#three-pointer

[eltristanexplicitcontent]

Okay, data-driven discovery by me, now I have a new favorite small forward — think I really like Cam Johnson's style! That one corner shot!

Where each NBA team’s leading scorer likes (and dislikes) shooting from relative to league average

by llewellynjean/reddit

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three Pointer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: When you go down to see your brother at the basketball courts, you find yourself drawn into a game you don’t quite understand.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: I think one more part will do the trick.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Photo Sources: #1 #2

"Whatever she said, she's lying," Carter spits.  

You stand, dumbfounded, speechless. You must be imagining it. No way he's talking to them like that. No way they're doing what they're doing. It was only basketball, it was only ice cream.  

"Ha," Bucky scoffs. "She didn't have to say anything. You said it all yourself."  

"Bro? What does that even mean?"  

Steve clucks. "We heard you and your buddies. And we heard the way you talk to her."  

"Whatever. You guys were across the court."  

"Funny thing about super soldiers, we got sharp ears," Bucky snorts.  

"Even if we are old men." Steve chirps.  

"Um, it's... please. It's okay." You say. 

"She's useless," Carter shakes his head. "What's the big deal. Saw you two showing her how to hold the ball. She can't do nothing."  

"You know," Bucky crosses his arms. "I had a sister. Give anything to get her back. Some people just don't got sense."  

"I'm sure she was a lot smarter than here--"  

"On more insult and I'll rip your tongue out," Bucky points at him. "So, step back and shut your mouth. She needs to pack."  

Carter's eyes widen and his cheek twitches. You look at Bucky then Steve. They're staunch and unbending. You never once won an argument with your brother, you don't think you will with them.  

"Come on, sweetheart," Steve beckons you with him as he moves toward the door. "Let's grab your things."  

You nearly tip before you get your feet under you. You gulp as Steve waits, trailing after you as you approach your brother. Carter steps out and stands against the dingy siding.  

"Good luck with her." He huffs and just as soon hacks as Bucky flicks his adam's apple.  

"Warned you," Bucky tuts.  

"Please. Don't hurt him," you beg.  

Bucky raises his palms and backs up. "Sure thing, doll." He sniffs. "You don't got a good thing to say about her and she's still trying to protect you." 

“I don’t need her to protect me,” Carter sneers. 

“Please,” you stop as Steve puts his hand on the door frame. “Carter. Just stop.” 

“Be smart to listen to her,” Bucky drawls. 

You frown and turn away. You shuffle down the hall, Steve right behind you. You shrink down as your eyes wander to the water stain on the wall, then the bit of dust in the corner. You try to keep things tidy but the house is old. 

Steve stands in the doorway of your room as you stop between him and the bed. It’s just that and a two drawer dresser and your bookshelf cluttered with a few novels, a small sewing hoop with an unfinished sunflower cross-stitch, and a crystal vase filled with buttons. Your existence isn’t very glamourous. 

“Steve, I’ll be okay. Carter just says things--” you face him. 

“Just? He’s not very nice. You deserve better.” 

“Look, you’re a nice guy. You are the Captain after all but you don’t need to save me,” you sniff. 

“Maybe I don’t need to. I want to. I don’t like bullies. Never have.” He puts his hands on his hips. 

“He’s my brother.” 

“Family’s more than blood.” He counters. “Look, just a few days. Let him realise he’s being a jerk. How about it?” 

You rub your lips together and dig your toe into the floor. “Why, though?” 

He smiles. “You’re a nice person. You deserve nice things.” He takes a breath. “Go on. Pack a bag.” 

You stare at him for a moment then turn to do as he says. You grab the fraying tote that hangs from the bottom post of your bed. You pack some clothes, a book, and shove your pouch of toiletries on top. You’ll be back. 

You find Steve by your window. His back is to you as he examines the taped edges of the garbage bag that seal out the bugs. He runs his fingers down the plastic. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

“Glass broke,” you say. “Too much money to fix it.” 

“Oh...” he twists at the waist and looks over his shoulder. “How?” 

You look down guiltily. You’re not a snitch. You shrug. 

“Hm, accidents happen, I guess,” he says. “Let’s head out. It’s getting late. We’re all tired.” 

You nod and lead him out of the room. He follows you down the hall to the front door. You find Bucky and Carter glaring at each other. 

