#kamila's words | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vse-kar-vem · 4 months

Text

joker out cooking livestream recap:

-they cooked chicken in mustard or somethjng. potatoes are in it as well

-nace's government name is, in fact, nace ! bojan thought nace's grandmother calls him ignac but no

-bojan tries to transfer the potatoes into a bigger pan. which they cannot find. they do find ANOTHER pan (disgustingly unwashed)

-jan's parents are currently taking care of igor, who has everything he needs: food. a roof over his head. cuddles if he wants. jan is not worried

-we have a short discussion about dishwashing soap. they use the original green fairy brand soap which is nace's favourite. jan doesn't have a favourite. bojan claims that WASHING HIS HANDS WITH DISH SOAP IS WHAT KEEPS THEM SOFT ("i have baby hands") ??????? APPARENTLY?????

-then jan and nace walk around the house feeling up each other/every one else's hands. bojan's hands are confirmed the softest but it's concluded that his secret is not dish soap but being a singer and not an instrumentalist (or playing an instrument badly, his words not mine)

-throughout this entire livestream jure sharpens two knives. good for him, it's very impressive (he slices grapes! and lemons! truly a resourceful kitty)

-we learn that kris is not here because he's MODELLING???? HUH???? 🫢🫢🫢

-we get an update on kamila's flowers (withering on top of the fridge. 😞)

-the connection was SO BAD im not kidding, which was why we missed out on a lot of stuff ☹️☹️ they don't have wifi and are relying SOLEY on data

-their favourite british supermarket is aldi, because it's cheap and the quality is ok. obviously they diss british produce, which like fair enough

-they sing a little ditty about their current circumstances-- shit wifi, potato cooking, etc (ft. NACE'S SINGING VOICE!!) honestly it was highkey a banger

-they answer some questions ie. "drop hints" about the new song. we get 2 rhythms and one singular chord

-they decide do an mtv cribs (tiktok cribs) style house tour which would be GREAT if anything would load 😐😐 so we ended up with a very very cut-up fridge tour (they have at least 2-3 cartons of milk and slovenian sausage (?). also oyster sauce

-the stream REALLY starts lagging here (as if it wasn't already). ok me personally i only caught "-- doesn't want us to go in his room" (about jure or kris??) jan and nace consider going into bojan's. then extended lag on a very ominous staircase. no rooms seen by me at least 😞😞

-they come back down and answer more qs! that i don't remember! sorry this recap was for me and not you 😞

-oh yeah they get asked "who cleans the kitchen?" a beat. jan and nace both laugh "yeah, who cleans the kitchen??" i think that says a lot about this household

-they talk a bit more about the song-- will give you (uncle roger voice) eMoTionaL dAmAgE. that hurt my soul to write but at least i (cantonese) am allowed to do the accent, unlike SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS LIVESTREAM (thanks bojan. at least you were shit at it enough so that it came off just slightly interesting and not anything else)

-that's all i can remember!! bojan finishes cooking, jan and nace sign off to eat. prolonged minute of staring and waving at the camera. i notice they are both very beautiful men. end of stream !

#bojan cvjetićanin #joker out #jan peteh #nace jordan #jure maček #i love yapping #ALSO tell me why their apartment of grown ass men has the same kitchen hygiene as my food tech class last year of 14 year olds 😭😭😭😭#takes me back to my bench mate telling me there's no need to dump the sink filter and straight pushing bits of food through it with a knife #🤠#vee rambles

142 notes · View notes

jennibeultimate · 3 months

Text

No I don't feel the same way and actually from all sides I read much of the world is upset about the doping, but I guess you can make every lie up and you will find someone that believes Kamila would eat a strawberry cake from granpa right before a competition??? (That's not what I made up, that's what the official defense in front of the CAS hearing is)

This is from a Facebookgroup that got recommended to me...

I don't even have words anymore for the discrepancies in truth and fairytales...like yes she is/was a wonderful athlete but at what cost and because of what??? Would she be able to be that athlete if not for the drugs and medications she took??? 60 supplements and medications over the course of 2 years given to a 15 year old, is that normal??? How should any clean athlete win against someone with unfair background??? Kamila herself may not know anything about the performance enhancers but the adults do...

And the positive doping test itself all a crime by the big bad West??? And adults could have taken responsibility and her ban would not be 4 years, but instead they created fairytales to defend her. Eteri did not even take part in the investigation.

And Gold medal winner is Anna Shcherbakova (even if it's doubtful Valieva was the only one doping) who is also from Russia, so what a discredit to Anna too.

I understand to support Kamila Valieva - she is also a victim of the system and her team - but this won't change the fact that she placed 4th, that she cheated, that she doped, that she is banned.

#figure skating #kamila valieva #doping #will this ever find a conclusion #rant

69 notes · View notes

battyaboutbooksreviews · 2 months

Text

🌙 Ramadan Mubarak - Books ft. Muslims

🦇 Good morning, my beautiful bookish bats. To celebrate this Islamic holy month, here are a FEW books featuring Muslim characters. I hope you consider adding a few to your TBR.

❓What was the last book you read that taught you something new OR what's at the top of your TBR?

🌙 A Woman is No Man - Etaf Rum 🌙 Amal Unbound - Aisha Saeed 🌙 Love From A to Z - S.K. Ali 🌙 Hana Khan Carries On - Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 Yes No Maybe So - Becky Albertalli and Aisha Saeed 🌙 Evil Eye - Etaf Rum 🌙 I Am Malala - Malala Yousafzai 🌙 Exit West - Mohsin Hamid 🌙 Written in the Stars - Aisha Saeed 🌙 The Night Diary - Veera Hiranandani 🌙 Much Ado About Nada - Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 The Eid Gift - S.K. Ali 🌙 More Than Just a Pretty Face - Syed M. Masood 🌙 Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero - Saadia Faruqi 🌙 If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan 🌙 Snow - Orhan Pamuk 🌙 Sofia Khan Is Not Obliged - Ayisha Malik 🌙 The Proudest Blue by Ibtihaj Muhammad 🌙 And I Darken - Kiersten White 🌙 The Last White Man - Mohsin Hamid

🌙 Hijab Butch Blues - Lamya H 🌙 The Bad Muslim Discount - Syed M. Masood 🌙 Ms. Marvel - G. Willow Wilson 🌙 Love from Mecca to Medina - S.K. Ali 🌙 The City of Brass - S.A. Chakraborty 🌙 The Love Match by Priyanka Taslim 🌙 A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar 🌙 A Very Large Expanse of Sea by Tahereh Mafi 🌙 An Emotion of Great Delight by Tahereh Mafi 🌙 The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali by Sabina Khan 🌙 The Moor’s Account - Laila Lalami 🌙 Only This Beautiful Moment by Abdi Nazemian 🌙 Salt Houses by Hala Alyan 🌙 When a Brown Girl Flees by Aamna Quershi 🌙 Jasmine Falling by Shereen Malherbe 🌙 Between Two Moons by Aisha Abdel Gawad 🌙 Sea Prayer by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 Unmarriageable by Soniah Kamal

