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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 years

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The Breakfast Club members dating someone who's nonbinary

A/N: more pride content, yay! :D also this is set in the 80s, but it's pretty loose when it comes to accuracy since the term nonbinary wasn't coined until many years later

Warnings: being nonbinary in the 80s, some transphobia mentioned, swearing

Claire Standish

As uptight as Claire might be, she's pretty well-versed when it comes to gender politics

Around her friends, she acts like she doesn't care all that much, and she probably won't even correct them when they misgender you due to fear of judgment, but when you're alone she shows you that she really does by using your correct pronouns and stuff

If you don't like the clothes you own because they make you dysphoric, she'll happily take you out for a "gender affirming shopping spree", as she likes to call it

The look of pure joy on your face when you see yourself in the mirror for the first time, wear clothes that truly fit you- it makes her smile to know that she helped give you that kind of happiness

Andrew Clark

Andy may be somewhat of a himbo, but he's not just some dumb jock; he listens when you explain things to him about your gender identity and always corrects himself if he makes a mistake when referring to you

He always protects you from transphobes, even if it's from someone he's on the wrestling team with

He's even gotten in to some fights before over someone purposely trying to make you feel bad for being nonbinary, I'm not gonna lie

He always comforts you afterwards, telling you not to listen to those dipshits and reassuring you that you're perfect just being you

Brian Johnson

Brian is literally so sweet about it; he does his research and always checks with you before using gendered terms to make sure you don't feel uncomfortable

All of Brian's friends are supportive, too, which means you're probably close with his inner circle

If some annoying transphobe tries to pull the "there's only two genders" argument he's definitely the type of person to tell them how wrong they are and will even use science to back it up

You end up having long discussions over gender roles and politics together, sometimes with his friends and sometimes when you're alone

John Bender

Bender doesn't know too much about pronouns because of how little he pays attention in English class (or in any class, for that matter) but for you he definitely tries to get it right

For example, when he's about to use the wrong pronouns he always ends up catching himself and uses the correct ones before he accidentally misgenders you

Like Andy, he's gotten into fights for you over people making fun of your gender before; but unlike him it's a significantly higher amount as he doesn't have any potential sports scholarships to worry about

He not the best comforter, but if he sees that what someone said genuinely hurt your feelings he'll hold you as you cry (and make sure to beat them up afterwards)

Allison Reynolds

Allison knows what it's like to feel like an outcast for something you can't control, so she gets it

She always affirms your gender and uses the correct pronouns, so there's no worries there

Like Brian, you also have deep and thought out talks on gender roles, but it's usually only when the two of you are alone

If she sees someone openly harrass you, she probably won't do anything about it in the moment because of her hatred of confrontation, but she'll definitely check up on you afterwards and make sure you're okay

She ends up painting a landscape for you in the colors of the nonbinary flag, which you proudly hang up in your locker

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @your-next-daydream

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youaremysunshine-court · 9 months

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My favourite hc ever will be andreil buying matching racquets in their final year, and when Neil goes pro it's takes a minute for people to realise his new racquet matches andrews new racquet and everytime they have to get replacements they always always match and then some exy fan makes a video about the minyard-josten rivalry and the matching armbands and gear and then, then it all blows up and Kevin calls to yell at them from Europe because "can't you be subtle when you're on two different teams, for fucks sake" and andreil are just sitting there smug and holding hands bc at least no one realised they also wear matching shoes like the great big dorks they are

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emry-stars-art · 5 months

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i know it's a rarepair, but i would love to see allichi for number 4 on the prompt list 🥹

This is so fun lol you guys have so many combinations of characters that I’ve never even considered before. But crow this one is absolutely in celebration of your imminent allichi empire 😌

Requests are open until the end of Dec ‘23

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obsessing-over-fictionn · 1 year

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the perfect court face tattoos that riko and kevin and jean and neil all had are actually so embarrassing because as children they drew them on in marker right, which is like semi cute because they’re children but as full ass adults you just have the idea to tattoo those numbers on your face?? for a sport?? like they would be on their death bed with them still on their wrinkly little faces all because they had superiority complexes when they were like 18

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inkheartedwanderer · 2 years

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what friends are for || the breakfast club

tbc x reader // mostly allison and brian bc losers unite (platonic!)

content: a small snippet of monday morning after detention.

word count: 2.3k

“I don’t have any friends…”

“Well, if you did?”

