#of course my meow meow being full of pride refused to back down after the fact (despite how clearly bruising the ordeal was)

[codedredalert]

Provocation [Golden Kamuy, Tsuki/Ogata] -- part 1/2

Tsuki/Ogata || could-be-canon pre-series || 3,254 words

Second Private Ogata is nothing but trouble, and no end to infuriating. Tsukishima is determined to treat him fairly nonetheless.

(GK fanworks exchange prompt 27: Ogata dealing with the "wildcat" jokes and consequential reputation in the army, Tsukishima somehow protecting him.)

Warnings: canon-typical violence

(On Ao3) (part 2 on tumblr)

===/\==

.

Tsukishima isn't meant to hear it, but he does. He pulls two men aside to warn them for being late, and as he is walking away, he hears one mutter, "that shitty wildcat, this is his fault".

"Wildcat?" Tsukishima asks, because predatory animals near the camp are a significant concern.

"It's nothing, sir," Second Private Nikaido (he's not sure which one) responds after a moment too long and a shared look with his brother. In hindsight, that look is why Tsukishima remembers.

.

.

He doesn't think much of it until he walks into the main tent just as a fight nearly breaks out. There's shouting that abruptly cuts off as the men catch sight of him and turn to salute instead of throwing punches. Still, the tension in the air is palpable, and almost everyone is throwing dirty sideways glances at one man in particular. He's not new, but somehow, Tsukishima has yet to speak with him. His face was both familiar and less familiar than it should be, with big, dark eyes and eyebrows that turn down at both ends. He's built on the smaller side, though still taller than Tsukishima himself.

Tsukishima sighs and gestures for the men to stand at ease.

"There will be no punishment, but I need to know what happened here," he says. Most of them bow slightly in acknowledgement, though the newer men look apprehensive. No one volunteers, of course, so Tsukishima is forced to single someone out. "The Second Private in the sheepskin vest, what's your name?"

The big, honest-looking man, one of the new reserves, steps forward.

"Tanigaki Genjirou, sir."

"Second Private Tanigaki." Tsukishima nods. "What happened here?"

"I'm afraid I was not following the conversation, sir. I can only say that it appears that Second Private Ogata and Superior Private Tamai have had some disagreement."

Tsukishima turns to Superior Private Tamai expectantly.

"Second Private Ogata is just being his usual offensive self, sir. His words are not worth repeating."

"Ahh," interrupts the man with the big, dark eyes. His voice is soft with a slight rasp, almost like a purring cat. "The Superior Private and Second Private Tanigaki are giving me too much credit. I only said that having more snipers might give us more tactical options, and it's a pity that no one else in our unit is suitable. Superior Private Tamai took that as a criticism of his leadership or marksman abilities."

A collective rustle of discontent goes through the men, but no one says anything further and Tsukishima dismisses them. Then all at once, noise and movement return and it seems the men can't contain themselves anymore, speaking in agitated whispers.

"He really is a wildcat, did you hear him?"

"What a liar!"

"Shhh, the Sergeant can hear you."

"Forget the Sergeant, that bastard Ogata might hear you."

… so that's what they meant. Tsukishima thought of one particular cat back in the fishing village he once called home. A cat with a hanging belly that belonged to no-one, meowing pitifully to beg for food. Tsukishima had fed it until one fisherman had laughed at him, and told him "that cat isn't pregnant— he's just fat, and a good fraud."

He finds himself staring, and Second Private Ogata looks up and smiles.

.

.

He soon learns that there's more to it than that.

The nickname catches on with unusual speed and enthusiasm. Outside of formal channels, Second Private Ogata is almost universally referred to as "wildcat Ogata", "that wildcat", or a mix of expletives. It's compromising the order and morale of the men. Tsukishima has more pressing things to think about, but there are enough rumours that it earns its place as an item on his mental checklist of problems to deal with.

One night, when intelligence indicates that an attack by the Russians is unlikely, an air of cautious optimism pervades the camp, and men and officers alike take full advantage of the respite.

"Sergeant Tsukishima, you're slow to the party!" Someone calls to him from a group seated around a fire. "Come drink with us, Second Lieutenant Hanazawa just donated his share of sake."

Tsukishima takes his seat with them, more than readily takes the sake passed to him—he's long learned not to refuse anything that might ease the weight and reality of war— and joins them in raising a toast.

"To Yuusaku-san! May you have a long life, so your generosity can continue to bless us!"

"Empty the glasses!" someone roars amongst the cheers and uproarious laughter. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Tsukishima echoes, raising his drink and nodding to Second Lieutenant Hanazawa. The handsome young officer laughs along with everyone, waving away the thanks modestly. That just gets him another round of cheers, and even some pats on the back.

"Yuusaku-san, you're really amazing! Brave and generous and virtuous. Your father, the Lieutenant General's blood really shows!"

A chorus of approval and agreement, indistinct. The atmosphere of relative safety and normalcy, the comfortable warmth of the fire, his accumulated fatigue, and the sake all softened the noise and going-ons around him until Tsukishima heard someone say: "Eh, no, no, that can't be right, otherwise that wildcat would also have some good qualities instead of fucking around all the time."

And then the conversation suddenly related to A Problem, and Tsukishima was too dutiful to ignore it. Holding back a sigh, he dredged up some willpower to pay attention.

"You're right, it must come from his mother's side. Or Yuusaku-san must have taken all the good parts from the Lieutenant General."

"It's true, how are they even related?"

"Simple! The child of a wildcat... must also be a wildcat!" The man who says this pronounces it with a dramatic sweep of his arm and a great deal of pride at his own cleverness, the others burst out in drunken laughter, all except Tsukishima and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa. This doesn't pass unnoticed. Not wanting to exclude their benefactor, Lance Corporal Takahashi slings his arm around the Second Lieutenant, and with all the social acumen of an injured bear, he helpfully explains.

"Ah, of course our dear flagbearer wouldn't know! Wildcat here means geisha, especially of the sort that… is willing to take some extra appointments, if you catch my meaning."

He leers so lecherously that his meaning is completely unmistakable. Second Lieutenant Hanazawa blushes, and then very rapidly goes pale. He looks like he wants to say something, but the flag-bearer's duty to camaraderie and harmony of the troops shackles him.

The same did not apply to Tsukishima.

"It does you no credit to speak ill of your fellow soldiers or their heritage," he says sharply, "—or to imply ill of your Lieutenant General."

Tsukishima speaks like the sergeant he is, so his voice carries, even if he's not trying to be particularly loud. Most of the noise in the group dies instantly, and the people at the fringes quickly quieten as well as the ones near them nudge them to lower their voices.

The Lance Corporal who was speaking does a double take, swaying slightly, drunk but not drunk enough to miss the sudden uncomfortable hush and Tsukishima's obvious disapproval.

"Ahh Sergeant, it was only a joke, a joke."

"A poor joke in bad taste," replies Tsukishima and the person's smile becomes visibly more strained, but Tsukishima doesn't care about popularity, he's a dead man returned to life by a man who outranks everyone present. Even if he were shot tomorrow, it was all borrowed time anyway, as far as he was concerned. The funny characteristic about people when they've already made their peace with death was that they cared very little about what the living think of them.

"—but—" Lance Corporal Takahashi starts to argue.

"It is also an insult to the Second Lieutenant, which is a poor way to repay him for his generosity," Tsukishima adds and as expected, that is what makes the Lance Corporal stop, glancing to the side where the Second Lieutenant is smiling uncomfortably.

"And in any case," Tsukishima continues, "it hardly matters when we're all here fighting and dying in the same war for the same country."

The mood instantly sobers, the temporary illusion of warmth and normalcy dropping away, the weight of the war they were on the front lines of returning tenfold

Tsukishima is suddenly more tired than when he first joined the group. So much for having a bit of respite this evening. He should have gone straight to the baths and stayed there.

"I've said everything I have to say and I'll stand by it, with all the authority I have. But it's late now. Excuse me, I'll take my leave." He turns to the Second Lieutenant, gives a shallow bow, probably more shallow than is polite but his body is too heavy for him to care overly much. "Thank you for the sake, sir."

He leaves. Behind him, he hears Second Lieutenant Hanazawa softly taking his leave from the table of now subdued officers. Footsteps follow him, and the young officer's voice calls out, "Wait!"

Tsukishima stops and turns, and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa jogs to meet him.

"It is good to see that the high praise I have heard about Sergeant Tsukishima is well-founded. Thank you for your defense of my elder brother."

"Second Lieutenant Hanazawa, you're being far too kind. Anything I said was merely for satisfaction of my own principles."

Tsukishima wants to turn and leave, but the Second Lieutenant looks like he has more to say, and the mix of decorum, rank, and actually not disliking the young man keeps Tsukishima standing there.

"I thought they might treat him better if they knew we were related," confesses Hanazawa, "but that provoked people's curiosity. In the end, I seem to have made more trouble for my elder brother."

From the little Tsukishima is aware of, he rather thinks that Second Private Ogata makes most of the trouble himself— there couldn't be that much smoke without even a spark of fire— but as with most situations where he doesn't know enough, he keeps his mouth shut.

Suddenly realising that he was keeping Tsukishima standing in the cold for a personal conversation, Second Lieutenant Hanazawa startles.

"I've said too much." Second Lieutenant Hanazawa bows again. "I beg for your discretion with this information."

"Of course, sir," Tsukishima replies. When Second Lieutenant Hanazawa smiles widely in relief, Tsukishima doesn't have the heart to tell him that he is just closing the doors after the horse has bolted.

.

.

That conversation haunts him, annoyingly mundane amongst the greater horrors he has to deal with. It invokes memories of his home being mocked as unclean, a murderer's dwelling-place, and the murder of a kind girl for no reason other than the appearance she was born with and the misfortune of his affection. Tsukishima takes the old nightmares in stride, as he takes everything, but every time he sees the cloaked figure of Second Private Ogata huddling near a fire or brazier, the thought returns to him, an incomplete task.

It doesn't sit well with him.

The gods give him his chance a few days later, when Second Private Ogata walks by and gives him the mandatory salute. Again, Tsukishima is struck by his big dark eyes, true black catching a small gleam of light, intelligent and strange. If all-seeing eyes existed, they must be like his. Ogata glances over Tsukishima, but his eyes don't settle, don't even linger, like he's seen all there is to see and has already dismissed it with a flick of dark eyelashes, already looking for something else.

He is a sniper. Tsukishima had looked at his records. An unnaturally good one too. It made a man wonder what those eyes could see.

"Second Private Ogata."

"Sir."

"It has come to my attention that these 'wildcat' references are an insult to your private matters and parentage. I don't stand such things. If they bring up that distasteful joke again, let me know."

A blink from those big dark eyes.

"I can deal with it," Second Private Ogata starts to say, but Tsukishima cuts him off before he can go on to make the obligatory polite refusals. He's in no mood for the song and dance of social niceties. The memory of dark hair in unusual curls and a murderer called father are too close to his thoughts today.

"This is a matter of principle. Insulting a person for their heritage has no place in this regiment." Tsukishima surprises himself with how forcefully the words come out, though that is probably not noticeable to someone who does not know him well.

"If it's not about me, then I wonder why the sergeant decided to talk to me?" Ogata's tone, normally flat with disinterest, curled ever so slightly with curiosity now. "Just make an order or punishment, as you please. Sir."

He makes a point, and somehow Tsukishima does not like the question. Still, he answers.

"An order might confirm the information and disservice you and Second Lieutenant Hanazawa more. But if that's what it takes, I will make the order and enforce it with my own two hands if I must."

Something changes. Ogata's eyes feel like they finally focus on him, even with the strange sensation that they are too big and taking everything at once, at least now that includes him. Ogata comes to some decision, lifting his chin.

"I can deal with it, sir. No need to trouble yourself."

His eyes are unreadable.

.

.

The atmosphere in the regiment becomes more vicious. As Tsukishima investigates, small misfortunes start making sense.

Superior Private Tamai's rifle sight rusts on a perfectly dry night. Second Private Tanigaki's uniform buttons go missing. Lance Corporal Takahashi's trigger finger is shot off.

No one knows for certain that it's Second Private Ogata, but everyone knows.

.

.

"You wanted to speak to me, sir?"

Ogata reports as he is required to, but from his carefully blank expression, it's clear he doesn't intend to cooperate. Tsukishima looks up from where he is writing a report and puts down his pen, sits back, more upright.

"I was under the impression we had an understanding," he says grimly, "that you'd come to me regarding those insults if necessary."

"It was not necessary," replied Ogata, just this side of insubordinate, and with a very neutral expression he goes on to say, "But I appreciate the Sergeant's special attention."

"Then it would befit Second Private Ogata to show his appreciation via his conduct."

"What conduct do you suggest?" he asks blithely with an innocently straight face and his too-big eyes and his purring voice. He's far too aware for that ignorance to be genuine.

How irritating.

"Report to me instead of acting on your own," Tsukishima says forcefully. "Or if you don't wish to bring the matter to me, you are free to go to the Second Lieutenant if you prefer. He is more than willing to help you." That gets the first involuntary reaction he sees from Ogata, a definitive rise in his shoulders, a slight lean away from Tsukishima, as if he could physically avoid the suggestion.

"If I don't go to the Sergeant, how could I go to the Second Lieutenant?" asks Ogata, insulting while somehow still staying just this side of appropriate enough to avoid penalty. "As I said, I can deal with it. There's no need to trouble yourself, sir."

.

.

Three more men trade their trigger fingers for a ticket out of the regiment.

There is no evidence that it is Second Private Ogata.

There is no evidence that it is not Second Private Ogata.

.

.

This time, Tsukishima does not send a missive, he pulls Second Private Ogata aside himself.

"I told you to come to me," Tsukishima starts without preamble.

"I don't know what you mean," says Ogata with a straight face.

It takes everything in Tsukishima not to react visibly to that.

"Antagonising our own unit members is bad for morale," replies Tsukishima flatly. "And some actions are outright sabotage, or treason."

"Is Sergeant Tsukishima suggesting I would do such things?" Ogata has the gall to look surprised, and even slightly offended. Tsukishima doesn't buy it for a second.

"I am trying to be fair to you. Stop putting me in a position where I have to punish the people you provoke."

"Mmm, Sergeant Tsukishima has been very patient and generous, all for me." The words in themselves are perfectly polite, but something in the way he says it twists it to mockery. It stops all sound but the blood rushing in Tsukishima's ears.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tsukishima challenges. A spark lights in Ogata's eyes, and he tilts up his chin, looking down his nose at Tsukishima.

"Obviously the sergeant doesn't care that much about me. So the sergeant must be personally invested in this type of insult, right?"

The protest "I'm not" dies unsaid in Tsukishima's throat as patently untrue. He looks at Ogata, unable to find something to say in the varied mess of emotion struggling to resolve into something comprehensible. Disbelief, irritation, anger, sadness, profound regret, longing, something a little bit of all of these and yet none of them.

Ogata looks at him as Tsukishima's silent struggle grows, and at length, Ogata speaks.

"You already know how the unit talks about me," Ogata says. He is unbearably smug and insubordinate despite the formal address. "So this show of yours must be because you want to make sure they don't talk about you behind your back. Do you want to know what they say about you? Or is that too 'inappropriate'— it's true that I can take it better than you, just judging from your reaction."

Tsukishima's emotions resolve decidedly into fury, which he holds back for a moment before thinking — why not and swinging, landing a good hit right in the face. His fist crunches into Ogata's nose satisfyingly, makes contact with the hard socket and soft tissue of Ogata's eye. His knuckles sting slightly from the impact, tingling with the blood in his small capillaries, with the satisfaction of justified anger finding a deserving target.

Ogata's eyes have a victorious gleam of malicious amusement for a passing fraction of a second as Tsukishima swings, then he goes staggering into a tree.

"You really bring out the worst in people," Tsukishima mutters under his breath, not intending for Ogata to hear but Ogata's expression turns even more smug and even more infuriating. Tsukishima has met the worst of men, has the blood of one in his own veins even, but Ogata is something else— he thinks he's invincible and untouchable and the only real thing. He's vicious for sport and everything is a joke, even in the middle of a war. He wants to watch the world burn.