🌙 Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie 🌙 All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir 🌙 The Bohemians by Jasmin Darznik 🌙 Ayesha at Last by Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Mohammed Hanif 🌙 Chronicle of a Last Summer by Yasmine El Rashidi 🌙 A Girl Like That by Tanaz Bhathena 🌙 Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga 🌙 The Mismatch by Sara Jafari 🌙 Does My Head Look Big In This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah 🌙 You Truly Assumed by Laila Sabreen 🌙 Saints and Misfits by S.K. Ali 🌙 Once Upon an Eid - S.K. Ali and Aisha Saeed 🌙 Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel by Sara Farizan 🌙 Alif the Unseen by G. Willow Wilson 🌙 The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar 🌙 A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan 🌙 Nayra and the Djinn by Michael Berry 🌙 All-American Muslim Girl by Lucinda Dyer 🌙 It All Comes Back to You by Farah Naz Rishi

🌙 The Marvelous Mirza Girls by Sheba Karim 🌙 Salaam, with Love by Sara Sharaf Beg 🌙 Queen of the Tiles by Hanna Alkaf 🌙 How It All Blew Up by Arvin Ahmadi 🌙 Zara Hossain Is Here by Sabina Khan 🌙 Punching the Air by Ibi Zoboi & Yusef Salaam 🌙 She Wore Red Trainers by Na'ima B. Robert 🌙 Hollow Fires by Lucinda Dyer 🌙 Internment by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Against the Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa 🌙 Love in a Headscarf - Shelina Zahra Janmohamed 🌙 Courting Samira by Amal Awad 🌙 The Other Half of Happiness by Ayisha Malik 🌙 Huda F Are You? by Huda Fahmy 🌙 Love, Hate & Other Filters by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Muslim Girls Rise - Saira Mir and Aaliya Jaleel 🌙 Amira & Hamza - Samira Ahmed 🌙 The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf 🌙 Nura and the Immortal Palace by M.T. Khan

🌙 As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow by Zoulfa Katouh 🌙 Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan 🌙 Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor by Xiran Jay Zhao 🌙 The Yard - Aliyyah Eniath 🌙 When We Were Sisters by Fatimah Asghar 🌙 The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty 🌙 Maya's Laws of Love by Alina Khawaja 🌙 The Chai Factor by Farah Heron 🌙 The Beauty of Your Face - Sahar Mustafah 🌙 Hope Ablaze by Sarah Mughal Rana

#ramadan #muslim writers #muslim #books #book list #ramadan mubarak #ramadan kareem #batty about books #battyaboutbooks

42 notes · View notes

doumadono · 9 months

Note

Emergency request

Good morning!

I wanted to request a comfort fic With one of the following KNY men: Tsugikuni brothers, Muzan or Haganezuka. For over a week I've been dealing with immense lower back pain, I've been to an orthopedist and the painkillers he prescribed help me to some extent, but the pain is still there. I don't know if there is any serious damage, I didn't fall or injure myself in any way for it to happen, I have an X-ray in 12 days, but if it gets worse I'll go to the ER. So far it's suspicious that it's sciatica and overweight from my weight causing this pain. (As if my worsened mental state since November and the stress of failing a semester in college weren't enough). I just need a bit of comfort, I feel like I'm about to have another breakdown this year...

I hope it won't be too much for you to write something to cheer me up a little.

Buziaki, Kamila.

Warnings: female demon!reader Synopsis: following your transformation into a demon, you endure intense pain, and it's Muzan who offers you solace A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear about the pain you've been experiencing. It's understandable that this has been a challenging time for you, especially with the added stress of college. Please know that you're not alone in this, you can always reach out to me, and there are steps we can take to address your lower back pain. While you wait for your appointment, consider some gentle stretches and exercises that can help alleviate sciatica symptoms. Additionally, maintaining a healthy weight through diet and exercise can indeed reduce the strain on your lower back. I encourage you to reach out to a physical therapist who can provide you with a tailored exercise plan to manage your pain. I hope you find solace in this short fic. Writing for Muzan isn't my strong suit, but I gave it my all ♥

MASTERLIST

In the dimly lit chamber, you lay on your side, clutching a pillow to your chest to alleviate some of the pain in your lower back. The recent transition into a demon had been both thrilling and agonizing, leaving you in a constant state of discomfort. Tonight, it seemed like the pain was unbearable.

Just as you were on the verge of tears, the sliding door to your room opened silently, and a tall, enigmatic figure stepped in. It was Muzan, the Demon King himself. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as he approached your bedside. Without a word, he gracefully sat down beside you. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he lifted your trembling hand, examining it for any signs of distress. His voice, smooth as silk, resonated in the room. "You seem to be in pain, my dear."

You couldn't help but nod, tears welling up in your eyes. Muzan's fingers traced the contours of your face, his touch strangely soothing. "There, there," he cooed softly. "I can take your pain away."

With a flick of his fingers, a small orb of blood-red energy materialized, hovering above your lower back. As it descended, a warm, comforting sensation washed over you, and the pain began to subside. It was as if Muzan had the power to mend your very soul.

You watched in awe as he continued to manipulate the energy, kneading away the tension and discomfort. Muzan's gaze never left yours, and there was a warmth in his eyes that defied his reputation as a ruthless demon lord. "Feel better now, my sweet creation?" he inquired softly.

You nodded, a sense of tranquility washing over you. "Thank you, Muzan," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude.

He leaned closer, his lips hovering over your forehead. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and whispered softly, "You have no idea how much you mean to me. You are my dearest creation, and I will always protect and care for you," he murmured before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Muzan's crimson eyes never wavered from your form. Deep inside yet, a complex blend of emotions swirled within him. Anger simmered beneath the surface, frustration at how long it was taking for you to recover after the transformation. He was the demon king, and his creations should be strong, should adapt swiftly. His fingers, which had been tracing soothing patterns on your arm, tightened imperceptibly. Inwardly, he questioned whether choosing you as another Upper Moon had been the right decision. The Upper Moons were meant to be his elite, his most powerful creations, and your slow progress irked him. Yet, hidden beneath that veneer of frustration and anger, there was another feeling that Muzan kept well-guarded. It was a sense of conviction, a belief that choosing you as an Upper Moon had been not just a good choice but perhaps the only possible one. Deep inside, he recognized a great strength within you, a potential that had yet to fully manifest. There was a reason he had chosen you, a reason beyond what met the eye. He saw in you a future that held the promise of greatness, a strength that would one day rival even his own.

As you rested in Muzan's presence, the lingering concern about the pain after your transformation nagged at you. With a sense of trust growing between you and Kibutsuji, you mustered the courage to speak. "Muzan-sama," you began softly, "can you tell me how long this pain from the transformation will endure? It's been quite overwhelming, and I'm worried about what lies ahead."

Muzan's gaze never left yours, and his fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on your arm. He let out a sigh, almost as if he had been expecting this question. "My dear, the pain varies from person to person. Some demons adapt quickly, while others take more time. It perfectly normal, all you need to do is to be patient." He paused, his eyes flickering with a hint of sympathy. "But I promise you this: with time, the pain will lessen. Your body will adjust to its newfound strength and resilience. And I will be here to guide you every step of the way. You'll become a powerful demon, you'll grow stronger every day."

You nodded, feeling reassured by his words. It was comforting to know that Muzan, despite his intimidating exterior, was willing to offer guidance and support during your transition into a demon. "Thank you, my lord," you whispered, your gratitude evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, "You don't have to thank me, Y/N. You are mine, and I will ensure that you thrive in this new existence. Now, rest."

As you closed your eyes, wrapped in the comfort of his embrace, you realized that perhaps, in this moment, Muzan wasn't just the fearsome demon king but also a source of unexpected solace in your new life as a demon.