“No… I don’t think the kind of friends I’d have would mind...”

Allison’s words resonate in your brain as you walk up the stairs and into the busy entrance of Shermer High School on Monday, March 26th, 1984. Waves of people swarm around you, as you make your way towards your locker, down the hall and to the right; the buzz of the early morning ringing in your ears like the static from the broken radio of your car. It’s a stark contrast to the emptiness these same corridors held just two days ago, and it almost feels like Saturday was a fever dream, hazy and overwhelming.

But everything that went down on Saturday was real -the screaming and the crying, the accusations and the confessions. The bonding. The fleeting illusion of a budding friendship with five other kids, all of you so different from one another, but so similar in one too many ways, all of you broken and lost. A part of you wants things to go back to normal, ignore the people that now know too much about you, more than anyone else ever has. Another part of you, a corner of your heart, small but pulsating like an open wound, wants to prove Claire wrong, prove her that the perfectly constructed social hierarchy of Shermer High means nothing if you just try.

You don’t have as much to lose as Andy or Claire herself, but you don’t have as much to gain as Brian, Allison, or even Bender, either. People know you. People like you. You’re nice. Or you were, before you punched your best… ex-best friend right in the eye (and right in front of a teacher). But she had it coming, after her continuous not-so-subtle snide remarks about your problems at home that morning, the reason why you try so hard to be a good student, a good person, even if you slip from time to time.

Your white sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor when you turn around the corner and the first thing you see is her in front of her open locker, applying concealer above her cheekbone with gentle pats of her middle finger; she’s surrounded by the other girls in your group, who are loudly asking her about the bruise that adorns her pale face. She won’t tell anyone it was you and you know it, but you’re unsure she’ll let you come near her and your friends anymore. Her eyes meet yours and her face hardens in a second. It’s obvious you’re not welcome. You would care, but it’s not her you are actually looking for.

A voice, gentle but firm calls you from behind. You look over your shoulder. Soft, meek Brian is gingerly making his way towards you, poorly hiding his nervousness as he approaches. You offer him a smile and turn completely, waving as he stops in front of you. “Hey, Brian.” He visibly relaxes at your tone, his lips turning upwards, braces on display. “What’s up? Did you have a nice Sunday?”

He nods vigorously, happy that you haven’t ignored him. Not that you would’ve before, but he doesn’t know that. “I studied for the Math exam we have on Friday, then started reading a new comic book. I’m almost done with it.”

“Cool.”

A few seconds pass and Brian shifts his weight from foot to foot. He looks at his shoes, then steals a glance your way. “That’s a nice sweater,” he points at your light purple knit jumper “it looks good on you. The yellow one from Saturday was pretty, too.” You nod and look at him expectantly, in teasing silence, biting the inside of your cheek trying to hide a smile. There’s a faint pink tint dusting his cheeks. You’re pretty sure he has a small crush on you, and he’s so obvious and awkward about it that it’s endearing.

Brian clears his throat and turns to his left, pointing to a group of boys huddling together around a locker a few feet away. “Those are my friends.” He says, matter-of-factly. They are staring at you like you’ve got two heads, somewhere between fascinated and terrified. You share a few classes with one of them, a tall and lanky guy with thick-rimmed glasses who talks very fast.

“Right,” You wave at them, “I know Freddie.” The boys wave back with hesitancy, studying Brian and you with cautious eyes.

“That’s awesome, then.” Brian claps his hands together, leaning in confidentially. “They say it’s cool if you want to join us for lunch. You’re welcome at our table. Today or whenever” He smiles, pleased with himself, proud that he didn’t stutter while talking to you.

It isn’t hard to agree, considering you are now virtually friendless. “Sure, why not?” You say, sounding more nonchalant than you feel. And Brian’s face lits up, eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights. You know what he’s thinking. Suck on that, Claire. Screw cliques. “Listen, have you-” The bell rings loudly, its grating sound piercing across the hall and signaling the beginning of the classes. You tsk and hold the boy’s arm before can walk away. “Have you seen Allison?”

