned glass on the table, knocking it down to the floor. Her nails found the wood and dug in as she grimaced, brought back to reality as this fresh pain cut through the rest.

“Letha,” Geta muttered, his other hand reaching out to pull at her wrist, trying to free the poor table from her crushing grip. The familiarity in his use of her name didn’t escape her. She could feel the heat of his body against her upper back as she felt ever colder. He succeeded in prying her fingers from the wood, wrapping her aching hand in his, an offering that should have delighted her. She could hardly pay attention to Geta and his softness with her. She would dwell on it later.

“Where is the healer?” Geta demanded, his voice laced with frustration. 

“Emperor, I can take her back to the arena, I have a doctor there that can stitch up her wound,” Macrinus offered. She thought of Ravi. Yes, he would be able to do it.

“No,” Geta frowned. “She saved my brother. We will look after her.”

“...Of course, your majesty,” Macrinus relented, his plans bearing fruit. He watched Geta carefully.

“You are staying close?” Geta questioned.

“Across from the Colosseum, yes,” Macrinus answered.

“Good. I will keep you informed.” Geta was dismissing Macrinus. 

Macrinus would mark this moment as the one that confirmed that all his work had been for something after all. There was no going back. “Of course. If you need anything at all,” he offered, getting to his feet. 

“You will know,” Geta promised, still applying pressure to Letha’s shoulder as Macrinus got to his feet. 

Macrinus leaned down, near her ear. “You did well,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her hair before gathering his robes in his arms and striding away. It shouldn’t have buoyed her spirits, it was all for his gain, but she still felt relief at his praise. 

“You were magnificent!” Caracalla’s giddy voice met her ears before he leaned down to be in her line of sight. “Just–Ugh!” he shouted, mimicking her stab to the man’s armpit with a reckless swipe between them.

“‘Calla,” Geta warned, though his tone lacked any real bite. “Give her space.”

Caracalla just giggled, sitting down on the floor before her, elbows on his knees. “You must be strong,” he commented. “What are you doing warming Macrinus’s bed?”

She reflexively gripped Geta’s hand in hers, reacting to the implication. “I-I don’t,” she clarified, her voice weaker than she expected. The mere act of speaking made her vision swim.

“Then what does he keep you for? His gladiators?” Caracalla’s words probably weren’t meant to incite her, but they did all the same, her grip on Geta’s palm tightening uncomfortably. 

If only you knew, she thought carelessly.

“Caracalla, move,” Geta ordered, the healer finally arriving, setting down their things before Letha on the floor, blocking Caracalla from view. Her grip relaxed.

Geta spoke calmly with the healer, explaining what had unfolded before his eyes, finally lifting the blood-soaked linen from her shoulder. The healer’s eyes widened momentarily before looking down to their supplies. Through all this, Geta never removed his hand from hers, made no attempt to withdraw. Even when he was arguably in the way, the healer didn’t mention it, probably assuming it would do no good to demand anything of an Emperor.

She groaned, grimacing as a liquid was splashed over her shoulder, the burning sensation deep in the wound almost worse than when it was created. She kept a vice-like grip on Geta’s hand and the moment the pain began to lessen she released it, apologies tumbling from her lips.

“Do not be sorry,” he spoke. “Take it,” he ordered, slipping his hand back into hers. She reluctantly did, thankful for his hands taking the ice out of her fingers. The healer got to work, threading a needle with skilled hands as if he had done this countless times. All comfort Letha had begun to feel abruptly left her as the needle pierced her skin and she let out a sob.

“Do you have nothing for the pain?!” Geta begged. The bones in his hand were forced tightly together and he wondered if they would break in her grip.

“I did not grab it, Emperor,” the healer apologized, his hands stilling over her shoulder, wondering if he should continue. 

“I might have something,” Caracalla proposed, stepping around his brother, his eyes focused on the split flesh over her shoulder, fascinated.

“You’ll kill her,” Geta accused, wishing he could send his brother away like he had everyone else. 

“Perhaps just a little,” the healer suggested, glancing at Geta as if asking permission.

“Give it to me,” she all but whispered, lifting her bloodied hand slightly off her lap. 

Caracalla beamed, reaching into his robes. He eventually withdrew a vial, lowering it to Letha’s open palm. 

“Don’t,” Geta groaned, pulling the vial quickly from Caracalla’s hand. “Wine,” he ordered. A cup was placed on the table and quickly filled. He finally pulled his hand free of her grip and stood, opening the vial over the glass. 

“Only a few drops,” the healer guided, watching carefully as Geta tilted the vial, only allowing a small amount to disappear into the wine. 

Caracalla came back around the back of her chair, stealing away the vial from his brother and stashing it back in his robes, a grin on his face. “You see, brother, I am good for something.”

Geta made no comment as he swirled the glass. He noticed the blood staining his own hand, thinking of how cold hers had been. He was reminded of his dream, a highly confusing one that left him stewing, right up until this afternoon. 

Letha had turned him to stone, one look was all it took. And he was trapped, trapped in his own skin. She just sat, watching him, observing him in some liminal, featureless place. Every part of him her eyes roamed over, he felt a trace of warmth, the barest hint of it. And that was enough for him. He woke up sweating, dazed and slightly embarrassed. He reminded himself he might never encounter her again and that brought him crashing back down to reality. 

But he did. He did, and he couldn’t deny the flare of satisfaction he felt when his attempt actually worked. When he saw her sitting there. It only lasted a moment, though, before his eyes traced the point of a blade up from her shoulder, along Macrinus’s fingers, up his arm, his shoulder, his jealousy forcing him down a murderous path.

“That’s quite enough stirring, Caesar,” the Healer offered, right as a giggle burst forth from Caracalla’s lips. If Geta thought they knew what he’d been thinking of, he might’ve felt anger. 

He held the glass in front of Letha’s mouth, gently pressing against her lower lip. His eyes were trained there, watching as she opened. He only poured a little of the hastily made tincture in. He waited as she swallowed, staring at the column of her throat, eyes lowering to the darkened fabric that had been cut away from her shoulder, the nearly-dry blood covering much of her skin. Her hand squeezing the fabric of his tunic took him out of his study of her and he tilted the glass, offering her a little more. 

This was not at all how he expected this evening to go. Finding Lyra waiting in his chambers after returning from the arena took him by surprise. He had enjoyed her, sure, but he didn’t think he’d expressed any particular desires to Thraex for his concubine. He figured the senator didn’t want to leave one of them empty-handed. He almost sent her away but thought better of it, hoping it would remind Letha of their encounter, and maybe he could relieve some of the tension lurking in his shoulders too. 

He was sure it was successful, if not a bit too successful. Letha had sat beside Macrinus the entire evening, stone-faced, definitely not enjoying herself. And then he’d toasted Macrinus. He thought the evening was going quite well otherwise, until he realized a man was stalking toward his brother, the shine of a blade in his hand. 

He’d moved in front of Caracalla, trying to shield him from this grave injury just as he had always done. Caracalla had gripped the cloth of his robes quite tightly, but didn’t voice his fear. He didn’t have to, they had experienced similar scenarios far too often. It was as natural as a reflex for Geta to step in to receive the blow. But it never came. The blade never came close, and it took him a moment to realize why. 

Letha. 

It didn’t make sense, none of it did. The guards had been so slow to react, he knew they needed to be replaced. Where had she come from? Why was she protecting them like this? As the attacker’s blade pierced her skin, he felt it as if it were his own shoulder. Where had she gotten a knife from? 

He couldn’t deny the way his chest fluttered at her easy violence. The way she clung to the man, her fingers curled around the lip of the chestplate. It stirred something within Geta that he couldn’t name. He wished it had been him pressed against her, some small part of him would even have endured the fatal wound to be that close. It was so intimate. He felt his skin flush at the sight.

And then it was done. She reached up and pulled the other blade free of her shoulder and Geta could only watch, his rapture morphing into fear as her own blood welled up and fell down either side of her shoulder, the drips echoing in his ears as she swayed before him. Before he could vault over the table Macrinus was there, steering her back to her seat. 

“That’s probably enough for now,” the healer instructed, bringing Geta back to the present moment. “I’m going to begin again, and you must keep still,” the healer warned Letha, meeting her eyes. She nodded weakly.

Geta returned to her side, dragging over a chair so he could sit behind her. His hand found hers again and she squeezed it, though only a fraction of as much as before. His brother’s penchant for recreational drugs had somehow benefited someone other than himself. 

As the needle pierced the other side of the wound, Letha hissed, turning her cheek into Geta’s chest. He welcomed her, turning his torso into her, letting her bury her face, hide her discomfort and pain as the stitches slowly knit her skin back together.

Geta did not lack intimacy. He got as much or as little of it as he desired, the nature of his position and what it granted him. But what he did long for was sincerity. True desire. He could tell the difference. It wasn’t in how they gripped his skin. It was in the eyes. And what he saw in Letha’s as she looked up at him, exhaustion weakening her eyelids, left him stunned.

[ Part V ]

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

i have another crumb for you! very small tho

reader and co run into another monkey! [i didn't know if i should make it a cub or not, you decide] it was injured and reader patches it up! the monkey duo can talk to and this monkey understands them! problem tho, if they try and get help, that means leaving reader :(

wait...

what is this? reader is interested in this monkey? reader is stopping petting them to interact with this monkey? reader is putting them them down to pick up this monkey?

no! no no no!

not in a thousand years, not ever! they don't need this monkey's help to turn back, they are sun wukong and six eared macaque, monkey demon warlords! they can figure out a way to break this curse while staying with reader 24/7! go away monkey, they say, we don't need any help, we are perfectly fine!

reader can only guess that the duo cubs are scared or wary of the new monkey, and tries to calm them down, which is thwarted whenever they interact with the new monkey.

gods forbid she gives the monkey duo to spirit to focus on this monkeys injuries.

poor thing. it didn't ask for this.

ok, i will stop crumbs for now, i worry i am clogging your asks. i heard someone say if you get too many asks its impossible to access old ones until you deal with new ones, and idk if its hyperbole or not.

Hello CRUMB!! I love this ask!!

Now for this it will have to be an adult monkey demon or minimum a teenager because the two warlords love cubs. They would never be mad at a cub and will do a lot to protect them. They also adore seeing Reader holding other cubs, because she looks so beautiful and loving with them. When Reader is holding cubs? That also makes them want to have cubs with you for themselves. But they’ll have to wait until they fix the curse before they can even think about that.

