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[kerfufflethetruffle]

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“Don’t wait reach out… You are not alone. You are not a fraud.”

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“You are not alone. You are not a frog.”

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

My Boyfriend the Basketball Player

Characters: Jake Tweneboah (OC), Jackie Varma and Frankie (Jake’s Teammate, Jackie and him have never formally met so his name isn’t mentioned)

Summary: A Story told from Jackie’s Point of View, on how she sees Basketball when her boyfriend Jake plays

Rating - General with a bit of Fluff

Taglist:  @secretaryunpaid @princess-geek @choicesficwriterscreations @ If you’d like to be tagged please DM me or Reblog after reading

Basketball is a dance. Amidst the hectic rush and rudeness, there is something graceful in the arch of a free throw, the bend of a body.

Sneaker squeals and gruff grunts sing counterpoint to the zing-zing-zings of orange rubber. Your eyes trace the action, sister against brother, your mitten-clad hands gripping your steaming cocoa for added warmth. Your butt has started to grow numb, but right now you don't care. Happiness is this, sitting here beneath a bright December sun, watching poetry in action.

Yes. Basketball is a dance. And the way Jane plays basketball demands a soundtrack. The right chords and runs to accent the delicate mix of playfulness and intensity. The idea isn't a new one. You've had many hours to contemplate this over the years. All the times Jake sought comfort or release in the scuff of sneakers on asphalt, the familiar bump and shove within the boundaries of a game he knows, and plays well. He's so at home with himself when moving.

It started months ago, you trying out snip-its of songs in your mind, a running backdrop to Jake's choreography on the court. You tried everything from rock to classical, alternative to country. You expanded your already expansive repertoire in search for that elusive tune. Yet none of them fit quite right. Not one of them captured the essence of your boyfriend playing basketball. You'd almost given it up as hopeless. But now…

Jake ducks a block and shoots – a score – his elated cry puffing white into the chill December air. He turns and dark eyes catch yours between even darker curls, loose from hair. The connection is like a snap of tightened rubber. You feel the vibration in your bones. It sends a thrill down your spine.

You grin into your coffee mug.

Now. Finally, you've reached a consensus.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Jake curses on the court, as though she's heard your thought. But you nod, decisive, and think it again, firmly, as though that will set it in stone.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. If the Tran-Siberian Orchestra ever gave it a go, that is.

You compose a bit in your mind, tweak rhythm and insert elements. You like the result. The perfect blend of delicate and rough.

Minor key, to capture the anticipation. Deep base for the dribbles, mirroring escalating heartbeats.

You sip your cocoa, feel the welcome warmth pool in your center, a pleasant contrast to the crisp chill in the air. Eyeing the court, you warm to your subject, settle back against the bench to watch the battle.

Electric guitar for the shoves and fakes. Percussion in the scuffle of shoes, cymbals for the smack talk, back talk. But underneath it all, above it all, a melody so familiar, so comforting, as to render any outward deviance acceptable. Almost…endearing.

You run your finger along the rim of your glass, thoughtful. Your eyes trace the back and forth of the dance, drawn to agile footwork and tensing shoulders. Then details you've seen before without really seeing. Skin warmed pink from exertion and cold. The delicate protrusion of a wrist. The gentle slope where throat meets shoulder. A light sheen of perspiration. That cocky confidence in the jut of a hip.

A flash of a smile – half sass, all Jake – when he scores.

Your breath catches and you almost drop your mug. You blink and pull the beverage in to your chest, as though the familiarity of cocoa will anchor your spiraling thoughts.

Basketball and ballet may be as far removed as Michelangelo, but there is something equally compelling in the art of form and movement. And now you can't shake Jake's symphony from your mind.

Low cello, even and steady for that passionate drive. Dissonance both jarring and enticing. Strings to highlight the stretch and flex of muscle beneath skin on every reach—

You realize you are warming to more than just the subject. In a way that makes your thoughts scatter. It is not unpleasant.

Your mind shifts and shutters, sensing a growing warmth in the vicinity of your heart that has nothing to do with hot chocolate.

"What does the winner get?"

Jake backhands his teammate on the arm before you can respond. "Bragging rights," he says, a warning in his voice. As though it should be obvious.

He squares off with his teammate, you partly behind him.

