#this guy’s lived through the aids crisis. no doubt he’s seen some shit in his day and been thru some of the worst of the worst when it comes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pro-bee · 4 years

Text

Ziva David Week Day 2: Favourite episode

I’m gonna cheat here and pick 2, because they go together: Hiatus Part 1 & 2.

(Once again, all screencaps courtesy of NCIS Source. Part 1 and Part 2)

I love Ziva in these two episodes, because we get insight into her feelings in a way we haven’t really so far in the series at this point, and I think it sets up so much of what comes later on, arguably even into the present day.

Yes, the story focuses mainly on Gibbs’ and his amnesia, and Ziva doesn’t have as large a role in these episodes as she would later on, but her scenes pack a punch, and her presence is what ultimately brings the Gibbs they all know and love back.

We get to see Ziva run the whole gamut of emotions, from lighthearted to devastated to snarky to angry to compassionate, and each moment is allowed its own time to shine. It’s quite surprised watching this with the benefit of hindsight to see how integral her role is to the story, especially towards Gibbs, given that at this point she is the newest team member. As we come to learn, though, she also has the most unique connection of any of them to their fearless leader.

I love how the episode opens up with the Three Musketeers on what they think is just another stakeout, teasing each other about movies and generally being idiots.

I mean, how adorable is Ziva when Tony makes the “Sound of Music” reference and she lights up, because she loves that movie? It’s a shame Tony shushed her when she was about to belt out the theme, because as we now know, Ziva’s got some pipes on her. (If only you knew, Tony.)

Ziva was allowed to be jokey and funny and even girly at times in the early episodes, and it’s moments like this where you can actually see how young Ziva is, despite her demeanour. She is competent and professional, but she is also only what, 23 at this point? Most young women her age are still hanging out with their friends at bars on weekends between studying for finals or working their entry-level jobs, whereas she’s trying to save the world from bad guys. She’s so serious so much of the time that it tickles me when we get to see this playful side to her, and not in the “flirty with Tony until he starts sweating” kind of way, but in an almost childlike, joyful manner.

Of course, it’s short-lived in this episode, because Gibbs gets himself blown up right in front of them and all hell breaks loose.

After that, we see Ziva go right into professional mode, and we bump into the first of many conflicts about the outside world’s assumptions about her.

Ducky is the first (of many) to question her ability to feel affection and compassion, when he is astounded that she didn’t ask the paramedics which hospital they took Gibbs to. Ziva rightfully answers that she had a job to do, that once she made sure Gibbs was being taken care of by medical professionals, she then moved onto her job, which was to immediately secure the crime scene -- which is exactly what Gibbs would have done. She knew he was in good hands so she worked on what she was good at, because she had a mission to accomplish.

(lol sidebar, I had my first aid recert the other week and the trainer was emphasizing how your job as first on the scene is to administer cpr until the medical professionals arrive, but when they do take over, your job is done, you can’t carry that with you because you don’t have the training they do, you do your best and that’s enough -- and I feel like that’s exactly the mindset Ziva has.)

Of course, once Ziva pointedly tells him she was a little busy dealing with a fucking explosion to remember to ask which hospital Gibbs was at, Ducky absentmindedly says that Tony or McGee will know, and that stings, because it’s the first of many implications that she doesn’t care enough, and they do. Which we all know is false, but this is a running theme in the show (as we talked about yesterday with Damon’s episode) about how the Ziva the world seems to see isn’t who she really is inside, and she struggles to show herself in ways people understand, because she isn’t outwardly demonstrative in the manner that, say, Abby is.

“Ziva I’m not implying you don’t care. I know you care.”

It’s too late though, because the words have already sunk in. You don’t care. We all know that’s not true, and Ziva knows it’s not true, but that is all people see of her, and it rattles her.

Never mind that a year ago, before she moved to the US, that would probably be seen as an asset to her father, an indication that she can detach to get the job done. But as we now know, she never really could detach -- she just repressed. That no one would have questioned whether she cared enough to remember which hospital her coworker was at -- but that’s also because no one probably cared enough about her as a person to question her own motives.

But now she has something to hold onto. She cares about these people, and she cares what they think, which is why it’s so frustrating when she doesn’t seem to be living up to their expectations.

I feel so much for her here, because we know that she is just doing her job. The best thing she can do right now is to investigate, like she’s been trained to do for the last year, because that is what they need to do to help Gibbs. But her cooler head prevailing kind of exposes the downside of how close their unit is, because when her doing her job is seen as suspicious, it exposes them to greater troubles in times of crisis like these.

Meanwhile, what impresses me so much is precisely how quickly Ziva jumps into action. She is really fucking good at her job. This job that she chose, for the first time in her life, and one she loves. She gets shit done, fast. She is the one who secures the crime scene, directs technicians to their posts, surveys what equipment they need and where, all before Ducky gets there. She has absolutely flourished under Gibbs’ wing, and even just this short time later, she is already demonstrating leadership qualities.

Case in point: when they’re back on the ship, Ziva is the one who is able to survey the scene of the explosion and identify its similarities to a suicide bomber, both because of her own experience growing up in Israel and being a part of Mossad, I’m sure, but also because she has been observing and studying over this past year. While McGee is sick at the sight of blood, unable to really do his job to its fullest here, it’s Ziva who kind of takes charge, and plays second to Tony’s Agent in Charge. (No slight on McGee -- it’s just further evidence of how Ziva has taken to this, and that her background is an unfortunate asset to her in this kind of work.) I think that Tony recognizes that, too.

Yet, a quiet moment that is oddly beautiful is when they are at the crime scene, and Ziva notices that it’s raining.

It’s such a tonal shift from the rest of the scene, but it’s like the rain is so soothing to her, especially in that moment. I’m not quite sure why this stands out so much, why they made a point of her being comforted by that. Is it because she would welcome the rain on the rare times it happened when she was a kid? Is it because it’s going to wash away the wreck of the day? Does it offer her a clean slate? Who knows! She just seems transfixed in a way that is un-Ziva-like.

So it goes for both of the episodes: It is Ziva’s professionalism that actually helps them, and we really see her investigative skills shine. I imagine that is because the work gives her something to focus on when everything and everyone else seem to be falling apart. But the great thing is that this is the whole reason she came to NCIS, whether she intended for it to be or not: she is making choices for herself and thinking for herself. She gets to take charge on leads and check into things that don’t feel right. She has gained an independence of body and mind in DC that she never really knew she needed when she was still working for her father.

