ANDREW ACCIDENTALLY CALLING NEIL CUTE IN FRONT OF THE FOXES P L E A S E
IT IS OFFICIALLY MY SEMESTER BREAK!!!!!! ajfhdajkhfdajh this is the best prompt EVER let me have this self-indulgent headcanon
the foxes, because they like a.) challenges and b.) making money out of these challenges, get the idea to play Andreil Trope Bingo
nicky starts it, purely out of boredom, as well as out of the desire to spite kevin for being too exy-focused even if the season’s over
he creates a card with things like “andrew buying food for neil” “neil smiling behind andrew’s back” “one talking about the other when the other is not there” “andrew hurting someone for neil” “rooftop date” “andreil going late to practice together”
after the whole team making edits to the bingo card, a copy is given to everyone
word gets around, but as andrew and neil are two of the most oblivious people in the world, they don’t catch wind of it
eventually, everybody (including wymack and bee) gets in on it, because the pot rises to be two grand (can you guys believe? two fucking grand for a couple’s trope bingo)
they make it a race of sorts - as andrew and neil aren’t normally affectionate in public (neil being the more touchy of the two, but still severely lacking in comparison to the stereotype of Normal Couples), they all have to be there at certain times of the day
dan clearly established the “no fishing rule” at the start but some of them can’t help themselves - they’re just really lucky sometimes
renee is the first to check “andrew wearing one of neil’s shirts” after she notices at their weekly sparring session
aaron (unluckily enough) gets the first shot at “andreil making out by the lockers” after his shift to tidy up the court
nicky is first witness at “one being lowkey possessive over the other” when he catches a glimpse of andrew frowning down someone at the bar for checking out neil
at the end of it all, they’re all left with one box blank
“andrew calling neil cute”
and everybody is just ??????
because andrew would never do that. not in a million years
only neil seems like the type to do so - but even neil hasn’t said anything of the sort
everybody’s panicking because they’re all so close yet so far away
fast forward; it’s been a little over a month since everyone’s only got that last box blank, and they’ve all been fishing
matt has asked, on multiple occasions, what andrew thought of neil when he smiled
allison has pointed out how good neil looked when she gave him her last haircut
bee even got ahold of neil’s baby pictures and showed them to andrew on a visit of his
wymack, at some point, tried asking if “cute” was really the specific word they all needed to hear (”What if he says ‘adorable’? You know Minyard gets all wordy at some point.”)
they all flail around for another week until thefoxes’ weekly movie night
it happens on a thursday at neil and andrew’s room, because it was their turn
everyone is seated around the television, either on armchairs, the sofa, or on beanbags
neil coughs and pounds his chest
andrew gets up from the sofa so fast and gets neil a glass of water
upon getting the glass, neil goes “Ah.That was just a test. Thanks for putting in the effort.”
neil is smirking and all, thinking he’s so clever, the cheeky bastard
and no one is prepared for andrew’s “Mmm. That’s cute. Move over.”
everybody is suddenly scrambling for their cards in their pockets
IT’S LIFE OR DEATH AT THIS POINT, PEOPLE
THAT LAST BOX IS ALL THAT M A T T E R S
nicky is like “Shit shit shit shit shit shit–”
kevin frustratingly goes “Where the fuck is my pen–”
bee is like “That’s unfair, I didn’t bring my card!”
it’s dan-the-legend-wilds that gets to cross out the box first and she yells (half-drunkenly) “BingobingobingobingoBINGO MOTHERFUCKERS!!”
matt’s like “Babe we’re going halfsies on that right–” while allison yells “THAT”S GOING INTO OUR NAIL POLISH FUND!”
wymack is in the moment and is like “Dan, you’re sharing with me, or you’re out of the fucking team.”
renee is groaning and shaking her head while aaron is just shrugging and texting katelyn he lost
in the midst of the chaos and debating-who-got-it-first is andrew and neil, clueless as fuck, staring at them all and at one another
neil is blinking in confusion while andrew is stony-faced
they go out of the room and leave the madness that is the foxes coming up with another bet and searching for money in their wallets
Summary: drinkin’ while you’re in love with jim but are too scared to tell him lest it destroy your friendship.
Word count: 2,361
Warnings: language, alcohol
A/N: isn’t the title funny? it’s a play on “breaking up is hard to do” fjgkdjfhg i love myself. this is slightly sad but i love it for some reason. i think i just love jim so i keep writing him and literally no one else. ENJOY IT AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!
You didn’t understand Jim’s flirting technique at all but, on the contrary, you greatly understood how he managed the success rate he did. You attributed it to the “love is blind” cliche— only edited.
“Lust is deaf,” you called it.
He would put his foot in his mouth repeatedly as he spoke to anyone he was attracted to— he would rattle off ridiculous inquiries you could recall being the audience to during your years at the Academy.
Of course, those questions came from eighteen year-old boys with inexplicably high confidence levels that verged on total narcissism and inexplicably low sensitivity levels that verged on sociopathy.
In Jim’s case, however, the questions would be asked with such little interest it was as if he was reading the same tired script printed onto the walls of his scotch glass.
It didn’t matter what Jim said, though. After all, who could resist his unbelievably electric blue eyes and unnecessarily bright smile that appeared to be illuminated by starlight?