Brian, who is trying to go back to his friends before they leave without him, stops in his tracks and looks at the ceiling, retracing his steps since he arrived at school earlier this morning. “No, I don’t think I have.” You drop your hand, let it fall against your jean-clad thigh in defeat. The crowd is dispersing and she’s nowhere to be seen, not in this hallway, at least. When you sigh, Brian speaks again. “She won’t be hard to find, though. If you do, tell her to come, too. For lunch.” And after giving you a thumbs up, he turns around and leaves.

It’s during the long break between the third and fourth periods that you manage to find Allison. She’s alone, pressing against a locker in the far corner of the arts hall near the library, clutching the strap of her grey bag with a death grip and looking intently at everyone passing her by.

Although she’s wearing all black again, an ink stain in an ocean of bright red lockers and yellow walls, and dark liner around her eyes, you notice as you get closer to her that she’s pinned her bangs back with two small hairpins.

She gasps when she spots you, a deep inspiration that shakes her whole body, and her smile is timid when you reach her side. Yours, however, is wide and sunny, and her face brights up like a child’s, a silent hello falling from her lips.

Two days earlier, when Allison stated softly I don’t have any friends, you swore your heart broke a little. Sure, she was a bit weird and showed questionable eating habits, but by the time you all sat at the back of the library to talk, you had grown fond of the girl; and it made you indescribably sad to see the deep loneliness in her eyes. You’ve come to school this morning determined to change that. You’re still not sure how you feel about her knack for lying, though.

“Hi,” You chirp, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“You have?” Her tone is awestruck, like she can’t believe anyone would look for her, and she’s breathing very hard.

You laugh. “Yeah, I tried to catch you this morning, but the bell rang before I could.”

The girl nods very slowly, taking in your words. Her smile grows bigger, more genuine and less tentative. “I was late today.” She touches her hair inadvertently, patting her short locks where they are pinned back.

“I’m digging the new look.”

Allison looks like she’s on the verge of tears (happy, you hope) when she thanks you with a choked voice.

You’re about to speak when a loud voice makes you jump.

“Well, if this isn’t the slugger and the freak.”

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you look over Allison’s shoulder. John Bender is sauntering towards you with a smug smile and his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. He’s put a cigarette behind his ear, which is adorned with a shiny diamond earring. He’s got a slightly chaotic energy about him that used to make you nervous before you got to officially meet him, but now it’s easier for you to spot the mischievous -if not playful- gleam in his eyes when he’s trying to be amicable.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You still haven’t mastered the art of deadpanning, but you try. “Broken any laws lately?”

Allison snickers beside you, face towards the floor but eyes bouncing from him to you.

Bender squints, then makes a noise, a mix between a snort and a cackle. “Not yet,” he mimics your mock shock expression, “but t’s still early, sweets, don’t worry.” With a two finger salute, he begins to walk backwards, away from you. “Don’t punch anyone today.”

He makes a scene, demanding attention, tall and boisterous as he jumps and hits a banner that’s hanging from the ceiling. It wrinkles with a loud crack and comes off on one side. John lands too close to a group of girls, getting a fuss from them.

“Look!” Allison nudges you and directs your attention towards one of the girls. Leaning on one shoulder against a locker, with her fiery red hair shining like silk and her pink lips pursed, Claire is staring at Bender with such intensity you’re afraid she might burn a hole in his jacket. Whether that’s good or bad, you’re not sure; but the smug smirk that spreads across his face when he makes eye contact with her tells you that’s exactly the reaction he was expecting.

You turn your attention back to the girl beside you, her brown eyes trained on you, blinking slowly. A bit weird, but who cares, you think. “So,” you begin, placing your hand on her elbow, gently, “Brian and his friends say we’re welcome to sit with them today, in the cafeteria.” Her eyes go wide and she makes a noise at the back of her throat. Feeling encouraged, you link your arm through hers and begin walking slowly down the corridor. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, I think so.” She seems somewhat nervous, but lets you lead the way without resisting. “Did he really say I can go too?”

“Of couse! He explicitly told me to tell you.”

Allison beams, squeezing your arm with cold fingers.

Some people give you a few weird looks as you walk past. Others know you and wave, although their eyebrows furrow in confusion, surprised that your best friend isn’t by your side, puzzled that the resident weirdo is.

