#bleachers fic

[bootyshortsjacob]

Can you show what that collage thing is? And if they're in high school do they stay the same with the actors and we imagine them younger or did you find young people to be them?? I'm sorry if im rambling lol.

So, I tried to imagine them young and I was like eh, we know what they look like older. So I was like, just find some people that has the same face structure or what I think embodies them as teenagers. And for like all the main couples they have their own little collage, like Homelight, Hughie/Victoria, Butcher/Becca, ATrain/Popclaw, Maeve/Elena, MM/Monique.

But it is a Starlander, Homelight story lol. Idk if u wanted me to include the faceclaim ideas. Ig if you ask again, I'll do it.

[literary-chameleon]

Song: Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call by Bleachers

For more Black brothers angst you can read my fic here.

[vinelark]

Can we get a wip Wednesday in honor of don't take the money being my top listened to song of the year? (Absolutely no pressure!! Have a lovely lovely Wednesday!!)

a little wipwed! the section i’m working on now is one i’m trying not to spoil, but here’s a snippet from an earlier scene 🫡

—

“And the guy,” Kon says. “The one who did this. You got him, too?”

“Oh, yes,” Nightwing says. And that tone is one Kon recognizes: satisfied with a vicious edge, just a flash of steel underneath each word. The last time Kon heard that was in the basement. Tim saying, Wanna check my work? with blood on his teeth. “We got him.”

[glorf1ndel]

congratulations! please, glorfindel and/or ecthelion? :3c

Thank you! Here, I wrote a sappy little Glorfindel/Ecthelion marriage fic for you. <3

Green and Yellow

On ordinary days, Ecthelion only ever wore silver, blue, or black. One would be hard-pressed to find him in any other color. His friends joked that he only wore the colors of the moon and night sky. But today was no ordinary day. It was Ecthelion's wedding day, and he was clothed in... Green and yellow.

"Can't I just wear white?" He had asked Glorfindel, his future husband. White was a popular color at weddings, after all. Yet Gondolin had a custom that when Elves of different houses married, they wore each others' house colors to their wedding. Glorfindel found this delightful, but he looked good in any color. By contrast, yellow and green washed out Ecthelion's skin and made him look like a wilting daisy. Of course, Glorfindel had begged, pleaded, and promised to wear silver and blue himself, so Ecthelion had agreed to honor Glorfindel's house colors.

And now the time had come for them to walk down the aisle together. That was another tradition among the Gondolindrim, one that Ecthelion appreciated. Instead of one spouse waiting for another at the end of the aisle, they would stride toward the officiant together. Ecthelion and Glorfindel had planned the ceremony such that they would climb a hill together, to find the wedding party and their officiant, King Turgon, waiting for them at the top. So Ecthelion met Glorfindel alone at the bottom of the hill. Glorfindel looked stunning, wearing a silver suit, with his hair tied up in a blue bow.

What Ecthelion did not expect was Glorfindel's reaction to his outfit, a long yellow and green robe with an elegant train. Suddenly, Glorfindel clasped his hands to his mouth and began to sob.

“That bad?” Ecthelion quipped.

“What? No!” Glorfindel laughed a little, wiping his eyes. “You just look beautiful.”

Ecthelion could not help the smile that crept onto his face.

“I always knew you were a charmer.”

Glorfindel reached for his hand.

“Let’s get married?” He asked, as if there were a question in Ecthelion’s mind. But the Lord of the Fountain had no doubts. Even this green and yellow outfit was all right, if it meant he could hold Glorfindel’s hand for the rest of their lives.

“Let’s get married.”

[extraalligators]

Merry Christmas/Please Don't Call

You were mine

but you were awful every time

Remarkable how cute she still was.

How long would this last before it went the way of Dr. Girlfriend, Queen Etherea?

The very lovely persona curled up in the limousine beside him was Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, consummate professional, love bite peeking above the collar of her uniform notwithstanding. 43 years old, smoker of imported cigarettes, master of the smart-ass remark. She was a fantastic actress, she had nearly everyone fooled but when he squinted it was still Sheila he saw hiding a yawn behind her hand.

"You know, Sheila—"

"Please don't call me that."