134 notes · View notes

sparkles-oflight · 3 months

Text

Welcome Back

If I had a nickel for every time I changed the title of this story, I would have a lot of nickels.

Synopsis: After not seeing or talking to each other for over a decade, Bojan and Kris finally meet again: in Damon's apartment. Will chapters 1 and 2 tell a new story?

Disclaimer: Please think of these as characters and not the actual people. I don’t encourage anyone to send this to any of the actual JO members nor do I encourage people to force any type of relationship between anyone.

Contains Agnst

My fics can be read out of order and with no context, but IT'S HIGHLY RECOMMENDED TO READ THE FOLLOWING:

Sunny Side of London (for a reference) Kamila (for a reference) Metulji* "("prequel") THE SHADE* ("prequel")

Thanks @anxious-witch for the proof-reading and being so patient with me and the amount of times I changed the story structure and everything sdhfjjwsifiw.

Kris walked into an apartment he hadn’t been in in years, yet he felt as if he had returned home. The black and white decor, the familiar smell of flowers in the air, and the meticulously placed lights around the room.

- Are we ready to do this? – someone asked.

He looked around to the owner of the voice, Damon. He had asked him to re-create the first photoshoot they had ever done, more than a decade later. He explained to Kris he wanted to see his progress in life and his healing journey throughout the years with his art.

Kris immediately hugged him.

- Hello, love. How have you been? – Damon tried to reassure him.

- Hi, Damon. – he still wouldn’t let him go.

- Are you sure you want to do this? – he pulled Kris back and pushed his hair to the side – You don’t have to do it if you don’t want it. If you aren’t comfortable that is.

- No, I can do this.

- Great then.

Damon grabbed Kris’ hand and sat him down.

- Is this still okay? – he asked as he opened the eye-shadow pallet.

Kris hadn’t worn anything “girly” in the past decade. In fact, he had cut his hair again, he had stopped traveling, and finally settled down in the Netherlands.

- Yes, of course.

Damon re-tried the whole process, everything he and Kris had tried before, he did it again, now both having different life experiences...

- You know what’s truly sad? You are not on the stage anymore.

- Damon...

- I know. It’s just... – Damon showed some frustration in his voice tone – What happened to those brave Slovenian boys I met? Kris...to this day, I don’t know what happened to you.

- I...I don’t know.

- My dear... – he set the camera aside and crouched down to meet Kris’ eyes and held his hands firmly – Do you still believe you are beautiful?

- I don’t.

- That’s not how things should be, now, are they? – Damon inclined his head against Kris’ – I didn’t want to say this, but Kris...You lost your sparkle.

- I know...

- Stop giving me two-word answers. You know you can tell me the truth.

- I really want to. But I don’t know how to.

Kris thought about what happened... With the band, he felt great. He felt amazing in front of crowds of people and doing what he loved. Singing and playing guitar on stage made him feel great.

But then Kris remembered... how the band broke up.

And how they – he and Bojan - broke up.

After Bojan left the band, he deleted his social media and Kris also deleted his number to not be tempted into calling him. He deleted all messages as well, “just in case”.

- Damon, it was complicate-

- I’m sorry to interrupt. – A familiar voice from the outside came in. – The door was open.

Kris and Damon looked at the new visitor. It was Bojan. With more grey hair than before, but Bojan. With some wrinkles, but Bojan. With a sad face, but Bojan.

Bojan looked at the model. It was Kris. With short hair, but Kris. With a tired face, but Kris. With smooth hands now, but Kris.

- I’m sorry...I decided to come in earlier for my shoot, but I can-

- You can stay. – Damon said, but then turned to Kris – Is that okay with you?

Kris nodded. He just nodded.

The session proceeded, though no one talked, only Damon who would give some directions to Kris from time to time. He wouldn’t talk, but his eyes would often drift to Bojan and meet his. It was awkward.

- Okay, you guys need to talk. – Damon got up.

- I’m clearly a distraction. – Bojan interjected – I can come by later.

- No, I’m going to take a smoke break, you guys talk it out. I don’t want to shoot soulless images. – Damon got pushy about it and Bojan just sighed.

He left, them alone. Kris didn’t feel the need to talk to Bojan. They hadn’t seen each other in years, nor uttered each other’s name unless it was necessary. So, why would he?

Bojan took a step ahead, Kris stared at him.

- You don’t want me here, I get it.

Bojan was about to leave, but then he abruptly changed his decision and decided to sit in the same corner as Kris.

- Hey, man how have you been? – he asked with a huge smile of his. However, Kris noticed how his teeth were now more yellowish than before, not to mention his breath.

- You reek of alcohol. And tobacco.

- Like you didn’t smoke or drink.

- I quit. It’s not a good example.

- To whom? Kris’ it’s not like we are in the band together and have to keep an image. – he laughed – So, what have you been doing?

- Why do you care?

- Okay, not a man of words I see. Unlike the Krisko I knew.

- Don’t call me that. – Kris placed his chin on top of his wrapped arms, shielding himself.

- I became a sociology teacher, actually, and I do ghostwrite for some artists too. You have probably heard some of my words on the radi-

- I don’t listen to Slovenian music anymore.

- Oh... – Bojan put on a sad smile – That’s a shame. You are in the Netherlands, right? I talk to Maks sometimes. I know you told him not to, but don’t get angry with him, please.

- I won’t. It’s his life. I just get pissed when some people don’t mind their own business.

- I swear he didn’t tell me anything else. I’m completely unaware of what else happened in your life.

Kris sighed. Bojan was not going to leave him alone, and, even though both of them are now completely different people, Kris still can’t stay quiet around Bojan either.

- I traveled across Europe trying to find a purpose after the band... Ended up marrying a Dutch woman...Her name was Fleur.

- You couldn’t let the flowers go, could you? – Bojan laughed at his own awful joke – I stayed alone, meanwhile.

- I don’t think anyone would want you smelling like that. Not very flower-like.

- You said “was”, what happened? And you didn’t even invite me to the wedding?

- We divorced.

- Oh, shit, I’m sorry, man.

- We have a daughter together. – he blurted it out.

Bojan was shocked considering the reasons why they broke up. That was a bomb to just casually drop. Kris was always repulsed by being near a child, now he’s a father?

- I guess...I guess you decided to live my dream for me then, uh? – Bojan awkwardly smiled – What’s her name?

- Lily. – he said it very fast as he realized the flower theme he had going on. – She’s four.

- How do you feel about them? – Bojan looked up. – You know, I don’t know what is like to have my own family...

Kris didn’t want to say it... As much as he loved Lily, he only married Fleur because it was the “logical thing to do”. They dated for a while, and he was already in his late 20’s so people around pressured him into it. Then Fleur wanted a kid and Kris never really thought too much about it, he just wanted to see Fleur happy - which led to their marriage falling apart slowly. She complained about him being her “Yes-man” as he was too scared to have to lose someone again. She ended up filing for a divorce.

- I love Lily and I loved Fleur. Though it was never the kind of “love letter” love. I never wrote a love letter to Fleur. – Kris also looked up – But love letters are ridiculous.

- Did you ever write me one?

- Yeah. When I was...ah – he tried to recall it – 16? You were dating Ivana back then. I just never sent it.

- Oh, then yeah. 16 for sure. It’s not like I had a lot of girlfriends. Or boyfriends-

- Have you ever written love letters?

- If you listened to Slovenian Radio, you’d know. – Kris smiled at that, for the first time since he arrived in London – Ridiculous. – Bojan mocked his voice.