Jake’s Teammate rubs the offended shoulder and shoves Jake in return. He bumps into you, and behind him back him hands grasp your arm and hip, briefly, as he regains her balance. As though to ensure your own equilibrium.

Jake’s Teammate raises an eyebrow, only half-playing, and you can see Jake's shoulders tense, even beneath the layers.

"Yeah, but why not sweeten the deal." You don't miss the way his eyes dart to you.

Neither does Jake.

Jake scowls, but there is thought behind it, and doubt. He's calculating.

"A surprise," you say, to break the unexpected tension.

They turn to you as though they've forgotten your presence. The matching Tweneboah confusion is comical. You hold back a laugh.

"What?" Jake's voice is low. He heard you, but her eyes ask another question altogether.

"A surprise," you repeat, add a slight wiggle of your shoulders. A smile. Playful. "For the winner."

Jake's body stills. She stares at you, dark eyes narrowed. You tilt your head, meet her gaze, but something in your stomach clenches. It's almost unsettling, all that sharp focus resting solely on you. For a moment, you believe Jake is going to protest, before he lets out a bark of a laugh and punches his teammate again. Harder. He drops the ball with a grunt and she scoops it up, already dribbling.

"Hey!"

"Surprise!" he calls as he lands an easy layup. He bends low, retrieving the ball. "Two-zip." He smirks over his shoulder, then checks the ball into his teammate's chest. Hard.

A surprise.

You didn't really have anything in mind. You still don't. Maybe a kiss on the cheek. It's rather overdone, cliché.

But now you wonder just what was going through Jake's mind, behind those dark eyes as they searched yours. You wonder what he found, if there was a question there you missed the chance to answer.

You wrap your free hand around your middle, suddenly feeling exposed.

The end is anticlimactic. One last layup and then groans and whoops mingled with labored breaths. You've lost track of the score, but right now numbers are far less important than the way your heartbeat wants to dribble itself out of your chest.

They converge on you, winded yet content. Jake gives his teammate a shove at something he says. He's all smiles and bashful pride.

He'd let his teammate win again. You can tell by the way his scowl and scoffs lack the true vehemence of defeat. This normally would not bother you. It shouldn't bother you. It doesn't.

But you still haven't moved.

He reaches over you for her discarded sweatshirt, wipes her forearms, chest, throat. Your eyes linger where the cloth cleans. His movements pause as she glances at you with something like concerned confusion, damp curls framing the expression, and for an alarming moment, you are all awkward angles and teenage angst once again.

"So?"

You start and come back to yourself in a rush. The distraction allows your chest to expand. A blush and a deep breath settles the sudden surge of nerves and you turn to his teammate and smile at his expectant grin.

"Surprise for the winner?" he prompts, holding his arms out from his sides.

You set your now cool mug aside, slip off your gloves and stand, smoothing your coat free of imaginary wrinkles. Your actions are controlled, effortless, routine. They hide the tremor in your fingers.

You don't know why Frankie feels so safe, but it's so easy to meet his brown eyes, match is eager smile. Easy to laugh and put a hand on his shoulder, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. Feel the rough stubble beneath your lips. So easy.

So easy your mind does not stop hearing the dance of sugar plums, seeing the flex of feminine muscle with new eyes.

The kiss is what's expected. His blushing grin and glance to the ground is almost endearing.

You can't stop feeling the burn of dark caramel eyes between your shoulder blades.

Jake’s teammate nods and moves away, and you turn to meet Jake's gaze. He stands there unassuming, baggy sweatshirt balled and cradled at his waist. He has a half-smile on his face, hair a messy rebellion, one damp tendril caressing his throat. Shirt stained with perspiration.

You take a step toward him without conscious thought.

"Consolation prize?" Jake asks with an almost-shrug, his sheepish smile not quite hiding…something. Some emotion you can't place. Disappointment?

You pause as if in thought, raise an eyebrow. Could I really… Your mind races, considering, deciding, reconsidering. The hesitation makes him curious. His posture loosens and his eyes ask a question. You answer in a language Jake can understand.

You can allow yourself this small indulgence. Just once.

You lean forward, a hand to his bicep ostensibly for balance. You feel Jake’s wimpy muscles flex beneath your fingers, his heated skin drawing you in. Jake’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't move away. Your other hand rests on his jaw, cold fingertips just brushing the damp roots of black curls. Up on your tiptoes, your lips press against the smooth skin of Jake’s cheek, lingering long enough to appreciate the softness, the warmth of her surprised exhale. You close your eyes in a slow blink, letting yourself feel. Letting yourself exist in the moment.