Your brother scoffs. “You always were stupid. You dumb girl. What do you think they want from you? You’ll be crawlin’ right back. See if I care. See if I let you back.” 

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Bucky steps up and squares his shoulders. You brother’s about the same height but to skinny to measure up. He doesn’t say anything else. “Thought so.” 

Bucky spins and points down the steps. Steve nudges you. You descend as you hitch the tote up your shoulder.  

You flinch as you feel something brush up your arm. Steve curls his fingers under the strap and lifts it off your shoulder. You let him. You don’t know what to do. Everyone around you is always telling you what to do. You still haven’t figured out how to make them stop. 

🏀

Bucky and Steve’s townhouse is nice. You stand in your socks and take in the front room. There’s a TV mounted above the mantle of the artificial fireplace. Along the ledge, there are oval frames around pictures and ornaments in brass. 

A brown suede couch and matching chairs stand on the vintage rug woven in shades of amber, red, and beige. The tinted sconces on the overhead fixture cast a soft hue over the space and a square coffee table sits at the center of the carpet. The curtains are sheer burgundy and a polished wooden shelf stands against one wall with a curved top and an array of books across its shelves. The room smells faintly of sage. 

“Make yourself at home, doll,” Bucky surprises you as he rubs your arm. “You must be beat. You put up a good game today.” 

“Oh, uh... okay. Um...” 

“Hungry?” He offers. 

“I can make you something,” Steve offers. 

“Oh, no. No, that’s... fine.” You drag your feet into the front room. “I’ll just uh crash on the couch. Keep out of the way.” 

Bucky and Steve step into the archway and share a look between them. 

“The couch? That’s not right. Our mothers would spin in their graves,” Bucky chuckles. 

“Couldn’t let you,” Steve says. “Come on, we’ll show you the bedroom.” 

You nod and go back to them. Steve still has your tote. He goes first and Bucky waits for you to follow before he does the same. You’re led up to the second floor and down to the end of the hall. 

“Grab some extra pillows, Buck,” Steve says. 

Bucky retreats and you hear him open another door as Steve stands in another. He turns and waves you after him. You near and he sidles inside to let you get a view of the room. 

The bed is larger than any you’ve ever seen. Wide; draped in dark blue sheets beneath a grey duvet; striped linen sheathed around the pillows. The night tables match the pale birch of the bed frame beneath sleek azure lamps. The curtains are a similar shade of blue and a long dress supports a row of books between silver bookends and a mounted compass on one end, mirrored by an antique globe at the other. 

“Oh, wow.” 

“Get comfy,” Steve says as he puts your bag on the bed. He takes out the pouch and sifts through the contents. “You got pajamas in here?” 

You scurry forward, shocked at his intrusion. You reach for the bag. “I can find them--” 

“You can have one of my shirts, if you want,” Bucky offers as he leans on the door frame. 

“Um... that’s okay...” 

“Shouldn’t get too cold.” Bucky says. 

“Yeah, we run hot.” Steve agrees as he continues to search your bag. 

“What, er... what do you mean?” 

Steve glances at you then looks past you. You turn to peek at Bucky. He grins. 

“Bed’s big enough. Lotsa room for all of us,” Bucky says. 

“All...” you murmur. “Like I said, I can sleep on the couch--” 

“You won’t. Ladies don’t belong on the couch,” Steve undercuts.  

“But, er...” 

“We’re nice guys. You don’t trust us?” Bucky asks. 

You blink and your lips part. Your eyes dart between them as you swivel your head. “I don’t mean—I just--” 

“We don’t mind,” Bucky pushes away from the door. He reaches for you as he comes close. He caresses your cheek softly. “Find something for her?” 

“Hm,” Steve turns with your striped pajama pants. “No.” 

He tears them down the seam. You gasp. You reach for them and Bucky pulls you back. He presses himself to your back and nuzzles your hair. 

“It’s alright, doll. I said, you can have one of my shirts,” he rasps hotly over your scalp. 

A chill runs up your spine and prickles over your skin. Bucky’s hands knead your shoulders and he purrs.  

Steve’s chin clefts deeply as his grin spreads. “You deserve nice things, sweetheart. We can be nice.” 

What do you say? What can you say? The time for no was back at the house, if you ever had the courage to say so. 

