AUTHOR'S NOTE: I truly enjoyed the 2016 film, and on one hand it made sense to have a "sequel" as we all know the story of Tarzan. But at the same time, I wanted to see specifically these interpretations of the characters before the 2016 movie opened.

We know how everything went down in the jungle, but how did Alexander Skarsgard's Tarzan/John first take to England? How exactly did he adjust so completely to the point he is almost unrecognizable at the start of this film to the wild Tarzan we know?

And what about Margot Robbie's Jane? She was wonderfully enthusiastic and bold and vivacious, but how did her personality fit in the extremely restrained Victorian society? What was her childhood in America and youth in Africa like, let alone her life in the far more restrained England as an adult? The "stereotype" of Americans being exuberant was definitely a large part of this interpretation of Jane, but even in the US in this time period, she would have been the black sheep of proper society.

The title of the fic itself and the series is from "I Was Made For Loving You" by Tori Kelly and Ed Sheeran, which is the most perfect song of all time for soulmate AUs. Just saying.

A dangerous plan, just this time

A stranger's hand clutched in mine

The name on her wrist is John Clayton III.

But Jane is American, and knows nothing of the heir to the Greystoke estate all the way in England. And besides, the Claytons were reported as being lost at sea. By the time she is old enough to learn what soulmates are, the Earl and Countess Greystoke have been missing for years, and papers only briefly reported that Alice Clayton was with child when they first boarded their ship. Yet the letters on Jane's wrist are silver, which means her soulmate is still alive; she is informed that it will turn gold when she meets the person destined for her, but black means the person is dead.

The name stays silver.

Jane thinks about who her soulmate could be, what he looks like, how his voice will sound, and if he will enjoy words and language as greatly as she does. But she also thinks of how often she is told to be quiet, why proper ladies don't run and shout, hears details of how she is different, and exactly why she stands out from others. So when her father gets an offer to teach English in the Congo, she begs him to take her to Africa.

Boma could not be more different than Baltimore. Hesitating to interact with the native children does not even cross her mind. It might be taboo in the States for the pale ten-year-old girl to play with a dark-skinned boy even after the Civil War. But here, she and Wasimbu become fast friends when he beats her in a game of soccer; instead of crying, she challenges him to another match, soundly defeating him in return. After that day, they are inseparable.

But when she is fifteen and wrestling Wasimbu into the dirt, shrieking with full-throated laughter, her father calls her to him and announces that they will be returning to America. Archimedes says that her aunt had written and told him that her niece needed to be out in society soon. According to Cora, Jane needed to be among proper people and not blacks, wear corsets and shoes at all times, and live in civilization.

Wasimbu finds Jane crying in a tree.

He sits beside her on the thick branch as she wipes at her face with the back of her grubby hand, dirt stains on her dress and dust on her hem. "It is not fair," she says in the Bantu language, the words falling easily from her lips.

"Nothing in life is." His legs swing from the branch they are perched on. "I have heard life in America is better."

"It is not!" she protests. "They expect me to be a china doll that is to be looked at, not heard or listened to. I will be trapped there, Wasimbu."

He looks back at the village. "Perhaps you can come back and teach English here yourself."

"It is not proper for a lady to work here alone," Jane replies dryly, rolling her eyes.

He raises an eyebrow. "But you will not be alone. You will have us."

"Yes, but society does not see it that way." When he falls silent, she nudges him with her shoulder. "I think differently."

The corner of his mouth turns up. "Good."

They watch the sunset begin, clouds tinted pink against the endless blue sky, and she glances at the name on his wrist. The letters are gold, as they have always been as long as she's known him; he met his soulmate before she came to the Congo, in a girl from the village more beautiful than Jane could ever hope to be. She looks down at her own mark, the name silver against her own skin, and looks over her shoulder at a strange sound from the endless jungle behind them.

But Wasimbu is climbing down the tree, and she follows suit as the pastel hues in the sky turn to vibrant colors. When her bare feet hit the ground, she reaches for his arm.

"I will do everything I can to come back," she says sincerely, but the faint smile he gives her doesn't reach his eyes. "This is my home, and I will return to it."

If I can hangs in the air between them.