Bojan placed his hand on Kris’ hand. Kris sighed... All the words they told each other on the breakup day were still resonating in his head.

- If I could, then I would, staying always by your side – Kris softly sang – If I could, then I would, giving up this famous life.

Bojan turned to Kris, surprised by hearing him suddenly sing.

- Where the sun doesn’t shine – he continued – Where the ceilings are all white.

He felt as if he had heard the song before but not from Kris’ lips. Did he write it for someone else?

- What good is life if I, - now that he hears it coming from his lips, it acquired a new meaning – can’t have you by my side?

It felt personal.

“Kris, I can’t do this anymore”, he said on that day “I’m burned out. I’m tired of living under expectations. I’m tired of my life being a spectacle. I can’t even control who’s watching and what they want to do with me!”

- Hey, you can’t do this any longer. – Kris closed his eyes as he kept singing – I know...the flame no longer glows.

“Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me.” He begged.

“Please, Kris...I just want to have a normal life and be able to love you without being judged. I just want to settle down, have a family with you, and leave this all behind.”

- Living in the spotlight, where everyone can see – Bojan felt Kris’ hands shake – Just how much there is between you and me...

“You want me to quit what I love to settle for a family I don’t know if even I want?”, Kris was angry that day...

- You’re tired of all the expectations – and Bojan ponders how angry is he still – You’re dying to be free of judgments.

“Bojan, I would done anything for you. Every day I put myself out there, risking my life for just being who I am, it’s not a “you” thing. We were supposed to be on this together, but you just want to call it quits?”

- You’re tired of these damn frustrations – because Kris won’t even look at him in the eyes properly – You wanted a life voided of instruments...

“Then I can’t do this anymore! If you are leaving the band for us, then you don’t understand our connection: Music!”

- If I could, then I would, giving the life you so deserve – and it took years for Bojan to understand that connection – If I could, then I would... keeping writing songs about you...”

“If you can’t because you are too scared while not even considering the fact that I also put myself out there every day, then it’s not even worth it! Go! Live your normal life. But without me”.

- But I guess we know we must go... – suddenly he realized Kris was singing the song differently from what he remembered – ‘Cuz you called it quits...

Bojan definitely remembers hearing this song played on the radio by some random pop star who was famous at the time, but he doesn’t remember this part. Nothing rhymed here.

- I don’t do music if you are gone...

- The song feels incomplete.

Kris sighed.

- I don’t like writing in English much... I sold it to someone else before I even completed it. They altered it quite a lot though. – Kris started fidgeting with his fingers, letting go of Bojan – I wrote it for you actually. It was my last song. I haven’t written or played since.

They heard the sound of Damon coming back, and in sync, they turned their heads to the source of the noise.

- I hope you guys had some time to talk. – he entered.

- We did.

- I have a proposal... Kris, I told you this story has 5 chapters. Last time 3 and 4 were linked, interconnected if you will... – the boys both pieced together what Damon was about to propose – Will you guys let me have chapters 1 and 2 together now?

- I’m up for it. – Bojan immediately agreed – If you take me on a date after. Coffee?

Kris pondered.

- I’m sorry, I can’t do this. It’s ridiculous. – but he started leaving.

- Krisko, wait! – Bojan grabbed his arm – Damon, can we have another moment?

- Bojan, we can’t just keep telling Damon to go off, he’s doing his job!

- Kris, I’m sorry for all the pressure I made you go back then. I really tried to let you know sooner I was sorry, but you’d already left Slovenia! All those songs I wrote were for you!

- I already know how stupidly sorry you are! Do you really think Maks doesn’t send me your music? Or Jan?? Songs in Serbian!?

- I...Kris-

- Bojan! – he called for his name in a repressive tone, but then he abruptly hugged Bojan, and both felt tears running down their cheeks – I just missed you so fucking much.

- I know... me too.

- I never wanted you to leave... you said you wouldn’t if I asked you.

- I’m so sorry. – he talked between sobs and the few pieces of clothes that separated them - I loved you so fucking much, more than anyone could.

And he does...Even after years apart.

- Welcome back home. - Kris smiled at him.

♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩

Afternote: I kid you not, I started this fic two weeks ago and I kept not being happy with it. I'm still skeptical about it. I even had to write a "song" (it's not a song lmao) to be able to find the path I wanted to take. The original story was so much different haha

MASTER POST | Recommended next:

#joker out #joker out bojan #joker out kris #bojan cvjetićanin #kris gustin #kris guštin #bokris #not me writting this on the train lmao #shame zero (0)#joker out fanfic #fanfic #writing

11 notes · View notes

rougevingirl · 8 months

Text

❝Sunset Secrets❞

Character: Tatum Riley

Words: 363

Warnings: none

The orange summer sunset was becoming more and more visible over the country town, the gold that made everything brighter slightly burning the skin of the two girls sitting on the veranda. The ice was already beginning to melt and mix with the sour lemonade, the sweat from the glasses dripping down and wetting the fluffy cushions around them as they both talked about whatever it was.

"...I always knew they wouldn't work out, he'd be with God and the world"

"And her too, I've seen her a thousand times with other guys"

"Really? I didn't know that..."

"It's true, I saw it with my own two eyes, several times"

"Well, it's their life, good luck"

"Yeah, I just want to know what's to come, gossip spreads fast"

"Y/N"

"Wow, what?"

"You know... speaking of gossip, recently I've heard a lot of rumors and comments, you know about who?"

"Who?"

"You"

"Me?"

"I heard that insufferable group of Kamila's, a bunch of bitches, talking about you, I really didn't want to get involved and start a row, you know how those chumps are, but they said that you're a slut who gives it to everyone, a dumb tits, and what's more, that Braian only dumped you because you weren't good enough in bed, a bunch of dumb bitches, I repeat"

"Really? They said all that about me, just because I told blonde K some truths to her face? Do me a favor, I think she needs to hear a little more"

"I swear, word for word. I wouldn't lie, but look, I really wanted to slap that girl in the face, but I heard through the walls, you know? So you'd better keep your mouth shut"

"Tatum!"

"Y/n! I'm only telling you because you deserve to know, and for now it's best to pretend you don't know anything"

"Honestly? I think you're sick"

"Of course not, it's just that she's going to have a surprise in the next few weeks"

"What do you intend to do, you little devil?"

"Me? Nothing. But the people at that school are still going to spread some gossip about betrayal"

"I knew there was something there, that's why I love you, hot, wonderful, perfect"

"I love you too goddess, now let's go inside because this cold wind is already bothering me"

#scream franchise #scream 1996 #scream one shot #scream fanfic #scream movies #scream #scream headcanons #scream imagine #scream oneshot #scream x reader #tatum riley x reader #tatum riley #scream 6 #scream vi #scream 2022

22 notes · View notes

azurefishnets · 11 months

Text

Without Form and Void

Hellooo, @dieanywhereelseart! I was honored to be assigned your prompts for @fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap this year! I loved them all; I hope you like the one I chose! Eldritch Sissel is too much fun as a prompt :3 I suspect I'll want to revisit this idea another day.

Happy Ghost Swap!

The story can be found at the link above, or you can read below!

AO3 Profile

Fandom: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective

Words: 2874

Summary: Jowd, Sissel, & Missile spend a day together; as ghostly experimentation ensues, they each get a little more than they bargained for.