“Worked up a sweat, didn’t you?” Bucky drags his hair up to pet your hair. “You need a nice hot shower.” 

“Me too,” Steve rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. “Think we all do.” 

You would fall over if Bucky didn’t have a hold of you. Steve nears and strokes your chin. He leans in as you’re locked in place. He kisses your forehead. 

“You’ll feel better.” He assures as he pulls away. 

Your skin tingles where his lips touched, a tickle left by his beard. The smell of his sweat mingles with Bucky and clogs your nose. The man behind you squeezes and turns you. Your feet move clumsily at his silent behest. 

Another door opens, this one attached to the bedroom. Steve enters first. The light flicks on and illuminates the pristine bathroom. White tiles trimmed in blue; a large shower booth encased in glass, with no measure of privacy. 

“Towels,” Steve goes to the tall shelf embedded in the wall. He takes three fluffy towels and hangs them near the shower. 

“Um...” you murmur. “Can I... alone?” 

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky’s hands settle on the sides of your neck. “We’re taking care of you.” 

“Must be new to you, huh?” Steve arches a thick brow. 

“Erm, but...” you babble as your words fade to air. 

Steve peels off his shirt. You gape at him before tearing your eyes away. His torso is as thick as his arms; corded muscle, dark blond hair across his pecks, thinning out down his stomach to the front of his jeans. 

You latch onto Bucky’s hands and draw away. He could keep you there if he wanted, but he doesn’t. Steve unbuttons his fly and you gasp. 

“I can wait my turn,” you offer. 

“You’re afraid? Of us?” Steve looks at you as he pushes down his zipper. 

“I... I...” you sputter and turn around. You nearly run head first into Bucky’s naked torso. He’s as broad as Steve, a little less but dark hair on his chest, and his metal arm contracts as he opens and closes his fist. 

“Shh, you’re okay, doll,” he coaxes. 

He grabs the bottom of your tee shirt and tugs up. You try to stop him with a squeak. There’s pulling at the back too. You twist and squirm as you’re trapped between the two men. 

“Just tryna clean you up. It’s not good to go to bed dirty.” 

“I can do it myself,” you whine as they get your shirt to your chest. “Please--” 

“Shh, sweetheart,” Steve cooes. “Relax.” 

The yank and you twitch. You have no choice but to raise your arms. The strip off your shirt and goosebumps scatter over you. You quiver and cover your flimsy bra. 

Bucky pets your shoulders as Steve pulls at the back of your bra. It slackens and you squeal. What’s happening? 

“You said you’re nice...” you whisper. 

You don’t know if they hear you. Or if they do, that they care. Bucky pulls your wrists down and helps dispose of your bra. Your nipples peak as you’re left exposed to them. 

Steve strips down to nothing then returns his attention to you. You tremble as he rolls down your shorts.  

You snivel and Bucky puts your hands against his chest and holds them there. He guides them over his skin and hums. Your legs shake as your panties are yanked down to your ankles. 

Steve’s large hands cup your bottom. You lean into Bucky without thinking. He spins you to face the other man. You cry out and stumble back into him. He nudges you away. His shorts fall with a soft whoosh. 

“Please, I’m scared,” you say. 

“Why?” Steve tickles down your throat. “Sweetheart, we’re just taking care of you.” 

Slowly, the urge you to the shower between them. Hands wandering and roving over your naked skin as you cower. Steve pulls the door open and Bucky marches you inside. He gets between you and the showerhead and cranks it on. 

Steve crowds you in from behind. The water sprays down from the showerhead mounted from the ceiling. It’s large enough to rain over all of you. You shudder as you resign yourself to their wills. 

They work in tandem. Steve takes the loofa, Bucky offers the shower gel; they take turns lathering up your skin. Bucky, the front, Steve the back. Their hands linger on your curves, delve along the creases. Their voices roll out in soft purrs and growls. 

Bucky pushes the loofa into your hand. He squeezes your fingers around it. You stare at it, your lashes webbed from the downpour.  

He guides you around to face Steve and leads your hand. Steve stands patiently as Bucky helps you scrub him down; neck, shoulders, chest, stomach. The muscles tighten at your touch. 

Steve trails his fingers up your sides as you wash him. Lower and you nearly recoil. His delight isn’t subtle. Like the rest of him, it’s hard to miss. 

