private Beggin’ || Butterflytuft

[Chickbloom]

Buttery paws paced back and forth, padding in circles as dinnerplate eyes continually glanced towards the twolegplace - wondering if he should just slip across the scent line and simply disappear. Asking Butterflytuft to meet him by the border was probably overkill, but the baby bird would bury himself alive if any cat overheard the coming conversation - no matter which way it went.

How did people do this? Guilt and stress had been eating the baby bird alive for the past few days, every attempt at flirting having sent him down a spiral. Butterflytuft had walked around with his necklace, thinking it a gift from a good friend, when in reality it was nothing more than a bribe for her love. What kind of cat did that?

Lots, apparently, but it didn’t make him feel any less like scum. Every word and action since had been examined, intense introspection always making the milksop conclude that he’d acted inappropriately. Did Chickbloom really care about the queen when he’d been treating her like an object, a machine to stuff affection into and receive love out of?

He hated this. Hated flirting, hated treating Butterflytuft like anything less than a friend. He’d asked Johnnyflame for a magic bullet made of words when it all started, but wasn’t that just as evil? Only caring about the end result, the goal of getting a mate, it was like the she-cat’s autonomy was stripped away.

Some (most) cats would say the warrior was overreacting, that compliments and gifts were how one showed affection, but Chickbloom felt like it was…artificial. Maybe it was just nerves, the ball of anxiety always second-guessing himself, but the pit in his stomach felt deeper than usual. The tomcat couldn’t take it anymore; he was about to be the first cat to confess because of guilt instead of love.

Well, he did love Butterflytuft. He loved talking with her, hanging out with her and the kits, hearing what she had to say…She was like a special friend. That meant he loved her, right? Part of the whelp was worried he’d never truly know, that his heart would give out before she’d get there, and the queen would arrive to their meeting place to find a cold corpse full of questions.

Thankfully, the scent on the breeze brought the boy out of his macabre worst-case scenario. Wide amber eyes turned away from the border to focus on the autumn-hued she-cat approaching him, buttery tail raising shakily in greeting. “T-Thank you for - y’know - c-coming out here…” he muttered, shuffling back and forth.

// @butterflytuft​

 

[butterflytuft]

Butterflytuft catches Chickbloom's scent as she nears the border, weaving through the underbrush with a light nervousness. She isn’t used to being out here all by herself, not at all. Especially when she’s been hearing so much of hungry beasts and rogues crossing the border…The crisp leaf-bare air carries a chill, but she wants immediately upon seeing her friend waiting by the scent line. She steps into view and hurries to his side, already comforted by the presence of a warrior.

His pacing, the restless back-and-forth of his yellow paws, causes her sudden concern, though. "Chickbloom?" She trills in a gentle, lilting tone. Trying to meet his wide eyes, she tilts her head slightly, the faintest frown curving her lips. "Is everything alright?" Her eyes flick to his lashing tail and shifting paws. Stars, it’s like the earth itself is blazing beneath his feet. There’s definitely something unsettled in his demeanor, something beyond his typical nervous energy. "What's on your mind?" Butterflytuft asks finally, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
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