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boleyn-falcon · 3 years

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find a way up into your head (so i can make you feel like new again)

tw: past sexual abuse, some smut

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“I want to sleep with you.”

The question takes Anna by surprise, and she spits water out all over her mirror. She looks at the woman standing in the doorway of her dressing room, quaking beneath the harsh glow of the too-bright fluorescents, one hand on the white frame for balance, and her expression is firm and set, but there is fear in her eyes, like a doe with a musket pointed in its face.

“Uhh— what?” Anna says, wiping her mouth.

“I want to sleep with you,” Bessie says again. Her fingers tighten on the doorframe, knuckles fading to white; she’s scared. Bloody terrified. Dizzy with the sheer thought of doing what she’s requesting, but still asking for it anyway, and Anna can’t help but worry that someone has forced her to do this.

“Ah—” Anna blinks for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Of course.”

It’s an odd response to an invitation of sex, but the invitation of sex itself is rather odd, too. Nobody usually asks their girlfriend to sleep with them seven minutes before they’re supposed to perform in a West End musical. Nobody usually asks that kind of stuff so publicly at all.

But Anna can understand Bessie’s reasoning for the sudden request. If she doesn’t ask now, she’ll lose all her courage to ask at all.

Bessie gives a curt nod. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Your apartment?” Anna says. “Or my house? Whichever will make you more comfortable.”

Bessie hesitates. She looks at Anna in poorly-disguised surprise, shocked at someone simply giving her the choice of where she wanted to have sex, and Anna knows it’s because she was never given the choice back then, never given so much control.

“My place,” Bessie decides. “I’ll kick Maria and Maggie out.”

Anna gives a laugh; it makes Bessie smile a little. She has such a wonderful smile.

“Yes, we don’t want an audience,” Anna says. “Better over there. I probably can’t get everyone out of my place, and I fear that Catalina may kill me if she finds out. Plus, we don’t want the dogs jumping on us while we’re in the moment. Now that would be awkward.”

Bessie nods, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t laugh this time. Her eyes look a little cloudy, her nerves taking over, and Anna would have hugged her if she wasn’t afraid of scaring her.

“Do you want me to, uhh…”

Bessie’s eyes refocus on her. Anna scratches the back of her head.

“Do you want me to bring something?” she asks. “You know…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Usually, she wouldn’t be so sheepish, she could shout the word “dildo” to the entire theater right now without a care in the world, but this is Bessie she’s talking to. She couldn’t be vulgar with her, especially when she’s so clearly shaken with her nerves.

Bessie winces at her offer. “No. I don’t think-- no. I can’t. Not-- not this time. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Anna assures her, noticing her growing guilt over her decision. “It’s no worries at all, babe.”

Bessie nods again, the movement jerky and small. One of the stagehands gives her a nasty fright when they shout the five-minute call from the hallway, interrupting their moment, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She whirls around, wide-eyed, and Anna is sure she’s looking for a threat. For Henry.

“They always open their big mouths at the worst moments, don’t they?” Anna chuckles, hoping to lighten her fear.

Another slight nod from Bessie. A mumbled, “Yeah.”

Anna gets up and walks over to her. She sets a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder; the fabric of her costume is itchy and abrasive against her palm.

“Darling?” Anna says softly, ducking her head to try and catch Bessie’s pretty blue eyes.

Bessie looks up, and there are tears in her eyes, but a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Thank you. We should go out now.”

Anna nods once. “Got it.”

They do so, and the show goes well. Bessie, to her credit, does not falter with the music, despite her obvious terror-stricken state, though Anna does catch her wincing during different lines--“Had one son with someone who don’t own a wedding ring” and “Get down” and the entirety of All You Wanna Do. Her hands shake on her bass strings and her face is garish and bone white under the lights, but she remains steeled and focused during the entirety of the musical.

Surprisingly, Anna is sure she’s more distracted than Bessie is. She delivers all her lines, sings all the lyrics, and does all the choreography the way she’s supposed to--it’s all muscle memory at this point--but her mind is distant, far away from this stage.

Why has Bessie asked this of her?

She isn’t complaining at all, in fact she’d be lying if she said she never had sexual thoughts about her partner, but Bessie had always been repulsed at the sheer thought of them having sex, even at sex as a whole. She got up and left the room during heated scenes in movies, stopped reading books with more than loving cuddling, and seemed to have a personal vendetta against songs that would be deemed inappropriate for high schools to play during assemblies. When they had gotten together a year ago she outright told Anna about what she wouldn’t be able to do in the relationship, and Anna could vividly remember how anxious she had been to share it.