You’re dizzy as you’re spun again. This time, Steve helps you with Bucky. He brings your hands to his thick dark hair and guides you in scratching his scalp, his thick locks dripping over his face. 

More hands on you; thighs, hips, stomach, chest. Kneading, feeling, groping. You are nothing more than a toy to them. 

When the water shuts off, you’re left buzzing. Your legs are shaky, your head is spinning, and your skin is alight. You stand on the fluffy bathmat as they dry you off. Your teeth chatter but you’re not cold. 

You look from one to the other. Their eyes are dilated and dark. They are not the friendly men you met on the court. Nor are they the heroes you saw on the news. 

[matchabot]

duke fraldarius

[threepointfairy]

TEAM CLARK TWINS FOR THE THREE POINT CONTEST LFG

[fishareglorious]

WILLOW IS 6'1? girl drop being a floor ritualist and join the fucking nba!!!!!!!!!

[drc00l4tt4]

I hope this ruins someone's day

[xariarte]

once draymond is hitting threes it's kind of joever

[lucabyte]

ppl saying they look to my comics for inspiration and pointers on how to format things is WILDDDD to me (and delightful don't get me wrong!! i am overjoyed) because like. none of you are privvy to the absolute WAHHH I DONT WANNNAAA bitchfits i was *CONSISTANTLY* throwing every time i forced myself to make a comic before i got into isat. like no joke. i considered comics such a fucking difficult medium they always drained my drawing energy so hard because they always felt like they took sooo long and had so many moving parts and were so much harder than storyboards (WHICH I ALREADY STRUGGLED WITH) because you had to account for panel shape and speech bubbles and-- like you get it. but genuinely for real. the sheer amount that i complained whenever i clawed my way through drawing a comic (which thus! was not very fucking much!!) compounded by the fact that i *genuinely have trouble reading comics*. as in, i really struggle to parse the flow of contiguous movement or action between panels (possibly connected to the fact ive got mad aphantasia?) of even really well done best-of-the-best professional comics...

... BUT. basically. what im trying to get at is. if you wanna learn to draw comics, evidently you super can?! I genuinely *didnt* draw comics before drawing isat fanart! I have no idea what it was about ISAT fanart that made it finally click for me? (I think it was... not having to think about colour? Removing a step from the process really helped. Plus, it being fanwork meant I could just start en-medias-res and not have to think about setup... Trying to cram too much explanation and setup into my oc stuff was always a big hurdle too...)

I find them fast to do now! and damn if i dont value speed in art (<- impatient little fucker). its still going slowly on my oc comics.. mostly due to the colour again, i think. but it's not extremely, ecruciatingly difficult anymore. is what im saying. and im genuinely baffled by it every time i put pen to page. its fucked up. did you guys know that practice makes things easier? . fucking perverted if you ask me.

As for looking at other people's things for inspiration. if you want to know where I was looking when I was piecing together the first couple fancomics I did for ISAT i want to specifically point at . well besides everything rebecca sugar has ever done (for hands and facial expressions *especially*), the main person i really dug into the work of was Leo Fox (Website link). I feel like i wanna point people to the source of a lot of the inspiration for my more off-kilter panel choices so you all can get the full experience rather than through my regurgitated mimesis. I'm now at the point where i can wing panel layout so i wasn't in there for longgg but. everyone go add it to your knowledge banks as for SUBJECT MATTER aka why i am i so deranged. those are squarely the 2019 postcanon homestuck golden era bleeding through my CLENCHED BITTEN DOWN JAW. A BULL TERRIER ON YOUR BRACHIAL ARTERY. namely that @/floralmarsupial and @/tomatograter's works (no i am not tagging them . im shy) are things i go back to frequently and floralmarsupials pure black/white inktober comics were *especially* an inspiration. if you've been following me a few months you may remember me reblogging a bunch of their stuff from 2019~2021 for seemingly no reason. this was why. The narratively divorced reality of jade strider & Liminal Space are big in my mind here. I balk to call myself anywhere near as good as these but these are what i'm aiming for, tonally and quality-ways with it. also detective pony but ive mentioned that already and thats farrrr too inside baseball for this post.

