#someday tommy will get to make his dick jokes

[eriquin]

Me and @carolperkinsexgirlfriend started with discussing Carol/Barb (Tommy is also there but it's mostly about Carol/Barb) and but then we get to the really important part of writing:

Someday, I'll be able to write the dick jokes.

[violetwolfraven]

Prompt: "You don't have to hide your tears from me" for Redfinch

Mkay! Angst time! Let’s go!! I’m writing this the week after Valentine’s Day!! Woohoo!!

Anyway this takes pre-canon. So... spoiler alert they do get together later along this timeline, but right now it’s angsty and the boys aren’t together yet.

Tw: mentioned abusive parenting, toxic masculinity, unrequited crush.

...

Finch didn’t really understand blood ties. The concept of owing something to your biological family the way some of the other boys seemed to.

He didn’t understand why Albert, Elmer, and Buttons kept going back to their families even though all three of them always came back tired and usually a bit ticked off at best, genuinely upset at worst.

But then again, Finch didn’t remember his family beyond his father’s fists and his mother’s voice yelling at him. He’d run away when he was 6 and never looked back, and now he only thought of them when he was working through a nightmare or an old scar twinged in the cold weather.

The newsies weren’t exactly a family, he guessed, considering most of them weren’t blood, but they were like one. Better than most families, in some ways, with how Jack and Crutchie took care of the others and though sometimes jokes were at friends’ expense, it was never in a mean way. They were ride or die for each other.

Maybe that was what a family was supposed to be, but Finch knew he’d never seen blood family that was like that. He sure knew that the only people he was ride or die for were the ones he’d chosen.

He really hated seeing the people he’d chosen hurting. Especially when it was because of their so called ‘families.’

He hated seeing when Elmer came back from his parents’ house reserved and quiet, acting surprised when his friends actually paid attention to him, and he hated how exhausted Buttons always was, practically falling asleep on his feet.

But most of all, he hated how defensive and angry Albert always was when he came home from his dad’s house. How he acted for a good couple days afterwards, like any emotion other than anger was weakness.

This morning seemed to be an especially bad day, and everyone could see it. Even Wiesel and the Delanceys wisely avoided antagonizing him too much, knowing by the look in his eyes how bad of an idea it would be to mess with him today. The other newsies were giving him space, and honestly, the fact that they were letting him on the streets today at all was a little questionable.

Finch knew Albert. He knew how that boy’s words could be just as dangerous as his fists, and could get him into more trouble. It was useful sometimes, Albert’s uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing to start a fight. It was good for causing distractions if they were running from someone or to divert away from a topic he or a friend didn’t want to talk about. Finch actually was impressed with how he could always do that without fail.

But he really didn’t feel like helping his friend escape the Refuge again. Not today.

So, after a morning of watching him seethe with anger over... something involving his dad and brothers, Finch pulled him aside in an alley, putting his papes down on a crate and blocking the way out to keep Albert from leaving.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do ya mean ‘what’s wrong?’ Nothin’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Albert tried to shove past him, clearly getting more annoyed when he didn’t let him.

“Move.”

“No,” Finch crossed his arms, “Not till you tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’re gonna miss the mornin’ rush cause you’s seein’ things,” Albert urged, trying to escape again, “Nothin’s wrong, Finch. Move.”

“No.”

“Move!”

“No.”

“Just cause you’s sweet on me don’t mean you gotta care ‘bout my problems,” Albert hissed.

Well, that was... unexpected.

Finch still didn’t know how Albert had even found out about his crush—he hadn’t bothered to ask how—but since that time a month ago where Al tried to kiss him and Finch made it clear that he wouldn’t settle for being his rebound guy, they hadn’t spoken of anything involving that. He was pretty sure Albert had been being his friend as a way to make that incident’s thoughtlessness up to him, but neither of them had actually acknowledged that conversation happened.

Bringing it up now was a dick move. Especially considering Finch could tell Albert was still hurting over Race, because he was still in love with him, because of course he was because Finch’s luck was shit.

Well, at least it looked like it was dawning on Albert—albeit slowly—how much of a dick move that was.

“I shouldn’ta said that. Sorry. Still, move.”

Finch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shook his head, “No.”

“Please?”

He was a little surprised to hear him say that, but he still refused to move.

“No,” he insisted. “No, cause I know what you’re gonna do if I let ya leave this alley without talkin’. You’ll just bottle it up like ya always do, and then eventually you’ll snap on somebody and pretend you’re mad when you’re actually scared or sad. And besides the fact that you can’t last like that—it ain’t healthy—that ain’t fair to the others and I’d rather it be me you yell at than one of them.”

Albert scoffed, “I do not bottle—“

“Yes, you do,” Finch interrupted, “And it used to be Race who made ya let it out before ya snapped on someone who couldn��t handle it, but you and him don’t talk no more lately for obvious reasons, so I guess it’s gotta be me.”