One heartbeat. Two.

You distantly register the light whomp of her sweatshirt falling to the ground.

You pull away, ever aware of watching eyes and the code of propriety.

"You let him win."

The words are out before you can censor them.

Hands on your waist prevent a full retreat. The heat from them makes you shiver.

"How do you figure?" Jake’s voice is low, raspy in the small space between you. It makes you swallow.

"The last few free-throws," you reply. Your voice is surprisingly even. "Your stance changed. You shifted your weight backwards, off-setting the trajectory of the ball. You missed."

You meet and hold his dark eyes, almost a challenge.

"On purpose."

Somewhere along the way you've forgotten to remove your hands. They still rest on your boyfriend’s arm and jaw. Jake's grip doesn't loosen, and the intimacy of your embrace is not lost on you. His eyes search your face, and you wonder what he reads and sees there.

The silence is heavy with promise. It builds until you feel it as a physical presence, making it difficult to breathe.

"On purpose," he finally repeats. His tone gives the words an entirely different meaning.

You manage to nod. Once, jerky. You're having a hard time hearing over the blood rushing in your ears. Over his shoulder, you see Jake’s Teammate glance your way before purposefully turning his back. You decide to buying him a gift for Christmas for making your boyfriend happy with with his sports hobby.

Jake's fingers flex. The movement sends tingles over your skin and brings your eyes to match again.

You don't dare breathe.

He leans forwards, and his mouth brushes the corner of your lips. Light, hesitant. Purposeful. It asks a question and answers one at the same time.

You press into the kiss, fingers tightening along her jaw. The heat from his proximity sets your skin aflame. He hovers for the space of a breath as the scent of lavender and excursion overwhelms your senses. A now familiar melody teases the back of your mind.

Then the pressure is gone, and you're slow to recover, clinging to muscle memory and thankful for Jake's hands to keep you upright. You can feel him looking at you, but you can't manage to open your eyes yet.

"Sugar plum."

Jake leans back, ducking his head, eyes confused but also dancing with amusement. "What?"

You blush, not realizing you'd spoken aloud. "Nothing."

You pull your hands away, self-conscious. Straighten your coat and tuck hair behind your ears for something to do, to pretend a blush is not turning your face crimson.

Jake just stares. You start to panic.

"You should put your coat back on, Jake. You don't want to catch cold." You aim for scolding but only manage teasingly flustered.

He lets out a breathy laugh. The awkward bob of her throat belies his seeming calm, and you gradually find yourself on firmer ground. Perhaps you're not the only one unsure.

Reaching out, you brush the errant curl from his throat, watching as caramel eyes follow your movement and flick back to yours. They soften with affection, and you know the last few moments were not a mistake. The tightness in your chest uncoils and you find your lips lifting up to return Jake’s smile.

Your heart expands. This is a moment that calls for a soundtrack.

Jake glances over her shoulder at his teammate, who has yet to end his rather extensive perusal of dead grass. Hands in his pockets, Jake’s posture shifts into a partial slouch and she gives you a look – that look, half-smirk and half-tease – and you both dread and long for what he'll say next.

"Whatever you say, sugar plum."

You sigh. You'll never live this down.

Here are a few real life pictures of myself playing basketball (Something Special to add to the fic)

[inspiration-fun-and-stuff]

Animals Being Naughty

Bear 1: “Follow the yellow brick road”

Bear 2: “don’t be stupid”

Bear 3: cutely: I’m following mummy and she’s not yellow”

[andykills457]

So, untill this pandemic started I had no idea how much one foot was because I literally only use the metric system.

So...

I literally learned that 1 foot is equal to about 1/3 of a metre from memes.

[lupu]

Nevermind 9

Here again! Now you can read next new part of nevermind's. This time it's little bit longer. And if I haven't said it earlier my first language isn't English so don't judge if something is incorrect. but here you go. Enjoy :)

I leaned myself to wall made of bricks. The flaming lights of the lampposts sparked the dark road. Humans underworld was cruel so I have to be more brutal. I was only 17 and my childhood was ruined, so they could get my mad side out of me. Sometimes I wonder, how I just want a new normal life and curl up on my new mom's lap. How I could just listen her to sing me to sleep, just like a little baby. I changed my position against the rough brick wall. I wore only black; black sweatpants and a hoodie.