She’s on a roll, here. She’s fired up about the case, not only because it directly involves Gibbs, but because she’s looking at the puzzle and knows something isn’t right. “What is wrong with this picture?” she asks, because she realizes the track they’re on doesn’t make sense, regardless of whatever issues are going in within the team. And when she points all that out, I love that Tony has her back: “Damn good summation.” Because he can tease her as much as he’d like, but he had no problem admitting when she is right, and that’s what he needs.

And another thing I love about this, because I am Tiva trash (although this isn’t a Tiva episode) is that it quickly becomes evident how bonded Tony and Ziva are, too. Not just in a romantic sense, but professionally-speaking as well. For instance, from the outset, Abby is quick to remind Tony that he is not Gibbs, even though as senior agent he is in charge. There’s an air of petulance to it, knocking him down for being too haughty, but the thing is, he is doing his job. (In retrospect, these are... really not good episodes for Abs.) So other people joke about Tony impersonating Gibbs, but Ziva is the only one who backs him up, and not in a dramatic, show-y fashion, but through her actions. She doesn’t doubt him, she follows his lead, she does as she’s told not because she’s a doormat, but because she knows what they have to all do to move the investigation along, and she knows that Tony knows and that is why he is ordering them. (That may be the impetus for a fanfic I wrote years ago lol.)

In turn, it also becomes obvious how much Tony has come to rely on Ziva, too. Throughout the episode, she becomes the one he bounces ideas off of, confides in over his suspicions that they’re missing something. He knows that Ziva is the only one who doesn’t resent him, doesn’t make fun of him for throwing ideas out there, actually treats him like he is their boss, albeit in the interim. It’s not just because they like to flirt or get into each other’s pants, it’s because they’re both professionals and recognize that in each other, especially in this time of crisis.

But, they are indeed in a time of crisis, and all this emotional upheaval does eventually get to our baby agent.

First, we had the accusation by Ducky, and then later on, after an ill-advised attempt at black humour to Abby to defuse the tension, she is once again painted as an uncaring robot. (Like I said... this is not Abby’s finest hour.) It all leads to her mini-breakdown in the bathroom, when everything comes to a head. I’m struck now by how soft the scene is, how positively young and vulnerable Ziva is -- splashing her face with water, eyes full of tears, trying to get a hold of herself. How despite her no-nonsense demeanour, she is barely an adult herself, not that far removed from her girlhood dreams and traumas. And the very thing she does to be helpful -- sticking to the task at hand -- is what is isolating her from everyone around her.

She is hurt.

Hurt that she is misunderstood. Hurt that people she’s come to consider friends don’t seem to trust her. Hurt that she has no one to confide in.

We rarely see Ziva cry on this show, and this might be the softest moment she ever gets to experience. The memories she replays as she stares at her reflection -- Ducky insisting Tony and McGee would know when she wouldn’t, Abby’s anger at her -- are what she worries she reflects to the world. It is so heartbreaking to watch.

What it demonstrates, though, is how lost Ziva is without Gibbs there. How they all are. But what this arc does is show that Gibbs is the only one at this point who truly gets her. He did from day one, the second she pulled the trigger on Ari. He saw who she really was, the depths of her convictions, and he’s offered her a safe port in the storm of her life. And now on her own, without him to steady her course, she’s adrift. Because I think what these episodes show is that yes, Ziva has grown immensely and been allowed to blossom at NCIS, but she’s done so because Gibbs’ guidance to their whole team has given her the safe space and confidence to be who she is. Without him there to give her a safety net, she’s back to being just another soldier.

I don’t mean that in the sense that she does everything for him despite what the show will imply years later. What I mean is that like anyone else lucky enough to have a supportive parent, Gibbs’ presence in her life has given her the reassurance to be who she is, not who the world thinks she should be. Without him there, she is weighed down by others’ perceptions of her, and she starts internalizing them. (Which, holy shit, ends up coming back in season 17. Is this our first glimpse of anxiety-ridden Ziva?)

She is desperate to get him back, because that is the only way to get herself back

“What can I do?” “Remember!”

Which is why she is the one who later confronts Amnesiac!Gibbs in his hospital room, because she is so desperate to get him back, to get herself back. It is so significant to the show’s canon that Ziva is the one to finally jog his memory, and again it is not a slight against the other characters, or an indication that she is better than them all (although personally I do think so because she is my favourite after all).

It’s not that he doesn’t love the others as much, or that his longer and deeper history with them isn’t as important. It’s that he and Ziva shared a profound experience together unlike any of the others, and that forged a deep connection. The second Ziva pulled the trigger on Ari, she sealed their fate. (Again which is why I hate the season 7 retcon of her actions, but ultimately the end result is that she shot him to save Gibbs, so it still mostly tracks.)

That leads to her even-bigger breakdown, because everything she’s been holding in for the last few days -- and ultimately for the last year -- comes to a head. Yes, she’s hurt over Gibbs’ accident and everyone’s dismissal of her, but really, she’s hurt over what happened with Ari which she’s never been allowed to process. She can’t deal with it at home in Israel because Ari was a loose cannon, a traitor who needed to be terminated. She can’t deal with it in DC, because there he was a villain who took the life of one of their own.

But to her, he was her brother. The brother she loved and who she thought loved her, the one she grew up idolizing and shadowed professionally, the one she fought tooth and nail to save until she realized there was no choice. And she is never, ever allowed to grieve that. For fuck’s sake, we later learn that their own father ordered his execution. I would guess there probably wouldn’t be much thought to, you know, trauma counselling for his family, including Ziva, for what he put them through, or dealing with having to be the one to stop him. I imagine Eli’s advice was to forget about it and move on, which is part of why Ziva had to get the fuck out of Tel Aviv.

(Sidebar: in my head canon, in the later years at some point post-Tiva, they’d be sitting around talking about things and the subject of Ari would come up, and Ziva would kind of clam up about it, and when Tony would ask her about it, she’d be like, “I know you guys don’t want to ever hear about him, because he was the monster who killed Kate, but... he was also my brother. He was the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and took me for car rides just to listen to music for hours and hours when things got bad between my mother and father and I can’t separate that from who he became. And I can’t ever say any of that out loud because what he did was awful but... he was my brother.”)

