The post below (with minor grammar edits) was submitted by Anonymous:
The actors were so insanely great in this series!
I was so impressed with so many new actors. Valerie Pettiford (Emily Mather) was simply incredible. Even though she was paired up with the GREAT Alex Kingston (Sarah Bishop), Valerie didn’t let Alex overpower her. They were so believable down to the tiny details of the spells and in interpersonal relations with other characters.
Agatha Wilson (as played by Tanya Moodie) was so strong yet could be so gentle too. Of course Theresa Palmer (Diana Bishop) and Matthew Goode (Matthew Clairmont) had such great chemistry. Watching Diana reluctantly grow into a powerful witch was perfect.
I have watched this show at least 5 times, even with all the other shows available. Well done to the producers and directors, and how they redid the screenplay into something even better than the terrific trilogy of books. That was just amazing.
Thanks to all who did this show. Although many would like more, it did complete the trilogy.
Allsoulstriogymusings’ response: Thanks for sharing your thoughts Anon! Sorry it took a while to respond to you, but I wanted to do a proper response, given your submission was a commentary on the entire series.
I very much appreciated your focusing in your comment on some of the supporting characters like Agatha, Emily and Sarah.
I agree that Tanya, Valerie and Alex did a great job of portraying their characters, as did the entire cast.
I also agree that the show improved some subplots from the books.
**Book Spoiler**
For instance, I was happy that the show didn’t have Matthew kill off Gillian Chamberlain (Louise Brealey), unlike in the the first book. Gillian was an insecure young woman who betrayed Diana, but didn’t deserve to die for her betrayal.
It also didn’t paint Matthew in the best light that he killed her. So the change in that subplot was (at least to this writer) a welcome one.
And of course, I agree with you that Theresa Palmer and Matthew Goode were magic together and truly brought Diana and Matthew to life on the screen.
It was a wonderful series and one that I will miss. I do hope that they either do a spinoff or perhaps a TV movie follow-up. I can’t get enough of these characters. Hopefully, Deborah Harkness will keep writing about these characters.
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Thanks to Forever Dreaming for the transcript for the Emily and Sarah gifs.
Wow! It seems I’ve been neglecting my blog for a bit! I can’t believe I’ve passed 100 followers! Thank you all for checking out my stuff and sticking around, I really appreciate it! I head to New Zealand in a week so keep checking in for NZ photos!
I know there is no justifying the terribleness if JKR naming the one of the only POC characters two last names of different cultures. Just because they are historically “Asian”. Nice, lumping everyone on a continent together.
But I had a thought that could redeem this.
What if her name was Cho-Chang. As in one complete last name, from both parents of varying cultures. And what if (this is a guess, I don’t know if this is an actual thing but I think it’s cool), outside her family, no one actually knew her first name. Like everyone calls her Cho because that’s the first part of her last name and while it may not be her first name, it’s considered a sort of nickname.
I also like to think that her being a Ravenclaw (while it may be a stereotype, rude) is because she is extremely intelligent, creative. She is the character we like to bash for crying a lot. But it makes sense, her boyfriend was murdered. And yes, she and Harry kisses but people rebound. Especially when they are mourning, plus Harry and Cedric both being triwizard champions created a connection between them. And Cho just wants her boyfriend back, so she projecting him onto the only person like him.
Cho gets a lot of flack, and she doesn’t deserve it. She’s grieving and a textbook way. She had to be smart, in any kind of way. Doesn’t have to be academically, to get into Ravenclaw. To be honest, I just want her happy.
*I am in no way defending JKR, I just thought of this and thought it was a cool idea.*
quick reminder for you to never ever compare yourself to models, instagram influencers and the likes. first, because the pictures are highly edited and curated to look in a certain way. second, because these people have a lot of access to beauty procedures most of us could only dream of. thirdand most important? it’s wonderful to look like yourself - it doesn’t matter what other people look like. you are you and there is magic in that.
You find a girl crying next to a grave. “What’s wrong?” You ask. She cries harder. “Nobody came to my funeral.”
Night watchman at a cemetary isn’t the kind of job most people want. I’ve always liked it, though. It’s pretty peaceful, most of the time, which is nice. Sometimes I get to chase off teenagers or would-be occultists or obnoxious drunks, which is fun. There’s a lot of entertainment in a good chase, at least for me, and scaring the crap out of them is fun too.