He's a liability.

With this realisation, Tsukishima knows what he must do. He looks down at Ogata where the man lays on the floor and doesn't even attempt to get up, and Tsukishima tells him, "Your attitude has become too big of an issue. I will have to bring your matter to my superior officer."

"A big issue," Ogata repeats slowly, smiling at the words as if Tsukishima had just cracked a joke instead of informing him that a disciplinary matter would be escalated. He sits up, and looks up to Tsukishima, blood dripping from his nose, the beginnings of a bruise already showing around his eye. It'll be swollen shut before tomorrow. "Please mention me favourably then, Sergeant Tsukishima."

.

===/end of part 1\===

(On Ao3) (part 2 on tumblr)  ( patreon ) ( kofi ) ( paypal )

[malkumtend]

Honesty - A WillowClan Story.

So this is a gift for my friend @lonely-ghost-606  and is based on their amazing video set around their original characters! The video itself is based around the character VioletStar, and her rise and fall! It’s an amazingly well done video, and it deserves so much more attention than it has!

Please please please check them out! I promise you won’t regret it! I’ll link it here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCaB7flg7g8&t=73s Please make sure to check it out!

Anyway, this is the basic leeway for this story. But if you want more information, please check out the linked video! Again, you won’t regret it!

The previous leader of WillowClan, StarkStar, VioletFrost’s father, died when a gem cave collapsed on him. After turning the clan against the deputy originally meant to take over, VioletFrost is coronated at VioletStar! She takes over, naming a cat named NightHowler as her deputy, and a cat called DarkRain as her prophet.

But VioletStar hates DarkRain, her former mate.

And DarkRain has a secret to tell.

...

“Violetstar! Violetstar! VioletStar!”

DarkRain sat listening as the cats of WillowClan cried out their new leader’s name. He examined his clan mates gathered below the high rock, each roaring a cry of acceptance for this new age. DarkRain thought he could see a few unsure faces in the crowd, more than likely supporters of TwighlightMarsh, the recently exiled Deputy. The cat who originally would have become leader.

But he was not the cat at the ledge of the rock. VioletStar was. That was the new reality. And true to form, TwighlightMarsh’s friends uncurled their cold tongues and called out the true leader’s name as well.

VioletStar smiled, magenta eyes looming over her clan with pleasure. “Thank you. I am glad you will give your trust to me!” She meowed. The cold night breeze kissed the sides of her face, making her dark fur sway like a lion’s mane. “And now, I must ask that you place your trust in two more cats!”

DarkRain’s stomach curled.

“NightHowler.” VioletStar turned expectantly to the broad shouldered tom on her right. He broke into a proud grin. “Will you accept the position of Deputy, and help me guide WillowClan to a bright future?”

NightHowler chuckled, his large figure towered over his leader, but he had enough sense to bow his head respectfully. He wouldn’t throw away a chance like this; a chance of real power. “I will, VioletStar!”

The cats of WillowClan roared their approval.

VioletStar looked pleased. It did not last. DarkRain quivered as his leader coldly turned to him. “DarkRain.” Her voice was clear, but up close, DarkRain could see the grit fangs. “Will you take on the duty as WillowClan’s prophet, and aid us through danger and peril?”

She knew how he would answer, but there was still a pressing desire in her stare. A hunger. Refuse. Make my day.

The new prophet gulped down the hurt and answered. “I will, VioletStar.” He bowed his head, hoping his submission would placate her rage.

VioletStar huffed, satisfied. Turning away to face the cats accepting their new prophet. DarkRain was unable to feel any pride, not with those eyes still burning on his coat.

“Then let WillowClan thrive!” VioletStar cried, her voice storming over the clan! The Clan responded vigorously. “It is time to build from our mistakes and sustain the strength that flows in our blood!”

More triumphant cheers sounded across the clearing. DarkRain watched the confidence crawl over VioletStar’s face. The Clan, her clan, had made their loyalty known. DarkRain wished he could feel some kind of pleasure here, the delight he would have had for this moment moons ago.

But that was impossible.

Too much had happened now.

VioletStar called out another powerful mew before she allowed the gathering to disperse. Her fur gleamed in the full moonlight as she observed WillowClan retire to their dens. The air still fizzed and crackled with excitement, the clan all whispering in glee as they left their new Leader high above them.

NightHowler made a mew of amusement, “That went well!”

VioletStar turned from the ledge, padding away to the leader’s den, a quick snap of her tail was all DarkRain needed to say he should follow her. “Of course. Our clanmates are loyal and know what is right.” The molly mewed with a thin smile. “Now it is up to us to prove their loyalty wise.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Now that that traitor is gone, there’s no cat who would dare try to sabotage you!” NightHowler seemed to lick his lips at the thought of driving out the previous deputy.

“Let’s not focus on old bones not worth burying.” VioletStar said stiffly, “TwighLightMarsh is gone, let’s keep it that way. Don’t mention him and if you hear another cat do it, don’t do anything. We’re not frightened of exiled cats. If he ever comes back,” VioletStar looked back, her mouth creasing in a dominant, frightening way. “We know what to do.”

DarkRain fought to keep his pelt from prickling. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if this cat had truly been VioletFrost. He tried to ignite memories in the darkness: images of him curled beside a warm pelt, her breath sweet on his ears, and even sweeter words being thrust into him. 

Then the memory of the collapsing gem cave comes back. His mate weeping over the leader, the father, who never came out. The way those loving eyes had coiled over him, with nothing but hatred.

His leader was a force of power, and that was how she wanted to be seen. She had buried her past like old dirt, and stood proudly over the remains. Whatever DarkRain had been in that past, laid buried underneath her.

That was proof enough when her eyes came on him, and she only glowered before swiping her gaze back to her den.

DarkRain took it all without hesitation. He deserved it. She knew that. And he knew it better. He knew it in ways she didn’t understand. DarkRain sucked on his lower lip, his tail dragging on the floor. 

She deserves to know. He thought. She hated him already, not much worse could happen. Maybe if he told her the whole truth, she would appreciate it, just a little. If I love her, I have to tell her. And he did love her. He always would. Not matter how many times she looked at him like that.

The sky was as dark as the rocks below their feet. Only thin slithers of moonlight could illuminate WillowClan now. The mouth of the leader’s den grew wider and familiar scents filled the air. Scents that made VioletStar stiffen, and DarkRain hold back a sob.

“We’ll meet at sunrise.” She declared, sitting back with an impatient frown. “We have to discuss new patrol groups as well as plans for hunting grounds. With the cold approaching we need to be prepared for the worst.”

NightHowler dipped his head respectfully, “Very well, VioletStar.”

The leader nodded, and darkening, she turned expectantly to her prophet. “Do you understand, as well?” She growled.

DarkRain flinched, “Y-Yes, VioletStar.” He tried to sound equal, but he quavered. He heard NightHowler chuckle scornfully. VioletStar scoffed, as if disgusted, and turned to her den. 

“Goodnight.”

If DarkRain had any courage or love left, he had to muster it now. Just about, he did. “Wait! V-VioletStar!” He squeaked out.

The molly paused, her head already swallowed in the darkness of the den. Two piercing violet eyes glowed in the black void. “What is it?” The darkness demanded.

“May I... talk to you about something?”

There was low scratching sound from inside the den. Claws tapping at the cold stone. “Must you?” VioletStar hissed. “Can it not wait until morning?” 

DarkRain swallowed hard, his head falling low to the ground. If he looked pathetic enough, sorry enough, maybe she would relent. “Please, VioletStar. I think you’d find it important.”

“You think?” VioletStar scoffed. 

DarkRain let his fear become evident, he looked up shuddering. “Please.” He begged in a small mew, the voice of a new apprentice being scolded by his mentor.

The two blazing orbs thinned in the dark, hateful but contemplative. Finally, after another bite of the cold air, the moonlit tail rose up like a snake and called the tom forward. DarkRain somehow managed to catch his breath back as he weakly pushed himself up and padded carefully towards the unkind black, holding his tail between his legs. He couldn’t be anything but subservient right now.

He heard a cruel sneer behind him, “Have a good evening, DarkRain.” NightHowler called, his cackles muffling off as he left for the safety of the Warrior’s den.

DarkRain tried to shake off the ill feeling like it was nothing but dirt. But it remained. It gripped him. It overshadowed him as he crept away from the moonlight and entered the den.

He wasn’t a stranger to the den, having been called there before by StarkStar. But DarkRain couldn’t help but feel his paws clench as he entered. Like he was on unfamiliar territory. The only luminance seeped through thin crevices in the stone, just enough that he could see the dark figure of his leader, scowling in the shadows. She watched his every step as if his touch was some kind of poison to her den.

Her stare was like he was a predator’s kit. Hate and bloodlust clouding her vision.

DarkRain breathes shakily, trying to muster his bravery, looking around the den for something to compliment. The ground seemed like it wanted to push him away. It looked like everything that had made the den SwiftStar’s was gone, cleared away for the new leader. But his scent remained. It was there like the hiss of a waterfall, making it so much harder for DarkRain to admit the truth.

VioletStar let out a low groan as DarkRain continued to hesitantly wander. “Well?” She demanded, the lash of tail audibly snapping against the stone. “You said this was important? I hope you weren’t lying to your leader!” The tapping of her claws became clear again.

Suddenly DarkRain felt like any voice he had had been choked out of him.

“I-I...”

“Spit it out!” Her voice was growing with impatience.

He needed to get it out now. He had to tell her the truth. The words were on his mind and stuck bitterly to the end of his tongue, all he had to do was just say it.

Look her in the eye and say it.

He found her eyes, and her hatred, and he cast away again.

“I-I’m sorry.” He whimpered out, tears beginning to prick his eyes. 

VioletStar erupted with a frustrated hiss. She’d heard this performance before! This pathetic self-pity, she had no time for it now! “If that’s it, I’d suggest you leave quickly before you make me angry!”

The wiser part of DarkRain knew it would be best to follow her orders, but something small somehow compelled him to remain shakily seated. “I’m sorry. I just-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard this fox-dung before!” VioletStar growled, “You’ve mewled it out enough, and I’ve been perfectly clear how much it means.” Her back was to him. “I don’t want to repeat myself. Get out.”

Somewhere, DarkRain felt the hurt overshadow his fear. She wanted nothing to do with him. He was nothing to her anymore. “I just want-”

“I know what you want, and I’m telling you now,” She turned to him slightly, one eye dangerously leering over at him. “Those days are nothing anymore. Whatever you think we had, it doesn’t exist!”

DarkRain shook his head a little, the pain in his paws was starting to grow numb. “You don’t mean that.”

“You dare question my word!” VioletStar screamed, loud enough that DarkRain knew somecat would hear. She stormed over to where he stood, her whiskers poised, her muzzled scrunched in fury. Her thick fur lashed out in the dark like claws, dragging a yowling monster aside it. DarkRain had never noticed just how large she was until he was cowering under her stare. He backed away to the wall of the den, a sharp point of rock edged painfully against his back, but he still creased into it. That pain was better than the approaching ferocity of the molly in front of him.

“N-No, I’m just trying to...” His voice drifted and died as she snarled viciously, making him retreat back.

“How many times do I have to beat it into that scrap of dirt you call a mind?” VioletStar roared, “I don’t want your apologies! It will not change anything!”

DarkRain felt his legs begin to give, one foreleg slipped and flailed like a fish out of water. VioletStar didn’t give him any time to reclaim his footing, a paw lashed out and pushed him into the stone. DarkRain hit the ground, wincing.

“I will only say this one more time.” VioletStar warned, every grumble in her throat sounding like the hungry snarls of a fox. “I don’t care what excuses you have. You could have done something then, you could have saved him!” DarkRain felt the tears seep over his cheeks. “You weren’t there for him when he needed you. You failed him! And you failed me!”

Every word cut deep into DarkRain’s bones. He shook under the cold whispers of his leader, trembling like a newborn kit in the snow. VioletStar loomed there until DarkRain had fallen to his paws, his head tucked into the shadows. She let out a repulsed hiss. “Look at you! Why couldn’t it have been you instead of him?”

That hit the worst.

That was the underline.

That was the naivety that VioletStar didn’t know she had.

That was the truth that DarkRain needed to tell. 

He felt the weight of each tear as it darkened over his cheeks. His voice mumbled out of a stir of soaked, weeping breaths. “You’re right. It should have been me.”

VioletStar rolled her eyes, but she backed away a little, admiring his crying form. “We’ve already established that. Will that be all?” She spat.

Softly, DarkRain managed to shake his head enough that VioletStar rose a brow. “No.” He sobbed, the guilt tearing into him all over again. “It really should have been me!”

Now, VioletStar was listening. And she listened to the whole story, her face breaking into horror, despair, and then dark outrage.

...

StarkStar waited until DarkRain had finished before he said anything.

“Are you absolutely certain?” WillowClan’s leader said softly, he rested on his bed of moss, softly looking over the shaking cat.

DarkRain nodded, his breaths quick and terrified. “I remember all of it, StarkStar. It’s going to happen.” He cried out, fear choking him. The bloody images of his dream still haunted him. The collapse of the gem cave. His body broken and bleeding as the downfall buried him underneath.

StarkStar made a soft noise in his throat, “How many times have you had this dream?”

“Every night for the past week.”

StarkStar sighed grimly, “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

DarkRain looked up at his leader wistfully, still smelling blood even now. “I didn’t want to bother you or VioletFrost. I thought it was just a stupid nightmare.” His voice squeaked at the end, his throat beginning to strain. “But now... I’m certain, StarkStar. I’m going to die!”

Suddenly, StakStar was beside his trusted clanmate. There was a trusting authority around the leader, the kind that could calm down any storm. “You are not going to die. If you like, I can send someone else instead of you for the travel to the gem cave!”

DarkRain burst up in horror. “No! You can’t do that!” He cried, startling his leader at the pleading in his tone. “If it’s not me, it will just be another cat! I can’t send just sit here knowing that someone else will take my place!”

“It might not happen at all, DarkRain.” StarkStar knew how pointless those words were, now he just sounded like an elder trying to calm down a kit’s nightmare, instead of a leader hearing of a vision. Visions were not wrong often.

DarkRain cast his face down again, whimpering. “No. I know it is. I have to go. I have to die. I couldn’t live it it ended up being another cat. What if it ended up being...” His mate’s face filled his vision and he placed a paw over his eyes. “What do I do?!”

StarkStar looked sympathetically at the crying cat. DarkRain was broken in horror. Not just because he was scared of the inevitability of his death, but because he knew what would be left behind if he truly did leave this world.

StarkStar had seen it before. He knew better than anyone how VioletFrost had been after her mother’s death. It had taken moons before his beautiful daughter was anything like herself again. He thought she had found real joy again when DarkRain had become her mate; the love that she needed was there and willing to give her whatever she wanted.

And now, it would be taken from her all over again.

DarkRain knew this too, and he was scared. Terrified, for her.

The thought of leaving her all alone... that was what made DarkRain weep. He’d have given his life to see her smile. Now she would be left in the dark once again.

StarkStar feared if she’d be able to find herself again.

He looked up, thinking long and hard. He had to do something. Not just for VioletFrost, but for DarkRain as well. He was a good cat who only cared for the feelings of others. He didn’t deserve this. And VioletFrost didn’t deserve to lose such a mate.

So what could he do? If the vision was set, so was time. Some cat’s time was coming soon. Even if he called off the mission to the cave, the vision would still claim its victim sooner or later. Who’s to say the cave wasn’t a more merciful death that awaited? These visions could very well punish those who dared defy fate.

StarkStar picked a pieced of fluff out of his claws, letting out a low groan. It would do no good to run away from it. But still... He padded over to where DarkRain lay, still sobbing in fear. His paw gently touched the younger cat’s back. DarkRain sniffed, rubbing a paw over his watery eyes. The air was thick with abject threat, wavering like dark smoke around the den.

StarkStar’s paw rubbed over DarkRain’s thick coat. “You’ll come with me on the mission, but I promise you, nothing will happen to you. I would not let that happen to you or VioletFrost.”

