Title: My Toxic Valentine

Rating: T

Fandom: Warrior Cats

Disclaimer: Title is from "My Toxic Valentine" by All Time Low. Spoilers for Bluestar's Prophecy.

Characters/Pairings: Thistleclaw, Bluestar, Snowfur, Whitekit/storm; one-sided Thistleclaw/Bluestar, Snowfur/Thistleclaw, Oakheart/Bluestar, mentioned Sunstar/Moonflower

Summary: Thistleclaw has always, always hated Bluestar - that's his life. But...he can't help but love her; oh great StarClan, did he love her.

AUTHORS NOTE: Wow, dudes, I haven't read Bluestar's Prophecy in AGES. So, the dialogue is wrong. I apologize for that - but Warriors wiki only provides so much about the dialogue. Grr, it'll bother me forever how far from canon the settings are.

Headcanon's are also incorporated in this.

EDIT: OMG, I am so sorry! I tried to upload the edited version, but the entire story deleted instead! Sorry!

He's never hated a cat more than her.

She's always succeeded in stealing everything from him: a senior warrior position, his mate, his son, the deputy position, the leader position. In her wake, he's had nothing left to live for. Everything has been left in a gale of dust, swirling and stripping him bare until he was nothing but a bag of spiky fur, battle-scars, and long claws; a skeleton that was still breathing.

She has everything, he has nothing. She is loved, he is forgotten. She has her Clan, he has a group of rebels. She has StarClan, he has a wasteland. She has Whitestorm, he has Tigerclaw.

He hates her. The feeling of hate has never been so severe, despite the fact that it was a well-trodden path by him now. The hate that he felt toward her made his fur fluff up to make him double – no triple – his own size, made his claws itch with the want to sink them into fur stronger, has made him feel so alone and desperate.

He hates her.

He loathes her.

He despises her.

He loves her.

Why does he love her?

There has to be a mistake; he cannot love the cat who's caused him so much emotional and physical pain that it's left him raw, nothing but a shell. He thinks he's just lonely from the loss of Snowfur; after all, he did care about her. He can't love her. She's nothing to him, nothing but a traitor who had half-Clan kits.

Perhaps she just captivates him at the same time; he's never known an enemy like this before. Silverhawk has drilled him for warriors of every Clan, teaching him their moves so that they cannot knock him down, not unless they've gone to the same place for training. He should know how to destroy her, how to make her beg and plead for death until he shows a pinch of mercy.

But it seems like she has the upper paw on him.

She's graceful, she's elegant, she's so many adjectives of beauty and perfection that not even the smartest of cats can know enough to describe her. She calls attention to herself when she walks into camp, she has a authoritative tone that screams 'Listen to me' without actually uttering the words.

She perfect. She's beautiful.

She's ugly. She's deformed.

He hates her.

I love her.

He can't be in love with Bluefur.

Thistlekit has never par say fallen as his mother had called it. He'd never looked at another cat before and felt the earth shift beneath his paws, the air around him filling with the others scent, and just looking into their eyes and feeling whole and happy, light and airy, compact and just so desperately in love.

Of course, he was only five moons old.

But he watches couples around him, two cats sharing tongues for what seems like hours, just talking and laughing, happy to be in the others company. And wow he thinks, tilting his head to the side and blinking, that'd be nice one day, wouldn't it?

He draws a paw over his ear, moving it down to flatten the spiky fur on his head and then setting it back down on the ground again. The dark gray tom-kit watches as the few cats who'd stayed behind during the battle to WindClan mewl about the camp, some anxiously sitting in front of the entrance of camp, a few standing by the warriors den, and others sharing tongues or eating fresh-kill.

He doesn't really understand what the huge fuss is about – after all, he was sure that the Clan had gone through many battles, and most had ended in success for ThunderClan, so what was the huge deal about?

He remembers what Pinestar had told him "I need you to watch the nursery for us, Thistlekit, and keep it safe – we don't need any WindClan warriors getting in, now do we?" and he sits up a little bit straighter and raises his muzzle higher, hoping that he seems authoritative-like to the left behind warriors.