Sometimes it gets sad, though.
It was my first walkthrough of the night when I saw the girl weeping beside the grave. It happens sometimes, and I never chase them. The cemetary is for the dead and the grieving. They’re always welcome here.
I went over to her, careful to keep the grave between us so I wouldn’t scare her. “What’s the matter?” I asked gently. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head, still weeping. “No-one came to my funeral,” she sobbed. “No-one at all.”
I checked the stone. She’d been about seventeen. An age of strong emotions and fierce resentments. “I’m sorry,” I told her, and meant it. “That’s… always hard.”
“If they cared about me, they would have come,” she wept. “This means nobody cared at all.”
“Not always,” I told her gently. “Sometimes it means that something else happened. If you like, I can try to find out.”
“Really?” She wiped her eyes. “I’d… I’d appreciate that. I’m Lucy.”
“Stanley.” She couldn’t shake hands, so I gave her a friendly nod. “Come with me, Lucy. I’ve got a laptop in the watchman’s hut.”
She followed me, drifting silently, back to the hut. I brought her in, and made two cups of tea, offering her one. “I’m not solid,” she said, her lip quivering. “I can’t -“
I showed her how to take it, the ghostly echo of the solid cup, and told her I’d learned it from the day attendant over at the columbarium. She’s Korean, and knows a lot about hungry ghosts. She sipped her tea while I opened the laptop and ran the usual searches.
I do this a lot.
Sure enough, there’d been three major car accidents between the area she’d lived in and the cemetary. There’s almost always at least one - there’s this one intersection that no exorcism, ritual purification or cleansing spell has ever worked on - and it usually helps. A lot of spirits want to know why someone they loved didn’t come.
I fully realize this and I do apologize. I have gained a significant amount of new followers in the last year (I think its been that long, give or take, with the exception of 2 one-shots) and I have noticed the reblogs, the likes, and the notes, especially lately. The great, positive feedback, as well as big personal changes, have kicked up my desire to start writing again. My inspiration is there. Thank you all for continuing to read, to follow, and keep up with my little writing blog. (If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please shoot an ask my way. And, as always, requests are open!)
sorry, it’s been a hot second since I’ve posted. Lots of work and writers block do NOT go together. I’d like to thank my friend cybergeist for helping me finish this by giving me some ideas of what I can do with it.
I’m the strong one, I’m not nervous I’m as tough as the crust of the earth is
There were certain expectations put upon both Marinette and Damian Al Ghul, but especially Marinette. She was the first born twin and was unfortunately, the born the weakest of the two. Ra’s Al Ghul was not pleased when he had found out that Marinette had to be put on life support as soon as she was born. Ra’s had no care for the gender of the first born, afterall he did plan to pass down his legacy to Talia. No, what he cared about was that Marinette was small, sickly, weak, and most importantly, she was defective. But Talia had begged him to keep the girl alive, so he did, but the expectation of perfection was placed higher for her than it had ever been for Damian. She would have to prove that it was worth the energy to keep her alive. Show that she wasn’t a defect. Prove that she was worthy of the name. She had to be the strongest one for the both of them, she had to be the strongest or else she would be discarded for her failures, that is if she ever allowed herself to have any.
I move mountains, I move churches And I glow ‘cause I know what my worth is
Marinette knew what her worth was equal to. Her life was worth as much as she could give to the League that raised her. Mother taught her how to “glow” and lure her enemies with her looks. She could move around and push down the strongest and more muscular assassins with ease. Her physical body was worth nothing, what she used it for never mattered to anyone. The only thing that mattered was that the mission was completed. Her worth depended on the basis that she followed orders to a ‘T’. Her worth relied on if she lived through everything she was put up against.
I don’t ask how hard the work is
There was a silent rule that you never questioned the assignment you were given. It never mattered how hard the task was, how deadly it may be, you got it done without another word or you died trying. Marinette and Damian knew this rule well. Failure wasn’t even supposed to be a thought of, it wasn’t supposed to exist in their vocabulary, but they had seen Grandfather kill failures. They knew that not all assassins made it back from their missions, they knew that death was always one slip up away. So they never failed, they weren’t allowed to, they were perfect weapons. She knew that they would be severely punished if any dared to break the ideal of perfection and question the Demon Head.