“I’m sorry,” Bessie had said, wringing her hands in the hem of her shirt until her knuckles went white, avoiding Anna’s eyes. “I just-- I can’t. I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of it. I-- I don’t want to hold you back.”

And Anna had gently cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes back up so she could gaze into them and take in their beauty. “I don’t care about that. I just want you to be happy and comfortable. I still want to be with you.”

The resulting smile Bessie gave her in that moment could have made even the sun’s supernova jealous.

Anna wonders why she has changed her mind.

Of course, it can be just that--a change of mind, a flip of opinions, but Bessie never gave any indication of being less scared of sex than she’s always been. Although, now that Anna is really thinking about it, she is starting to remember little things in the past week that she never really thought much of in the moment of them happening: a quiet conversation in the dressing room with Cathy (“Cathy, can someone have sex and still be asexual?” “Yeah, of course! Asexuality is based on sexual attraction, not sex as a whole. Sexual attraction and sexual desire are two different things. Why do you ask?” “I was just curious. Thanks for telling me.”), a worried whisper to Aragon in the bathroom that Anna had only caught a snippet of before she was out of earshot (“Listen, I know this is a weird thing to ask, Catalina, I didn’t know who else to go to because I know you best, but is it normal to have a libido after what happened with Henry?”), deeper intimacy when they’re alone together (hands cinched around her waist as Bessie murmurs into the crook of her neck, “I wouldn’t mind being dominated by a queen like you.”). Perhaps Bessie has truly grown from her fear, coped with her trauma of the past enough to open herself up more, and is ready to bring their relationship to a new level.

But a cursory glance over her shoulder during All You Wanna Do tells Anna otherwise because Bessie’s eyes are deeply haunted and she doesn’t really seem to be seeing the stage anymore, locked in her own plane of oblivion far, far away from reality. (Henry’s bed chambers, perhaps?)

Yes, this decision had not been made by overpowering trauma, but something else entirely. Anna worries peer pressure might have something to do with it, but she knows it’s better to not ask right now and push Bessie further into the hole she’s dug for herself. All she can do is try to pull her out.

At the end of the show, Bessie disappears from Anna’s sight rather quickly. She looks for her, but can’t find her. A quick check of her phone tells her everything before she can get too worried.

Bessie

Come over at 7

Gotta prepare first

Anna almost smiles at the thought of her girlfriend scurrying around her apartment trying to get everything in order for their night together, but then she remembers how all of that would be fueled by years worth of sexual abuse and the lingering residue of anxiety it left behind. She feels for Bessie, she really does. Poor girl’s probably pulling out her hair by now and making a nest.

Anna goes home with the other queens, as she always does. She doesn’t tell them about her date; it isn’t their right to know. Besides, she can’t trust Anne with her big mouth. The second queen would probably tell all of London, or worse: Aragon.

If this night does not go right, and Anna hadn’t already beat herself up for ruining it, then she’s sure Aragon would mutilate her. And, honestly, she wouldn’t even mind.

Everyone is usually tired after a show, and today is no different. It had been a two-show day, too, increasing the exhaustion tenfold. Anna wonders if Bessie chose such a day in the first place.

Anna spends the few hours before the date with the other queens. She helps Jane cook, plays a few rounds of Mario Kart with the cousins, and checks up on Cathy’s latest writing project. When it’s time for her to leave, she gathers a small overnight bag and walks casually to the door, saying how she’s going to be spending the night with Bessie.

Aragon stops her right before she walks out.

Aragon is like an impenetrable wall of queen. Anna tries to squeeze past her with an “excuse me,” but the older woman is successfully taking up every inch of the doorway. Her posture, similar to that of a mother bear’s, gives off a distinct air of threat. Her eyes are as unreadable as black stones, and the flat line of her lips is equally expressionless. All Anna can say for sure is that she is not allowed to leave just yet.

“I know what you and Elizabeth are going to be doing,” Aragon says, her voice low and quiet so the others wouldn’t hear, but the deepness of her tone made the words that much more menacing to Anna.

Anna tenses slightly, but it is quick to relax. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” Aragon says. “She’s basically my daughter. Do you not think she would tell me about this stuff? She’s been worrying her head off about it for the past week.”