“What are you talking about?” “Ari! Ari killed Kate. And I... I killed Ari.” “... Your brother.” “Yes.” “You killed your brother to save me.”

This is just such a huge moment for them.

Because for Ziva, that is probably the first time she’s said those words out loud since it happened. And it’s probably the first time she’s let that grief spill out of her.

Probably the first time someone has comforted her for her loss.

And it is so, so important for her that someone recognizes that. That someone acknowledges the magnitude of what happened, of how it broke her. Of how she’s still broken.

That is the only moment of warmth anyone has shown her all episode, and frankly all series to date.

This isn’t Ziva with no feelings. This is Ziva with feelings so deep she can’t handle them, and they come bursting out in a giant fit of anguish. It’s such a monumental moment for her character, because it reflects all of what has happened in the season leading up to this point. Ziva hasn’t talked about Ari at all since she joined NCIS, since that moment in the elevator where Gibbs recognized what she did for him, and why she needed to break free and start over in DC, far away from her father.

Because I imagine that to her father and Mossad, what she did was treated as professional. That she did her job.

But this wasn’t a job.

She killed her own brother to save another man.

A man who was a total stranger to her, but one who she knew to be good, and more importantly, the confirmation that her brother was not good, that he was not the man she thought he was, and that if she didn’t stop him, he was going to ruin other people’s lives.

(No wonder Ziva is still consumed with anxiety almost 15 years later.)

Ultimately, the reason Ziva’s breakdown triggers Gibbs’ memory again is because she gives him something to come back for. Gibbs was lost without Shannon and Kelly when he was in his first coma in 1991, and all these years later, his doctors have said that there’s no good reason for him to still be stuck in the past in his brain, because his injuries were not severe enough to warrant it. But he stays there because he can’t live without Shannon and Kelly. But here is Ziva, the woman who saved his life, chose his over that of her own family, and she is laying her emotions bare in front of him. And she needs him. That protection he offered her that night in his basement gave her a reason to live, and him as well.

Reminding him of Ari was reminding herself of what she did, how she was in pain just like he was, and she needed a light to guide her way back. And it turns out he needed that too.

(Can you tell this is one of my favourite scenes ever?)

Ziva have him a reason to come back.

Which he does, thanks to her, and eventually they do solve their case, even if it ends in disaster, which in turn prompts him to leave the job behind.

(OT: I have always loved how much trust Gibbs puts in Tony in his absence, how he entrusts Tony with the team when he decides to “retire”. TONY IS A GOOD TEAM LEADER AND THAT IS THE TEA. He did not deserve the crap he got from Abby and McGee about it. Again, Ziva is the only one who recognizes it.)

“I owe you, Ziva.” “I’ll collect, Jethro.”

This is just so soft. Again, Ziva is still in a raw state, and she’s teary-eyed as she watches him give his goodbyes, then eventually to her. (Also, thank goodness this is the only time she calls him “Jethro” because it just sounds weird coming from any of the agents.) It is the most sincere and the most loaded of the goodbyes, because they have just shared another monumental experience together, alone, and it cuts deeply.

Which is why today, in the year of our lord two-thousand-and-nineteen, we are still dealing with the aftermath of this.

How their relationship is still this charged and steeped in personal trauma but also in this wartime-like spirit of saving your comrade in arms.

How it’s natural that Ziva feels so hurt at Gibbs “abandoning” her (whether you agree with her or not), because once upon a time he was the person who saved her soul and help her heal, and gave her the opportunity to follow her own heart and her own path, and she ended up feeling lost without that. (Again, it’s up to you to believe if that is truly the case, but I think the point the show has made is that Ziva believes it, which this episode cemented.)

How Ziva is still riddled with guilt and self-doubt, who still believes she is a lost cause when people accuse her of being unfeeling.

How Ziva’s heart is actually so huge, and it’s a miracle she found her place in NCIS so that she could start letting the world know it.

It’s just... I have so many feelings about these scenes, and I could still talk about it for hours, but Day 2 is almost Day 3 and I gotta get this posted.

But I had to get this off my chest, because these episodes are SO IMPORTANT for her character. We learn a little bit about her and a lot about her heart, and she takes the lead as the emotional centre of the story for the arc. Because she remembers.

----

Also more unrelated thoughts about why I love these episodes:

Ziva was allowed to be funny and lighthearted early on and I miss it.

“What if those were Gibbs’ guts smushed all over that room?” The colour would be more coffee brown than red.” ZIVA! ZIVA IS SO FUNNY! Ah, gallows humour. I understand Abby was upset but THAT WAS A DAMN FUNNY JOKE. Again, Ziva was allowed to be so much funnier in first few seasons and it’s a shame the show wrote that out of her and replaced it with more trauma.

(Also the slap-fest was such a token male fantasy and it was gross. Stop it, Show.)

(But Abby deserved it a little because she was hysterical.)

“Never doubt an Israeli about diamonds” I don’t even know if that is an actual thing or just a Ziva-ism they made up, but, lol, Ziva sure does know a lot about diamonds for a girl who lives in cammo half the time. I know her dad taught her a lot about them bla bla bla secret slush funds I don’t care, Ziva is girly sometimes. Someone better put a ring on it.

We get to see Ziva use her considerable language skills in this episode!

Including French!

Ziva can and will fuck your shit up:

#zivadavidweek2019 #ziva david #hiatus part 1 #hiatus part 2 #3x23 #3x24 #i love me some ziva feels #baby ziva needs a hug #long post #very long post #like the episodes as a whole aren't ziva centric #but they are #because she's the emotional centre #and i love me an episode that dives into that

46 notes · View notes

ralph-n-fiennes · 5 years

Note

Hey! Is there any chance you could post the entire interview from The Times here? Thanks

Sure! Here it is

Ralph Fiennes: ‘There is a kind of political correctness that’s in danger of becoming totalitarianism’

The actor and director talks about his new Nureyev film, the perils of mob justice, and why he’s tired of playing evil

Ralph Fiennes’s The White Crow, the actor’s third film as a director, is as fine a portrait of an artist as a young man as you will find outside the pages of James Joyce. Set in Paris in 1961, it is the story of the defection of Rudolf Nureyev from Russia, the climax of the Kirov Ballet star’s belligerent growing-up, and a big publicity coup for the West.