Got a rough indestructible surface Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em I take what I’m handed, I break what’s demanded
Marinette was seen as an indestructible warrior. It didn’t matter what the task was, how hard it was, or how deadly it might have been; she finished her missions and returned back to the League every. Single. Time. And it was all to please her mother and grandfather (Grandfather never was). She vowed to herself that she would one day make them proud of her, even if it was only for a short amount of time.
Damian looked up to his older sister. Her smooth confidence, the way she handled all the expectations that were placed on her shoulders, the way she was able to hide her emotions, and how she treated him when they were alone. There were so many missions that she had taken that made him fear for her life, but she always returned. Many times she was so badly injured that he feared that she would not survive the night when he had seen her return, but she always recovered in the end. She would never become the heir to the Demon’s Head, but she was his sister and he knew that she would stand by his side when it was his turn to rule the assassins. She would be his guard and stay at his right hand at all times.
But Under the surface I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus
But under Marinette’s cool indifference was this itch, no, a fireunder her skin that would never leave her. She knew that if she messed up even oncethat it would be the end for her. Every step she took hadto be calculated, every move was important if she wanted to survive and not fall into some trap or her own inevitable death. She was walking a very thin line, and she knew that if she tipped even a little bit, she would never be able to balance herself again. She would never have the opportunity as there would be no safety net to catch her.
Under the surface Was Hercules ever like “Yo, I don’t wanna fight Cerberus”?
Marinette loved mythology. It was one of the few classes that she looked forward to when she was back on base. Many times on missions she would think of Hercules and wondered what his thoughts were when he went through The Twelve Tasks. While Marinette could relate to the many tasks that they were both put through, all designed to make sure they died. They never did though, and they continued on to the next deadly task trying to prove that they were not defective and that they could be worthy.
Marinette often wondered if Hercules ever wanted to run away from the death that constantly surrounded him. Did he ever actually want to fight Cerberus or any of the beasts he was told to kill for forgiveness? Did he likekilling all of those creatures? Was he really that loyalto his family that he himself murdered that he would go through allof that to “repent”? Would shedo that for her own family? Damian, yes, but what about Grandfather and Mother? If she were being completely honest, she didn’t think she would. Did that make her a despicable person? Was she really the monster that she always heard people call her when they thought she wasn’t there or wasn’t listening?
She didn’t like taking the lives of her targets, especially when they were just little children. She hated what she was told to do, but she did it anyway because failure to finish the mission was never a thought when she was on the field. She was tiredof all the blood and death that always surrounded her, tiredof having to carry it all out. But she could never even thinkof leaving Damian alone with the League for longer than a month.
Hercules wasn’t her favorite God though. No, her favorite God was Hephaestus. He was known as the ugliest God and was cast out of Heaven for his defective form. He was a master blacksmith, and proved to the other God’s that even if he looked wrong, that didn’t mean he was worthless. Just because Marinette was born wrong and still had defects because of her birth such as her small frame and her mental defects of depression and anxiety, that didn’t mean that she was useless. She was strong, powerful, and a trickster when she needed or wanted to be, just like Hephaestus. She would make her own name for herself, and one day, people willrespect it if they ever want her help.
Under the surface I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service
After years of living in the League and absolutely nothingin her life had changed even remotely. She would often just let her mind wander and let herself go through the motions of her constant never ending routine. She often wondered if she was worthless even with all the work she did. Was the only reason she was alive really because of her service or was there something else at play that she just couldn’t see? If she didn’t do what she was told, how quickly would they kill her? Would they just disown her and kick her out? No, they wouldn’t want evidence, they would have to kill her and get rid of her body. Would they kill her quickly, or would they draw it out and use the same torture methods she used on others? It would be almost poetic if that were the case, especially if they made Damian conduct it. She shivered at the mere thought of it though. She prayed that they wouldn’t make him do it, anyone besides him.