He can smell his mother, Poppydawn, and his two sisters, Rosekit and Sweetkit, moving about in the nursery, but he didn't move to go inside of the bramble-enforced den; instead he stayed at his post, keeping his broad-shoulders raised.

"They're back!"

Thistlekit nearly leaps out of his fur, and he bounces to his paws, scuttling toward the entrance of camp, Rosekit hot on his paws. They peek to where Pinestar and Sunfall are bounding through the entrance, the gorse shoved aside by their large build, Sparrowpelt, Stormtail, and Dappletail right behind them. He can feel Rosekit's fur prickle beside him as her eyes widen in horror.

"Where's Bluepaw and Snowpaw?" she whispers to him, nudging his shoulder with her brick-red colored nose.

He frowns, eyes tracing the forms of each warrior that comes through, but none the blue-gray and white apprentices. Probably ran off before the battle even began, he muses as he remembers how nervous his former denmates were before the battle started. Bluepaw hardly even ate the mouse Pinestar gave her, the jumpy furball.

Thistlekit shrugs, "Eh, probably mewling about something stupid in the back of the group," he says finally, deciding it was better to say aloud than what he was thinking.

Suddenly, Sweetkit pops up beside him, blinking confused green eyes. "I don't think so," she murmurs, twitching her ear. "Look at Sunfall and Pinestar – they don't look too happy...," He glances at his calico sister, and follows her gaze to the deputy and leader as they talk quickly and quietly to Swiftbreeze and Whiteye.

The look of grief in their eyes is unmistakable.

Thistlekit looks toward the entrance again, watching as Sunfall darts back through it, golden tail fluffed up. "Moonflower's not here either," he observes, looking back at the crowd of warriors gathering near Pinestar.

He can see blood on Swiftbreeze's white paws, but there's no fur between them.

And then, suddenly, the gorse rattles again, and the speckled gray head of Goosefeather pops out, the thick-furred tom looking with distraught blue eyes at his Clanmates.

"Moonflower is dead!" The shriek of grief pierced Thistlekit's dark-colored ears, and he flattens them and stretches his pale eyes wide with disbelief.

"W-what?" Rosekit meows breathlessly, her almost pink tail curling over her paws. "She can't be – she was just here a few hours ago!"

Sweetkit presses her cheek to Thistlekit's. "Poor Bluepaw and Snowpaw," she whispers.

Poppydawn appears behind them, and his reddish-brown colored mother wraps her thick tail around her three kits. "Move away from the warriors," she warns, and he notes that her voice is heavy with sorrow. "You don't want to see her."

Poppydawn attempts to move him away from the group of gathered ThunderClan cats, all murmuring and whispering with horror as the news of the beloved warrior and queen's death was announced, but he peeks above her tail. He watches as Sunfall comes back into camp, but this time there was a silver-gray body in his jaws.

Adderfang was next to him, carrying her scruff and aiding the deputy. Thistlekit notes how much grief is in the deputies eyes as he lay Moonflower down on the trodden grass of ThunderClan camp, Adderfang murmuring something to him.

He looks even worse than Goosefeather, Thistlekit thinks, staring with narrowed eyes at Sunfall. I didn't think he cared that much for her. He blinks at the deputy, watching as the tom's green eyes trail to the she-cat's body and he sees the tabby shudder.

"Thistlekit, I said to move away." His ear swivels around, catching his mothers' now stern tone as she glares into the back of his head. Thistlekit turns, his pale amber eyes wide, and opens to say something, when suddenly a yowl of grief pierces his eardrums.

"No!"

Both Thistlekit and Poppydawn looked toward where Moonflower's bloodied body was, seeing both Bluepaw and Snowpaw standing near their mothers body.

Bluepaw's dazzling blue eyes were wide with grief and horror as she stared at her mothers body, while Snowpaw had her face buried in her sisters shoulder, her body racketing with sobs and cries of grief. Thistlekit blinks, looking back to his mother.

I can't imagine how that must feel, he thinks, turning back and flattening his ears to his head, twitching his whiskers. I never want to loose Poppydawn – not like that.