It hurt that Albert didn’t trust him enough to talk the way everyone knew he used to with Race, but Finch didn’t let it show. He knew firsthand how secrets could burn holes in you. He himself confided in Henry, Tommy Boy, and Sniper when he needed someone to talk to. And he would like to be able to confide in Albert someday, but...

Trust went both ways. Admittedly, he had trouble with trust some days, so maybe it wasn’t fair that he was asking Albert to trust him.

Maybe he needed to give a little to show it was okay.

“Look, I... I know what it’s like to get hurt by somebody who’s supposed to care ‘bout you,” he admitted, “My mom and pop weren’t exactly... they... I know what I went through ain’t the same as what’s goin’ on with you now, but I’m only gonna ask you one more time: what’s wrong?”

Albert was still staring him down like he thought he could get him to back out, but Finch did see a flicker of surprise at the little piece of his past he’d confessed.

Nobody in Manhattan knew his past. He’d made sure he left all that behind in Flushing. He was sure plenty of the fellas—Albert included—had guessed the general idea, but no matter how bad the nightmares got some times of the year, Finch always tried to focus on just the right now’s problems.

He had that in common with Tommy Boy, Henry, and Sniper. Their ‘just the four of them’ talks always danced around what they were actually upset about, because openly talking about families or parents or home lives, past or present, was just too painful. That was why they gravitated to each other. Because they were the only ones who could figure out what the others meant by what they actually said. Sure, Jack took care of everybody, but he was too busy with taking care of the whole damn borough to have time to figure out their mind games. Crutchie was still trying, but he had duties as one of Manhattan’s seconds, too. Everybody else had either given up or didn’t care enough to try in the first place.

Albert knew all that. Or... he knew how much Finch was letting down his guard, openly telling him even that little.

He gave up on trying to make him back down and looked at the ground with an angry huff.

“It don’t matter, okay? Nothin’ Ben and John ain’t said to me before.”

“So it’s not a problem with your dad?” Finch asked, relieved. Sure, Albert’s brothers were technically adults, but they weren’t a big threat.

He scoffed, “No, of course not. Dad’d have to actually look at me to give me problems. Which he don’t. Practically ever. I remind him too much of Mom, as if that’s my fuckin’ fault.”

The anger in his voice was dripping with sadness, and it broke Finch’s heart. Albert didn’t deserve that.

But that was more of a long-term problem. Right now, it wasn’t what he was most upset about.

“So... Ben and John?”

“Oh, yeah,” Albert said sarcastically, “Y’know, they both had their first sweethearts by the time they was my age, so it’s hilarious to dump on how Albert’s gonna die alone. John’s gonna marry Thea, so it’s a great time to laugh ‘bout me not havin’ anyone to bring to the wedding like how Ben’s got Elizabeth. And it’s all in good fun, so I’m too goddamn defensive for gettin’ mad about it! Yeah, I’m the irrational one despite how I ain’t the one who started it!”

If he was this upset about a few little jabs from his brothers, that meant it wasn’t actually about them at all, and Finch probably should have tried to make him talk before now.

If the heartbreak he was trying to hide by keeping his face turned to the dirt was any indication, this was about Race. And that stung a bit, but it was clearly still burning at Albert.

Finch could deal with his own unreturned feelings. Sure, it hurt, but it was nothing he hadn’t been feeling for months. And he’d gotten rejected before, so it wasn’t anything new.

But Albert had never felt this before. He was volatile and emotional and he didn’t know how to express it any way but with anger because that was how he’d been raised. To his credit, he’d tried to push the others away, knowing his own tendency to lash out, but Finch hadn’t let him push him away.

Finch prided himself on his ability to read people, so he could tell exactly how gone Albert had been over Race. He could tell how much that was hurting him now, how much it was tearing him apart, and...

And Albert was crying.

“Al—“

“Shut up,” Albert snapped, even though his voice trembled.

Three years since he’d come to Manhattan. Finch had seen most of his friends cry in that time, but not Albert.

Admittedly... he wasn’t sure what to do. The others usually gave him a sign whether to leave them alone or try to comfort them, but the thing about Albert was that he craved affection but would never be caught dead admitting it. He hated letting anyone see him as anything other as unshakable even if he was on the verge of collapse.

They were just standing there in that alleyway, a couple feet apart, Albert staring hard at the ground as his shoulders shook and tears dripped off his face and Finch frozen, no clue what to do.

“Al,” he said hesitantly, “It’s okay to cry.”

“No. It ain’t right for a boy.”

“Really?” Finch risked taking a step closer, reaching out a hand slowly.

Albert clearly saw him, but didn’t back away or stop him, allowing Finch put a comforting hand on his arm.

“That ain’t what you told me,” he pointed out, “That time when I woke ya up with a nightmare. You just hugged me till I could breathe again.”

“That was different,” Albert shot back, finally looking back up to look him in the eyes, “You was hurtin’.”