DarkRain was not encouraged by this. Numbly, he looked down again. “It’s not something we can just change, StarkStar.”

StarkStar patted over the cat, then stepped over to the den entrance. “We can still try. Stick by me when we enter, and I swear that I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”

“How can you do that?” DarkRain asked softly, careful to not let his bitterness show. He wouldn’t offend his leader, especially the one who had trusted him with his daughter’s love.

“The same way we always do as a clan.” StarkStar smiled like a tender father, the father DarkRain had always seen him like. “We watch out for each other and protect each other when danger is near. I will not break that duty, especially with you, DarkRain.”

DarkRain smiled thinly at the kind words of his leader, but that did not mean he was convinced. You couldn’t tempt fate. Fate was eternal, and it had decided that he was to die.

But that didn’t mean that StarkStar was lying.

He would protect DarkRain from danger.

For DarkRain, for VioletFrost, StarkStar would do anything.

...

DarkRain found it hard to talk about what came next. About how the gem cave had indeed collapsed. About how his leader had pushed him out of danger. About how the vision did claim itself a victim.

The tears streamed down DarkRain’s cheeks by the time he was finished. He was afraid. So afraid like before. Terrified to see the face of the one he loved so much.

He had seen her pressed against the ruined cave, screaming and bawling as she realised that her father was gone. When he had reached out, awe-struck, convicted by her father’s sacrifice, he had barely touched her back before she snapped around, the love usually held in that beautiful violet tainted with blame and severance.

She thought him responsible before.

She knew it now.

There was no sound made apart from DarkRain’s quiet cries. “I-I’m so sorry, VioletStar.” The song of the moon-high crickets was all that responded to him. He forced the oxygen into his lungs. “If I’d known that he’d save me... I’d do it all over, and stop him!”

The emptiness continued, DarkRain thought somewhere he could smell blood again.

His eyes fluttered open, but he didn’t look up. He did feel the shadows loosen on him though, allowing him some space. DarkRain didn’t take the chance. “Violet...” He mewed softly, like he would have done in her ear not so long ago. His eyes closed again, fresh tears slipping through the slits. “I know you’ll never forgive me, but please know that I’m sorry. I wish it had been-”

There was the sound of claws scraping violently on the stone, like they were being dragged away.

Then there was a tight sound of cutting air.

And then came the pain. 

It came all over his cheek like scalding thorns, DarkRain barely made a sound before he was struck to the floor. He could feel his fur tear, and the warm blood soak into his fur. His face stung terribly and he knew a horrible mark would be left.

But it was shock that kept him silent, kept him gasping in raw, rugged breaths. He pulled his paw from the wound and felt the blood drip along the pads. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was all the darkness allowed for a moment. DarkRain tearfully looked up, eyes raw from crying, his pupils small as they looked up at his attacker. 

A minute of glacial silence followed; DarkRain crying and moaning in pain, as VioletStar loomed furiously over him. Her fangs were bared frightfully, every pointed fang gleaming, it looked like she would at any moment burst forward and tear out his throat. She could do it easily. DarkRain just kept still, beaten,unable to recognise his former love through her anger.

“He died for you.” VioletStar monotoned, her voice slow and thundering. “He died for you.” She repeated, inhaling with great force and growling the air out like it was venom. “You let him die for you.” The Den felt heavy with her words. “You selfish waste of fur...”

There were tears in her eyes, small and sparkling with malice.

DarkRain’s heart ached, his mouth quivered, but he fell silent again as her blood soaked claws unsheathed in warning.

“It’s all your fault. You knew what was meant to happen and you used it like the coward you were!” Her breath became hot as she lowered, her growl ever-growing. “You used my father’s loyalty to run away like a rat!”

For a brief moment, there was a contortion of pain, but it was gone in a second. “And why? Because you were worried how I’d be without you?” There was a low rumble that sounded between a laugh and a sneer. 

DarkRain felt her voice, icy on his ear. “You fool.”

The tom didn’t know what to say, his tongue was paralysed by fear. Fortunately, VioletStar carried on in her growling whispers, never allowing him a moment to think. He would take this all in, here and now.

“If it had been you, it would have been the most generous thing you’d ever done for me. You actually think I would have mourned for you?” She spat in revulsion. “Don’t be so vain. I never loved you like that. The only reason I ever gave you a chance in the first place was because my father trusted you enough that he pointed you to me. You were nothing to me but a last resort.”

Her voice was smooth and gentle, which made what she said so much worse for DarkRain. His heart strained at her words. He desperately tried to believe that she was only saying this because she knew it hurt him. But there was no hesitation in her tone. She was rehearsed, unbounded. She meant everything.

Every time she had laid beside him, every word they’d shared, the time that DarkRain had treasured so strongly.

It meant nothing to her.

She had loathed it. Loathed him. And now, she didn’t have to hide it anymore.

VioletStar pulled away, leaving the tom open mouthed and quivering where he lay. Her hateful stare glistened as she wiped away the pricking tears. “Clearly, my father and I were fools as well. Trusting you?” She turned away, her growl low and pitiful, laced with a small pain. “And now I’ll suffer because of that. All because I took pity on you, making you think a cat like you could be loved.” She spat on the ground, her claws leaving deep red lines on the stone. “You’re impossible to love.”

She hated him, so strongly. DarkRain had lost the desire to even speak anymore. His body trembled with so much agony. The worst part was, he couldn’t disagree with a word his leader said. He had been meant to die. He had let StarkStar die for him. He had been a fool to think VioletStar could have ever forgiven him, much less loved him.

All this time, he had been running. Fleeing from fate and the truth.

VioletStar had been clear to make him understand.

“I’m sorry.” He said, toneless from the hurt. He didn’t know what else to say.

He said the wrong thing. VioletStar rushed forward again, and DarkRain cowered and waited for the claws to rip through him again. They never did. Only an unbelievable screaming. “If you say that one more time, I will send you to the Dark Forest here and now!”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you apologise! Done is done! I made my mistakes and paid for it, and believe me, you will pay for yours in time! StarkStar is dead! It’s all your fault; and that will never change! Understand!”

DarkRain kept his eyes squeezed shut, accepting the verbal beating like he deserved.

“You should be dead, and it would give me nothing but pleasure to be the one to make it happen.” VioletStar snarled. She began to wipe the blood off her paws, flicking the claws on her clanmate’s fur. “But unlike you, I care for my clan. And they need a prophet.” She backed away, shoving DarkRain’s pelt again.

“You may keep your role in the clan. But I warn you, make sure that you remain of use to me. Because if you fail at any moment, you’ll be wishing that you died in that cave!”

DarkRain already did. He kept silent and submissive though.

VioletStar stalked over to her bedding, but she didn’t lie down. “Now.” She said, her soft voice dripping with blood and ready to spring again. “If that’s all there is, get out of my sight!” Her thick fur prickled again, clear with the answer of what would happen if DarkRain refused her commands.

He didn’t argue.

That cold back, shaking with anger, was the kindest thing he would ever see of his leader now.

Biting back a whimper of pain, DarkRain achingly clambered to his paws. His cheek still burned and the blood still dripped, but he still limped away from his leader. A part of him wanted to look back, as if by some miracle he could find one last light of forgiveness.

He really was a fool. He hissed away the thought and carried on, embracing the moonlight like it was his mother’s fur. He wandered out, as alone as he always had been. Briefly, he wondered if the pain of the cut or the words hurt more feverishly. But did it really matter.

The one cat who cared about him had died because of him.

The cat he had loved now wanted him dead.

This was his life now. And unlike everything before, he couldn’t run away from it.

VioletStar would never let him forget.

He’d have to make up some kind of excuse for his injury. Or maybe VioletStar would rejoice in her clan knowing what she had done. They’d sooner trust her than him, after all.

DarkRain let out a shaky breath, this all hurt too much to think about.

He... He needed some rest; it was the only peace he could hope for from now on.

...No.

That was a fool’s thoughts as well.

There would be no peace. Never again.

DarkRain knew she’d be there. In his worst nightmares, those burning violet eyes would always be there, piercing through the dark.

...

Hope you all enjoyed this. And I really hope I did your video and story justice, Ghost! You deserve the best and beyond buddy!

Thanks for reading!

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Life Has No Title (H.S, 1)

Y/N Y/L/N is looking forward to summer— until she finds One Direction, England’s top-selling band, hiding in her barn. Now, she has to deal with rockstar egos, an unwanted admirer, and the dark force that sent them into hiding in the first place.

inspired by the starstruck movie and the ff. descrip. please don’t sue lmao.

“Y/N!”

The young woman in question grumbled something about rice and bunnies, sighing in bliss as she burrowed deeper into her warm, freshly washed covers.

“Where’s my hairdryer! You so have my hairdryer.”

“I don’t have your bloody hairdryer,” she mumbled, refusing to do anything, but succumb to the distant calling of sleep and wrap herself tighter into cocoon of bedsheets she was sandwiched inside. Her sister’s voice was far away, now... but a blip in the universe, distant, until it disappeared altogether from this new world of rice and gravy, and...

“Give. Me. Back. My. Hair. Dryer!”

Y/N could hear Anna rummaging through her belongings, intrusively spectating at each book and cranny of her bedroom, like the lunatic she seemed to always be. She could just picture the stuck-up expression she had on, nose upturned and eyes narrowed into slits.. but that doesn’t exist here, remember? The rabbit that suspiciously resembled Regina George reminded her airily, she nodded dazedly in her dream. She doesn’t even go here.

“Why would I have your hair dryer?”

“Just give it, you freak! I need it!”

“I told you, I don’t have the bloody hairdryer. I don’t even use it, I’m a hairdryer virgin,” she groaned, eyes squeezed shut as she struggled to cling to the remnants of her dream, but the giant rabbit/Regina George was waving goodbye with a blank expression..

A pillow hit her head.

“Go away,” she bemoaned, her hand emerging from the covers to wave her sister off in a ‘shoo’ motion. Sundays were days that were supposed to be safe from sisterly intervention. “Come back tomorrow... Even the post stops on Sundays.”

“Neither rain, sleet, or snow,” Anna stated, with way too much pride.

“We don’t live in America,” Y/N whispered, a brief, awkward pause following, before Anna cleared her throat. Thank goodness for that, Y/N thought to herself, snuggling further into the linen sheets: otherwise we’d go bankrupt, treating Anna’s chronic lunacy, expensive health care, and all...

“Whatever. Now give me—“

“Did you check under your bed?”

Anna did not speak, the fading sound of her footsteps indicating she was finally skittering out of Y/N’s room. She closed her eyes immediately, resuming the dream of bunnies, and rice, and perhaps, Barack Obama...

Slam! Thwack!

The sounds of Anna opening and closing drawers and Y/N’s wardrobe, caused the sleeping girl to jolt upwards in her bed, eyeing her loony sister blearily with her hair a bird’s nest and mouth dry, but a bit sweet from the chocolate she’d religiously inhaled at three in the morning.

“Wha’sa matter,” she spluttered, a helplessness of sorts festering in her chest at the sight of her sister pulling out one skirt after the other, holding it against her legs and inspecting her tall, skinny figure in the mirror and then dropping the articles of clothing onto the ground. Y/N watched, mouth opening and closing in unspeakable outrage as her floor filled up with a heap of clothing in seconds.

“I need a skirt,” she said matter-of-factly, not even pausing or seeming the slightest bit out of her element. She huffed and threw her another skirt she had deemed mediocre, down onto the hardwood floor. “Mine got wet.”

She moved slightly in her bed, craning her neck uncomfortably to eye the small splotch on Anna’s denim mini-skirt. She squinted. Water.

“Why can’t you get one from your own closet? It’s just water, it’ll dry—“

“My clothes are all in the wash,” she answered impatiently, flinging a top across the room. “Do you have anything remotely fashionable in here?”

She scoffed, a little bit offended. It was summertime, and after being gone to university all year, it was refreshing to come back home for a break. A full wardrobe was awaiting for her, back at home when she returned, and she thought her clothes were comfortable, but also simultaneously fashionable. Irritation burned inside of her, but fizzled to nothing as her sister continued with her antics.

“Most of the skirts you’re trying on are your hand-me-downs.”

“They looked better on me,” Anna stated, finally fingering and then clutching a hot pink skirt that burned Y/N’s peripheral vision. She had given that skirt to her on her sixteenth birthday, a few years back. She could barely bend, without it revealing her chamber of secrets. “Besides, I have a date with Phillipe.”

“Anne, we’ve talked about this. I don’t think you should count sitting with your friends in the diner he’s eating at, and following him across town, dating. That goes by the name of stalking.”

Anna rolled her eyes, glimpsing at her reflection in the mirror in slight satisfaction, but Y/N had learned that her sister was never fully satisfied with anything. She patted her sleek platinum blonde hair down.

She made her way out of Y/N’s room, her delicate feet moving along steadily, not a tremor in her step. She was the very epitome of grace.

“Whatever, freak. Get up. Mum’s been calling you for ages; it’s twelve in the afternoon.”

Y/N pulled herself out of bed, stretching her back out. There was no point in laying in her bed anymore. Anna had scared Regina George rabbit away. She rubbed her eyes, and as soon as her feet touched the floor, she stumbled.

“Meow,” Harry, her cat, called, affectionately rubbing his small, furry face against her bare arm as she sighed, laying in a pool of clumsy limbs and disappointment.

“Y/N,” Her mother’s voice came echoing up the stairwell, an edge of warning colouring her tone. “Come downstairs.”

“Just coming, mum,” she called back. She adopted a softer tone, picking up the cat and holding him to her chest as he slowly blinked at her. “Morning, Harry.”

She threw a toy mouse down the stairs, and he leapt out of her arms, chasing the prey. He swiveled his bottom for five seconds, pounced, and then proceeded to miss a step and roll down the stairs, pupils dilated as he screamed and slowly sunk to the floor, claws extended in futile attempt.

Shaking her head, she quickly made her way to the washroom, finishing brushing her teeth and peeing in record time.

“Harry,” she scolded lightly, as the cat chose to lounge on the stair steps, right as she began to come down. He blinked at her, rolling over and purring playfully. She rubbed her foot against his face and quickly hopped down before he could begin playing with her toes. The sound of the television playing the morning news and the quiet rustling of the newspaper as her father did the crossword flittered into her conscience, along with the scent of her mother’s coffee and whatever influencer inspired (laxative) tea Anna had left brewing in the kitchen.

“Morning, baby bear,” her father, Mark Y/L/N, called, gazing at her amusedly from under half moon spectacles as he pretended to read the paper in the living room, and her mother hushedly remarked on how her and her father led unhealthy lives from the kitchen, across the hall. She smiled, crossing the distance and sitting beside him.

“Morning, Dad,” she chirped, snuggling into her father’s side, him affectionately kissing her cheek. “What’s mum up to?”

“She’s making breakfast. Or brunch, if you’re one to believe in the concept of linear time,” her mother rattled off sarcastically, Y/N wincing in retaliation. She looked at her sharply, but there was a hidden warmth in her eyes that told her that she didn’t really mind.

“Sorry, mum,” she said sheepishly, smiling cheekily as her mother simply shook her head in disbelief and grabbed the car keys. Y/N noticed her parents were both clad in outdoor wear. “Where’re you guys going?”

“Grocery shopping. We have to buy food for our road trip to the lake house; not that we’ll end up buying food, anyway. We will end up purchasing that processed garbage you and your father stuff into your bodies.”

She giggled as her father rolled his eyes in amusement, before winking at her over the paper. They both shared the same sweet tooth and loathing of the surplus of vegetables and other herbivore foods that they were constantly forced to consume by her mother and Anna. Those two were total health freaks. Anna even was a germaphobe and avoided anything greasy, as if it were the plague. Y/N and her dad, however, found ways to hide their secret stash of junk food around the house, and find salvation in it at three in the morning.

“You only get one body, Y/N,” her mother stated broodingly. The girl in question nodded seriously, before leaning over her father’s crossword and grabbing a pen. She began to scrawl: Buy those small, multipack chocolate bars. John nodded. Of course, he wrote back. “Come eat something and then do the dishes.”