Poppydawn suddenly gets to her paws, brushing his face with her thick tail as she passes, now forgetting her previous orders to get him away from the dead body. Her reddish-brown prickles as she gets closer to the two apprentices and the dead former queen, but his mother presses on, padding to stand next to the two she-cats.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." He hears her murmur as she touches her nose to Bluepaw's ear.

Suddenly, Adderfang leaves Swiftbreeze's side, and Thistlekit watches as the tabby tom faces Goosefeather, fur along his spine prickled.

"Thanks to your so called 'omen', Moonflower's dead! Your own sister!" he hisses, and the speckled medicine rears back, as if Adderfang had raked his claws across his face. "You don't have any shame, do you?" he prompts, tail swishing back and forth.

Adderfang's words are met with yowls of agreement, and Thistlekit's eyes search the crowd, finally seeing Stormtail's blue-gray coat. Surprisingly, the tom's face was devoid of any emotion; he didn't even seem to be paying attention to Moonflower's body – he was speaking with Dappletail. Wow.

Rosekit bounds back to his side, nudging his shoulder. "We should go and see how Snowpaw and Bluepaw are," she whispers, glancing at the sisters as they lay by their mothers body. "They're our friends."

He doesn't get to say anything before Rosekit's nudging him toward where Bluepaw and Snowpaw are, and he pads beside his sister, to where Moonflower's body is. Swiftbreeze and Goosefeather are beginning to rub her with some type of sweet smelling herbs, and he can hear Bluepaw whisper "But I want to remember what she smells like".

Snowpaw's a little bit farther away from her mother's body, and Rosekit pads up to her swiftly, touching her nose to Snowpaw's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Moonflower. She was a really nice cat, you know?" his sister meows to her former denmate and good friend.

Snowpaw nods, and that's that.

Thistlekit glances toward Bluepaw, and watches as the she-cat turns away from her mothers body. Her face is solemn, and her ears are back. She looks up at Thistlekit-

She smiles, the feathery fur on her face lifting up as the corners of her mouth lift upright, her front teeth glimmering as she gives him that toothy, blissfully perfect smile. Her whiskers lift up, her eyes almost half-shut, her ears going back just a little bit. Her chest and shoulders shake as she begins to laugh, and her head lifts up, and then she begins to laugh.

The noise is so beautiful and melodic, it rings in his ears and makes him laugh, too. They laugh together as the world watches on, listening. Everything is still in that moment, quiet, and it's just her and him, a familiar, beautiful and perfect blue-gray she-cat and a unevenly mottled, spiky-furred tomcat, deep and icy blue meeting pale amber.

She reaches forward, muzzle brushing his, and then-

"Well? Aren't you going to say how sorry you are?"

Thistlekit jolts out of his reverie as she snaps it, and though it's not a loud snap, it still makes him blink of few times to register it. What was that? He thinks, but when he looks up at Bluepaw's prompting gaze, he lifts up his muzzle, meeting her eyes boldly.

"Well I was, but if your just going to be rude, then-" he begins, but Bluepaw's snarl interrupts him as she meows,

"Oh excuse me! I mean, my mother didn't just die!"

Suddenly, Poppydawn comes to his side, and her can feel her paw swipe the tips of his ears. "Thistlekit," she hisses, her voice deathly angry. "Say you're sorry to Bluepaw."

He glares at Bluepaw, narrowing his eyes. "Sorry," he grumbles.

Bluepaw doesn't say anything more as she turns, whisking around and returning to her turns, stalking back to the nursery, not wanting to start up yet another fight with his former denmate – especially not when her mother died only a few minutes ago.

He doesn't understand what that was, that daydream he just had. He's never had that feeling before – that feeling of a light heart met with the feeling of an imaginary breeze blowing through his fur. It's certainly new, especially when he thinks of Bluepaw.

He's never looked at a she-cat that way, in all of his five moons, and he's certainly not going to feel that way about Bluepaw.