He stood with his side leant against the edge of the bar counter, his elbow resting atop the presumably sticky surface— it made you feel bad for his worn grey leather jacket that was probably bearing the brunt of the stickiness. His eyes were narrowed by the magnitude of his close-lipped smile. He brought the rim of his glass to his lips and glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
You just snorted and sat back against the booth you occupied.
Your fingertip swirled patterns against the table as you heard the leather bench across from you squeak with newly added weight. Without looking up, you shook your head. “Not interested.”
This is long, be warned. I live in a lowish income neighborhood. My little section is pretty nice, but if you go a few blocks in any direction, it gets pretty shitty. That means I’ve had a few run ins with skeevy meth heads and small time thieves.
This started when I moved in to my house. I noticed that on trash pick-up days, people would go up and down the alley where the trash cans go and dig through looking for recyclables. One of them was a guy I called Old Bob.
Old Bob lived a few houses down. He said he collected to buy presents for his grandkids. I don’t think the kids liked pints of Dark Eyes vodka, but he was harmless. So I started bagging up my cans separately so Old Bob didn’t have to dig through my trash.
Then, there were Tweeter and Skeeter. They would roll up and down the alley in a junky old truck with no exhaust that belched blue smoke. They looked like the after pictures from Faces of Meth. After they saw in was bagging cans for Old Bob, they started grabbing them. This didn’t sit well with me.
The next time I saw Old Bob, I told him I would leave my stuff just inside my yard, up against my shed, where you couldn’t see the bag from the alley. This went on for a month. Then, I heard and smelled Tweeter and Skeeter rumbling down the alley. I didn’t think anything of it, then I heard the rattle of a bag of aluminum cans being thrown into the bed of a truck. Those fuckers had gone into my yard to grab Old Bob’s drinking money. That shit would not stand.
I went to the hardware store; I bought a cheap pair of locks and some latches. I put the latches on my trash cans, I would unlock them when I left for work, which was about 15 minutes before the trash truck came down the alley. I also gave Old Bob a key. By this time, we were becoming downright neighborly. I would chat with him and have him help me around the yard and throw any spare cash his way.
After a few weeks, I heard Tweeter and Skeeter again. I heard them stop, then rattle the can lids, then drive off. I came out the next morning and the fuckers had pried the latches off my cans, and stolen the locks, too.
Now I was pissed. They were stealing Old Bob’s drinking money, and they had fucked with my shit. I stopped keeping cans separate, and started dumping used cat litter over everything.
Tweeter and Skeeter would still roll up to my trash area, but they weren’t willing to dig through shit to get anything. Old Bob was still helping me around the yard, so I would hands him bags of cans when he was over, in addition to the extra cash.
Everything was quiet for a few months. Then, we had a bad storm and the gutters on the alley side of my shed got messed up. They were in OK shape, but the underlying board and gotten torn up. It was too late in the day to do anything, but I figured Old Bob and I could take care of it the next day.
That night, I was woken up by Tweeter and Skeeters damn truck. But before I could throw pants and shoes on and chase them off, they were gone. So were the gutters on my shed.
Needless to say, I was fucking livid. After I calmed down, I went to Home Depot to get a new gutter. As luck would have it, I heard the fucking meth-mobile start up in the parking lot as I was walking in.
I wasn’t about to confront them directly, since I like having all of my blood and internal organs on the inside. What in did do, though, was get a good look at their liscense plates.
They were expired (of course) but the layer of soot from burning oil had obscured the sticker. You wouldn’t notice it from more than 5 feet away.
Finally, I had a way to get back at them. I called a relative who knew a few of the local PD. They said the address on the last registration was a house that had since been burned down in a meth lab fire. They never caught the cooks, but they going to keep an eye out for the truck. If nothing else, they would get a ticket and have to put current plates with a real address on them.
I was OK with this, but I wanted blood. I got my wish when the city did heavy trash pick-up.
I put an old grill in my back yard and scratched “Not Trash”, on the underside, along with spraypainting the smokestack white. Sure enough, Tweeter and Skeeter saw it and couldn’t resist. Once they had done that, I spent a few hours on a Saturday driving around the shittier parts of my neighborhood until I spotted my grill sitting in a yard.
I called my buddy with the police contacts and told them where they could find Tweeter and Skeeter and their un-registered vehicle, along with a stolen grill.
A few hours later, Tweeter and Skeeter came home to a few cops waiting for them. Since scrapping from heavy trash pick-up had been good to them, they were caught with a not insignificant amount of Meth and a lot of precursors to make more.
Tweeter has to serve out a 5 year sentence in prison. He also pinned the lab fire on Skeeter, who will be serving 10 years along side him.
Okay so I completely agree with all of this we need to stop whitewashing these kids but I didn’t know Alix was Arab? Was that confirmed somewhere? (I mean no offense at all by this if she’s Arab that’s great I just am wondering if that got confirmed or something)
Yep, Thomas confirmed it on twitter! (but like… a reeeeaaallly long time ago, back when hardly anyone watched the show yet, when we only had French and Korean episodes) Also, her surname and brother’s name are Arabic.