Swiftcurrent Creek [m] half a mind that keeps the other second guessing

tags are for reference but also for joining if u feel so inclined! this little birdy's name has been mentioned quite a bit and i want in on it

@Akavir had seemingly disappeared again. Because of course he would as soon as Wren's shame had begun to fade; just her luck, right? 
She is unsettled today, pacing about the center of camp with a ruffled nape and muddy paws. She'd done her daily chores of checking the food supplies and reinforcing a corner of the border or two, and now with nothing occupying her mind, the thoughts began to spiral. 
Lately, it felt as though Swiftcurrent was quiet. Too quiet. Even @Arric, who she thought she was getting to know a little better, was slinking about in places she could not see, or perhaps didn't know about. There were new faces, new scents; and though that should be a good thing, it was something of a cause of anxiety for the songbird. 
Sure, she's still a bit new, but she was well on the way of earning her place here, and she deserved to know what was going on, didn't she? Or was she just growing paranoid about her tie to the red-eyed man? Or was it the witch? Or—
So when the familiar scent of @Silvertongue is caught along the banks of the creek itself, she is intrigued. What is she doing here, and why didn't Wren know about this until now? 

hope u dont mind me, i know we have one but this was too juicy to pass up lol <3

akashingo! to akashingo, and with that cold, thieving soldado! silvertongue had left arric and akavir to further discussion of this travel, while she meant a return to riverclan now, and to ash paw. and to crowfeather, and his little ones. this time she had not bothered to clean arric's scent from her, nor the brush of akavir's own from where she had offered a kiss farewell; her hips switched when she saw wren, and she regarded the woman with a cool smile that had the invitation of lakeside shade. "it is good to see you again."

not at all <3333 rubbing my hands together as we speak 

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Of course, it is Silvertongue who shows herself first. Wren thought herself a psychic for a moment. 
While she initially wanted to greet her with a courteous, toothy grin of her own, it was quick to fade when she noticed something. Her scent is different, mingled with sweat and the heat of passion. Mixed further within it is Akavir and Arric. 
And maybe she's truly just going insane, but to Wren, it looks almost as if she wanted her to notice.  
Her expression turns from one of shock to anger and then finally lands on something that could probably be best described as hurt. Mouth agape, she coughs on her own intake of breath. And then, after an agonizing silence, she asks with a strained growl rippling in her throat; So you've been fucking them, have you now? 

silvertongue did not simper nor blush; she did not smile, nor did she become coy. there was instead a near impercetible pull of pupils, the slightest flickering of ears to hear wren's angered tone. "surely you did not think yourself the only woman between creek and river," silvertongue murmured; swiftcurrent had always been painted in feminine scent despite the brawn of its leadership. "rejoice, wren; you may fuck them as well, if it is your liking. i am not a threat." especially if she aspired to wife. both arric and akavir enjoyed their interludes with her, but silvertongue knew the set of men, and their hearts, and love — yes, yes! in this, wren was her own rival, or would have been had the riverwolf loved anyone outside of crowfeather.

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Was Wren jealous? Honestly, the root of her feelings was not a decipherable one. All she knew was that a brick was in her stomach, hard and heavy and weighing her down; and at the same time, cheeks dusted with rose as heat began to pool in her face.
But what she did know, as Silvertongue blatantly admits her romps with the Creek's men, was that Wren was not her. Silvertongue is perfect; small and unassuming, patterned with stormy grays with eyes that dazzle their onlooker. A freshwater devilgirl with a steely grin and a siren's call for a voice. Everyone's dream woman. And she thought of what she had told Arric, about how sourly she thought of herself, and it all came crashing down again.  

I saw the way you looked at me, when I came to-- to Riverclan, her voice is higher, now. Booming, thunderous, thickly accented and unashamedly, disgustingly butch. you think I'm a threat, don't ya? You-- Jesus fuckin' Christ, I should'a known. She is back to pacing, now, frantically trying to busy her own feet, expel the energy. You think I'm a threat, so you come to my territory to-- to what, assert your pretty privilege dominance? Take a good look at me, sweetheart, they don't even fuckin' want me! And why would they?! Huff after huff of uneven breath, in between bursts of words that spew directly from a scrambled mind. Why do you-- I wanted to be your friend, and you come here to fuck my Alpha and Beta?! 

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it was unexpected, the barrage of words which cascaded from wren, and which silvertongue sifted through for the hard silver coin of jealousy, the piece of jetstone symbolizing insecurity — there were a thousand biting ways in which she could twist them both into some horrendous alchemy. but silvertongue did not wish this, for with each of wren's words she felt her spirit unravel with some caustic thorn; until at last she held up a paw. "their enjoyment with me has been since the beginning of swiftcurrent and riverclan, querida. my time here was not intended in punishment, and i am certainly not the only." but now the glassblue gaze flashed, for she had seen herself wanting in the tall limbs and expressive eyes, the insistence of power which she saw to be of like for the men of this land, the sensation to know that wren or any other woman of the creek could have akavir and arric more to themselves than silvertongue could hope to be. more than a diversion, but divert she did. now the smile did come, not one of triumph but gentle amusement. "do you think i am pretty, wren?" silvertongue asked, though where she had stood now fell away behind her as in a saunter she drew closer; darkening blue vying for the deep brunet of wren's own — "perhaps you want to fuck me yourself?"