They are willing to be separate from her TEMPORARILY if it’s for a cub. Now if it’s an adult? O HO we can have some fun with that.

You stood there frozen for a moment when you caught sight of the monkey demon crouched down and clutching their bleeding arm. He was panting heavily as he groaned in pain. It was a 5 foot tall monkey demon with dark red fur and piercing grey eyes.

The moment you took a step forward he let out a growl to tell you to stop. You did but then took another step forward and he snapped his teeth at you. He only stopped when the two monkey cubs on your shoulders snapped back. Chirps immediately followed as you stood there unsure of what to do.

‘Who are you??’ Peaches asked, his tone firm as he spoke.

Much to his surprise the monkey demon before them actually… he actually recognized them and chirped back. ‘King? Warrior? What happened?’

The two debated weather or not to actually answer the question. It was a shock by itself that the monkey demon was able to recognize them at all. It was suspicious but this was also one of the monkeys from their home, from Flower Fruit Mountain. So there was a chance that he was simply able to recognize them because of that. They were about to respond when Reader, THEIR READER knelt down beside the demon.

“Listen I know you don’t seem to like me but we really need to fix up that arm,” You explained calmly more focused on the bleeding than the fact you were being snarled at.

The monkey demon soon stopped in favor of finally letting you touch them. At first the monkeys on in your arms found it sweet… for about a split second before they snapped to attention when they were set on the ground. Immediately they started chittering and chirping at you, demanding your attention.

“In a moment, I need to help this one first. What’s your name?” You asked looking up at the monkey demon’s face for a moment.

“Ba… My name is Mink. What are you doing with-,” He was cut off by two small growls from the cubs. “Those cubs.”

“Peaches and Plums? They’re my friends, I’m taking them to Flower Fruit Mountain… I think. Spirit was pretty vague on what we were doing- And done! How is that?” You asked when you motioned to the wrapped injury.

The monkey demon looked at it before looking back at you. He was in shock, opening his mouth he was about to speak when the monkey king and warrior jumped up onto you chirping for your attention.

“You two need to calm yourselves, I can’t just leave him to bleed out,” You mutter picking up Peaches by the scruff and setting him back on the ground.

The monkey was in absolute shock. He let you do that!? What happened to him!? Was this really his king?? He nearly snapped his head to the side when he saw Macaque jump onto your foot and climb up your leg until you picked him up to set him down too.

“Sorry just give me a second, these two can be pretty clingy,” You chuckle as you try to

“Reader?” Spirit’s voice suddenly called to you.

“Oh great, Spirit can you hold these two for a moment? I need to make sure I didn’t miss anything,” You said picking up Peaches and Plums and plopping them into Spirit’s arms.

Two screeches quickly followed as you approached the monkey demon again to speak with him. Of course you made sure to give him a pat on the head before letting him know that he’ll be okay.

>>><<<

“I can take them to Flower Fruit Mountain. It is my home and it will allow the both of you to travel on your own,” Mink said as he readied to leave you and Spirit.

You froze at the words, you didn’t want to leave the cubs in the care of someone else. You wanted them to stay with you where you knew for a fact they were safe and sound from any and all danger. Though they weren’t REALLY safe when you were attacked so often.

“I’m not sure,” You mutter looking at the cubs who openly hissed at the monkey demon, glancing at Spirit you waited for her opinion.

“It would definitely be faster. It might be for the best,” She muttered in response.

*HISS*

It was only a matter of moments after Spirit spoke but the two let outraged chirps and hisses directed solely at the monkey in front of them. The very thought enraged them beyond all belief. They would NOT ALLOW THIS IMBECILE TO TAKE AWAY THEIR DARLING!!

‘Take one step closer and you will be nothing but blood and bones,’ Was the last chirp that made Mink freeze and step back. The deadly look within the monkey king’s eyes, directed at HIM? Over a HUMAN!?

You must have brainwashed him, that was the only- at the sound of clinking teeth he up and ran away. You immediately calling after him in confusion but didn’t get so much as a single response.

“What was that all about?” You muttered in shock before turning to the two proud monkey cubs who jumped up to climb her legs. “What did you two say?”

You had a firm glare on your face but the cubs just looked at her with wide eyes slightly blinking innocently. As if they did nothing wrong at all which staring at them you could tell was very wrong.

“You could have gotten to a nice home FASTER, and you scared him off,” You grumbled only to get nuzzled in the cheek in response. They really didn’t care as long as they were WITH YOU.

With a sigh you let out a soft chuckle, “Would you miss us that much?”

‘You,’ they chirped not that she could understand them, they could do without Spirit… even if she was starting to grow on them. Just a tad.

Listen I know you said this was a SMALL crumb. But I can’t help but see it as a rather big one. Maybe not in words but in how it is portrayed. There was SO much more that I could add to this that I didn’t. Though I might in the future, hehe~ Mink as I have named this monkey demon will probably show up eventually. I do hope you don’t mind of course. The MANY MANY ideas that come up with this are absolutely outstanding. Thank you for the ideas!

[lunarsights]

Heyyy Sun! It’s good to see you on my TL again :)

I was wondering if you can do a reading of the members of ATEEZ, what are their thoughts on dating and /or marrying a foreigner who is a POC if they were not Korean or East Asian? Thank you - 🐚

𝘼𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙯 𝙤𝙣 𝘽𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙄𝙣𝙫𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙨

Hongjoong

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Let Me Clear my Throat [Old School Reunion Remix ‘96]” by DJ Kool

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Five of Coins, Two of Wands (Rx), King of Coins (Rx), Four of Coins, Seven of Wands

Final Answer: Page of Wands, Nine of Coins, The Hanged Man

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

hongjoong seems a little hesitant to be romantically involved with a foreigner. this could be in relation to not knowing enough or even this question being too broad; there could be certain ethnic or racial groups he’s had more experience around, so he feels more comfortable, but it’s like he knows there’s a wide “array” of people, so it almost doesn’t make sense to make a blanket statement. most of the foreigners he might’ve had the opportunity of being romantic with might’ve been fans or aware of his career, so there’s a worry of running into people only into him for that aspect that could be making him hesitant also. he could be closed off from engaging with foreigners romantically as a result; “one bad apple spoils the bunch” in this idea, but seven of wands is present showing that if someone was persistent enough “and had/has the right intentions”, then he’d likely be open. he is genuinely interested in connecting with foreigners though! it seems he’d want to be with someone who has something going for themselves though, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being used. 

TLDR; solid maybe

Seongwha

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Be Gone Thot!” by Lil Mayo

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Page of Swords, The Hermit, Four of Cups, The Empress (Rx)

Final Answer: The World (Rx), Knight of Wands (Rx), Four of Coins, Eight of Cups

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

despite the shufflemancy song and the way all the cards seem, seonghwa could actually be interested in the idea of being romantic with a foreigner. it could be the type of things where in his head he’s curious, but he’s apprehensive to actually do it in real life for a multitude of reasons. he could get very caught up in all the ways things could go wrong? like the media could find out and how would he deal with that? how would a nda even work? how would the relationship even work? would they “learn to speak” korean? he seems to be blocking his actual want to interact with foreigners romantically because of these worries. therefore, his answer right now is that he wouldn’t be romantically involved with a foreigner. he could feel he’ll be more stressed and frustrated with all the trials of dealing with the relationship and therefore it would be better to stay away from being interested altogether. 

TLDR; technically is interested, but thinks a lot about the logistical side and therefore would not

Yunho

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Creep” by TLC

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Page of Wands (Rx), The Star, Wheel of Fortune, Three of Cups, The World

Final Answer: The Sun

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

yunho could be a little naïve when it comes to interacting with foreigners romantically (or even in general “sometimes”). he seems interested and hopeful though with the star being present! he could have an idea along the lines of “i don’t know a ton about that, but i’m interested/curious”. he could see things going either way in being easy or hard to deal with. he might be more open to the idea if he was introduced to a foreigner via his friends or family or a gathering; he’d like the chance to interact naturally before trying to flirt or things like that. overall, it seems he has this idea that love can come “from anywhere at any time”. 

TLDR; strong yes

Yeosang

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Monkey Wrench” by the Foo Fighters

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Eight of Swords, Strength, Ten of Swords (Rx), Ace of Wands, Eight of Coins

Final Answer: Ace of Cups, Four of Cups, The Empress

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

at one point in time yeosang might’ve been worried about being romantic with foreigners. this could’ve been out of feeling like they were too different, but it seems more likely it was out of feeling like he himself was too different. it’s not like he necessarily had the idea that he would be “the problem”, but he might’ve been self conscious about showing up in the relationship – maybe in relation to not being culturally sensitive enough, being worried about adapting to someone else’s culture, and things aligned with that. now, he seems to have done away with those thoughts, and he’s a lot more confident. he might believe it’s “inevitable” to interact with people who are different from him, so there’s no reason to bar them from dating him. he also seems to acknowledge he would still need to work on being “sensitive” and “aware”, but it’s something he’s willing to do (if needed). 

TLDR; yes

San

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“the light is coming” by Ariana Grande (feat. Nicki Minaj)

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Ace of Wands, Nine of Coins, The Hierophant (Rx), The Sun, Two of Swords (Rx)

Final Answer: Justice, Ten of Wands (Rx), The Moon (Rx)

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

san could view being romantic with foreigners as a new way to interact with people. he could be in a period of life where he’s in contact with foreigners more than ever (and maybe finding interest in them as result), so he could see his attraction as result of this contact. with the hierophant in reverse he’s definitely open to breaking traditions and doing his own thing although he does “appreciate them”. he could more so be focused on being happy in his life, so suffering or missing out on a wanted love because of tradition may not be his thing; he might be more afraid of not experiencing true joy than the fear of possible ostracization. his focus is on his own personal happiness, and if a foreigner is part of that, then “that’s fine”. 

TLDR; strong yes

Mingi

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Return of the Mack” by Mack Morrison

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

The Empress, The Devil, Eight of Swords (Rx), Nine of Swords, Three of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands

Final Answer: Nine of Wands (Rx), Nine of Cups, The Emperor 

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

he kinda delves into ideal type, but mingi could be into people he can make strong connections with. the idea of “soul ties” and “soul tying” comes to mind. at one point in time he could’ve felt restricted when it came to who he was attracted to or who he “could show attraction to”, but he’s let go of these restrictions despite continued concerns. he might’ve had romantic attractions to foreigners before/for a long time, but viewed them as unrealistic to pursue (or people told him it was unrealistic or “silly” for him to do). now, it seems he’s able to do so freely, and he’s “happy about that”.  despite this, there is still an air of things being unknown? maybe the ideas people pushed on him have stronger foundations than he thought they did? like people around him have been pessimistic for so long that on an unconscious level he’s taken those whispers more into account than he think he has. 

