Swiftcurrent Creek [m] I can feel the city crumbling around me

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: So much internalized misogyny I need a shower

Reverie could not be certain how far along her pregnancy was, but she knew that it would be obvious to anyone who looked at her by now. So she started to hide herself, ashamed of her own appearance. To her own eyes she looked bloated, sick, gross. Was this why a woman was only worth her purity? It felt like a product of her indiscretions, a punishment, even.
No man would ever look at this and feel desire. That was the real reason to wait for marriage, so then they could not just leave — !
She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Lestan would not leave, and then reminded herself that she had been looking for @Moss. Someone she knew would not leave, even in the absence of promises and commitments. It was just different with Moss. Reverie had kept herself away, truthfully, because she sometimes thought that if things had been different — that if she hadn't met Lestan, or if she had met him second, maybe she would have fallen for someone like Moss. That thought disturbed her a little bit. It did not affect her feelings for Lestan; it existed alongside them, but in a way that chafed uncomfortably at her conscience. So maybe she was a little nervous as she went to find Moss. Just a little.

While she did not show it, the advent of Spring put Moss on edge. She increased her border patrols, so she might ensure that she caught whatever first whiffs of awakening predators might waft their way. 

She scented nothing- but perhaps she was early. 

Shardik had been attacked by a bear in mid-winter, so he might be wary of them in the future. This would be her excuse, she decided, for her additional wariness, though she hoped it was not mistaken with motherly instinct. 

She felt a pant of guilt when she caught Reverie’s scent. She’d not been terribly attentive to her friend, due to this seasonal anxiety. She left her patrol to  seek her out, but when she caught sight of Reverie, she balked.

It was not common for her to be startled, much less to show it. And she immediately felt bad, and smoothed her expression. It would be rude to show that she’d noticed how much weight Reverie had put on- and she continued to approach, ears flicked forward and demeanour gentle though dread began to seep through her at the same time.

Reverie's full attention was on Moss the moment they entered one another's line of sight, and so of course she caught that moment of shock. She tried not to react to it, she really did — but she just couldn't help it. Her own expression tightened visibly, though she tried to smile. Hi, Moss, She greeted softly, steps fading to a halt as the distance between them dwindled.
How have you been? Reverie wondered aloud; her apology lurked under the question, a faint hint of guilt to not know already how Moss was. She should have come to find her sooner. Before... all of this happened. But it was done now, and all she could do was try today.

As she neared, she caught the scent of Lestan. His scent was strong, though he was not present- and she knew what that meant. Reverie’s scent was not her own anymore, but a combination of the two, and it caused her heart to jolt.

Reverie’s greeting was sweet, but Moss was shocked, still, for a moment or two. Now, she felt foolish for any assumptions she might have had. 

She nodded numbly. She was fine- not really, but she was fine. 

No she wasn’t. Because a thought clicked in her mind. 

She had never asked, and had never been told who had sired the pups of the woman Jakoul. Moss hadn’t bothered with her- she was pregnant, and figured she ought to be left alone. But Lestan’s interest, she assumed he had been the father. Now here was Reverie, scent and body changed. Moss regarded her with a level of unfamiliarity, as though she’d suddenly encountered a stranger. 

Her nostrils flared slightly and she uttered a soft grunt; questioning what it was her senses were screaming at her.

Silence. Moss nodded, but there was a tension to the moment that made Reverie feel suddenly nauseated. She only stood for a few seconds. But then she quickly found that she could not bear it. Is something wrong? Reverie asked in the wake of Moss's grunt, trying not to assume that it was her. She'd made that mistake with Lestan, or so he said, and did not intend to make it again. But the way Moss was looking at her... it was hard to think anything else.

The question came across as either denial or a dismissal. Moss blinked, seemingly shaken abruptly from her spiraling thoughts. Again, she felt a pang of shame, having made assumptions that perhaps she shouldn't have made. She felt the stirring of relief; maybe she was wrong. Maybe she'd just blown things all the way out of proportion. 

She would embrace the denial herself. 