Sissel sat at the top of the stairs and flattened his ears a little sardonically as the front door closed on a babble of voices; Lynne, Alma, and Kamila were going out together for an afternoon and Sissel was left to watch the house, Lynne’s dog, and Jowd, in approximately that order (although Alma had phrased it rather a different way around when telling Jowd the plans for the day.)

Lynne threw him one last odd look as the door closed, and Sissel squeezed his eyes at her as the door slid home. He knew she was still trying to understand her rapid assimilation into Jowd’s family; Alma had wasted no time ensuring that Lynne was part of Kamila’s life as soon as she got the real story of Jowd’s sudden silences and secrets surrounding Sissel, but Lynne still knew nothing of that time, only that Detective-now-Captain Jowd’s cat was a friendly little weirdo who seemed to enjoy having her and her dog around.

Missile scrabbled at the door a little for form’s sake, whining as Lynne’s laughter and Kamila’s chatter faded away, and then turned to the stairs and threw himself up them to crash against Jowd’s legs. From there, he immediately turned to Sissel and attempted to bowl them both over in a quick tussle that ended with Missile sprawled on his back, Sissel sitting primly as he straightened his fur, and Jowd chuckling as he leaned the long way down to scratch the dog’s ears and rub the eagerly-presented tummy. Sissel squeezed his eyes again. Even though it was on him to facilitate, he enjoyed the days when they could get together to talk. He supposed eventually Yomiel would be a part of their chats too, on the day hopefully not-too-far-off when he had acclimated to life once again with his human Sissel.

For now, feline Sissel dismissed thoughts of Yomiel as he turned and led the way, tail now waving high with interest and excitement, toward the large arts-and-crafts area Jowd had built onto the back of house approximately six years previous. Jowd still enjoyed painting and it now also served as an excellent catch-all room for Kamila’s tinkering, Alma’s rapid assimilation of hobbies from yarncraft to leatherwork, and even a small stage from which Cabanela could and often did serenade them all of an evening with his guitar and a flashy dance step or a hundred.

Jowd took the drop-cloth off his most recent painting, which featured Missile and Lynne. Lynne had already allowed herself, rather bashfully, to be painted, and now he was finishing the final details on Missile, who was, predictably, harder to pose. In truth, Jowd didn’t need either of them there, but it had become a good pretext to talk to the pets together in ways the humans in Jowd’s life couldn’t really understand.

Sissel yawned and tucked his body into a nice compact loaf on the table next to Jowd’s easel, then hopped out and sent his spirit flame toward Missile’s waiting fire. As always, the little dog greeted him with explosive joy.

“Finally! Welcome!! But Sissel, you took so long! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to connect me to Mr. Jowd!”

“Oh, am I just your telephone operator?” Sissel said a little drily, reaching his other ghostly paw towards the flame of Jowd’s soul. “You know I’m the one that’s supposed to be traveling via telephone.”

“Well…” Missile looked briefly nonplussed. “I guess you are kind of like that black hello now that you have that body of yours back…but still! I have so much to say to Mr. Jowd!”

“Oh?” Jowd’s spirit-voice joined their conversation, his usual sardonic tones a little preoccupied as he continued painting. “And what do you have to say to me?”

“Er…” Missile’s tail—both his spirit and regular versions—began waving ever-faster. “Welcome back Mister Jowd! I missed you!”

“Did you? I’ve been here all this time.” It was Jowd’s turn to sound mildly nonplussed, as he always did when someone expressed how much they loved seeing him. “And was that all you wanted to say?”

“No! I really, really missed you and Mister Cabanela and Miss Kamila and Miss Alma! It’s been days since I saw you all!” Missile said, wriggling. “I even asked Miss Lynne to bring me over here yesterday and the day before and…”

“Asked Lynne?” Jowd sounded amused now. “And how did you do that?”

“I barked and barked and barked! Until she chased me with a broom!” Missile said proudly. “And then I got her to throw my ball for me and take me on a walk and I thought we were coming here but we just walked to that place that smells SO good and then we came home and Miss Lynne ate her whole dinner and she didn’t give me any. Two days in a row!” He flopped to the ground, indignantly flicking his ears back to show his brief displeasure.

Jowd was laughing in earnest now. “You must have gone to the Chicken Kitchen. Two days in a row? Alma would have something to say about that. But we won’t mention it.”

“Well, she didn’t give me any chicken,” Missile said, then sat up. “But you will, won’t you Mister Jowd! You smell like it so you must have some!”

“Uh…” Jowd’s voice was unrepentant. “We’re out of chicken right now. Someone ate it all. With ketchup.”

“A criminal offense,” Sissel interjected, voice dry.

“A criminal!” Missile jumped and growled. “We have to catch him! That chicken thief!”

“Okay, okay,” Jowd said, still laughing. “We’ll go on a walk in a little while and see if you can sniff him out. For now, I’m done with your portrait. Do you want to see?”

Missile looked up at it. “Oh. It’s very nice, Mister Jowd,” he said politely. “It’s so square! And flat! And it has nice shapes on it! They sort of look like my Miss Lynne!” He sniffed, his little nose quivering. “It smells like my ball a little bit? I like that part!” He sniffed again. “And it smells like chicken too! Maybe the criminal came by here!” His tail waved. “It’s a Clue!”

Jowd snorted. “Thanks. Your nose, as always, is impeccable. We’ll be hiring you as a police dog soon.” He took the painting off the easel and set it on a tarp to dry. “All right, Sissel. Your turn.”

“Me?” Sissel’s spirit flickered in brief confusion. “You’ve painted me before.”

“Well, I painted Yomiel. And yes, you as a cat,” Jowd agreed. “But I was thinking about painting you in your ghost form this time.”

“But my ghost form doesn’t have a real shape,” Sissel objected.

“Exactly,” Jowd said, satisfied. “That’s why it’s a challenge. You turn into whatever you can think of, and I’ll paint it.”

“Cabanela put you up to this, didn’t he,” Sissel said.

“Well, he and Alma, yes.” Jowd shrugged, his brush already moving to capture the Temsik waves radiating from Sissel’s body. “And what did you expect? With the three of you ganging up on me to tell them everything, of course they want to know the real you.”

“Huh?” Missile interjected. “But Sissel is Sissel. He looks like who he is! All the time!”

“And how better to show that to humans than a painting?” Jowd finished smoothly.

“Err…fine.” Sissel’s spirit wavered, then firmed into a red desk lamp, which swiveled back and forth on its base. “How’s this?”

“Hmm,” said Jowd, inspecting him critically. “That one doesn’t really seem like you.”

“Yeah!” Missile said. “But I like it though! A lot!”

“You would,” said Sissel, flickering out of it and into a fuzzy approximation of an exceedingly old Pomeranian. “This you did too. Or, well, he didn’t like it exactly, I guess. But he sure made it sound like he did.”

“Hey, but that’s not what I looked like!” Missile objected. “He was more like this! I remember… I think...” His own spirit flickered through a few fuzzy shapes before settling back into looking, once again, like Missile. “Oh… but I can see him, I mean, me, so clearly. Why can’t I change?”

“Guess you have to be actually dead to control your ghost form,” Sissel said, preening his ghostly whiskers with a paw. “We already knew you couldn’t use your ghost powers anymore, so it only makes sense.”

“Well! I don’t want to be lolling around dead any time soon! Miss Lynne and Miss Kamila need me here!” Missile said. “You’ll just have to do a better job of looking like me, Sissel.”