Anna doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m happy for you both,” Aragon goes on, and her posture relaxes slightly, losing some of the threat. “And I am very proud of her for coming this far. She loves you a lot.”

Anna smiles. “I love her, too.”

Aragon nods, smiling as well. “That being said…” she says airily, setting a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “If you do anything to hurt or scare Elizabeth, if you even dare to do something she doesn’t want to do or put your hands anywhere where she doesn’t want you to put them, if you do not listen when she says no…” She drives Anna backward into the wall, looming over her, and leans down to snarl, “…then you better pray to God that I don’t find you because I will commit a horror so ghastly on your body that even Henry would cringe to see it and I will make you wish you stayed dead while you still had the chance.”

For a moment, Anna can only stare at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. Then, trying to laugh it off to calm Aragon down, she jokes, “And here I thought the Lord didn’t promote violence.”

Aragon does not laugh. Aragon is completely serious--not that Anna doesn’t doubt her for a second.

“The Lord will understand,” Aragon says lowly.

Anna swallows thickly. A line of sweat runs down her temple.

“I won’t hurt her,” she whispers to Aragon. “I would never hurt her.”

Aragon doesn’t move for a moment, looking her up and down. Then, finally, she pulls back, releasing Anna from where she’s pinned against the wall, and settles her lioness-like expression.

“You better not,” Aragon says. “Or else you know what happens.” She turns to walk back to the living room. “Be good to her. And remember what I said.”

Anna doesn’t think it’s possible to forget.

Outside, the sun is setting, bathing London in hues of glorious gold and fire orange, even when the sky is overcast grey from clouds. Anna makes the fifteen-minute walk from her place to Bessie’s apartment, deep in thought as she goes along.

She isn’t Henry. She would never hurt Bessie like he did. She’s going to prove that.

Bessie is dressed in light clothes--sweatpants and one of Anna’s flannels--when she opens the door for Anna. The smell of something cooking streams out from the now-open doorway. Her girlfriend is smiling at her, but she’s as pale as she had been at the theater and she’s shaking slightly.

“Hey,” Anna says.

“Hey,” Bessie says back. “Come in.”

The evening starts as it usually does for them and ends the same way: they eat dinner (“I was supposed to be saving lasagna night for when Maggie and Maria were around, but they can just deal with leftovers.”), watch a movie (“You did not just recommend The Texas Chainsaw Massacre for our date.”), and then somehow get tangled up in a heated kissing session halfway through (“Out of breath already, princess?” “Shut up, I don’t have your singer’s lungs.”). However, the difference this time is that the kissing isn’t going to end in cuddling before the movie credit roll, but rather increase into something else entirely.

And that terrifies Bessie.

Anna can feel the quivering of her girlfriend’s lips as she kisses her. She can taste Bessie’s fear in her own mouth and it is as bitter and rank as bile. Perhaps it is bile, and Anna’s heart aches imagining Bessie hunched over the toilet in those hours before the date, vomiting her guts up because her anxiety reached such a high fever pitch that it made her sick to her stomach. She can detect every shake and shiver of Bessie’s body beneath her careful fingertips, and she wishes she could take out all that panic, all that sickly dread that filled her like floodwaters, but she knows that sort of thing is beyond her ability of care, far beyond it. All she can really do is just be there and help Bessie through it, and she is determined to do just that.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Anna asks her, her voice soft and gentle in the dimness of the bedroom. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing on the TV behind her is a bright duality to what’s going on, but no doubt Bessie’s anxiety feels exactly like taking a giant hook straight through the chest.

Bessie looks up at her, her eyes wet and glassy, and answers, “Yes.”

The two of them undress on their own because Anna knows better than to do it for Bessie. She’s heard of the way Henry used to rip her dresses off of her, laying into her whenever he got the chance, and the last thing she wanted was to be anything like him.

When Anna sees Bessie’s naked body, she can’t help but become breathless.

Bessie is maimed by the hardships of her past life: silvery stretchmarks on her thighs and lower stomach from childbirth, ribs poking through the pale skin on her chest from the devastating permanent effect of tuberculosis, old brown scratches marring the expanse of her back from Henry’s monstrous claws. She’s a far cry from any supermodel, but she’s still so much more beautiful than they would ever be. And, for a moment, Anna thinks she can even see a girl who could lead herself out of the maw of Hell through sheer will and grit alone.

