- Dec 16, 2023
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// Takes place a bit after this thread! Slight cw for general allusions to sex
There was no sting of rejection in Chickbloom’s heart as he walked Butterflytuft back to camp. Egg-battered features gingerly guided the camp-bound queen over the terrain, trying to atone for the unfortunate situation he’d put her in just a few minutes prior. The pair was near silent, billowing breath only occasionally interrupted by small comments about the weather. Chickbloom may not have been upset by her turning him down, but the tom certainly felt awkward.
The warrior was thankful that Skyclan’s territory was not endless, the sight of camp causing a sigh of relief to leave the coward. After a few final pleasantries - another apology, and an assurance he understood the she-cat’s decision - Chickbloom was alone as that autumn-hued pelt pushed through the entrance. The pelt that would never press against his own on cold evenings like tonight. The pelt that would never see a splash of yellow mixed in with it and worn by his kits.
Why was he relieved?
Chickbloom turned away from Skyclan camp, amber eyes trying to focus in the fading light. He didn’t want to be there, not right now. There would already be awkward questions about Butterflytuft coming back with the Scottish Fold’s scent stuck to her. It would only be worse if the two arrived together. No, the whelp wanted to be alone right now.
An anxious mind whirred away as yolk-splashed paws took steps through the woods, devoid of purpose. “I thought I wanted this - wanted a mate…” He did want this, he had to want this. And yet - the coward couldn’t help but be happy it was over. There was no more need to pretend, no worrying if she liked him back, no forced attempts at flirting that made him feel sick. Now, after the awkwardness had passed, Chickbloom could go back to the way it was before. The way it was better.
The boy grimaced at the thought, though, doubting his own feelings. “Does that mean I don’t love Butterflytuft?” He loved her. In this swirl of confused feelings and new emotions, that seemed the one thing that was certain. He loved talking with her, loved spending time with her, loved taking care of her and the kits. But when the baby bird confessed, it felt like razor blades leaving his mouth. ‘To have kits with you-‘ even thinking about what he’d said made the Scottish fold nauseous, but why? Wasn’t it normal for cats to want that? Chickbloom knew some were exempt from such desires - Johnnyflame had told him so - but the boy didn’t think it applied to him.
After all, he’d wanted a mate for a long time. To become complete, to prove his worth. If the warrior was loved so dearly by another, that would mean he had value. It was what the whelp was supposed to do. But speaking to Butterflytuft…the images that entered his mind when talking of having kits…it felt so wrong. It felt worse than when he was fighting with the rogues, worse than when he was trapped by his housefolk. The skittish Scottish Fold had truly never experienced anything like it. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that the words were a mistake as they left his lips; that had to mean something, right?
Had he truly never imagined it before? Had Chickbloom detached himself so thoroughly from intimacy, only focusing on what it would bring him, that he’d forgotten to think of the action itself? A buttery flank began to rise and fall faster as the whelp weaved between bushes. “That’s what bad people do. They’re only focused on themselves, what they can get out of someone. That’s what I was going to do to Butterflytuft, right? If she said yes, if she’d -“ An uncomfortable shudder shot through the Scottish Fold at the sudden mental image, and the boy tried to push through the query as quickly as possible. “- if she’d…offered…then and there - would I have done it out of love for her, or a selfish need to be complete?”
The bile rising in his throat gave the boy his answer.
Chickbloom paused in his aimless trek, dry-heaving at the thought. “Defiling her like that…it’s horrible.” The tomcat heard it was this ultimate, euphoric expression of love; but now imagining himself doing it for the first time, he felt awful. It was the same as when he’d confessed: that feeling of being on the verge of both tears and vomit, a weak heart beating out of his chest while a closing throat fought for breath that wouldn’t come. “If this is what lust feels like, I don’t want it.”
Chickbloom felt sad, then angry at his own sadness. Why did the idea of chastity upset him more than Butterflytuft’s rejection? Was the warrior that much of a scumbag that he cared about physical intimacy more than true love? He’d felt weight lifted off his shoulders when the queen denied his heart, but now the whelp was crushed by the possibility of not wanting a cat’s body.
The warrior growled, furious at his own flighty nature. Why couldn’t he follow through with anything? Why was he going through such a crisis over a simple confession? It was like emotional whiplash, anger to confusion and back to anger again. “Maybe I should go to camp? Pour my heart out in front of everyone, convince her to want me. If I just push through, everything will work out.”
Chickbloom stopped and took two steps towards camp before a buttery paw struck him hard across the face, and he fell to the cold ground. “What’s wrong with me?! She said no. I was happy she said no. Why am I trying to disrespect her wishes and force something I don’t even want?!” But he had to want it. He was supposed to want it. If he didn’t want a mate…how could he be complete?
‘Romance and mates isn't for everyone, and there's no shame in that either.’ Johnnyflame’s words repeated in the whelp’s mind for the tenth time that day. It was obvious what he said, it was correct what he said. But - wasn’t it like quitting? Throwing up his paws and claiming he didn’t want a mate, was it genuine, or just a way to justify his own failure as a tom?
Chickbloom sniffled against the dirt, picking himself up after a long moment. He needed to talk to someone about this - he needed to be told what to do. He needed Johnnyflame’s guidance, Silversmoke’s reassurance, Butterflytuft’s kindness. A dry huff escaped the cat as he began to trek towards camp. It was ironic, he’d left Butterflytuft wanting to be alone, but now he craved his friend’s help. Wasn’t that just another example of selfishness?
All Chickbloom knew was that he didn’t know enough. One evening away from camp hadn’t been enough to work out these feelings, it may have just made them worse. The whelp was confused, scared to tug further on the thread that had unraveled him so quickly:
Maybe he didn’t want a relationship?