Its writer, David Hare, who has done a job as brilliant as The White Crow’s director, has said that he loathes the idea that Nureyev’s defection was a balletic “leap to freedom”. At the time, he points out, there was optimism in Russia after the death of Stalin and the accession of the more liberal Khrushchev. In microcosm it is true, certainly, that the man Fiennes plays, Nureyev’s teacher Alexander Pushkin, was no tyrant. Indeed, it is vaguely upsetting to see the much lusted-after leading man who, two decades ago, was the seducer in The English Patient, now at 56 play a bald professorial type, cuckolded by his protégé — although the real seducer in this case was, it seems, Pushkin’s wife, who cajoled the mostly homosexual Nureyev into her bed.

“Alexander was very kind and very, very gentle,” Fiennes says. He is in a suite at the Dorchester in London, dressed in jeans and coatigan. His long, floppy hair, I notice to my relief, has, in reality, suffered no more than some widow’s peaking. “People talk about his technique, which was to let the students discover their own mistakes. Now, I’ve seen ballet classes where the teacher literally comes and forces the arm and turns the head and wrestles with a student’s body.”

Fiennes agrees with Hare that it was claustrophobia, rather than tyranny, that Nureyev was fleeing and that his defection was a spur-of-the-moment decision prompted by the heavy-handedness of KGB minders alarmed at his carousing in Paris. Still, the urge had surely been building. “Subconsciously, for him there was a world elsewhere,” Fiennes says, quoting from Coriolanus, which he has starred in and directed for cinema.

Nureyev’s “leap” is performed at Le Bourget airport in front of a scrum of reporters, whose colleagues would pursue the dancer right up to his death from Aids in 1993, aged 54. Perhaps, I say, the film suggests that the dancer trades one form of surveillance for another? Fiennes, however, barely concedes the point even though his own private life — in 1996 he left his wife, Alex Kingston, for Francesca Annis, his co-star in Hamlet almost 20 years his senior — has suffered its share of scrutiny.

A newer form of western tyranny seems to disturb him more. In recent weeks he has offered his support to Liam Neeson, his Schindler’s List co-star, after Neeson said in an interview that he had once wandered the streets with a cosh hoping to be attacked by a “black bastard” so he could avenge the rape of a woman close to him. Fiennes has also stood firm by Michael Colgan, a former director of the Gate Theatre in Dublin, who has been accused of bullying and sexual harassment during his tenure. In the first case, Fiennes says that Neeson was attempting an honest confession. In the second, to be accused is not invariably to be guilty.

“I think there’s a kind of political correctness which has its strength, but is in danger of becoming its own sort of totalitarianism,” Fiennes says.

It is harder, perhaps, to argue the case for Sergei Polunin, the Ukrainian dancer with a supporting role in The White Crow who in January was dropped from a ballet in Paris after posting rants on Instagram, but Fiennes says that he was a joy to work with. “Basically, I ignore all the stuff that he said because I believe there’s the noise the human being can make and then there’s who they truly are as a person, and I think Sergei is a good man, a kind man.”

Fiennes, I observe, occasionally makes a bit of noise in his private life (in 2007 an air stewardess claimed that she had inducted him into the mile high club). “I’ve been guilty of shit,” he agrees. He is less ready to concede that his description of “the unpleasantness and ruthlessness” of the young Nureyev as he looked to “create” himself may have once applied to him.

“I’m uncomfortable saying an overt yes to that. I connected with aspects of his hunger to learn, I suppose, his hunger to absorb.”

Fiennes’s self-creation remains a fascinating subject. His career looked set to be in art until, enrolled at Chelsea College of Arts, he noticed a young New Zealand painter and the “fury” he had about his vocation.

“I thought, ‘He is driven and I’m here painting that bowl of fruit, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say.’ I think I had acted at school and there was some moment at college when the penny dropped and I thought, ‘No, I want to be an actor.’ It suddenly became very clear to me, certain.”

Was there fury about his acting? “I think there was a bit. There was a real sort of determination, but I remember one audition at one drama school. I came out with this RP voice and I think they thought, ‘Who is he? Is he pretending to be a Shakespeare actor?’ I felt maybe I wasn’t the kind of actor that was cool at the time.”

Rada recognised the real thing. Leaving in 1985, he was quickly taken up by the RSC and the National Theatre. By the time I last interviewed him, in 1995, he had already been nominated for an Oscar from his remarkable portrayal of the concentration camp commandant Amon Goeth in Schindler’s List, and was about to play Hamlet at the Almeida in London — which was where he would fall in love with Annis, who was playing the prince’s mother. There was no doubting his greatness. Of his range, however, there was less inkling.From Goeth, we knew he could play a particularly nuanced kind of evil, but who could have predicted his terrifying box-office turn as Voldemort in the Harry Potter films?“I did actually say to my agent, after Voldemort, ‘Please don’t send me any bad guys. I’ve done that now.’ And I don’t think I’ve broken that promise, unless you count David Hare getting me to play his version of Tony Blair in Page Eight.”A consequence of that resolution was our discovery that Fiennes could be wickedly funny on film — as the suavely savage Gustave in Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel and then that grab-bag of ego, the music producer Harry, in A Bigger Splash. However, this is also a serious actor who learnt Russian for the movie Two Women and speaks it beautifully in The White Crow, indistinguishable from Russian cast members speaking in their native tongue. His Bafta-nominated directorial debut with Coriolanus in 2011, meanwhile, was followed up by an impressive Dickens movie, The Invisible Woman.

There is an off-the-peg explanation for Fiennes’s overachievements. As a child, he had to compete with his siblings for attention, for love and to impress.

“At the age of seven, I was the eldest of six, and I probably had a little bit of special treatment, being the eldest, and then felt the competition coming up behind,” he says. “When we get together as a family, we laughingly acknowledge our need to have our space. Because we’re all quite close together in age, I think you define your territory. ‘This is my territory. This is who I am.’”

He says that his mother, Jennifer Lash, a writer known as Jinni, who was married to Mark Fiennes, a farmer-turned-photographer, inspired her brood with her love of words and performance. Two of his sisters, Martha and Sophie, became film-makers; one brother is a composer; and another is Joseph Fiennes, the actor.

“But it was frantic. She often felt huge distress. She wanted to write, and sometimes the pressure and the strain and the frustration of not being able to write, not having the time to write, the peace and the space to write, would explode, but the love was always there, incredible love.”