The wrestling team is gathered around a drinking fountain, a rowdy group of clean-cut boys in matching blue letterman jackets, making it hard not to notice them. Andrew’s piercing blue eyes find Allison without trouble, and he looks at her like a lovesick puppy when their gazes meet. His smile is timid when he nods, more valiant when the girl waves at him.

He hesitates for a long second as you two approach, getting closer to them and closer to walking away; and, with a surge of courage, steps in front of you and speaks lowly, voice full of warmth. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Allison looks at the floor.

“You look lovely.” It’s barely a whisper, but the girl’s cheeks turn hot pink and you smile. You’re not usually a fan of being a third wheel, but they’re both so nervous you can’t really say anything, can you?

Andrew isn’t paying attention to you, completely focused on Allison, tracing her face with his eyes, smiling dopely. He takes his hand out of his pocket and offers her a piece of white paper, wrinkled and torn from a notebook. “I wanted to give you this. Call me, will you?” And steps back to his spot at the back of his team as if nothing had happened.

His number is neatly written with blue ink, a small smiley face at the bottom of the note. When you giggle, Allison giggles with you.

“I think he likes you.”

“Shut up.” There’s no bite or malice in her words.

“It’s cute.”

“Should I call him?” She’s staring at the piece of paper as if it were made of gold.

You’re escandalised. “Of course! Call him today after school. The wrestling team doesn’t train on Mondays.”

“What do I say?”

“Well, first you say hi and- hey,” an idea pops into your head like a lightbulb turning on, “what if I go over today? To your house. I can help you figure out what to say and then I’ll let you call him by yourself.”

Her brows crease in the middle. “No one’s ever been to my house before.” She says it slowly, almost void of emotion.

Oh. You have a good idea of how awful her parents were -they own a big house, pretty but cold, and never pay their daughter much attention. Maybe you have overstepped. Maybe Allison dislikes visitors as much as you do. Maybe she avoids her place if she can, too.

But then she nods slowly. “But if you want to help me, I’d- I’d like that.”

You sigh, relieved, when she speaks again. Uncertain, confused, trying to figure you out. “Why would you do this for me?”

“Mmmh,” you rub her arm, “that’s what friends are for, Allison.”

“Friends?” You nod and think you’ll say it as many times as she asks you to just to see her like this again -she seems happy, happier than you’ve seen her before. You recognise the twinkle of hope in her eyes, the apple red excitement on her cheeks. The realisation, she doesn’t have to be alone, not anymore.

🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: Is The Breakfast Club fandom active at all? I hope it is, because after this year’s rewatch I have a lot of feelings. I’m sorry about my bias for our two losers here, I love Allison and Brian so much ♡♡♡

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated :) ♡

#the breakfast club x reader #the breakfast club fanfiction #the breakfast club imagine #the breakfast club one shot #tbc #brian johnson x reader #allison reynolds x reader #john bender x reader #andrew clark x reader #claire standish x reader #the breakfast club

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trauma-insence · 12 days

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Incorrect aftg as more things my professor has said

Neil: **offended** yes, I am aware of what a fursona is

Wymack: I was worried we would actually be productive today

Andrew to Neil: You're not a good late night talk show guest

Wymack: I was born as a 43 year old man

Matt: how old are you?

Neil: How old do you want me to be?

Kevin: I’m just sitting here trying to mentally figure out how much time it will take to undo the mental damage you’ve done to us all

Neil: this is gonna sound stupid because it's coming out of my mouth

Kevin: You don’t speak in complete sentences and we actually just always assume you have any intelligence.

Seth: He just talks because he has a mouth

Wymack: Unless you are a pre-linguistic child *points to Neil*

Wymack: I need to forget everything as soon as i walk out this door or Neil will drive me insane.

Kevin: I'm trying to do better at using words he understands

Andrew: I can't stand you

Neil: Me niether!

#Honorable mention: “so you read it unethically?”#hope travis knows i put more effort into this than his class thelast month #just imagine how many quotes i would have if i paid attention in class #another honorable mention is when we got so sidetracked in class that he took a BuzzFeed quiz to discover his fursona #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #allison reynolds #dan wilds #matt boyd #renee walker #aftg andrew #aftg neil #andrew minyard #aftg incorrect quotes #aftg trilogy #aftg fandom #kevin day #tfc

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hauntmebaby · 2 years

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Aaron Minyard accidentally letting it slip that the med school use volunteer actors in their clinical exams.