"Africa will miss you," he says after a moment.

"I will miss Africa," she replies, throat closing up, "but not as much as I will miss you."

She throws her arms around him, pushing thoughts of propriety out of her mind, and he returns the embrace as she whispers, "You are such a good friend."

"As are you," he says into her hair, and they step apart. "We should go back to the village."

"We should," she sighs, and when he playfully shoves her with his shoulder, she shoves him right back.

As she sails with her father down the Congo River, she stands on the steamboat's deck to preserve every last image of Africa to her memory.

A ship takes them up the west coast of the country to Europe, stopping in Spain and southern France before making port in England, and she's not used to the hustle and bustle of city life after so many years away. They spend a night in Plymouth, and as she listens to the sounds of carriages at night on the street below the window of the inn, she longs for Boma.

The trip to America is long, but it gives her time to mend her dresses that can be salvaged. She had gone shopping in Spain for a few new dresses so she would be presentable when she arrived in the country of her birth, but her father did not have quite enough money for an entirely new trousseau. And it takes her longer than she thought to adjust to wearing corsets again, even as loosely as she ties them.

Her aunt Cora greets them warmly when they finally make it to Baltimore, but when her niece reaches for her trunk, Cora waves a gloved hand. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear. I have a man to take care of that."

"I can do it myself," Jane protests, and her aunt's smile tightens.

"My, aren't you tan?" Cora says, lifting the fifteen-year-old's chin. "You are almost as dark as–" She pauses. "Well."

"You must tell us all the news we've missed," Archimedes interjects, and his sister's face lights up as they walk to the carriage.

"You remember Emmeline? She married a baron in England! The wedding was the talk of the summer, and rumor is she is already with child. She's doing exquisitely in life, I dare say."

"Just for getting married and pregnant?" Jane says bluntly, and her aunt actually gasps.

"Jane!"

"If that is all she has done with her life, I would not call that exquisite."

Cora's gaze hardens. "I see you let your daughter run wild in forests, Archimedes."

"The jungle, actually," Jane replies, and gets into the carriage without another word.

She remembers as a child she liked her aunt well enough, but now all she feels for Cora is extreme irritation.

The older woman is determined that her niece be the perfect example of a lady, even if Jane is the daughter of only a professor. Cora herself had managed to marry a wealthy man, the bland but rich Elias, and she is determined that Jane will do the same. The fifteen-year-old's days are filled with endless etiquette lessons on how to be a gracious hostess, which books are appropriate for ladies, and what the language of fans entails. Jane's hair is pulled into painful and elaborate chignons that give her daily migraines, expedited by her corsets being laced so tightly she can hardly breathe, and the skirts of her gowns are impossibly heavy. She will never again judge other women for fainting and swooning again.

The only thing her aunt praises her for is her impeccable grammar, but even her accent, according to Cora, must be improved. Everything else about Jane is criticized, from her posture to her skin tone not paling quickly enough; in an attempt to lighten her complexion, she is trapped inside her aunt and uncle's estate for the entire summer except for church. But when Jane does attend services, she begs God to get her out of this life and back to Africa.

The day of her debutante ball arrives, and Jane is surprisingly nervous; she has been away so long it is as if she is making a first impression with Maryland society all over again. But her aunt had put an enormous amount of time, money and effort into making her niece into a lady. Despite everything, Jane doesn't want to embarrass Cora when all her aunt wanted, in her own way, was to help.

The debutante ball is not for Jane alone, but it starts to feel as though it has been arranged just for her as the night goes on. Everyone in attendance knows the other girls, but they can hardly remember Jane, and if they do, it was when she was a scrawny, awkward ten-year-old. Now she is sixteen and has grown into her body, and the men in the room take notice. Jane doesn't appreciate being looked at like she is a piece of meat, but she smiles and make light conversation and dances with everyone who asks. Though her feet hurt, she tries to be pleasant for her aunt's sake.

But she is catching her breath outside in the gardens when she hears footsteps behind her. She turns to see Edward Carlisle in his pristine evening suit, and expects him to comment on the chill of the evening air or the number of people at the ball.

"Did any of the Africans propose to you?"

"No," she admits.