But then thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance outside and Bessie flinches like a frightened rabbit, instinctively wrapping her arms around herself. Protecting herself.

“You’re gorgeous,” Anna says, the words slipping out of her before she can even think them through.

Bessie flushes dark red. “Thank you,” she stammers, not quite believing her. “You are, too.”

They get back on the bed together, but nothing happens for just a moment. Anna waits for Bessie, as it’s clear her girlfriend needs a moment. She turns off the TV and lets Bessie relax in the cool darkness of early night.

“You alright, darling?” Anna asks.

Bessie nods, opens her eyes, which Anna hadn’t realized she’d squeezed shut, and utters something that sounds like the noise a lamb with its throat cut would make. Sweat runs down her temple. The mattress quakes with her body’s violent tremors of terror. She tries again: “Yeah. I’m good.”

She isn’t, Anna knows she isn’t because she’s sweating buckets and her eyes are shiny and have more white in them than blue and she looks like she’s about to foam at the mouth like a hog in a slaughtering pen, but she nods anyway.

“Alright. If you ever need me to stop for any reason just say so and I will. No questions asked. We go at your pace, okay?”

For a moment, Bessie just looks up at her, stunned. Tears gather in her eyes at the sheer mention of control in this kind of situation, that she gets a choice in what happens with her body, but she blinks them away quickly and nods.

“Okay. Thank you. S-start now. Please. I-- I want you.” Anna won’t deny the heat that flares through her like a new fire when that is said. She nods again and does what she’s told.

She starts with gentle foreplay, knowing not to dive right into the main act because that was what Henry used to do, forcing poor Bessie onto him before she had a chance to even become ready for him. Instead, Anna kisses down Bessie’s neck, over her stomach, and to her groin. She caresses Bessie’s thighs and delicately rubs her clit. She sees what exactly makes Bessie aroused and what she likes to make this better for her, and every time Bessie whimpers or flinches, Anna pulls back, holds her hands away, and doesn’t touch again until Bessie gives her the word to.

Finally, after a few minutes of kissing and stroking, Bessie asks through heated, quaking breaths, “Can you-- can you go…inside? I think I’m ready.”

“Of course, darling,” Anna says. “I’ll start with two fingers, okay? You tell me when you want me to add more or you want me to stop.”

Bessie gives a little nod. “Okay.” She spreads her legs, allowing Anna access to the entirety of her most private regions, and Anna is momentarily in awe at the amount of trust being given to her. She then quickly gets her head on straight, not wanting to keep her princess waiting.

Bessie’s entire body tenses up when Anna slips her middle and pointer finger into her vagina. Although she’s wet enough for entrance to be easy, Anna still used a bit of lube she brought with her for Bessie’s sake, but even then Bessie reacts as though she just had a hedgehog shoved up inside of her. Anna instantly draws her hand back.

“Are you okay?” she asks worriedly. “Do you want me to stop?”

Bessie shakes her head, but her eyes are shut tightly. “N-no, I just-- it hurts.”

Anna comfortingly rubs her side with her other hand. “You’re tense, sweetheart. It’s going to hurt. I need you to try and relax for me. Think you can do that?”

Bessie cracks her eyes open slightly and the blue irises glow like the moon in the faint light of the nightlight shining from the wall. She looks up at Anna and nods, taking several deep breaths to try and calm her nerves. Anna smiles at her, lifting her free hand to stroke her girlfriend’s long, dark hair.

“Good girl,” she says, almost purring.

“You can start again,” Bessie says. “Please.”

“Needy, are we, princess?” Anna teases.

“Please,” Bessie merely repeats.

Chuckling, Anna does so.

Bessie still hisses between her teeth when Anna’s fingers go inside of her, but she isn’t as tight as she was before. She only needs a second to become adjusted to the feeling before she nods at Anna, giving her the okay to continue. Anna does so.

Anna works her fingers in and out of Bessie, milking soft mewls and moans from her girlfriend. After just a few minutes Bessie asks for another, and Anna can’t help but feel a small burst of pride in her chest.

“Damn, I’m good,” Anna says as she adds her ring finger.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Bessie groans. A split second later, she has her hand slapped over her mouth as her face goes dark red, and Anna explodes into laughter.

“Bessie Blount, did you just ask me to fuck you?” Anna says.