TLDR; maybe; he wants to be able to say yes, but is still reckoning with what people have told him

Wooyoung

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“There Goes My Baby” by Charlie Wilson

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Five of Swords (Rx), King of Swords, The Star, Ace of Wands, Knight of Wands, Six of Coins (Rx)

Final Answer: Wheel of Fortune, The Magician

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

wooyoung could be the type of person who at the end of the day has to “be honest with [himself]”. he really values honesty and being courageous and outspoken about who he is, so this kind of gives the energy that the way he portrays himself is the way he is.”it’s obvious, no?” comes to mind. he could find it engaging to talk with foreigners in general, and he’s definitely an intentional flirt with the knight of wands present. he might be hesitant to fully engage for some reason. it could be similar to hongjoong’s situation in that people try to take advantage of his status, but it feels like something else also. there could’ve been a situation where he tried to “go all in” in some way with a foreigner and ended up getting his feelings hurt, so he could be a little hesitant to settle down with one, but this feels like a temporary feeling. 

TLDR; likely yes

Jongho

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲:

“Story of Us” by Tinashe

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬:

Five of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Cups, Page of Swords, Death (Rx), Seven of Wands

Final Answer: Wheel of Fortune, Knight of Cups

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

jongho could feel as if being romantic with foreigners goes against the life he might have dreamed up for himself. he could enjoy the company of foreigners especially in regards to talking with them and learning more about things through them, but his interest could mainly stop there. he might’ve even tried to seek out foreigners he might be attracted to (maybe in that they have similar features or personality types to people he’s usually attracted to who are korean), but he doesn’t necessarily feel compelled to specifically seek out foreigners. this could be a situation where if he came across someone he's interested in he may think about it a little more, but currently he’s not really attracted to foreigners romantically. 

TLDR; maybe, but likely no as he just doesn’t find himself romantically attracted to them

[chongoblog]

I can't believe my eyes, but I'm officially on a power ranking list for Super Monkey Ball: Banana Rumble WR's.

(For anyone curious, my records are in 1-4 Stop and Go, EX 1-1 Small Island, EX4-5 Emoticon, and 10-6 Snake Whip)

I think I'm officially a Monkey Ball speedrunner now. Words cannot describe how over it is for me

[quitealotofsodapop]

Wukong may have not even meant to tell then about his pregnancy and the reason he had been seeking immortality. Like, he was probably not used to talking to people outside of his newfound family (something he and Sandy have been working on) and the last time he'd probably seen even half of these people was probably either when he was thrown in the Furnace, sealed under the mountain, or dealing eith some other negative event. Be had exactly 0 friendly memories with most of these people who now hold the fate of his long lost mate's soul in the palms of their hands. So he panicked when a bunch of the nobility started digging up his past crimes, all crimes he had been pardoned for by going onto that Journey mind you, and may have been trying to find a way to e plain it when he accidentally blurts out the truth.

Prosecution: Are wr really going to listen to a monkey who caused so much having and destruction!? Who stole the immortality peaches, and wine, and Lao Tzu's own elixir of immortality!? Who attempted to perform a coup!?

Wukong, bit really he was speaking aloud: It's not like I even wanted to actually perform the coup. That was Azure's crazy ass idea, I just wanted the fucking immortality so the cub would be born safely...

Prosecution: ...What cub?

Wukong *The most guilty and horrified look as he realizes the entire court had heard him*: Oh shit...

Referencing.

Wukong forgot from years of semi-isolation to keep his thoughts to himself. The gasps and loud arguing that erupted amongst the court was almost deafening.

Luckily the Monkey King's mate was too shocked to stay tight-lipped as he normally would;

Macaque, from the prisoner dock: "That's why you were collecting immortalities!? Peaches, why didn't you tell me?"

Wukong: "Because I knew you'd try stopping me if I told you!"

Macaque: "DAMN STRAIGHT I WOULD'VE! Having the cub could still kill you! I don't want to have to choose between you and our infant!"

Wukong, emotional: "I had already experienced half an eternity without you Plums... I thought if I could have this baby, I'd at least be able to tell them the stories of The Hero and the Warrior in your stead ."

Macaque: *stuttering with a deep blush* "Y-you remembered my plays...?"

Wukong, smiling fondly: "It was always the troops' favorite story. You tell it better than I ever could though."

Macaque: *too in-love to comment* ( *///•)

The Gods and Celestials: *surprised/aww'd telenovela noises*

Gold Star (judge): *has to quickly call for order less the arguing continues and derails the trial*

Everyone present in the court room is immediately fixated on the defence. It's literally the most interesting thing they've seen/heard in milennia.

[runawaycatwalker]

Part 25. Best Friend Erasure (Oni-Chan 2.0, part B)

< First | < Previous | Next >

Description below the cut

Catwalker approaches Ladybug as she stands on a roof.  She points off in a far away direction.

Catwalker: Ladybug!  Oni-Chan is back, and this time her powers are—

Ladybug: I need you to go to one of the rooftops way over there and stay right there.

Catwalker: Are you sure?  I could do more here if I—

Ladybug: Just.  Go.

Catwalker: ...Yes, Ladybug.

Ladybug swings towards a rooftop where the other heroes have congregated near a Find Adrien billboard.  Viperion looks up at Ladybug.

Viperion: Ladybug!  Why isn't Catwalker with you?  Did you talk to him about... that thing I told you?

Ladybug: We talked.  He wasn't hiding what you thought he was.

Viperion: Oh.

Ladybug stands in a ‘take charge’ pose right in front of the billboard with Adrien’s face.  Most of the heroes gather in to look towards her, but Carapace looks off towards the direction Catwalker took instead.

Ladybug: And everybody, gather around! You should all know this.  Catwalker is on probation until further notice.

Viperion: Probation?  Isn't that kind of extreme?

Ladybug: I have my reasons.  He's keeping his miraculous, but you're the people I'm going to rely on to beat the akumas.  For now, consider him an observer and just ignore him.

Carapace starts using his shield as a phone to text his girlfriend.

Carapace (texting): Rena, why is Catwalker allowed to keep his miraculous?  We *have* to stop him from causing more damage.

Rena Furtive (texting): I'm watching him, don't worry.

Cut to Rena hiding on a rooftop as she uses her flute simultaneously as a telescope to spy on Catwalker and a phone to tap out a reply to her boyfriend.

Rena Furtive (texting): But if you want to try to get more info out of him as Carapace...?  I'm sure Ladybug wouldn't mind...

Carapace leaps towards Catwalker, who looks at him suspiciously.

Catwalker: Carapace?  What are you doing here?

Carapace: Ladybug said you were alone, and I thought you shouldn't be.

Catwalker: You should go back.  Ladybug needs every hero she can get.

Catwalker perches himself on the ledge of the building he’s atop of.

Carapace: Then why did Ladybug send you all the way out here?

Catwalker: She needs me.  I just... need to wait here.  Until she comes up with a plan for how she can use me.

Carapace: If you want to help, we can always work to protect Adrien Agreste.

Carapace opens his arms wide and tries to give a disarming smile, but he can’t help but show his underlying malice.

Carapace: If you know anything at all, I'm all ears!  Even if it's something you need to keep on the down low, I can be your confidant.  I'm a hero, after all!  You can trust me to keep secrets.

Catwalker, completely uninterested in going through another round of ‘my best friend pretends to like me when I know he’s secretly mad at me’ points his finger in accusation.

Catwalker: I see what you're trying to do and I'm not going to fall for it.

Carapace: Whaaat?  I'm not trying anything!

Catwalker: Nino.

Carapace: How did—I mean, who's Nino?

Catwalker: You forgot to tell Adrien that he shouldn't reveal secret identities to anyone.

Carapace, completely off put, tries to make this new bit of information add up.

Carapace: He told you about me?  Why would that even come up?  Unless...  Did he tell you he had a superhero for a best friend to try and convince you he didn't need you?

Carapace points an accusatory finger at Catwalker. Catwalker tries to placate, but he’s distracted by a burst of red light in the distance in the direction of the other heroes.

Carapace: And then you forced him to leave when he didn't want to and—

Catwalker: You have it all wr—Oh no.

Oni-Chan rapidly teleports between temporary heroes (all of whom had just been staring towards the giant face of Adrien) and hits them with her sword in quick succession: Vesperia, Viperion, King Monkey, Purple Tigress, Polymouse, Pegasus, and Pigella are all frozen before they can do anything to fight back.

Oni-Chan: You!  Won't!  Get!  In!  My!  Way!  Anymore!

Oni-Chan lunges for Ladybug, but she manages to swing out of the way with her yo-yo and escape, unable to be tracked because she was the only member of the group who hadn’t been staring at Adrien’s face.

Catwalker: Come on!  Ladybug needs our hel—

Catwalker leaps into the sky to follow Ladybug, but as he is in midair, a green sphere forms around him.

Carapace: Shell-ter!

After the sphere hits the ground, Catwalker looks up at Carapace, who stands at the edge on top of the nearest building tauntingly.

Catwalker: I don't want to fight you.

Carapace: Good!  Because you won't be able to fight anyone!

Catwalker: Look, we're both heroes right now.  We need to be able to work together to help Ladybug.

Inside the sphere, Catwalker kneels and looks down dejectedly.

Carapace: Ladybug doesn't want your help!

Catwalker: Maybe not right now, but—

Carapace: Why did you think she sent you so far out of her way?  She can't even stand to look at you!  No one needs you.  No one wants you.  You should just give up your miraculous and save us the troub—

Carapace’s attention is caught by something happening across the skyline of Paris: with the Agreste mansion at the epicenter, a flurry of black ribbons launches into the sky, each one racing toward a Find Adrien billboard.  Where each ribbon touches, the place where Adrien’s picture should be has been replaced by an empty white void.

Carapace (to himself): What the...?  ...the Adrien billboards...  All the pictures of Adrien...  He's gone.

Carapace points down at Catwalker accusingly and brings his shield in close.