Jinni, who published her first novel at 23, died of cancer aged 55, when Fiennes was 30. He says that he still feels her presence, although that could just be his “own need to feel that something”.

Does he dream about her? “Sometimes. My father too. What’s so weird is my mother died in 1993 and my father died in 2004 and yet somehow in the brain they’re restored. In the dreams, if they come, they’re completely clear, completely present and as they were. Somehow the brain has stored the memory of the voice, the person.”

Do friends ever say to him that his career has been incredibly Oedipal? I am thinking not just of Hamlet and his leaving a wife of his own age for his Gertrude, but the mother-son dynamic of Coriolanus.

“Yes, people have commented on that, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. I mean, Oedipal is probably how we’re wired as the sons of mothers. I don’t feel any awkwardness about there being an Oedipal element in one’s self. I think that’s quite healthy. It’s part of who you are.”

Has he been in therapy? “I had what they call psychotherapy for a little bit. It was interesting.”

Did he go because he was unhappy or because he wanted to explore himself? “I was going through a time of crisis and emotional disturbance and upset.”

Can he say about what? “No, I don’t want to.”

Having come from a noisy, competitive family, I can see why he might, in his fifties, choose the apparent solitary life that he has, living in a studio loft in east London. Since his relationship with Annis ended in 2006, there have been rumours of girlfriends, but nothing, apparently, very permanent.

“There’s living alone and being lonely. They are different things. I feel quite content, living on my own. It’s funny, isn’t it? Some people say, ‘Don’t you want children?’ And for me it’s not a negative. It’s not a dislike of children. I respect that some people do.”

I quote something that Hare has said about Fiennes, that he likes to surround himself professionally with people who love him. I wonder whether film sets and theatre companies are his substitute families.

“I think you’re in a kind of parental mode as a director, and that is your family. As an actor in a company, you’re less parental, although if you’re possibly in a leading role, there is a leadership element.”

I like the idea that he joins families of actors and, now that he is older, he becomes their father. “Yes, although I haven’t consciously thought I’m achieving parenthood that way,” he begins. And then thinks of Oleg Ivenko, the 22-year-old Ukrainian ballet dancer from whom he has conjured up a light yet intense performance in the lead role in The White Crow.

“Oleg, you see, he was a totally inexperienced actor. That was definitely a version of creative parenting, guiding him through the requirements of a feature film and a main role.”

In loco parentis, as a teacher, Fiennes, we can assume, is a Pushkin rather than a Stalin. Papa Ralph. It has a ring to it.The White Crow is out on general release

#ralph fiennes #ask #anon

23 notes · View notes

punishandenslavesuckers · 7 years

Photo

Alternate universe where Kal-El’s baby pod comes down behind Wayne Manor. (ao3)

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Wayne family problems always happen at 2AM.

Zatanna gets the call on her cell in Athens and it takes her a full minute to register the buzzing before she rolls over and paws her phone from the nightstand. Scraping her hair form her face, she squints at the name on the phone. Private line, proxy number. She checks the time and figures there’s still only one person who would call at 2AM her time.

“Bruce? Is that you?”

“He went public.”

She hangs up.

Thirty seconds later she drops onto Bruce Wayne’s kitchen island in Gotham, bare feet slapping the two-hundred grand black-marble countertop. Her hair crackles, a writhing nest of post-teleportation static and half-grounded etherium. Her eyes, she knows, have the fairy-light glow of a woman riding wild and uncontrollable forces dimension to dimension. Point of fact, that kind of chaos suits her and the static roar in her blood just now. Chaos suits her fine. She understands the appeal of it, standing there, lit up from the inside. Panic in her teeth.

Bruce looks at the tangled sorceress crouching half-dressed on his kitchen counter, he just says, calmly, “Do you need a bathrobe?”

She’s in shorts and a crop top. She hops off the counter, ignoring him. “Where’s Kal?”

“Metropolis.” He unmutes two mid-sized televisions mounted on the wall by the sink and another by the bar. One is Metropolis Daily, the other CNN. The scroll bar reads: super-human hero saves hundreds. “Suspension bridge collapse. He’s currently holding the bridge in place while everyone evacuates. He’s been there for three hours now. Every news network on the globe is re-casting the live coverage.”

“Metropolis. So he didn’t go far.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Bruce has his laptop open on the counter and pulls up a dozen news articles in various languages, no photos except of what appear to be blurry phone camera stills. “This is the first time he’s slowed down enough to be caught on film, but based on his speed and eye-witness accounts, they’re linking him to series of similar interventions all over the world. Disaster interventions mostly. I think he’s been operating internationally until now. He’s doing exactly what I told him not to do.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So far? His face is all over global news.”

“My god. He’s not a wearing a mask?”

“No. As far as I can tell, he’s wearing some kind of uniform based on his family colors and house crest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Bruce says nothing. So she looks at the footage.

“Holy shit, you’re not kidding. He’s wearing primary colors. Why does he have a cape? Why is it bright red? What the fuck?”

“Either habit or tactics. If the material is bulletproof like the material from his Robin uniform, then he might be using it to protect civilians.”

“How is he funding this? Did he access his trust?”

“No. He hasn’t accepted anything from me since…” He glances at her. “Since he left. I assume he’s found employment.”

“But not as Clark Wayne.”

“Not that I’ve found. But he knows how to forge documents as well as Alfred does. If he wants to, he can be anyone.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still under the Grandcross Bridge. Rescue and construction personnel are approaching now, but as far as I can tell he’s having no trouble holding position.”

“How is he holding the whole bridge? I don’t doubt he’s strong enough, but he’s too small to just –”

“The five of the suspension cables along the right side of the bridge seem to have snapped. The bridge was going lopsided, cars sliding into the river. He’s just leveling it out. You’re right though. It’s collapsing. He’s a single load-bearing point where there were five. The civil engineers are trying to get close enough to talk to him, I believe.”

“No lives are in danger?”

“No. But…”

“Breaking news,” says the television. “We’re cutting to a live feed from the crisis at the Metropolis Grandcross Bridge. Fire and rescue personnel have deployed a rescue drone to open communication with the meta-human currently holding up the remains of the now highly unstable Grandcross suspension bridge. Live momentarily.”

Alfred, from the kitchen door where he’s just arrived, says, “Bloody hell.”