Bessie looks away, thoroughly embarrassed. Anna leans down to her, curling her fingers inside of her, and Bessie gasps softly in pleasure. Anna smirks toothily, and she’s completely poised and ready to vault herself off the bed in case Bessie doesn’t like the teasing.

“You like this, princess?” she asks.

Choked up, Bessie nods. She still isn’t making eye contact, so Anna kisses her neck. She starts to pump her fingers again, listening closely to the gasping of Bessie’s pleasured breaths, the noises of her arousal. Nothing is out of fear, nothing is out of pain- Bessie is calm. Bessie is enjoying it. Bessie trusts her.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” Anna purrs to her in her ear when asked for a fourth finger, eliciting a soft moan when she adds it. Bessie responds by pressing her sweaty forehead to Anna’s own.

Anna treats Bessie’s body like how a priest would treat their church. Bessie is something more valuable than any treasure, more precious than any kind of gemstone, and Anna means to love her and protect her the way she deserves to be loved and protected. The way Henry, with his hungry eyes and slobbering jaws and sharp claws, never thought to do.

When it’s over, Bessie is reduced to heavy breaths, her chest heaving from her orgasm. Her face is flushed and dotted with sweat, and she isn’t shaking as badly as she was before. Anna smiles at her lovingly when she looks up at her.

“You did it, darling,” Anna says. “I’m so proud of you.”

Bessie seems a little dazed, though Anna can’t really blame her. She kisses her and gathers her in her arms, holding Bessie’s smaller body to her chest.

“You okay, princess?” Anna asks when Bessie still doesn’t say anything.

“Y-yeah. Yeah,” Bessie nods. “Just-- I dunno. I’m okay, though. I promise.”

“Hm. Well, how about this? We take a nice bath to clean up, finish the movie if you want, and then cuddle and sleep.”

“Anna of Cleves, did you just ask me to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre after you had sex with me?”

“Bessie Blount, you’re the one who requested it before having sex with me.”

For the first time that day, Bessie laughs. It’s such a wonderful sound.

“Yes. That would be nice.”

“Got it. You stay here. Your queen will go run our bathwater.” She throws the blankets off and winks over her shoulders as she stands up. “Enjoy the view.”

Again, laughter, and Anna feels the warm glow of pride return to her chest, mingled with the golden heat of happiness.

As she’s walking to the bathroom, Bessie stops her.

“Anna?”

Anna looks back at her. “Yeah?”

Bessie shifts a little in the bed, then raises her head. She smiles at Anna. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For treating me like a real person.”

#lmao we ain’t dead fuckers

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boleyn-falcon · 3 years

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y'all thought you'd seen the last of me? NOPE! enjoy a scene between Medusa and Athena!

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Medusa met her at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea around her island. There was a singular tree atop it, a giant, majestic olive, bearing juicy green fruits that Teddi would often snack on. Beneath its lush brambles, stood her visitor, glowing soft gold, staring out at the wine-dark ocean as the full moon reflected against the roiling surface and the shined armor she wore. When the owl arrived, it perched on her shoulder and tapped her on the cheek with its beak to get her attention.

Medusa still vividly remembered the first day they met. Teddi was only four at the time. They were coming back from a visit with Euryale, and the sky was dark and heavy with rain, but nothing could have prepared Medusa for what followed.

The storm hit them like a wall. Teddi dropped the rock she had been fiddling with and burst out crying. There were noises in the trees all around them. Visibility was zero.

For a moment, Medusa didn't know where they were.

Who she was.

Did she have a splitting headache on that day or was her mind just starting to make things up, back-projecting her memories like a faulty storyteller who kept forgetting details about the tale?

Whatever it may have been, it wasn’t even the worst part. There was something massive in the woods around them, something that circled like a frenzy of sharks who’d just smelled fresh blood. Medusa hadn’t been able to see who or what it was with the rain pelting into her eyes; the lack of sight was terrifying for her, as her main line of defense completely revolved around it.

Teddi was crying her little heart out, clinging to Medusa in terrified desperation. Medusa cupped the back of her head with her hand, pressing her face into her chest to muffle her strangled sobs, but it was not enough to make them hidden in the wake of what could only be described as a baby hurricane.

Something lunged out from the underbrush, and Medusa was prepared to defend her daughter, even if it meant dying.

But then there was a flash of white light, and a spear stabbed down into the beast’s skull, pinning it to the ground. Medusa looked up through the sheets of rain pouring down into her face, and a bolt of lightning lit up the figure of her celestial savior standing before her.