Carapace: Why couldn't you have just done nothing and let his real friends help him?  Some magic ribbons just wiped Adrien from existence!

Catwalker: That's impossible.  A sentimonster probably just got rid of the Adrien ads.

Carapace: You don't get it!  He exists nowhere!  And I'll prove it!

Carapace uses his shield to navigate to the pictures on his phone.  His hand touches at the shield when it displays a picture of Nino and Adrien smiling together, nothing erased.

Carapace: I'll show you how this picture of the two of us is—

Catwalker: Wait.  Carapace, you need to drop it.  Now.

Carapace (to himself): Huh...?

Catwalker: Adrien is alive, I promise—

Carapace (to himself): He's still here with me...?

Catwalker: —but she's going to find you if you keep looking—

Oni-Chan pops in and out of existence just long enough to stab Carapace in the back, sending his body off the edge of the building.  Below them, Catwalker looks up and destroys the sphere around him.

Oni-Chan: Begone!

Carapace: Ack!

Catwalker: No!  Cataclysm!

Catwalker leaps into the air, arms reaching towards Carapace’s petrified body, all while the shield Carapace dropped in the commotion falls next to them.

Catwalker: I've got you!

Catwalker tearfully embraces the frozen Carapace from behind.

Catwalker: I am so sorry.  For everything.

Catwalker continues to hug Carapace tight as a flood of emotions spews forth.

Catwalker: I never wanted to hide behind a mask, especially not with you, Nino.  You've always encouraged me to be myself.  Even though I've never been able to fully show you everything I am, you accepted the 'me' I could give.  It meant so much to know that you cared, not just about the idea of me, but the real me.  And now I'm less 'me' than I've ever been.  Maybe it would have been better if I did nothing. But when she tried to kill me, I just... ran.  Ran and insisted I was fine like I always do.  And now you're the one paying for my rash decisions and I feel so powerless to stop it.  I hope one day you'll forgive me.

Catwalker places Carapace’s body upright and touches his back in a gesture of farewell.

Catwalker: I wish I could talk to you for real.  But I can't.  I can't leave when I might be needed.  Even if everyone hates that I'm here, I've got to help however I can.

Catwalker gives Carapace a fist bump in one final promise of their friendship.

Catwalker: I'll come home as soon as it's safe again.  I don't know how long it'll take, but I promise I will come back.

Below is the same image as above, only without text:

[autism-autobot]

Has macaque ever been home super late before, and Li Jing get very nervous over it? And when Mac gets bothered thinking he’s being overprotective, Jing just goes all “I just want to make sure you’re safe” and Mac just melts.

Home By Now

It was one in the morning, and Macaque still wasn't back yet.

Li Jing called his son at around ten to talk to Wukong about Macaque's late night outing, to which the other monkey responded:

"Yeah, he did this all the time back when we were married. Don't worry. He'll come back eventually, but don't expect it to be while you're still awake."

Jing didn't know that the two were ever married to begin with, let alone that they at some point had gotten divorced.