"Tetchy."

"It's just not very professional."

She rolled her eyes. She obviously wanted to say something nasty to him but she just pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a headache. 

"I apologize. Madame councilwoman."

"Don’t call me that either."

Her voice was starting to go. Coming down with something or just exhausted? Hard to say.

"Feeling all right?"

"Not really."

She stared off out the window a while, watching the snow dusted city pass them by. After a minute she dug in her bag and produced a cigarette and a lighter but before he could scold her, she put the cigarette back in the pack.

"Hamilton? Do you wanna stop and have a drink?"

That was how Phantom Limb found himself in a nondescript bar on the lower east side, listening to Christmas music from the bartender's tinny speaker and letting his traitorous ex-girlfriend buy him a drink of her choosing. Just this once.

Her taste was as awful as ever, something that tasted like cough syrup. He drank his and let her order him another. He wanted to see if she would reveal any more about what was going on inside her head.

She didn’t. Mostly, she talked about some movie she’d seen, so he just watched her legs. She crossed them, uncrossed them. The little scar on her knee from the time she scraped it on the headboard of the bed while they were...still perfect. The boots helped.

She pulled her skirt down like she knew what he was doing and he came back to the conversation just in time to look as if he had been present for the whole thing.

"So it turns out she wasn’t after the safe deposit box at all. She wanted to kill him so the ghost of the mafia don from the first movie could move into his body."

"Someone actually made two of those?"

"Three. Come on, you watched the first one with me."

"I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about."

"We watched it on our second date. You had it on the laser disc."

"I’m certain you're mistaken."

She had a funny look on her face and he couldn't tell if it was wounded pride or hurt. Did she just want the satisfaction of being right?

"I know you did, I watched it about 30 times."

"I would absolutely remember that."

"You wouldn't. You were in Greece on some guild thing. It was gonna be our first Christmas together but..." She shrugged.

"Pining away for me the whole time?"

She gave him a disgusted look.

"I had a broken arm. I slipped on that stupid Persian rug and almost cracked my head open."

"I don't remember any of this."

"I do. You gave me the ugliest tennis bracelet I've ever seen in my life, kissed me goodbye and told me 'try to be less clumsy next year'. I didn't see you until like Feburary."

"That was my mother's. And it was mid-January at worst. Look, I just don't remember the particulars-"

"Because you were in Greece." She finished her drink. "At least you got a good tan."

He paused, not sure how far he was willing to take this conversation.

"Don't act like you were kind, Sheila."

Her head dipped, her lips pursed. Her hair fell into her eyes and she didn't bother pushing it back. Lost in thought? For the briefest moment, he had no idea who he was looking at.

"Well, I would have never done that to you." She said quietly.

He swallowed and hoped she didn't notice the look on his face. He smiled even though the cheap alcohol and the conversation were making him feel a bit ill.

"You got me back with that tracking chip."

She shook her head as if she were an actress who stumbled on a line and smiled back, grateful for the out.

"It still works, you know."

When they stepped back outside, the sky was slate and it was so cold he could actually feel it in his insensible fingertips. Sheila swore under her breath and paused to dig in her purse for her cigarette. She lit it and handed it to him wordlessly. He took a drag and handed it back. Her hands were shaking.  

He took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, and she looked up but didn't say anything. No smart-ass remark for that.

She didn't take it off in the car either, not until they arrived at her...hovel? Halfway home for wayward henchmen? She swore the place looked less haunted lately, but he had seen her looking at wallpaper on her phone. All butterfly themed. Atrocious. She went to slip it off and he stopped her.

"Keep it. I'll never forgive myself if you catch your death."

"Are you sure? It’s like fifteen feet."

"Think nothing of it. Just be a dear and get it dry cleaned before you return it."

She rolled her eyes but he saw her hiding a smile as she shut the door behind her. He watched her saunter up the walkway. He liked to imagine she was walking slowly for him, even though it was more likely she was just tired. Still had the ass of a twenty-five year old. She pulled his jacket a little tighter around her shoulders as she fumbled with her house keys. The Monarch could chew on that for a few days.