BUT YEAH TL;DR: I DIDNT DRAW LIKE ANY COMICS UNTIL UHHHH LIKE, WHAT, LIKE 8 MONTHS AGO? JESUS. ANYWAY. THIS MEANS YOU 🫵🫵🫵 CAN DO IT TOO. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. DATTEBAYO!!!!

[chngmins]

thinking about how the native american vampire hunters were absolutely at work throughout the day (like remmick was limping, clearly having taken a beating, when he showed up at the couple's door), did what they had to do in warning the couple, then clocked out on time at sunset. good for them, good for them.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three Pointer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: When you go down to see your brother at the basketball courts, you find yourself drawn into a game you don't quite understand.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: I meant this to be one part but it should only be 2 or 3 at most. My mind is a bit addled. Without having to go into the pain, I lost someone dear to me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Photo Sources: #1 #2

The bounce of rubber on pavement greets your approach. You come to the chain link fence and peer through, searching among the courts for one person in particular. Your brother is there with his usual crowd; three-on-three. 

Your anxiety twists in your gut. There’s always so many people down here. So many strangers. 

You enter through the gate, the hinges whining high, and you pass by the benches of those waiting for their go or watching. As you keep your head low, a whoosh blows past your nose. You step back and look up as the ball bounces off fence behind the benches. 

You glance over as a man catches it. You blanches show your palms. ‘Sorry’, you mouth, your voice trapped up inside your chest. 

He echoes you out loud. “You okay?” 

You stare at him. His dark aviators reflect the sunlight and his sleeves are rolled up over his sweaty shoulders. You finally find the sense to nod. You should pay attention.  

You slowly sidle past him. He backs up and watches you before slowly turning around. He tosses the ball to another man. He catches it and flips it into the net with no effort at all.  

You trip as you notice the other man’s arm. At first you think it’s tattoos but they shine like that. It’s metal. You can see a hint of the scarring where it meets his flesh, just beneath the black cotton of his tank top. 

You turn and put your head down again. It isn’t nice to stare. You know you don’t like when people do. 

Your brother, Carter, is in the next court. As you glance up, he’s squinting at you. You frown. What did you do now? 

You stop at the corner as Trevor calls his name. Carter sneers and turns to grab the ball out of the air. He aims and shoots. It bounces off the backboard and Hakeem catches it with a chirp, “Looking sharp.” 

“Whatever,” Carter puffs. “I need water.” 

He flicks his fingers in frustration and stomps toward you. He wipes his forehead with his arm. He ignores you as he grabs his worn-out gatorade bottle. 

“Chu doin’ here?” He growls before he squirts a stream into his mouth. 

“You said come get you around seven.” 

He swallows loudly, his eyes darting behind you. “Did I?” 

“I thought--” 

“Why were you bugging those guys?” He asks. 

You peek back. The man in the sunglasses makes a three-pointer. You shake your head as you face your brother. 

“I wasn’t--” 

“You needa go home. You don’t even like basketball,” he accuses. “No one needs you in the way. ‘Specially not them.” 

“You never ask me to play,” you shrug. 

“And who wants to play with you?” He rolls his eyes. 

You pout and nod. You wouldn’t be very good, would you? 

“Well, it’s seven. I just came to say so like you wanted.” 

“Sure. If Tonya shows, just send her here.” He spits. 

“Right.” 

You don’t like how he treats you like his time-keeper and his messenger. You don’t like Tonya either. Or many of his friends for that matter. They’re like him. You only live together because you got no choice. You can’t afford your own place. 

You spin and head back for the gate. Before you can reach it, the same man as before approaches you. He uses his shirt to wipe his face. Your eyes stray for just a moment, cheeks tinging at the sight of his muscled stomach. 

“Hey,” he tugs the hem down. “You wanna sub in? I needa sit.” 

“Huh?” You stop short and look at him. “Me?” 

“Sure. If you don’t mind? My buddy hates to wait on me,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Well I... I don’t play much. Just come down to watch my brother,” you explain. 

“Oh, well, my buddy isn’t very good either,” he chuckles. “Just for two minutes.” 

You look at him. His beard is damp with sweat and a trickle runs down his temple. You look at the other man dribbling, watching you. 

“Okay.” You don’t like to argue. Carter always wants to and you’re over it. 

“Steve, by the way,” he introduces himself as he grabs his water bottle and sits. 