She complied, making her way over to sit in a breakfast chair and eat forkfuls of omelette as the morning news played and her mother sipped her coffee, browsing Facebook next to her.

“Are you almost done packing for our trip?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, spreading organic strawberry jam over some toasted bread. “Anna’s been a bit distracting, but I’m almost finished.”

“I heard you and Anna,” her mother said before she sighed. “I wish you two girls would try a little harder to get along. You two used to be so close.”

“Mum,” her voice was muffled, but still protesting through a mouthful of cooked egg. She had this conversation at least once a week. “You know that’s never going to happen.”

Her and Anna had never been quite close— well, that wasn’t exactly correct. They were close from the moment Y/N had been born right up to when she had been accepted into a gifted school Anna had not gotten into. From that moment, her favourite person’s affections had suddenly ended. Instead, Anna grew colder to her younger sister: refusing to play with or breathe in the same room as her; calling her cruel names, that although were deemed silly by Y/N, still pricked somewhere deep inside, even years later.

The two girls were so different, Y/N often questioned if she had been switched at birth, or if they even had similar DNA. From her tamed platinum blonde hair, to the way she wore her make up immaculately, every single day, without fail. It didn’t matter how sick or feverish Anna Y/L/N was, she was always very together. She ate the right things, wore the right clothes, networked with the right people. Hell, she even made sure to blow her nose into the right tissues. Up at five o clock, hitting the gym or spa with her giggling posse. Unquestionably organized, prepared, and always trying to exceed expectations. Y/N, however, couldn’t care less of most of the things Anna devoted most of her time and effort to. This reflected in her comparatively smaller and less consistent group of friends, her curvier figure, and—something that bothered Anna most to no end— her often chewed, dirt encrusted fingernails. But with her uncontrollable hair and endless source of energy, she had a fierce determination and a passion in every breath she took that many girls her age lacked.

All things considered, it was not very surprising that their two strong, different personalities clashed. It wasn’t surprising that they didn’t see eye to eye.

At the mention of her sister, Y/N’s stomach growled with the intensity of a small earthquake; the sound of which caused Harry, who had taken to resting on the chair beside hers, to lift his head up in alarm.

Fighting and interacting with Anna made Y/N hungry, she realized. Without another word, she placed another piece of toast over the one slathered thickly with raspberry jam, and bit into her new sandwich.

Choosing to ignore her daughter’s bleak response, albeit with an eye roll, Marie placed the jar of jam back inside of the pantry.

“Just make sure your suitcase is ready to go,” she told her pointedly. “You aren’t very organized. I want us to drive up to the lake house early, this year. Traffic can be terrible, now that it’s summer break and all.”

Every year, the Y/L/Ns drove their way to their cabin by the lake. And every year, Marie Y/L/N spoke of driving up to the lake house early, when they all internally knew that they’d be lucky if they made it there by nightfall. There, they stayed for one week. It was the highlight of Y/N’s summer: she loved feeling the wind against her back, going fishing and playing soccer with her father in an open field, and just spending time freely in the nature. Anna despised the getaway, always trying to make excuses that may get her out of ruining her shoes in the grass or getting a bit dirty.

“Mmphkay,” she replied through a mouthful of jam. She placed her sandwich down onto a plate, and sauntered lazily into the living room. She flopped down on an empty couch and twiddled with the remote, pushing buttons and changing the channel to some boring, English news channel. She would have skipped past it, but something caught her eye and— sort of— her interest, as well.. The words that stood out first in the headline below the reporter speaking animatedly onto the TV screen were: “Modest Management” and “Public Humiliation”. Serves them right, she thought to herself in satisfaction. That company was bonkers. She felt a brief flame of joy, which was instantaneously blown out once four faces appeared on the screen. Four equally infuriating faces. Ones that sent her blood curdling in hot frustration. She gripped the television remote harder.

“You may be familiar with One Direction for their catchy songs, bestselling albums, breathtaking tours, and devilish good looks— or simply their irresistible charm and charisma,” said the reporter, practically swooning as clips of the four boys signing body parts, walking around with models during PR stunts, singing, and following other rockstar protocol played. “And if you aren’t— you must be living under a rock!”

“Someone needs to hit your head with a rock,” Y/N muttered darkly. Unintentionally, her grip on her sandwich also tightened to a squeezing point, until raspberry jam came oozing out of the grainy barrier.

In her rage, she had failed to notice her mother’s sudden presence in the living room, where she leaned in and cast a look at the television with mild interest, just as a particularly curly haired member smirked into the camera. Y/N noticed her as her voice traveled from the doorway.

“Isn’t that the boy Anna likes?”

“Likes?” She shook her head cynically with distaste at the wild understatement. “Worships. Acts likes he’s a bloody spiritual entity, mom.”

“Language,” Marie cautioned distractedly, already ignoring the cynicism of Y/N’s comments and slipping out the doorway. Then, much to Y/N’s horror, she called for up the stairs, “Anna! That boy you like is on TV, again!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “No.. no, don’t call her down! she’ll—“

“OUT OF MY WAY.”

CRASH. BANG.

Before Y/N could take another breath or sound the slightest syllable, Anna Y/L/N came bounding down the stairs with startling fervour and acceleration. Her speed challenged those of athletes drugged up on steroids. Her determination was akin to great leaders fighting for change.

“ONE DIRECTION,” she squacked, flying off the banister in record time. Y/N was sure that her older sister was in a trance. Glazed eyes, biting her lip. Her parents were unfazed, used to Anna’s unhealthy obsession.

She bolted past the kitchen, into the living room, and down on the ground, gravitating to her one and only ‘beloved’ and ignoring everyone else in her wake. She was now salivating over the television screen, after wrestling the remote out of Y/N’s hands and turning up the volume to a deafening pitch— in a matter of seconds. She was a fangirl; The distant sound of glass shattering and animals whimpering could be heard as Anna’s esophagus released a sound so high-pitched, it was at a volume mankind had yet to discover.

They were currently showing clips of One Direction’s latest gigs; two of the boys were strumming guitars and groping each other whilst running around stage, the idiots looking like rabbits on crack. A third was abusing a drum set, further downstage, while the final member was swaying girlishly and shook his tambourine like it was some fine art.

“Look, it’s your crush,” she muttered as the same green eyed curly haired face that lined Anna’s bedroom walls filled the television screen.

“Harry!” Anna squealed, physically throwing her body over Y/N, and knocking her sandwich to the ground, in the process. Y/N fumed, steam practically blowing from her ears and face heatening as Anna eyed the band member widely with all of the stupid admiration in the world. She even let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Harry. One day you’ll know we’re meant to be together. I can’t wait for that day.”

“Good,” she growled through gritted teeth, attempting and failing to control her rising temper as she gathered the crumbly remains of her morning snack from the stained shirt. “Then you can go marry him, take all his money, and BUY ME A NEW SANDWICH.”

Anna turned to fix a very serious expression towards her younger sister. In a momentary loss of judgement, Y/N actually had enough hope in her sister’s sanity and enough belief in her logic that she had the inkling of a thought that maybe, just maybe, she was on the brink of apologizing; instead, all she did was provide further evidence of her unstable state of delusion: “you may joke about it now, Y/N,” she said, somehow managing to keep a stoic, straight face, “but you won’t be laughing, when we do get married.”

“Yes, I will, actually,” she protested gleefully, with the biggest smile, showing all of her teeth. “I’ll be laughing when you have him handcuffed, tied to the altar, and held at gunpoint while he nervously recites the vows you stole from your favorite fanfic.”

“Shhhh,” she replied, waving her off and leaning forward. Anna might as well have been hyperventilating, kneeling before the television with unblinking eyes as the band member ran his hand through his messy head of curls. Y/N thought she heard her chanting mine, mine, mine under her breath. She gagged as Anna began to swoon, when a clip of him grabbing his crotch on stage was featured. Much to her dismay, the band members of One Direction were replaced by a team of stoic looking business people, a middle aged, bald man caught in the middle, wearing a grim, borderline threatening expression— as if everything hadn’t gone his way.

It was the creator of Modest Management, Vladimir De Montgomery. He was by definition a Russian Business tycoon, a multimillionaire with rapidly increasing power, wealth, and influence. The man Y/N despised more than One Direction and their pathetic music. He had created a business that slowly, but surely had developed entire lines of superstores and outlets that wiped out small businesses and caused irreversible harm to the environment. Montgomery was a silent killer, and Y/N hated him for it. He was on the quest for world domination. Perhaps she was exaggerating a bit, but in her mind, Vladimir De Montgomery might as well have been wearing horns and dancing naked with an inflamed pitchfork.

“However, the nation’s golden boys—“ Y/N rolled her eyes at the titles, “are nowhere to be found. It is no surprise that Montgomery, although wealthy, is not very popular. In order to enhance his business and bring in more people, Modest Management arranged for One Direction, the boy band they are contractually responsible for, to play at their newest Departmental store. However, fans were devastated once the band failed to show up. This left Montgomery humiliated, with a population of hundreds of guests, who had shown up only to see the band, which is currently M.I.A. Sources claim that Vladimir Montgomery reacted angrily at the band’s absence, and the agents and publicists of the band refuse to leave a comment, seemingly without knowledge of the whereabouts of the boy band members, as well. The verdict is unclear. No one has disclosed or holds knowledge of the whereabouts of these four talented musicians. The stage is empty, and from the look of things: It seems like we have a boy band on the run.”

The news story had ended, instead switching over to a slideshow filled with black and white pictures of the band members laughing and singing and flexing. Y/N felt amazed by the amount of bullshit that could be accumulated for these things, once eerie, sad background music began to play. Anna was blinking stupidly at the television screen, before she let out an ear-splitting shriek, one which caused her sister to jump in fright.

“Calm down,” she grumbled.

“Calm down—“ Anna gaped, bugging her eyes out to make it seem like Y/N was the lunatic in the household. “Calm down?”

“Or not,” she muttered.

“How could they just ABANDON their fans like that?”

“Are you kidding? Standing up Montgomery and Modest is, like, the one sensible thing they’ve done in their entire, laughable careers.”

Anna stood up, shooting Y/N an ugly death glare. “Like you would understand.” Then she was making an exit and coolly stomping up the stairs. “This is a CRISIS,” she bemoaned from the top floor, followed by the sound of her door slamming shut.

When she glanced back at the screen, Y/N couldn’t help, but feel a small flicker of admiration for what the four band members had done. Then, he’d face grew ashen as she recalled how they were pompous, egotistical assholes, and flicked the off button on the remote, just as a black and white picture of Niall Horan eating a drumstick while wearing a tutu floated mournfully on screen.

“Where could they be?”

—

Somewhere in the outskirts of a small English town, a beast howled. The four teenagers inside of the ratty, broken down minivan sighed.

“Shut up, Niall,” the darker haired member hissed. “Your stomach’s been growling like that for ages.”

“Because I haven’t been fed for ages. Feed me, Louis.”

“You literally ordered and ate everything off of that Nando’s driveway menu we passed by. And you brought leftovers, and finished ours as well as yours,” the bronzy, spiky haired member shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “How could you possibly still be hungry?”

“I just am..” the blonde trailed off, patting his stomach almost proudly. Louis tossed a bag of baby carrots at his face, and he opened the ziplock bag and began to happily munch.

“What the fuck is this, anyway?” Louis gestured dramatically at the dingy vehicle they were currently stuck in. Niall nibbled happily.

“Princess,” Zayn muttered, leaning back into his seat with crossed arms, using a content Niall as his human shield from the dangerously flashing eyes of Louis Tomlinson. The band member driving the car rolled his eyes from under the shades covering them, and the beanie holding in his thick waves of hair. The one hand he had easy over the steering wheel tightened.

“You wanna say that to my face?”

“Sure, Niall’s too fat for you to get to me, anyway.”

“HEY—“

“This,” Harry stresses, pinching his nose in exasperation, closing his eyes for a second, before carrying on with the reminder. “This is a revolution, remember, Louis? Whatever bullshit you used to say about the people revolting after the government being unable to represent them anymore, and how Modest was our government— think of that. Please, just go to your happy place.”

Louis grumbled, and then began chanting something along the lines of “revolution and happy, anarchist society” under his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, his lips forming into a light smile. “I love me some anarchy.”

“It shows,” Zayn muttered, causing Louis to shoot him a glare and position his fists to his face, aiming for a punch. At a last resort, Zayn pushed the Irish boy who’d lost his previous grudge in heaps of chicken, in front of him. The fist hit his stomach. Zayn roared with laughter. Niall whimpered. Louis crossly looked out the window, eyes boredly running over the landscape of cows and grass and manure, and then a really ugly ass barn. Louis’s nose scrunched up at the mere sight of the hideous structure, broken down in some places, erosion running its course in other.

“That is the fugliest thing my beautiful eyes have ever rested on.”

Zayn scoffed. Then, his eyes widened, at the same time the car flew back as Harry stepped on the brakes.

“Barn!”

Louis’s eyes shot into terror filled consciousness.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus...”

—

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Niall’s tone was positively murderous as he stared at the decrepit barn in front of him, horror-struck.

Harry rubbed at his temple, tiredly. They all stared in silence from their car windows, at the tired looking barn. The car they were in was going to die any second now, and they were in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, it was pretty shitty, but he knew it was their best option, at this point. “Got a better idea?” he questioned flatly.

“Yeah, how about let’s not lay in animal shit?”

Three of them were now against the idea. Niall was shaking his head, now full of both hicken, and disbelief. Louis looked pale. Zayn looked a bit put off by the idea, too. Louis squinted, pulling down the windows manually.

“And where do you suppose we sleep?” He spat, scrunching nose and waving at the foul air dramatically. “Bloody hell, what is that?”

“It’s either hay for a little while, or being abducted by those crazy psychopaths. Pick your poison. It isn’t even that bad.”

—

“No.”

“But—“

“No.”

“Loui—“

“No.”

They were all out on the field, just metres away from the barn after parking their car somewhere further from the landscape and walking, so they wouldn’t be traced in any way. Niall was clutching his packet of chicken tenderly to his heart, a frown playing on his lips, Zayn wore a deadpan expression, Harry looked exasperated. And then there was Louis, practically on the verge of tears, his foot elevated in a slick pile of cow manure.

“Come on,” Harry urged through gritted teeth, voice growing lower and dangerously teetering towards tranquilizing Louis and sending him hurtling into the barn via T-Shirt cannon. The tone by which he spoke seemed to have struck a chord with Louis, for the dark haired boy’s lips trembled. After a few short seconds, a breathy sound escaped from the back of his neck.

“Er,” Niall sounded helplessly, shoving his hand into the grease splotched brown paper bag and successfully retrieving a half-eaten fried drumstick. He held it in front of Louis’s face. “Chicken?”

Louis took one, long look at the deep-fried mutilated chicken body part, and then his designer, new running shoes, lathered with cow shit, and his face crumpled and he promptly burst into tears.

“I wanna go home,” he sobbed brokenly, Niall fumbling for a handkerchief, but failing to find one, causing Louis to simply grab Zayn’s hoodie-clad arm and blow sorrowfully into it. “I want to—“

“Alright,” Harry spoke, looking over Louis and instead at the farm. He would commit a murder, if he had to hold onto the weight of most of their essential belongings and Louis’s luxurious hair products in an overpacked knapsack in the overbearing heat for even a minute longer. It was getting dark. “Let’s go.”

Zayn moved in the direction of the crimson coloured, off-white framed wooden barn, immediately. In fact, he sprinted, creating more distance between Louis and himself. Niall shrugged, popping the drumstick into his own mouth while taking a casual stroll inside. Harry glanced toward Louis, who made a pitiful noise. Shaking his head in disbelief, he jogged into the barn.

Mutilated was the right way to describe the barn, if it wasn’t already beyond description. Mutilated beyond measure. Everything was either rotten, rotting, or about to rot. There was hay in the back, and an upper tier that was collapsed in some places, sharp edges of wood broken down. However, it had a roof, and a gate that slid shut. It was also in the middle of nowhere, both a comforting and terrifying thought.

“Definitely abandoned.”