Fate sent something that tickled her nose, causing her to sneeze almost without warning. And Moss was one of those creatures whose sneezes were something extra. She exhaled and shook her head. "Excuse me." She said, feeling lightly embarrassed, but grateful at the same time to be able to use the sneeze as an excuse for having looked so stunned earlier. She reached around and rubbed her muzzle through the thick fur of her shoulder, to make sure that whatever had caused her to sneeze wouldn't tickle her nose again. 

"Bit early for hay fever, but who knows." She said with an apologetic shrug.

Reverie was growing more upset by the moment. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was just the build-up of every single person reacting horribly to the news of her being pregnant. Whatever it was, it was quickly boiling over, and Moss became the target for weeks of building emotion. Reverie was, at the very least, predictable in her implosion.
She started to cry.
Is it because I'm pregnant? She questioned, not even registering Moss's sneeze or her comments. She didn't care. All she cared about was the expression she'd seen on Moss's face, the shock that she was so tired of dealing with from everyone. Bad enough that she had to deal with all these changes to her body; why did she have to deal with everyone else's feelings about it, too? Do you think I'm ugly now? She wasn't sure where that came from, to be honest; she was just upset and speaking nonsense now.

Reverie's words were sudden, and the emotion behind them swelled over Moss like a tidal bore. The truth burst out into the open, and the momentary denial Moss has used as a refuge disintegrated like a handful of salt in swirling, warm water. Her thoughts swarmed, and she felt both the swell of jealousy and a pang of betrayal rise like magma threatening to spill through her throat and out of her mouth. She pictured the mild-mannered, stammering man, with eyes like sunflowers against a blue sky; how could he be what Reverie wanted?

Perhaps if she hadn't been so caught up in her jealousy, she might have reflected upon the first time she'd met Reverie- who had been frightened and alone, and had requested to be taken to the man that very day. How could she have been so obtuse to not suspect it then- and if she had...Then why did it feel so wrong now?

Reverie's question caught her, before she could bolt off and face up to her own humiliation. Her features softened, and something like grief pooled in, cooling the heat in her chest. 

"No." She said, softly. "You could never be ugly."

Reverie wanted to tell herself that she didn't know why it mattered whether Moss found her ugly or not, but she knew. She wanted to pretend that every ounce of her being was not hanging on Moss's reaction — but it was. There was emotion in her face, Reverie could see it, but it was subtle and gone before she understood what it was. She thought numbly that Moss was still as beautiful as ever, and would remain so while Reverie grew sick and warped by pregnancy.
You could never be ugly. Her heart leapt into her throat unbidden. I'm sorry, Reverie stepped forward, hesitant but somewhat frantic too, then again, and then doubted herself and took a step back — I'm sorry, I'm just so - scared. She did not think Moss would hug her if she asked, but she wanted to; what kept her silent in the end was the thought that maybe she did not want to know what Moss's embrace felt like after all.

She leaned forward, as though seduced by Reverie's very aura, only to be denied touch when the gilded woman stepped back. Her apology drew a breath from Moss, who accepted it reluctantly. While she didn't know what Reverie's relationship was with Lestan, she understood what boundaries were. And while it would have satisfied her more to pluck the fretting woman from his grasp and treat her to a warm hearth where she would never know regret, she felt it wouldn't be an honest thing to do...

Until Reverie voiced that she felt afraid. 

Lestan be damned. Moss moved forward with an assured step, and drew the woman into her embrace, with a tenderness surprising of someone of her size. The mountain softened, like craggy hillsides carpeted with a layer of velvety snow. She bent like a willow tree to cradle the woman and cloak her from sight, allowing only small tufts of her sunny fur to peek through the few gaps in Moss's trunk-like legs.

In a few seconds Reverie's world narrowed, and she knew only Moss. Her warmth surrounding her, the surprising softness between thick fur and gentle touch, her scent; for a brief slice of eternity, that was her everything. And she knew that she was betraying Lestan in a way she'd never meant to, not with her actions but in her heart. But honestly?
It was hard to care, after everything he'd put her through. She still loved him more than anything, but Reverie was beginning to feel that she deserved more than what he gave to her. And so she sought that now in Moss's embrace, tucking herself close, unabashedly intimate in her own response. She would stay there as long as Moss let her, as long as they could be alone and away from prying eyes. Surely if anyone saw them, they would know.

