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itsmoonpeaches · 4 months

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On Medusa from the PJO TV Show: A Survivor and complicated antagonist

I'm not the only one obsessed with the version of Medusa and I know it.

She's beautiful, she's eerily calm, she says, "I am a survivor," and you feel that. She is the symbol for women out there who don't want to be bullied anymore, and more recently Medusa's head has become a symbol of women fighting back with the #MeToo movement.

But I'm not writing this to talk about Medusa as the Gorgon from the Greek mythos. I'm here to talk about how she was written in the PJO TV Show. So let's get into it, shall we?

Note that some ideas from this meta are expanded on from this Variety article where the writers of the show and Rick and Rebecca Riordan, speak about the changes they made from the book to show adaptation.

A victim of an abuse of power

In the Variety article, Rick says, “There are many versions from ancient times of what happened in that temple with Medusa and Poseidon and Athena. Who’s to blame? Who’s the abuser? What’s the real story? It’s fiction, but it certainly is important to acknowledge that there is abuse involved here. Abuse of power.”

Like in all Greek myths, there is never exactly one "correct" version of a story. In many, Medusa and Poseidon basically have a one-night stand. In some, they have a mutual affair. In others, it's Poseidon who seduces Medusa into Athena's temple, and in others still, Medusa is a victim of assault.

What most versions of the myths do have in common is the fact that Medusa and Poseidon had some sort of relationship that produced at least two children (Pegasus and Chrysaor). Most versions (both Greek and Roman) also depict her as a tragic figure and a beautiful maiden.

Athena is involved in earlier myths as the goddess who put her head onto the shield that averts the gaze of enemies. In later myths, she is the one who curses Medusa to transform into what we know of her today after Athena discovers her relationship with Poseidon on her sacred ground. Poseidon, of course, gets let off scot-free.

Depending on how you read into the myths, there could be a variety of different things happening here. So, I like what the show did. They made it vague enough that this is still middle-grade level like the books, but they also expanded on what the books couldn't because they are originally written from 12-year-old Percy's POV.

They basically keep nearly all aspects of the story and original myth possible. But in the end, Medusa is indeed a victim of abuse.

Her real curse is not that she is hideous and turns people who look into her eyes into stone, but that she is made invisible by the curse and she is not heard. Not one person can look her in the eye and live to tell the tale. She can't show her beauty, so she chooses to live with what she has. Even with a slanted hat covering half her face and eyes, you can tell she's statuesque (see what I did there?) and a beauty.

She chooses elegant clothes, pretty jewelry, a neat hairstyle, a hat that accents what you can see of her features, and red lipstick that makes you think she could be desirable.

But it doesn't change the fact that Poseidon had his way with her, told her he loved her, and then she was the only one left with the punishment for what happened between them. Athena cursed her out of anger.

Medusa revered Athena who is a virgin goddess, and of course, Athena would be upset when one of her devout followers is suddenly not a virgin too. Yet, Medusa mentioned earlier in her narrative in episode 3 that Athena never answered her prayers at all and never gave an indication that she was listening. So out of all the times she pays attention, it's to curse her for something she doesn't like?

Athena paid attention to Medusa when it was convenient to her and Poseidon left her when Medusa was no longer useful to him after she was cursed.

This version of Medusa is left to the wolves to defend herself and live with herself, a victim of abuse of power from multiple ends and from gods she thought she could trust.

Medusa and Sally Jackson

What I found the most interesting in episode 3 was the fact that Medusa sprinkles the seeds of doubt into Percy's mind that maybe the loving relationship he thought his mother had with Poseidon was not what actually happened.

In the Variety article, Rebecca Riordan says, that Percy has to think ‘What has my father done? Has he changed? How do I see myself in relationship to that?' while Rick says that “Percy can only judge his father by the wreckage he has left behind."

The fact of the matter is, Percy is 12. The book series is for a middle-grade audience, and the show is too. So people out there thinking "This could've been darker!" need to calm down and take a back seat. The books always did a good job of introducing deeper, darker topics to children. The show should stick to the same strategy to keep what made the original story so good.

But, what the show does here is make you think. If Poseidon could abandon Medusa like that, use her like that, then maybe Sally Jackson was abandoned and used too.

Her show story does a good job of connecting two women who had a relationship with the same god, connecting women who thought they could trust someone but were left to fend for themselves.

Look at where Sally Jackson is now at this point in the story. Not only was she forced to marry Gabe Ugliano to use his stench to protect her son who attracts monsters, but he is an abusive man both to her and to her son at least verbally. In the books, it's not suggested until the very end of The Lightning Thief that Gabe has been hitting her outside of Percy's POV. I've seen people forget that and immediately write off that Gabe wasn't "abusive enough". C'mon people. Just because Sally fights back verbally doesn't mean he wasn't still abusive in his actions in the first two episodes. Even if they decide not to suggest that he was also physically abusive to Sally, doesn't make him sneakily using her phone, demanding to ask why she has to use his car, and demanding for her to make food for him any less abusive.

Sally chose that life because the most important person in the world to her is her son, and even though Gabe is a total jerk, she convinced herself that she could take what he gave her because what he did to her was better than having her son being hunted and maimed by a bunch of Greek monsters because of who he is. To top it all off, now Hades stole her away into the Underworld.

Medusa, in a similar way, was left to fend for herself. She chose what was best for her, and lived in her new form because she could not change what had happened. She wants to save Sally too because she sees Percy as a boy whose mom was abused the same way she was.

Medusa's brilliant role as an antagonist

Now we're here, the main reason I wanted to write this giant thing. I saw a weird take on Twitter saying that Medusa in the show should not have been beheaded like she was in the books because then that negates her whole story and what she stood for.

Well, in my opinion, that is a shallow take on what the show's Medusa is trying to portray.

Medusa is an antagonist. In the myths, she is an antagonist. In the books, she is an antagonist. In the show, she is an antagonist. She gets in the way of Percy's path for his quest, she suggests that he doesn't need Annabeth and Grover, and that only she can save his mom with him.

