#and how am i supposed to both ''cast a wide net'' and ''knock on doors'' at the same time as hanging around one particular shop

[haveyoumetmythief]

Everything is so fucking difficult all of the time

[rose-blooms-red]

Significant Others/troopers under their command react to Edee's latest volley of obnoxious gifts :D

Did I start this 3 months ago? Yes. Did I also write over 2k of it Today? Also yes. Productivity is a Relative Term. 

[read on ao3]

Fox twitches as he reads the clearly handmade voucher. Says, pleasant as anything, “I’m going to fucking murder him.”

Ponds hums, looking over Fox’s shoulder, “It’s sweet. Probably.”

Fox makes a noise in the back of his throat that isn’t entirely describable by any known language. 

Does he still have that clock he found during that one shopping trip? The one with that awful fucking peach, mustard, and grey-blue combination that spat out an eeopie’s mating call every half hour? He’d been planning on saving it he remembers but—

“Telling you to take a break like that,” Ponds continues, like he can’t hear the way Fox’s higher reasoning is currently dying a slow painful death, “very considerate.”

Fox grits his teeth. Needs must, and Fox needs to crush the little fucker’s spirit thoroughly under heel. He’ll have to take it out of storage tomorrow.

“No.”

Ponds giggles, “I’m sure it’ll be entertaining at least.”

“Hondo,” Fox reiterates, digging his elbow back into Ponds’ stomach. 

Ponds drapes himself over Fox’s back, knocks the side of his head against Fox’s, “As I said,” he simpers, “entertaining.”

Fox makes a disgusted sound, sneers down at the offending…. Gift.

‘All expense-paid cruise on the Hondo Ohkana ‘Sights of The Galaxy’ tour!!!!!!’ It proclaims in neon colours and excessive exclamation marks, ‘Very Romantic and Exciting!’

“When’s it say it’s good for?” Ponds asks, like he’s actually contemplating it.

“No.”

Ponds snatches the voucher out of his hands anyway, “Oh good! We aren’t busy that ten-day.”

Fox’s hand twitches, “I am not getting on a fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, Ponds.”

“Mhm, ‘course not Fox.” Ponds responds absentmindedly, pats his arm lightly in the way that means they are definitely getting on the fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, “We’ve got a ten-day to pack and get everything in order, that should be enough.” He nods to himself, breezes out of the room with a vague sense of purpose as he flits around the house, presumably for things to take on a ‘very romantic and exciting’ trip.

Fox is going to murder somebody, preferably Hondo, or Neyo. 

He hears the sound of Ponds grabbing the DC-15A’s and he grimaces, ugh, time to find the fucking holdout blasters, those things haven’t been serviced in at least a ten-day, and he needs to check on the blaster packs for the DC-17’s. He can’t remember if he restocked the things after the last time he used them. 

If they’re going on the fucking trip, they’re gonna be well fucking stocked.

(Fox manages not to murder Hondo, but it’s a very near fucking thing.

He does come back from the trip in a much better mood though, other than the twitch he’s developed from listening to Hondo all day. Ponds is annoyingly amused and smug about it. Fox ignores it, like he does every other fucking annoyance in his life. 

He shuts down the talk of another trip like it happening any time in this fucking century before Ponds even opens his mouth to respond. Once was fucking enough thank you.)

__________

Colt closes his eyes, casts a net about his mind for a sliver of patience and finds his supply has dwindled something awful.

When he opens his eyes again both nuisance and potted plant are still there. Gree smiles winningly and Colt smells danger. 

Or maybe he just smells the plant, because that is the thing overwhelming everything else right now. He glares down at it, it looks harmless, mostly, in it’s large pot but already Colt can hear the sounds of flies swarming around.

“That is not a houseplant,” Colt says, relatively tamely in his opinion, given that the overwhelming smell it emits is decay, “that is the type of plant one shoots and hopes doesn't survive the encounter.”

“It’s a very rare and endangered plant,” Gree lies, grin earnest and eyes bright with humour.