Becoming an apprentice definitely was well worth the wait. Having Adderfang, a prestigious senior warrior, as his mentor was even more of an upside. And getting out of the nursery and sleeping in his own den – granted he still had Rosepaw and Sweetpaw – was another thing he enjoyed.

But ever since that...daydream he had, about Bluepaw, his attitude toward the blue-gray apprentice had definitely worsened. It was no question that he'd made an enemy out of his fellow apprentice; she'd do everything in her power to send a withering glare his way, and he'd more than often return it to her. It wasn't like she hadn't done anything wrong, anyway.

It's her fault that she's making me feel all...fuzzy on the inside, he had thought one morning, while watching a water vole nibble on a seed. But it's a good thing she's been in this...depression lately. I mean, she only really talks to Sunfall and Snowpaw anymore, so it's good that she's not speaking to me, or else I'm really going to contemplate sleeping outside.

Of course, all of the time he'd spent thinking about her allowed the vole to finish it's seed, and the prey moved to another area, probably to find some more food. He hadn't even noticed that until he heard the sharp "Thistlepaw!" ringing through the air.

His ears shoot up, and he looks around to see Adderfang stalking from the bracken clumps, his amber eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you catch that vole? What, did you think staring at it would make it kill itself?" he hisses, his fur fluffing up in rage.

Thistlepaw shakes his head to clear it, blinking and looking up at his mentor. "I, uh, I was lost in thought, I guess," he mumbles, getting to his paws and bending his head to lick his chest fur, embarrassed by his failure to catch that vole. Stupid Bluepaw.

Adderfang stares at him, simply, blinking slowly. "You were thinking? What could possibly be so interesting and important that you couldn't catch food for your Clan?" he asks, his voice filled with both irritation and anger.

Thistlepaw looks at his paws, watching as a few grass stalks stick up from in between his toes. "Nothing important. I guess I just got really lost in thought."

His mentor stares at him for a few more heartbeats, and then lets out a small huff, before turning around, his tail swishing back and forth as he stalks through the bracken, nothing but an angry scent in his wake.

I'm so not 'in love' with Bluepaw. She's just some stupid she-cat – besides, Snowpaw's sort of beginning to get closer to me... I mean, Bluepaw and I? Yeah, when hedgehogs fly. She hates every hair on my pelt, why in StarClan's name would she ever fall in love with me? Of all cats, especially when Thrushpelt's definitely got his eye on her?

Despite his previous thoughts, he couldn't help but feel his fur prickle when he thought about the sandy-gray tom staring at Bluepaw from afar, giving her that stare... It made him want to tear his claws through Thrushpelt's thin fur, to be honest.

No, he shook his head to clear it of such bothersome Bluepaw filled thoughts. No, I'm not – I can't be in love with Blupaw, of all cats. I'm not in love. I'm only an apprentice – it's probably just something that every tom goes through when he's growing up, right? No...I'm not in love. It's not happening, it's definitely not happening.

"Thistlepaw, are you coming?" He hears Adderfang snap, and he blinks, realizing that he was once again whisked away by his thoughts. Thistlepaw blinks, and bounds through the bracken, the leafy-green plant being shoved aside by his muscular body.

I'm definitely not in love with Bluepaw.

Bluefur and Snowfur were made warriors a moon ago, and ever since then Snowfur has been spending more and more time with Thistlepaw, flirting with him and constantly asking him if he wanted to hunt with her – things like that. He cares about Snowfur; she's his friend, one of the only cats in the Clan that seems to look past the narcissism and self-assurance and see a real cat underneath, one who only wants to be the best warrior he can be.

He wishes Bluefur could do the same. Did I really just think that? I could care less about what she thinks about me – she doesn't decide my life for me.

He was also named a warrior, but before his sisters were; Rosepaw and Sweetpaw fell sick. And so is Bluefur, he thinks, but Thistleclaw doesn't even bother to mention the blue-gray she-cat; she's given him nothing but a barbed tongue for moons now.

A bad mouse, Goosefeather had said to Poppydawn and Windflight – their parents. A bad choice in the fresh-kill pile, and now the three she-cat's have a horrible bellyache, and Rosepaw continuously makes dirt. Sweetpaw's the sickest out of the three of them; she gives off heat like a fire, her paws are constantly moist with sweat, and she can hardly stay awake for more than a few hours a day.