In both the books and the show, there are hundreds of statues of people she had turned. Sure, some of them could've been attacking her, but there were a lot of people there who were victims too. I'm sure that screaming lady didn't mean to do something to Medusa, and Grover's Uncle Ferdinand? He was the only statue who appeared calm and collected and there was nothing to suggest that he was out to get her. He was only on his journey to find Pan.

Medusa has killed people, and innocent people at that. For thousands of years. And not just people she had to, and not a small amount. Then, she suggests that Percy let her kill his two friends who are children.

To her, Annabeth and Grover are dead weight because of their loyalty to the gods. Annabeth wants to be noticed by her mother. Grover wants to make sure the world doesn't end. I mean, they all don't want the world to end but I digress.

Medusa hates the gods. She wants to save a woman who is like her. She will protect that woman's child. But she will do anything and destroy anyone to get that end result.

A victim is still a victim even if they are a villain or an antagonist. Her methods don't make her any less of a victim of abuse. But that doesn't mean they are right.

So yes, when Percy runs away from her to keep his friends alive and she takes off her hat to stalk them around the room to turn them into stone, she does indeed need to be beheaded. There is literally no other way to defeat her. They can't look at her or they die. So they have to make her stop moving.

Unfortunately, a person like her with deep and complicated motivations would never change their mind when they feel they are betrayed. So, Percy did what he could to protect himself and his friends from dying.

Still, it's a poetic death as it is in the books. He mails her head to the gods and mentions Athena specifically for her punishment of Medusa. He's impertinent.

Medusa didn't deserve to be punished. But it's been millennia and she made her choices. The abusers did not get the punishment they deserved, but maybe now they will. Medusa's head in her (temporary) death, will be a testament to her victory, but also a testament to her downfall.

#pjo meta #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo tv show spoilers #medusa #percy #annabeth chase #grover underwood #sally jackson #poseidon #meta

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invinciblerodent · 6 months

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Me, waking up at 5 am in a cold sweat: Mystra's human appearance being uncanny perfect and statuesque, but honestly overall unremarkable, shows not only her vanity, but also the immaterial and immature nature of the love Gale had for her. Like a vain and petty goddess with a taste for young wizard boys would, she purposefully and artificially designed her appearance for broadest appeal (conventionally attractive white woman, roughly maybe 30-ish? She literally looks like the post-PS "perfected" version of so many models who work in advertising), and has foregone personality in the process-- which is something with which young Gale was unconcerned, because he was just so enamored with the illusion of perfection that he didn't even seek substance, or anything past that veneer until much later, AND when he did, he got punished for it severely.

Gale first being so enamored with her that he has to conjure her face just to gaze upon it, THEN falling for a character with a more niche, more "human", flawed appeal (such as a stout, hairy, scarred-up lil blue dwarf man with a funny mustache, and a silly lil beard to conceal his weak chin), THEN seeing her AGAIN and not even thinking for a single moment about her beauty is. 👌👌👌

He's standing IN FRONT OF the goddess who once dominated his every thought, and he's just thinking "this conversation is uncomfy, I wish my boyfriend could have come with me :c".

Fkin king shit tbqh

#baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #i just. my eyes popped open and this thought was just. there #squirrel plays bg3 #and back to sleep i go #literally woke up typed this into my phone and now I'm falling asleep again #the thought possessed me but now im ok

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 24 days

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Begged & Borrowed Time (xxix, ao3)

(Chapter twenty-nine: it's the reunion we've all been waiting for, but with Cassian as desperate for Nesta as he's ever been, and Nesta not quite convinced he'll feel the same about her post-Cauldron, it might not be as smooth as Cassian hopes.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

“Nesta.”

Her name fell from his lips like shards of glass, broken and cracked.

In its wake he forgot the pain in his wings, brushed it aside as the roaring in his bones dulled to nothing but a distant, feeble whisper. Still too weak to stand, Cassian gripped the doorframe so tightly that his knuckles barked and his hand began to hurt but…

Nesta.

Nesta stood there, lingering on the other side of the room, in the doorway that connected her room to what Cassian presumed was Elain’s. The wooden frame groaned beneath his fingertips as she stilled— so completely, so preternaturally, that the air between them seemed to tighten. To sharpen.

The world seemed to tilt, lurching and staggering— or perhaps that was just Cassian, and the way it felt like he was balanced on the precipice of some great cliff, with the rocks beginning to crumble beneath his feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, sawing from his throat, and only with effort did he force himself to straighten. To take a breath as his eyes alighted on the woman he loved for the first time in days.

The moment stretched, indeterminate, as Cassian raked his gaze over every damn inch of her.

Mother save him and Cauldron boil him.

She had always been the most beautiful thing in the world to him, but now…

Cassian didn’t have words.

Language wasn’t enough to do her justice as those familiar eyes pinned him in place. Something flickered in his chest, a distant kind of heat as he looked on her for the first time since Hybern. Her hair was tied in a plait that hung straight down her back, far less formal than the coronet he had grown so used to, and he longed so desperately to plunge his fingers into the braid, to feel its strands slipping through his fingers as he held her mouth against his own. Her skin was smooth, glowing like the pale face of the moon, and where she had been elegant and graceful before, she was devastatingly so now.

She could ruin him— lay waste to everything that he was and ever had been, and he would probably fucking thank her for it.

But beneath all of that statuesque beauty was a tightness that lined her face and sharpened her jaw, and an emptiness in her eyes that gave him pause. When she stilled like a deer caught in a trap, Cassian banked every ember that had begun to stir inside his veins.

A note of caution flickered along the bond, a warning bell beginning to ring.

From across the room, he caught her eye.

He had looked into those eyes enough to know them like the back of his own hand— to recognise anywhere that perfect shade of grey-blue, like storm clouds gathering over the open ocean. And when Cassian looked into her eyes now, he saw the glimmer of something else there too, a thin ribbon of silver skirting her irises. It shone just beneath the blue, and gods— when he looked into her eyes, it felt like falling.

But then— hadn’t he always been falling for Nesta fucking Archeron?

It’s her eyes, Cass.