“No intruders,” Zayn said weakly. “No one would think to find us here.”

Niall walked a bit further inside, stepping on the hay while trying to figure out where to crash for the night. While he moved, something made a squelching noise, under his foot. Everyone collectively winced.

The three young men stood in part analytical, and part defeated silence.

“Dibs on that stack of hay,” Niall suddenly shouted, running for and leaping onto a stack, and landing with a soft thud. This caused them all to break into genuine laughter, at this and all they’d been through.

After that, it was easier to get settled in. They all claimed stacks of hay to sleep on, rating them on durability (likeliness that it wouldn’t collapse on them), softness, and location furthest from where the barn was warmest in the scalding heat. Now that they’d taken off and changed their clothes in the alleged locker room area, and relieved themselves in the randomly placed portable bathroom smack dab in the middle of the field, things were running smoothly. Niall even left out some of the food he’d brought to share. Things were harmonious.

After a while, their eyes turned to Louis, who had just stepped into the barn and was looking quite unsure of himself.

“I have candles,” he voiced. He explained: “To help with the ghastly smell.”

Harry rolled his eyes in faint amusement. “You get the unstable stack of hay at the top-pier, mate. And no complaining. This is home.”

“Yeah,” Niall sighed, cuddling further into his stack of hay. He was becoming immune to the smell, quite quickly. “Home, sweet home.”

For a moment, Harry’s eyes were drawn a small pile of childish belongings resting at the very corner of the barn: dolls fashioned from sticks stuck together with vines, paper drawings, candy wrappers, and a faded tiara, snapped in half. His eyebrows pinched together in curiosity and alarm, but he reminded himself no one could possibly be nearby. He wandered off to help build a table of sorts.

Then, the four young rockstars fell onto their soft stacks of hay, content under the cool beeeze the merciful summer air had blown their way. They slept under the thinly veined stars, shining with brilliance, viably from under the cracks of the eroding, crimson barn. They faded into sleep with full stomachs and, at least temporarily, satisfied minds, knowing they were alone, out of reach from the rest of the world.

They thought so, anyway. Oblivious to the house hidden behind a thick thatch of vines, trees, and greenery, inhabited by a family unit comprised of a mother, a father, and the most obsessive girl the world had encountered, accompanied by the fiercest.

For now, they’d sleep. Until Niall would eventually wake them all in the middle of the night with a girlish shriek, frightened by some stick he claimed was a sword, anyway.

—

Anna hadn’t descended down from the closed parameters of her room, all evening.

Even after every coax, beg, and eventual scold (from their mother), she remained adamant, staying up in her room and grieving the loss of four random boys who’d somehow gotten lost. It was nearing night, when she’d finally come down, just in time for dinner after Marie had practically pushed her down the stairs, and then into her chair.

For dinner, they’d had some salad or whatever that Anna usually liked, but today she just scraped her fork against the plate, causing sharp, screeching noises doing nothing to console Y/N’s already heightening frustration at the leaves they were consuming for dinner. Dinner was supposed to be a meal, wasn’t it? Meals were supposed to make you happy. She thought of the time Harry had gotten lost, how Anna hadn’t done so much as paste a poster. Now, she was practically fasting for these strange rich people, in grief.

Now, it was nearing midnight, and Y/N was slowly tiptoeing down the stairs, stomach grumbling and making obscene sounds, due to the dissatisfying meal she’d pushed down her throat. She yawned, rubbed at her eyes and tied to think of what to eat to satisfy the hungry ache in her stomach that was boring a hole through her soul. Then, the sound of plastic crinkling sounded through the room, and she froze. The lights were all shut, the halls all enveloped in darkness.

She tiptoed further, stopping and holding her breath when she spotted the closed walk-in closet in their hall, lit up from the inside. She pursed her lips, moved forward, then swung the door open.

All of a sudden, the man made quick moves to haphazardly close whatever packet he was eating from. A sharp squeak came out of his mouth, and Y/N relaxed. It was her father. In a rather comedic stance, really. Clutching a packet of crisps to his chest, mouth stuffed full. His eyes were wide with fright, resembling a deer in the headlights. He swallowed, relaxing some when he noticed it was Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N, I thought you were your mother,” he outstretched the packet of crisps as a sort of offering, pulling it from where they kept their secret stash of what they liked to call ‘real food.’ “I should’ve known. You’ve always had an amazing radar for junk food.”

“Gimme,” she squealed, launching herself forward and grabbing fistfuls of greasy chips, not minding as they crumbled into her mouth. She closed her eyes. Her stomach cried with gratitude, she saw the colours of freedom. “Mmm.. saturated fat,” she moaned, reaching for another handful.

Mark laughed and his eyes—so much like Y/N’s— lit up, giving his face a boyish glow. “Save some for later,” he advised, prying the packer away from his daughter’s greedy hands. “Your mother’s making boiled tofu, again, tomorrow.”

“Ew, barf,” said Y/N, scrunching her face up in disgust.

Mark chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately. “That’s my girl.”

Later that night, Y/N ventured out to leave the cat food and water, and at the same time, by some divine coincidence (Marie Y/L/N’s bullying), Anna was also sent to throw away the recycling and trash. This was her fault, anyway. She’d complained that Harry shouldn’t eat his ‘meaty slimy food’ in the same room where they all ate. So, their mother, a typical Anna-pleaser, had shifted the cat’s food and water dishes outdoors, by the shed. Y/N obviously found this a very unjust thing to do. Would it be fine if she protested against Petunia clipping her toe nails in the same washroom she showered in? No. but Harry didn’t mind it. He ate, drank his water, and rolled around in the grass for a while, afterwards.

Y/N and Anna walked for a while in complete, awkward silence, her sister clutching a handful of trash bags, and her the cat food with Harry meowing in tow, leaping around, and begging for food. The garbage bins were located right next to the shed, so that was even worse. Y/N hadn’t trusted her sister with throwing out the garbage after an incident four years back involving Y/N, Anna’s surprising lifting and throwing strength, and, well.. a garbage bag. So, she kept at a distance. She hoped they could get through this whole little excursion without exchanging a word, which would honestly probably be better off for the both of them. However, Anna couldn’t seem to hold it in the moment Y/N pulled back the metal strip, opening the canned salmon to put into Harry’s food bowl. Anna sniffed disgustedly and complained, “Ew, gross! That’s disgusting, get that stuff away from me!” Although she wasn’t even near her.

Naturally, Y/N couldn’t not smirk. She immediately pulled the lid right off the salmon, then casually strolled upto her sister. “No, seriously, it smells great! Try some,” she held it under Anna’s nose, and her expression went from irritated to downright petrified.

She screamed, swatting at the can, causing the contents of pink salmon to run down Y/N’s tank top, staining it. “Great,” she said. “Now, you’ve ruined two of my shirts, and Harry has to eat dry food.”

“Serves you both right,” Anna huffed, walking to the garbage bins.

By the time she had fetched the dry food and poured it into Harry’s bowl—which caused him to stare at her, hard, for a very long time, questioning why there was only kibble in his bowl— Anna was still cautiously and very slowly throwing away the trash, gingerly dropping each bag, every now and then, keeping a safe distance from the bin. Y/N started to walk back, and it was a fair jaunt, with their property being so big. She heard the trash bin finally shut, and Anna let out a little yelp, presuming it was from the waft of ‘garbage air.’

Y/N rolled her eyes. As she did this, she caught a glimpse of something at the far end of the property. Across the field, behind a couple of fir trees, was the old barn house, neglected over the past decade or so and half-deteriorated by years of harsh weather and a lack of maintenance. Y/N hadn't visited the barn since she was very, very young. Even then, it had been a blend intrigue and fascination that drew her to it, a temporary fixation to satisfy her curiosity. She'd taken Anna back there, one summer's night, lured her in, closed the door on her and run back to the house. Apparently, Anna didn't have very good navigational skills in the dark, because she hadn't been able to get out until she'd been retrieved by her father and carried back in tears. Y/N was grounded for three weeks. Anna was scarred for life.

Needless to say, nobody had ventured back to the barn ever since.

So it was strange, now, that as Y/N glanced inadvertently in that direction, she saw a miniscule light shining at the back of the field.

She stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes, wondering if she was hallucinating. Nope, it was definitely there. A shudder swept through her at the sight of it, but at the same time, she was fascinated. Just like when she was a child, she felt drawn toward the barn by an eerie sort of curiosity. It was almost pitch black out by now, but really, how dangerous could it possibly be? Without giving it another thought, Y/N deposited the water bottle she'd used to fill Harry's dish and began to walk purposefully in the direction of the mysterious light.

"Wh-where are you going?" Anna asked suddenly. In her voice was a combination of annoyance and anxiety; annoyance at the fact that Y/N was doing something strange and impulsive, and anxiety originating from the fact that Y/N was going for a stroll while leaving Anna in the vastness of their yard, in the pitch-black, with nothing, but a plastic recycling box.

"As if it concerns you," Y/N said dully.

"You can't just leave me here alone!" Anna voice was so high-pitched, it was like listening to nails scratching ballistically at a chalkboard. Y/N cringed and was forced to stop once again.

She swivelled around, made a duh sort of face at Anna, and said, "Well then, you're going to have to come with me, aren't you?"

As expected, Anna froze up and adamantly shook her head. "Uh, no way. Never."

Y/N turned around exasperatedly and continued to saunter across the field. "Then, for goodness' sake, Anna, shut up." She quickened her pace.

A couple of seconds went by, and then, as predicted...

"Wait!"

Anna hurried along behind her; evidently, her fear of being alone in the dark had won out over her reluctance to visit that place again. Y/N couldn't say she hadn't expected for this to happen, but she wasn't particularly over the moon at having acquired a companion. Anna, being said ally. As they crossed the darkened field, drawn toward the light in the corner, her sister jumped at the tiniest of noises, kept glancing around as if something was about to jump out at her at any moment, and, at one point, actually grabbed onto the back of Y/N’s shirt in her panic, pulling at it viciously with her perfectly manicured claws.

“I swear, Anna, if you ruin this one, too,” Y/N hissed. She liked this shirt. It was a dark blue Rolling Stones one, that led down to her mid thighs and was super soft.

"This is a really bad idea," Anna hissed, Y/N rolling her eyes as she completely ignored her threat. She seemed to be getting more antsy as they approached the closest tree to the barn. Her eyes darted across the field, then to the barn, then to Y/N. "You're not just going to lock me in there again, a-?"

Y/N shushed her impatiently and dragged her behind the tree. She was focused on the voices she'd just picked up on, drifting toward them from inside the dilapidated building. There was the unmistakable sound of male laughter, the occasional girlish whimper, and one voice that was deeper than all the others, speaking in a slow, spine-chilling monotone.

Resembling one of the more placid, fearful voices in the barn, Anna whimpered. "I told you this was a bad idea!" she whispered. "You're going to get us murdered! Who knows what could be in there - it's probably a serial killer on the run, or a monster, or a serial killing monster-"

Y/N had had enough. She pivoted on her heel, slapped a hand over her sister's open mouth, and fixed her with a harsh, patronizing look. She tried to keep her voice low, but it was difficult to suppress her rising anger. "Shut your goddamn mouth, Anna, or I swear, I will put you out there as bait. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed and stunned into sheer silence, Anna nodded hurriedly. Y/N yanked her hand away and gave the barn one last glance from her lookout point before stepping out from behind the tree and beginning to walk quickly with padded feet, across the remaining stretch of lawn.

She could now pick up on distinct pieces of conversation emanating from the barn.

"And then the werewolf creeps up behind the unsuspecting traveller, and... BANG!" Somebody shrieked at this; next to Y/N, Anna jumped. "Snaps his neck!"

"Oooh, I'm scared," said another voice mockingly. "Honestly, these stories suck. Where did you get them from - Nialler’s bedtime story collection?"

Y/N didn't hear anymore, because Anna had begun to tug urgently on her arm.

"What?" she hissed.

For once, Anna showed some damn common sense and kept her voice lower. Her eyes, however, told Y/N that she would have spoken much louder, had they not been in such a situation. "I know that voice!" she whispered excitedly. "I would know that voice anywhere!"

Y/N shot her a confused look, but decided not to ask questions. Anna wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind, childhood trauma and all. Instead, she took the final few steps that led her to the barn door, reached out tentatively for the handle...

...And, in one fluid motion, threw the door open.

The voices stopped abruptly.

Anna let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Four boys sat completely still in the centre of the barn, their faces frozen in various expressions. They were gathered together on a cluster of hay bales; one, with shaggy black hair, held a flashlight to his chin and had his mouth open in shock. To his left, a rather blonde boy looked scared out of his mind, and the other two wore similar looks of horror, as if they'd been caught in some despicable act.

But they hadn't done anything terribly wrong. What had caused Anna to scream - and Y/N to go still, completely rigid from head to toe - had been the mere sight of their four faces.

Four faces which were all startlingly familiar.

The members of One Direction.

To Be Continued...

MASTERLIST | Requests are open!

A/N:

*cracks knuckles* here i am again, with a series fic i may very likely never update. anywho XD this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and it was quite grudging to type at some areas cause my fingers got tired, but i was supposed to study for an exam, and my procrastinating ass naturally flocked here. lemme know what you think. i love hearing from my jared 19s :)

[thewhiterabbit42]

Kibble

Pairing: Gabriel x reader Summary:  Sam and Dean ask Gabriel to cat sit for you, and it leads to a surprising discovery.   Request: @nobodys-baby-now  “What did you do to me?!” Word Count: 4885 (oops) Warnings/Tags: fluff, men acting cute with animals, confessed feelings, one soft archangel 

***Please do not repost, reproduce, or copy my work to any other site without my written permission.  Giving credit does NOT count.***

This was beneath him.  The archangel Gabriel, Messenger of God, a being so powerful he could snap entire countries off the map, was cat sitting.  Apparently, being part of Team Free Will put him on duties even the Winchesters wouldn’t deal with.

Pride aside, he was so not a cat person.  Dogs had always been his thing, with their goofy, lopsided smiles, and the way they’d wag their tails so hard their entire butt would shake whenever he returned.  His dad had really done the world a solid when he designed their lineage.  

Cats, on the other hand, had to have been one of Lucifer’s creations.   

The only reason he’d even agreed was because your name had come up in the conversation.  Something about it being yours and you being on a case.  At least that’s what he assumed.  He hadn’t really bothered with the details, and, to be honest, they didn’t matter, so long as he had the opportunity to score some brownie points with you.

Ok, so maybe he knew exactly what he was doing there.  Potential payoff or not, it didn’t make him any more enthused about spending the next however many days with your feline friend.

He stepped up to the railing, eyes scanning the bunker below.  He tilted his head, hands moving to his hips when he couldn’t see or hear a single sign of his new charge.  

“...Alright, you little bastard, where are you?”

***

He stood outside your bedroom, hovering at the threshold.  He tapped his chin thoughtfully.  Was going in without your permission because your furball had pulled a disappearing act technically an invasion of your privacy?  

Indecision kept him caught in a web of what ifs, until his thoughts began to wander to just how many other nights he had lingered.  Not in this spot, of course.  That would be creepy.  Within these walls.  Well beyond his welcome.  Hoping he’d receive a coveted invitation back to your room.  

It wasn’t about sex.  Not just about it anyway.  He already couldn’t refuse you much.  There’s no way if you dropped trou in front of him he’d remember the word no, let alone the English language, even existed.  It was the thought of you allowing him someplace no one else had ever been.  

At least, he assumed that was the case, given how much you valued your privacy.  

However, the problem still remained that he hadn’t found a single sign of your cat.  He almost considered just snapping you a new one, until he realized you’d probably murder him - or worse, exile him from your presence - because he lost your precious Mr. Meowmers.  Mittens?  Whiskers?  Regardless of whatever obnoxiously adorable thing you’d named it, he was so screwed if he didn’t find it.  

Maybe it was a prank.  Maybe all of you were on your way back, having a good laugh over his inevitable panic when he came up short one furball.  In a few hours you’d come strolling in, teasing him about stooping to pet duty before holding up some take-out and saying the only cat I invite into my life is from the Yum Mei Palace, dork.    