Aaron Minyard then walking into his next OSCE to find the foxes have all volunteered to be his pretend patients

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prettypipedream · 1 year

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okay but I raise you this

Nicky convinces Kevin that Just Dance is a legitimate option for working out.

All the foxes get in on it eventually and now once a week they play Just Dance instead of going to the gym.

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ninyard · 1 month

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Hey! Do you have specifics for your prompts? Do you want just one person or is a couple ok? If just one person could you do something with Seth? Maybe a what if he didn't die and got his shit together?

And if a couple Kevin and Seth getting along?

(I'm in my loving Seth era...)

Thank you for sharing your writing, you are awesome!

THANK YOU okay so here’s what I offer you: Seth survives and nobody believes him when he says he didn’t do it (but Kevin can’t live with himself if he doesn’t tell him he knows who did) TW: drugs, suicide mention, overdose

It was Halloween, and Seth was not stupid enough to think that the bar would be quiet. Wall to wall bodies in costumes, a fire hazard waiting to happen, he wasn’t even sure they would get in, but when the bouncer noticed him and Allison at the back of the line, he waved them up and let them go ahead. He was a decent guy like that. A larger man with a buzz cut, tattoos creeping up his neck, donning a pair of devil horns on his head for the night that was in it. He smiled at Seth when he entered the building.

It was his third drink in when he started to feel wrong. He chalked it up to too many sweaty people in one room, each ones body heat raising the temperature a few degrees. Only a minute after he noticed something felt wrong, did he really start to know that something was really wrong.

Allison had asked him if he was okay. He didn’t remember answering. One minute they were there, stood by a table they’d managed to squeeze their way over to, and the next he was sat on the cold and dusty sidewalk out the front, not enough cool air in the world enough to ease the growing nausea that grew from the pit in his stomach. “I feel like I’m coming up off a real fuckin’ bad pill.” At least, that’s what he thought he said, what he meant to say. He could barely hear his own voice, his neck not strong enough to hold up his head.

“Look at me, open your eyes.” Allison held his head in her hands. “Oh, your- what the fuck?” Seth wasn’t sure what she’d seen in his eyes, but her phone was in her hands, and then by her head, and then he woke up in the hospital two days later. For some reason he was surprised that Allison was still by his side, her hand wrapped so tightly around his, as if letting go would mean she would never hold it again. She didn’t look like she’d slept, or taken a break from crying, either, hair unkempt and out of her face, makeup non-existent. She was wearing his sweats with a hospital blanket across her lap, and she cried and kissed around the medical equipment when she finally got the courage to touch him. She was so gentle, like he would break; It felt like he would, more fragile than he’d been in a very, very long time.

Allison told him that he’d overdosed. His heart sank at that, disappointed in himself before he remembered that he hadn’t taken anything. Then he noticed the nurse sitting in the corner, who smiled his way. The psychiatric team came up not long after they were informed that he was awake. He was confused, but given his history, he wasn’t that surprised. He was surprised, however, when they told him what the concoction was that he’d overdosed on.

The blood test showed a toxic level of his anti-depressants, alongside traces of both heroin and painkillers that had been an opiate he favoured when he was actively using back in the day. He should’ve died. It was a miracle that somebody in the queue had naloxone in their bag, and they’d saved his life by administering it. He would never find out who they were, or why they’d helped him, but the consequences of surviving were much more painful that the death he would’ve never remembered anyway.

He wanted to die when Allison looked at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, “how could you do this to me?”, or when the psychiatry team asked him for the tenth time in an hour if he had plans of ending his life. He wanted to die when the nurses who had him on 24/7 suicide watch had to accompany him to the toilet, and when Dr. Dobson accompanied David to the hospital the day he was allowed to leave. They’d proposed an involuntary stay in a psych ward, but Betsy had managed to convince them to let him go.