Rhys’ words rose unbidden in his memory, and perhaps it should have concerned him, that hint of something other shining in her eyes. Perhaps he ought to have been worried. But he didn’t care, not when all he saw was the same ferocious blue-grey that had always reduced him to little more than a beggar on his knees, prostrate before the altar of a goddess.

For a moment he, too, was frozen entirely— weak at the sight of her.

And then his mate took a single step forward and breathed,

“Cassian.”

Just his name, drawn from her mouth, was his undoing.

With trembling legs, Cassian crossed the room in three strides. He was already reaching for her, not entirely certain how much longer he could bear to stand. His steps stumbled only once, but something about her fortified even the most broken parts of him, giving him the strength to stand when there was none left in his bones.

He ignored how his hands shook when he reached for her, swallowing as his fingers brushed her cheek and trembled at her jaw. He had dreamed of this, of feeling her warmth, and as his eyes darted across her face, scanning and searching and committing to memory, Cassian studied her the way he would a map or a battlefield. She blinked up at him, half-dazed as his hands dropped to her shoulders, skated down her arms and reached her wrists. Every inch of skin was one that Cassian thanked the Mother for, and every moment he had her in his hands was one he cherished. It was the kind of touch that he had thought, lying on that throne room floor in the jaws of death, that he would never get to have again.

So he lingered, made each and every pass of his hands last. He dragged his hands down, brushing his thumb across the soft skin of her wrist, right across the string of the bracelet she still wore— the bracelet he had bought her.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. That night when they had danced beneath the stars. When he had kissed her and held her and told her that she was his.

How much had changed, since.

Nesta barely moved as Cassian checked her over, searching for injury even though he knew would find none. She stood perfectly still, the gentle cadence of her breathing the only sound between them besides the pounding of his own heart.

She said nothing as he took her in, but Cassian didn’t miss the way her brow furrowed when she glanced at his wings, hanging limp at his back. He didn’t have the strength to lift them, the muscles required still too weak, and her lips thinned as her eyes grew wide with concern. He was certain that pain was still etched across his face, and though the burning in his spine had dimmed, it hadn’t vanished. But it wasn’t enough to stand against his need for her— to make him wish for his bed and his painkillers instead.

But before he could offer her any kind of reassurance, Nesta glanced away— like she couldn’t bear it, and didn’t want him to look too closely at the silver shifting in her eyes.

Cassian wanted nothing more than to smooth away every crease and line that anguish had carved into her brow, but there was too much— too many things he needed to say, too many parts of her he needed to hold, and he didn’t know where to start. His heart keened in his chest, something inside him wailing as the silence grew heavy, and Nesta didn’t stop him when he finally crushed her to his chest, banding his arms around her and holding her so tightly that it became a promise in and of itself.

Nothing was ever going to take her from him again.

He didn’t care that his wings protested the movement, tugging painfully when he engulfed her in his arms. He didn’t care that he could feel the stitches pulling taut again, threatening to rupture.

As Nesta splayed her fingers across his chest, Cassian cared only that he could hold her.

“You’re here,” she whispered against him.

“I’m here,” he said, his lips against her hair. He swallowed, closing his eyes and taking a breath, ignoring the way his knees felt weak. He held her against him, every line of his body singing where it lined up with hers, and gods— he was so close to unravelling, could feel himself coming undone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words spilling out before he could contain them. And like the breaking of a dam, he couldn’t stop once he had started. Suddenly his tongue was clamouring for the words he needed, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “I should have stopped it— should have never let this happen. I should have been there that night when they…” His voice broke, his hands clutching her tighter as though he was afraid she might slip away. “I knew something was wrong. I knew, and I got Azriel to send a shadow beneath the wall, but he didn’t know… I didn’t know - didn’t think - that you would be with Elain, and I didn’t…”

Cassian had never been one to lose control of his tongue, never one to be so at a loss for words in front of a beautiful woman. But he was grappling now, searching for the right thing to say as a thousand different things rose up from his chest— a hundred apologies.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Her silence was louder than anything else, the look in her eyes more painful than any wound.

“I didn’t do enough,” he said, his hands fisting in the silk of her nightgown. His temper flickered as he remembered that this was all she had, nightgowns and Mor’s cast-offs.

But Nesta hardly moved. She was still and silent in his arms, her face impassive, and his heart cracked as the hand she had rested on his chest moved to rest above his heart. To feel its beat or push him away, he wasn’t sure. With the furrow still in her brow, Nesta didn’t seem sure either. Her eyes were wide, like she had too much to say too.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking once more as he brought his brow down to rest against hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice hoarse and her tone flat. His eyes flicked down to the hand she still had pressed against his chest, her bare fingers curling in his shirt. Bare fingers, with no band encircling her third finger. Cassian practically stopped breathing when he saw that space on her finger where her wedding band had once been, but he didn’t dare to hope.

Not yet.

The scar was still there too, he noticed, on her thumb. The Cauldron hadn’t wiped it away.

Cassian’s soul ached at the sight of it, and the temper that had flickered when he noticed the nightgown she wore surged. The anger he’d felt when he was with Rhys bubbled in his gut, reaching new depths, carving a ravine inside him so jagged and sharp he wondered if he might bleed. He could have killed Rhys. And Mor. And Amren. All of them— he could have killed them for letting Nesta open her eyes to find nothing but silence waiting to greet her.

Oh, he wasn’t just angry. He was livid.

The siphon on his hand pulsed. His mate had been forced to become something she despised, had been broken so completely whilst he had looked on, helpless. And now she stood like a statue in his arms, the distance between them feeling greater than ever before.

And when Nesta pulled back, retreating from his touch, Cassian felt his heart break.

His eyes closed. He heard the whisper of her movements as she took a step away, but when he opened them again and searched for her, all of that anger… melted. It didn’t cool, not entirely. But it retreated too, like an invading force that recognised a greater foe, a power it couldn’t withstand.

Because Nesta stood before him now, her back straight and her head held high like a queen despite the pain he recognised in every inch of her. There was a fury in her too, hiding just beneath her skin, and it was so potent that it put his own to shame.