Even then, Jing didn't, no, couldn't just fall asleep while Macaque was still out there.

~~~

Hours passed

3am...

4am...

5-*whoosh*

Jing had almost given in to Wukong's advice of just leaving it be when he heard that sound. That wonderful sound of Macaque's shadow teleportation.

Jing: Macaque! *runs to him*

Mac: Jingle Bells? What's up? Is something wr-

Jing: *hugs him tightly*

Mac: Jing? What the heck, man?

Jing: Why did you take so long to come back? Where were you? What happened?

Mac: *pulls back from hug* I was just out for a stroll, no biggie.

Jing: *raises voice a bit*Well, it's big to me!

Mac: *getting defensive* It's fine! Nothing happened, and I can take care of myself.

Jing: *with genuine concern* I know you can, but I still worry! At least let me know when you're leaving and where you're going!

Mac: *even more defensive* Why?! Why do you worry about me?!

Jing: *quiets a bit* I... I just want to make sure you're safe.

Macaque could practically hear the walls around his heart cracking and crumbling.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and his face felt warm.

Mac: Really? Like, you're serious, you just want me to be safe?

Jing: *notices his teary eyes* Yes, yes, I do.

Jing: *holds his arms out, offering a hug*

Mac: *leans into hug* *starts crying*

Jing: *holds him* *wipes away his tears as they fall*

Masterpost

@istopaskingmemate @starrclown @swkbiggestdefender @ainnur @weaverpop @fruit-fight

[cloud-somersault]

Hello. I made a (now deleted) tweet earlier about the imbalance of Wu and Mac's fuckups in Constellations. I discuss the reasoning behind that here. There's also just epilogue news in general in here, so please read when you get a chance.

Thanks.

It’s come to my attention that some people see the reconciliation aspect of the epilogue to be entirely one sided in Macaque’s favor. I wanna address this. 

First off, it’s in Macaque’s perspective. We’re reading through his voice. These are his opinions, his thoughts. If we read something he thinks and we think to ourselves “that’s not fucking true” that is because he is his own character with his own faults and biases and opinions. He is not going to be objectively correct. And he has his own share of fuckups. “Water and Stone,” Chapter 4 of Constellations, hurting Wukong after the Little Star fight. 

Neither is Wukong. I understand that, throughout the chapters, Wukong has done/said some fucked up shit. The argument about Little Star, the whole thing with sentimentality and Macaque’s cape, the “Sun’s Shadow” debacle — he is not perfect. He has apologized, though. 

But here’s the thing: this is about characterization. Let’s walk through it.

Macaque does something fucked up to Wukong. What is Wukong going to do? Forgive him, because nothing Macaque does is as bad as what Wukong did (killing Macaque). He is biased in this way. There is nothing Macaque can do that would have Wukong seriously mad at him for centuries (unless it’s something ridiculous like seriously hurting MK (worse than s3) just because or something like that). Wukong considers that murder to be his greatest sin. So, he is always going to forgive Macaque any wrongdoing.

Will he still get mad? Yup. Will he call Macaque on it sometimes? Yup. But he’s not going to hold a SERIOUS grudge because he’s the one who made the ultimate mistake. 

That’s Wukong’s character. That is something he chooses to do. And no, it’s not right. It’s not fair; Macaque should get called out, too. He should get told he’s not perfect has fucked up, too. But things are never black and white. No situation works out that way. This is their dynamic in this AU specifically. Sometimes the right thing just doesn’t happen even if you know it should. Sometimes unfairness is just the way it is, especially when it’s two people who have hurt each other and are making mistakes and are trying to make things work. 

But let’s talk about Macaque. He’s more sensible and thoughtful than Wukong, so his fuckups are going to be fewer in general. He’s more mindful and doesn’t say things without thinking as much as Wukong does. And he’s also taking advantage of the fact that Wukong easily forgives him. He’s aware of that and is using it as much as he can because he feels he’s entitled to it because Wukong murdered him.

Macaque feels as if anything he does pales in comparison to Wukong’s murder of him. So yes, he calls Wukong out at every opportunity and makes him apologize. He feels like he has that “right” since he’s the victim of Wukong’s murder. 

None of this is “healthy” or “the right way to go about it” but that’s the point. It should feel unfair. You should feel “ugh, Wukong fucked up again, Macaque’s going to get onto him about it.” And I get that’s frustrating to read because Macaque has fucked up fewer times than Wukong but…Macaque has fucked up fewer times, so there’s less moments for Wukong to call him out.

And Wukong may or may not call him out on it because he easily forgives Macaque. He’s willing to do anything and everything to be together with Macaque. Having his palms sliced into was fucking nothing to him. That’s a normal Tuesday for the Monkey King. He himself said he was more concerned about Macaque’s well-being than what happened to him.

I get that this is frustrating to read at times. But you don’t have to read it. I get that sometimes you might be like “I wish it’d gone this way” but you can always write your own stories. This is the dynamic I’m writing, and it’s not fair, it’s not healthy, it’s not an ideal relationship that sets a good example or anything. Wukong is going to fuck up time and time again and Macaque is always going to call him out. Macaque is going to fuck up sometimes because of his more mindful nature, and Wukong might call him out sometimes. That’s a choice that they make each time.

Why would Wukong call Macaque harshly and potentially piss him off so much that Macaque wants nothing to do with him? Wukong is not going to take that chance. He wants to help Macaque and is willing to go to Hell and back to do it. That is not a healthy dynamic. I know this. You should know this. But it’s their characterization that drives it. 

I expressed that I was unsure about the balance of “Macaque fucking up vs. Wukong fucking up” and I came to the conclusion that there’s always going to be imbalance, because Wukong just will not make a big deal out of any mistakes Macaque makes. 

So Macaque holds himself accountable. He told Wukong he wasn’t going to guilt trip him about his death and intentionally hurt him with his words, and he stopped doing that. He talked about how he attacked Wukong, but Wukong was quick to assure him that he was fine. Macaque also called out Wukong for overshadowing him, and Wukong argued back and then Macaque had to explain that he wasn’t blaming Wukong, he was venting and explaining himself. And they reached an understanding. 

Macaque calls out himself and is hard on himself. That’s why his prose is so draining and negative. And that imbalance between them will always exist because Wukong killed him. That is the worst thing he could’ve done and he did it. Now he’s forever making up for that fact. That’s the dynamic I chose to write. If you don’t like that it’s not perfectly balanced and black and white and every toxic behavior isn’t called out and addressed and corrected, then this fic might not be for you. 

And honestly, I feel like I shouldn’t have to type this out. It’s upsetting that I have to. I re-examined how I feel and I’m not having as much fun as I used to writing this. I’m going to try and finish things out, but chapter 12 might end up being the last chapter. I’m going to start limiting replies and turning off comments etc., just so I can, maybe, finish this out. 

[afactaday]

#aFactADay2024

#1436: during his record-breaking sprint, Usain Bolt only touched the ground for 43% of the time, which means he was accelerating for less than half of the 9.58s. adding more legs means you can get faster: the world record for the four-limbed sprint is getting better and currently projected to overtake the two-limbed record by 2050. at the cutting edge of technique is Kenichi Ito (100m WR 15.7s), who's studied how African four-legged monkeys move. he goes around town and does his chores on all four limbs to practice the technique - once he got shot at on a walk in the mountains because someone thought he was a wild boar.

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

🔆anon

Dusk would 100% be a speedrunner. I just saw a speedrun of Super Monkey Ball, and I think he’d probably like games similar that or Sonic. (I can’t unthink Dusk would like Sonic.)

He isn’t as much of a gamer as his father, but when he does play, it’s usually speedrunning. He will play new games, but he defaults to a couple he likes to run.

I can also see him getting good times too. I doubt he’d get WR, considering he doesn’t play video games too much, but he’s probably some well within the community might know about. I could also see him making new tech even if I don’t know how likely he actually would.

I love the Monkey Ball speedruns cause they're so fun and chaotic.

Dusk's the kinda guy who keeps accidentally finding new speedrunning tech.

[middleageamerican]

4 adult ft . . . sm sink

this is not strange 4me . . hotel . . putting a yoga block on the sinktop and soaking my feet . . phone after no phone all day . . 1000 ml Imperial cerveza . . wat was a ltl strange is how my unorthodox hotel-return activity matched Hana’s needs . . she . . we . . wr both tired fr an early start . . Parque de Manuel Antonio sloth . . tucan . . monkey . . la playa . . Hana modified her routine and…

[spacedace]

People give Florida so much shit (rightfully) about our, well, everything (again, rightfully, this place is three dumpster fires stacked on top of each other in a diseased coat selling itself as a tourist destination) but at least ae're up front and honest about all the things that can kill you here.

We got bears, we got panthers (really a sub species of mountain lions) we got actual mountain lions, we got gators, we got Water Moccasins, we got an island of monkeys infected with a deadly form of herpes, we got Florida Man.

Wr got it all baa-bee and we put that shit on the front page!

unfortunately I’m watching supernatural and someone on screen said ‘there are No Wolves in pennsylvania’ and I was like. what a bold incorrect statement. where did they possibly get that idea from. so I googled it…google is insisting there are no wild wolves in pa?? except I’ve Seen wolves here?? there used to be a wolf that would hang out in my backyard and roam around the neighborhood?? like Everyone knew about this wolf we assumed he lived on the golf course and would come to our yards if he got spooked by golfers (very quiet block). like we all thought he just lost his pack or whatever so people just gave him a wide space and let him chill, he didn’t try to break into any houses or attack any pets but this was definitely. a wild wolf. where. where did he come from what do you MEAN there aren’t wolves in pennsylvania I’m literally spiraling right now

[lunar-years]

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

Pairing(s): Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, background Joyce Byers/Jim Hopper, platonic Will Byers & El Hopper

Rating: T

Summary: "Nancy doesn’t care if her soulmate is going to kiss her or not, or if they’ll get married. Maybe she doesn’t even want to get married. Regardless, she knows she wants to meet them. The little mark hidden out of sight on her ankle, and the knowledge that her soulmate is just…out there…feels almost like discovering a secret magic. What could be more mystifying than a person capable of understanding your soul as completely as if it were their own? Not too many people have someone who sees every part of you like that, Mom says. It’s one of the few things they seem to agree on."

Or, Jancy's soulmate AU, originally written for @jancyweek2022 Day 7: AU/Canon Divergence. This chapter also has a lot of overlap potential with Day 2: Childhood. :)

xxx

So. uhhhh...

Bad news (?): I broke soulmate AU into two parts because it was getting so long.

Good new: Part one is complete! Read it below or over on Ao3 here! Part two will be out in the next few days.

soul·mate ˈsōl-ˌmāt. plural soulmates or soul mates. : a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament. : a person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs.

“I am half afraid to hope for what I long for.” – Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Austin Dickinson wr. c. 1851.

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1978

Nancy Wheeler just turned eleven years old, five minutes ago exactly. She's been watching the clock above the classroom door all day, awaiting it.

Eleven years old, and there is yellow nail polish on her fingernails, already beginning to chip away. There are two braids in her hair. This morning, she put on her favorite ruffle socks with the red trim, and a dress two sizes too big for her; It has a peter pan collar and little blue and red flowers all over it. In the store last summer, Mom told her she’d grow into it, but Nancy’s still waiting.

She thought turning eleven would feel differently than it does. More momentous, more…important. She thought she’d at least feel older, and preferably wiser, but instead she feels just the same as before.

There are three bruises across her right elbow and both knees, from falling off the monkey bars yesterday at recess. They turned purple overnight, and so Mom warned her not to go back on them today (but recess would be so completely boring otherwise—and anyway it’s her birthday—so Nancy doesn’t intend to follow through). She has a blobby scar of discolored skin on the inside of one forearm where she burned herself on a gingerbread cookie tray last Christmas.

On the inside of her left ankle, carefully covered up by one of the aforementioned ruffle socks, is her soulmate mark.

She’s not supposed to call it that, and both of her parents yell at her when she forgets. It’s a soul mark, Nancy. And all it means is that there’s someone out there who might be important to you one day, but just as well might not, her mother forcefully instructs. No mark gets to tell you who your soulmate is, remember? Nancy thinks that’s the exact point of the mark, actually, but yes—she remembers. She can practically hear the whole conversation now. She can even hear her own response, well-practiced: Yes, Mom. Yes, I know.

(When her parents aren’t around, she calls it a soulmate mark anyway, and so does everyone else in her class.)