“It’s a pile of banthashit dressed up in vegitive form.”

“It’s an Amorphophallus titanum,” Gree corrects, “and it’s very rare, it’s one of the largest unbranched inflorescence in the galaxy that isn’t also carnivorous in any shape or form.”

Colt gives the plant a dubious look, “I’ll believe that when it doesn’t smell like it just ate and digested something.”

Gree shrugs, “It’s possible it’s a type of carrion flower…. but in the name of protecting it from extinction there’s no one I’d trust more than you.”

Colt twitches, he has no clue what a carrion flower is or how that accounts for the way it smells like Colt has a pile of corpses rotting away on his front step, but he does not like it at all.

The worst part is that he can’t actually tell whether this is Gree being serious or him pulling a shithead move. Because this is exactly the type of thing Gree would genuinely do and also the type of thing Gree would do just to fuck with him.

Behind him someone gags and Colt twitches.

“Fine,” he grits out, and Gree’s smile tries for sunshine and comes up partly cloudy and fully shiteating.

“Wonderful, thanks Colt.”

“Please leave.” 

Gree laughs as he leaves and Colt closes the door with a sigh.

“It smells like someone died over there,” Blitz calls out and Colt groans.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Havoc sniggers, “It really does sir, we might have to keep the Little’s away for a few days, wouldn’t want one of ‘em puking.”

Colt winces, that image does enough to convince him of the necessity, the only thing that could be worse right now is over a dozen Little’s sicking up from the smell. “Might be for the best.”

Blitz hums, looking at the now closed door in interest, “How likely is it that he was pulling your leg?”

Colt slumps into his chair, “50/50” he admits and Blitz raises his eyebrows.

“That is almost more concerning. What the kriff did they put in your batch.”

“Mistakes,” Colt grumbles back. This is why he’s the oldest, he’s the only one in the entire batch who managed to wrangle any sense out of his tube and keep it all the way through.

Havoc laughs and Blitz snorts, then looks like he immediately regrets it, “Ugh, Colt your batch is full of sadists I’m not gonna get the smell out of my nose for weeks.”

“It’s probably seeped into the clothes at this point,” Havoc agrees and Colt groans.

(When Shaak comes home she takes one look at the plant and can’t seem to decide whether to grimace or smile.

“Apparently,” he drawls, “it’s a very endangered plant that’s been entrusted to my care.”

A burst of laughter ripples out into the room and Shaak smiles, hand covering her lips as her shoulders shake minutely, Colt forgets about the death plant for a second as he looks up at her, heart stopping for a moment in the split second it takes her to swallow her laughter back down and he wants nothing more than to pull that sound out from her again.

It takes him a minute to realize that at some point he’d started smiling. He can’t seem to stop it, but there are worse things to find himself unable to stop doing.

“It’s commonly known as a type of carrion flower,” she tells him finally, laughter lacing her tone, “otherwise known as a corpse flower for the smells they produce. It is not endangered, though there are those who agree that it might not be too much of a loss if it was.”

Colt groans. Shaak giggles and Colt finds himself forgetting for a second to plot his revenge.

Maybe Gree will get off a bit lighter this time, if only because Colt got to hear that bright laughter. 

He hums, “Plant it far, far, far away from the house?” Shaak smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“That, my dear Colt, sounds like a brilliant plan.”)

__________

Gree gives the box a look of suspicious distrust that makes Barriss giggle and Decker snicker. 

It’s a big box, about the size of his torso and Gree has seen that bland, even smile too many times before to trust the contents of the box.

“Fox,” he warns and Fox’s grin goes sickeningly sweet.

“Gree, Baby Brother Dearest,” he drawls and Gree can hear the capital letters what the fuck, “I put my heart and soul into this you know, I’m hurt, really I am.”

That, Gree thinks sourly, is the worst load of banthashit he’s ever heard, and he’s had to listen to ‘scientific lectures’ given by people who read maybe one Edupad and then promptly forgot all of the information in the Edupad and decided whatever half-remembered thing left was Fact and Truth and refused to listen to Reason…. or sources and cited works.