The frantic beating of a tiny heart suggested otherwise.  

He pushed through the door, ears straining for the source of the sound.  It was coming from the far corner, and as he peered through the darkness toward it, his brow immediately snaked up.  There, against the wall, was an abysmal sleeping situation that had to be too small for just about anything.  

At least he knew, without a doubt now, that no one was staying in that bed with you, unless they were the size of… well, a cat.  

He appeared next to the headboard, trying to figure out the best course of action.  Did he just get rid of the bed altogether, grab the thing, and hang around to see the look on your face when you came home to a California King and silk sheets?  

He shook his head.  You’d probably find a reason to shoot him over that.  

He’d have to think about it.  The bed that was.  The old-fashioned way probably worked fine for the cat.  He crouched down, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he tried to coax it out.  It scrambled along the carpet, an inaudible thump reaching his ears as it slammed into the wall, trying to escape.

“Easy, numbskull, I’m not going to hurt you”.  The response he received was a resounding hiss as he poked his head beneath the frame.  “Okay, then.  We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

It made no difference to him if the it was sedated until you came back.  Cat’s slept most of the day anyway, right?  What difference did a few extra hours make?

He reached for it, intent on dragging it out by the scruff of its neck, when he froze as the most pathetic sound reached his ears.

… was it crying?

Ah, shit.  That was not what he’d been expecting.  Cats were supposed to be stuck up little assholes who pushed drinks off tables and left hairballs in shoes, not terrified little masses capable of making such terrible noises.  

“Alright, alright you win,” he winced throwing his hands up in defeat as dropped down onto the floor.  “I’ll wait until you’re ready to come out.”

He scooted up against the wall, fishing his phone out of his pocket.  “Just had to be a cat person, didn’t you,” he muttered, loading up a game of Candy Crush.  

***

He lost track of how long it took for the furbrain to calm down.  It certainly took its sweet time easing out of panic mode into curiosity.  By the time it began to creep across the carpet, Gabriel was stuck on what might have been the worst level in the game yet.  He got so into it, he almost forgot about his charge, until a dainty black paw emerged, swiping at one of his shoelaces.  

He snorted, and the little limb made a hasty retreat.  “I’m not gonna hurt you, kibble.”

An indelicate meow reached his ears.  Was that offense he sensed from it’s peanut of a brain?  

“Yeah, well, what else would you be if you’re such a scaredy cat?”    

This time when the paw appeared, it went straight for his pant leg.  

He chuckled.  “I’m shaking in my boots.”  

He conjured a shoelace, dangling it closer to the bed in an attempt to draw it out.  It took several minutes of play to distract it, and when it finally pounced, Gabriel was surprised.  

“You’re just a little guy,” he realized, grabbing it by the back of its neck and gently dragging it out from beneath its cover.  It gave an indignant yowl, flipping itself around and exposing its stomach.

“Excuse me, girl,” he amended, watching her curl herself around his wrist and kick in an attempt to get free.  He scooped her up, the movement startling her and almost sending her fleeing back into her hiding spot.

“Hey, hey, hey, pumpkin, it's ok,” he soothed as she began to cry again, her small frame trembling in his large hands.  “I’m not going to hurt you, promise.”  

He released a calming burst of grace, cradling her against his him as he waited for the effects to take hold.  Once her fear had dissipated, she settled against him, an almost inaudible rumble starting in her chest as he gently stroked behind her ears.  

“See?  I’m not so bad.”

She let out a breathy mewl, as if unconvinced, eyes owlishly looking up at him.  

“Those are some peepers you have,” he commented.  They were remarkable in an animal, the blend of colors deviating from the normal yellowish hues most black cats had.  

She chuffed as if to say you’re full of it, head turning away where she buried it in her paws.  

Some personality as well.  

He was impressed.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

***

He looked up from his phone as the pile of fur in his lap shifted.  Her back arched as tiny limbs gave a languid stretch.    

“Enjoy your cat nap?”  He asked, lips twitching in amusement.  She blinked, staring up at him as if just remembering his presence.  Her eyes narrowed shrewdly and, unless he was imagining it, wholly judgmentaly, of him and his pun.  “What?”

She rose, turning herself around with her nose in the air when she suddenly froze.  The hair along her spine stood on end, her claws springing out from between her toes and digging through denim.  

“Easy on the goods, squirt,” Gabriel warned, a little panicked as he pried her off the center of his jeans.  “What’s got you all in a tizzy?”

She let out a frantic meow, and he cupped her in his hands, nestling her against his chest.  She continued to stir, wide eyes looking around the room in alarm.  

“...have you not been in here yet?”  He questioned, inanely, as if expecting a response other than the way she tried to climb him like a tree.  “Woah - relax,” he hissed, her claws piercing the thin fabric of his shirt and catching his skin.  “I just moved us to more neutral territory.”  

He caught her by the scruff of the neck, delicately lifting her off him and turning her around before supporting her back paws with the palm of his hand.  “Kibble, this is the library.  While it can be a thing of evil in regards to the lack of fun it contains, I assure you, there’s nothing to be afraid of.  Library, meet the smallest, and arguably furriest, member of the Scooby gang.”  

Her ears went flat as he lowered her to the floor, small body backing up until it came in contact with his boot.  

“There will be none of that,” he insisted, nudging her forward before disappearing from the chair.  “You’re gonna end up scared of your own shadow the rest of your life if you don’t do something about it now.”  

He reappeared several feet away, instantly regretting his decision when an awful keening sound broke the silence.  

“For the love of - I’m here,” he waved his arms emphatically.  “Right.  Here.”

The noise stopped, delicate ears perking up as her head snapping toward his voice.  She made a dash in his direction, tripping over her paws in haste and becoming a bumbling wreck of ungraceful limbs.  She managed to stay upright until she reached him, one of her claws catching on the throw rug he was on, sending her sprawling at his feet.  

She blinked up at him, a little dazed.

“Not the most coordinated, eh?”  He crouched down, unsnagging her before he scooped her up again, bringing her eye level.  She walloped him on the nose, the tiny tap thankfully claw free, and his brow swept up with mirth.  “And feisty to boot.”  A thought crossed his mind as she began to chew on his thumb.  “Or are you just hangry?”

He received a pitiful noise in response, and dropped her back on her feet.

“Come on, Kibble.  Let’s go find you something other than me to sink your teeth into.”

He walked toward the door, pausing as he neared it to make sure she was following.  He watched her try to keep up with him, awkward gait stumbling every few steps.  At this rate, you and the Hardy boys would be returning well before he and the furbag made it anywhere near the kitchen.  

“Jeez, you really don’t know how to use those things yet, do you?”  He plucked her up from the ground, plopping her onto his shoulder.  “I know you know how to use these,” he tickled at one of the claws still hanging out on her back foot.  “So hang tight, and try not to fall off.  Your owner would literally tear me a new one if I broke anything on you.”

***

“Ooooooo-kay, then,” Gabriel said, brows furrowed as he closed the last of the cupboards.  There was no nothing.  No cans of cat food. No dry mix.  He couldn’t even find a single bowl or water dish for her.  

“You new in town, or what?”  He asked, leaning down on the countertop and playfully flicking the kittens tail.  It whipped back and forth a few times before she turned, attempting to pounce on his hand.  He pulled it away at the last second, dragging it down the length of the countertop and chuckling as she scrambled to catch up with it.  

“Sorry, but archangel is not on the menu tonight,” he said dryly, giving her a soft nudge once she caught him.  She lost her balance, flopping over onto her side, where she began to make a noise as if she were languishing away.    

“Drama queen, much?”  He stroked beneath her chin as he thought.  “Well, I have no idea what your standards are but I, for one, cannot stand what they try to pass off as food for you.” He made a face just thinking about how the smell lingered in his nostrils for hours.  “Which means you are in for a treat.”

He snapped his fingers, conjuring everything a cat might consider eating.  Everything from Roasts, whole chickens and turkeys, to a variety of fish appeared on a buffet line of tiny plates, every miniature version just the perfect size for her.  She licked her chops as the delicious smells wafting over her.  

“There,” he gave the bridge of her nose an affectionate rub.  “If you can’t find something appealing out of that lineup, you’re on your own.”  

***

“Don’t panic!”  He shouted, unsure who the command was directed at more: him or the animal practically running in circles.  Frantic little cries accompanied the frenzied equivalent of the feline’s pee dance.  Think, Gabriel, think… where would the litter box be?  

“Hey-ay-ay-ay!” He hissed, his back going rigid as she leapt onto it.  Tiny claws nicked skin as she scaled her way up onto his shoulder, paws swatting insistently at something behind him.  He craned his head, trying to figure out what she saw, only to find her batting away at thin air.  

“Yeah, not certain it’s the best moment for kitty crazy time, but whatever helps you keep your legs crossed.”  A desperate growl was his only response as she darted across his neck to the other side of him, repeating the motions.  

It took him another few seconds to realize she was trying to tell him something.  

“Angel, right,” he muttered, snapping a pan into existence as he snagged her off his shirt.  “Now, are you a fan of cedar chips or --”

The high-pitched snarl was enough for him to blink the standard contents into existence before tossing her in the center of it.  Her ears reared back, when he continued to stand there, her teeth bared in an indignant hiss.  

“... are you serious right now?”

The yowl was slightly less pitiful, but there was no mistaking the displeasure behind it.  

“Alright, alright, I’ll turn around,” he huffed placing his back to her and hearing her continue to make noises under her breath.   

***

He was running out of ideas on what to do.

He had regaledher, in detail, of many of his past adventures, and embarked on some of their own in an attempt to get her familiar with the bunker.  The library had practically become a kitty paradise with ramps, scratching posts, and all sorts of perches to explore.  Toys littered the building from one end to the other, and at one point he had even conjured live game, though his charge had seemed less enthused with those.

“Pretty certain it’s supposed to be the other way around.”  Wryness tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched her leap off the floor to safety while a mouse scurried past her feet.  He laughed, smoothing the hair down along her spine before snapping the rodent back out of existence.  “And I’m pretty certain your owner has the same problem, so you better work on that now if you don’t want to find yourself out in the cold.”

He picked her up, scratching affectionately along her cheek so she wouldn’t mistake his teasing for an actual ultimatum.  She responded by rubbing against him, contentment radiating into his fingertips through the vibration of her loud purr.  

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, holding her close as he flew them to the den.  He dropped back onto the couch, settling her on top his chest as he reached for the remote.  She seemed content enough to lay down, her eyes glancing toward the tv as he turned it on.

“Now, what should we watch?

***

Gabriel inhaled, letting out a deep sigh and jostling the dark pile of fur on top of him.  All he could find was sappy romantic comedies and bad sci-fi flicks, the latter of which weren’t nearly as good without you there.  Little limbs stretched forward, paws hitting his chin.

“Why can’t it be as easy as it is in the movies?”  He grumbled.  She cracked an eye, head tilting curiously as he ran a finger along the back of her ear.  She stood up, body giving a quick jiggle from head to tail as if shaking off her sleepiness, before sitting.  Casually, she started grooming her paws as if he hadn’t just admitted something embarrassingly vulnerable.  

Then again, he wasn’t sure what else he expected from a cat.  

“It’s all the same thing.  Boy meets girl.  Boy saves girl.  Boy and girl bond over harrowing experience, and BAM.  Happily ever after.  But has she ever look at me any differently?”

The kitten stopped what she doing, ears twitching as he continued.  “How many times have I saved her?  How many monsters have I fought with her?  How many horrible movies have I watched because that’s what she likes?”

The cat gave the beginnings of an indignant growl.  

“They are horrible.  Just wait until she makes you sit through one,” he insisted.  “I’ve asked her out on countless dates to every place imaginable.  Paris.  Rome.  Bora Bora.”  The kitten lost her balance, his entire body moving as he gestured emphatically while he spoke.  “I’ve done everything I can think of to show her I’m interested.  I bring her favorite treats.  I take her for terrible takeout.  I try to go places above two stars, but it’s like she doesn’t think she deserves anything better…”

He stared up at the ceiling, missing the way the cat’s eyes grew wider and wider.  

“I wish she understood how beautiful she was.”  You were attractive, sure, but the kind he was talking about went deeper than that in a way that had become increasingly rare over the last century.   

He sighed again, frustration switching to heavier sentiments.  “Maybe it’s for the best.  All I’ve is screw things up.  Why would this be any diff--”

Two paws landed squarely on top of his lips, his small companion practically pouncing on his mouth.  He glanced down at her, and she looked just as surprised by her movements before she began to yowl at him.  

If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think she’d understood what he was saying.  Maybe she did, on an instinctual level.  Animals were good at picking up on things humans often missed.   

He flicked her feet aside.  “Don’t worry about it, Kibble.  I’ll be fine.”  

She walked forward repeatedly rubbing herself against the side of his face before slinking beneath his chin.

“At least one of you is sweet on me,” he said, nuzzling against soft fur as she curled up against him once more.

***

He didn’t often sleep.  Boredom (and if he was honest, moping) were often the cause of him switching off for a few hours.  Dreaming while asleep?  Even rarer.  

He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be having one of you.  He could feel the warmth of your body spanning his.  You were laying on top of his chest, head tucked beneath his chin, your legs nestled between his in a way he could only, well, dream of.  

He reached up, fingers slipping through your hair as they gently stroked through tousled strands.  He wondered what you would be wearing.  Would it be one of your old t-shirts?  Maybe one of those strappy tank tops you preferred in the summer?  Or maybe he’d finally find you in the soft flannel pajamas he bought you last Christmas.  

His free hand stirred, fingertips trailing down along your spine, and what he found had him biting back an instantaneous reaction.  

Nothing.  You were wearing nothing.   

So, it was going to be one of those dreams.  

He took his time, tracing tiny circles down your back, enjoying the simple contact of his fingertips moving freely upon your skin.  He got as far as your waist before you made the most intriguing noise.  It was almost a cross between a soft sigh and a purr.

You’ve officially spent too much time with that furball.

The thought dissipated as you began to awaken.  You arched your spine, the curve of your backside easing up along with your shoulders.  The cutest, sleep-laden sound slipped past your lips, eyes fluttering as you tried to blink the sleep from them.  

“Gabe?”  Your voice was thick, raspy, as if you’d been asleep for days.  “I… where…”  You raised your head up in confusion.  A chill blossomed across your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.  Your eyes widened, glancing down the front of you, and the moment they met his gaze again he knew he was in trouble.

He also knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was definitely not asleep.  

“What did you do to me?!”  You hissed, accusation flooding your tone.  

His stare matched your own, panic shooting through his veins.  

“What? I - I didn’t --”  He met your burning stare and his jaw dropped.  Your eyes.  Not just the color of them, but the shape.  They were slightly distorted, the irises just a hair too oblong, the pupils too sharp along the top and bottom.

Oh shit.  

He immediately snapped up a blanket, watching you clutch it around yourself before scrambling back toward the opposite end of the couch.

Father, he was such an idiot.  

Your stare suddenly widened, burning accusation snuffed out as you pawed at your ear, your face, down the front of you, before you took an anxious glance down your back.  

“What the hell, Gabriel?!”  You demanded, your cheeks a shade of red he’d never seen before.

He put his hands up defensively in front of him.  “Now wait just a minute --”

“Don’t even,” you warned, and if you were capable of killing him with your bare hands, you might have in that moment.  

Your tone suggested even if you couldn’t, you might still try.  “You turned me into a cat!”

His phone interrupted the quickly snowballing catastrophe, buzzing along the floor and belting out the Winchesters’ ringtone.

It’s the end of the world as we know it

It’s the end of the world as we know it

“I should probably -” he flinched at the look of pure murder that flashed through your gaze.  “... get this.”  

It’s the end of the world as we know it...

He snapped, putting the call on speakerphone, where Dean didn’t even give him the chance to answer.  “We ganked the witch and destroyed the doll-cat-whatever-thing, which should have ended the spell.  How is she?”

His lips twitched, unable to stop the sarcastic remark from flying out of them.  “Looking a lot like she just got her tail yanked.  Minus the tail.”  