“And you’re not hurtin’ now? Al, look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not breakin’ up inside.”

He didn’t. Or... couldn’t.

“Albert,” Finch said quietly, “You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

He still looked like he wanted to hide them, but instead, he leaned forward, kind of head-butting Finch in the shoulder except he left his face there, his tears soaking through the fabric.

Finch would be lying if he said that his heart didn’t skip a beat at the contact but he shook it off, focusing on how that was a pretty clear signal that this was okay.

“It’s okay, Al,” Finch whispered, wrapping his arms around him.

He didn’t say that it would get better or that Albert would find someone else who’d love him back. He knew that saying those things didn’t make heartbreak any better.

Just being there, being a friend, being a shoulder to cry on, was better for now.

[absentlyabbie]

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (five)

—————

Gotham was not Starling City.

It was loud, like cities should be, but the noise was different from the background of Tommy’s first nine years and nine months of life, with steam hissing through sidewalk grates and the subways rushing and rumbling and the elevated railways clacking and roaring. Everyone talked like they were in a hurry and the fastest way to get somewhere was to take the least possible time to say anything. Even the accents were weird, clipped but broad.

The days were rainier in Gotham than Starling, and grayer, usually overcast when it wasn’t raining. Every step down the city streets splashed or scraped with that wet grit of sneaker sole on damp pavement. Starling rained plenty, but the showers usually gave way to sunshine, and wet on the streets shone with color and light like the city itself. It was colder here, too, and everyone seemed to expect it would snow before Thanksgiving.

Gotham wasn’t home.

Tommy was trying his best not to hold that against it.

Technically, he knew, he didn’t have a home anymore.

And Dad always used to say that beggars can’t be choosers.

He also used to say no son of his was weak enough to beg. That Merlyns were strong, and that you had to take what you wanted out of life.

Tommy was still a Merlyn, but he felt pretty weak these days. He couldn’t imagine taking anything from life when everything had already been taken from him. He thought he didn’t mind if this made him not his dad’s son. It had felt that way for a long time, so might as well make it official. That is, if being an orphan didn’t do that already.

All these thoughts stewed together in Tommy’s gut like too much soda and bad corndogs, grumbling and cramping. It was hard to keep the scowl off his face as he trailed behind Bruce and Dick down the sidewalk, dirty Gotham rainwater soaking his socks and making his feet squelch in his sneakers, but Tommy didn’t want to be caught looking like a problem. Bruce got that look every time he caught Tommy scowling, or frowning, or even smiling.

Tommy could usually tell who adults wanted him to be or had decided he was. Bruce was frustrating. Nothing seemed to be right. He’d said the day he brought Tommy here that Tommy only needed to be him, and as nice as that had sounded, Tommy couldn’t trust it. Because he wanted to, he knew he shouldn’t.

Nobody wanted Tommy to be himself.

Nobody wanted Tommy.

He was sure Bruce had come in out of nowhere and claimed Tommy for some reason. There was some kind of Tommy that Bruce was looking for him to be. He just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. And he needed to hurry it up, before somebody decided there’d been a mistake and it was time to send Tommy somewhere else.

(If he thought this would get him sent back to Starling to live with the Queens, Tommy would wear out his welcome with Bruce Wayne by the weekend, no doubt. But the Queens didn’t want him, or he wouldn’t be here in the first place.)

Gotham might not be home, but Alfred was nice, and Dick was really cool, and if Bruce decided to keep Tommy, Tommy would still get to spend most of the year in Starling. With Ollie.

At least Ollie wanted him.

For a second, he missed Ollie so fiercely he couldn’t hear, feel, or see anything else—

—and in that second, he tripped right up the stairs leading up to the front doors of Wayne Enterprises.

Tommy cried out in surprise and windmilled his arms, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of falling flat on his face and losing a whole lot of skin. But instead of the harsh, scraping impact on the cement and hard angles, there was a tight grip around his upper arm and a sharp jerk against the pull of gravity.

Tommy stumbled instead of fell, and the grip on his arm didn’t let go.

“Whoa there, maybe leave the tumbling to the trained professionals, yeah?”

Tommy opened his eyes to see Dick a step and a half above him, upper body twisted around and one arm thrown back as a counterweight to the hand curved around Tommy’s thin arm. Tommy’s eyes went wide and his cheeks burst into flame, but Dick just grinned, those dark blue eyes always laughing—but not at Tommy.

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled, rubbing his arm as Dick let him go.

“Everything alright?”

Tommy flinched at the mild question, but Dick didn’t even glance back at Bruce, turned towards them on the top step with his hand on the door. Tommy’s eyes darted across Bruce’s stupid unreadable face, heart pounding harder than when he’d been bracing to kiss the pavement.

He waited for the disappointed purse of lips he would’ve seen on Moira. Anticipated the irritable, snapping demand to pay attention Dad would have barked for Tommy’s embarrassing flailing. Even the exasperated impatience the au pair Dad had hired for a while would have huffed with.