You give your name before you crane to see across the court. You turn and near the other man, waving shyly. “Uh, hi.” 

“He’s sending in a ringer,” the other man bounces the ball then catches it. “What’s your name, doll?” 

You repeat it again. 

“Bucky,” he replies. You blink as something in your mind tweaks. That’s familiar. “You start.” 

He bounces the ball and you barely get your hands around it. He bends his knees and gets into a guard position. You stare at him. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You dribble, clumsily, and try to angle around him. He moves easily with you. You try to divert but only get your foot under the ball. It veers off and hurtles into next court. 

Bucky chases it as you scrunch up your hand and press it to your chin. He scoops up the ball and Carter turns. He says something but you can’t make it up. Bucky barely acknowledges and turns, giving a somewhat flummoxed face. 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out. 

Your eyes linger beyond him. Carter watches you with a scowl. He gestures, somewhere between disbelief and agitation. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says. “Gotta start somewhere. How about we go over the basics before you wipe the floor with me?” 

“I’m not very good,” you mumble. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He looks you up and down. “Stand here.” 

He taps the ground with the toe of his sneaker. You shuffle around to stand at the peak of the curved line. He takes the ball and stands parallel to you.  

“Watch my hands,” he directs. 

You do. You try not to gape at his metal knuckles as the plates contract with his movements. 

“Hold like this, then flick your wrist.” He makes the shot easy and the ball pings back to him. “Look at that square above the hoop. That’ll help.” 

He hands over the ball. You hesitate but take it, fingers brushing his. You take a breath and focus on the box on the backboard. 

This is going to be so bad. You were never good in gym class but you liked trying for fun. With all these people around, watching, it’s not so fun. 

You try. That’s all you can do. It hits the backboard, then the hoop, then once more goes to the side. Bucky hurries to catch it. He bounces it as he turns to you again. 

“Close.” 

“I’m taking up your time,” you stand on your toes and teeter. 

“Nah, I don’t mind.” He holds out the ball. Once more, you accept it and resign yourself to failure. He steps back. “Take your time.” 

You do, take your time. You stare, contemplating space and time and all the odds against you. You should’ve just gone home like Carter said. 

You flick your wrist. You look down at the pavement before the ball can deflect. You hear it hit and the net swooshes. 

“Yeah,” Bucky claps. “Good one.” 

You flinch and lift your chin, “it went in?” 

“Sure did,” he grabs the ball. “You’re a natural.” 

“Good job,” Steve praises as he approaches. 

“Oh, um, he showed me how.” You sway. “Thanks uh... for letting me try, but... I’ll leave ya be.” 

“What? You’re just getting started. Come on, I’ll show you a layup,” Steve insists. 

“Well, I don’t know...” you say. 

You hear a snort. You peek over your shoulder. Carter is watching. Bucky twists around to see too. Your brother shies away and smiles at the man. He only gets a shake of the head in return. 

“That one your brother?” Steve nudges you gently. 

“Er, yeah, Carter,” you answer. 

“Why doesn’t he let you play with him?” Bucky asks. 

You chew your lip. “Like I said, I’m not very good.” 

“Not having practice doesn’t mean not good,” Steve says. “Besides, it’s not the NBA. It’s fun.” He takes the ball. “Now let’s work on your layup.” 

🏀

You dribble and stop. You can sense Steve and Bucky coming in from both sides. You hurl the ball up with only the intent to deter them. It spins high into the sky and arcs back down. To your surprise, is drops right through the net. 

“Ha,” Steve stops it between his hands, “got us again.” 

“You don’t have to let me win,” you say. 

“Let you? Nah, we wouldn’t do that.” Bucky says. 

“Even if we are, means we get to buy you celebratory drink, right?” 

“What?” You laugh, “no, you don’t have to--” 

“Hey, sis,” Carter interrupts. “Headed home. You coming?” 

You slowly turn. Really? 

“We can get her home,” Bucky rebuffs. “We’re just wrapping up.” 

“Oh, sure, Barnes,” your brother laughs nervously. “Just didn’t want her walking home alone.” 

Your cheek pinches. Since when was he so concerned? Something else needles in your brain... 

“We can get her home,” Steve intones. 

You glance at him, then Bucky. It dawns on you. You turn to your brother. 

“I’ll be home soon,” you say. 