“I’m not the artist here, you know,” Sissel said, and flattened his ears. “Also, wasn’t I supposed to look like me all the time?”

“Well… yes, but…” Missile barked at him. “Hey! Stop being confusing!”

“He’s just being a cat,” Jowd told him, and bent down to give him another ear scritch. “Sorry that you’re the only dog in the world, probably, who has to hear a cat being a cat on a regular basis. But if it makes you feel better, I get the same feeling from talking to Cabanela.”

“Oh, Mister Cabanela is also Mister Cabanela all the time,” Missile agreed. “He can’t be anything but himself, even if he smells like someone else. He sure is good at being confusing!”

“Ha! Well, that’s Sissel too.” Jowd said, laughing. “But I guarantee you if Cabanela had the power to shapeshift he would have too much fun with it. I’m surprised Sissel hasn’t tried before.” He turned back to Sissel. “Anyway, is that all you’ve got? Come on. Give me something with feeling. Some oomph.”

“Something with feeling, huh…” Sissel said. In rapid succession, he turned into a crossing gate, a guitar with bullet holes in it, and finally a familiar shape to both Jowd and Missile, a man in a red suit with tall and pointed yellow hair and dark sunglasses, who lay on the floor with his face on the ground. “Well, I guess I can definitely turn into anything or anyone I’ve ever possessed. That’s a pretty neat trick.”

“Yes,” Jowd said, already busily sketching shapes. “But just any old inanimate objects? Not very clever to repeat stuff, is it?”

“Well, maybe you should try it,” Sissel shot back. “Fine! How about this!”

For a moment, a huge ovoid form, much larger than Jowd, stood in the room, hollow eyes staring out at the world with haunted, empty white holes painted on its chalky face. Long facial hair streamed to the floor and puddled around their feet as the object toppled forward toward them on its unsteadily rounded base.

Missile crouched and barked at it, but Jowd didn’t flinch, only kept sketching. “Mino, huh? Better. Still inanimate, although I like the extra touches you put on there. Getting a little creepy, I suppose.”

“Hmph.” Sissel’s spirit flame flicked in annoyance and Mino turned into a rugby ball and then was gone. “OK, how about…hmm.” He flickered into the form of a monster from one of the late-night movies Jowd liked to watch when he couldn’t sleep and meow/roared, fire flickering from his mouth and smoke leaking from his nostrils. “How’s that!”

One corner of Jowd’s mouth flicked into a smile. “Quite a sight! Too bad it’s probably trademarked. Come on, Sissel. Give me an original creation. How about you give me an actual scare?”

Sissel’s spirit wavered, flickering between an old-fashioned gun and a music box as he thought. Jowd stopped painting, eyes fixed on his ghostly form. “That’s a pretty good try,” he remarked, voice even, “but for scary, you’d do better with the B-movie monsters.”

Sissel’s form resolidified into a cat’s and he favored Jowd with a slow double blink of apology, before flattening his ears in annoyed concentration. “All right,” he said after a moment. “You want scary? Try this.” The blackness of his fur leeched into the shadows of the floor, spreading out across the floor in darkness growing ever deeper as his eyes grew larger, then larger still, until they were enormous twin orbs of golden glowing light with thin black slits bisecting them. The eyes regarded Missile and Jowd for a moment before they shut. Man and dog stood in utter blackness and silence for a moment until Missile’s tiny start of a whimper cut off as a chill developed around them and time seemed to stop dead, then swirl around them in eddies like a whirlpool drawing them both to an inevitable final event horizon. Stars appeared, one by one, and were drawn in and strung into long strips of glowing dust until nothing remained but Jowd, Missile, and howling hydrogen atoms blazing blue through an empty cosmos in beautiful, incomprehensible patterns that, at last, burned away into the kismet that comes at the end of all things.

After a time that might have been an instant and might have been an eternity, the void resolved itself into the form of a tiny black cat with golden eyes, who yawned and stretched, then hopped off a pedestal next to an easel in a house on a street in a strange country on a planet that orbited through crowded, lively space. Sissel stropped himself against Jowd’s leg, meowing one sharp questioning note that made Jowd jump and Missile begin barking as loudly as possible.

After a second, Jowd cleared his throat. “Yeah, that was…pretty good,” he croaked, his voice almost inaudible under the barking, and abruptly sat on the floor. Missile stopped barking, crept into his lap, and sat there for a moment panting, tail almost but not completely still. A beat of silence, and Jowd said in a voice that was almost normal, “I don’t think I can paint that, though, Sissel. It was a little… high concept. I don’t think I’ve ever been a black hole before.”

“Oh, come on,” said Sissel, and narrowed his eyes at Jowd. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“Oh, but, but, I didn’t like it either,” Missile said, his voice unusually timid as he tentatively stood up and his tail began to swish again. “It was like when I was dead but before I was reborn, and even lonelier than I was until Miss Lynne found me again. I didn’t know you could do that. I didn’t know I remembered that! And I didn’t like remembering!”

“Um, well… sorry.” Sissel offered. “I didn’t know I could do that either.” They sat in silence for a moment before Jowd broke it with a snort of laughter.

“Imagine how Cabanela would react, though,” Jowd said, his voice dreamy. “Wish he could have seen.”

“And Miss Alma too?” Missile asked.

“No.” Jowd swallowed hard. “No, probably not. She… doesn’t need to remember that. And not Cabanela either, really.”

“Actually…” Sissel said, the words coming slow as he thought out loud, “I think I could show them, though. Or something like it.”

“What do you mean?” Jowd asked, his attention sharpening.

“Been thinking about it lately,” Sissel said. “I think maybe my powers are starting to change, like Ray said his did. They’ve had a more…visual feel to them from the beginning—”

“What does that mean?” Jowd cut in.

“Uh…” Sissel looked to Missile. “You know what I mean, right? Like instead of just moving through space on the phone wires it’s almost like you’re watching it on a screen?”

“Sissel,” Missile said very seriously, and sat back down with his tongue hanging out and his nose quivering, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, whatever. Anyway, it feels like, lately, moving in phone calls has been a little more constrained? Or something. So I’ve been wanting to experiment a little bit with pictures. On the TV, maybe.”

“You’re taking too much after Kamila,” Jowd said, voice indulgent. “Or she is after you, I don’t know which.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re great influences on each other,” Sissel said. “Anyway, I bet if I were to try possessing the TV, I’d be able to use the pictures it makes.”

Jowd raised an eyebrow at Sissel and stood, holding Missile in one arm and picking up the cat’s inert body with the other so he could maintain their three-way contact as he stepped away from the easel. “Well, I don’t feel like painting anymore after that anyway. Want to go try? I’ve got an idea for something I want you to show Cabanela—it’ll scare the scarf right off him.”

“Uh, I guess. You two are as weird as ever,” Sissel said, hopping to a spirit core on Missile’s collar. “I don’t think what I did before is going to come through as well on a TV though.”

“That’s all right,” Jowd said, a little too quickly. “Let’s start…a little smaller. Maybe instead of a black hole…a doughnut.”

“I want a doughnut!” Missile said, and began to wriggle fiercely, swimming through the air in his eagerness. “Let’s go Sissel! I want to see your best doughnut!”

“Oh boy,” Sissel said. “I guess this is going to open up all sorts of strange new tricks, huh?”

“I can hardly wait,” Jowd said, and carried both of them down the stairs to begin practicing.