Bruce’s brow furrowed just a little and he looked Tommy up and down. Tommy felt every inch the grubby, clumsy brat, too much work, not smart enough, too inconvenient, not quiet or easygoing enough, just too much and not enough from head to toe.

But Bruce just nodded to himself and pushed his mouth into a smile that looked like it was supposed to be reassuring. He pulled open the door and gestured to the boys to head inside with a sweep of his hand.

Tommy hurried through the door on Dick’s heels, doing his best not to hunch his shoulders or duck his head. If he looked too tense, Bruce might try to talk to him. He was even worse at talking than he was at hugs.

(Although, Tommy figured he might deserve at least a little credit for trying. Not everybody bothered.)

Tommy had been in plenty of big-deal office buildings before, but even so, his head tipped back and mouth fell open as he stepped into the lobby of Wayne Enterprises. 

He’d been in the Merlyn Global Group building many times, and in Queen Consolidated often, too. They both looked kind of the same, all flashy colors and sharp lines and things his dad had called “sleek” and “modern.” The biggest difference between them that Tommy could tell was that his dad’s company liked darker colors and Mr. Queen’s company was bright and friendly colors.

Wayne Enterprises didn’t look anything like that. Everything was curves and arches and warm orange-yellow colors and bronze or brass or whichever metal that was. He was pretty sure the style was called “art deco” but not, like, sure sure. He liked art and the way things looked and he always paid more attention during history lessons when they talked about art periods and styles, but it was hard to remember what was called what for longer than it took to take a test about it.

Tommy stood in Wayne Enterprises’s lobby and stared around, and he decided he liked it. Dad’s company made him think it was trying too hard to be cool, and Mr. Queen’s like it was trying too hard to be fun. Bruce’s company made Tommy feel like they had what his mom would call class. It was impressive, like they knew what they were about and so did you and they could just do what they liked without trying too hard to seem impressive.

If he ever ran a business someday like his dad had wanted him to, Tommy thought he might want it to look kind of like this.

“Fancy, right?” Dick asked, the question only just making Tommy realize the older boy was standing beside him.

Tommy cut a quick glance towards Bruce, standing just on the other side of Dick. He shrugged his shoulders in a casual jerk. “It’s really different from Merlyn Global. I guess it’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, weirdly serious for a compliment from an almost ten year old. Bruce smiled at him. “I saw you looking at the architecture and design. Call me biased, but I’d say you’ve got a good eye.”

A quick surge of pride leapt bright and warm in Tommy’s chest. He squished it ruthlessly, like a bug. He gave Bruce another shrug, like it didn’t matter.

“My father was very proud of the choices he made in Wayne Enterprises’s aesthetic. It’s needed a little updating from time to time of course, but I’ll give him credit, it’s very classic, difficult to go out of style. And I can speak from experience that style does matter.”

Bruce looked around fondly as he spoke, and Tommy remembered that Bruce’s parents weren’t around anymore either, and hadn’t been for a long time. He wasn’t even that old. Bruce talked about his dad like he still missed him, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, even if it also maybe made him like Bruce a little bit more.

“Your dad had good taste,” he said awkwardly. It sounded like something nice his mom would’ve said, and grownups always talked about “taste” like it was important.

Bruce laughed softly and thanked him again, and Dick gave Tommy a subtle nod like he’d said the right thing. Tommy let out a little bit of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Come on,” Bruce said, reaching out a hand like he’d rest it on Dick’s or Tommy’s shoulders but not actually touching either of them. “We’re here to give you a tour. It’d be a shame to stop with just the lobby.”

“You’re gonna love the R-and-D department. That’s where all the sick gadgets get made,” Dick enthused with a grin, walking backwards to talk to Tommy as they followed Bruce towards the elevators.

Bruce turned a narrow-eyed, half-amused warning look on Dick as he hit the call button, but Dick just spun on his heel to turn that grin on Bruce in sunny defiance. Bruce shook his head and heaved a sigh, but there was a smile sneaking into the corner of his mouth.

Tommy watched this with interest and wondered if maybe this was what Bruce was looking for. If playing the rascally jokester, cheeky and endearingly feisty, was the way to go to fit here. It would hardly even be an effort. The trouble was, he wouldn’t be as good at it as Dick. Tommy could do the jokes—the worse the better—and he was usually pretty good at being endearing, but Dick was funnier, livelier, and he had the circus thing going for him.

No, imitating Dick could backfire too easy. It might be fun and charming from Dick, but if Tommy piled on the same and made it annoying and obnoxious, one of them might have to go and Tommy already knew it wouldn’t be Dick.

He chewed over ideas on the ride up the elevator, but they slipped away once they started visiting different departments on different floors.