Gree was very annoyed about that one, he’d put Effort into that paper thank you very much and he’d taken the class to learn things, not whatever that had been.

Fox wiggles the box in his hands around, expression pleasant and smile sharp.

Gree sighs. At least, he assures himself as he takes the box, it won’t be as bad as whatever happened after Fox and Ponds had come back from Neyo’s…… Gift.

Maybe.

The box is squishy. Boxes are not supposed to be squishy.

Gree has a Bad Feeling about this. He raises an eyebrow, Fox doesn’t even twitch.

Behind him Barriss is watching the exchange with wide, mirth filled eyes and a hand covering her mouth. Decker has long since lost the battle of keeping his snickering quiet and the rest of Gree’s so called loyal troopers of Green company watch with rapt attention.

He sighs again, loud and long-suffering, Fox’s smile never shrinks a shade less than serial killer pleased.

Gree unwraps the wrapping flimsi with ease, and then stares with distant horror at the plasti-cling underneath it. Not a box, no, plasti-cling.

It’s layered.

Gree twitches and reaches for one of his vibroblades.

“It’s very delicate,” Fox informs him, just as he gets the vibroblade out of it’s holder.

“Oh?” Gree asks, really quite pleasantly given the plasti-cling is so layered he can’t see a damn thing through it.

“Extremely,” Fox confirms, deadpan. Behind him Barriss giggles uncontrollably and Decker is flushed with laughter and gasping for air and the others aren’t much better. 

“Do they always do this?” one of them whispers incredibly poorly, Gree twitches, Fox eyes him with that malicious amusement that cements his place as youngest forever in Gree’s head.

“Always,” Barriss whispers back, giggling still and Gree’s heart warms for a second before his impending humiliation via gift settles in again.

“I knew the Commander wasn’t only, you know, learny, but I always thought he was sane.”

“Oh he’s sane,” Cooker reassures, “far as we can tell their entire batch is just, Like That.”

“But this is Torrent lev—” Fox’s face gives an unpleasant twitch that Gree sympathizes with.

Torrent, ugh.

“Shhhh,” the rest of Green hisses and Barriss hides her head in her hands as she laughs.

“We don’t compare them to Torrent, makes them touchy,” Draa mutters, as if he isn't half the reason Gree goes into interactions with Torrent prepared to have engineering go on another crazed building spree. He has a hunch that they feed on each other, the engineers, and it's their own special kind of crazy that Gree is half fascinated by and half resigned to.

“My point stands.” 

Gree grits his teeth, narrows his eyes at Green Company as a whole to no avail, turns a raised eyebrow to Barriss in a last attempt at gaining control of a situation he’d lost all hold over the moment Fox had walked up to him with a ‘gift from the bottom of my heart, Gree’.

His cold dead heart maybe. Gree is plotting his revenge already.

He puts the blade back with mechanical motions, feels around for the beginning of the despised plasti-cling, seriously who made it Gree has complaints for them, and begins the arduous task of unwrapping it all.

Who let Fox have this much plasti-cling.

(Over 10 hours of nonstop focus later the last of the plasti-cling has finally been ripped away and Gree stares at the new puzzle cube. Ugly and about the size of his palm. Much, much smaller than the wrapping he’d been given, nearly the size of his torso.

Gree makes a strangled sound that he will forever deny, Draa. 

The plasti-cling sits around him tauntingly, viciously victorious in all it’s piled glory.

It takes 3 days for Green Company to stop laughing about it. It does not take 3 days for them to stop sharing the holopics and vids they took, that takes much longer.

Barriss is Gree’s favourite now, everyone else is awful and everything they say is lies, and Fox has been demoted to all the way to being the baby.)

__________

Neyo tilts his head, grin bordering manic, “That, is the ugliest piece of garbage I’ve ever seen.”

Colt smiles, “It’s high class art.”

“It looks like someone took cans of paint and dumped them on the nearest patch of dirt they found.” 

“The texture adds value.”