And fuck, half of him wanted to stoke that fury. Wanted to see what she might do, how many worlds she might tear down. The warrior in him couldn’t breathe in the face of it, torn between wanting to fall at her feet and longing to kiss her until he breathed his last.

He might have stumbled a little, drawing a breath sharpened by the pain still spearing through his wings. Nesta reached out a hand, as if she might touch those wings now, but she drew back, cradled her hand to her chest as if she’d been burned.

“You’re alive, then,” she whispered.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Disappointed, princess?”

She didn’t rise to the teasing, only turned her face away.

Something in his chest cracked. The bond that he clung to seemed to be slipping through his fingers, and though he knew there was no way of breaking it, suddenly it felt… fragile.

That thrumming sense of unease spiked, the warning bell still ringing inside his head.

Cassian scanned her again, taking in the braided hair and loose nightgown. He scowled, resolved all over again to find her something better, and when Nesta evaded his gaze with expert precision, Cassian stepped forward and curled a finger beneath her chin, urging her face up towards the light. Reluctantly she met his eyes, and her own widened— with anguish, with pain, with grief. His heart broke for her, and keeping one finger beneath her chin, Cassian’s other hand darted out and drifted to her middle, rounding it and finding the small of her back, pulling her closer because he didn’t have the strength to take another step himself.

He just needed to touch her, to reach out and feel her warmth beneath his hands.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered as he pulled her flush, once more, against his chest. She was stiff, and though her hands rested on his chest, she didn’t sink into him the way he expected.

Apprehension pooled in his gut, coalesced with concern until it was thick in his throat. For the first time since the day the Attor had attacked Feyre in the woods, Cassian had a sinking feeling that he was on the other side of those high walls of hers, completely locked out.

“Don’t shut me out,” he murmured - pleaded - dragging his hand from the small of her back to the nape of her neck and back down in long, soothing strokes.

Nesta shook her head, closing her eyes tight.

But Cassian knew enough of grief and despair to recognise it for what it was— to know that she was simply hurting too much, with too much to adjust to, and though he had foolishly hoped that she might let him take her hand and guide her through it… she had closed herself off, letting the pain and the anger and the worry consume her.

Every year he watched as warriors stumbled from the forests around Ramiel, emerging bloody and broken from the Blood Rite. Every damn year he saw boys come home from the week long trial, still so green it made him feel sick. He’d watched them receive their tattoos, watched them plaster over the horror with a victorious smile, and when the sun went down and the night went quiet, he’d been the one telling his soldiers that it was alright, too, to acknowledge the brutality of what they had just been subjected to. He had seen too much not to recognise a soul in pain; knew too much firsthand not to see the way Nesta coiled like a wounded animal caught in a trap, ready to snap at any who came near.

She pulled away again, and this time Cassian let her.

Her jaw was tight, her teeth clenched. Her hands were curled into fists, and though her face remained blank, he could sense something roiling along the air between them, something tumultuous that made his instincts sharpen. Like the darkening sky before an almighty thunderstorm.

The space between them was charged. It always had been, had always felt alive somehow, but there was an edge to it now, something sharper that said that one false move would make the both of them bleed— would cut them both to the bone.

For the third time, her eyes fell on his wings.

He wanted to hold her— to feel her against him one more time, to cradle her in his hands until the stars stopped shining. And he wished she’d reach out again, wished she’d graze the membrane with her fingers. Just so he could prove to her that she still could— that nothing had changed between them.

Illyrians don’t let just anybody touch their wings, he’d told her once, and she was still the only one he would ever let near his wings. The only one beside a healer that he would ever allow to touch them.

“It’s alright,” Cassian said slowly. “I’m alright. Grounded for a week or so while they heal, but I’ll be fine soon enough.

Nesta lifted her chin, glancing briefly to the window. Something in her voice guttered. “So we’re both trapped here then.”

“You’re not trapped.”

“Aren’t I?” Nesta challenged, her voice low and bitter. He could feel her temper fraying, like a wave about to break. “If I wanted to leave, would you let me? Would Rhysand let me?”

It took everything in him to stay standing when he caught the pain in her voice, the grief she was trying to hard to bury beneath her anger. “It’s not about that—“

“When does it end, Cassian?” she demanded, the silver flaring in her eyes— like lightning forking through the sky. It didn’t scare him. No, instead he felt that same crackle of electricity, that same swell of power calling out to him. It made the siphon on the back of his hand glimmer. Nesta shook her head, sharp. “When do I get to start making my own decisions about my life?”

Cassian made himself step forward, reaching for her, but Nesta jerked back. Her lip curled, a snarl sounding from deep in her throat.

“I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted to be here,” she said, quietly furious, and there it was— the crux of it all. “I never wanted to be one of you.”

She said it like an insult, imbued with so much venom it might have stung had Cassian not been expecting it.

He let it roll off his shoulders like water. “I know,” he said carefully. He noted the ire in her eyes and added, “Say what you want to me Nes. Whatever it is you need to get off your chest. It’s not going to make me run.” He blinked, his voice turning gentle. “You know I always loved that sharp tongue the most.”

She took a shuddering breath, and it killed him— as sure as a blade slipping between his ribs, angled up to nick his heart. It killed him, the way she looked at him like she might break if he reached out to hold her.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Nothing,” she answered, deadpan. “I don’t need anything.”

She was cold, like a candle flame close to snuffing out. One that needing coaxing to be brought back. He let out a small breath, looking her in the eye and remaining exactly where he was. He didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He meant it, when he said that nothing she could do was enough to make him run.

“I don’t believe you.”

Her eyes flashed, a spark that was there and gone in an instant, swallowed by the darkness. He wanted to clutch at it, to bring the spark back before it could die, but it flickered in her eyes, fading until there was nothing left to grasp. And he knew, knew without her needing to say it, why she had shut herself off. She had watched Elain be dragged towards the Cauldron, watched him lie bleeding on the floor. Could he blame her for drawing back, for trying to find a way to breathe around the grief of it all?