Now, however, there was no lightning to light the way. Instead, there was the full moon, and Selene’s glowing silver gaze backlit the goddess that had called upon Medusa to the meeting spot.

She was thin but muscular, donned in a pure white, full-length chiton that was padded with golden armor on her narrow shoulders and chest, its polished metal carved in the intricate design of an owl’s head coiled in olive vines. Shining gauntlets were clasped around her wrists, one hand holding a spear wound by a snake and the other bearing a shield of goatskin. A black cloak trimmed with emerald green serpents billowed in the slight breeze of night behind her, making her look like she had wings. On her head she wore a golden owl-shaped helmet, its gaze a glare of onyx. When she turned to Medusa, her eyes were as grey-blue as the ocean water and infused with light.

For a long moment, Gorgon and Goddess of Wisdom just looked at each other in silence.

“Athena,” the gorgon finally said.

“Medusa,” the goddess replied.

Medusa tipped her head at the serpent-trimmed cloak and snake-wound spear. “Did you bring those as a tribute to me?”

Athena’s face twitched slightly, like she was trying very hard to not react in a way that wasn’t mature. She was always like that, always keeping that dumb facade up because of the pressure put upon her by her father.

“I don’t tribute anyone,” Athena said curtly.

“I see,” Medusa said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” She slithered up the rest of the cliff’s incline delicately, her long tail leaving no trace in the damp grass. She closed the distance between her and her visitor, getting right in front of Athena, so close they were almost touching. “Or have you come to see me?”

Athena’s face did that thing again, this time with more of a noticeable struggle. Behind her luscious wisps of brown-black hair, Medusa almost thought she could see hints of red.

“No,” Athena said harshly. “I have not.”

“Oh?” Medusa placed a black-clawed hand on one of Athena’s shoulders, tracing the weaving designs inlaid across her armor pads. “Then for what did you summon your little messenger for?” She eyed the owl, which had shifted its position on an overhanging branch. It blinked back at her with those huge, goggle-like eyes of its.

Athena opened her mouth, then closed it a moment later, seemingly cornered. Medusa had her prey right where she wanted her. Her lips split open in a wicked smirk, venomous fangs flashing in the moonlight.

“Are you sure, dear Athena,” Medusa purred, leaning her face in close to Athena’s, her tail slowly wrapping around the goddess’ legs, “that you have not come to sate your desires with me?”

Athena pulled away suddenly, stabbing her spear into the ground like she was trying to command the earth to crack open and swallow Medusa up for her words. Her cheeks bore the flickers of an interesting shade of red, which Medusa would have additionally teased her on if she weren’t completely engulfed by laughter.

“Medusa,” Athena hissed.

“I apologize, I apologize--” Medusa sputtered out through her laughter. She had respectively pulled back as well, but couldn’t help the fit of giggles that rolled through her. “You just make it so easy!”

Athena’s nose wrinkled slightly. She seemed to have calmed herself, though she still had the faintest tint of a crimson blush on her cheeks.

“I apologize,” Medusa said again, straightening herself up. “I’m good now.”

“Are you really?” Athena asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Medusa answered, her voice evened out.

“Hm,” Athena’s gaze shifted back out to the water. She looked like she was watching for something. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Ever since that night eight years ago, Athena routinely made trips back to Sarpedon. At first, Medusa didn’t understand why; yes, she treated her to hospitality and dinner as thanks for the rescue, but why would the powerful goddess of wisdom and war herself want to stick around with a monster and her human child? Eventually, she found out: Athena was as lonely as she had been. Though, it came in a much different form compared to what Medusa used to feel.

Try as she might, Athena could not shield off all of her emotions. She had more walls than anyone Medusa had ever known before (which wasn’t a lot, but it was still something), but once she created cracks in the granite, she was able to read her as clearly as Nyx spelling out “I NEED FRIENDS” with the stars.

Medusa quickly picked up on all the little quirks she hadn’t noticed the first few times she and Athena met up--the face twitch thing, the way she would sometimes fall into an obedient silence, the constant tenseness in her muscles like she never relaxed--but then she started spotting even more mannerisms: the sheer will she had to use to keep her voice level, the mindset that she wasn’t allowed to show any emotions that weren’t deemed mature or leader-like, the way her voice raised a few octaves when she was flustered or taken off guard, the panic she felt when that pretense did start to slip.