“... just the tail?”  Dean asked, confused.  

You finally hit your limit.  “Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?”  

***

He didn’t blame you for needing some time.  Transformative magic could be rather disorienting.

He could hear your movements from where he sat in the kitchen, playing with the greek coin he’d picked up centuries ago.  He tapped it against the table, listening to the water run in the shower attached to your bedroom.  

As the only female, you were the one the boys had given the bedroom that obviously was reserved for the head honcho.  It was the only one with it’s own bathroom attached, a luxury that had saved him building you your own wing so you wouldn’t have had to share the communal showers with the rest of the occupants.  

He listened to your footsteps as they padded back across your bedroom, likely finding something to wear.  You lingered, all sounds stopping save the even in and out of your breath and the steady, if not a little elevated, beat of your heart.  

By the time you emerged, he’d begun spinning the coin across the tabletop, the slightly uneven ridge causing it to spiral out in an ever widening circle.  You paused at the threshold, lingering longer than was normal.  A tension blossomed in that short moment, one that tingled across the distance between the two of you.  

“God, I hate witches,” you muttered, leaning against the doorframe.  He wondered what he’d see if he looked up at you.  He could already tell that things had changed.    

He wasn’t certain he was ready to see how much had just yet.

Whump.  He slapped his hand down onto the table, smothering the coin before picking it up again.  He put it back on its unstable course, a little too vigorous with the send off, causing it to bounce with a tat-tat-tat.  “So.  You were…”   

From the corner of his eye he watched you run a nervous hand through your hair.  

“A cat?  Yeah.”

Whump.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say.  He had spent the last two days being the biggest sap.  Lugging a kitten around.  Doting on it.  Snuggling with it every chance he got.  

Not it.  You.  

Tat-tat-tat.

“How much do you remember?”  Nope.  No awkwardness here.  Everything was status quo.  Business as usual.  Casual, casual, casual.  

Whump.

You finally moved, slowly making your way toward him.

Tat-tat-tat.

“I dunno,” your brow furrowed as you rubbed at your face.  “I’m - it’s a little…”

Whump.

You paused near the table, searching for the right word.  

“Fuzzy?”  He supplied.

Your mouth dropped open, and for a moment he expected to be booted straight from the bunker.  

“Shut up.”  You were caught between amusement and anger, failing to hold back a smile as you thwacked him soundly on the arm.  “God, you’re such a dork.”  

His lip curled in response.  “Sorry?”  

You snorted, side eyeing him as you made your way to the fridge.  “No you’re not,” you told him, pulling open the door and grabbing a beer from inside.

He wasn’t, but that was because he couldn’t be sorry about anything that made your face light up that way.

“Guilty,” he shrugged.  A thick silence fell between you.  It was distinct; the first in so long he couldn’t remember.  Mostly because the last time it had happened he’d gotten drunk, miscalculated the flight, and landed straight on your motel bathroom floor… while you were showering.  

But he tried extra hard to forget that night never happened.    

He tapped the coin on top of the table, eyes dropping back to the metal where he gripped it tight.  “... I really didn’t know it was you.”

You nodded, and this time it was your turn to look somewhere else other than at him.  It only confirmed what he suspected: you remembered.  Everything.

Well, it had been nice while it lasted.  

“So.  What now?”  Even as he asked, he prepared himself for the excuses.  Which one would it be?  There were so many, and as much as he’d like to think none of them fit the type of person you were, there was always an excuse with him.  

“Well…”  You moved beside him, waiting for him to look up at you; ever the coward, he found it impossible, his stare riveted on the coin he’d always thought of as lucky until this moment.  

“I’m not really feeling up for Bora Bora yet, but… maybe we could start by watching some more terrible movies?”

His forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out if he’d heard you correctly.  You reached forward, hand tentatively brushing over his.  The contact had sparks shooting through him, short circuiting his mind in conjunction with his surprise until there wasn’t anything he could do but stare at the fact you were touching him instead of running in the opposite direction.

“Figured we could start with something easy.  If you’re still interested, that is.”  You bit your lip, confidence faltering as he remained frozen in place.  Tense seconds inched onward, and it took your eyes muting in preparation to retreat to finally jump start his brain again.  

“Depends,” he said, linking his fingers through yours before you could pull them away.  “Will you still sit in my lap and let me stroke you?”

He finally looked up, and the smile that splashed across your features was one he hadn’t seen before. It was as shy as it was bold, and he brought your hand to his chest, drawing you closer in the process.  

“Play your cards right, feathers, and maybe you’ll get your belly scratched this time.”  

Still a few more things planned for Octoberfest.  Don’t miss out!  

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Everybody Wants To Be a Cat (Thor, pre-canon)

Here’s my newest story. It takes place years before the first Thor movie, so our favourite Asgardians are still very young here, more like human teenagers.

And yes, you guessed it right, the title is stolen borrowed from Disney’s “The Aristocats” ;)

English is not my mother tongue, if you see any errors, let me know.

With huge thanks to @devikafernando for beta reading. <3

Something moved in the bushes, making the leaves rustle. Thor hesitated for a second, then bravely pushed himself to the front, ready to shield his companions, proudly sticking out his still not wide enough chest. Sif simply snorted and ignored his attempts, moving forward to stand next to him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. It didn’t matter that the sword was made of wood, because none of them were yet allowed to use real weapons outside the training yard. Last week during one of their regular sparrings she had almost knocked one of Fandral’s teeth out with it, so she was convinced that even a wooden sword could be deadly in her hands.

“Do you think it’s a troll?” Volstagg asked worriedly.

“I thought you said you know this forest like the back of your hand,” Sif pointed out.

Fandral eyed their oldest friend with a bit of mockery.

“Are you afraid?”

“Me? Never!” Volstagg sounded offended. “I simply thought that were anything to happen to us, no one in the palace knows where to look for us.”

“Loki knows,” said Thor, still staring suspiciously at the bushes, where something moved once again. “There is also Heimdall, but I do not think his help will be necessary…”

“You told Loki where we are going?” Fandral asked indignantly.

“He did not seem interested anyway. He prefers his books,” Thor explained with a hint of disdain.

“And I think he’s simply still angry with us that we refused to take him along to that hunt,” stated Sif.

Volstagg shrugged.

“He should be thanking us. At least he avoided your father’s…” he stopped, because there was another rustle and suddenly a slim tomcat with huge green eyes and shining black fur burst out of the bushes and into the clearing.

Thor burst out laughing.

“Here is your troll.”

“It is so charming!” exclaimed Sif, instantly letting go of her sword. “Puss puss, little one, come here!”

The cat completely ignored her. It circled the whole group, its step full of pride, its tail raised high, and it sent them a look of such superiority as if it was not a cat at all, but the troll they were worried about.

“Look, it glares at us just like your father, Thor,” chuckled Fandral.

“So if there are wild cats here, does it mean no trolls?” added Volstagg, his voice filled with badly concealed relief.

“It does not seem wild to me,” answered Sif, still following the cat, determined to pet it. “It is so beautiful and neat.”

Apparently, the cat was not completely tame though, because in this very moment it hissed angrily at the girl, its fur ruffled, and she finally gave up her attempts. Instead, she simply shrugged and went back to her friends.

“A cat is just a cat,” stated Thor, as if voicing her thoughts. “Let us go on. We have to reach the springs and come back home before night.”

They went on, passing by the cat, which was now sitting on a fallen tree, playing idly with its tail. They didn’t go far when they realized that the animal was following them though.

“Hey, maybe the trolls sent him as a spy?” Volstagg asked.

Sif just sent him a look and he shut up.

After an hour or so they got used to the sight of the animal, which appeared and disappeared as it wished but still seemed to accompany them. Finally they reached their destination, the Rainbow Springs. Tired, they sat down on the rocks to rest, staring at the water that sparkled with a thousand of colours. To their surprise, the cat passed indifferently by Sif and Fandral, then lay down next to Thor. It lowered its black head to drink some of the multicoloured water, and it did not protest when Odinson reached out tentatively to pet its back.

“Look, it likes me!” he exclaimed proudly.

“It is probably because of your animal magnetism,” joked Fandral.

Thor frowned.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked in a serious tone.

Sif snorted quietly.

“I mean your bear-like strength, of course,” answered Fandral quickly.

This time the snort came from the cat’s direction, but nobody noticed it.

Having rested, the four friends swam for some time in the colourful water, then reluctantly got ready to head back. The cat disappeared somewhere again, apparently bored with their company. They did not get too far though when they realized that the forest was getting alarmingly dark.

“Listen, do you remember when exactly the sun set?” asked Sif, unsuccessfully trying to see the sky between the thick branches.

“I can’t remember,” Volstagg admitted, unwittingly quickening his pace. It had been years since trolls had been seen in this area, but still he did not feel like remaining in the forest after dusk.

Thor did not look worried though.

“Do you think we would not be able to defeat a troll? There are four of us and we are no helpless civilians!”

“But we only have training swords,” Sif pointed out.

“Still, with our intelligence combined with Thor’s and Volstagg’s muscles, we can fight anyone!” Fandral exclaimed, reaching for his sword and swirling it in the air to emphasize his words.

“If only I had Mjolnir already…” muttered Thor in a dreamy tone.

The others met his words with a simultaneous groan.

“Yes, we know. You would destroy your enemies, and your name would be remembered in songs for the centuries to come,” Sif finished for him. “What a pity it will not happen for at least a few more years,” she summed up mercilessly.

“It is not fair,” Thor complained. “Loki has had his powers since he was born. Why do I have to wait for mine until I am grown up?”

“Yours, however, will be much more useful,” Volstagg assured him.

“Of course,” Fandral agreed. “I do not think Loki would be able to destroy his enemies with his magic tricks.”

“I am sure he would not,” Thor laughed at least. “He could at most disappear and mislead them for so long that they would simply get bored with his game and leave.”

Sif also wanted to join in with a mocking comment but she closed her mouth when she spotted their feline companion again. This time it was not following them like before; it stood in the middle of the path in front of them, blocking their way.

“Be gone!” Volstagg yelled at it, but the cat did not move.

“Go away!” Fandral joined him. He raised his leg as if to kick, but the animal glared at him in such a manner that he immediately changed his mind.

“Listen, it looks as if it is trying to tell us something,” Sif observed.

“Are you serious? It is just a cat,” Thor snorted. He walked up to the animal, squatted down in front of it and spoke in a slow and clear manner: “Go away and let us pass.”

“Get lost!” he added more vehemently when the cat ignored him. “Do you know who I am? I am Thor Odinson, the prince of this land, and I am ordering you to leave!”.

“Why are you talking to it? It is just a cat,” Sif mocked him. “Come on, we can walk around it, cannot we?”

But as they moved on, the cat jumped ahead and blocked their path again, hissing angrily when they did not stop.

“What is wrong with it?” Fandral asked, frowning irritably.

Sif froze and raised her hand, telling him to be quiet.

“Shh, do you hear it?”

There was a regular rumble somewhere in the distance.

“Trolls!” Volstagg moaned, gazing around in fear.

“Even if it is them, they are still quite far away,” Thor reassured him.

“Maybe, but they are exactly between us and the palace,” Sif observed, still listening.

“Trolls do not have good hearing, and the forest is thick here. If we walk very quietly and carefully, we might be able to pass them by without being noticed,” said Thor.

“Look at the cat, it looks as if it wants to lead us,” the girl pointed at the animal, which had already walked ahead and was now waiting patiently, sending them expectant glances. When Sif spoke those words, it meowed in confirmation.

Thor hesitated only for a short while.

“Agreed, let us follow the cat,” he decided.

Loki stormed into the palace, passing unnoticed by the chatting guards, then he jumped up and climbed the drainpipes and the parapets to the floor where his and Thor’s chambers were located. He entered the dark and empty room through the open window, quietly discarded the spell and then lit the nearby candles with a simple gesture of his hand. He hardly managed to lie down on the couch in a pose of lazy boredom, a book open in his lap, when his brother stormed into the room. Thor was dirty and panting, but his face was bright with excitement.

“Loki, you will not believe what happened today!”

“I have no idea,” Loki answered in a tone that was a perfect mixture of indifference and irony. “Were you told that knocking before you enter someone’s chambers is no longer a requirement? Because as far as I know it still is.”

Thor had heard similar comments often enough to learn to be deaf to them.

“We have met trolls!” he exclaimed, unceremoniously pushing his brother’s long legs out of the way to sit down next to them on the couch. “A whole bunch of them. Even some young ones! They must have been heading to the mountains in search for new caves to live in.”

“And what happened next? Did they run away screaming when you showed them your bravery and skill?” Loki turned the page, still stone-faced.

Thor looked down, disconcerted, visibly waiting to see what would win the fight — pride or honesty.

“They did not see us,” he finally admitted. “We passed them by quietly.”

This time Loki glanced up from the book, slightly raising his right brow.

“Oh. Congratulations,” he answered shortly, so that it was impossible to say if he meant it as a complement to their good sense or rather as a mockery.

Thor apparently choose the first option, because, still grinning, he reached for the book, pulled it from his protesting brother’s hands and threw it on the floor.

“Come on, Loki, I’ll tell you the whole story during supper. I am so hungry that I could eat a whole troll!”

“I would not, if I were you. Trolls have stone-like skin. Are you positive that you saw at least one?” Loki held out his hand and the book obediently flew back to it. “Forgive me, brother, but I have a very interesting paragraph here and I am dying to read the rest of it. I am sure your expedition was fascinating though.” And he pretended to bury himself in the book once again.

Thor complained for a while longer, but finally he gave up and left, probably to join his friends who would be happy to listen to his bragging. And, Loki thought, it was good that his brother was so occupied with his little adventure, because it was only after Thor had left when he noticed that half of the floor of his chamber was covered with the little muddy prints left by a cat’s paws. Next time he would have to be more careful.

THE END

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[riverofmemoriesft]

. In Tenebris . 14

Lucy was still sleeping when the game ended a few hours later, so Natsu gently scooped Happy up and put him on his shoulders before studying Lucy, judging how he was going to lift her without waking her. Gray came to stand at his side, arching a brow. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

For once, Natsu didn't snap at him or try to burn him for being rude. "No," he muttered, furrowing his brow.

Gray snickered and Natsu glared at him. "I'll grab Lucy, you grab her blanket. We'll put her back on the couch and leave her be until she wakes up. Sound good?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

With care, Gray shifted the blonde into his arms and started for the house. Lucy stirred a little, but remained asleep. Yukino, who'd been heading inside after Rogue, paused when she saw them and held the door open. "Are you okay to carry her up the stairs?" she fretted, brow furrowed.

"Should be. If I start to fall, I'm counting on one of the freaks to-" Gray paused. "I don't mean you, by the way, or Wendy. Uh…"

Yukino giggled. "It's fine. I'm a freak. I know it, and I know you don't mean it as a rude term for some of us." She closed and locked the door behind Natsu when he came in, Happy comfortably draped over his shoulders. "Do you want me to take Happy?"

"No, I've got him," Natsu reassured, awkwardly watching with the blanket as Gray carefully ascended one of the staircases to the second story that was the main floor of the house. He ran his fingers through Happy's fur as he watched and then scurried up after him. Levy had dropped onto a couch with Wendy and Gajeel peering over her shoulder at her phone as she typed away, a frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" Gray asked as he gently set Lucy down. She turned onto her side, mumbling in her sleep and Natsu hastily put the blanket back over her. He ignored everyone's amusement as he gently patted it into place, telling Happy to keep her company. The blue cat slid from his shoulders and made himself at home beside her.

"Erza and Jellal are stopping by. Jellal has a few letters, apparently." Levy pressed her lips together. "One for both Lucy and I, one for Sting and Rogue, one for Yukino, one for Juvia, and one for Natsu, Wendy, and Gajeel. All from someone called Mard Greer-"

Sting and Rogue exchanged a look from where they were standing beside one another behind a chair that Yukino had claimed. "Mard Greer's not a good person," the dark-haired dragon finally said. "He's heartless. And the one that ordered what happened to Lucy."

Natsu growled low in his throat at that.