Something passed between them, unspoken. The bond seemed to tremble, and though Cassian felt it stronger than ever before, he wondered if she felt it, too. There had been so many times, even when she was mortal, that her eyes had widened when it tugged, when she seemed to feel the weight of it behind her ribs. Could she feel it now, he wondered, when every piece of him seemed to be holding on to that bond for dear life, clinging to it in the hopes that it might somehow prove a bridge between them, something to keep her with him even when she drew back from his reach?

With everything he had, every ounce of strength left, Cassian poured all the warmth he possessed into that bond, hoping she could feel it, unaccepted and unacknowledged as it was.

It was all he could do— standing there, trying to prove in the only way he could that he wasn’t about to turn away now.

“If you want to talk about it…” he began slowly, lifting one shoulder in an offer that was only falsely casual. He watched every breath she took, every swallow that caused her throat to bob.

Talk to me, he begged internally, whispering it along the bond as if she might somehow be able to hear him. Let me in.

Silence reigned for long moment, where even the House seemed to hold its breath.

At last, Nesta shuddered, and when she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian thought he might have wept.

“I lost your dagger, you know,” she began, in a voice that was so detached it hurt. “That night. I tried…”

Her voice faded to nothing as she turned to face the windows. The light was a halo about her frame, lining her silhouette with gold as she hid her face from him, and Cassian’s fingers twitched by his sides, longing to reach out and feel her in the palms of his hands. She shook her head, drawing a deep breath before finding the words she needed.

“I don’t know what happened to it,” she said quietly. “But they took it from me.”

It took him a moment to sense the weight in her tone. The remorse. The fucking apology.

Cassian could only stare at her back, bewildered. His brows bunched as he tracked his gaze over the nape of her neck and down her spine, his frown deepening. After a stunned moment, he curled a hand around her shoulder and turned her to face him.

“You think I give a fuck about a dagger?”

Nesta blinked. “It was clearly old. It must have been a favourite for you to have kept it for so long.”

It was. He’d had that blade centuries. Kept it oiled and cleaned and so meticulously looked after that even Azriel teased him about it whenever he got the chance. But did he mourn its loss now? No. Not at all.

“It was,” Cassian answered easily. He kept his voice slow, every word deliberate. “But forgive me, sweetheart, for putting things into perspective. I’d rather have lost that dagger a thousand times than lost you for a second.”

Her eyes rolled. “I don’t know why.”

The bond pulled uncomfortably in his chest, twisting and wringing as unease snaked a path through his entire body. He had watched as his words had landed, watched as her eyes had dropped to that scar on her thumb. Her lips had pressed together, thin, like she couldn’t understand why he’d ever value her life over a prized possession.

“Don’t you?” he asked softly, daring to take a step closer. The scent of her filled his lungs, made the bond constrict around his heart. “I thought I’d made my feelings for you quite clear.”

She didn’t answer.

It was like they were standing back in that morning room below the wall, whilst Feyre and Rhys and Azriel dealt with the Attor. Nesta had the same look in her eyes now as she did then, the same patina that coated her every move. She was wounded and angry and trying hard to keep her own heart from breaking, and when he extended out a hand and silently begged her to take it, she left him standing there, fingers curling in thin air.

“Nes,” he breathed, caring little that the desperation in his chest had leaked out into his tone. His heart hurt, and though he wanted to beg her again not to shut him out, somehow he couldn’t speak. Somehow he could think only of the three little words he should have said long ago— the ones he should have said that day in her father’s house, before Rhys had dragged him away. “Please. I love—“

“Don’t.”

Nesta reared back as though he had slapped her. Her voice was a pained rasp in her throat, sharp and cutting as she drew in a ragged breath.

“Don’t,” she repeated, whisper-soft.

But Cassian couldn’t breathe around the weight in his chest, the agony that had nothing to do with his broken wings.

“Why not?” he asked, searching her face, trying to find her eyes. With a half-turn of her head she avoided his gaze, leaving him standing there with his heart on his sleeve, bleeding and exposed.

“Because I’m not that person anymore,” she answered, the eyes he’d crawl over hot coals for flicking down to her hands, to the space where there had been a ring, once. “Whatever you felt before, I’m not the one that you…”

A soft snarl sounded in his throat, one of disbelief as Cassian stepped forward, bolder.

“Not the one that I what?” he asked, shaking his head and pushing the hair from his eyes. He caught her gaze and held it, refusing to let her turn away this time because fucking hell, he had loved her then and he loved her now. Did she think that what had happened in that throne room was enough to change things for him? Did she really think his heart could be so easily swayed?

“Say it, Nesta.”

When she shook her head, Cassian supplied the words for her.

“You don’t think you’re still the one I fell for so fucking hard, you had me over a barrel from that very first day?”

His voice didn’t waver, didn’t tremble.

It was the most fundamental truth he’d ever known, the fact that he loved her more than he’d ever loved anything in all his long years. He took another step closer and felt an ember of hope flare in his chest when she didn’t back away. Cassian tipped his face down, swallowing as he came close enough for her chest to brush his. The bond strained so tightly he thought it might be the death of him, and when he heard Nesta’s heartbeat flutter, he raised his hand and drifted his fingers across her face, ghosting his touch across her jaw. He kept his voice low as he said, at last,

“The one that I fell in love with?”

Her eyes closed, like she couldn’t bear it.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “All of it.”

“No,” he countered, his voice firm. He pressed his palm against her cheek, looking down into those blue eyes edged with silver and refusing to look away, even when the silver coiled and curled around her irises. “No, it isn’t.”

Nesta shook her head before turning her face down into his palm. Her lips brushed the base of his fingers, and in one smooth movement Cassian angled his thumb beneath her jaw and lifted her face back up into the light.

“If you want to search for someone to blame,” he whispered, “then blame me. I’m the one who promised to protect you. I’m the one who didn’t think to check your father’s estate that night. I’m the one that failed you.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said, taking a deep breath as Cassian’s thumb lingered beneath her chin, stroking idly along her jaw. He relished the touch; savoured it.