“It’s chunks of dirt and grass.” Neyo hisses in delighted outrage. 

Colt waves a hand, voice disinterested and all ‘above all this nonsense’ like, “Very classy. Made with only the best of intentions.”

Neyo giggles, “It looks like actual manure, I hate it.”

“I got it just for you,” Colt simpers, like the little shit no one ever believes he is, “I saw it and just knew you’d connect to it.”

Neyo cackles, “This is awful, you’re awful, I’m hanging it on the wall and telling everyone you painted it.”

Colt raises an eyebrow, “No one will believe you.”

He’s right, it’s awful. Neyo pouts, “I could convince them.”

No he can’t, but that’s besides the point.

Colt hums, “mhm, I’m sure you could kih’vod.”

Neyo flicks at Colt’s wrist and wilts, “This is harassment.”

“Whatever you say Ney’ika.”

“You’re a bully.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re responsible.”

“That is because I am.” Colt says, putting Neyo in a headlock, they both ignore the way Neyo tenses up for a fraction of a second before he relaxes, sulks, digging his elbow into Colt’s side.

It’s the first time Colt has given him such a blatantly awful gift. Neyo cackles and something shakes loose in his chest. His throat feels grossly tight and the stupid shitty canvas covered in dirt and paint sits leaning against the wall innocently.

Colt makes the same even face he uses on the Little’s when they’re being hilarious and he can’t afford to tell them or when he’s about to say something completely karking stupid because no matter how much he likes to tell everyone he’s the oldest he totally isn’t. 

Neyo slips out of the headlock, giggles through the knot in his throat and rolls his eyes.

“You’re deluding yourself and everyone around you.” he tells Colt. Colt has only ever been responsible by necessity, and never once in all of Neyo’s memories of him, has he been anything less than an absolute shithead just like the rest of them when there was no necessity.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m not arguing with you like a first-cycle.”

“Are too.”

“Neyo.”

“You’re the one who gave me the shitty painting.”

“It’s high class art you bastard.”

Neyo preens, “Thank you, still the worst thing I’ve ever seen though. Might hang it up in the front room, just to really bring it all together.”

Colt sighs, aggrieved. Neyo has no sympathy for him, really if you’re gonna play the game you gotta be in it to win it. It’s not Neyo’s fault that the trashy, awful, horrible dirt, grass, paint mixture splattered onto canvas happens to be horrifyingly tasteless. Neyo loves it. It’s gonna make Fox so mad.

(“Neyo,” Vaughn asks, staring at the wall, “why is there a, what even is that, dirt? On canvas?”

Neyo straightens up, grins wide, “Colt painted it. Out of the love in his heart and the limited talents he was decanted with.”

Vaughn raises an eyebrow, “That’s lovely and everything, why is it hanging in our front room.”

“It is horrifically awful and I love it and Fox and Ponds are coming over tomorrow.”

Vaughn laughs.

The next day, Ponds takes one look at it and giggles, “Fox, Fox come here, you’re gonna hate it.”

Fox takes one look at it and walks right back out of the house, Neyo cackles the entire time.)

[jojo-reader-hell]

Jonathan Joestar x Selkie!Reader: Seven on the Land, Seven in the Sea

Hello children here’s the selkie angst you didn’t ask for.

...

“And yet, niece, you are subject to our laws, as a being of the same nature with ourselves; and should HE prove unfaithful to you and marry again, you are obliged to take away his life.”

- Undine

...

“Oh Jojo! Yes! Yes I will marry you!”

Your hands, clammy and pruned, began to tremble. You released your fist and gripped weakly at the door frame, legs like gelatin when you heard a cacophony of giggles, and saw a man lift a woman with hair the color of golden beach sand into his arms for a kiss. The barking laughter of the elders echoing in your mind, stomach frothing with nervous bile.

Remember the laws of our people little pup: he belonged to you the minute the child was placed inside your tender womb by his essence. He cannot belong to another, and if he tries... he is condemned to die by your hand.

