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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[Chickbloom]

Chickbloom never thought he’d be caught off guard seeing Butterflytuft out of camp, especially since he was the one who’d asked her out here, but amber eyes briefly widened in confusion nonetheless. It was like seeing a sea turtle in the desert. She was totally out of her element, carefully padding through the undergrowth, and the sight just served to make the Scottish Fold feel more guilty. “This ends now.”

Chickbloom cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “E-Everything’s fine” The baby bird squeaked, not quite sure how to broach the issue. “It’s- it’s n-nothing serious - er - I g-guess it is, but it’s - y’know - not bad serious, it’s-“ The warrior was rambling now, amber eyes sliding from Butterflytuft to the floor like egg yolks falling into a pan. He willed himself to meet the queen’s gaze once again, finding in her eyes the kind patience to calm him down, even as his whole body began to shake.

It was that pit in his stomach again, that nausea-but-not-nausea that Chickbloom could only chalk up to nerves. It was just nerves, and he just had to press on.

“- I like you, B-Butterflytuft. I - I like like you - L-“ The sinkhole opened wider, but still he pushed forwards. This is what he had to do as a tomcat. This is what he was supposed to do, needed to do. “-Love you…” He didn’t feel good, not good at all. Chickbloom felt tears well up within as he continued, trying to embrace this self-imposed purpose. “I - I want to be with you - to g-groom your fur, to p-play with the kits-“ For a moment those feelings were genuine, true desires to spend time with a dear friend, muddled by forced feelings of love - in all its forms. “-t-to - to have kits with you -“

That was Chickbloom’s first inkling that the hole in his stomach was something more than mere nerves. He knew he had to father children some day, to have kits and make him complete as a cat, but saying it out loud…the mental image it conjured of folded ears and butter-stained fur taking part in such carnal acts - with a cat he cared so deeply about, no less - it made him feel horrible.

Hints of tears sprinkled around amber eyes, as Chickbloom was sure he was about to cry and throw up at the same time. Why? Why did he feel this way? "Isn't this what I want?" Coming to the terrifying realization that he wasn't sure he knew the answer, Chickbloom tried to meet Butterflytuft's gaze, the gaze of the cat he'd just asked to objectify and defile, but he couldn't. All the coward could do was wait for an answer.​

 

[butterflytuft]

The words tumble out of Chickbloom in a jumbled rush, a messy admission. Heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest, Butterflytuft’s ears burn as she listens, dread already beginning to coil in her gut. “Oh.” It’s whispered, shock clear in her expression. Her mind races, searching desperately for the right thing to say, anything that wouldn't hurt him too deeply. She had no idea he felt this way.

"…Chickbloom," She finally mews, her voice faltering as she tries to keep her expression gentle. "I...I really appreciate your honesty. It takes a lot of courage to say what you just said." She looks down, her paws shifting in the dirt as she tries to force away the lump in her throat. "I just...I care about you, more than I can say. Y-You're one of my closest friends, and our time together means everything to me!” She swallows, her words stumbling over themselves. And she truly means it. She’s grateful to have gotten so close to him recently. He’s a great friend. "But I...I don't feel that way. Not in the way you’re wanting."

An uncomfortable heat creeps up her neck as she steps forward hesitantly, pressing her nose briefly to his shoulder in an act that’s meant to be reassuring. "You're kind - so incredibly kind - and you have a heart full of goodness that any cat would be lucky to share. I hope you know this doesn't change how much you matter to me as a friend." When she draws back, she meets his gaze with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't notice the way her whiskers twitch with nervousness. "And…I would like us to stay friends, if...if that's something you want. B-But if you need space, I understand.”

The forest around them seems to grow louder, the rustling pine boughs and distant bird calls amplifying the uncomfortable silence that settles between them. She holds her breath while she waits for his response, heart feeling like it’s about to burst from her body with how fast it’s racing.
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[Chickbloom]

By the first syllable, Chickbloom knew she didn’t feel the same.

The muttered ‘oh’, let out like a foggy breath about to be carried away by the leaf-bare breeze, it told the tomcat all he needed to know. Folded ears patiently drunk in every word after, though, kindly added by the queen to keep the coward from hitting reality too hard. He appreciates the gesture, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I…I understand.”