A flaw or a crack The straw in the stack That breaks the camel’s back What breaks the camel’s back it’s Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
She couldn’t risk showing anyone that she had a flaw or crack her walls. She couldn’t let a single thing, no matter how small, break her. She chanted this to herself over and over again in her head. She could feel the blood drip off of her forehead from the ambush. Everything was starting to get blurry, but she had to keep fighting.
Father would be so disappointed if she failed, and Damian would tell her that she was acting like a failure, again. She panted as she looked around at the still conscious assassins and the ones that kept spawning out of the shadows and began to circle around her. There were so many voices in her head, Oracle was telling her to runon the comms. Unfortunately the voices in her head were muchlouder. All she could hear was her Father telling her she needed to work harderand be better, Damian telling her that she was letting him down and bringing dishonorto the family, Grandfather telling her that she was worthlessif she didn’t fulfill her duty.
Drip
Drip
Drip
The sound of her blood running down her face and into the puddle of blood below her filled the street. Was this where she failed, was this small thing what broke her? Normally she could take out all these assassins easily, her head would be clear and she would be able to pull herself together and focus.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'till you just go pop, whoa
But it wasn’t one of those days, she was tired, her mind was clouded, and all she could hear were the voices screaming in her head that all reminded her of her failures. Her head was spinning a million miles a minute and she just could notkeep the voices in her head straight or silence them like she had been able to before. Her head felt like it was going to explode, it was so full and clouded, and it felt like she was going to collapse with all of the weight mounted on her shoulders. At this point she couldn’t even tell if the weight was invisible anymore, could others see it? Would anybody be able to see the load that was about to make her finally tip over the edge? Would they even care?
Give it to your sister, your sister’s older Give her all the heavy things we can’t shoulder Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?
Memory upon memory flooded her mind of all the responsibilities that she needed to carry and be fully aware of even now. She knew that many of the punishments for Damian’s “failures” were too much, far too harsh, for him, so she would plead with her grandfather to give them to her. He’d often give them to her with little convincing on her part. She had also tried to do this with Father, but he would never let her. He said that Damian needed to learn for himself what the consequences for his actions were.
Her mind flashed back to one of the many incidents that caused permanent reminders to liter her back.
“Please Grandfather. It was not Damian’s fault! Please, I will take the punishment, give me the burden. He will never repeat the offense again. I will make sure of it.”
She pleaded with her head bowed as she kneeled down at her grandfather’s throne. Last time she had made eye contact while she pleaded for her little brother he carried a look in his eyes that made her feel sick with fear. It was some kind of sick amusement, and she was scared she would actually vomit if she ever saw it again.
“Very well. His punishment was twenty lashes in front of the entire League, you will take them instead.”
Marinette swallowed slightly at the thought of more lashings on her still healing back. She knew that he was lying in the fact that Damian’s punishment would have been public. He just wanted to humiliate her, remind her of her place and worth in his eyes. She needed to do this though, Damian would one day lead the League and he needed to be in perfect condition for that to happen. Who was she if she couldn’t protect her brother, it was her duty to protect him.
She didn’t understand why Grandfather’s assassin’s were going after her. She knew Damian was currently with Father, so why come after someone as useless as her? It didn’t matter though, she would continue to carry on the duty of protector for her family. She would shoulder all of the responsibility that Damian doesn’t understand quite yet. She couldn’t fall yet, and even though her entire body wanted to collapse, she got back into her fighting stance and attacked.
If I fall to Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, whoa
Marinette gripped at the restraints keeping her arms above her head as the whip lashed down against her back again, and again, and again. She stood tall through all of it because she knew that if she fell onto her knees the pain would be so. Much. Worse. She could feel Damian’s gaze on her, it burned even worse than the lashes that continued to rain against her back. It definitely felt like more than 20 (Damian said it was).
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it’s ready to blow, whoa Give it to your sister, your sister’s stronger See if she can hang on a little longer Who am I if I can’t carry it all?
The voices continued to grow louder and louder in her head and ear, so without thinking she took the comm out and threw it. She needed to focus, get away from all of the distractions right now because if she was going to live through this attack she needed to clear her head! She had to do this, they were after her, and who knew if they were also going after Damian.
She could do this, Father and the others should be on route, right? She just needed to hang on a little longer, she could do it! If she couldn’t do this simple task then who was she? Her back burned at the mere memory of what failure can cost.