Nobody wanted to hear it; somehow he’d overdosed on his own medication, and even when he counted out the pills and tried to prove that he hadn’t done it, nobody seemed to believe him. They only sent him this look of pity, as if a failed attempt was worse than a successful one, as if he was simply trying to cover for the fact it hadn’t worked. Allison tried her best to support him, but it was hard for her. She’d watched him seizing outside the bar, foaming at the mouth and choking on his own vomit. She’d sat in the ambulance as the paramedics resuscitated him the whole way to the hospital. Betsy told him she hadn’t left his side since he was admitted; and it was really difficult for her to watch him lying there with tubes and wires blocking her view. She’d broke down two days after they returned to campus, and begged him to just be honest, that there was no way he’d been coincidentally spiked with his own medication, one that had seizures at the top of the list of warnings. Even just doubling the dose of his meds had the potential to be fatal, and he knew that. He hadn’t been depressed for a long time. His meds worked, so much better than any of the others that he’d tried, and he wouldn’t have risked being taken off them by doing something so stupid for no reason at all. It felt as though he was being gaslit into believing he had in fact taken too many pills before leaving, but none of it made sense. He took his pills in the mornings. He had been clean from hard drugs for months. Even on the off-chance that he had taken a handful of the little circular pills, how did the heroin get there, the opiates he hadn’t touched in years?

He’d been curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch, alone in the dorm when a knock came at the door. It was no more than two weeks after the incident, and he’d just returned from a session with Betsy. He didn’t respond to the knock, but kept his eye on the door as it creaked open. The last person he expected to see peeking around it was Kevin, but there he was. He shut the door behind him and sat on the opposite side of the couch. If he tried to sit any further away, he would’ve fallen off.

“I’m not interested, man.” Seth glared at him. “Fuck your game, and fuck you if you’ve really just come in here to ask me to come back to practice.”

Kevin sighed and looked away. “That’s not why I’m here.” His hands were clasped together on his lap, thumb running over the opposite hands knuckles. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Seth snorted and threw his head back. “Yeah, right, asshole. You don’t give a shit.”

“Did you do it?” Kevin had paused for a second before blurting out the question. His eyes searched Seth’s for the truth, with his shoulders practically touching his ears and hands locked together as he stopped himself from fidgeting.

He laughed again, shifting positions so he was better facing him. His voice turned serious, and he pointed towards the door. “Leave my room.”

“I’ll believe whatever you say, I just have to know.”

“Oh, you have to, do you?” He said. He was angry, and after a draining session with Betsy, he couldn’t handle another person insinuating he was lying. “You don’t deserve a fucking thing. None of you do. Stop looking at me like that. Tell them all to stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“We’ve not friends, Seth, and I don’t give a shit about your history. But I know you didn’t do this.” Kevin considered his words. “Because I think that… If you didn’t do this to yourself, man, I think I know who did.”

Seth froze and sat up, far more alert than he’d been in days. “How dare you, you pretentious piece of shit? How fuckin’ dare you? Are you going to give a status report back to your little toddler squad, is that what this is? Finally your fucking…” He mimicked dangling something in front of his face. “Ammo? Something you have over me?”

“I get it.” Kevin didn’t look back to him. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

“I haven’t trusted your crippled ass since the day we met.” Seth leaned forward. “But humour me, then. Who somehow knows exactly what meds my crazy ass is on, and tried to murder me in a packed bar, busiest night of the week? Because your explanation is bound to be better than mine.”

“I owe it to you to let you know.” Kevin lowered his voice. “But I can’t explain it. I just have to tell you that I think it was Riko.”

“Fuck off, now, or I’ll start screaming.” Seth was frustrated, feeling like the butt of a joke, feeling like Kevin was just trying to stab another dart into a board that was already full. “This is not a fucking joke. Al has to give me my pills because nobody trusts me with them right now. The shrink calls me twice a day. Everyone is so fuckin’ disappointed in me, man, I could’ve died, and you’re telling me your little bestie over there did it? You’re a coward, Kevin. You’re a fucking liar and a fucking coward.”

Kevin held up his scarred hand as if that was explanatation enough. “Neil humiliated him on live TV. He wouldn’t think twice about killing someone to get back at him. You’re an easy target.”

In all the chaos that had ensued, he’d forgotten about what Neil had said on Kathy’s show. None of it made sense to him, why he would be an easy target out of all of them, why, if Riko was capable of such a thing, he would go after him and not Neil himself. As if reading his mind, Kevin continued. “Neil’s too public now. He couldn’t have done it to him.”

“Who else believes this shit?”

Kevin held back on whatever he really knew, and settled for, “Anyone who understands it, agrees with me.”