No... no... this cannot be happening... Why couldn’t your husband just wait for you to explain?! You turned away from the path, blocking the way to the door, turning and seeing a very familiar pair of watery blue eyes searching for the answer in your tear streaked face. Your little boy, your son Giorno, was still holding out the large jet black pelt you’d found. The picture of innocence. Blue black hair pressed wetly to his forehead as he obediently waited. A good boy, in every sense of the word. He didn’t understand human words, he was seven years a seal and a mere few minutes a human. You meant to show him as a surprise. Instructed your little boy to hold out his father’s new pelt and wait for him to come to the door when you knocked. He was then to say his first word, a call of his father’s name. At first the sight made you coo in delight, now it only made you wish to die. It was supposed to be a happy moment. A moment that would inspire joy once you knocked at the cabin door and the fisherman’s son Jonathan Joestar would open it to reveal his half selkie son holding out a seal pelt just his size, that he might join you both in the sea forever.

Oh! You can try to deny the jealousy. ‘Twill be a bitter poison to swallow that will consume your every waking moment. But the lust for blood will consume you, eat away at the heart that was once cradled in the palm of his hand, and you will inevitably partake in the ancient right to carnage. Serves you right for cavorting about with a human. Doesn’t it make you wish now that you’d have taken the harp seal as your husband? Dio would have made a devoted father to little Giorno. You know, once your human mate is dead you are allowed to take another in his stead.

You remembered your words... How proudly you lifted your chin and dared to look into the eyes of the elder selkie.

I’d rather die.

Yes. You’d rather be dead. Rather have stayed on land and let the dryness kill you and the baby than have to look through the salt stained windows of the cabin and see your husband’s lips locked with another, grudgingly you admitted his new choice was pretty. Beach sand hair, eyes as blue as the sea... Certainly not the stormy eyes of a seal woman that were shrouded as though in a dense fog. While it never bothered you before, you suddenly felt the chill of the sea wind creep into your bones, bare toes curling into the mud of the path as you took a stumbling step away. Your son barked, it was all he knew how to do, and you frightened him when you lunged forward on the path to cover his mouth, scraping the sensitive skin of your legs when you scooped him up into your arms.

Giorno barked at you once again when you waded out to the beach in a hurry, not paying any mind to the blood trickling down your legs. You understood him perfectly, it was a bark that meant he wanted his papa’s attention. You made a snuffing sound with your nose as you buried your face in his little neck, a sound meant for seal mothers to reassure their little ones. But he didn’t want his mother. He wanted his father and tried to open his mouth to call his name like you taught him, quickly silenced with the words gurgling in his throat as you dove into the cold gray sea.

No... no... Jonathan... dear Jonathan... why couldn’t he wait for you?? Why couldn’t he have stayed steadfast and faithful, understanding the message of the pearls and shells you’d left in place of the letter you didn’t know how to write. You didn’t know any way to let him know. It wasn’t possible for a selkie to live more than a few days on land. You were able to stay a little longer, because Jonathan had accidentally caught your pelt in his nets. By the laws you were bound to him as husband and wife. Whosoever took your pelt and returned it was by tradition proposing marriage. And because he was so sincere, so kind, you accepted. Happy as a clam to have been fortunate to be taken in the arms of such a handsome specimen of manhood.

“If you are my wife now... then this must be our wedding night.”

He’d told you this on a night similar to the one you returned on. It was just as the sun was setting. The cold wind from the sea blew in, his fire roaring and a cast iron pot of simmering fish stew bubbled in the fire. You’d been waiting patiently to be fed, your pelt wrapped loosely around yourself, unaware of how bewitching you looked when the spotted pelt slid down to expose your soft shoulders.

“Yes. I suppose it is.”

“Tell me, little selkie, do you know what happens on a wedding night?”