If I falter Under the surface I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us
She needed to pull herself together, Marinette thought as she stabbed one of the assassins in a non-vital area in the leg.
Under the surface The ship doesn’t swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is
Marinette had a feeling that her family was close by. She couldn’t know for sure as she had thrown out her comm, but she’d like to believe that. It didn’t matter though, she had three assassins left. She could handle them, then she could go back home and sleep. The thought of sleep was enough of a distraction that for a brief second she lost her focus, and that was her biggest mistake. She jumped for one of the assassins and it felt like everything stopped before continuing in slow motion as another one came at her from her left side. She couldn’t stop her movement now that she had set her full momentum into play. She would need to find a way to get out of this with minimal harm done to herself quickly.
Under they surface I think about my purpose,
Instead of thinking logically to make a plan to get out of the situation, her brain just did notwant to function. They really had to pick today of all days where she just didn’t have her head screwed on right to go after her. Her mind instead wandered to one of her favorite moments with her little brother, even though he’s taller than her now.
It was a small recon mission, nothing grand or overly complex. They were in Hong Kong, China and it was the Chinese New Year. She remembered walking down the festive streets, the scent of all of the different foods, and all of the different styles of clothes the people wore. It was magical, and she could tell Damian was also fascinated with the scenes around them.
“Shaqiq, can we go watch the firework show? I hear they are a big and important tradition here.”
Damian was silent for a few moments before he gave a sharp nod.
“I believe that it would be a satisfactory reward for our work.”
And with that the twins ran around the city often stopping to watch small parades, dragon dances, and so many other festivities that occurred on the streets. Finally they made it to the firework show and watched the colorful explosions used only for show and the benefit of others rather than the death and destruction they were used to. They both laid side by side on the soft grass, almost cuddling together as they watched the lights and shapes made by the fireworks. It was a beautiful night, and one of the only times she could remember where both she and her brother were at peace, even for just a few moments.
It was hard to think of other times after that where she was able to help Damian. Soon it was hard to ever impress him, and she became a disappointment in his eyes as well. Had she done something wrong? Was she ever a good big sister? She tried to be, she tried everyday to be the best sibling, but it never seemed to be enough. Even after they left the League he always spent time with Grayson or Todd, was she no longer enough? She had to be a terrible sister if he never wanted to be around her anymore. And if he was always gone and she couldn’t protect him, did that mean she no longer had a purpose? Did that mean she really was worthless now?
can I somehow preserve this?
Marinette knew that she was doomed as soon as she felt the prick in her leg. She felt everything begin to tilt on its axis in a terrible and horrifying way. Could she find a way to get out of this before she passed out? Could she fight through the sedative and preserve her life? Did she even have a chanceof winning now?
Line up the dominoes A light wind blows You try to stop it tumbling But on and on it goes
Each step she took grew heavier and heavier. Her eyes seemed to droop more and more with each blink. Her breathing was becoming more laborious and staying awake seemed now and more pointless by the second. She couldn’t fall asleep though, not here, not now! Marinette fought through the sedative as hard as she could and even managed to knock out one of the three assassins.
Unfortunately she was getting sloppier as each step took more and more of an effort to make. Everything felt almost numb and it only took one step on a puddle of her own blood to make her slip up. It was poetic in a way, that her blood was what led to her downfall as the next thing she knew she was on the ground. Her brain just couldn’t process things fast enough and before she knew it her hands and feet were hogtied behind her back. She tried to struggle out of the ropes, but all of her energy seemed to be completely drained from her body and all she could do was lay there and let her eyes fall shut.
But wait If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations Would that free some room up for joy
Marinette remembered what it was like to stare at the manor that she would now live in with her father and apparently other brothers for the first time. Her chest seemed to lighten at the thought of not having the same expectations the League had put upon her. She wouldn’t have to train to kill as she had heard that her father forbade murder. She may not even have to fight or be a vigilante if she didn’t want to. That thought brought a warm feeling that bloomed in her chest. She nearly cried at the thought of finally living a peaceful life.
Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?
