The tired trope of one’s soulmate written somewhere on their body, the handwriting unique and from the match’s own hand. Sometimes it doesn’t appear right away. There are those who age into their twenties, thirties, forties before it appears. Sometimes there are multiple names that appear for poly folks. Sometimes they don’t appear at all for those who aren’t romantically and/or sexually inclined. But for most, names show up around mid-teens to early twenties.
Satya’s appears at seventeen when she is studying in Vishkar’s academy. It is on her left shoulder, printed in chicken scratch capitals: JAMiSON. It’s a very English name, Anglican, certainly something none of her peers would be called, and she hasn’t the faintest who might have such a name. The day it appears, she puzzles over it long into the night only to suffer the following morning in her early classes. In her spare time in the following months, she researches the etymology of the name and pores through companies and people who bear it. It has become a part of her without her consent, and she feels that in order to be prepared, she must discover as much about it as she can. Despite her efforts, nothing feels familiar or gives the so-called “heart skip” her friends describe, and so she is left wondering.
Jamison’s appears when he is fifteen. Orphaned, he’s hidden himself in the less savoury parts of Junkertown and scavenges to keep himself fed. It’s difficult, more than difficult, but he manages well enough, even if it means going a day or two without meals. Almost half of his right arm is missing from a particularly brutal encounter with the big bosses, supplemented by a very bare bones prosthesis one of the kinder mecha pilots had put together for him. On the side of his right thigh reads Satya in a flowing, elegant script. He doesn’t know who Satya is or where they might be from, but knowing they exist somewhere in the world makes the nights easier to endure, and he takes solace in the fact that he is no longer alone.
Overwatch is where their paths finally cross, just over a decade later. Satya is “lent” from Vishkar, and the pair of junkers are travelling mercenaries for hire. They are introduced to one another by their monikers, Junkrat and Symmetra, and neither is fond of the other upon first meeting: Satya finds him too coarse, and Jamison is too wary of her position within a powerful corporation. Their interactions are brief, encompassing stiff and cordial hellos and occasionally talk centered around missions at hand, and that is the extent of their communication—
That is, until one very late night post-mission under the dim lights of the workshop. Jamison is wide awake, half dressed, concentrating on wiring together a new set of stock to keep his mind from dwelling on the past. Satya is still composing herself after combat and lets the comforting familiarity of work and routine guide her away from the cacophony that lingers at the back of her mind. The room is silent except for their respective movements, the sounds of sketching and gathering parts, and despite their disagreements and differing views, their tentative agreement to remain cordial and professional staves off the awkward tension—there is no grasping for small talk or incessant bickering; just two sleepless individuals finding comfort in their crafts.
Eventually, Satya sees her name splayed across his right thigh. His prosthesis is resting a foot or two away on the floor (its crude structure must be too uncomfortable for floor work, or so she assumes), and the fabric of the shorts he wears is half shimmied up his leg. There is no mistake: Satya is written in her handwriting across pale skin, the white lightning of a scar crackling between the letters. It jolts a surge of shock through her nerves, and she finds herself gripping onto the table to keep herself steady.
After all these years of researching and wondering and travelling across the world, thisis the person she is destined to be beside? This man is Jamison? It’s this man whose writing is scrawled over her shoulder? No, surely not. It can’t be. But that is her handwriting. There’s no doubt about it.
“Junkrat,” says Satya, keeping her eyes very focused on the set of blueprints before her.
“Yeah?” The scuffling sound of him reaching across for another tool or piece of his inventory comes from across the room.
Tentatively, she lets her gaze sweep over to him. “When exactly did you get your mark?”
“Mark?” His eyebrows pinch together in thought, bewildered, but when he follows her eyes to the strip of black letters on his thigh, he taps his hand over the casing he’s stuffing with explosives and breathes a loud, “Oh.”
“That long ago?” asks Satya, somewhat amused. “I imagined everyone remembered when their mark appeared.”