Lonely steps carried from the dark road. I step back under the alley's shadows. I put my faceless mask on and waited. I picked up my old leather jacket and covered my hair with hood. I listened the steps one by one getting closer. Rhythm of them was even. I breath deeply. Then when they little bit closer I walked out of the shadows. I looked the comer through the white faceless mask I had. A tall figure stopped about five meters from me.

- Oh, you left so far away, I said to him with cracking voice.

The man didn't answered me but stared coming closer.

- But I didn't said I allow you to come any closer, I continued.

Now the man was only one meter away. Holy name of my mom, he was tall. Those ones were always more difficult to handle. I tried to look at him more closely but the darkness covered most of his face. I could only see the outlines but I could say this wasn't the person I waited.

-Long time no see girl, he said happily and I could hear smile in his voice. No one knows I am a girl.

-Wait... who are you again? I thought this meeting was about business, not getting my hands bloody.

-Oh trust me beautiful, this is business. Or at least some could call it that.

Shiver went down my spine. I was ready to kill even thought this was the first time my instincts yelled me "RUN". The man looked me all the way down. I could feel his eyes on me and it burned my skin. Something about this felt familiar.

- Last time we met we had quite fun actually. I could say you can dance really well. Your moves are really smooth and elegant shall I say, man said calculated.

He step aside as if viewing me like a dog.

- Sadly I have to admit that I do not dance usually, I answered to him.

A moment went when he thought and circled me. The silence was painful and heavy. It was like a wet coat on you shoulders.

- You don't remember me? I am mortified, eventually he said dramatically. - you should be punished for that!

- Just stop. If you don't have anything to say, I would gladly go. I really have something to do.

- Not so fast young lady. I come here to take you with me, his voice was heavy and it told me that now would me great time to run but I didn't move a finger.

- Sorry I am not in the mood, I told him as if. My whole body was tensed. I watched how he stopped and looked at me with that burning watch. I watched how he took steps closer again. Now he was in my personal space. I seized to knife on my back and as slowly as I could I pull it closer to that man. He looked me down and grabbed my jaw.

- That wasn't a question, my love, he said.

Quickly I pulled the knife to his rib. He stared to laugh and pulled me away and grabbed his knives.

- Did you really thought I would be that stupid again? Why you do this? I am smarter than you. But isn't it funny that this time you could've actually killed me but still you missed it.

I just jumped forward to him but his avoided it. I swiped my knife to him but it didn't scratch him. Then I realized it. I remembered who he was.

- Why aren't you dead, tunnel boy? I asked.

- How sweet honey, I got a nickname? His voice was so filled with sweetness that it was almost sticky.

- I killed you.

- As well as that you did a moment ago.

- How did you find my brother? I asked because I hadn’t found him.

- That's a funny story?

- Who even are you?

- Good question, I guess.

I tried to play time and watch read his weaknesses but he was as calm as a mirror.

- Why are you here? I asked him.

- Like I said, I came to take you with me. And take that stupid mask off, I want to see you face again.

- Show me yours and I will show you mine, I answered confidently. he laughed me again and then I hit him. Straight to his dark face I could not see with all my strength. His low laugh stopped there.

- I love you, you know, he loudly whispered.

I kicked him as hard as I could. But again, he just escaped it.

- I don’t wanna fight you. I mean last time I beat you up so just give up and come with me.

I didn’t want to stay there but I wanted to fight him. But this got me kind of frustrated. He just escapes my hits and kicks and laugh at me working with a knife. Suddenly I wanted to laugh to irony of this moment. This wasn’t even a fight or war here. Even though I held the knife.

- We both know that’s not happening, so I just keep going.

Now the man sloped his head to right a bit. I put down weapon and hide it back where I took it from. I grabbed the leather jacket again from the ground. And smiled.

- Farewell and die soon, tunnel boy! I said and started running as fast as I could. I didn’t take my mask off I just focused to going forward. I turned my skin invisible and disappeared from the humans. Madness of my soul came to company me and I smiled my animalistic grin.

[metal-zhan]

[blacksun-judar]

✿

[ravena-poetica]

Independente do seu ego,

eu quero ser sua corrente.

Você é o meu abismo é,

eu necessito de você.

Aleh Dario