On the television screen a slightly wobbling drone camera cuts a path toward the belly of the suspension bridge. In the feed, you can hear the whine of the little turbine motors as it zips through the dust toward a blue and red figure braced like Atlas beneath the bridge. The drone flits uncertainly for a moment, buffeted by wind and for a moment captures a turbulent image of Kal Wayne – changed remarkably in just two years, but also not, not at all changed, but different nonetheless – looking slightly to the left and blinking at the little drone.

He follows it with his eyes as the camera swings in a way to frame his face, zooming in. his eyes in the camera are… frighteningly blue, alien blue, almost colorless and iridescent. Zatana’s never seen him do that with his eyes and in that moment, staring into the camera, expression curious and faintly distracted, she thinks the world’s going to change. This is the face of things to come. Something shivers through her, an old primal kind of shudder, deeper than physical… archetypical and ancient. Like every ley line in the world just hummed.

On TV, a loud speaker crackles, barely loud enough to hear over the drone’s motor.

“This is Kathy Motomori of Metropolis Fire and Rescue.” Live captions scroll across the bottom of the screen. Kal shifts his shoulders slightly against the concrete above him, his palms spread flat against the stone. “Are you in danger, sir?”

He blinks. “Oh! No. I’m fine.” A pause. “Thanks!”

“Jesus,” says Zatana.

Bruce has one hand on the counter next to him and it becomes a fist instead. On screen Kal shakes dust from his hair and says, loudly, “Everyone is clear of the bridge now right? Do you need me to keep holding it up or should I let it go?”

There’s a momentary pause from the other side. “My engineers are saying the bridge won’t last even with your help. It’s going to come apart on top of you. We’re recommending you try to get clear. Can you do that without our aid? Do you need assistance? My people are willing to come in.”

“No, no! Don’t send anyone!” He shakes his head slightly and a single dark curl of hair gets free from his bangs, coiling against his brow. Zatana doesn’t know it right then, but that’s the image that’s going to go around the world. “I’m okay. I can get clear on my own.”

“Then good luck, son. Get out of there safe. Understood?”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The drone wobbles and withdraws, pulling back but continuing to zoom in on Kal as he glances up at the massive shelf of stone he’s bracing… then rolls up so he’s bracing his hands and feet against it, creating the optical illusion of being stuck to the bottom of the bridge, his cape flapping gently beneath him. Then, lightly, he pushes off and floats free beneath. The bridge holds, but in the feed the crack and groan of steel instantly fills the audio. The camera pulls back, zooming away as the bridge buckles and falls. Kal watches it for a moment. Then he notices the camera now watching him and looks, momentarily, flummoxed about the attention.

He decides on a kind of half-wave, half-salute kind of thing. Then he turns in midair and throws one arm forward as if into some kind of forward stoke and arcs with that familiar thoughtless momentum into the free air over the Metropolis River. Then the sound barrier breaks in the distance. The camera screen beholds nothing but empty sky.

“Welp,” says Zatana.

“Goodness,” says Alfred.

“…” says Bruce.

From the door, just behind Alfred, Dick Grayson – still in his pajamas, frazzled with bedhead, all of fifteen, dark-haired and thrilled – says, “Cool.”

“The President official gave Superman the Medal of Freedom today for his actions during Hurricane Roger.”

Bruce says nothing.

“He’s ducking my tracer spells by the way.” Zatana takes a seat on the desk, moving Bruce’s files aside to make room. “I’ve tapped a few sources in the magical communities and a handful of them say they’re passingly familiar with someone matching Kal’s description but no one linked him to any of the traceable Superman events. Lois Lane did a pretty bang up job with the international angle. They’re saying Superman’s saved the lives of about five-hundred people and counting just this last year and that’s the incidents people have come forward with.”

Bruce says nothing.

“Bruce, I’m sure he’ll come back at some point and not for nothing, he is bulletproof and mostly magic proof.”

Bruce says, “Kal is an adult now. He can do as he likes.”

Zatana says, “Obviously, but he’s still your little brother. You’re allowed to worry.”

“His approach is reckless and dangerous and literally everything I warned him not to do.”

“He’s insanely popular, well-loved by everyone, and he hasn’t told a soul that he’s an alien. He just keeps insisting he’s nice city boy who want to help. A nice American city boy by golly-gee raised right here wherever here is I won’t commit but hell I’m sure just like you, boss. He’s really good at that. His blandish is excellent. Lookit me, folks, I’m just so adorable blue-eyed relatable and cute. I saved a puppy today. I played baseball with a bunch of kids in Bangladesh. There’s a hundred blogs dedicated to how cute my butt is in my weird uniform that is definitely armor, but no one is talking about it.”

“Just because he’s good at getting people to like him, doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

“Obviously not, but he’s doing the absolute best that he can with the option that he’s taken. He’s popular Bruce. You can get away with murder if you’re popular and there’s precedent for it. You have that Flash guy in Star City. That Green Arrow person. You… kind of… you’re pretty popular in Gotham for a dude everyone thinks is demonic sewer monster.”

“It’s Gotham,” says Bruce, like that explains it.

Zatana picks up her tea and sips.

“Look, Gotham loves two things: Its football team and Batman. Therefore, Batman gets away with a lot. Keeping that mind, Metropolis loves two things –”

“Being owned by a libertarian asshole and over-priced sushi?”

“No, Bruce – is that thing? Stop distracting me! They love being progressive and they love Superman. Okay? If Metropolis likes Superman than a good portion of the country follows. Daily Planet says they like him, then most of the internet says they like him. Metropolis may be owned by a libertarian douchebag, but even Lex Luthor knows to pretend to be progressive and likeable. His blandish is right up there with Kal’s.”

“Yes, there’s a comfort. Lex fucking Luthor talking to Kal-El.”

“Right, because Superman totally didn’t graffiti his pent-house office window last week with vague implications that Lex is a capitalist monster.”

Bruce smiles. Like, not with his mouth, but it’s there. Zatana can see it.

“See, and the beauty of it is Lex can try to take legal action but he won’t because it’s political suicide. Kal know what he’s doing. He’s smart and capable and has an IQ over one-forty and an interest in communications. He’s Metropolis’ favorite son right now. He’s America’s favorite son. You know how I can tell he’s going to be the biggest thing since sliced bread? He’s just a little bit brown and he openly spoke fluent Cantonese in front of cameras and people aren’t trying to nuke him out of the sky. That’s how I know he’s reached the adoration nadir necessary to survive the public. Okay?”