#ghost trick #ghost trick spoilers #ghost swap 2023 #writing af

33 notes · View notes

loenas · 7 months

Text

A sentence that could only exist in the Russian figure skating world😵

#the way this was worded just made me laugh I’m sorry #for the record I completely agree that we shouldn’t hate Kamila for the doping situation #<- even if she has bad technique😔

5 notes · View notes

hourcat · 2 months

Note

i’d like to share an au idea i had! i originally had this idea w another pairing in mind but piarles have multitudes and could fit very wellll. anyone who happens to see this feel free to use it…. 🥺

ok so. i go through these random short lived obsessions with so many things (it’s been 3 years with f1 so i don’t think she’s going away…) and one of those obsessions was figure skating. and i think piarles should have a figure skating au. listen. i’ve got it all planned out.

pierre is the extremely technical, jumping machine skater (think sasha trushova or something. sorry i only care about girl figure skating so idk the male equivalent). charles is the extremely artistic, spinning and twirling and whatnot over jumps, body line and angles obsessed skater (think yuna kim or kamila valieva or something). anyway.

they have this long term rivalry of theirs going on. the olympics come around. these two are, obviously, the favorites for gold. they continue on, as the olympics approach, doing their… idk rival stuff and focusing on themselves. but then!! there’s drama. the good thing about figure skating is there’s always drama. especially if we’re trying to go sasha vs kamila type of skater because those two did have olympic drama so we can just copy them! but ofc there’s room for creative adjustments whatever anyone wants. either the conflict can be pierre (sasha) being the second fiddle to his coach’s other skater and in return his coach promises to prioritize him for the olympics but GASP! they don’t! they go back on their word! and pierre confides in charles! <3 OR! we can do charles (kamila) gets accused of doping and it becomes a huge scandal and the results take forever to come out and the media is eating him alive and he’s left in front of the media alone and overwhelmed and other skaters are being shady and mean and countries olympic committees or whoever is in charge (sorry my obsession didn’t get that far to know… details details) are trying to get him banned and he confides in pierre! (it’s obviously false, for the sake of the story and also fictional charles’ sportsman dignity) <3 or even both happen! or any sort of conflict the potential author desires.

and somewhere along the way they carnally desire each other and kiss and have sex and somehow they both win the gold medal. maybe they can even both just be girls in this and we can get that lesbian piarles that was being spoken about on here a while ago…. yeah…

sorry for invading your inbox. i’ll just tag this post with… idk. 🎀 this emoji in case i come back.

HOLY SHIT? HELLOOOOOO oh my god please this is DELICIOUS where are my figure skating mutuals!!! i know literally nothing about the sport so i am totally the wrong person to be handling this but my god! i would devour tf out of this.

a rivalry turned alliance turned relationship! both drama plots are CRAZYYYY like charles supporting pierre during his team's internal fuckery....pierre defending charles from the allegations™....and of course they learn to desire each other carnally, they're OBSESSED w one another (to beat, of course...no other reason....) and suddenly that total shift in mindset....screaming crying throwing up etc etc. ur mind 🙏🙏

also 🎀 is perfect 🩷🩷 u are ALWAYS welcome back to talk more abt this or anything else u like bestie!!!!!!! THANK U ILY MWAH

#i am. CRAZY #adding this to the #AU tag #for reference 🙏🙏#ask reply #Anonymous #🎀

8 notes · View notes

theriveroflight · 11 months

Text

The Case of the Missing Allen Wrench

Bonus treat for @fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap, written for @darknessconsumesmeslowly under the following prompt: A detective story featuring Missile and Sissel about something really mundane and cute. Bonus if Cabanela, Lynne and Yomiel are being featured.

Word Count: 2081

Rating: G

Summary: When Kamila loses her most used Allen wrench to the void underneath her desk, Sissel and Missile work to retrieve it.

Read on AO3

Kamila sighs. “Where did it go?” She looks down at Missile. “Could you sniff out my Allen wrench…?”

Missile barks. “What?”

Sissel would roll his eyes if he were currently in the physical location. As it is, his body is “napping” on top of the radiator in the hallway. Missile probably doesn’t know what an Allen wrench is. Then again, it’s not like Sissel does either. He just likes watching Kamila tinker. It’s sort of an echo of what happened before, sitting curled atop Yomiel’s shoulders as he worked on something. Sissel had never really known what, always, but…it was just nice to be in the presence of someone as they work. He doesn’t even have to mess with anything.

Besides, it’s easier to be in here as a ghost. He’s not taking up any space.

“No, everything in here probably smells the same.” She sighs and gets up, diving under her desk.

Missile chases his tail a bit. Sissel jumps back back into the hallway, then into his body. Maybe he can do something to help.

“Sissel!” Missile barks.

“I already know,” Sissel answers.

Missile tilts his head. Sissel doesn’t answer the implicit question. Missile’s still new — he hasn’t quite picked up on the fact that Sissel is very much not your usual cat.

“I didn’t smell you,” Missile says.

“You wouldn’t,” Sissel answers.

“What does that mean? What does that mean?”

“You’ll figure it out.” Sissel waves his tail. “For now, we need to help Kamila find that wrench.”

Missile wags his tail. “But how do you want me to help?”

“Well, get me in the room. Then I can really start helping.”

“I…” Missile looks dejected, which just makes Sissel feel guilty. “I can’t! You know what he said!”

Right. Jowd says no going into Kamila’s room, Sissel, I don’t want you to mess with the contraptions. Missile probably doesn’t understand all that, but he does know that Sissel can’t enter Kamila’s room in his body.

“Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to…take a nap again,” Sissel says, “and you’re going to carry me into Kamila’s room without disturbing me or her.”

“And I’m not going to wake you up?”

“I’m a heavy sleeper.” Sissel forces himself to flick an ear. “You won’t wake me up.”

Missile nods. Sissel lays himself down first before going into the Ghost World and jumping over towards Kamila’s room, using a similar path to the one he took the last time.

That’s when Jowd and Alma come home.

“Put Sissel down, Missile,” Alma chides.

Missile whimpers. Oh no. Sissel jumps back into his body quickly.

“Missile isn’t hurting him, Alma,” Jowd says, stroking her arm. “Look, he’s got Missile by the scruff.” Sissel wonders if Jowd can sense that he’s not in his body. Probably. And Sissel can’t even really feel pain no matter what. “I’m sure they’re just playing.”

Alma frowns. “It looks like Sissel’s asleep. It doesn’t look like they’re playing.”

Sissel mentally sighs and opens up his eyes. He nips playfully at Missile, who drops him and yelps in surprise. Sissel arches his back and faces Missile.

“What?” Missile barks.

“Play along,” Sissel hisses.

“They’re play-fighting, see?” Jowd asks. “They’re fine. Relax a little, would you?”

Alma’s smile is tight-lipped. “I’m still worried about whether Missile and Sissel will get along. It’s only been a few weeks.”

“Trust me,” Jowd says. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Cabanela,” Alma accuses, but it bears no heat.

“He wouldn’t have said it like that,” Jowd says. “He would have said it like this—”

“Truuuuuust me, you have nothing to worry about, baby,” the two of them chorus in unison, bursting into giggles afterwards.

They’re going to be fine. Sissel focuses back on Missile, waiting for the two of them to get down the hallway.

“What are we going to do now?” Missile asks. “It’s going to be impossible to sneak past them.” He puts his face in his paws, looking more dejected than he has any right to. Actually, Sissel thinks that entire night — he had never once seen Missile’s smile falter, even when it had every reason to.