His face falls, “oh, sure. Just... be safe, sis.” 

“Okay,” you utter. 

He lingers, waiting, and when no one stops him, he goes. You watch him until he’s gone then turn to Bucky. He looks back at you calmly. 

“I know who you are,” you say. “Both of you.” 

“Figured it was obvious,” Bucky laughs. 

“Maybe, but... unexpected.” 

“We’ve been coming to this court since it opened in 1936.” Steve says. 

“Uh, of course,” you cringe. “I only meant... I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Steve chides. “We’ve been away, we know all the best places around, so why don’t we take you for the best drink in the borrough?” 

“That’s... nice. I don’t drink though. Never tried it, to be honest.” 

“How about ice cream, then? Alcohol doesn’t do too much for us. Not with our biology.” Bucky suggests. 

“I... alright.” 

“I know, not much fun hanging out with old men,” Steve snickers. 

“No, I don’t mean...” 

“Kidding,” Steve says. “It’s just around the corner. I’m sure you know the place.” 

Steve keeps the ball and grabs his water bottle from the bench. Bucky takes his bottle too and they walk on either side of you across the courts. As you come out to the street, the evening begins to set in. 

You head north then just around the corner. You’ve been to the ice cream bar before. It’s a bit too expensive for you so you usually get one scoop in a cup, no toppings. 

Steve holds the door. You enter ahead of both of them. You stop and browse the menu. You should try something new. 

“Know what you want?” Bucky asks. “This guy always gets vanilla.” 

“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Steve says. 

“Nah, just gets boring,” Bucky snorts. “I’m thinking caramel brittle. Sounds interesting.” 

You nod and think. It goes silent as the shop employee awkwardly pretends to stack cups behind the counter. You shift and clear your throat. 

“Strawberries and cream?” You say as you reach into your pocket. 

“Our treat,” Steve insists. “Sprinkles? Waffle cone?” 

“Just a cup is good,” you assure him. 

“Got it. Buck, find a seat.” Steve hands over his water bottle. 

“Come on, doll.” Bucky gestures you away. 

You go back out to the patio area and find a table. Bucky sits across from you and put the bottles on the table. You hook one foot behind the other and lean your elbows on the wood. 

“You live around here?” Bucky asks. You nod and rein in your wandering eyes. “Used to,” he says as he combs back his dark hair. The patch of grey in his beard catches the receding sunlight. “It’s rougher than it was.” 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. You just double check the locks and get home before dark. 

“Things are different for pretty girls. Can never be too careful.” 

Your brows pop up. He means you? 

“Oh, thanks, but... I’m fine, you know?” 

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” he grins. 

The door chimes as someone comes out. Steve sits beside you and doles out the ice creams. He got yours in a waffle bowl. That’s the most expensive. 

“Good game,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, fun,” you agree as you poke the ice cream with a spoon. “Thanks for letting me play.” 

“We should do it again. You know, this guy, he’s a bit dull. It’s nice having a buffer.” 

“Me?” Steve exclaims. “Whatever.” 

They both laugh as you can only offer a smile. You like them. Even if you feel like an outsider, it’s not because of them. You just always feel that way. 

🏀

Bucky and Steve walk you home. Another pang of guilt pulls at your chest but you’re happy they came with you. It’s dark. Things are both quiet and too noisy. You swear you can hear other footsteps. 

You stop just at the edge of the overgrown lawn. Carter was supposed to mow it but you’ll probably end up doing it again. You don’t need another notice from the landlord. 

At least it’s dark. They can’t see how cruddy the house really is. You sway. 

“Um, good night, then.” 

“We’ll walk you to the door. It’s only right.” Steve says. 

“We’re old-fashioned like that.” Bucky adds. 

“Oh, alright.” 

You wait a moment then head up the walk. They follow. The front stairs groan under your weight, then theirs. You get to the top and turn around. 

“Thanks again.” You say. “I had a good night.” 

“We did too,” Bucky assures. 

“Sure di--” 

The door behind you opens. Yellow light pores out and casts Carter’s shadow over you. You cringe. 

“About time, sis. You left dishes in the sink—oh, you’re here.” He nearly chokes as he notices the men on the porch with you. 

“You’re not very nice, are you?” Bucky hisses. 