Personally, Medusa preferred the goddess when she wasn’t wearing that stupid mask she created for herself. She liked the awkward, endearing Athena that could make Helios jealous when she smiled and was really bad at crab catching.

But at the same time, Medusa could understand why she had such a thing in place for herself. She didn’t walk about it often, Medusa believed she didn’t like to in the first place, but Athena shared what she wanted. And with every snippet she let slip out of her own personal struggles, Medusa understood a little bit more.

To be the favorite child of the King of Gods himself must be like constantly walking on eggshells. Medusa had thought her monstrous parents had been harsh and disciplinary, but after hearing stories about what it was like having Zeus as a father made her grateful to have Ceto and Phorcys instead of the bearer of lightning himself. She couldn’t truly understand such an experience, but she got a taste of it through Athena: through the constant tension in her body like she was a coiled jungle cat ready to spring, through the practiced reserved tone of voice, through the tired eyes from constant pressure from her father, through the guilty looks when she did show emotion and the guilty looks when she didn’t show emotion.

Athena came to Sarpedon time and time again to get away from all of that, to finally relax, and Medusa was determined to help her with that.

Still. It didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to tease the goddess.

“Are you waiting on a boat?” Medusa asked, following Athena’s gaze out to the water.

For a moment, Athena went rigid, but it went away as quickly as it came. She was usually very good about fixing the slips in her demeanor; another thing Zeus and his excellent parenting could be thanked for.

But this time-- this time something a little extra lingered behind before Athena was able to bury it away with every other emotion that she deemed negative. If Medusa hadn’t been so in tune with the way Athena acted, she probably would have missed it, but it was there, flickering in the reflection of the moon in her glimmering grey-blue eyes.

Fear.

“No,” Athena answered. “Just watching the water. It’s a beautiful view.”

Medusa let it slide for the moment. As concerned as she was, she knew better than anyone that Athena didn’t like to be pushed. She already dealt with it enough from her father, Medusa didn’t want her to have to deal with it from her safe person, too.

“It is,” Medusa agreed. Then, hoping to ease Athena’s obvious worry, she added breezily, “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Athena went rigid again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. The blush came back, deeper than before, and she tried to hide it by turning her head away, but Medusa had already caught on.

“Thank you,” Athena said in a clipped voice.

“You always act as though you’ve never been complimented,” Medusa said, sliding up next to her so they would both be standing at the edge of the cliff.

“On my strength,” Athena said. “I get complimented on my strength. And my fighting prowess and my ability to kill people.”

“Oh, so do I!” Medusa grinned at her.

“Not on-- on--”

“Your beauty?”

Athena looked away again, but the glow of the moon reflected against the red of her cheeks. “Mmm. Sure.”

“You know, one day I’m going to make you admit it,” Medusa said.

“Admit what?”

“That you’re pretty.”

“Mmm,” Athena made the noise again, something she would do when she was caught between a rock and a hard place and didn’t know what to say. “Over my dead body.”

It showed up again- the fear. It remained a little longer than the first time, and Medusa even heard Athena suck in a sharp breath before she was able to regain control of herself again.

The first time was worrying enough for Athena, but a second? Medusa was going to give the goddess one more chance to either open up herself or quiet her anxieties before she stepped in.

“Anyway, I’m immortal,” Athena went on hurriedly. “So it won’t ever happen.”

“Well, I’m immortal, too,” Medusa said. “So I’ll just wait it out with you.”

There it was again, and so close to the second time, too. Something really had Athena unsettled. But before Medusa could begin questioning her, Athena spoke up before she could, halting her words for the moment.

“You’re not immortal,” Athena almost growled. “You can die.”

Silence. The owl overhead shifted on its branch, as on edge as its goddess.

“Athena, what’s going on?” Medusa asked. “What’s wrong?”

Athena looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Athena--”

“Nothing is wrong,” Athena snarled, using the voice she often used for war in hopes that it would scare Medusa into leaving her alone. But the goddess of wisdom seemed to forget that Medusa had two monsters for parents, more specifically Ceto for a mother, and nothing was more frightening than the way they would roar when she or her sisters did something bad.

“Athena,” Medusa softened her own voice. She raised her tail and slipped it under Athena’s chin, making her look at her. “What’s wrong?”

Athena was quiet for a moment. Medusa thought she was going to give her the silent treatment before she finally relented, “A man approached me earlier today. Perseus. He asked for my help in slaying you.”