You did not know, but oh did you find out. You found out the consequences of such a night too, when your stomach began to balloon out even though you couldn’t keep down your fish anymore. Jonathan was too busy to notice. A fisherman’s life was hard, with him being at sea for weeks at a time and returning dead tired with barely enough food to feed the two of you. You tried to tell him yourself that you were dying. You just needed some time to return back to the sea, a seven year rest in the water and a seven year search for a pelt that he might come to your world without drowning trying to join you and the baby. If you continued living on land, you’d lose the child and your life, leaving the poor man a lonely widow without even a body to mourn. From sea foam you came, to sea foam you’d return if you kept up the facade of being a human for too long.

As you pulled both yourself and baby further down into the murky water, you tried to ignore the sounds of a creature swimming rapidly towards you. Pretending not to see the locks of gold and that damned gloating smile, you pressed Giorno closer to your chest and made into the shape of a torpedo, jettisoning yourself out of reach of the sea and landing with an undignified ‘plop’ on the hard pebbles of the beach. Your son sputtered, coughing sea water and choking because of the abrupt transition from breathing air to breathing water.

“You damnable tease!” Croaked a voice out of breath. “I’m only trying to help you-...”

“Go away Dio!” You growled a warning, lips pulling back over your sharp teeth. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“Of course it does! Am I not the fiercest hunter?! Did I not escort you here to protect you from sharks? In a few minutes you might have had another escort instead of me. Clumsy bitch, you’re bleeding!”

He heaved himself onto land, hissing at the pain of the pebbles pressing into his sensitive skin and hardly experienced enough to walk as he dragged himself towards you with an outstretched hand. You stood on wobbling legs and stepped out of reach, backing away as fast as the love struck selkie male could crawl towards you, his legs still clumsily pressed together because he never fully grasped the concept of his human half.

“He didn’t stay faithful did he?!” Dio laughed, between hissing at the pain of the dry land and hurling insults at you. “He’s going to marry that simpering wench and you’ll have to kill him on his wedding night, in your marriage bed that he defiled with another!”

“Go away!”

“You’ll be left a disgraced widow. Your poor son more of a bastard than he already is!”

“Begone!”

“You know I speak the truth! I was told to bring you the knife to carry out the deed. Take it you fool, take it and free yourself! Save what little dignity you have left and exercise your ancient right to revenge!”

He tossed the offending object towards your feet. The ceremonial knife. A razor clam honed to a fine edge and used by multitudes of heartbroken selkies to free themselves from their earthly bonds. It made you pause, seeing it lay there innocently while Giorno stared wide eyed at Dio. You looked at the child in your arms, and then once more to the razor clam. A feeling... insatiable lust... a hunger for the blood of your son’s father filled your heart, skipping a beat when you saw some of the blood from your knees dribble down onto the blade.

Temptation.

Pure, unadulterated temptation.

The same temptation he might have felt when he committed the sin of taking another...

Kicking sand in your wake, you carried Giorno far away, as far as your weak legs could carry the both of you. They didn’t get you far. Just far enough into the forest that you couldn’t hear Dio’s screams of your name, but you could still see the smoke curling from Jonathan’s chimney and smell the fish he was cooking as a meal to celebrate his betrothal. You couldn’t cry. Selkies cannot cry tears, only making you suffer all the more as your heartbreak had no where else to go but to sink deeper into the pit of your stomach. Giorno had long since stopped choking, opting now to whine weakly into your arms, unused to being on dry land for such a long period of time. You tried your best to rock him back and forth in your arms, mimicking the gentle motions of the waves in an attempt to soothe him.

But it was all for naught. There was nothing you could do to console him. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t give the black pelt he still held to his papa. Didn’t understand why you didn’t produce his father after seven years of singing him songs in your seal voice about the handsome young man that would net hoards of fish for him to eat, then cradle him in his strong arms and shower him with the affection he longed for. You knew even though he didn’t understand things as a human, Giorno wasn’t stupid. He saw the members of his pod paired and taking care of young, wondering why he had no papa to clean his whiskers after his meals or to teach him to catch slippery silver fish in his jaws. Giorno was instead fed on mother’s milk and stories of a papa that walked on two legs, a papa that couldn’t swim very well in frothing waters and that had promised a vow of everlasting love to his mother.

“P-papa!” His first words were raspy, his throat parched from breathing in too much dry air. “Papa!”