Maybe she could draw and not have to hide it from anyone. Maybe her family would even like her drawings! Or she could read books for fun rather than educational purposes. She had heard of all of these different types of books and genres from her missions, so maybe she could read and understand what they were talking about now! She closed her eyes and imagined drinking tea in the beautiful garden or just taking a nap in the sun when it was day. Being able to let her guard down and just…be. Nothing to drag her down, no one trying to kill her, a life of tranquility and maybe even love…
Instead we measure this growing pressure Keeps growing, keep going
Her dreams immediately crashed down around her when she saw Damian attack one of Father’s partners. Not just any partner, his right hand partner. Robin, A.K.A. Timothy Jackson Drake. She quickly jumped in and pulled Damian back, saving the boy from the random and unexpected attack.
“Damian! What are you doing? We can not attack Father’s partners.”
She scolded. Damian just glared at her and crossed his arms replying haughtily,
“He is not worthy of being Father’s partner. He is not blood, I am.”
And with that response Marinette knew that she would never be free of the pressure and expectations that immediately dropped back onto her shoulders tenfold. Damian was going to be the difficult twin, the obvious troublemaker. That meant that she had to be the good, perfect twin, just like before. She would have to keep Damian in line and stop him from causing problems so Father wouldn’t hate her them. Afterall, if they caused too many problems Father might kick them out and send them back to the League, and Marinette would do anythingtonever go back there. She refused to ever let that happen. She would kill herself before she was ever brought back to that wretched place.
So with a bright smile that was meant to send a warning to Damian and show she meant no harm to the others she calmly replied,
“That is no way to speak to your new brother Damian. He is important to Father so he must be important to us.”
Damian looked down and mumbled under his breath,
“Maybe to you, but not me.”
It was barely audible, but she heard it. Damian had been picking up more of Grandfather’s methods when he was around her. Of course they were never as horrible, but the verbal lashings had been more harsh and frequent than ever before.
Her shoulders felt so heavy, how much more if this could she really handle? The answer: More . One of the many voices in the back of her mind whispered. You can and must handle so muchmore. Marinette stood up and turned to the boy that Damian attacked and began to apologize for Damian’s actions as one of Father’s other partners began to talk to her brother and lead him away from Tim…and herself.
'Cause all we know is Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
The tears wouldn’t stop falling onto the floor. The drip, drip, drip of salt water fell onto the smooth cement floor. The weight was both physical and mental as she was held down by Grandfather’s assassins. Father had been too late, if he had even come for her at all, and now she awaited her inevitable fate at the hands of the merciless Demon’s Head.
Each tear that had fallen held a memory of her past that had led to the current breakdown that was years in the making as she was being transported to who knew where. The League of Assassins had so many bases all over the world, many of which had a Lazarus Pit that it was impossible for her to truly know where she would end up till she was there. Her body shook with the effort to keep her sorrow silent, but she hadn’t made a sound yet, and she was going to keep it that way.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh
She tried to hold back her tears, but everytime she did it felt like someone was pouring acid on her eyes. Everything was broken, her mind felt fractured and her facade of strength and confidence finally broke. They always said that the bottle always shatters during the worst of times. Her frame seemed to shake even though she refused to let out the sobs that burned her throat and needed to escape! The salt of her tears burnedagainst her skin, falling deep into the cracks of her soul and scorched it with every drop.
Give it to your sister, it doesn’t hurt
Damian’s disappointed face flashed before her eyes and his voice rang in her ears, “Don’t be weak sister, you need to be strong. Your tears are useless.” Marinette didn’t want to disappoint him again, she hated disappointing anyone she cared about.
And see if she can handle every family burden Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks
She steeled back the tears, let the pressure burn behind her eyes. She hoped that Damian would neverknow of her moment of weakness. She prayed that she would stay strong and face this trial without more embarrassing things such as her stupid emotions getting in the way. She would stand strong, and she won’t let anything get to her again. She could feel the stone walls being built up again as she composed herself. She would never be weak again.
No mistakes just
Marinette was practically thrown to her knees as they entered the room that contained Grandfather’s once intimidating throne room that she had once feared as she knew that being there meant only terrible news and/or pain. Taking in a deep breath and knowing that she was now stronger than she was the last time she was in this predicament she lifted her head and stared directly into Ra’s deadly green eyes. She had never been happier than she was at this moment that she had inherited her father’s blue eyes rather than his. Ra’s glared at her, a silent warning to look away, but she refused. She would show him. She wasn’t a defect, her birth was only a setback, being a weak sickly child was and never would be her fate.