"Good. Those ugly monkeys should not be even looking at a proper white lady like you."

She lifts her chin. "I never said I would have turned any of them down if they had asked. They are my friends, Mr. Carlisle. They are not monkeys."

"Friends?" he scoffs. "They cannot be your friends. They are put on this earth to work for us."

"I beg to differ. They are people like you and I." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Is there something you want?"

"Want is an interesting word, is it not?" Edward takes a step closer to her. "You seem like the perfect balance of outward respectability and inward, shall we say… wildness? I like your fire, Jane–"

"Miss Porter." She normally doesn't care for excessive formality, but she doesn't even want her first name to fall from the lips of someone like him.

"Well, Miss Porter, you seem like the type to be a perfect housewife during the day. Something to pretty a sitting room very well, I dare say. But during the night…"

Her skin crawls. "That is hardly an appropriate turn of phrase, Mr. Carlisle."

"Let me make it appropriate, then," he says, but the innocence of his words are marred by the leer in his smile. Jane sees Cora passing the door leading to the gardens, and sends her aunt a pleading look for help.

And then Edward gets down on one knee.

"Marry me, Jane."

He reaches for her hand, but she pulls it out of his grasp.

"I am afraid my answer is no." She offers what she hopes is a polite smile, though she would love nothing more than to punch his teeth in. "Goodbye, Mr. Carlisle."

She starts to walk past him back to the ballroom, but he stands and grabs her arm. "I will not take no for an answer."

"I am afraid it is the only answer you will receive from me." She tries to jerk her arm away, but his fingers dig into her skin. "Unhand me."

"I must have you."

"No, you do not." She raises her voice. "Release me!"

"Not until you say yes."

"That is not your decision!"

"Is it?" he says, grabbing her other arm so hard it hurts, and then he is kissing her and pinning her arms to her sides and he's shoving her back and her spine hits a wall-

She knees him as hard as she can between the legs.

He lets go of her to fall to his knees, but it only is his cry, not her earlier raised tone, that sends people running. Cora stares at her niece in horror as the other guests rush to help Edward up, but no one shows an ounce of sympathy to Jane.

"She kicked me!" he exclaims as dramatically as if she had shot him and he was bleeding to death in front of everyone. "And she bit me, too, like an animal!"

"That is a falsehood!" she protests. "I did no such thing! He was trying to–"

"You can take the lady out of Africa," Edward interrupts with a leer, "but you cannot take Africa out of the lady, can you?"

She slaps him across the face and storms out of the gardens.

Cora's face is lined as they sit together in the parlor that evening.

"No one will want to be seen with her after this."

"Perhaps after some time has passed…" Elias suggests, but his wife shakes her head.

"Her reputation is practically ruined."

"I was defending myself!" Jane retorts, but quiets at her father's gentle hand on her elbow.

"Archimedes, you said you received another offer to teach in Boma," Cora continues, and Jane's heart leaps into her throat. "It might be wise to take Jane with you once more." Her aunt sighs. "I do not know if any man on earth will marry her after tonight."

She had dreamed of returning to Africa every day in Baltimore, but her imaginings were nothing compared to the reality of going back to the Congo. The raw intensity of the emotions that well up inside her when she sees the village again takes her by surprise, but here she doesn't have to hide her feelings. She throws herself at Wasimbu when he runs to greet her, and she doesn't give a fig when he lifts her off her feet as they embrace.

Now that she is sixteen, her father lets her help him more in his work. She sometimes even gets to take over the youngest children's lessons, writing letters on the chalkboard her father had brought from America, and praising her students when they understand a few English words strung together. There is chalk on her hands and dust on the hems of her simple dresses, and she can feel in her bones that she meant to be here in the heart of Africa.

She takes the children into the edge of the jungle a few days before her eighteenth birthday. They laugh as they run off into the bushes, and before she leans against a tree, she wipes at her forehead with a handkerchief. It is over a hundred degrees even in the shade, and sweat is starting to dampen the back of her dress. But as she closes her eyes and counts out loud, she feels her handkerchief being pulled out of her hand. Pausing briefly, she assumes one of the children had taken it, and resumes counting.

But then she hears rustling and footsteps that are too heavy to belong to any of the children, and she turns.