[forestsstories]

Unsolved

Sunlight filtered through my beige curtains, casting highlights on the walls and playing gently across my face. I let out a soft moan, not yet ready to release myself from the visions dancing behind my eyelids. As consciousness reluctantly was thrust upon me the images faded from both vision, and memory. However I left my eyes closed for several minutes, until I heard familiar music fill the tiny space which I am permitted to occupy in my house. Another moan rumbled in my throat as I finally forced my eyes wide.

It seemed like a fairly normal day, maybe even a good one. The sky was an azure blue with small but fluffy clouds dancing across it. My hand fell upon my phone, which was vibrating with the force of my morning alarm, and my day began.

My eyes drifted lazily over my accumulation of clothing, dismissing each article with disgust, the way teenage girls often do. Hearing the ruckus of the rest of the house stirring I decided it was best to get my ass in gear if I was planning on having breakfast before school, and decided on my white shorts and red v-neck tee.

I grimaced at the wrinkled state of the tee as the hanger swung back from the force of its burden being snatched from where it hung, and flung it to the bed. My breasts complained slightly as I lifted my night shirt over my head and I made a mental note that it was time to start dieting again unless I wanted to outgrow all my clothes. The idea of asking my mother to take my shopping for new ones, coupled with the look of disdain I could already picture on her face was not one I relished, so dieting was definitely the way to go. It was when I folded down my pj pants and made to kick them to the floor that something abnormal finally hit me.

A quarter sized mark, blue around the edges and a center the colour of caramel, perched delicately upon the outside of my thigh. My brain reeled, going slowly over every possible cause, as one does when a foreign mark finds its way onto your person. My bare skin grazed the soft blankets of my bed as I perched there to go over the likely culprits.

Yesterday had begun in much the same way today had, with the exception of the sunlight. Clouds had hung in the sky and threatened rain, I recalled this clearly as the threat had persisted and I had wondered if soccer practice would be canceled. I remembered packing my cleats anyway, which had taken a while because they weren’t where I had left them. “Ryan!!” I could almost hear myself shouting at my dimwit brother for taking my cleats, feel the vibration of the floor as his feet pounded down the hall toward me. The ensuing argument had lasted several minutes, minutes which were precious in the morning. The result had been a lack of shower, and still missing soccer cleats. So I hadn’t slipped in the shower then.

I closed my eyes, tracing where I had gone next, and wincing inwardly at my whiny tone as I had stood outside my mother’s door. “Ryan took my cleats, I know he did, and I need them for soccer! This sucks!” I remembered stamping my foot, as my mother had told me off for my childish antics and threatened not to let me continue having a job if I was going to act like a child. “Adults don’t stamp their feet when they’re upset Jillian. Use your words.” I sighed, mom was always like that.

But nothing had hit me when I stamped my foot, and nothing else of note had happened at home. I’d packed my usual ham sandwich and ran to catch the bus. Had I fallen? I recalled each time my feet had struck the pavement, but as far as I could remember had arrived at the bus without issue. My father had shouted something that sounded suspiciously like “wear a coat!” as I dashed out the door, but a bruised ego left no physical marks. When my keester had found the hard plastic seat that was the best our cheap school bus could offer I unzipped my bag and rifled through it. Soccer cleats, textbooks, my work uniform, everything I would need for an unremarkable day. The bus ground to a rather jerky halt to pick up one of my friends and I heard some rabble rousing at the back as a couple of the kids had been thrust forward. Katie plopped into the seat next to mine and I recounted the tale of my stolen cleats while the bus puttered onwards towards the hell we liked to call our school.

Bad pop music droned through speakers that were older than I was in the halls. As I made my way to my homeroom I saw the usual high school bull, someone studying, a couple dumb boys wrestling, one of the drama students reciting lines with just a little too much gusto (one of the best tells of inexperience) nothing amiss. I struggled to remember if anyone had bumped me, but nothing remarkable came to mind. My classes had all gone smoothly, I got my English homework back (got an eighty, not bad) and everything had been normal until lunch. I winced a little remembering lunch.