Levy glanced up and then looked back down at her phone. "He has two more. One for Natsu and one for Lucy...they're from Zeref himself."

Natsu's shoulders tensed, a growl spilling from his lips. "Bastard. Can't even make a call on a phone or something stupid like that."

"I'm impressed you know that you make calls on a phone," Gray mocked under his breath and then looked unsurprised when Juvia rose from a puddle beside him. Her pretty blue eyes looked stunned that she'd be getting a letter as well.

"What the fuck is wrong with these bastards?" Gajeel muttered under his breath.

"I don't know, but it's sick," Sting said with clear disgust.

Wendy looked anxiously at Gajeel. "What's a letter?" she demanded.

He ruffled her hair as Charle came sprinting out of nowhere, rubbing on Wendy's ankles. "Letters are like little notes that are written by someone for someone else to read. You know the texts that Levy gets. They're like that. Except they're longer and they're on paper."

Wendy still looked a little confused, but understood for the most part and scooped up Charle, who purred and gave Gajeel a nasty look. He rolled his eyes as his own cat - or Levy's, they were still arguing over that - came sauntering over and gave a deep meow. "When are they gettin' here?"

"Soon, I hope." Levy spared a look to Lucy. "I'm worried that she's getting a letter from Zeref himself…"

Natsu dropped to sit by her head beside the couch. His eyes were blazing, scales rising and falling along his cheeks. Unlike Gajeel and Wendy and even the two newcomers, who'd begun to lose scales, he'd chosen to keep his for the time being. His eyes were red as he bared his sharp teeth and growled, "If he tries anything, I'll turn him to ash."

"We'll see," Yukino said grimly. "I don't know a lot about this man named Zeref, but I doubt it would be easy to get to him, Natsu."

Natsu huffed smoke, refusing to look at her. "I bet he'd let me close. If only because he thinks I wouldn't do it."

Lucy sighed in her sleep and Levy watched the way Natsu rested his chin on the couch, his breath messing with her hair. She smirked. "Does someone like Lucy?" she drawled. "And I don't mean simply liking her, I mean really liking her."

Natsu blinked, looking back at her as Gajeel choked on laughter and Sting snickered. Yukino and Juvia both held hands over their mouths to hide their smiles. Gray outright cackled like a witch. Particularly when he furrowed his scaled brow and demanded, "What the hell does that mean?"

It was nearly five in the afternoon when Jellal and Erza arrived. Lucy was awakened by the commotion despite Natsu ordering them all to shut up and let her sleep. It earned everyone nasty looks when Lucy sat up, but she waved him off and even scolded him for letting her sleep so long.

"Lucy!" Erza said cheerfully when she saw the blonde sitting up. "It's good to see you awake." Her long scarlet hair was loose, waving around her back. The cheerful woman looked relieved to see her awake. "I updated Makarov on your condition. You'll need to run in to say hello when you get the chance."

Lucy merely climbed to her feet and prepared herself as Erza strode over and then let her crush her in a ridiculously tight hug. She grunted in pain, but did nothing to get out of it. Jellal sent her a sympathetic look as he began to hand out letters.

Lucy's gaze was drawn to them immediately, of course. "Letters?"

"You and I have one," Levy said immediately, hurrying over. "And then you have another."

Lucy furrowed her brow as Natsu tore into a letter with Gajeel and Wendy, and then focused on the one that Levy was opening.

Levy held it between them after unfolding the paper. Everyone was quiet, reading through various letters. Lucy and Levy exchanged a look and then began to read their own.

Dear Miss McGarden and Miss Heartfilia,

I understand that Miss Heartfilia has returned home with the help of Jellal Fernandes. I hear that you've enjoyed your time in the mansion with the dragons that Zeref prides himself on. I also am aware that you've taken four of our other test subjects: two dragons, a water woman, and a lady who has been put under the same experiment as yourself, Miss Heartfilia.

Perhaps you expect me to request that you send them back, but Zeref himself has requested that they remain where they are. We of Tartaros do not understand it, but I am certain a reason has been enclosed in your letter from Zeref, Miss Heartfilia.

Miss McGarden, do not expect to be spared as Miss Scarlet and Mr. Fullbuster may or may not be. We fully intend to subject them to this as well. You see, you all possess dormant genetics in your veins. Different types, of course. The dragons all descend from the same family. Did you know that? Igneel, the mother of Miss Wendy Marvell, Mr. Redfox's father, and the fathers of our last two dragons were all related in some manner.

You are more than welcome to keep the cats that Mr. Fernandes stole.

We will see you soon, Miss McGarden.

Sincerely,

Mard Greer

Both women looked at each other with shared looks of mute horror. Levy's face had gone white, her eyes full of terror. Lucy was furious despite the throbbing that continued to pester her in her head.

"Bastards," Leo snarled in Lucy's head, and several other Spirits agreed with him.

Lucy looked over to discover that everyone else was receiving letters with similar information that disgusted them. The five dragons were all staring at one another, entirely shocked that they were supposedly related to one another after reading about it in the letters they'd received.

Yukino was unhappy, near tears. Sting reached over to touch her shoulder, but she threw the letter aside and rushed away. Juvia had her brow furrowed as she stared at her letter, murmuring in confusion, "Juvia does not understand...Juvia is no longer a member of Phantom Lord?"

"I don't get it," a frustrated Gajeel said suddenly, staring down at their letter. He'd read it aloud for Wendy, who looked ashen. She was horrified, her face white as she stared at Natsu. "These bastards are like my cousins are something and I never knew about it?"

Rogue made a sound of disgust, reciting aloud, "'You are allowed to remain? As if they control my every move-"

Natsu's voice trembled with rage as he held a hand out. "Give me Zeref's letter. Now."

Jellal firmly handed it to him and then one to Lucy. Lucy faltered, seeing her name printed neatly on the envelope. Natsu tore into his letter, his eyes blazing, fingers singing the paper, but she faltered.

"Lucy?" Levy said gently. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head. She remembered what Zeref had sounded like, and it made her anxious that he'd sent a letter to her. Yet, she could hear Natsu make a choked sound in his throat. Happy meowed anxiously and she glanced over at him. He'd lost every bit of his dragon-like features, she realized, and his face was morphed into despair. Tears gathered in pained onyx eyes.

Forgetting her own letter, Lucy stepped over to him and gently touched his arm. When he'd finished reading, he looked at her. He was shocked, she realized. Terrified. Uncertain of how to react. When a tear fell, he touched his cheek. "What-"

"You're crying," she said softly, taking the letter from him. She didn't dare look at it. Not without his permission. "Are you okay, Natsu?"

Just like she had, he shook his head, his breath heavy and ragged.

She pressed the letter back into his hands after folding it back up and neatly pressed it into its envelope. He gripped it with white knuckles. "He...he didn't…" Natsu was lost. He was truly at a loss, she realized. "I don't know…"

Lucy felt the letter in her hand like a sack of rocks that weighed an infinite amount of tons and bit her lip. She pushed it into her pocket as he whispered, "He said he'd do it all over again - maybe even more - if he was given the choice. He would torture us and turn us into monsters, like we aren't even equal to him-"

"You are," Erza cut in, to Lucy's surprise. "All of you. Each and every one of those who have been harmed. You are equal to us, and you are our friends. We would not let you - any of you - be hurt in such a way if we could avoid it."

Gray grunted in agreement and Jellal gave a curt nod. Natsu, however, simply shook his head, hands trembling. "Natsu," Lucy began, but he shoved past her, ignoring the way she cringed when he moved quickly.

She scolded herself for her fear. Natsu wasn't going to hurt her, no matter how upset he was. Her dark eyes followed the upset pink-haired dragon as he darted away, wanting to escape and be alone. "Happy," she whispered, and the blue-furred cat scampered after him at full speed.

"What does your letter say, Lucy?" Wendy asked curiously.

"I'm not," Lucy said quietly, her brown eyes gentle, "Going to read it right now, Wendy. My head hurts, Leo's roaring like a lion-" That made Levy, who loved to learn of mythology and stars, snicker. "-and Natsu's upset. I don't want to find out something else and hurt him more."

"Sensitive bastard," Gajeel muttered. "Did he think he was any different from us?"

"He's Zeref's brother," Jellal sighed. "Anyone would think he was different for that."

Lucy ate a little for the first time in days that evening, and she decided to stick with some rolls that Levy had pulled out. Gajeel had cooked for everyone - he'd enjoyed himself, if the banter between he and Levy was anything to go by. Wendy giggled as she watched them, her dark eyes warm with excitement.

It was when she'd entered the room that held Mavis' tree, somewhat hopeful that the blonde would show up, that she found Natsu.

He was seated amongst the roots of Mavis' tree, the woman herself seated before him with her hands cradling his cheeks and her forehead resting just barely against his. Her emerald eyes were gentle, her voice soft and low.

Both looked up when Lucy tripped over her own feet, moving to leave.

"Smooth," Leo mocked.

"Shut up," Lucy retorted under her breath. She flushed red, her eyes looking everywhere but at Natsu and Mavis. "Sorry, I came to talk to Mavis, but I can come back-"

"I don't have the energy," Mavis said apologetically. "But I'm sure Natsu would enjoy the company, hm?" He didn't answer, looking down at his hands. They looked human, without the talons.

"Alright then. I'll see what I can do." Lucy offered her a hesitant smile as Mavis disappeared, and then picked her way over, dropping to sit beside Natsu. She was quiet, remembering how only early that morning, he'd sat with her, chattering as she tried to come to terms with what had happened.

So, she did the same.

"I haven't read the letter for me," she said, glancing at him. He didn't look at her, didn't say a word. But she knew he was listening. She smiled to herself thoughtfully. "Would you like to read it with me, Natsu?"

"What...I don't…" He struggled to think of how to respond and she wordlessly pulled the letter out. "Why would he call me a monster?" he finally asked as she opened the envelope. "I don't get it. He said he was proud of me. Proud that I was his brother. Am I...am I monster, Lucy? I hurt you and Levy. Look at what I did when you found us. I wanted to kill you."

"No," she disagreed. "You're not a monster. You're Natsu, and you're a friend to all of us." She gave him a warm look. "At least you have physical proof that you were hurt, hm? I'd get thrown into a mental institution if I said I heard voices."

"What's a mental institution?" he demanded with a growl in his throat. "I'll burn it down so you don't get thrown into it."

She laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I won't be thrown into one." She withdrew the letter from the envelope and waved him over to read with her, grateful for his presence. "I waited to read it. I didn't want to read it alone, and I...I spoke with Zeref. It was...it scared me."

He rumbled softly.

Together, they read the letter.

Dear Lucy Heartfilia,

I am certain you would have gathered general information on what my letter to Natsu says by this point. I love my little brother, something you must understand. It is important that he recognizes the truth of himself. You cannot live as he does in this harsh and unforgiving world without recognizing that to others, he is a monster. The blunt truth is always best.

I am aware that you have been subjected to Mard Greer's choice testing and I am pleased with the results. Ten voices? All speaking within your head? I am amazed that you survived. Miss Auguria nearly didn't survive only three. We didn't expect you to. I was admittedly curious about what the idea of grief would do to my prized dragons. Perhaps they would have become true dragons? Do you think that is a possibility?

Of course, I am not pleased that he tried it on the daughter of one Layla Heartfilia. Your mother was a great help to my cause in the past and I regret to say may she rest in peace, as her help would have been perfect for times like this. She did a lot of work and she did good work.

I have sent you this letter for two reasons: I wish for Natsu to be returned to me and I wish for regular updates on the rest of the experiments within your household. Should these conditions be met, I would be more than willing to allow the rest of you to live in peace. I am sure you are already disagreeing. I ask you to listen.

Updates will allow for me - and the people who work for me - to provide you with necessary things like doctors and even dentists for those within the house. Of course, you will also be payed for these updates.

I do not intend to keep Natsu with me. I want to speak with him and perform one last test before I allow him even a little peace. Should he want to, however, he will of course be allowed to stay with me. He is, after all, my little brother.

As I have told him, inform Mavis that I say hello. I have left my phone number on the back of this letter.

Zeref Dragneel

Creator of All

"Oh, my god," Lucy breathed, putting the letter on her knees. "He's insane. Natsu, I really think this man needs to see a psychologist and be put in prison. Creator of All? Is that what he calls himself? A Creator?"

Natsu's jaw worked as he glared at the letter, his onyx eyes blazing. He'd begun to tear up again, furious. Angry tears ran down his cheeks within moments. "He's using me against you guys and even wanted you to die for a minute."

Lucy gently rubbed his shoulder. "Natsu," she asked, "What do you want to do? I want to discuss this with everyone, but Zeref is your brother. What do we do?"

Natsu sat there in silence for a few moments. He thought of Makarov and Laxus, who'd been scarred heavily from experiencing what they'd experienced. He thought of the other dragons and people who'd been suffering under Zeref's orders, like Juvia and Yukino. He thought of Mavis, who'd given up her life almost to try and deal with her now ex-husband, not seeing the truth of him until it was too late. He thought of the two he considered to be closer to siblings than Zeref, Wendy and Gajeel, who'd been with him for years. They'd protected one another, defending from whatever came their way, seeking comfort, even when Gajeel claimed to want to kill them. He thought of Gray and Erza and the others who'd wanted to help despite having no reason to. He thought of Levy, who even now, was likely in danger, yet was occupying their friends and laughing with them.

Finally, Natsu thought of the woman beside him.

Finally, Natsu thought of Lucy Heartfilia, and the brave look she tried to keep on her face. He thought of her determination, how she'd come through something that might have killed another person. He thought of her tears and her smiles, of her anger and despair. He thought of how she'd held his hand that morning, seeking comfort, and how she held it now, offering it back.

She - and Levy - meant as much to him as Gajeel and Wendy. And he had vowed to protect both - failing in one, the one who had done the most.

"Lucy," he whispered. "I'll do it. I'll go see Zeref."

"What?" she gasped, giving him a look of shock.

He had gone pale; he was scared, she realized, scared and anxious about it. But he was determined, too. "If he'll leave you alone, I'll do it. I have...I have to protect...I won't let you cry anymore." He suddenly turned a fierce gaze on her. "Lucy, I'll burn anyone who makes you hurt and cry into ash."

Lucy shook her head. "You don't have to go that far, Natsu," she said softly. "Before you make any final decisions, do you want to talk it over with the others? Jellal would know what he wants to do."

"I'll talk with 'em, but they won't stop me," he muttered. "I'm tired," he added suddenly, and she realized that he was exhausted, but not just physically. There was a look in his eyes, one that spoke of a tiredness she couldn't begin to comprehend. He was tired of the pain his brother had brought to them.

Natsu just wanted to live in peace.

His shoulders shook as he struggled to keep in the strange sounds he'd made before Mavis. He didn't understand the pain in his chest, the water that broke and fell from his eyes. He didn't know why he felt like this, just like he didn't know anything about the world around them.

Wordlessly, Lucy circled his shoulder with an arm and drew him down into a hug, careful of the horn that had begun to return with his anger towards his brother. He froze, tensed, uncertain of what to do, because only Wendy and Mavis had ever done this, but she cradled his head against her shoulder and murmured soothingly.

Hesitantly, Natsu curled his arms around her waist, anxiously pressing against her, and she smiled warmly.

"You're not alone anymore," she whispered to him. "It's okay that you want to cry, Natsu."

"Is that what it's called?" he rasped, suddenly tightening his grip enough that she had to tap him to loosen up because she couldn't breathe.

She giggled softly and soothingly rested her head against his, ignoring the grumbling Leo as he complained good-naturedly about them needing to get a room.

"Should we go and grab Natsu and Lucy?" Levy asked, glancing up at Gajeel as she set up the game she'd found in a box that had never been unpacked. With nine people to entertain - not including Natsu, Lucy, and herself - she'd been running out of ideas. She figured Twister would be a great way of keeping them entertained.

But Gajeel shook his head, plucking the wheel that needed to be spun from her hands. With the unpredictableness of his scales coming and going, he'd decided to call out colors and which hand and foot. "Nah," he told her, ignoring the way she flushed at his proximity.

"They need to come here on their own time."