[labyrinthhofmymind]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61572592

surprise! i wrote a mini wolfstar fic in honour of christmas (even tho i’m posting this in jan LOL)

it’s very angsty and heavily inspired by the song ‘merry christmas, please don’t call’ by the bleachers which i’ve been OBSESSED with.

feel free to check it out, hope you guys like it <3

[sweatersadkitty]

i am a grace chastity is on the aromantic spectrum but NOT on the asexual spectrum truther.

happy halloween, bitches

[winter-angst]

It will be a melancholic Christmas.

Thanks Bleachers

[gojooooo]

i love a hypothetical students au or similar situation and sukuna looks gorjus as hell or his arms are showing so someone tries to rizz him up by complimenting his tattoos but sukuna is busy staring at yuuji from a distance who’s like smiling and talking to nobara and megumi so he distractedly replies “yeah thanks” as he keeps looking at his crush. so yes in short i love the idea of people wanting sukuna’s attention/him potentially being able to have anyone (but wait don’t misinterpret, he absolutely isn’t a fuckboy in my eyes, quite the opposite actually) but his mental capacity is entirely reserved for yuuji. he only has eyes for yuuji. he only cares about what yuuji is doing. is something about yuuji? no? then he’s lost interest.

[ragnarokhound]

how goes your wip

The bad news is, werewolf wip is on hold because I have lost control of my life.

The good news is, I am almost done with the reason I lost control of my life. the worse news is that it's aob:

“Jason, what is this?”

Jason looks up at Tim from across the kitchen table in Wayne Manor, brows scrunched and mouth twisting around his own mouthful of omelet in a grumpy frown. He doesn’t bother swallowing first, and bits of egg fly out when he replies.

“The fuck’s it look like?”

Tim eyes him, kinda grossed out, but mostly confused. It’s too early for this. “It looks like you made me breakfast?”

Jason looks between Tim and the frankly beautiful ham-and-mushroom omelet steaming on the plate he’d put down in front of Tim about two minutes ago. Tim had been so absorbed in his coffee and waking up, that he hadn’t quite clocked it at first. That it was very likely meant to be for him.

“If you don’t want it—” Jason says, a weird note in his voice as he reaches out.

Tim hauls the plate in close, grabbing the fork and hunching over it protectively. “That’s not what I said.”

[bootyshortsjacob]

WAIT! HIGHSCHOOL? I need to know more!!! Pleaseeee Annieeee!!!

OKAY! So, at first it was like a breakfast club one shot, but then there was too much background being added for the short chapter. So, I added more chapters and like... now its at 200k words.

And I'm not even at the spot where the detention is supposed to start 😭

[khruschevshoe]

Captain Oluwande Jimenez

When I fall asleep I can see your face

What I lost in you I will not replace

And if you see me in the darkness

I hope you know I'm not alone

I carry you with every breath I take

I won't let up, I won't let up

Until the wind is gone

-Bleachers, Like A River Runs

The idea surges in Olu's chest: him as co-Captain would mean that he's in charge. No one would ever be able to tear Jim or Archie away from him again. No one could even try.

Olu wants that guarantee more than anything. He wants to be able to continue pirating with this crew, with this family, while guaranteeing as best he can the safety of all of these people he's come to love. And yes, he's not the most ambitious type, but if he can take a position that maybe tampers down some of Stede's more outlandish ideas and allows them all to keep the jobs and the lives they love?

There are only two people who could stop him.

Olu looks to Jim and Archie. “Would you two be okay with that?”

“You being a co-captain?” Archie lets out a delighted laugh. “Man, I can think of no one better! You’re the best leader I’ve ever met!”

And Jim, Jim who hates authority, Jim who is the first person to call out Stede and Blackbeard for being shitty captains, Jim looks to Olu as if he’s hung the sun.

“Jim?” Olu asks, voice tender, because he thinks he knows their answer but still needs to hear it anyway, because he refuses to accept the position if it means that Jim will ever look at him with fear in their eyes.