"Hello?"

There is no reply.

"That handkerchief belongs to me," she finds herself calling as she scans the trees. "Stealing is not a proper thing to do where I come from!"

Neither is wandering around alone a jungle for a petty thief, she thinks, but keeps walking. "I know that you–"

There are eyes watching her.

They are not golden like a leopard or bright like a python, but blue and shaped like a human's; the glimpses she can see of the person's skin through the leaves is certainly tan, but nowhere near as dark as the natives' skin.

She was not aware of any other whites in the area.

"You can have it if only you had asked for it," she says, but the thief doesn't reply. "I have others."

Then the leaves rustle, and a man walks out into the open.

The first thing she notices is he is naked as can be, and she looks away. The people in the village don't wear much due to the heat, but she's never been around a man without a single stitch of clothing on. She averts her gaze to his face, taking in the grime on his skin and his long hair matted as if he had never combed it a day in his life. But his eyes are a startling blue, with an intensity that roots her to the spot.

He reaches out a hand to her, fingers bent and dark with dirt, but does not touch her. She doesn't know what to do when he leans in to smell her golden hair, and when he takes another step towards her, she realizes just how tall he is.

"This is not very… appropriate," she finds herself saying. "My father, Archimedes Porter, who is a highly respected professor, would not approve of this."

But the man does not react to the mention of her father, moving on to smell her neck, but his skin never brushes hers. As he moves on down her side, she turns red. "However, I understand that different cultures have different ways of greeting each other. For example in France, they kiss each other on the-" Suddenly he is at eye level with her hips, and she instantly moves to push him away. "I think not!"

But when her hands go to his shoulders to shove him back, her wrist burns.

The man darts away, flinching, and she looks down to see the name John Clayton III turning from silver to gold on her wrist. But when she looks up, the man who just might be her soulmate is gone.

"Wait!" she cries, frantically scanning the trees, and sees some slightly swaying bushes ahead of her. Hurrying through them, she comes to a clearing and stops, the pain in her wrist lessening to a dull ache. "Come back!"

She sees something moving in the distance, and relief floods through her. "There you are! I thought I'd lost–"

A Mangani great ape swings down from a tree towards her.

Before she even thinks to run, the naked man appears out of nowhere and tackles the ape. Jane turns and sprints in the direction of the village, praying that the man would survive as the Mangani roars like a tiger. She manages to call for the children once before she trips in a root and falls, sure she is going to die here and now. But just as she rolls onto her back to attempt to defend herself from the animal, the man lunges on top of her, and she doesn't have time to react when the Mangani brings its huge fists down on the man's back.

She's seen silverback gorillas beat a leopard to death, but that was nothing compared to this. With every massive blow, she is positive the man's back will break, envisioning his spine snapping in two or his ribs caving in. After an eternity, the huge Mangani roars again and leaves. The man's arms, planted on each side of her head, tremble as he strains to hold himself up, and Jane sees her own name in gold on his wrist.

She wonders for a moment if he will collapse on top of her, but then he falls onto his side with no small difficulty. His eyelids flutters closed, blood dripping out the side of his mouth as he struggles to breathe, she calls, terrified, for the children.

They sprint back to the village on her orders as she wipes blood from his mouth with the handkerchief he had taken only minutes before. His breathing is shallow when Archimedes, Muviro, and Wasimbu call for her through the trees, and she screams for her father as she tries desperately to keep the man awake. Loading the almost unconscious man onto the wooden stretcher the villagers had brought is no easy feat, especially when he tries to bite Muviro. But even that small action, as strange as it is, causes the man so much pain Jane watches his eyes all but roll back into his head, body going rigid, and he loses consciousness almost instantly.

They carry him to the village, only a leather covering concealing his nakedness, and Jane stays close to the stretcher. But as the man is taken into the house she shares with her father, she hears something in the distance, and she turns to see a Mangani ape at the tree line.

Even from the distance, Jane can see the ape is smaller than the one that had gone after her before. She stands there listening to its calls before the ape disappears into the jungle, and Jane pauses before turning and following the others inside.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The next installment will hopefully be up soon. Stay tuned! And have a happy new year!