It’s true that the marks can’t really tell you anything though. Well, they tell you some things, just not who you’re going to fall in love with or marry or whatever. But only old people like her parents still think that’s all a soulmate means, anyway. Everyone her age knows a soulmate doesn’t have to be romantic. The marks are a sign that there’s someone out there you’re connected to more deeply than with anyone else. Two souls tangled up in each other, romantically or not. Soulmates.

They talked about it earlier in the school year, in a very embarrassing edition to health class. Miss. Seiborne had sounded just like Nancy’s mom, listing off all the things that the marks couldn’t do. She’d written ‘The Science Behind Soul Marks’ at the top of the chalkboard, and dutifully, because some of this would probably be on the quiz, Nancy had taken notes .

They don’t mean you’re going to meet that person and be with them forever—that’s the first thing any adult tells you, as soon as you’re old enough to notice you have a mark and decide to ask someone about it. Nancy thinks it’s because a lot of adults never found their soulmates and are still pretty bitter about it. Or they did meet them, then got divorced or something

It’s not going to be like that when she finds her soulmate. Nancy won’t marry just anyone, even if he is her soulmate. Maybe even especially then, because if she knows they’re soulmates beforehand she’s going to be extra cautious. He’ll have to be up to snuff.

Her mom likes to repeat this ridiculous story about Virginia and Elmer Hammerstein, some couple Nancy isn’t entirely convinced she didn’t just make up. This couple, Virginia and Elmer, found out they had matching marks and got married right away just because they thought they were supposed to.

Apparently, they’d ended up hating each other so much that all they wanted to talk about was how terrible the other one was, until no one else wanted to be friends with them because no one wanted to hear it anymore. In the end, the only person they had left to complain to was the other, and they ended up doing that forever, miserable and going at it until they died.

Nancy’s pretty sure Mom just made it up to scare her. But even if she didn’t, Nancy secretly thinks that if Virginia and Elmer were unable to talk or think about anyone else after meeting each other, well, then it sounds a heck of a lot like their souls were inextricably linked, or whatever. Nobody said everyone had to be good, healthy soulmates. Maybe they were both just people who loved to complain, and the other person was the only other one out there who was equally miserable. Maybe they were mean-spirited people, together.

Nancy continues to think about her mark well into the math lesson, wondering. Some people share their marks with their best friends. Even family members can have them sometimes, but that’s pretty rare. Nancy read once that it mostly happens with twins. That’s because a soul mark is different from love. That’s the other thing all the adults like to preach: a soul mark can speak to love, but it isn’t love. Nancy isn’t entirely sure what they mean by that. She thinks adults like to speak in riddles a lot of the time, maybe because they don’t really get it themselves.

Many people don’t even have a soul mark. And sometimes the people who do are so scared by it that they end up hating their soulmate for it, or worse, never try to find them at all.

Nancy doesn’t care if her soulmate is going to kiss her or not, or if they’ll get married. Maybe she doesn’t even want to get married. Regardless, she knows she wants to meet them. The little mark hidden out of sight on her ankle, and the knowledge that her soulmate is just…out there…feels almost like discovering a secret magic. What could be more mystifying than a person capable of understanding your soul as completely as if it were their own? Not too many people have someone who sees every part of you like that, Mom says. It’s one of the few things they seem to agree on.

Still, she’s glad her mark is somewhere she can easily hide it. Sometimes she looks down at it—white against her flushed skin—and wonders if the person destined for her like that is in the classroom with her, or if they’re at another school, sitting at some other desk. If they’ll love her and she’ll love them back in return.

Sometimes she wishes it was Barbara. That would make it all so easy, if her best friend was her soulmate. But they compared with each other last year at Sarah Thompson’s sleepover birthday party, and Barb’s soul mark was nothing like her own. The only girls who matched at that party were Sarah’s best friend, Julie, and another girl named Sophie. After that, Julie stopped hanging out with Sarah and traded her in for Sophie, so Nancy’s pretty sure Sarah really regretted suggesting the game.

A tap on her shoulder snaps her out of her head and sets her whirling around in her desk. It’s Jonathan Byers. Nancy frowns back at him, confused. Jonathan does not talk to her. When they were assigned desks so close together at the beginning of the school year, she had reluctantly taken the initiative of saying hello. It seemed rude not to, since she technically did know him. Jonathan was usually with his mom when she dropped his little brother off at Nancy’s house. But Jonathan never talked to her on those occasions, either.

For her efforts on the first day of school,  all she’d gotten was a muttered ‘hello’ that sounded more like a question then a greeting, plus a moment of him awkwardly blinking at her until class began.

Now, he holds out her pencil, the one with her best eraser topper on it, and says “you dropped this.”

Nancy blushes despite herself. She was so distracted thinking about soulmates that she hasn’t written down a single equation. Her elbow must have pushed the pencil completely off her desk.

Nancy takes it from him, and Jonathan does something he rarely does: smiles at her. He even says, “Happy birthday, Nancy,” and before she can ask how he knows that, he gestures towards the decorated bulletin board in the corner, which has the whole class’s birthdays written out on it on individual, brightly colored cardstock shaped into cupcakes.

She’s about to say thank you when she’s tapped again, this time from the front with the sharp edge of paper. It’s Sally in front of her, passing back the math worksheet. Mrs. Turner instructs them all to pair up, and Nancy settles for shooting Jonathan a grateful smile before craning her head around to catch Barbara’s eye, desperate to get her best friend's attention before Sally can ask her to be partners.

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1979

Jonathan Byers turns twelve three days after his father walks out on them for good. Lonnie doesn’t bother to call, let alone drop by, but to Jonathan that’s preferable. He only wishes Mom wasn’t so upset. He can tell that she’s trying for him. She finally came out of her room today. She even made him and Will breakfast, and afterwards started to bake him a cake, except she kept having to stop to wipe at her eyes.

Jonathan wants to tell her he’s having a much better birthday without Dad here. His best birthday in years, really. But he’s not sure it would make her feel any better, and he doesn’t want to risk it. The slightest thing could send her back to her room again, and then this birthday would be as bad as all the rest. Last year, his dad was roaring drunk all throughout his birthday dinner, and spent it yelling at Will. The year before that, Dad spent it yelling at him for being too much of a pussy to kill one, measly rabbit. Jonathan had cried for a week.

This morning, after eating Mom’s pancakes, he and Will went out to the woods to put the finishing touches on Castle Byers. Will painted a sign for it yesterday, and Jonathan helped him tack it to the fort’s outer branches. Then they’d dug some old blankets and pillows out of the linen closet and carried them out there to sit on.

Will hand-drew him a birthday card. It has a picture of the two of them standing proudly beside Castle Byers. Will’s stick figure has a little speech bubble by his head that says “Happy Birthday Jonathan!” in his shaky, little kid handwriting. Jonathan immediately tacked it onto the wall in his bedroom. It’s his favorite birthday gift he’s ever gotten.

xxx

The first time Jonathan held Will, after he’d gotten over his initial fear of dropping him long enough to check him over, he’d looked for Will’s soul mark, and found it just below his left collarbone. It was obvious right away that it was not a match for his own.

It felt crushing even though he knew it shouldn’t have. Jonathan was well aware that he shouldn’t’ve gotten his hopes up. Mom had told him, lots of time, that the chances of it were slim. It’s possible, she’d said, letting him touch her stomach to feel the baby kick, but it’s very unlikely, honey. For the six months prior, ever since she and his dad had sat him down and told him he was going to be a big brother, he’d clung on to the “possible” part and forgotten the rest of it.

Will was so small, cradled in Jonathan’s arms. Small and pink and fragile, so that it was easy to be afraid what might happen to him. But it was all going to be okay, because Will had Jonathan to protect him. He wasn’t ever going to let anything bad happen to him, whether they shared a mark or not.

Mom must’ve noticed he was pouting, though, because she came over then and scooped Will back out of his arms. Will kept his tiny hand wrapped around Jonathan’s finger, even as he was pulled away. It made Jonathan want to cry. “Oh sweetheart,” Mom sighed, watching his face. Jonathan shrugged at her, trying not to look too upset. He could feel tears prickling in the back of his eyes just the same, and was very glad Dad was still at work.

Mom cupped his face in the hand that wasn’t holding Will, and ran her thumb up and down his cheek. “You know how I don’t need to have your soul mark to know how much I love you?” she asked. He did know. Mom had explained it to him a few months before, when he asked her why she didn’t have a mark that looked like his, either. She waited for him to nod before continuing. “Well, brothers are like that, too. I love you, and Will loves you, and you love us back, right? We’re a family, Jonathan. All that mark of yours means is that one day, somebody else will get to see how great you are. And they’ll love you, too.” She touched a finger to the tip of his nose, and beamed down at him. Jonathan tried very hard to beam back.

He at least managed to nod again, to let her know he understood. He really didn’t though, because how could he ever love anyone more than them? Mom told him last time that it wasn’t about more or less, and that it wouldn’t be the same kind of love, but he didn’t quite know what she meant. How many different kinds were there?

He wished he didn’t have the mark on his hipbone. Mostly, he wished Mom would let him hold Will again.

That was the day he decided he didn’t need a soulmate, no matter how great they were or how much they loved him. Mom, and now his little brother—they were more than enough. 

xxx

Jonathan’s old enough now to know Mom was lying to him when she said all that stuff, anyway. She probably didn’t think she was at the time, but she definitely was. His mark doesn’t mean someone else is going to love him. It probably doesn’t mean anything at all.

He wishes Mom would stop crying. She had already retreated back into her room by the time he and Will came back in from outside, and when he knocked, she said she’d be out in a few, but she’s still in there. He can hear her through the door.

His mom has two soul marks, which is really rare.  It’s even rarer that she actually knows who both of them are. The first one matches with a friend she had growing up. That one's on her wrist, which is why she always wears her watch; Mom says they don’t really talk anymore, at least not like they used to. When his dad was still here, he was always yelling at her for bringing it up, even though Mom never did, it was always him.  Jonathan thinks he must be jealous, because Mom has two marks and only of them matches Lonnie’s.

That’s why Jonathan knows the soul marks are stupid. Not just stupid, but a lie. Mom always goes on and on about how much his soulmate is going to love him, but his parents don’t love each other. Lonnie is an asshole. All he ever did was make Mom miserable. Mom and Will. Jonathan is glad he left, and glad he didn’t call to wish him happy birthday, too. They are all better off without him.

He sits there, in the hallway outside his mother’s closed bedroom door, and thinks about that for a long time. Then he goes into the kitchen to finish his abandoned birthday cake. It’s sitting there in the pans, the two halves baked but not stacked together like a cake should be. Jonathan squints at the recipe and started pulling down the ingredients for the frosting. It will make Mom happy if she and Will can sing him happy birthday tonight.  

xxx

A few days later, when Mom is having a good day, Jonathan dares to ask her how Dad could be her soulmate. He doesn’t want to bring Lonnie up when she’s been up and out of her bedroom all afternoon, but he’s dying to know. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he turned twelve.

Mom just tells him it’s complicated.

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1980

“Why did you marry Dad if you knew you didn’t have the same soul mark?” Nancy asks. She’s sitting in the kitchen, dangling her feet from one of the stools, watching her mother knead dough.

Mom’s hands freeze. She looks up, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, aren’t you curious who your real soulmate is?” This has been her fall project, conducting interviews on the people around her for details about their soul marks. So far, she has listened to Mr. and Mrs. Feldstein, the next door neighbors, tell her, ad nauseum, how the stars aligned the day they met one another, gotten an “ew, that’s disgusting” and a door in the face from Mike for even daring to ask him, and unknowingly reduced Aunt Sarah to tears (it turned out that Aunt Sarah didn’t have a soul mark, but how was Nancy supposed to know it was such a sore spot?)

Mom continues to look at her, a frown on her face. Then after a moment she appears to reach some sort of conclusion, because she goes back to her kneading. “No, I don’t,” she says simply, eyes not leaving the dough, “I have your father.”

Nancy already harassed Dad into showing her his mark a few weeks ago. It was up by his elbow, and he’d reluctantly rolled up his shirt sleeves to show her, though not before remarking, “I haven’t thought about this thing in years.” 