She doesn't look like she'll get any better, but that's not something that Thistleclaw can tell his parents; they seem so full of hope, constantly telling Sweetpaw how much they can't wait until she receives her warrior name, how proud they'll be.

Rosepaw gets better – thank StarClan – but Sweetpaw shows no signs that she'll be able to recover; her physical state continues to deteriorate.

She dies, and his mother doesn't look like she'll ever be the same.

"No, no, no, no, no!" He can hear his mother wailing inside of the apprentices den, and, with a shared glance between he and his father, he bolts toward the tree trunk, pushing aside the ferns that conceal the entrance with his bulky shape.

Inside, he can see his mother crouching over a small, delicate shape, long fur white with tortoiseshell patches, and Thistleclaw can't even believe what he's seeing right now: Sweetpaw's dead.

Pinestar appears beside him, and nudges him aside, slipping through the entrance and staring at his sister with wide, unbelieving green eyes. "Poppydawn – oh StarClan no," the reddish-brown leaders breathes as he stares at Sweetpaw's quietly laying body. But Poppydawn doesn't move at all; she continues to curl around Sweetpaw's body and lick her fur in a soothing way.

Thistleclaw shakes his head, stepping back from the apprentices den with flattened ears. He can smell Windflight's familiar scent, and feel's his fathers short fur press into his for a small moment before the new warrior turns, bolting away from the den.

She can't be dead, he thinks as he runs through the entrance of the gorse tunnel that leads out into ThunderClan territory. Rosepaw's okay now – why did she have to die? Why Sweetpaw? Why not that mangy... Bluefur. He pauses from his running, skidding to a halt and spreading dirt onto the birch and ash trees in front of him. He can smell her distinctive, sweet scent in the breeze, and even though it would've filled his heart with joy – joy that he'd force down – it now made his claws unsheathe and grip the earth, pulling out roots and grass as he sheathed them.

It's all her fault – it's all that stupid Bluefur's fault! If my sisters hadn't of eaten that stupid mouse with her, then Sweetpaw wouldn't be laying in the apprentices den dead now would she? He raises his muzzle, swishing his broad head around as he tries to pinpoint where she is exactly. It's her fault, and she can't deny it.

The bracken swishes, and he turns, narrowing his pale eyes as Bluefur emerges, a fresh and plump magpie in her mouth. She pauses as soon as she sees him, her icy eyes narrowing to slits, and, without taking her eyes off of him, she slowly sets the magpie down on the floor in front of her forepaws. With a voice that's forcefully calm, she meows:

"Hello, Thistleclaw."

Don't rake your claws down her spine just yet, he thinks as he sneers at Bluefur, unable to control all of the emotions he's feeling just yet. You can't hurt Bluefur – you love her! He flattens his ears back and fully turns toward her, raising his hackles. I hate her.

"Sweetpaw's dead." It surprises him how easy it is to mask all of the rage he feels toward her at that moment.

Bluefur's eyes stretch wide, and she shakes her head, as if she's attempting to clear her thoughts of the thought of her former denmate and old friend dead. "N-no...she can't be – I mean, she was sleeping when I left to go hunting...," her voice trails off, and the silvery-blue she-cat looks down at her paws, breathing heavily with her shoulders shaking.

He wants to claw himself in the face for even feeling it, but Thistleclaw has the sudden urge to reach out his paw and touch her face with it, to rub his body against hers, to tell her that it's going to be alright and it wasn't her fault. No. It was her fault. He stares at Bluefur, and that split second of kindness in his eyes, the look that was so soft, was all gone, washed away. She should feel horrible for killing my sister.