Reverie was a warm sunbeam in Moss's embrace, and even when she felt the quiet creep of cold dread she pushed it aside. She gave in to the urge to be a glutton, and steal as much time with Reverie as she could, regardless of who might see them, or how things might feel ten minutes, two hours, or a day from now. The future could wait; she would make time beg for them to separate, or simply ignore its passing while they weathered the nights and days together like this. 

For all the ways that Moss could be aloof, standoffish and abrupt, she also knew affection of great depth. She was steadfast in her impulses, and unapologetically kept her eyes closed as if to tune out any distraction. 

Reverie would be a mother...and while that triggered a deeply rooted fear within Moss, she could not help but feel a great, ursine impulse to be protective of the fearful young woman, and her children. Even without knowing what exactly the relationship was between Reverie and Lestan, she felt it was now of little importance. If she loved the man, she would've run to him instead.

Vagues my way around some things

She wanted to tell Moss that she had been wrong, that there was no love without pain, that it would always hurt as much as it did now. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to forget that she had ever met Lestan, who even now burned a wretched hole through her chest. Reverie knew that she could not have Moss. Did she want her, truly?
Yes —
But not as much as she wanted Lestan. No one could ever take his place. And that was why Reverie wished so badly to forget, because she knew it was the only way this love would ever leave her. As long as she still remembered, she would still want him. She would still choose him. Always.
So she kept herself still despite the urge to explore, to let her touch wander and find out all the ways a woman's love might feel different from a man's. Reverie let the time slide away from them and sent her thoughts elsewhere. She thought of the future; children, and Lestan forever. Despite the warmth she felt, it scared her. Not because she didn't want it.
Moss, I - She was surrendering their embrace now in favor of speaking, face to face the way they ought to. I need you. Please. I need - a friend. Lestan said that he'll be there, as a husband and a father, but - Reverie was seized by a sudden fear that he would stumble across them, that he would hear her. She glanced around to assure herself that it was not true.
He was upset, when I told him, Reverie had been upset too, but she felt his reaction was something more. Something deeper. Revulsion, perhaps. I don't know what that means. But I can't stop thinking about it. Something about him had seemed — angry, almost. And it frightened her. She loved him no less, but she couldn't trust him, and she did not know if she ever would.
Foolishly Reverie clung to the notion that what she had shared with Moss had been nothing more than a hug; that Moss herself could only be ignorant to Reverie's feelings.

She felt no need to push their boundaries any further than the embrace they shared, and she was grateful that Reverie did not seek more from her, either. She felt secure and balanced, simply cocooning the gilded woman. When she drew back, Moss heaved a sigh, and regarded her with a softened gaze, one reserved, now, only for her. 

It gave her purpose to feel needed, though she wasn't one who could easily share the object of her affections with another. She didn't care for the man, found him intrusive and lacking in the ability to read her cues. Coupled with the fact that Lestan had been upset when he'd found out, she felt the muscles in her face tighten, and her jaw clenched. She wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that obviously, Reverie had enjoyed his company, at one point or another. 

Being labelled as simply a friend was a blow to her feelings as well; but one she could weather. 

"Don't worry about him." She said, before making a solemn pledge. "I will do anything you need me to do."

Reverie couldn't imagine she would ever stop worrying about Lestan. But to hear that Moss would be there — that she would provide anything Reverie needed — that was a comfort beyond anything anyone else had offered thus far.
Her eyes warmed with sudden tears and she reached out wordlessly to press her forehead against Moss's neck, burying her nose in thick pale fur. There was something comforting about her stoic presence, her way of speaking little and bluntly. I'm not sure I deserve your support, Reverie admitted softly. But it means the world to me.
I think... if I can learn to trust anyone, it's you, It should have been Lestan. But it wasn't.
And that was what hurt the most.