I don’t usually find myself in the cafeteria at lunch time (remember my sandwich?) but today when I unwrapped my carefully prepared meal I spotted a disgusting spot of green fuzz nestled in a sea of soft white bread and knew I would have to brave it. I begged Katie to protect me from the masses but when she shook her head I gathered my courage, took a deep breath and strode in.

The noise was palpable. I like to listen to my music at a temperate sixty percent and this was well abouve seventy decibels. I ducked as a spoonful of mashed potatoes whizzed past my ear and sent the culprit of the attack a nasty glare. It must have worked because I remember feeling a sense of smug satisfaction as he sat his ass down and feigned remorse. I had chosen a cup of strawberries with yogurt and a grilled cheese for lunch. Ten dollars seemed like a bit much for the contents of my tray but I needed staying power if I was going to make it through a shift at work on top of soccer practice. The buttery crunch of the sandwich almost made up for the near miss of potato in my face, and I found myself not entirely sorry that my ham sandwich had proven inedible.

It wasn’t until I had half finished that I realized where I had decided to sit. A mere five feet from me, and staring at my chest with gusto was the mouth breather who always watched our soccer practice. Kevin. I frowned and scooted sideways to put a little more distance between us, until I felt my thigh brush against the steel leg of the table. The leg was cold and I considered just ditching my food and leaving, but ten dollars is a lot of money. It’s incomprehensible how I could hear his breaths amid the din of the cafeteria, but I swear I could almost feel the air being pushed between his teeth, even though I know that isn’t actually possible. My chewy grilled cheese didn’t taste nearly as good once I realized I was watching it beneath his watchful gaze.

I ended up walking the halls with my yogurt cup, carefully smuggled out as you’re not supposed to have food outside the cafeteria. The rest of the school day had been formulaic, and I couldn’t think of any reason a bruise would have blossomed on my skin from it. Had it been the table leg? I couldn’t remember hitting it with any amount of force, but possibly. I sank my teeth gently into my bottom lip as I continued to peruse the days memories.

Finally I landed at soccer practice, slipping on my cleats in the changing room. I told Katie about my impromptu lunch date and we both shared a laugh at our mouth breathing friends expense. I gazed longingly at the showers, wondering briefly if there was time to slip in a quick wash to make up for this morning, but the coach had launched into a tirade over something or another and I had to at least pretend to be paying attention. I expect I wasn’t because I couldn’t recall what the speech had been about, but I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending. Seven short minutes later we were on the field, sweating as we raced each other around it, attempting to foot wrestle the spotted ball into the opponents net. I remembered a chill in the air and a crisp scent that made me wonder again if it was going to rain.

A slight drizzle began about ten minutes in and persisted throughout practice but we were not to be done in by a little rain. Anything short of a downpour and we were determined to play, because we’re girls. I recalled the ball hurtling toward me. I remembered a split second decision to knock it to Katie, and my eyes flew open as I remembered my foot coming out from under me.

My breath caught in my throat as my foot slipped on the grass, slick with rain. My shoulder slammed hard into the dirt and my eyesight went dark for a moment, as it tends to when you take a hard fall. Play had stopped as everyone gathered around me and the coach asked if anything hurt. I frowned, concentrating on how exactly I had struck the ground. I remembered my ankle had been twisted, and as I touched my shoulder I realized a bruise was also blossoming there, but my thigh hadn’t taken the weight of my fall so an injury there didn’t make a lot of sense.

That was it though. I felt my brow furrow as I sat naked upon my bed reaching for any other possible explanation. My mother had picked me up after practice and due to having to ice my ankle I had called in sick from work. My manager had groaned a little, but there was little to be done. The remainder of the evening had been spent in bed, icing my ankle and studying. I pushed the mark, watching the pale skin around it regain colour for a moment after I released it and sighed. It would seem that the mystery mark on my thigh, similar to the reason of why Kevin can’t operate his god given nostrils, would remain unsolved.