“And I don’t blame you,” he said smoothly. “So we’re agreed, then.”

Nesta huffed, and he swore then that there was the barest hint of something— a kind of sardonic laugh that was so quiet that even with fae ears he barely heard it. There was a tentative spark in her eyes when she looked up at him, searching his gaze with her own for the first time since he’d stumbled into her bedroom.

There she is, he thought.

He offered her a small smile in return, relief swelling behind his ribs.

Whatever hand he had extended, whatever rope he’d thrown down to her in the darkness, she’d taken it.

“Elain,” he said a minute later, glancing towards the door left ajar on the other side of the room. “How is she?”

Slowly, Nesta eased from his grip. Cassian’s hands mourned the loss of her warmth the moment she drew back, but he gave her the space she needed as she, too, looked towards that door. She shook her head gently, as if that were answer enough to his question. Cassian didn’t know what else to say— what comfort he could offer her. There was none.

Elain had been the first to go into the Cauldron, the first to emerge from its depths. And fuck, one of the first things she’d heard afterwards was Lucien’s stunned revelation about being her mate.

“About Lucien…” Cassian began slowly.

“No,” Nesta interjected, cutting him off. “I don’t care what claim he thinks he has on her. Elain isn’t his.”

Cassian hesitated. “Should he not have told her, then?”

Nesta laughed, bitter. “No,” she answered with finality. “No, he shouldn’t.”

“And how long would you have had him keep it secret?” he asked, just a shade shy of a challenge.

She only waved a hand. “He should have said nothing, should have done nothing. He should have left her alone entirely. She was engaged. What makes him think he has the right to—“

“He’s her mate,” Cassian cut in carefully. Nesta shook her head violently. Her eyes were like flint, just begging to be ignited, and her indignation sparked like an oil spill by an open flame.

“And that gives him the right to her?”

“It gives her the right to know,” Cassian countered. “Gods, it gives him the right to speak it out loud rather than bear the burden of it alone.”

“Burden?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” she snapped.

Cassian let out a heavy breath. “I just mean that it must be heavy.” It was his turn to shrug now, to turn away. “To have felt it snap on his end and not hers. It can’t be easy.”

He couldn’t look at her as he said it— couldn’t bear to see her scowl. He thought his heart might break for good this time, because Mother above, he’d once thought that letting Nesta slowly adjust to the idea of a mating bond was the right thing to do, but now… Fuck, he couldn’t see a way out of it at all now.

Nesta huffed, frowning as she folded her arms across her chest. His heart bleated behind his ribs, but when Cassian found the strength, at last, to turn and look at her…

His resolve slackened, frustration dissolving.

The light danced across her face, playing in the strands of hair that had escaped her plait and strayed across her forehead. Her jaw was tight, but when she caught him looking, her eyes softened. Her lips parted on a breath, and Cassian blinked slowly as he took her in, from the tips of her newly-arched ears to the hem of her borrowed nightgown.

More than anything he wanted to tell her he loved her.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his tangled hair. He was tired of fighting, of her being more than an arms length away. If she wouldn’t let him tell her he loved her, then he’d fucking show her. So Cassian shook the tension from his shoulders and stretched his wings as much as his wounds would allow. Her eyes widened, lit with concern, but Cassian waved her off with a flick of his hand. Wryly, he smiled.

“Tell me they showed you the library, at least?”

Nesta blinked at the change in topic, dropping her folded arms. It took a moment, but slowly she shook her head. Cassian lifted his eyes and glared darkly at the ceiling.

You fucker, Rhys.

He added it to his mental tally, the list of things he was going to make sure Rhys paid for. A grim smile curved his lips as he thought of it, and when he brought his eyes back down, Cassian turned to his mate and felt warmth blooming along the bond that tied them together. Something flickered in Nesta’s face, cutting through the silver in her eyes, and as Cassian extended a hand, he didn’t fail to notice the way she slid her fingers between his without hesitation.

He squeezed her hand; a silent I love you.

And as Cassian clung to her like she was the beginning and the end of his everything… Nesta squeezed back.

Giving his mate a tentative smile, he tugged on her hand and said, “Well, then. Let me give you the tour.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time #happy bank holiday here's some angst

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 7 months

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I hope the statuesque head empty goddess and her dirt gremlin girlfriend are having a nice day

They are living their best life B*)

(original pose)

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #equineswap au #xiao pingguo #lan wunian #I've had this ask sitting in my inbox for so long and I wanted to use it as a way to segue back to round 2 of equineswap...#This pose was my *nemesis* though. This is attempt number *four*.#It is far from perfect but I am content enough to finally post it B'*)#Life got busy and this meme is somewhat dead now - but I am doing necromancy to bring it back because it fits them very well.#I miss lil wang dearly. I will feed myself if I must #Also: I heard it was lesbian visibility day yesterday and who am I if not a warrior for the lesbians?#Lets go lesbians!!!

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kingsoverjacks · 4 months

Text

Statuesque bikini goddess Hannah Ferguson

#hannah ferguson #rocking body #great legs #great thighs #great rack #legs for days #legendary legs #great body #great hips #dancer body #power thighs #si swimsuit

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vintagegeekculture · 2 years

Photo

When Columbia Pictures revised their logo in 1991, they did a photo shoot with a statuesque Louisiana home maker, Jennifer Joseph, who was not a professional model, and never did anything in showbusiness again.

In case you’re wondering who the woman in the Columbia logo is supposed to be, she is Columbia, a warrior goddess-like personification of the United States America. A lot of 19th Century art, including the famous “Go West, Young Man” illustrations personified the US not as Uncle Sam (which only came in vogue in the 20th Century) but as a woman, Columbia.