“Explain it to me like I’m a helpless little kid.” Seth said, straight faced and seething. “Tell me how it could have possibly been him.”

“Did they check you for track marks?” Seth shook his head, but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure. They’d seen the evidence of his pills in his system, and his charts said he was a past user. They didn’t have to, really. Everything they needed to know was right there in his blood work. “If you have a prescription out there, it’s not that hard to find out your meds. You wouldn’t even feel a needle through your clothes with so many people around you. Mix it with your drugs of choice and nobody is going to believe that you didn’t do it yourself.”

“You’re joking.” Seth repeated again, disbelief at how serious Kevin was, at how his face sunk as he spoke, how his eyes trailed off somewhere into the distance while he explained. “And you really believe that?” Kevin nodded. It was infuriating to Seth to finally hear something so outlandish still that actually made a little bit of sense. He knew himself he hadn’t done it, so why was it so hard to believe it had actually been someone else? It hadn’t happened by the grace of God. Somehow the drugs had gotten into his system, and by the amount they’d found, they hadn’t been there long before he’d lost consciousness. So he’d been spiked in the bar. It also made an annoying amount of sense that he’d been poked by a needle and not had something sprinkled into his drink, because Allison had been across from him the whole time they were there. She was smart with her drinks in that way, and she was always aware of wandering hands near their beverages. She would’ve noticed. “So he fuckin’ failed, then. What happens next? He’s gonna just, what, try again?”

“I don’t know.” He said. “I just had to let you know. You’ve been going crazy in here trying to understand it.”

“If I mention your theory to anyone other than your little gang, they’ll fuckin’ have me committed. They’re just waiting for an excuse.” Seth rested his head on his knees, his feet up on the couch. “Nobody is going to actually believe this other than you, you know that, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Kevin’s voice was small. “And for what it’s worth, I know what Riko is like, and you’re just a meaningless pawn in his game. I don’t see you that way. I don’t hate you like you think I do.”

“Don’t push it.” Seth grimaced. “You only tolerate me because your lineup can’t handle the loss of another body.”

“Maybe.” Kevin admitted, and Seth laughed, because he didn’t even try to hide that it was the truth. He didn’t say much else before nodding at Seth and leaving the room, and suddenly Seth felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder and quickly replaced by another, heavier tonne of bricks. He hated Neil, he hated Kevin, he hated Riko. If it was the truth, if it really was him who’d orchestrated this whole thing, he’d fucked with his life in ways he didn’t even understand. He had people he cared about in his life, people he wanted to live for, but Riko was happy to ruin it all, all for the sake of petty revenge. For a week he’d been in some sort of state between withdrawals and a heavy craving to fall back into a hole he’d assumed he’d crawled out of for good. Nobody trusted him, and everyone looked at him differently, no matter how much they tried to hide it. He looked at himself differently, a brush with death an untimely reminder that his life was finite. He’d avoided death too many times, and his chances had to have finally been depleted. Riko didn’t know what he’d done to Seth’s bare minimum instinct of survival by fucking up and letting him live.

He had looked Kevin in the eye, as the only one who seemed to understand him when he felt like screaming from the rooftops it wasn’t fucking me! Kevin who he’d despised since the first time he opened his mouth, Kevin who was too good for them all, full of himself, in love with himself; he’d felt so alone since waking up in that hospital, and God, did it feel terrible that Kevin Day was the one person who seemed to understand.

#Seth was a welbutrin king #fight me on that~#seth gordon #aftg #allison reynolds #Kevin day #tfc #all for the game #the foxhole court #this is kind of a stupid ramble that’s not even properly proof read I just #have never ever written Seth before and this is such a compelling prompt #to imagine the fallout of him surviving that overdose #if my medical takes are inaccurate that’s not my fault #just pretend that it’s possible he would’ve survived that concoction okay #suspend ur disbelief #enjoy<3 #I did cut this short bc I feared I was going on too long ok #no but for real I will literally take a prompt for Exites Employee Number Two if that’s what you want my friend #mine

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impecko · 1 year

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ok so in the foxhole court is anyone caught up on the fact that andrew is 5 FEET. i must’ve blocked it out, but during a reread i was shocked to see that. five feet is the height of a young girl. i feel like there’s not one man out there that is naturally that short at college freshman age.

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 years

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The Breakfast Club masterlist