“What a pleasant greeting Grandfather, I don’t suppose I’m here for a family reunion.”
Marientte said sarcastically as she stared almost bored at the man standing above her. The glare he sent her would have once made her cower in fear, but not anymore. Never again.
Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, woah
Ra’s was dragging her somewhere now, his grip firm and achingly tight around her wrist. She tried to fight against it, but she was too weak from the previous battle as none of the wounds had been tended to. It didn’t help that the world was practically spinning due to the concussion she had received, not to mention the amount of blood loss.
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'till it’s ready to blow, woah Give it to your sister and never wonder If the same pressure would’ve pulled you under
Damian paced the back of the Batplane front and back, front and back, front and back, until he yelled out his frustration and punched at the wall. Unfortunately it did nothing to take away the anxiety that tore and ate at him alive. The tension was thick as everyone did everything they could to find his sister, their sister, Bruce’s daughter. Damian knew how strong his sister was, how much she had grown from being trained under Father’s wing, but he also knew what she had gone through with their Grandfather. She was born sick, wrong, but she became such an amazing fighter and was extremely intellectual. She had taken on so many things for him, taken so many of his punishments to prove her strength, but it was always for not. He had to get his sister back!
Damian snapped his head to the side and watched as Drake hacked into different sections of the League and listened to what his moles knew about what was happening. Apparently they knew nothing. They reported that they didn’t even know the Demon Head was on a base as he had gone incognito over two months ago. Damian had never been religious, had too much blood on his hands and knowledge of the horrors that were on this Earth to believe that a God would ever let these things happen. But at this moment, he prayed to any and every God that seemed to exist that they would reach her in time. That she was fine, well as fine as she could be after the battle she endured, and most importantly. He prayedthat she was ALIVE.
Who am I if I don’t have what it takes?
Marinette gripped at the hand that was wrapped tightly around her neck as she was held right above the green bubbling pit that Ra’s loved so much. There was a sword exactly where her heart was, the sharp point teasing her. The bite gave her the smallest sample of what was to come.
“You were born weak and defective, an abomination of what an Al Ghul should be.”
Ra’s began in his deep stoic voice. Marinette was tempted to spit in his face, but she knew better than to further anger the man who could kill her in a second’s time.
“Though you have grown you are still defective, you have not reached the perfection you need to be a true fighter for our family. But I will make you perfect, I will reforge you in the Lazarus Pit so that you will be my perfect blade. The weapon you were always meant to be. Only then will you truly be ready to protect me and your brother, to protect your true family.”
No cracks, no breaks No mistakes, no pressure
Marinette looked Ra’s directly in the eyes and used the glare that her father had taught her. She had already lost hope that her family would get to her in time, she had always known that it was unlikely they would. She knew her grandfather well, she knew that this was planned far in advance. Everything calculated so that the plan would go through without interruption and that she would not be able to escape. But that didn’t mean that she was going to surrender.
“I am perfect the way I am. I am not and never have been defective. I will never be your weapon,”
She said disgusted and filled with a righteous anger that blazed to life inside her chest.
“I am Damian’s sword, I am his armor, and I am his shield. Nothing you do, no sword, no whip, no torture, and no Lazarus Pit will ever change that.”
Ra’s laughed at her, but Marinette only continued to glare at the man. Even as the grip around her neck grew tighter, she would never again cower away from him or anyone.
“You may have found some strength, but you forget. You are the property of The League of Assassins, and that means you will always be mine.”
He said, whispering “mine” in her ear before running the sword through her. A gasp tore through Marinette as her eyes widened as nothing but pure agonyburnedandruptured through her body. It didn’t stop there as she felt the sword be pulled out of her in small increments that caused anguished screams to rip their way out of her throat. But even through the torment, she never broke her gaze with the monster that was her grandfather. She didn’t break it when she was falling. She didn’t break it when she was submerged in the thin pool of green, bubbling, scathing waters. She didn’t break it when her body burned from the inside out and her thoughts were replaced with an angered voice that whispered for her to kill,kill,kill! Destroy the Ba* that caused your torment and anguish. Make him feel all of the pain you felt. Kill him, and you’ll be free of him and the burdens he places upon you. Kill him and you and brother will never have to fear him everagain. Marinette blinked once. All she see was green. And all she could feel was pure unadulterated rage.
