Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

Highlight Game: November 18th, 2025 - Moda Center, Portland, Oregon
(5-10) Phoenix Suns at Portland Trail Blazers (5-9)

---

PHX | 23 | 24 | 21 | 18 | 86
POR | 29 | 31 | 17 | 31 | 108

Starting Lineups
Devin Booker - G - Jrue Holiday
Jalen Green - G - Shaedon Sharpe
Dillon Brooks - F - Deni Avdija
Royce O'Neale - F - Toumani Camara
Mark Williams - C - Robert Williams III



G Devin Booker: 28 pts, 5 reb, 5 ast, 13-29 FG, 2-7 3PT
C Mark Williams: 17 pts, 11 reb, 3 ast, 7-10 FG, 3-5 FT
C Oso Ighodaro: 14 pts, 7 reb, 7-11 FG, 0-4 3PT

G Jrue Holiday: 2 pts, 4 reb, 7 ast, 2 stl, 1-12 FG, 0-8 3PT
G Shaedon Sharpe: 19 pts, 2 reb, 3 ast, 2 stl, 8-10 FG, 2-2 3PT
F Deni Avdija: 32 pts, 7 reb, 3 ast, 12-19 FG, 3-8 3PT, 5-6 FT
F Toumani Camara: 2 pts, 3 reb, 0-3 FG, 0-3 3PT
C Robert Williams III: 2 pts, 6 reb, stl, 1-2 FG
F Keshawn Chase: 25 pts, 14 reb, 2 ast, 11-17 FG, 0-2 3PT, 3-3 FT

---

(8-6) @ (6-9)

CHI | 23 | 17 | 26 | 27 | 93
POR | 24 | 23 | 26 | 29 | 102

CHI F Josh Giddey: 14 Pts, 13 Reb, 6 Ast, 2 Stl, 6-9 FG, 0-1 3PT, 2-2 FT
POR F Keshawn Chase: 13 Pts, 8 Reb, 8 Ast, 5-13 FG, 3-3 FT

Upcoming Schedule at Golden State Warriors (8-9), at Oklahoma City Thunder (12-4), at Milwaukee Bucks (6-9), vs. San Antonio Spurs (8-6)
Season Stats 14.5 PPG, 6.8 RPG, 3.8 APG, 0.5 SPG, 0.3 BPG, 2.4 TOPG, 50 FG%, 25 3PT%, 78 FT%

[Soapy]

You don't do things for your friends? smh

Risk my brand and potentially millions of dollars? For friends? No sir.

Vic taking care of his responsibilities as our brother CC correctly points out. More than a certain Latino on the other section can say.

1) Afro-Latino.
2) Caine doesn't have a sugar daddy cousin to enable him to "take care of his responsibilities" like Vic.


Quincy about to be up in them people business stealing copper. once a crackhead, always a crackhead.

[Soapy]

A Cold Day in Hell - Episode 6
The basketball players looked like ants from the Bronsteins' massive living room TV. Nadia leaned forward on the couch, her eyes following number 44 as he moved across the court. She hadn't planned to stop and watch but hadn’t been able to pull away.

Coach Bronstein had been sitting next to her, watching in silence but the tension in his face betrayed that every dribble, every movement of Keshawn’s was under constant scrutiny and worry.

"There you go, boychick," he’d allowed himself to mutter whenever Keshawn scored a basket. There would be plenty of those against the Phoenix Suns that night.

Nadia pulled her phone from her pocket, opened Twitter, and typed Keshawn's name. His profile appeared—verified blue check, a quarter of a million followers, bio reading simply: "Trailblazer."

A smile crept up on her face at how aesthetically pleasing and carefully curated his page was: game highlights, a few advertisements, retweets from the team’s social media page. She could also see the progression as she reached his earlier posts which included genuine candid pictures with his teammates, some of them dating back to high school where he was proudly announcing the scholarship offers he had received.

Then she remembered. The Gaza post she'd convinced him to retweet. Nadia scrolled back up, checking dates, then scrolled down again. It wasn't there.

…

Lamont watched the faces of the label executives as they listened to the tracks he and Gayle had been working on for the past three months. The group was nodding along, occasionally making notes on their tablets.

But Lamont knew that rhythm. It was the polite head-bob of people who weren't feeling it.

"We could probably find somewhere in the middle of the album for these tracks," Lamont said as the final notes faded. "We’re still looking for the singles."

Daniel, the VP of A&R, tapped his pen against his notepad. "It's definitely coming along."

The hesitation in his voice made Lamont's shift in his seat.

"She is definitely finding her voice," offered the head of marketing. "But like you said, we’re still waiting on that hit."