But Jim has no fear. No hesitations. “It would be an honor to sail under you, Oluwande Boodhari,” Jim says fervently, pledging themself to the cause more devotedly than they ever signed up for Nana’s revenge mission.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, let's take a chance, baby, we can't lose (it's the one thing you can choose)

Captain Oluwande my beloved! It was so exciting getting to see his relationship with Jim and Archie develop into something incredibly solid, fun, and absolutely devoted. Possibly my favorite OT3 of all time (tied with maybe Parker, Hardison, and Eliot from Leverage, if that). They would all cross the sea for each other (and have, multiple times)! This fic is the one that focuses on their matelotage ceremony and it is the sweetest thing in the world.

@polikate @possumsmushroom @angxlwiings @yuenity @bricksbloggyplace

[vinelark]

so i’m listening to bleachers as a relatively new fan, and i hear “but back the secrets” and something starts nagging in my brain until i go WOAH and run to the author notes of bbts to check and i was right!! so i guess this is to say, a) super cool music taste, b) did you choose the title bc the lyric goes fucking hard or does don’t take the money relate to the fic in any way?

hi! love that the title jumped out at you in the wild like that, and hell yeah for listening to bleachers in general. i rambled a bit about my thought process re: that lyric/song here; tl;dr is that i picked it a bit more on vibes than literal lyrics meaning--also i just love the way the line sounds. very pleasing.

[captainsgr]

nothing like two enemy teen assassins trapped in the social conventions of high school, reduced to gym class rivalry and declaring war through a game of volleyball

[sollucets]

rowan!! that prompt you wrote that takes place around ep 10 has me REELING <33 it made me want to rewatch all over again! i'm obsessed with the way you write akkaye, you're one of my favorite writers for them. may i please request another prompt around that same canon timeframe (aka anywhere from the sort-of-secret-sort-of-official boyfriends stage in ep 10 to ep 12)? [rattles can] in return i'm offering u all my savings and my eternal devotion!!

i can't decide between 45, 20, or 8 so feel free to pick either (or all) as you please! thank you thank you thank you, and congrats on your milestone! <33 Xx

(the prompt in question) ah nonny thank you so much :') i loved writing it hehe. i refuse ur savings but i'll accept ur devotion so long as i can reciprocate!

touch prompts 8 (shielding the other one with their body) + episode 11, combined for ~1.2k of pain

💜

Aye loses track of time on those steps. He loses track of a lot of things, actually, focus narrowed to the places where he’s touching Akk, to all the points of their connection. He has a hand around the back of Akk’s neck, his thumb over Akk’s pulse point, anchoring, holding. Clinging, the same way Akk’s fingers are tangled in his uniform jacket. He wishes he were closer. He wishes he could wrap himself around and through Akk, close enough to cover his bones, to keep him from this. To keep him here. 

It’s a while before he masters himself enough to remember, faintly, that this isn’t sustainable. They’re still in the middle of campus, collapsed on the ground in a little puddle together, and if they were supposed to be following along with Wat’s story they’ve already failed. 

The thought of letting go of Akk while he’s all jagged edges and crumpled limbs in Aye’s hold is — impossible, though, unthinkable. He can’t. But they can’t stay here. 

Aye takes a deep breath that comes out ragged and painful, ignores the tear tracks on his cheeks, and pulls back, just a little. Akk looks up at him, face red and mouth trembling. 

“Akk,” he says, barely a whisper. He slips his hand around the front of Akk’s neck, brushes tears away even as they’re immediately replaced. “Akk, baby, we need to get up.” 

Baby. He’s never said it before, but it feels right enough in his mouth. He’d say every sweet little thing if Akk would let him. 

He does let him, this time, but Aye thinks Akk might honestly let him do anything right now. “Come on,” he says, shifting enough to catch Akk under the arms. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.” 

Because it’s starting to be not quiet, here. These are the front steps of the school, and class being in session by now aside, people pass here enough, and Aye wants to hide them. They need time to decompress before anyone can even start thinking about what to do next. 

Akk goes with him after a moment, though his legs don’t seem entirely steady under him once he’s standing. Aye slips an arm around his waist, though he doesn’t actually have that much confidence in catching the taller boy if they should both slip. He just needs to hold on. Akk is warm under his hands, like he always is. Warm and still here. 

“Let’s go to the bleachers,” Aye says, because it might not be completely private but vanishingly few people ever go there at this time, unused as the space is outside of club hours. 