Medusa was silent.

“I didn’t agree,” Athena went on quickly, sounding slightly panicked. “I refused his request and sent him away. But still. I worried.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: Athena, goddess of war, known for her incredible skill in battle, was freaked out for her sake. Out of all the things she had seen, the lifetime worth of carnage she had witnessed over the years, the tons of gore she was often drenched in during times of war, all the battles and the violence and the death, it was a man saying he wanted to kill Medusa that got her worked up.

Medusa began to laugh.

Athena was startled. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Medusa flicked her tail. “It’s just-- you have probably witnessed enough bloodshed and violence and other horrors to strike a mortal mind into complete insanity, and this is what frightens you?”

Anger flitted across Athena’s expression. It was more common than most of her other emotions, but still didn’t come out very often. When it did, Medusa thought she looked like a fiercer, adorable, more attractive version of Ares.

“Should I have agreed then?” Athena asked. “Maybe I should have given him a ride over on my giant owl?”

“You have a giant owl?”

“Not the point,” Athena snapped. “The point is that a man wanted to kill you and you are laughing.”

“Athena, darling, if you haven’t noticed, a lot of people want to kill me,” Medusa said. She could tell her lack of worry was getting on Athena’s nerves.

“No, you don’t understand!” Athena said, and she sounded completely panicked, now.

“Athena, breathe--”

“He was a demigod.”

That made Medusa pause. She blinked.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I see. How peculiar.”

Athena looked anguished. “Yes, and he’s dangerous. To you and to Teddi. And if anything happened to you, I--”

Medusa cupped Athena’s cheeks, silencing her. The goddess’s eyes were as big as the moon when she looked at her.

“Athena,” Medusa said, her tone both calm and commanding at the same time. “Breathe. It’s alright. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But--”

“Nothing,” Medusa cut her off, “is going to happen. Just breathe, darling. It’ll be alright.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: the goddess of war and wisdom herself actually listened to her. Athena gave her a tiny nod and then shut her eyes, taking several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“Good,” Medusa purred, wrapping her tail around Athena. “I’ve handled myself well enough over the centuries, have I not?”

Another small nod.

“Now, tell me, dear Athena: who is this man?”

Athena finally opened her eyes, and Medusa could see that several of her walls had been let down. She could feel it, too; against the scales along her tail, Athena’s muscles were loosening their vice on her bones and her posture was slouching ever so slightly into Medusa’s grip.

“His name is Perseus,” Athena said. “He’s one of my many, many brothers, but this is the first time we’ve met.”

“Your father sure does know how to get around,” Medusa commented.

Athena snorted. Medusa loved it when she would laugh. “Tell me about it. But Perseus came to me asking for aid, something about your head being a gift for a king. I didn’t listen very much. I sent him away as quickly as possible.”

“And you were worried about me,” Medusa cooed, brushing back some of Athena’s hair. It was like silk against her fingertips.

“Yes, I was,” Athena said. “I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“You underestimate me, dear Athena,” Medusa said, leaning in. “I’m stronger than you think, and-- may I kiss you?”

With her jaw hanging open slightly, Athena nodded.

Medusa smiled, closed her mouth for her, and then pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She craved the warmth Athena’s body held.

“As I was saying,” Medusa went on. “Nothing will happen. Everything is okay. You can relax now, my darling.”

Athena opened her mouth, most likely to object, but then closed it and nodded silently. Medusa kissed her again.

“I do, however, find your worry both adorable and incredibly attractive,” Medusa said, making Athena red. “Sit with me.”

They both sat on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the ocean. Medusa still had her tail loosely wound around Athena, but Athena didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t making any effort to get her off.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Athena whispered at one point.

Medusa looked at her endearingly. “You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Athena nodded slightly.

“You were right,” Medusa said, gazing at the water. “The ocean is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Athena mused.

Medusa laughed. “Bold, are we?” she grinned. “First my heart, now my words? What’s next, my dear Athena?”

Athena was smiling, now. “Your favorite citrus tree? I have yet to decide.”

Medusa laughed some more. It was moments like this that really made her think about what her life had become. So much had changed in a span of only twelve years, and though it moved fast, she enjoyed every minute of it. She held those memories like stars, and they seemed to be laid out before her in the glittering night sky as she sat there on that cliff, Athena by her side, thinking.

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