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It is now that Wren begins to wonder if she'd accidentally somehow joined a sex cult. Since the formation of the Valley packs? She is silent after that, save for the shallow sighs that struggle to regulate themselves. 
So this is what Arric meant when he said sharing, was it? 
Quivering, her paces come to a halt as what little space between them that remained dwindles. She is so weak, in this moment, and maybe Silvertongue knows this, because the lilt of her voice and that simple question that dances between Wren's ears is making them ring. Right now, Wren is no woman. 
The push and pull of emotions has devolved into something primal before she can even realize what's happening. Body against body, black lips pressing against a feathered neck, if she were to accept it. A growl is caught in her throat and released between clenched teeth. And breathlessly, darkly; God, yes, I do. 

kasmut, satsu; each unlocking a sort of craving in silvertongue she had banked down for such a length of time she was surprised to sense it rearing in gusting want; yielding with a soft humour into the creekwolf, tilting head to expose the line of her throat, teeth preening where she could, slender forelimb lifted to encircle the proud curve of wren's shoulder — "i looked at you because you are beautiful." because you are beautiful and i am envious. "men are fools; do not fault them for it;" a velveteen laugh, and then there would be no more speech; silvertongue in surrender but not scintillation, guiding only until it became a truth that wren comprehended more than she needed to teach, and this time the silverfang was a queen of her own, enthroned in questing touch and something more familiar than men could give.

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For years, the longing to touch a woman in this way had been nothing short of a plague. She saw it in the woman of the mountains, in the seaside daydreamer; an attraction she had bludgeoned into the ground, telling herself undeserving. That she was an asset for men, an ugly body, but still a warm one. A desire she sometimes spoke of, but never acted upon as if it were a crime.
When she is told of her beauty, she gives her own laugh, one of defiance. She is uglier than ever right now, dirty, brutish, perverse; and yet the shame is nullified by want. 
And perhaps under normal circumstances she would have panicked at the riverwoman's invitation, but now, with her in the palm of Wren's hands, she would explore. Every little curve of her body she would come to know, feel, kiss; needy, needy, needy, forceful yet gentle at the same time, lovebites on skin and moans not for men's ears. At some point, there is a whisper of you'll never need a man again, and Wren is not sure whether she speaks it to Silvertongue or herself. 

***

In the aftermath, there are no regrets just yet as the endorphins burst and spill. Wren is gentle with her now, as if it were some kind of unspoken apology. Belladonna, she is named, and perhaps it has more than one meaning to it. 

perhaps it was not believed, but silvertongue wished wren to be compelled at the very edge of things to at very least entertain the notion. the ravening was in them both and over the side of the falls they cascaded into soft sounds that ribboned together. and when it was over, the long flowering of time that is love between women. propped on one elbow, she let her eyelids fall to half-mast and kissed the inside of wren's foreleg. "perhaps now we will be friends, si?" and the drone of insects filled the summertime amusement of her low, sated voice. and if wren wished still the men she called alpha and beta, perhaps silvertongue might be of aid there as well.

Salty kisses are pressed against lips, pleasantly drowsy and sloppy in placement. There is something so innocent about it, now, the vulnerability of two women, and Wren feels like a bumbling teen just learning where to put her mouth. 
Yes-- yeah, is her response, throaty and dripping with the remnants of desire. It's now that she breaks into a sheepish grin, which is then hidden behind a forepaw. Under her gaze, she feels small. God, you're so fuckin' pretty, Silver. 
She thinks of the Creek men, briefly, and how they will surely notice Wren's imprint on Silver's body should either see her again before she leaves. And for that, she feels proud of herself. 
And really, why shouldn't she be a vessel if it's what she's good at? 

beneath wren's praise, she stretched catlike across the willowy limbs, pulling the creekwolf to her with low purling noise that vibrated in her throat. "now say it of yourself, wren," the sharpfang all but ordered, a glittering smile holding the desire just shared; she felt some glacial place of her heart begin a soft thaw, to see wren laughing, to know she had been the source of such joy. and in this, silvertongue knew her purpose. "will i see you again?" and there is true desire there, interest; she had come close to loving arric and akavir; in her own way, she certainly did. but this is different, and the affection of their same bodies reminded her in some small way of crowfeather.