Dad’s mark was completely different from her mom’s. Nancy has always known that her parent’s marks must be different, but it was still odd having the confirmation. She knows she shouldn’t press, and yet—well, she can’t help herself. “But you don’t love him. And the person who shares your mark, well, you might end up loving them more than you do Dad, so—”

“Nancy.” It’s a warning.

“—I just don’t see why’d you’d marry him!”

Mom drops the rolling pin again. It makes a loud thunk on the kitchen island. “I do love your father, thank you very much,” she says curtly. “And the soul marks, as I’ve told you a million times, do not get to determine who you love the most.” Her voice softens a little as she adds, “You choose that for yourself, Nance. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” It’s not really okay. Sometimes it’s like her parents don’t realize their kids can actually see how they behave to one another. Nancy sits through dinner after agonizing dinner of their snippy, short comments back and forth. Barb’s parents aren’t like that. Barb says they hardly ever fight. They like to go on weekend getaways, just the two of them. They’re always holding hands.

Nancy can’t remember her parents ever holding hands. Sometimes they don’t even seem to like one other. The biggest thing they have in common is how infuriatingly blasé the both of them are about their very-much-not-matching soul marks and their very-much-not-present soulmates.

She knows she shouldn’t push it, is the thing. Mom has already turned back to the baking. Still, Nancy can’t help but ask. She’s looking down at the mark on her own ankle again, and thinking that she’d like it to mean something. “But don’t you ever want to look for him?” she asks quietly. She keeps her eyes on her feet, and is surprised when her mom actually answers.

“Nancy, your dad and I—” but she seems to have run out of steam. Nancy risks looking up and sees that she’s stopped her rolling again, and is staring at the countertop with an strange, sad look on her face. It’s enough to make her feel a little bad for asking, but only a little bit. The desire to know wins out, as it always does. “I guess we just both got tired of looking.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1981

When Will first started wondering what his mark meant, it was Jonathan he came to with all his questions. What is it? Why doesn’t it match yours? What if I don’t want a soulmate? Will always had a lot of questions, and Jonathan made sure he always had the answers.

Tonight, though, Jonathan wishes he had never told Will the truth about the soul marks, because his brother is currently standing at his bedroom door, looking just about as miserable and small as Jonathan has ever seen him. Mom just brought him home from Mike’s.

Jonathan doesn’t need to guess what’s the matter; Will is rubbing at his t-shirt right at his collarbone, where Jonathan knows his mark lies beneath the material. Will and his friends are fifth graders. They’re exactly the age most kids are when they start comparing their marks, hoping theirs matches up with their best friend's, even though they don’t really know what that means.

Jonathan swallows. He ushers Will inside his room and tells him to close the door, even though Mom ran immediately to work after dropping off Will, so they’re the only two at home, anyway. It’s a habit. 

Will perches awkwardly on the edge of his bed, twiddling his thumbs and avoiding eye contact. Jonathan is very familiar with this. It means Will is trying not to cry. “What happened?” he asks as gently as possible. Truthfully, he is a little afraid to know.

What if Will’s mark does match with one of his friends? And what if Will knows exactly what that might mean? Jonathan is not equipped for this. He has thought about it ad nauseum, ever since Lonnie first called Will words Jonathan had to ask his mother the meaning of. He’d thought he’d have a few more years to figure out the right things to say.

But then Will says, “Mike doesn’t have any mark at all,” in a voice so dejected that Jonathan almost feels bad for being so immediately relieved.

“Oh?” he says, hoping it doesn’t show.

The thing is, kids are only ecstatic when their marks match up to one of their friends because they don’t know how it’s going to come back to bite them, later on. But Jonathan will be in high school next year; he knows exactly where it leads. Eventually having a best friend for a soulmate stops being something to envy and starts making you something of a target.

In his grade, it’s Julie Heimberg and Sophie Carhart, who found out they had matching marks in like, the third grade, and then went palling around bragging about it for at least a year afterwards. Then one day, somebody told Julie she had better try kissing Sophie to make sure their marks were platonic after all, and it caught on and on until someone swore they’d actually seen them making out beneath the school bleachers, and both of them were being called lesbians in the school hallways, and neither could be seen together for the next two and half months, until finally Sophie’s family up and moved to another town outside Indianapolis.

It almost makes Jonathan feel lucky to have never made any friends, or been to some sleepover where everyone confesses where their soul mark is once the lights go out. It means there’s no one who could go blabbing about his soul mark one way or another. With no evidence to pair him off with anyone specific, the others at school were forced to keep their accusations more general. By the end of last year, the consensus was that Jonathan didn’t have a soul mark, an accusation they’ve been hurling at him in passing ever since.

Jonathan never bothered to correct them. He might as well not have one, because he doesn’t plan to ever do anything with the one he’s got.

At some point he realizes Will is still sitting there, watching him with wide eyes and waiting for him to say something more, something comforting. Jonathan wracks his brain, trying to come up with words that will fit the bill. “You’re upset about that?” he says stupidly, not really meaning to. Of course Will’s upset, the expression on his face says that much and more.

“Mike’s upset about it,” Will corrects miserably. So he’s not even upset for himself, just Mike. Jonathan should have known—it’s so very Will. “The rest of his family all has them. Even his parents. Even Nancy.” He says her name with a level of disgust Jonathan didn’t think his little brother was capable of.

He raises an eyebrow.

Will throws up both his hands in defense. “Mike’s words not mine. He’s mad because she doesn’t dress up with us anymore. Also, last week she called DnD stupid.” He says the last bit with enough scorn to make calling DnD stupid sound like a capital offense. The corners of Jonathan’s lip quirk up in amusement, but he does his best to flatten them back, to match Will’s morose tone.

Nancy Wheeler is in his grade, and in a lot of the same classes, too. He’s barely spoken to her, except for that one time, ages ago now, when Mom stayed too long talking to Mrs. Wheeler even though they were supposed to just be dropping Will off. Nancy had been reading some book, but at her mother’s very unsubtle hints to come speak to him she’d dutifully marked her page and shuffled over to tell him about it. There was also the time she sat in front of him one year in elementary school. He’s pretty sure he picked up her dropped pencils for her a few times, but their interactions had never gone further.

Nancy is very smart, smarter than him. She raises her hand a lot in class, and asks a lot of questions, except hers are good questions, questions that make even their teachers stop and think, not the stupid questions other kids ask because they were too dumb to pay attention. She’s pretty, too, but Jonathan wouldn’t admit that out loud even if he was questioned on it at knifepoint.

He thinks: of course Nancy Wheeler has a soulmate. But that would be a really stupid thing to say, so Jonathan just says nothing.

Eventually, Will picks up where he left off. “Anyway, it’s not fair. Why do all of them get a soul mark but not Mike? He deserves a soulmate, a really good one. He—”

“Look, Will, you’ve got to stop worrying so much about soul marks, okay?” Jonathan interrupts, shaking his head, “They don’t mean anything. Think of Mom and Dad. Theirs match, and look at how that turned out. And it has nothing to do with who deserves it, because if that were true Lonnie wouldn’t have gotten one, would he?”

“Yeah, I guess. But Lucas’ parents have matching ones, too, and they’re like, super in love.”

Jonathan considers this. “I guess it works out sometimes, for some people,” he concedes. “But Lucas’ parents probably fell for each other for loads of other reasons before having the same mark. Then their marks just happened to line up. But that doesn’t happen for most people, all right? The universe gets it wrong more often as it gets it right.”

He can tell that Will is thinking hard on this. “But…with Mom, Dad isn’t her only mark. Maybe the second one will be better?”

“I doubt it,” Jonathan snorts. Will’s face falls. Shit. “Look, her other mark matches with some loser from high school who doesn’t even talk to her anymore, all right?” Mom has long refused to tell either of them who it is, but Lonnie spent years screaming at her about that bastard Jim Hopper, so Jonathan eventually got the picture. If Mom and the chief had ever been good friends, though, nothing they do now shows it. He doesn’t think the chief has even talked to Mom since he came back to Hawkins. He turns back to Will, who’s still frowning. “Mom’s better off without both of them, anyway. She has us.” He nudges his brother with his elbow until he gets a smile.

It doesn’t quite work, though, because Will still goes on to say, “Since Mike doesn’t have a mark, I wish I didn’t have one, either,” like he might still cry.

If his words aren’t enough, it only means Jonathan’s going to have to resort to the old standard to cheer his brother up. “Will, if you don't like your mark, you never have to do anything about it. I'm not going to do anything with mine, ever." He pauses to let that sink in. "Hey, do you want to listen to music? You can pick out anything you want.”

Will’s face predictably lights up. “Anything? Even the ones with bad words?”

“Absolutely.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1983

Nancy is laying in Steve Harrington’s bed in only her bra and underwear. She is sixteen, and no longer a virgin, which is what she has wanted for months. It doesn’t feel as good as she expected it to.

It has nothing to do with the sex. The sex wasn’t bad, not exactly. Or maybe it was. She doesn’t exactly have anything to compare to it to, does she? It was fine, all things considering. Steve was considerate. He went slow. And now that she’s done it once she’s certain it will be better the next time…or that’s what the other girls say.

She doesn’t know why she feels so bad, is the thing. Well, Barb is mad at her, so that probably isn’t helping. She shakes herself. Here she is, sitting mostly naked in the bed of a boy she’s been crushing on for the last six months, and she’s mostly upset that she can’t go home and call her best friend to tell her how it went.

Tomorrow morning, she decides, she’ll apologize to Barb first thing at their lockers. It was so stupid to drag her to Steve’s party in the first place, of course Barb was going to hate it. But Nancy’s not going to make that mistake a second time. Once they’re friends again, she can start trying to get Barb and Steve to hang out for real, not in the stupid house party kind of way. Then they’ll have to like each other eventually, because they both like her.

That decided, Nancy sits up and looks over at Steve’s head on the pillow beside her. As soon as it was over, he rolled over and feel immediately asleep, at a rate Nancy didn’t know was possible. Her own head’s been churning with endless thoughts ever since, and she can’t imagine sleeping. Also, she was supposed to be home two hours ago, and she is both very aware that she needs to leave and very unwilling to pull her clothes back on and start the trek home.

Barb drove them here, and Barb left hours ago, which means she’s on her own getting back. At the time, she’d just assumed Steve would take her, no problem, but now she’s not so certain. He seems pretty…indisposed. Nancy wonders if he always passes out like this, after he’s been with a girl. She tries very hard not to think about that.

Reluctantly, she pulls herself together enough to sit up all the way, properly, and pull his hoodie over her head. “Steve?” She nudges him a little, but Steve just mumbles something and rolls over. So he definitely won’t be taking her home, then. Nancy sighs. She looks around until she’s found her pants, then pulls those on too. They’re still damp, which is just the perfect way to top off the evening.

She finds her shoes in the hallway, socks bunched into the toes of each one, and stops on the steps to pull them on. Tugging her left sock over her ankle, Nancy’s hand traces, for just a moment, over her soul mark.

She saw Steve’s mark for the first time just an hour or so ago. It was on his left thigh, and it unequivocally did not match hers. Nancy hates that she was even thinking about it, in the middle of sex—her first time, no less.

She hates even more that she’d actually said something about it. Paused—in the middle of her very first time having sex—to inform the boy she was having sex with that he was not, in fact, her soulmate. God, it was pathetic. “Our marks don’t match,” she’d said ridiculously, pulling away from his lips. It was almost against her will that she’d said it. She couldn’t stop herself, the words just tumbled out. Totally ruining whatever mood had been set.

Steve stared down her blankly for a few seconds before his face took on that look, the one that meant he thought she’d gone a bit delusional. “So?”

Maybe Nancy had gone a little delusional. Of course Steve hadn’t expected them to be soulmates. Why would he? For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t even really thought they’d be soulmates! And she wasn’t supposed to care one way or another, besides. She'd sworn that off years ago. Nancy doesn’t care.

Her mom had been right about least one thing: the marks don’t mean anything. Nancy figures a hell of a lot of people end up soulless and miserable whether they have one or not. “Nothing, forget it.” Humiliated, she’d tried to go back to kissing him, but it was a bit tarnished after that.