Everyone greeted Bruce. Everyone had always greeted Tommy’s dad at work, too, but this wasn’t like that. At Dad’s work, everyone always seemed nervous and like they were being on their best behavior, which Tommy understood. But Dad only ever paid attention to people in charge, and it seemed like it was mostly to remind them that he was in charge of them.

The people at Wayne Enterprises greeted Bruce like they respected him, but also like they liked him, and even more like they knew him. Bruce stopped to chat with most people, asking them questions about their families or projects or stuff they liked. Which meant he knew all of that. But what Tommy couldn’t figure out was why he knew it. And he didn’t seem fake about it either. He sounded like he cared what the answer was when he asked about them.

Even more, everyone seemed to know Dick, too. Tommy knew Dick had been living with Bruce for two or three years already, but he must have come by Wayne Enterprises a lot in that time. People talked to him. And he talked back, and Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Dad would have clenched his jaw and quietly but sternly reminded Tommy that children were to be seen and not heard. But people here treated Dick like he was just… a person.

It was almost enough to break something in Tommy’s head. Adults didn’t treat kids like they were people. It was like he’d stumbled into some kind of weird Twilight Zone episode.

All of this served to make Tommy unusually shy when Bruce introduced him, and he introduced him to everybody. He hadn’t been prepared for all these people to be looking at him, and worse, paying attention. What were they seeing? Some orphan tagalong? Somebody who didn’t belong?

He got more and more tense with each hand he shook, waiting for all the questions he hated most. Where were his parents. Was he here with family. 

How long would he be staying.

The questions didn’t come.

Any time it would start to come up, or someone looked like they were going to start asking, it got deftly shut down. To Tommy’s growing awe, Bruce and Dick worked like some kind of coordinated act, with Bruce smoothly slipping in a “Tommy’s going to be staying with us from now on” and handing off to Dick to distract with a joke or a question of his own.

It was kind of amazing. It explained enough, was polite, even friendly, but was firm that this was all the information they needed about it. And nobody pushed back or pretended not to get it. Tommy hoped he’d be able to figure out how to do that himself sometime.

The other options were trying not to cry in front of strangers, or angry outbursts, and those were bad options that would get him labeled a problem faster than he could sneeze.

After a while, some three or four floors later and in a department Tommy couldn’t remember, Bruce got pulled a little away to look at something, leaving Tommy and Dick standing around by a short conference table with a bowl of peppermints on it. Dick grabbed a handful and tossed Tommy a couple as well.

Unwrapping one of his mints, Dick nudged Tommy with an elbow and asked quietly, “You doing okay? The whole tour’s kind of a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered, frowning down at one of his own mints and slowly untwisting the plastic. “I’m good. It’s just. Yeah, it’s a lot. There’s so many people, I didn’t know we were gonna be talking to all these people.”

Dick popped his peppermint into his mouth and leaned against the table, nodding sagely. “It’s a big company, like, really big actually, but this is the home office and Bruce likes to know everybody, kind of acts like it’s just a small family thing.” He smiled, his mint clacking against his teeth. “Actually kinda reminds me of the circus.”

Tommy’s head pulled up sharp, the skeptical scrunch of his face making Dick laugh.

“Okay, there’s a lot less spandex and sequins, sure, but I mean the way everybody is sort of a family. Or, community, whatever. People who can be kind of annoying but care and look out for you.” Dick shrugged.

Tommy sure liked the sound of that, but it just… didn’t sound real to him. He thought maybe that was something wrong with him, not the other way around. So instead of saying anything about that, he made his skeptical face scrunchier and, when Dick raised an eyebrow back, asked, “So did you wear a lot of spandex and sequins?”

Dick’s eyes widened slowly as he realized Tommy was poking fun at him. His lips twitched. “Listen,” he said, then, mouth blooming full into a smile, he reached for Tommy. “C’mere, brat.”

Tommy giggled and ducked away, darting around to the other side of the conference table. “Betcha were super cute in tights.”

“I’m gonna get you,” Dick declared, the menace ruined by laughter. “Get back here. Don’t think I won’t come over that table, I’m an acrobat.”

Tommy cackled, shuffling left and right as Dick feinted at coming around one way then the other. “I dunno, can you do that in jeans or do you need the outfit?”

Dick squawked in outrage—and how he did that without choking on his peppermint, Tommy didn’t know—and vaulted, literally, hands smacking on the table and legs going up as he went over.

Squealing, Tommy hurried under the table, the rolling chairs clacking together as he shoved them out of his way to pop out on the other side. He bounced to his feet and turned to see Dick narrowing his eyes at him, looking mildly impressed. It made Tommy grin so hard it almost hurt his cheeks.

“Boys.” Bruce’s exasperated voice brought Tommy’s head whipping around and he went still. Bruce had crossed half the room towards them, arms folded and head shaking.