“What? No. I was reminding her. It’s her turn.” He pushes the screen door out and you move out of the way. “You guys wanna come in. I got beer.” 

“You could do the dishes,” Steve growls. 

“Huh? She said--” 

“Please,” you pipe up. “Really, it’s not a big deal. You two should head home. It’s late. Carter, I’ll do the dishes.” 

“They your dishes or his?” Bucky challenges. 

You blanch and shake your head. 

“Um, well, just dishes,” you answer. 

“No way to treat family.” Bucky mutters. 

“No, it’s not,” Steve agrees. 

“I’ll do em,” Carter’s voice squeaks. “It’s no big deal. Come on, sis. You’re right, it’s late--” 

“No. No. She’s not going inside.” Bucky says. 

“What? Really, it’s... fine.” You argue. 

“She’s coming with us. Shouldn’t be living in a place like this,” Steve exhales. 

“It’s--” 

“Not with him.” Bucky snarls. 

“But--” You begin. 

“Doll, you just settle down. This is what we do. We save people.” Bucky drawls. 

“And we know what it looks like when someone needs saving,” Steve puts in. “You come with us.” 

“And you,” Bucky jabs a finger at your brother. “Better not see you again.” 

“Me? She’s my sister--” 

“Nah,” Bucky grabs your arm. “She’s not yours anymore.” 

[clubhoops]

Jewel Lloyd calls game.

[principiumindividuationis777]

[pennysperfectpolls]

Penny Poll Preliminary match 2

Penelope Pussycat (Looney Tunes)

Leonie Pinelli (Fire Emblem Three Houses)

Penny Pointer (Tangle Tower)

Penny Nichols (Ace Attorney) automatically passed this round

The lowest two will be eliminated

Propaganda under the cut

Penelope Pussycat (Looney Tunes) Propaganda

Penelope Pussycat is best known as the often bewildered love interest of Looney Tunes' anthropomorphic skunk, Pepé Le Pew. Penelope is a black and white cat, who often finds herself with a white stripe down her back, whether painted intentionally or by accident.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penelope_Pussycat

Leonie Pinelli (Fire Emblem Three houses) Propaganda

Pollrunner submitted

I call her Penny because I think it’s funny

She has a sibling/rival relationship to the main character that’s very funny. She’s a tomboy who wants to make a lot of money as a mercenary. As The only truly common commoner to make it into the Officer’s Academy, She wants to pay back her village for helping her.

Penny Pointer (Tangle Tower) Propaganda

Fashionista. Many Birds. [spoiler: Killed someone and also spent half her time running from her room to a different area wearing a disguise to pretend to be a detective which is dedication right there]

[classicjdog]

playoffs

okc are so fucking good dude. holy shit. that defense is unfuckingbelievable. and like i get that the nuggets are a bit of a hospital team rn, mpj has a shoulder injury when seemingly all he can do is shoot, there's maybe smth up w murray, gordon had the hamstring, and denver are top-heavy to begin with, like i understand that. the thunder aren't exactly locking up 2017 golden state out here lol. but even still, watching them fucking swarm jokic all day long was just insane. sooooo many fucking turnovers lol. some forced off deflections from denver tryna get the ball to jokic, but also okc's guards just fucking ripping the ball away from him??? multiple times???? bruh. what a fucking game. as someone who LOVES watching sick defense, for me personally that game was about as entertaining as a blowout could've possibly been

was pretty anxious thru most of the 1st quarter, and even once okc started running all over the nuggets i was still thinking to myself like plzplzplz don't throw this game away, but yeah nah lol. it felt like denver couldn't get literally anything done on offense, it was so crazy. honestly i was so focused on the thunder defense that w the offense i was just kinda like ok, as long as they're not going thru crazy droughts it's fine. so while i got that shai was having a good game, i didn't realise he popped off as much as he did lol. a super efficient 30 piece? in game 7? THAT'S THE REAL MVP RIGHT THERE (i say as if i watched enough of the reg season to have an actual mvp opinion lmao)

anyway, on to the conference finals. wcf game 1 happening before ecf game 1 seems insane to me but whatev. fingers crossed for pacers/thunder in the finals. i NEED to see the okc defense vs the indiana offense. fucking NEED THAT

[xariarte]

tears in my eyes when shai won that finals mvp...the first canadian to win it