"The production is clean," another person added. "We’re just looking for that showstopper, you know. Something to really care this album and get people talking again."

Lamont forced himself to maintain eye contact despite the shame burning in his chest. They were right. The tracks were technically proficient but lacked the spark that had made his previous productions stand out. The hooks weren't sticking, the bridges felt forced, and even Gayle's vocals seemed to be merely going through the motions.

"We've been experimenting with some different approaches," Lamont said, the excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears.

"I’m sure you’ll figure out," Daniel said, closing his laptop.

The executives filed out, leaving behind half-empty coffee cups and the lingering scent of expensive cologne. Lamont remained seated, staring at the now-silent speakers.

He knew exactly why the music was suffering. It wasn't lack of talent or effort—they'd been putting in twelve-hour days in the studio. But those "twelve-hour days" had been spent less and less on making music.

…

"Oh yeah, this is all fucked up," Quincy muttered, reaching up to trace a connection. "Y’all was trying to light this motherfucker on fire?"

"We have electricians scheduled for next week," Mateo said from behind him. "Some guys from Powell."

Quincy turned slowly, letting the flashlight beam drop to his side. "Next week puts us past Thanksgiving. And Powell charge triple what they're worth."

"They're certified professionals," Mateo clutched his tablet to his chest. "We can't afford any corners being cut."

"I was pulling permits before you were pulling on your dick," Quincy cackled. "I can get some guys in tomorrow. Licensed, bonded, and won't charge an arm and a leg."

Mateo's nostrils flared slightly. "I can't authorize outside contractors without—"

"You ain't gotta authorize shit," Quincy laughed. "Y’all want to fix shit or delay shit? You can’t do both."

Elijah watched from the end of the aisle, arms folded across his chest as he quietly enjoyed the show.

"I'm just trying to follow protocol," Mateo insisted, his voice rising an octave.

"Protocol's gonna have you opening this store two Thanksgiving from now," Quincy gestured around at the half-finished fixtures. "Look around you, young blood. We're behind schedule, over budget, and out of time. This city is built on overcharging guys like you, usually by guys like me."

Elijah couldn't help the smile that crept across his face as he watched Mateo retreat toward the office, tablet clutched to his chest like a wounded soldier with his helmet.

…

The restaurant was upscale but not ostentatious, dimly lit with candles flickering on each table. Gloria sipped her wine, watching Keshawn over the rim of her glass.

"I can't believe they upgraded me to a suite," she said, setting her glass down. "That was really nice of you."

Keshawn shrugged, cutting into his steak. "Yeah, of course. Appreciate you coming."

"I’ve always wanted to check out San Francisco," she paused, searching for the right words. "How's everything? I know life must be crazy for you right now."

"Can't complain." Keshawn forced a smile. "Just learning, going through it while still trying to enjoy everything."

The conversation flowed easier than she'd expected, reminiscing about UCLA, catching up on mutual friends. But there was a new distance between them, an invisible barrier she couldn't cross. They talked about everything except what they had been to each other.

When the check came, Keshawn reached for it automatically. "We’ve got an early flight tomorrow," he said, glancing at his watch.

Gloria nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Of course. I don’t need Blazers fans being mad at me for you being off your game."

Outside the restaurant, the night air carried a chill that hadn't been there earlier. Keshawn had called an Uber for her, his hand warm on her shoulder.

"It was really good to see you," he said, and she knew he meant it.

"You too." She looked up at him, memorizing his face in the streetlight. "I'm like so fucking proud of you. You know that, right?"

Keshawn smiled, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The gesture was gentle, affectionate—and final. Like closing a book they'd both enjoyed but reached the end of.

"Take care of yourself," he said softly.

[Soapy]

Highlight Game: November 21st, 2025 - Chase Center, San Francisco, California
(6-9) Portland Trail Blazers at Golden State Warriors (8-9)

---

POR | 20 | 24 | 23 | 31 | 98
GSW | 17 | 28 | 10 | 33 | 88

Starting Lineups
Jrue Holiday - G - Stephen Curry
Shaedon Sharpe - G - Bradin Podziemski
Deni Avdija - F - Moses Moody
Toumani Camara - F - Jimmy Butler
Robert Williams III - C - Draymond Green



G Jrue Holiday: 21 pts, 3 reb, 3 reb, 2 blk, 5 to, 8-13 FG, 2-5 3PT
G Shaedon Sharpe: 12 pts, 3 reb, 4 ast, 6 to, 5-10 FG, 2-6 3PT
F Deni Avdija: 24 pts, 17 reb, 5 ast, 11-17 FG, 2-2 3PT
F Toumani Camara: 3 pts, 5 reb, 1-8 FG, 1-3 3PT
C Robert Williams III: 6 pts, 16 reb, 3-4 FG
F Keshawn Chase: 16 pts, 6 reb, 3 to, 8-8 FG