(For a moment, Tommy felt the whole world tip a little sideways, and the ghost of his father stood there next to Bruce. Instead of loosely crossed arms and a warm glittering in the eye, Malcolm Merlyn stood straight as a sword, chin up to show the height of his disappointment, arms at his sides and hands in discreet fists. For a moment, Tommy couldn’t believe what he’d done, how stupid he’d been to be so embarrassing and poorly behaved in public.)

There was laughter behind Bruce, a man a little older than Bruce sitting at a desk and smiling wide and chuckling openly. “You sure have your hands full now, Mr. Wayne.”

A woman in a suit at the whiteboard on the other side of the room grinned. “Just wait until they start ganging up on you. I’ve got twins around their age and they’ll run circles around you before you can blink.”

Bruce made a rueful, amused sound. “Please don’t give them any ideas.”

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” Dick announced, leaning across the table and beaming. “I’ve got a partner in crime now.” Bruce made a little face at that, but Dick just looked encouraged, grinning wider. “We’re gonna drive you absolutely batty.”

All this laughter and joking, everyone teasing and having fun.

But Tommy just tried not to breathe too loudly, hands balled up and trembling at his sides.

Don’t make me go don’t make me go don’t make me go

Bruce sighed, and the sound could have been a gunshot in Tommy’s head. He didn’t blink as Bruce closed the distance between them, and it was only because he was frozen that he didn’t flinch when Bruce committed this time, his hand landing light and large between Tommy’s shoulderblades.

“To be honest,” he said softly, looking back and forth between Dick and Tommy, lips curling without force or hiding, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Laughter around them, warm and friendly, and Dick and Bruce smiling, Bruce’s hand on his back.

Slowly, so slowly, Tommy felt his body loosen again, felt his lungs expand in full.

The danger was passed. He was still here. He didn’t know what he’d done right, but he’d work hard to figure it out. Because he was still here.

For now.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

[dafukdidiwatch]

Titanic 1997

Alright, I finally caved and watched it.

It could have had a happier ending.

<spoilers>

I was against watching this movie for a long time. I didn’t have anything against the plot, it was just I knew how the movie ended.

The boat sinks.

My mentality was, if I knew how the event ended why bother watching? Like, all the movie was going to do was let me see a bunch of people who is just going to die at the end.

Plus, back then I was really against romance movies of any kind. If it was a movie marketed as a romance, I would be super against it. Meaning the entire lure of Jack&Rose was strike two against this film.

Then, it didn’t help that I knew the end and main plot points because of how big Titanic was. (pun unintended but accepted). I knew the song, the motif, the opening shot, specific lines like “Paint me like your French Girls” and “It was called the Ship of Dreams,” “I’m king of the world,” Jack could have fit on the door. Basically, all the best/iconic parts of the movie.

So it felt like, if I knew plot of the film, for something that didn’t really held my interest, in a very sad event, why do I need to really watch it?

Well, I was wrong. And really wrong.

Overview: Treasure Hunters search for a rare necklace that was lost on the Titanic. Soon they discover information from an unlikely source, an old woman named Rose Dawson, who explains her experience of love and lost on the maiden voyage of the Titanic.

I did not realized that the movie opened in present-ish day. I was expecting to just jump right into actual story, so that was a little off-putting. I was against it at first, because they were going for the whole “flashback” route and I wasn’t really into it. But it grew on me, and looking back it was probably the best way to tell this story. It opened on modern day because that was where we are, but we can’t possibly imagine how/what happened on the Titanic unless someone who has been there tells us. It just makes it feel more real that way. I think Rose explains it the best when that one guy was explaining how exactly the Titanic sank to her: living through it was a different experience than just explaining it.

The transitions between old and new are just beautifully done, both in a long emotional transition as everything fades from old to new to old again, and a quick jump for comedic timing. I never really expected this to be a funny movie, but there are a LOT of good jokes throughout. Old Rose is especially hilarious. She is just old and spunky and didn’t give two shits. I hope to be like that someday. .

The supporting characters are good too. Cal the fiancee was a dick and a trash person and oh so wonderful to hate. Fabrizio and Tommy were the fun party guys just there for a good time. We got to see some cool historical characters brought to life like Margret Molly Brown, who is a fun take charge kind of person. Thomas Andrews the ship builder as a kind and thoughtful man who really did care a lot about the people on the ship. They were like two of my favorite people in the movie.

And speaking of historical things, James Cameron did a lot to portray the movie as historically as possible. Not just the big things with the ship and the historical people. There were so many small moments that were historically important and relevant to the sinking that were included. Like the missing binoculars, wanting the ship to go faster, “woman and children first” to “woman and children only.” There is just a lot of respect in trying to make this as accurate as you can.

The romance felt natural, it was a nice slow burn of just trying to open a new world for Rose. Stuck in a shitty and loveless engagement, ending up just talking to a genuinely kind people. Like, Leo was perfect in his role as Jack. I just love his care free attitude and his kind nature to just try to help. Granted, I wished that there was a....Better Way for them to have initially met, but it just pulls you in that you know you want there to be a way for them to work it out.