Heartstopper is different because it takes pleasure seriously
ALT
Since I watched Heartstopper, I’ve been trying to figure out what about it made it feel so different from other stories similar to it. When you just describe the plot of it, it sounds like something straight (har har) out of Glee or Sex Education or Elite or SKAM or Skins or Degrassi, or…you get my point.
But it felt so different to me, and I realized yesterday what it was. Hearstopper takes the pleasures of queer romance and eroticism as seriously as it takes the pains of it. By which I mean, it gives an incredible amount of screen time to the excitement of it, the thrill of it, thevisceralgoodfeelings of it. Pleasure drives Heartstopper, in a way that is still incredibly unusual in mainstream queer media.
In most other stories like this, the pain and the angst and the ambivalence and the negative social ramifications of the premise take up like 90-95% of the screen time. Thepleasureaspecttypicallyexistsasminimallyaspossibletocatalyzeallthenegativeordifficultpartsthatarethe’real’story. And while Heartstopper doesn’t shy away from those things, it gives a roughly equal amount of narrative and screen time to the two leads getting a lot of pleasure out of their relationship, too. The amount of time the show invests in showing Nick and Charlie enjoying each other romantically – throughout the story, not just at the very end – is just absolutely decadent (and I mean that 100% positively).
The first kiss is a perfect example. In any other TV version of this story, the boys would have kissed that first time for less than 2 seconds, and then IMMEDIATELY been interrupted by the other boys. Instead, Heartstopper lets them kiss once, take a breath, and then have a second, very extended kiss enhanced by animated embellishments designed to emphasize just how incredibly enjoyable this is for them…before finally disrupting it again with Plot™.
And the amazing thing is, from a pure narrative standpoint, youdon’tneedthesecondkiss. It’s completely unnecessary to the plot. You could completely eliminate it and the plot would hold together exactly the same. The second kiss is there exclusively to emphasize the intense pleasure of this experience for them. That’s all it does.
Heartstopper is serious about foregrounding pleasure, and how important pleasure is in all of this. Which frankly, is a thing you usually only ever see in romance novels and fanfic.
***
One of the reasons I was hesitant to watch this show initially is because I have limited tolerance for coming out stories that are so focused on the unappealing parts of the experience. It’s not that those things don’t MATTER. But there is such a cultural allergy to making the pleasures of the experience a serious focus, particularly (yes I’m going to say it) the sexual pleasures of it.
Hearstopper, blissfully, refuses to shy away from pleasure, and from making it important.
It’s not just that my tolerance for queer pain in media is limited (although admittedly that’s true). I also grow so weary of popular culture treating queerness as mostly a political identity upon which we simply moralize about tolerance, and engage in self congratulatory yarns about ~being yourself~ and loving yourself. It’s not that I think any of those things is BAD. But a) I’ve seen that story many times before and b) there’s an ENORMOUS piece of this experience that we’re still mostly skirting around the edges of because we’re still very chickenshit about it, to be perfectly frank.
We, as a culture, are still scared as fuck to really say, very bluntly: queerness feels fucking good.
In the midst of this, Heartstopper does something wondrous. It says to the audience, in no uncertain terms: Queernessfeelsfuckinggood…so, let’s spend some time actually talking about THAT for a while.
it’s been months, i know. i hope everyone is well and is taking care of themselves.
please take a moment of your time to read this, and to reblog to spread the word.
i know everyone is going through a tough time due to coronavirus and everything going on. this is an especially hard time for my family. my entire family has been laid off, and as of yesterday, we lost our family dog. he had to be put down due to kidney failure, and it was one of the hardest things i’ve ever had to do in my life. due to this, and being laid off, my family can barely afford groceries, let alone a $800+ vet bill from the tests for my dog, and then euthanization. if anyone is able to donate, or wants to commission something from me. please check out the link. if not, please reblog to spread the word. thank you.
ALT