“You can stop trying to comfort me, Zatana. I know you have better things to do.”

“Better things to do than hang out in your mansion and eat your fancy toast?”

“How can toast be fancy?”

“I dunno, man, but you do it.”

“I’ve accepted that Kal is going to do as he likes. I don’t have to like it, but it’s how it is.”

“It’s been nearly a year since he came out as Superman.” Zatana taps a nail meaningfully against the side of her mug. “You could try to get in contact with him you know.”

Bruce says, “I figure he’ll do that himself.”

Zatana says, “Ugh. You’re both children.”

And Dick, who’s been hiding in the rafters in the dining room says, “So am I gonna get to meet him finally or what?”

“Get down from there. What did I tell you about –!”

Six months later a giant albino mohawked dude on a space-faring motorcycle shows up in Metropolis.

Then he beats Superman within an inch of his new superheroing life.

Jimmy Olsen, armed with a smart phone camera and more balls than his resume would grant him, captures most of the carnage on a Facebook livesteam where the hulking alien tries to tear Metropolis’ golden boy limb from limb. In later interviews, Jimmy would admit that he and Superman have a rapport and most of why he stayed was simply because he couldn’t bring himself to leave while Big Blue was fighting for his life. Something, he was certain, Superman had never had to do before.

The world gets a first-hand look at intelligent non-terrestrial lifeforms as one tries to curb stop Superman’s skull open in the middle of Broadway Avenue. Then it gets to watch as said lifeform hurls him into the ground with enough force to break the sound barrier. They watch intelligent alien life rip Kal’s cape from his shoulders, watch it kick him in the ribs, try to strangle him, gouge his invincible blue eyes out and get their thumbs lasered off for their efforts. (Oh, yes, Superman has laser eyes. No one knew that. Now everyone knows that.)

Then the whole world gets to watch Superman do something like panic and beat this monster into a crater with the wreackage of its own motorcycle. Then they get to watch him grab and hurl this alien out of the stratosphere with enough power to splinter the ground beneath him like plaster and send the beast rocketing out of Earth’s atmo. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera captures the moment of aftermath where Superman stands there, uniform torn, blood running from his nose and mouth, staring anxiously into the sky and breathing hard, breathing like his ribs are fractured. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera transmits, live, the moment where Superman collapses to one knee, then collapses entirely and –

Jimmy Olsen, dropping his camera, crying, “Oh my god! Supes?! Superman, are you –?”

Before the feed cuts.

“Look, I’m just saying he’s not that mad at you.”

Dick Grayson, eighteen, wearing a pair of sunglasses with his boots up on the spare chair next to him – he’s got an ice cream cone in one hand and he thinks the whole thing is kind of dumb.

Across from him: Superman in a blue button-up and jeans, blinking at him from behind a pair of un-convincing thick-rimmed glasses. He’s got an untouched basket of fires and a burger in front of him. It pleases Dick just a little bit to note that at eighteen he’s already about Kal-El’s height if not quiet his build. Not, mind you, that Superman has many options in body building and it’s sort of ridiculous to compare physiques when one of them (not him) can pick up a bus and throw it across the country.

The point: Kal doesn’t look very intimidating sitting in a burger joint with an anxious look on his face.

“It’s been almost three years.”

The July sun curves a scorching path into the mid-day sky. It’s pretty hot.

Dick adjusts his sunglasses and says, “Look, Kal. I get that you guys had some big falling out or whatever, but at the end of the day you’re both being huge assholes and should just talk to one another. Zatana says so. Alfred says so. I say so and I’m the guy who’s doing your old job so I feel like I have special permission to tell you to suck it up and stop being weird about it. You weren’t weird about talking to me and I expected you to be a lot weirder in person. So you have no excuse.”

Kal looks genuinely curious. “Why would you think I’d be weird in person?”

“I dunno. You’re so good in front of a camera I thought you might be a little strange when you turn off the whole All American Alien shtick. Any particular reason you try to come off like a home-grown suburbanite when you’re a Gotham kid?”

“Technically, I was raised internationally for most of my childhood, I’m an alien, and mid-western accents are practically un-detectible to anyone not looking for it?”

“Solid call. Solid call. Anyway, you’re not weird.”

Kal looks wry. “Thanks, I try. Look, Dick, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I’m not sure if you understand… the history with Bruce and me.”

“Says who? I’m great at understanding. I’ve also been living with Bruce for the better part of three years so, like, try me.”

“Well, first of all, I’m an alien that landed in his backyard when he was sixteen and he decided to adopt me.”

“Yes, he has impulse control problems in that area. I’ve noticed.”

“My childhood was weird.”

“I grew up in the circus and then signed on to be Boy Wonder Two Point Oh. My childhood was also weird. What is it you’re worried I won’t understand?”

“I don’t know… so much of how I was raised was based around this… It’s weird. I am bulletproof. Literally, I’m one of the toughest living things on the planet, but my whole childhood was a lot of fear and hyper-vigilant measures to make sure I was safe. Now, I’m just… it’s like a threw all that away. I feel like a bastard sometimes. Ungrateful I guess? But I don’t regret it. Not… not at all. Not even a little bit and I feel like that’s the part that’s going to make it impossible to talk about.”

“You know how stupidly noble that sounds right? You’re like an afterschool special.”

“Grayson,” he says in this tone that has this low sub-tonal quality that literally makes the air shiver.

“Okay, so you’re afraid you’ll have to defend your decisions to him and he’s going to be judgmental and disapproving, basically? Because, that’s kind of what dads are there for.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Right.”

Kal looks uncomfortable. “He was always really clear on that point, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry. What I meant is you are family at the end of the day.”

“I know…”

“Jeez, this is really eating at you. What specifically do you think will happen? Worst scenario.”

“I tell him I regret nothing that I’ve done and by extension he takes that to mean everything he ever did for me was pointless and all the work he does is also pointless and he basically realizes he raised a totalitarian monster that rejects all his personal axioms?”

Dick lowers his sunglasses slightly to stare at him over the rims.

Kal looks, thankfully, embarrassed. “Worst case scenario! I literally did the exact thing he raised me not to do and I just don’t see how he’s going to forgive me for that.”

“Because you’re his little brother and he loves you. Wow. That was easy. Let’s go to Gotham right now.”