“I…I don't feel that way. Not in the way you're wanting.”

As soon as it had come, however, his smile disappeared at that last word. Not because of Butterflytuft, but because of himself. Once again Chickbloom began to turn inward, trying to decipher what it truly meant. The doormat had been doing what he was supposed to, right? Following the road laid out by generations before. Falling in love, getting a mate, having kits…it was as natural as sunshine. But…

Chickbloom looked up at Butterflytuft, trying to imagine doing all of that with her, and the tightness in the tomcat’s chest that had been fading away ever since she started speaking suddenly came roaring back. Quickly casting the carnal image from his mind, the milksop again started feeling better. Come to think of it, besides overwhelming awkwardness, the warrior hadn’t felt much of anything in the few seconds since rejection.

That wasn’t normal either, right? The whelp knew how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to feel immense sadness and despair, like his heart had been torn in two. Instead, the tears that had been brimming during his request were receding. Chickbloom felt guilt, he supposed, but guilt over putting the queen through all this. Besides that, there was…relief. Like someone who’d barely just avoided a car wreck.

Relief turned to confusion as an anxious mind began to whir. Why was he relieved? Did he not love Butterflytuft? Dinnerplate eyes widened for a half-moment, and quivering lips parted. “I - I care about you…a lot…” Chickbloom tasted the words on the air, not detecting sour dishonesty in them or his own soul. He loved spending time with her. He loved helping her. He loved talking to her. He loved being with the kits. So what was missing?

Confusion turned to anger as amber eyes bored a hole in the dirt. If he loved her, why wasn’t he sad? Why wasn’t the whelp feeling what he was supposed to? The coward could practically cry on command, so why wasn’t he sobbing at what was supposed to be the worst moment of his life? Was he some kind of sociopath? A soulless monster hiding in sheep’s clothing?

A buttery flank began to rise and fall rapidly, Chickbloom feeling himself spiraling. He just wanted a mate for show - a trophy to put on the shelf and ignore. Treating she-cats like items on a shopping list instead of actual people. Stuffing in false affection like money into a slot machine, waiting for his reward. How could he do that? How could he try and take advantage of someone so sweet?

“Scum. Filth. Dirt. Trash. Wretch. Bastard. Liar. To do that to Butterflytuft-“

A kindly autumn face flashed in his mind, and amber eyes were able to snap to the real thing, looking at Chickbloom with that eternal patience and warmth. Butterflytuft, the shy queen who’d brought the baby bird further out of his nest than anyone. Talking with him, convincing the coward to try new things, igniting a love of taking care of the little ones…Shaking features steadied slowly as the Scottish Fold looked at her, the faintest whisper of a smile returning to nervous features.

At least she was still a friend.

It was then that Johnnyflame’s words echoed in his mind. “There's nothing wrong with meeting new cats, or even being on your own. In fact, some cats prefer it that way. Romance and mates isn't for everyone.” Chickbloom had gone to the daylight warrior for advice, but hadn’t quite believed the other when he said it. At least, the coward didn’t think it applied to himself. Thinking of what he’d just felt - and not felt, though - the confused cat certainly had a lot to ponder.

A nervous laugh left Chickbloom suddenly as the whelp began rubbing his flank with his tail. “W-Well, I figured this might happen…” There was certainly a lot on his mind, but it was no mistake that the milksop seemed in much better spirits than he was before the confession. He didn’t want to dump his thoughts on Butterflytuft, though, not after he’d already put her through so much. Maybe they’d talk and straighten things out eventually, after the whelp figured out what he really wanted. Until then, he wasn’t looking forward to the awkwardness.

“Y-You’re a really great cat. I’m - y’know - I’m glad we can still be friends.” Buttery paws that had been on fire a few minutes earlier began to turn, taking a few steps away from the border. “I know…I w-won’t pretend this isn’t - y’know - aw-awkward…but can I walk you back to camp? Y-You probably weren’t too c-confident coming here, and - It’s - I feel like it’s the l-least I can do, after all this…” Another unsure laugh left the boy. It was true, this was absurdly awkward, but in this exact moment, Chickbloom felt more relaxed around Butterflytuft than he ever had since developing his “crush.”
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