I’ve also noticed you don’t really see a genderbend version of the trope, the poor but free traveler and the wealthy but trapped socialite having a romance. It’s always a poor boy and rich girl in those specific roles. Just a thought I had while watching. 

You know, I never actually heard them really play the song “My Heart Will Go On.” I mean as the full song. I was expecting the lyrics to play at some point at least. Instead it was just a motif in little parts throughout the movie, but at all the romantic parts whenever Jack and Rose were really bonding together. And it also got sad when you hear the music over, you know, the ship about to sink. 

God I was freaking crying when Rose jumped back into the ship and Jack and kissing her calling stupid but they just kept kissing! Arg!!! 

Also, have you noticed that there were a LOT of hints to Jack dying when the ship sinks? I get catching the lines foreshadowing the ship sinking, but there were a bunch of moments that also point out his own demise. If I didn’t know about Jack’s death already, I probably would have just chalked it up to specifically the ship sinking.

This movie has a terrible habit of getting me attached to side characters only to watch them die. It also has a terrible habit of getting me attached to characters I’ve never even seen before while I was watching them die. Which makes sense, because this movie managed to really capture just how awful and tragic the entire sinking was. We see people panicked, fighting for the boats, silently accepting their fate, trying to survive, and I couldn’t really blame anyone for their decisions. Like, there were a TON of dick moves that people did, but at the same time you KNOW most of them are going to die so you know they are also just trying to survive as best as they could.

Overall: This film has helped me realize that I didn’t really have a problem with romantic movies, just bad romantic comedies. Basically, just watch this film. It is gorgeous in the set designs and shots. It is funny, romantic, thrilling, horrific, historical, kills you in the feels, literally everything that you could/would ever want in a movie. Is it a long ass time? Yes, over 3 hours. Does half of the movie just cover the ship sinking? Also yes, but it was time well spent.

[collecting-stories]

Spain | Alfie Solomons

Request: can i ask for a fic where you spent some time in spain and speak fluent spanish but nobody would guess it and the shelbys find out and use it for business? Or with alfie or whatever you feel like (: maybe like alfie/tommy/john/arthur think its sexy when you speak spanish?

Spain | Alfie Solomons

You stood by the corner of the street, far enough away from the bakery that no one would pay attention to you loitering there. Though it was an unusual business endeavor you had been sent to London to speak to an Alfred Solomons about the export of his whiskey to Spain. You had grown up in Spain to a Spanish mother and an English father. With new export laws your father hoped to capitalize on a business that other Spaniards had not tapped into yet. English whiskey.  

"I thought the Scots made the best whiskey?" You had asked while packing your bag for London. You were single and in your late 20's and your father hoped that might help spur the deal forward.  

"They do, usually." He replied, "Except in this case the best whiskey in England is made in Camden Town by a Mister Alfred Solomons, according to my sources."

Your father's sources were technically just old men that drank too much and were distantly related through his father's side. He kept in touch because they had money and someday they would die and that money would then be your father's.  

"Ten cuidado, no demes que tu padre the meta en problemas." Your mother kissed you, already beginning to cry at the thought of you being far away.

"Estare bien mamá, no habra ningún problema lo prometo."  

So you boarded a ship and sailed to London. This was your father's home and, while you had been in London once as a young girl, it all felt foreign to you. The bakery was more of a warehouse and the overwhelming smell of yeast and London smog filled your lungs as you made your way up the stairs. You had rung the bakery yesterday from the hotel, hoping that they remembered they were expecting you. Despite them telling you they were prepared the young man who greeted you at the top of the stairs looked rather anxious.  

"Hello," he shook your hand and then gestured for you to follow him through the bakery.  

"So why's this called a bakery?" You asked, looking around at the bags of what appeared to be flour.

"We make bread, or rather, we say we make bread."  

"That's...odd."  

"Well, some of the time we do make bread. Passover is soon so we've been making matzo, it's unleavened bread. On other holidays, Hanukkah or Rosh Hashanah we make challah." He replied, going over a few of the breads they actually did make. "But it's not exactly for sale, mostly it's for the community."

You only nodded. You had no idea what he was talking about but you didn’t want to seem stupid, especially not when you were about to meet his boss. He led you to a small box of an office with windows all the way around. All the curtains were pulled shut so that you couldn’t see inside.  

The man who was with you knocked on the door, "Mr. Solomons I've got the person here about," he turned to look at you, "what are you here about?"  

"Exportation of whiskey to Spain."

"The exporting of your whiskey." He called through the door.

When no reply came from the other side he went ahead and opened the door. Inside a man sat behind a desk, going over papers. He had reading glasses on a chain propped on his nose as he read. As you and your guide stepped through the door he looked up, dropping the glasses down around his neck. The first thought running through your head was how attractive he was.  