Previously, the longest served logo for Columbia Pictures was this one:

The identity of the woman who posed is not known, but the best guess we have is that it was the unreally beautiful Evelyn Venable, who was also the voice and model for Disney’s Blue Fairy in Pinocchio:

#classic hollywood #columbia pictures #movie history

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expansion-gts2 · 1 year

Text

The Host strut on stage for your favorite show. The statuesque blonde with a rack the size of pumpkins and an ass to match all wrapped up in a black dress that was an inch away from flashing her crotch on TV. She could only giggle and wave as her live audience cheered. "Hello my lovelies! Welcome to the best hidden camera gameshow on TV, Maximize!" As she said the name the crowd went nuts. "For those not in the know! My assistant Dave is out in the field all week setting up cameras in public spaces. Each is set up with a dart full of growth inducing goodness meant to turn your average girl into an absolute goddess!" Her audience cheers as previous contestants are shown on screen swelling, stretching, and growing. "Once it starts they have to run to the studio to get the pill to stop it or run out the clock. Some girls get here fast and end up my size, but some end up relaxing and letting it happen turning into huge 15ft amazons. What will today's contestant choose!" She yells as the hidden camera feed pops up on the big screen behind her

"oh a sunny beach side view for us today. And setting up next to Dave's hotdog cart is a stunning young woman. Normally Dave aims for girls a little more in need of the growth, but can he resist...nope" the host laughs as the girl rubs her neck where the thin sliver of growth serum hit. "Hmmm oh hey can I get a hotdog?" She asks walking up to Dave's cart shoving her bust up against the camera. The microphone didn't catch anything else as her boobs muffled everything. "Looks like she wants Dave's sausage" the host jokes to fill in air time. She then backs up. Audio returns "seriously? So if I make it to the studio I can stop growing?" Already she was starting to overflow her top and her hips were getting wider as her curves grew. "Hmmm guess I should....lay down and get a good tan!" The girl looked right into the camera and winks. "Enjoy everyone!" She said before wolfing down her hotdog and returning to her towel.

You watched with the rest of the late night TV audience as she grew. Her bikini top gave out first as she had doubled her bust and was still going. Now and then she gives little waves to the camera. The Host narrated now and then but mostly you only paid attention to the growth. Her muscles grew firm and defined, bust heaving and heavy. It had been a while since a girl simply chose to grow and you were painfully horny watching. "Thanks for the new lease on life" she said at one point just before her tree trunk thighs and ever widening hips snapped her bottoms. Still she didn't bother covering up as she neared nine feet tall. "Sadly that's all the time we have. But I have a feeling we will see that cutie next week for a post growth interview!" The hostess said as in the background the girl was walking towards Dave's stand. "Come here Dave, I need a different kind of hotdog!"

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tmblrfuckingsucksass · 1 year

Photo

Gal Gadot in Wonder Woman 1984 (2020)

❤️💛💙

#gal gadot #wonder woman #wonder woman 1984 #ww84 #dc comics #dceu #diana of themyscira #amazon #goddess #long legs #statuesque beauty #stunningly gorgeous

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daydream-cement · 1 year

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I have a one-shot idea for larissa (depends if the other person could be laurel or someone else) like a simple fluff fic about coffee dates at the weathervane or train rides together hehe

4 Train Rides and Coffee Dates I Said Nothing, And The 1 Time I Did

Characters: Larissa Weems x writer!reader

Synopsis: Kinda what the title says. Just fluffy. A bit of an AU, set in the past. Larissa is just beginning to work at Nevermore as a teacher.

Authors Note: Sorry anon. You asked me to post this a while ago but the ideas were still banging around my skull. Also we are pretending the train goes to Jericho cause its my world and ur livin in it.

You had been taking the train to Jericho everyday for about 6 months now. You were working on your next big novel, well what you hoped would be your next big novel. Each day you would take the train and then go sit in your favorite coffee shop for a few hours to clack away on your keyboard. The train rides were marvelous, starting near the coast and ending through the woods. That’s where you found your inspiration. Well, that, and one other thing. Her. You didn’t know her name, but she was becoming the main heroine of your plotline. Tall and beautiful. She just sat down at your table on the train and never stopped coming back.

1. The First Time

You had your computer out in front of you, but you hadn’t written anything. Words alluded you this morning, but you weren't going to force it. You leaned your head back against the seat and began enjoying the forest passing by. From all the train rides before, you knew you were pulling into the Burlington station.

Only one more stop to Jericho. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus on the plot line of your story, but your focus broke when someone sat down at your table sitting kitty corner from you. You couldn’t help but glance to your new tablemate.

You wondered if she might be a gorgon without the snakes. You might as well have been turned to stone because you couldn’t move once you looked at her. Could she be a Greek statue come to life? Was that a thing? Once she caught you staring, you shook yourself out of the trance, staring back down at your keyboard. Sneaking glances in which she would catch you every time, causing her to smile.

The ride to Jericho wasn’t long enough.

She wasted no time getting off the train, but you did notice her take a last glance at you when she walked from the station. You smiled to yourself, hoping you had made an impression on her as well.

At the Weathervane, the line was long once you reached the front and much to your pleasant surprise, the statuesque goddess came in. Before the barista rang you up, you leaned in close, “Hey, I want to pay for the woman who just walked in.”

The barista nodded as you pay a bit extra and tell them to keep anything leftover as a tip, “Don’t say anything though. I don’t want her knowing it was me.”

Finally you sat down, pulling out your laptop. You opened your tabs and documents, getting everything right before your name was called. You grab your coffee, sneaking a glance at the white-blonde haired woman who was already looking at you.

You began writing, ignoring when she went up to order so she wouldn’t suspect you. She stood by your table as she waited for the coffee, not speaking to you or looking at you. You were busy typing out her description, Statuesque with ruby red lips. Her eyes held an intensity and you had to find out what was the passion behind them. Her legs-

“Larissa.” The barista called and the woman near you moved to get her coffee. So that was her name? Larissa.

2. The Second Time

Just like every other day, you sat looking out the window, imagining your new main character in a scene, but quickly it faded to your own personal daydream. She towered over her love interest, her hand coming up to rest on your cheek. You turned your head, pressing your lips to her palm. She smiled fondly down at you. You saw her leaning down, her eyes glancing at your lips.

Your focus was broken when she sat across from you. A scarf wrapped around her head to protect her hair from the wind today. During the train ride, you fake many things to be able to life your head from your laptop to steal a glance. Your face turned red the couple times she caught you, but she only gave you a small smile.