G Stephen Curry: 28 pts, 4 reb, 5 ast, 12-28 FG, 4-12 3PT
F Jimmy Butler: 12 pts, 3 reb, 5 ast, 3 stl, 5-18 FG, 2-5 3PT
C Draymond Green: 3 pts, 5 reb, 5 ast, 2 stl, 1-3 FG, 0-1 3PT

---

(7-9) @ (12-4)

POR | 30 | 40 | 33 | 29 | 132
OKC | 23 | 33 | 28 | 19 | 103

POR F Keshawn Chase: 16 Pts, 8 Reb, 4 Ast, 2 Stl, 2 Blk, 5-14 FG, 0-2 3PT, 6-10 FT
OKC G Shai Gilgeous-Alexander: 30 Pts, 5 Reb, 12-23 FG, 1-4 3PT, 5-5 FT

---

(8-10) @ (8-10)

POR | 27 | 30 | 25 | 23 | 105
MIL | 21 | 39 | 31 | 23 | 114

POR F Keshawn Chase: 14 Pts, 7 Reb, 12 Ast, 2 Stl, 5-16 FG, 2-2 3PT, 2-4 FT
MIL F Giannis Antetokounmpo: 36 Pts, 13 Reb, 8 Ast, 3 Stl, 5 Blk, 14-18 FG, 8-10 FT

---

(10-7) @ (8-11)

SAS | 27 | 33 | 32 | 36 | 128
POR | 31 | 33 | 24 | 28 | 116

SAS C Victor Wembanyama: 35 Pts, 8 Reb, 4 Ast, 2 Stl, 15-20 FG, 4-6 3PT
POR F Keshawn Chase: 14 Pts, 8 Reb, 4 Ast, 5-10 FG, 1-2 3PT, 3-4 FT

Upcoming Schedule vs. Oklahoma City Thunder (13-6), at Toronto Raptors (6-13), at Cleveland Cavaliers (13-6), at Detroit Pistons (10-8), at Memphis Grizzlies (8-11)
Season Stats 14.6 PPG, 6.9 RPG, 4.2 APG, 0.7 SPG, 0.4 BPG, 2.3 TOPG, 50 FG%, 30 3PT%, 73 FT%

[Caesar]

Need to see some bigger point totals from Keshawn. Attack the rim, be aggressive.

[Soapy]

Need to see some bigger point totals from Keshawn. Attack the rim, be aggressive.

He's actually scoring more than I thought he would. Bro is averaging 15 ppg as a rookie with no real shot yet. Spending all my development on 3pt shooting cuz if we can knock down a couple a game, we could be looking at a 20 ppg scorer by his third season

[Agent]

this mf light weight snuck nba 2k26 into the story

Good shit

[Soapy]

A Cold Day in Hell - Episode 7
"Hello?" Keshawn voice came out rough with sleep as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Did you delete your post?"

No greeting, no preamble. Keshawn pushed himself upright, blinking away the fog of interrupted sleep. "Delete what?"

"Don't play fucking stupid," the edge in Nadia’s voice sliced through his grogginess. "The Aid for Gaza post."

"What? No, I didn't delete anything."

"Well, it's not there anymore."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, quickly navigating to his profile.

"The people that manage my page probably took it down," he said, bringing the phone back to his ear.

"The people?" Her voice rose in pitch. "So some random people get to decide what your platform is about?"

"They just make it easier with the sponsored posts and stuff," he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, accepting that there was no going back to sleep now.

"What the fuck does your Chipotle ad have to do with them deleting shit? You know how this looks, right?"

"Look, I'll talk to them about it, okay?" he assured her.

"But you understand why they did it, don't you?"

Keshawn hesitated, weighing his words.

"Yeah," he admitted finally. "I get it. I'm still trying to break through in this league, Nadia. I can't afford to be a distraction right now."

"A distraction?" she fired back. "That's what you think caring about innocent people is? A distraction?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"No, I think that's exactly what you meant," she continued, "You were fucking scared to post it in the first place and now you’re here defending them taking it down because that’s what you wanted to do all along. You were just too much of a fucking coward to do either one."

Keshawn's jaw clenched. This wasn’t how he was expecting to start his Thanksgiving morning.

"I’m a coward now for just saying that I understand where they are coming from? That’s part of being an adult, Nadia. It’s seeing shit from someone else’s perspective."