"Oi, Ollie what the fuck is the matter with you, I told you to fucking knock when you need something." He commented, a frown hiding beneath his full beard and mustache.

"Sorry sir."

"He did knock." You spoke at the exact same time as Ollie, who turned to look at you with wide eyes. He shook his head a bit as if to indicate that you needn't say anything.  

Alfie looked passed his right hand man to get a good look at you, his frown deepening. "Who's this?"  

You stepped forward, not paying attention to Ollie, introducing yourself and holding your hand out. "I'm here about the exportation of your whiskey to Spain."

"The exportation of my...Ollie," he didn’t shake your hand, or even look at you. Instead he focused on Ollie again, "she says she's here about the exportation of my whiskey to Spain."  

"I am, I believe my boss wrote to you about negotiating a price."  

"That's quite the vocabulary you've got. Where's that accent from?" He asked, leaning forward and finally paying attention to you.

"Are we going to discuss whiskey or not?"

"She's upset Ollie."  

"I'm also right here. I can hear you bantering with him so could you spare us all and can we move on to actually discussing business." You snapped.  

"I don't know how they do things in Spain but here, in London, in my fucking office, we talk business when I decide we talk business." Alfie  stated, leaning forward on his elbows.  

"Bueno, podrias decidir pronto." You muttered, annoyed with this man already.  

"What was that sweetheart?" He asked. He looked a bit surprised.  

"Nothing." You took a seat, figuring you might as well sit down as this was clearly going to take a while.  

Ollie was still standing you the door, not saying anything. He offered the obligatory laugh or smile at a joke that Alfie thought was funny but otherwise he remained quiet. Alfie wasn’t saying anything, just staring at you with a slightly confused look on his face. It was the first time since you walked in the office that he wasn't being a dick and you could re-appreciate just how handsome he was.  

"Was that the mother tongue?" Alfie teased, "say something else?"

"Eres un idiota."  

"What's that that you said then?" He asked.

"I said you're an ass."

"Oi, Ollie, she's got jokes, this one. If they didn’t sound so fucking arousing coming out of your mouth I'd shoot you in the face." He replied, leaning back in his chair casually.  

"We're here to discuss business Mr. Solomons, not your supposed arousal over my native language. It's just words, they mean the same thing in English as they do in Spanish." You replied, annoyed that he wouldn’t just get to business.

"That may be true sweetheart but as a man of two languages myself I can attest that speaking to a girl in Yiddish has never gotten her excited in the slightest. Usually she's just reminded of her ailing grandfather."  

"I've never heard Yiddish spoken."

"And you're not about to because-"

"It's your fucking bakery and you don’t take orders from anyone?"

"She's caught on Ollie, faster than you even!" He laughed. "Alright, we'll do business. Before we start though-"

"There can't possibly be anything else."  

"If you fucking stopped cutting me off we'd be finished." Alfie replied, glaring at you.

"It's not me that’s stalling, you're taking forever bantering with Ollie then having me speak Spanish like you've gone to some side show for a laugh and now there's something else?" You wanted to write home and tell your father this trip had been useless. While you enjoyed looking at Alfie his general attitude was driving you mad.

"First, I would like to reiterate that I will shoot you in the mouth. Second, Ollie, fuck off. And third, where are you staying?"

"I'm staying at the Strand." You replied, rather confused that he would ask.

"Good, I'll pick you up this evening." He answered, "now about this whiskey business."

"I'm sorry, why are you picking me up?" You asked.  

"You've got to stop cutting a man off when he's speaking love." Alfie commented, "I'm taking you out tonight."

"I think you're supposed to ask someone out, not simply tell them."

"Alright, I'll humor you, would you like to accompany me to a club this evening?" He asked, his smile rather mischievous.

"I suppose."  

"Will you say it in Spanish?"  

"Eres un estúpido."

"You've insulted me again haven't you?" He asked.

"I have."

Alfie's grin didn't fade as he pulled a few papers out of the drawer under his desk. He was going to enjoy working with you on this whiskey export.

I do not speak Spanish...however the super amazing @theaqueenakaspeedy has lent me help because she speaks spanish. (I assume the dialect is different and I should point out that this is Spanish by someone who lives in South America as opposed to Spanish by someone who lives in Spain.)

Translations: 

Ten cuidado, no demes que tu padre the meta en problemas. (Be careful, don’t let your father get you into any trouble.)

Estare bien mamá, no habra ningún problema lo prometo. (I’ll be fine mom, there will be no trouble at all I promise.)

Bueno, podrías decidir pronto. (Well could you decide a little bit sooner.)

Eres un idiota. (You’re an idiot/You’re an ass)

Eres un estúpido. (You’re stupid/You’re a dick)

tagged: @weirdnewbie @photograiphy-00 @ducks-are-kwl @crowleyismybabycakes @clairyfaiiry @ifoundmyhappythought @yourenotmytype @smashablepieces @sceawere @baygabb