Another kiss is pressed between two fluttering eyelids, the space between Silvertongue's brows just slightly darker than the rest of her forehead. Sounds better when you say it, she all but smirks as her muzzle is pressed to hers, nose to nose, river to creek. 
And it's in this softness, this rose-gold halo that they bathe in, that Silvertongue asks if they will see each other again. Wren's heart murmurs. 
I didn't know you'd want to, there's genuine shock in her comment, a schoolgirl-like nervousness. but-- yes. I'll come see you as often as I can. And you're... I'm sure you're always welcome here. 
She creates some space, but as she does, one paw moves to wrap around her neck, brushed against a feathery cheek. I'm sorry. For being such a bitch. It's not-- you, it's just... y'know. My own issues. I'm a very... angry person, Silver. I'm not easy to care about, and it scares me because I think some people are starting to. 

wren spoke; an outpouring, and suddenly she was a fiery stranger no longer, but a woman who murmured belladonna and provided silvertongue a fierce level of immediate intimacy that softened the glassblue eyes and dropped the last of the coolness away; until reflected in silvertongue was wren and then the taller woman again, and she felt her chin tremble, and shook her head fiercely, swallowing with a painful smile that soon had the touch of bitter salt behind it. "i am angry too," the sharpfang heard herself whisper; "i have loved one my entire life and he will never love me in return, not the way i want him to love me." oh; to say it was to put down such a burden, a battered suitcase with briars bitten into the handle; and, with a small, self-deprecating laugh, she finally saw with sharp realization the shadow she sought in both akavir and arric.

And in Silvertongue's confession, Wren sees her for who she is. Frightened and lonesome, vying for something she will never get and grasping at whatever shambles remain. In her, Wren sees herself. 
He sounds like a real asshole, as harsh as her language is, it is softened and buttery. you deserve better than that, cucciola. And it's then that she thinks of Marcus, the sweet troubled firewolf, and how she may never love him how he wanted her to. How he may never love her the way she craved, either.
She lets herself ponder what it might be like to give herself to Silvertongue. To live between the river and the creek, to be unapologetic, for neither woman to question again whether or not she is beautiful. 
And maybe it was wrong of her to pry, but gingerly, she asks; It's that uhm, that guy Crowfeather, isn't it? You said you and him founded Riverclan together, right? 

this was the danger of speaking to a woman of that pain held so harshly against her heart; silvertongue felt her eyes overflow and she lay back beside wren, gaze turned skyward against the canopies of argent birch, the hotness of her grief ekeing backward toward ears trembling against the earth. she reached for wren's arm, pulled it across her body; the weight of the limb more gilded in strength than her own gave the riverwolf perhaps the cojones to answer; "not an asshole," a soft laugh against the sorrow tremulous on her mouth; "a very gentle man, a very kind man. he saw me when i was — before riverclan. crowfeather has treated me as if i made him." a breath, skimming; she shut her eyes now. "but he has loved a man for just as long, and now, they have one another." and there was no place for silvertongue. she wanted to tell wren of how that had culminated, but feared that mention of the shadow-children would spoil the domelight of rosy hue that she and the other had built in this time.

The pangs of sympathy were not something Wren knew how to deal with. At least not very well. A tight-lipped frown curls the corners of her mouth, sunken eyes carefully glued as she drinks in every word that leaves the Sharpfang's mouth. 
I'm sorry, is what she finally says, and with it, the tender act of a kiss just below her eyes. you deserve to-- to move on, though, y'know? And you can, the heat of her face is sweltering, and she can no longer tell whether it is from nerves or the intimacy they share in this moment. And then comes a crestfallen laugh that flutters from her chest. If he's found another man, maybe you should find a woman. Or maybe you've got one already. 

"well, now you see why i do what i do," silvertongue purled, placing a kiss to the other's very mouth before she rolled away and up, shaking soft grasses from her withers. "and why i choose who i choose. arric makes me laugh. akavir makes me think." yes; love there, love separate from what silvertongue had always embodied for crowfeather. "and you make me feel, truly, mi querida." a twitch of her mouth; heart bound but still reaching in a soft pink pulse for wren in this second.

last one from me <3 ty for the thread as always!!! these two tug at my heartstrings i adore them

You make me feel, truly, mi querida.
And it's that which echoes over and over in the Gamma's mind, forming a soft-glowing halo of stars that encircle her head. She all but beams, a bashful, dopey, stupid grin, and no one would have been shocked if she had jumped to her paws and done a giddy, childish dance.
But instead, she slowly hobbles into a stand on pleasantly tired muscles. She wished she could truly believe her when she spoke, but for now, she could choose to. 
You should get home, huh? Her gaze bounces skyward, to the purple-pink haze of evening that had begun to set in. She had a pack waiting for her; and with it, a man who did not know what he had in the riverwoman. But that was not a thought she would voice. I'll take you to the border. Not like I've got anything better to do. 

And soon enough, whether Silvertongue was to accept her offer or not; they would be alone again in their respective homes with whispered promises of visitation. And when she departs, Wren is left with the thought of the dangerous woman, the belladonna; of what they could be and of what they were; of jealousy that still ravaged a softened heart, but no longer for the men. Of them.