"This isn’t about perspective. There’s right and there is wrong. Children dying while people with power stay silent because they're worried about their contracts and endorsements. What the fuck is the point of you 'making it' if you’re still just going to be another fucking basketball player, putting a ball through a hoop."

"Whatever, Nadia." The words came out colder than he intended.

"Whatever?" she echoed incredulously. "You’re such a fucking joke sometimes, Keshawn. You really-"

Keshawn ended the call mid-sentence, tossing his phone onto the bed.

…

Vic balanced the paper grocery bags against his hip while fumbling with the key to the AirBnB. The Pacific Northwest morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain that had fallen overnight. He finally got the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of the house a welcome contrast to the November chill.

The rental was quiet as Vic made his way to the kitchen, setting the bags on the granite countertop as quietly as possible. Last night's game had been a late one, and it was one of those nights that no one wanted to end as they all hung around afterwards at Keshawn’s home.

Vic began unpacking the last minute groceries, arranging items methodically across the counter that his mother and aunt had requested. As he unloaded the groceries, his mind drifted to Angela. He hadn't spoken to her in months, not since that afternoon in her apartment. What was there to say? Their lives had diverged, her at Howard and him splitting time in LA with Jessica and the baby and in Portland, helping out Keshawn. Something about Thanksgiving, specifically this one with a spread that was bound to be immaculate and Keshawn flying everyone out and putting them up in this fancy-ass house, made Vic feel like she belonged to be here, she deserved to share this moment with them.

Vic pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a long moment. His thumb hovered over her name in his contacts. He typed and deleted three different messages before settling on something simple.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Ang. Hope you're good."

He hit send before he could change his mind again, then set the phone face-down on the counter. The message felt inadequate, almost ridiculous after everything they'd been through. But it was something.

…

Stacks sat in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared at the collection of vehicles lining the curb. The sweet potato pie he'd picked up from the store sat in the passenger seat, still warm in its container. A peace offering. Something to break the ice that had formed between him and his mother these past few months.

Stacks grabbed the container and climbed out of his car, a light breeze hitting his face as he approached the front door. The sounds of conversation and laughter filtered through the windows—children's voices, women talking over each other. Family sounds that now sounded unfamiliar.

He knocked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The door swung open, and his mother's face appeared. The smile she'd been wearing vanished instantly.

"Khalif," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She stepped outside, pulling the door partially closed behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"Happy Thanksgiving, Momma," he lifted the container. "Brought you something."

His mother glanced over her shoulder nervously, then back at him. "You should have called first."

Before he could respond, the door opened wider. He spotted Tamara, Dro’s ex-wife, sitting at a stool near the kitchen. Her children — Dro’s children — playing a game of charades with their other cousins.

"Oh," was all she said, her hand instinctively reaching for the door frame.

"What's she doing here?" Stacks asked, his voice low enough that only his mother could hear.

His mother's eyes hardened. "They're my family, Khalif."

"I'm family too," he said, hating how childish it sounded the moment it left his lips.

"Please," his mother said, her voice cracking slightly. "Not today."

Stacks nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He held out the container. "At least take this."

His mother accepted it with trembling hands. "Thank you."

She didn't invite him in. Didn't suggest another time. Didn't say she loved him or that she missed him. Just stood there, waiting for him to leave so she could close the door and return to the family that remained.

"Tell everybody I said happy holidays," Stacks said, already backing away.

His mother nodded, not meeting his eyes. "I will."

…

Elijah leaned back in his chair, the ginger ale cold against his palm.

"I still can't believe that boy tried to tell me we needed specialized permits for the display cases," Quincy chuckled, shaking his head as he sipped his own ginger ale. "Like I ain't been building shit since before he was born."

"That's Mateo for you," Elijah said, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease for the first time in weeks. They had missed their deadline and had pushed the opening back once more but there was something freeing about being able to simply enjoy the holiday, especially with the support that the social media post announcing the delay had received in the comments.

Quincy traced a finger along the blueprint. "We're making good progress though. Electrical's almost done, and we got those guys starting on the fixtures next week."

"You think we can still make New Year's?" Elijah asked, trying to keep the hope from his voice.

"New Year's is solid," Quincy nodded confidently. "Christmas would've been pushing it, even if everything went perfect. But January? We'll be ready to roll."

Elijah studied his brother-in-law's face, noting the clarity in his eyes that had been absent for so many years. The man sitting across from him now was the Quincy he remembered from decades ago—sharp, focused, reliable. Someone he once viewed as a peer, a friendly competitor.