Junkrat shakes his head and bites down on a coil of wire to free his fingers. “Nah, s’not like that,” he mutters through the metal. “Was a good while back. Not too long. Probably… I dunno. Eight years? Maybe. Something like that. Memory’s not the best, but I remember that night. Remember it crystal clear. Just been so long you sorta forget about it sometimes, y’know? Nobody ever showed, so s’not like I got some breathing reminder of it near me all the time. Right, just got a bunch of letters down where the rest of me leg used to be. Reckon that’s as good a reminder as any, but…” He shrugs, tugging the coil out of his mouth and guiding a pair of clippers to snap off a piece. “Eh. I ain’t worried.”
She absently traces the knuckles of her prosthetic hand. It gives her something to focus on. “I assume you never found the owner of the name,” she says.
“You’d assume right.” Arching a brow, he glances over to her. “What about you, then?”
“Me?” Satya supposes she should have expected the question. That is where the natural progression of the conversation was headed, wasn’t it? “It’s been almost eleven years. I never found the person it belongs to, either. I searched when I was younger, of course. Curiosity. But my efforts were fruitless. It was strange seeing my peers discover their significant others during the academy or in their first few years of employment at Vishkar. At the time, it felt like I was missing something important.” She lifts her right hand and settles it on the metal that covers her shoulder. Beneath, the letters seem to burn. “I think I might understand now.”
Jamison offers a terribly puzzled look. “What? What’s that mean? You find ‘em or something?”
Her heartbeat becomes a drumming in her chest. It hammers by her lungs and she can feel it swell with every swallow. The spacious workshop room now seems too cluttered, too close, too narrow, and she takes a steeling breath to calm herself. Her eyes keep drifting to the script across the side of his thigh, and she can imagine penning each curve of every letter.
“Yes,” she says.
Slowly, Satya begins to undo the latches by her shoulder that keep her prosthesis in place.
As much as I HATE part 3′s canon, I still like to imagine that even in the timeline where part 3 is canon, Doc and Marty remain close friends and their respective kids have a relationship of “we consider each other cousins because our parents are best friends.”
My explanation was I woke up this morning thinking about Marty jr. teaching Jules and Verne vine quotes, baffling literally every adult.
So there’s a paper on rhinoceros electromagnetism (the context being tracking implants) and it somehow got away with publishing this fucking diagram, and I’m losing it:
(if you don’t see it: that’s a Tyrannosaurusskull)
Yes it is. That they went through the trouble of changing the teeth to be rhino-like, but didn’t touch the rest of it, makes this even more perplexing.
When I saw this image on Twitter I assumed someone made it as a joke to rile up anatomy nerds. But uh, here it is, Fig. 2, in a peer-reviewed study in PLOS One. Also there are no scapulas and the spine is a horror show. For starters. Perhaps it’s an extra-deep level of trolling.
What. Is this Nonsense. *unintelligible sputtering*
[image: Mereoleona from Black Clover, with a fancy tank top that shows her very large arm muscles, wearing fingerless gloves and a “Let’s Fight” expression on her face against a stylized fiery background]
Sooooooo, have you seen the last promo of 2x11?!!!?? My Clace feelings are rising again after being in lethargy… Anyway I need to talk about what I think:
FIRST: did really Clary&Simon had sex?! I really hope not. Because I’m an huge fan of the book, and ok changing something but this is too much important to me. That Jace has to be the first. Yes you all people I am a n n o y i n g.
I hope they didn’t actually. I just hope that Simon falls asleep as in the book. If you didn’t read the book then stop reading thanks.
And I have these feelings that the person behind the door is actually Simon and not Jace. For an important fact: Jace want Clary with all himself. So he’ll get the girl. Instead Simon likely to be pissed off and grumpy in the room. It’s similar in the book, because she doesn’t want to lose Simon and she says he loves him, but he refuses her! Because he truly understand that she actually love and belongs to Jace.
for the record I’m still not over the fact that my dyslexia made me read “"Karrde” aka “card” but with two Rs and an E as “Karrade” like “kuh-raid” so for literal fucking years I did not catch the fact that this fucker named his ship the “Wild Card” because I thought it said “Wild Karrade” and I was like okay that’s a weird name for a ship, but whatever.