Kal jerks a little when Dick makes a mock-move to stand up and that tiny fear response makes Dick feel just a little bad. He sits back down.

“You honestly think he’s not going to forgive you for going out on your own?”

“He has strong opinions about things.”

“He’s also just a dude with a thing for Vantablack.”

“You wouldn’t be scared to disobey him?”

“Are you kidding? Petrified. But I’d still do it if I really believed it and, honestly, I think as long as you’re not drowning puppies in buckets or getting a mullet he’ll probably respect what you did.” Dick shrugs. “I mean, it’s hard to argue with the results.”

Kal looks skeptical.

“I’m not saying he won’t be a huge tool about it at first, maybe, but he’ll get over it. Seriously. Just… reach out. I don’t think he’s going to do it because he thinks you… want it this way or something. I can tell you don’t so just fix it. Or at least try. You’re Superman. You can’t possibly tell me it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Kal almost smiles. “I’m really glad you signed on to be Robin Two Point Oh.”

“Okay, well, don’t spread it around but I’ll probably upgrade from that pretty quick here.”

“You’re thinking about leaving?”

“I’m eighteen. I’ll have to leave eventually.”

“And… the rest of it?”

“You mean the cape and cowl?” He frowns. “I mean… I think I’ll always want to do that. Just not… not in Gotham forever. And I can’t be Robin somewhere else; I think that’s a really specific role. Look, it’s just something I’m tossing around. You left. I can leave. It’s just the normal progression of things.”

Kal thinks about it. “You picked out a name yet?”

Dick blinks behind his glasses. “No. Why?”

“I might have a suggestion.”

It was, perhaps, inevitable that it would happen this way.

Or that’s what he’s thinking while he’s falling from 10,000 feet up, every on-board system fried, auxiliary flight components shredded, the dark terrain racing up to meet him. He goes through possible scenarios. Anything and everything he could do to prevent slamming into the planet at terminal velocity and he’s got nothing. The sky above him: a rolling orange swath of flame, the steel monolith coming apart in continental shards of alien alloy. The mechanism of mass destruction slicing a fiery path toward the ocean.

Even if he could fly, he’s not sure he could get clear of the wreckage – likely to fall miles around.

His armor’s melted in places – fused to his ribs, his right thigh, his boots have melted at the sole. The pain is… intense actually. Intense enough he’s a little relieved it’s probably going to stop very soon. The wind in his ears roars. Through the roar, his comm still just barely crackles with Dick’s voice, frantic and far away, saying his name (is that really his name?) over and over again from too far away to help.

His primary regret: Dick is going to watch him die on fucking monitor.

“It’s fine,” he says, which is fucking stupid of course.

“No!”

“You’re going to be fine, Dick.”

These are the worst last words in the history of last words. He just doesn’t know what else to say, the earth rushing up as it is, so fast he’s not going to be able to speak. Bruce rolls into a para-trooper flat, belly down, arms and legs out, facing the growing ridge of the mountain that, it appears, will be his final destination. The comm’s damaged. Dick is saying something. He can’t make it out and he’s not sure why that – not the screaming air, not the pain, not the inevitable end – is getting to him. Seconds before his death and all he can think is he’d trade anything to hear what Dick is trying to say.

There’s static now.

There’s no one with him for this part.

That’s fine.

It’s fine.

Really.

It’s…

The mountain below him suddenly snaps. It vanishes. There’s a bright primary blur that baffles his eyes before snapping back into focus and, like a glitch in the universe, Kal-El is between him and the earth. His eyes: wide, colorless blue, inhuman in their hue and containing every human fear possible. He’s moving at terminal velocity, backwards, propelled by the mysterious gravitational forces that live in his Kryptonian physiology. He’s wearing his uniform. Superman – flying exactly fast enough to be exactly within arms’ reach, face to face with Batman as he falls.

He’s shouting something.

Bruce throws his arms out at the same moment Kal grabs for him, seizes his elbows and pulls him into his chest. Bruce feels three of his ribs crack when Kal miscalculates the speed, slams into him with enough force to stun. He doesn’t have the air to scream as Kal balls around him and pitches, hard, right. His arms cage him like a roll bar in a flipping car. The G-force briefly curdles his brain, dark edges closing. His teeth in his skull seem set to explode. Lungs crushed, surrounded by a splintering construct of calcium.

Then it stops. Planes out. Bruce opens his eyes and the sky is framed by trees, the hole in the canopy of evergreens. The ground underneath him smells of pine and shredded earth, a Superman shaped crater in the forest floor. He must have blacked out for the impact. Kal is looking down at him with a panic in his face that steals all his adult years and Bruce sees him – five years old, stuck on that goddamn bunker ceiling.

“Bruce! Bruce?! Are you okay?”

He grunts. Gets his breath.

“Sloppy catch.”

Kal stares.

Bruce grimaces and sits up. “We practiced that about a hundred times in the Philippines.”

Kal stares.

“If you don’t learn how to match velocity in mid-air, you can’t expect to save civilians from –.”

Kal moves forward and hooks both arms around Bruce’s shoulders and silently buries his face against his shoulder.

Bruce hesitates… then loops one arm around Superman’s back, palm flat against his shoulder blades.

“Nice of you to drop by,” Bruce says.

Kal laughs. “Dick said I should.”

“You couldn’t call me before alien warships are flying over Gotham?”

“You couldn't call me before you pick a fight with an alien warship?”

"I don't have your number."

"Dick has my number. You have my number if you wanted my number."

Bruce sighs, pressing a hand into his ribs. “Any chance of flying out of here that isn’t you carrying me bridal style?”

“Not really. You crashed the Bat Jet into the side of their ship.”

“It’s not called the ‘Bat Jet’. It’s just a jet.”

“Dick says it’s the Bat Jet and he also says, you still call the car ‘The Batmobile’. So…”

Bruce glares.

“Are you glaring? I can’t tell with the new cowl. Is that, like, a heavy combat version or…?”

“I’m glaring.”

“Okay. Thought so. You know you can admit I'm good at naming things.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You should have let me drop into the goddamn mountain.”

“Batmobile. Trademark: Superman.”

#dc #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #batman #batfam supes au #dcfic #in which i finally bothered to finish the chapter #because its just been siting in my docs forever #anyway #young superman is still kinda scared of batman #dick is just like #why tho?#rae writes #raewrites

50 notes · View notes