"I appreciate you, man," Elijah said quietly. "Couldn't have gotten this far without you stepping in."

Quincy looked up, surprise flickering across his face before settling into a small smile. "Anything to help family."

"I hear that," Elijah raised his ginger ale in a small toast.

Quincy clinked his glass against Elijah's. "To family, my brother."

They both drank, the sweet carbonation a poor substitute for the whiskey Elijah might have preferred, but he wouldn't have traded this moment for it.

…

Keshawn slipped out onto the back porch, quietly sliding the glass door shut behind him. He settled into one of the wooden chairs, glancing back through the glass where he could see his mother drying dishes while deep in conversation with Simone, Vic scrolling through his phone on the couch, his father and Quincy locked in what looked like an intense debate over the last slice of apple pie.

Keshawn pulled his phone from his pocket and opened FaceTime, tapping on Candace's name. As the call connected, he noticed a notification for a missed call from Nadia. He swiped it away without hesitation.

"Took you long enough," she said, a wide smile on her face.

"I had to sneak away first," Keshawn couldn't help but smile back. "How was it?"

"Just a small thing this year. Me, Mama, and boyfriend number seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Keshawn raised an eyebrow. "You keeping count?"

"I lost track after twelve, but this one's definitely giving off seventeen vibes," she laughed.

Keshawn’s phone vibrated—another call from Nadia. Keshawn pressed the decline button without breaking eye contact with Candace.

"Someone's popular tonight," she remarked, taking a sip from a crystal wine glass.

"I think you leaked my phone number to fuck with me," he said, trying to change the subject.

"I was more devious than that," she smirked, "How was it with your people?"

"It was good. Different having everyone out here, but..." he glanced back through the glass at his family, "It felt good though, seeing everybody."

"Look at you, all grown up and hosting holidays." her smile softened. "Did you go stupid with AirBnB like I told you to?"

"My financial advisor is probably going to want to talk to you but yeah."

"That's love right there," Candace laughed. "What’s the point of making all this money if we’re not spending it on the people we love?"

"Is this you trying to turn me into a trick?"

"Oh, baby, you’re Mr. Trick-A-Roo."

"If memory serves, you was the one cooking for me on our first date."

"Nigga, that was my chef," she sucked her teeth in a playful manner, "Besides, I like tricking on mine anyway."

"I can tell."

"You lucky we ain’t public yet," Candace teased, "I’d have you with a bust down chain with my name on it so all these bitches can know."

"Is this your way of asking me if we should go public with it?"

"Sometimes I wish we were," Candace said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "But I also know the other side of that and it’s a lot."

"I don’t know if Portland is ready for a power couple like this," Keshawn tried to joke his way through it. It had been the elephant in the room for the past few months as their relationship continued to evolve, quietly in the shadows.

"Not to mention my fans. They're protective as hell," she took another sip of wine. "Like I told you before, I’ve had a public relationship before and that shit was not it."

"I feel you," he replied quietly.

For a moment, they just looked at each other through their screens, the miles between Portland and Los Angeles seeming both vast and insignificant.

"For now though," Candace said finally, "I'm kind of digging our little secret."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "No expectations, no cameras, no interviews asking about our relationship status every five minutes."

"No Twitter debates about whether I'm good enough for you," he added with a half-smile.

"Please," she scoffed. "They'd be debating whether I'm good enough for you. You NBA niggas keep a white girl on deck. A Black girl? That’s a rapper? They’d be tight as hell."

The sliding door behind Keshawn opened, and he quickly angled the phone down toward his lap.

"Yo," Vic's voice came from behind him. "You getting in on this spades game or what? Scary ass nigga."

"If you want to lose your money, just say that next time," Keshawn called over his shoulder. Once the door slid shut again, he raised the phone. "I have to go see a man about a spades game."

"Acting like you know how to play," Candace shook her head, "Don’t embarrass me out there, alright?"

"You’re still ducking dominos smoke so I don’t know why you’re talking."

"Boy, bye. Go play with something safe," she laughed, "I’ll talk to you tomorrow, love you, bye."

"Love you too," Keshawn responded without much though, those two words coming out of his mouth easier than he expected.

[Soapy]

this mf light weight snuck nba 2k26 into the story

Good shit

This is a basketball chise bro lmao

[Caesar]

"Boy, bye. Go play with something safe," she laughed, "I’ll talk to you tomorrow, love you, bye."

"Love you too," Keshawn responded without much though, those two words coming out of his mouth easier than he expected.

This what happen when you scared of pussy. Chick throw you some and you in love.

Vic gotta let Angela live her life and leave that poor woman alone. Trying to circle the block on the slick.