She’s been up thinking about how they aren’t soulmates, ever since. She wonders, miserably, if Steve will even call her after this. She’s bothered less by the idea of not doing this with him again any time soon than by the thought of her being a kind of failure at it. Nancy hates missing the mark. She stands and takes the last few steps two at a time, not bothering to look back to see if Steve is following her. She knows he isn’t.

Does Steve know who his soulmate is? He can’t, not with how dismissive he acted, or if he does, he can’t possibly care much about her. She’s not sure why that doesn’t make her feel any better.

Tommy and Carol are in the living room, pulling on coats. Nancy thinks about asking them for a ride up until Tommy takes one look at her and starts wolf-whistling. She reaches past him for the door.

The Wheeler house is not anywhere near Steve’s, but Nancy has plenty of thoughts to occupy her time on the way there. Besides, she's already late. Her mom’s going to be mad at her regardless of whether she’s home in five minutes or twenty five.

She decides she’ll just walk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1983

Will goes missing, and it’s like the earth itself freezes on its axis. How could he be gone? It doesn’t make sense, or perhaps it makes too much sense. Didn’t Jonathan know, from the day he first held Will in his arms, that he was a fragile, precious thing? Didn’t all the fragile, precious things get taken away, one way or another?

Afterwards his mom disappears too, in her own horrible, too-familiar way. All as the world holds still—suspended in one stretched out, terrible moment.

Then Barbara Holland goes missing, too, and Nancy Wheeler—with her searching eyes and fierce determination—finds him at a funeral home and starts the whole thing spinning again.

xxx

“I suppose my parents were in love, once,” he tells her out in the woods, as they shoot his father’s bullets at a row of pop cans. “I just wasn’t around for that part.” He’s never talked about his parents with anyone outside of Will, so it feels a bit weird, telling Nancy. Then again, people do weird things at the end of the world.

Nancy tells him about her parents too. How they’ve never loved one another, how they’re only together for the convenience of it. Then she shoots the can clean off the pedestal on her first try.

Later—after arguing and investigating and a truly terrifying few moments where Nancy seems gone for good, too—she asks him about the soul marks. They are lying side by side on her bedsheets with the gun tucked between them, just in case. She is facing away from him, but he still hears her when she whispers, “Do your parents have soul marks?”

“Huh?”

“Earlier. You said your parents were in love, once. But clearly it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, because my dad’s a raging—”           

“Asshole,” Nancy supplies for him. She shuffles around to look at him. “I remember that, too. I mean, the thing about the bunny.”  Her gaze is strangely penetrating, even through the darkness.

Jonathan blinks. They spent tonight narrowly escaping from some demonic, faceless thing in the woods, and “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“It’s what I’m thinking about to stop thinking about the other thing. But if you don’t want to tell me—” She begins to turn away from him. All Jonathan knows is that he doesn’t want her to.

“No—sorry,” he says quickly, and Nancy pauses. “Um. Yeah. They have the same mark. Why?”  

The silence and darkness stretch on until finally, she speaks. Her voice is still barely at a whisper. “My parents have different marks,” she admits. Given what she told him earlier, it’s hardly surprising information. Jonathan can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s bothered by it. “They never even tried to find their real soulmates. So I thought…” she peters off.

“Thought what?” He thinks of the mark on his hipbone, jagged and stark against his skin.

“I thought I could be different. If I put in the effort to find the person who matches with me, it would be different for us. But if your parents—Well, apparently that doesn’t mean anything, does it? I could still end up with an asshole, and never get out of this stupid town, and,” She stops, and Jonathan waits. “I don’t want to turn out like them.”

He isn’t sure if she’s talking about his parents or hers. “You won’t”

Nancy snorts, but it sounds more like a half-choked sob. “That’s not what you said earlier. I thought I was just another suburban girl to you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind.”

“What, in all of the four hours you’ve spent with me?”

“Yes. But it took the entire time. I’ve only just decided it now.”

He is watching her closely, and spots it when the corners of her mouth quirk into the barest of smiles. It feels like a small victory.    

“Do you have a mark?” she asks softly.

“I don’t believe in the marks like you do.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

It makes him angry for reasons he can't explain. It's makes him, not for the first time, want to burn the mark off of his skin. Jonathan doesn’t want to be talking about this anymore. It’s only Will he should be thinking about right now, not stupid soul marks. “No, I don’t,” he says, more harshly than intended.

For a long time after—even though it’s all but forgotten by morning, when Nancy determinedly tells him her theory on sharks and the soul marks once again become an inconsequential thing in the face of bigger problems—Jonathan wishes he had never said the next part. Still, his mouth acts of its own accord. “I thought Nancy Wheeler would have heard that around school by now.”

Nancy bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Well, fine. Something. Just that you seem to be really chummy with the people who started that rumor.”

“If you’re talking about Tommy and Carol,” Nancy starts, voice pitched, “Neither one of them are my friends, they’re—”

“Steve’s friends. Yeah, I got it. Isn’t Steve your boyfriend?” he says sarcastically. He wants to tell his mouth to stop talking, but his brain isn’t of much use at the moment.

“I’m not sure what Steve and I are,” Nancy says fiercely. “Not that it’s any of your business. What does it matter to you, anyway?”

“Trust me, it doesn’t.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Nancy rolls over and doesn’t say another word.       

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The truth is, Jonathan is not at all who she expected he’d be. Everyone at school has always talked about him as if he were of a different species: Jonathan Byers, the weirdo loner freak. She always knew that was a stupid generalization, strictly speaking. Jonathan picked up Will from her house all the time, and he’d always seemed normal enough; polite to her mom, joking around with their brothers’ friends, yelling at Will to button up his coat in the winter. She and him have never really talked before though, not at home and certainly never at school. Not like this. Not until now.

Nancy likes him. Jonathan, she has found, is surprisingly easy to talk to once you’ve convinced him it’s okay to speak back. He’s really smart, and funny in a dry, sarcastic way she didn’t expect. Plus, as evidenced by the fact that he’s currently driving her into town so they can buy additional bullets for his father’s handgun, he’s up for anything if there’s even a small chance of success, no matter how risky it might be. Jonathan’s every bit as determined to find Will as she is to find Barb. So while everything about them suggests they shouldn’t fit—the loner, loser kid with her, Nancy Wheeler—they undeniably click. They make a good team.

After tossing ideas back and forth for two hours, they finally came up with a tentative, tangible plan to test their theory about that creature. The goal isn’t just to find their missing friend and brother but to find the thing that took them and kill it once and for all. Nancy thinks it’s a good plan—attract the monster with blood, lead it into a trap, kill it with flames. It's crazy enough that it just might work.

It can never be that easy, though. Things go south when they’re loading the necessities for the execution of said plan into Jonathan’s trunk. After that, her life dissolves into cat calls aimed at her from the passenger seat of a passing Buick, and sloppy spray paint on the movie theater marquee, and slapping her kind-of boyfriend in the face as his horrible friends looked on and jeered. It somehow manages to get worse when Steve rounds on Jonathan instead, and then suddenly the two of them are brawling in the alley and Jonathan is hitting Steve again and again without letting up.

It stopped being about Steve after the first punch. Nancy can see it in his eyes afterwards, when they’re sitting at the police station and Nancy is pressing a bag of ice from the station's receptionist against Jonathan’s busted eye. He’s somehow managed to curl up into someone small even while wearing handcuffs. There is tension in his shoulders, hunched in on himself, and something like shame in his eyes. It’s a far cry from the fury on his face as he’d pulled back his fist, like all the anger he had built up over many years had culminated in those seconds rolling around on the concrete with Steve Harrington.  

Nancy holds the bag of ice to his face and studies him like she’s going to be quizzed later on the notch in his nose and the crease around his eyes. She wishes they’d been able to test their theory before one of them got arrested.

Steve, and what he’s done, comes mostly an afterthought. She doesn’t think about him at all until they’ve told everything to Chief Hopper and Jonathan’s mom, and witnessed the military surrounding her house, and are being driven back to the Byers’ in the back of the police van to try reaching Mike via walkie. They hadn’t even driven past the movie theater on their route out of town, but still, even with a million much more pressing issues to worry her, including what her little brother has gotten himself into this time, Nancy’s mind drifts back to Steve’s addition to the marquee: Nancy “the slut” Wheeler.

Was that really what he thinks of her?

She’s knows she’s been distant lately. And she gets why that probably looks bad, from his perspective, to sleep with him and then go AWOL. He doesn’t know about their plan to kill a monster, or even that there are monsters in need of killing. But before she can feel too sorry for him, Nancy corrects herself; Steve does know about Barb. And he hasn’t exactly been supportive.

The day after the party at his house, they’d had a big fight at school. First he’d confronted her about acting strangely all day; “Look you’re not still upset about our soul marks not matching or whatever, are you Nance? Because, I’ll be honest, that’s completely stupid if you are. I thought you didn’t care about shit like that.”

Nancy was furious. The nerve, to think she was acting strange because of those stupid marks! She’d gone through with it, hadn’t she? She’d given him exactly what he was asking for and now he was being a complete and total tool about it.

She wanted to tell him that wasn’t it at all. She wanted to snap at him that she didn’t exactly appreciate being left to beg a ride off Tommy H., or how he’d barely said anything at all when his asshole friends were replicating her moaning in the middle of the cafeteria.

She’d told him about Barb, and Steve hadn’t cared about anything except his dad figuring out he’d thrown a stupid party and drank an underage beer. And now he was parading around town with his friends, branding her a slut. And what he’d said to Jonathan, the sneer on his face when he’d brought up Will and Joyce….

“Are you all right?”

Nancy startles. Jonathan has leaned across the backseat to whisper to her. He must have seen her, face red with rage and unshed tears, determinedly staring out the window trying to get him not to see her. Up front Joyce and Hopper, debating what to do once they find the kids, don’t appear to notice.

Normally this is when Nancy would lie. Yes, I’m fine, is already on the edge of her lips, where it comes, as ever, so easily to her. But something about Jonathan and his quiet, reassuring presence makes her want to tell the truth. “No,” she admits softly back.

“Me neither.” He slumps back over to his seat, then shoots her a small, companionable smile.

She does her best to return it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a while it seems like they won’t have the chance to execute their plan. But then she's sitting at the side of a kiddie pool watching a child in her old pink dress with the peter pan collar tell them things that can't be seen. Then, Barb is dead, and Will is still alive. Then, Jonathan’s mom and Chief Jim Hopper are going into that otherworld to try and find him. And suddenly it’s the only thing left to do.

So they do it, no hesitation.

They slice into their palms with their fingers just barely touching. The blood comes to the surface so easily, and Nancy doesn’t watch her own blood as it flows over her pale palm, but Jonathan’s. Deep red, welling up from the jagged mark he just carved into his skin. She’s horrified, mesmerized. Transfixed.

He comes to his senses before she does. “Do you have the bandages?”

His fingers are incredibly gentle as he maneuvers the gauze to cover her wound. Once he’s finished, he traces his forefinger down the bandage in the line of the cut and says, “It’s going to scar.” He says this apologetically, like it’s his own fault she took the knife to her skin and pressed down. Jonathan says a lot of things like they’re his fault.

Nancy grabs the roll of gauze and his wrist, tugging his own bloody palm towards her. He doesn’t even flinch when she dabs antiseptic over it, clearing away the blood. “We’ll match,” she answers without thinking. Then she smiles a little at the implications of that. “It’ll be like we’re monster-fighting soulmates. With the marks to prove it.”

Only after she’s said it does she realize how it might sound. Like she’s coming onto him. Flirting. Is she flirting? The thought of them having matching soul marks doesn’t bother her at all, even though it probably should. Even though they’re strictly a monster hunting team. She half-wonders if that will change once this is all over, if maybe they can turn being partners into being friends. She would like that very much, she thinks.

Right. Over. They have to end this thing still, and certainly before she can think about completely ridiculously things like whether or not she wants to be flirting with Jonathan Byers. Reluctantly, she lets go of his hand. The monster could be here at any moment.

He looks at her and nods, resolute. “Let’s do this.”