He doesn’t get a response, verbal or otherwise, but Akk doesn’t fight when he starts walking, and so that’s how they go. There are a few people around, and they stare, but whatever Aye’s face is doing must be enough to warn them off. 

It’s unreal for a moment. Here they are, clinging to each other openly in the halls of Suppalo, all the truth out in the air. Aye used to think it’d be a triumph, that Akk would finally admit to it because he’d come to terms with it, and then they could — he doesn’t know, but he thought it’d be a moment of catharsis, of relief. Maybe it was naive. Maybe it was always going to be like this, them both going to pieces for everyone to stare at and pick apart. 

He just has to get them both through a couple of tight hallways and across part of a courtyard, and then they���ll — he doesn’t know. Sit more, maybe. Wait. Even though that was the big bombshell, it doesn’t feel like the barrage is over. It still feels too still, like they’re waiting for something else. 

People are mostly in class right now, he thinks, although he doesn’t know how much learning is actually getting done after something like that. They pass some people in the hall, people who stare, their gazes sticking in accusation as they pass. 

They almost make it, too. They’re just across the courtyard from the bleachers when they pass too close in the hall to someone with a blue armband. Aye doesn’t know his name, but he’s seen him a couple times, a junior of Akk’s. He stares at first, like everyone else, and Aye ducks his head, tightens his grip on Akk’s waist, and speeds up. 

But unlike everyone else, he stops walking, partially in front of them. Akk stiffens in his arms, although Aye doesn’t see him look up from under the curtain of his bangs. 

“Phi,” the prefect says slowly. He has light eyes, clear and amber and conflicted. “P’Akk, is it— really true? I know you said— but that was in front of everyone. Really?” 

“Yes,” rasps Akk, before Aye can even figure out how to address this. “Yes. All of it.”

The boy takes a quick breath, and looks, for half a second, shattered. Aye empathizes, but he can’t deal with this right now, so he starts to move them again. 

Their path is blocked. 

Aye fixes his gaze on the other prefect. He has no idea, again, what his face must look like, but the boy very nearly shrinks back. He sees it.

It isn't enough, though. “Then you did that to all of us, too,” he says, very quiet. 

It’s true, is the thing, if you only look at it from where the prefects had been standing on those steps. Akk dragged the entire club along with him into enforcing that curse, into believing in those rules, into hurting those people. 

But the real problem is a lot older than Akk, and a lot bigger than him, and a lot harder to properly place the blame for. And even if it wasn’t — Aye is too far in now, too far lost in the stars in Akk’s eyes. 

Akk takes a hurt breath in next to Aye, a ragged little gasp, and that’s enough. They need time. He shoves himself forward, placing himself bodily between the prefect and Aye just as the boy starts to take a step towards them. 

“And why,” snaps Aye, “did you follow?” 

The prefect’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to say something else. One hand still at Akk’s waist, Aye moves forward again.

They’re almost the same height, Aye probably a little shorter. There are still dried tear tracks on his face. He cannot possibly be physically intimidating in any way that matters, but he snarls, still, at the end of his rope. “Shouldn’t you be in class, little prefect? Get going. Listen to your seniors. Isn’t that supposed to be what you’re good at?”

He keeps himself between Akk and the boy the entire time as they pass him, and he doesn’t move again as Aye pulls Akk with him all the way to the bleachers, their bleachers. There’s enough of a line of sight here that he’ll see if anyone’s coming, and he can get Akk’s back to a fence and see if he can eventually bring himself long enough to get them both a drink. They’ve lost a lot of water. 

The moment they arrive, Akk drops like a puppet with its strings cut, legs falling out from under him. Aye hates this, hates it with a force he hadn’t been sure he was really capable of. He follows Akk down, sits next to him. He can’t let go yet. Not while he doesn’t know Akk will stay.

He doesn’t know what to say yet, if there’s anything he can say. He’ll think of something soon. He tips their heads together, grip tight, and waits, because at the very least, Akk hasn’t let go either. 

[byeler]

thinking about the time the girl i had a huge crush on said to me “you know you’re one of the girls i would make out with when i’m drunk” and i looked at her and said “i’m not drunk”