“Not impossible,” Sissel answers, “just more difficult. I’ve done it before.”

“Snuck past him?” Missile asks in a voice that almost sounds awed. “Wait, you’re a cat. You can do things like that. I can’t, though. How am I going to get in there?”

“You’re allowed,” Sissel says. “I’ll just have to figure out another way to sneak in.”

Step one: get his body in the room. Step two: get himself in the room. These could be the same. These could also be separate. Sissel hasn’t really tried to sneak into Kamila’s room before, at least not in his body. He can get in there without it. But then he can’t talk to Missile, and Missile will be left wondering where Sissel is.

Missile goes back into Kamila’s room. Jowd, Alma, and Kamila are all in the family room — Kamila has her headphones on while Jowd and Alma are watching the news together.

Sissel gets up and walks vaguely in the direction to trick Jowd, who is definitely keeping an eye on him, and then tricks his bandana off beside the bin. Closing his eyes, he slinks his way through where he knows it’s darker, keeping an eye on the state of things through the Ghost World when needed.

“You’re here!” Missile barks. Sissel places his tail over Missile’s muzzle.

“Shh,” Sissel hisses. “Be quiet. You don’t want them to come in here and find us, do you?”

Missile shakes his head. Sissel knows the type of thing the Missile he knew back then would have said — but I just get so excited, I can’t help it!

“Okay,” Sissel says, removing his tail from over Missile’s muzzle. “Don’t do anything unless I tell you to. Got it?”

Missile nods.

Sissel stalks over to the corner, finding a corner to tuck himself into, and then enters the Ghost World. Time doesn’t pass here, so he can take as long to search as he wants.

He jumps over towards Kamila’s desk. It should be underneath or behind it…

Wait, what’s an Allen wrench again? What does one even look like?

He jumps back into his body.

“Missile, do you know what an Allen wrench is?” Sissel asks.

“Um…” Missile scrunches face, clearly thinking very hard. “It’s something Miss Kamila uses to make her parts!”

“Besides that,” Sissel urges.

“Is that Missile?” Lynne asks. “Kamila’s out here, what is he doing in her room?”

Sissel flees back to the corner to avoid being caught.

“Aw, silly goose,” Lynne says, picking up Missile. “What were you doing in here?”

“Sissel’s in here too!” Missile answers. “He asked me to come!”

Great. It’s a good thing Lynne can’t understand him, or else Sissel would be in big trouble, emphasis necessary.

Sissel jumps back into the Ghost World. Looks like he’s on his own for figuring out what an allen wrench is supposed to be.

There are a lot of odd bits and baubles underneath Kamila’s desk. Things he recognizes — screws and nuts — and one L-shaped tool he doesn’t recognize. Is that it? Is that what he’s been looking for? He memorizes the location and jumps back into his body.

Now he has no Missile to gain attention. He sighs. He supposes he’ll just have to do his best to retrieve the wrench on his own.

“Where’s Sissy?” he hears Kamila ask from just outside. Sissel freezes and jumps outwards into the hallway. “I found his bandana.”

“That’s odd.” Jowd frowns, looking up to where Sissel is currently idling in the light fixture. “He shouldn’t do that.”

“But what if he’s lost?!” Kamila asks. She looks down.

“There’s one more detective and one detective in training over for dinner tonight,” Jowd answers, ruffling Kamila’s hair. “I’m sure we can pull off finding one cat. Even if he likes to make it difficult.”

That was definitely targeted. Also, apparently Cabanela’s at dinner too. Great. Just great. Sissel can admit he doesn’t keep track of dates that well — time tends to feel differently for him than it does for a human. Maybe that’s down to Sissel having done days worth of work in a single night, or it’s just down to feline nature. He’s not really sure.

Sissel decides to talk to Jowd.

“What are you doing?” Jowd asks.

“I’m not going to resist when you try to put the bandana back on,” Sissel answers, flicking an ear. It’s a lot easier to move in the ghost world. Probably because he doesn’t have to put any real effort into it. “I just needed to be able to sneak by.”

“Where are you right now?” Jowd asks.

“My body? It’s in Kamila’s room. I know you said not to go in there, but Kamila lost her allen wrench earlier, and Missile wanted me to help look because I’m smaller than he is so I can fit underneath her desk better. He doesn’t know that I don’t need to be physically underneath there to look. I found it. I haven’t retrieved it yet, but…”

“You know you aren’t supposed to be there.”

“I didn’t mess with any of her stuff, cross my heart,” Sissel answers. No hoping to die. Not for him.

Jowd frowns.

Oh. Right. Sissel still can’t keep his inner voice down, after all this time living like this.

“I’m glad you found it,” Jowd says. “You can come on out. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks,” Sissel answers. He jumps back to his body as fast as he can, and then races over to the family room, where there’s an intense game of Go Fish going on. Sissel hops up onto Lynne’s lap, and takes a look at her hand. He can recognize numbers now, at least, which is better than he was doing when he first realized he couldn’t read. And he can also count the symbols on the cards. Lynne seems to be doing alright, but Cabanela has the largest set of pairs on the table.

“Hey, Sissel,” Lynne says. “You wanna help me out?”

Sissel purrs.

“What should I ask for?” she asks.

He considers the cards, and selects one mostly at random.

“Alright,” Lynne says. “Hmmm…hey, Detective Cabanela, got any eights?”

“Nooooooope,” Cabanela answers. “Go fish, baby.”

Lynne digs around in the pile. “Yes! An eight!”

That was very lucky. And they say black cats are bad luck.

“Kamila, do you have any jacks?” Lynne asks.

“Yeah,” Kamila answers, slightly dejected. Missile barks, trying to be reassuring.

“Oh, hey, Cabanela,” Jowd says. “Would you mind coming with me? We can get back to the game later.”

Sissel slumps himself onto Lynne’s lap so that he won’t fall off, and jumps off to follow them.

“Your back is better than mine,” Jowd says. “Kamila lost something under her desk, would you mind helping me find it?”

“Why not just move the desk, baby?” Cabanela asks.

“...sure,” Jowd says. “Let’s try that.” He looks over at where Sissel’s hovering in the light switch. Sissel flicks it off and on.

“That was strange,” Cabanela says.

“Not the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jowd answers with a smile. “Let’s go get it.”

When they arrive in Kamila’s room, after Sissel is already sitting within the wrench in question, Jowd lifts up the desk and Cabanela rummages around underneath it. Cabanela picks up the wrench, with Sissel inside it, and sets it on top of the desk after Jowd sets it down.

“Theeeeere we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cabanela hip-checks Jowd.

“Nope,” Jowd answers. “I think we’ve solved our case.”

Sissel doesn’t think it’s much of a case, but it’ll be good for Missile to hear, at least. He jumps back into his body, and true to his word, doesn’t scratch Jowd when he puts the bandana back on him.

Lynne wins the game of Go Fish, Alma very nearly burns dinner (with Jowd there to save it), and the rest of the night goes just as smoothly.

When Kamila gets back to her room for the night, Sissel’s inside her swivel chair.

“Oh! My wrench!” she says. “Great.” She puts it back into what looks sort of like its case. “Thank you, whoever got it!”

Sissel knows it’s not necessarily for him, but considering he basically did all the work, he’ll take it. A job well-done indeed.

#ghost trick #sissel #missile ghost trick #ghost swap #fanfiction #my writing

28 notes · View notes