Once at the Weathervane, you purchased a coffee for you and one for her. She was standing a few people back in line with someone today, another woman. The companion seemed to be pointing things out, possibly giving a tour.

Much as the routine goes, you sit, pull open everything you need on the computer, name gets called, and you sit back down to focus on your writing. How could you focus, however, when Larissa was so close by. You only saw your muse once a day, you probably shouldn’t waste it.

You take the time to look at her outfit today. You were seeing a trend, neutral colors and shades of white. It emphasized how fair her skin was. You thought it brought more intensity to her beautiful eyes and lips.

You notice Larissa glance around the shop when the barista tells her that her coffee is once again paid for. You smile to yourself, loving how she had no clue the crush you had on her.

When she and her companion were called to get their coffees, you stole a final glance. She was already looking. She flashed a smile at you. Did she know it was you buying her coffee?

3. The Third Time

Today you had headphones on. It felt like a classical music kind of morning, trying to suck some inspiration from Claude Debussy. Larissa sat down with you again when you reached Burlington, but what you didn’t know is that she tried talking to you this time.

“What are you writing?” Her voice was soft, nervous to even be speaking to you, but when she received no answer, her face was hot with embarrassment. She scolded herself internally, she should have known better than to talk with someone with headphones on.

The train ride continues. You steal the momentary glace. Typing out the ways to describe her nose, her jaw, and her hair. She saw you looking at her, so she held her gaze at you, wanting to let you know she saw you staring.

She gently shook her head at you, giving a partial smirk, almost like she was teasing you for staring.

The routine at the Weathervane came and went, only when Larissa waited for her order, she sat at your table. You thought you were having a minor panic attack. You stayed completely still not typing a word. She was looking around the room, stopping to look at you a couple times. Was she teasing you?

When her name was called, she stood up with a smile. She had to have known it was you buying her coffees.

You watched her leave the coffee shop, When she was outside, you watched her out the window. She chose to walk past the window on the other side of your booth, flashing you a smile as she walked past.

4. The Fourth Time

This train ride was fuller than usual. You heard through local gossip that it was the nearby school’s parents weekend. When Larissa’s stop came, you wanted to scream at the parents across from you to move out of the way. That that spot was her unofficial-official spot.

You didn’t hide the fact that you were looking for her at the Burlington stop. Just to catch her eye. You wanted to know if she was there and wanted her to know you were there.

You spotted her, unable to stop a smile from spreading on your face. You seemed to catch her eye too. She waved at you with a gloved hand from the other side of the train, causing your heart to flutter.

At the Weathervane, you were feeling a little cheeky. You ordered her coffee and put it at the spot across from you. When she came in, you leaned your head from the booth trying to catch her eye. She had already been searching the room for you though. You nod down to the table indicating for her to come over.

When she approached, you took the time to appreciate how truly tall she was. She looked from you to the coffee and back to you again, “For me?”

You nod with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m running late. Let’s chat tomorrow.”

You nod once again, words seemed to be caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Larissa only smiled down at you, seeming to enjoy how flustered you were. She gave a wink, “It’s a date then!”

You could have melted into a puddle then and there.

5. The Final Time

“What are you writing?”

Today your typing on the train had been furious. It was actually nervous typing. You knew today was the day to actually speak to her. Larissa was sitting across from you. You were so entranced in your work that you hadn’t noticed her intently watching you after she sat down.

“I-” You glance up from your work. She has her chin resting in her hand as she inquisitively looks at you, “I’m working on a novel... What brings you on the train?”

This generated a conversation that had you leave your laptop in the dust. You listened to her speak about her new job at Nevermore. She loved the kids and thought she thought she would want to take on a leadership role at the school when she had enough experience. You began sharing minor details about past books, but you chose to omit details about this book, not wanting to share the main characters similarities to Larissa.

You both walked and talked all the way to the Weathervane. Turns out, you were very compatible. You liked the same books and movies. You spoke similarly about the issues plaguing mankind. Conversation flowed so freely once she finally broke that barrier.

At the coffeeshop, the barista rang you up for two coffees as usual and Larissa smirked at you, “So it has been you buying these coffees? I had a sneaking suspicion...”

“Turns out I’m not too good at keeping my feelings a secret.” She takes the space across from you in the booth and you begin to take out your computer, setting it to the side.

“Your feelings? Does someone have a bit of a crush?” Larissa’s confidence was soaring as she took the opportunity to tease you.

The level of comfort you felt with her was spurning on your flirtation as well, “Perhaps I do...”

The sound of your names being called interrupts you. She slides from the booth, holding up a hand, “I got it.”

You turn your attention back to your laptop, pulling open your tabs, just like you do every morning. When Larissa returns, she doesn’t sit across from you, just rather she slides in next to you, “What are you working on? Be honest this time.”

Her arm moves behind you as she shifts her body to face you, wanting the full scoop on this book you had been working so diligently on whenever she was around.

“Oh, it’s nothing much.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing much.” She glanced down at the 170 page word count, then she lifted her eyes to read the words on the screen. She was skimming, but she thought she had enough information to go off of. Red lips. White-blonde hair. Pin-up girl. “Do I get royalties off this too?”

Her joke caused you to laugh, “It was hard not to- Well you are just so-”

You were fumbling. How do you tell her that she is the most beautiful woman you had ever seen? Well, turns out you didn’t have to. Your writing did the talking or you.

“She was the most beautiful being I had laid eyes on. Her beauty was ethereal?” As she read your words aloud, she almost felt embarrassed that someone felt that way about her.

“Yes.” You looked intently at her, earning yourself a smirk as she shifted her jaw back and forth, almost like she wanted to challenge you. Instead, she leaned forward to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth, leaving the most lovely of lipstick stains.

“I have work,” She stood, not ready to hear more compliments today. Turns out she didn’t believe herself to be the ethereal goddess you saw her as. She took her coffee, and kept speaking to you as she walked backwards towards the door, “I will see you tomorrow.”

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wednesday netflix #fanfic #gwendoline christie

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