"Poppydawn won't forgive you for this, you know?" he hisses, his back arching and his spiky fur fluffing up on the back of his neck and between his shoulders. "Neither will Rosepaw, or me. My entire family will blame you for that mouse that you picked out for them to eat." Bluefur jolts, as if he'd sank his teeth into her shoulder and torn out a clump of fur and skin. She looks up, fixing him with a look that's both disbelieving and angry, and he can see pink as her lip curls back, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

"Excuse me?" she hisses, her back arching even further than his and her ears flattening, the stance and all too familiar look to him; he's seen it countless times in enemy warriors. "So you think that Sweetpaw's death is my fault? If I'd known...great StarClan, I wish I knew. Sweetpaw and Rosepaw are my friends!" she snaps, and it hits him deep down when she doesn't say his name.

Thistleclaw lashes his tail, fixing her with an icy stare, before lifting up his muzzle and spiting out at her, "Whatever, you foxhearted piece of-"

"Bluefur! Did you hear?"

Both cats jolt out of their aggressive stances, looking toward the direction of camp and where Snowfur makes her appearance. The white she-cat's fluffy fur is spiked up, and her gray-tipped ears and flattened against her head, tail swishing back and forth slowly. She pauses, looking from Bluefur to Thistleclaw, until Bluefur glances at Thistleclaw and says:

"About Sweetpaw? Yes, Thistleclaw told me." When she says his name, it's cold and dark, almost snarled out.

Snowfur doesn't seem to notice as she sweeps across the clearing in a swift bound, pressing herself against her sister. "Oh, it's awful, isn't it? It was like just yesterday, the four of us were all in the nursery with Rosepaw," Snowfur turns her dazzling blue gaze to Thistleclaw. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Thistleclaw, StarClan knows it took me moons to recover after Moonflower's death." When she says her mothers name – an almost forbidden one since the queens death – he doesn't miss how Bluefur fidgets.

His mind is somewhere else when he tells Snowfur "Thank you", and the beautiful white she-cat says something else, but he doesn't listen; his gaze is intently fixed on Bluefur's. She meets his steadily, and he watches her leave with Snowfur at her side, the two sisters padding off toward camp, the magpie that Bluefur recently had forgotten.

You're a real piece of work, aren't you Bluefur? You don't think that I can see straight through that facade you put on to stay strong for your sister and our Clanmates – but I know exactly what you are: a scared, shivering she-cat that's just as scared as a rabbit, cornered by a warrior. One day, one day I'll expose you for what you are: a coward. Maybe then all of that pride you have will wash away, and you'll be nothing.

"Thistleclaw, this is so much fun!"

He turns, looking as Snowfur swats at an elusive silver butterfly. The butterfly spins just out of her reach each time, but she doubles her efforts when an unsheathed claw drags the wing down just a few kitten steps.

She's so beautiful, he thinks, watching with a titled head as she jumps into the air again, but this time misses the butterfly completely, and loosing her footing as she falls onto the thick grass, rolling toward the roots of an ash tree. But why can't I love her? I should be able to – she's just as pretty as Bluefur, just as skillful as a warrior...

When Snowfur gets back to her paws, her fur has leaves and grass blades stuck to it, with small splotches of gray-brown mingled in. Thistleclaw can't help but release a small hiss of laughter, twitching his whiskers at the state of the purely-white she-cat's long coat.

Snowfur glares indignantly at him, but he can only see amusement and happiness in her eyes as she growls, "Don't laugh at me!"

The warrior bounds over to him swiftly, flicking her ear at his own fur. "Yours looks like you were dragged out of a bramble bush backwards!" she jokes, butting her head against his shoulder. After a few moments, with only a small side movement from when she touched him with her head as his contribution to the conversation, she meows quietly, "It's very cute though."

He blinks, looking down at his fluffed out chest fur, and back at Snowfur. "Uh...thanks, I guess," he murmurs, unable to figure out a proper response to her statement.

Snowfur rolls her eyes, flicking his cheek with her tail-tip, but he notices how soft and adoring her eyes remain. It makes his pelt prickle with small unease. "Dumb furball," she whispers.

"Snowfur's very fond of you, Thistleclaw – just like how Thrushpelt looks at Bluefur," he remembers Rosetail saying to him one morning as they shared a rabbit. "I'm surprised she hasn't outright said 'do you want to be my mate?' yet."

He blinks and, tentatively, brushes his face against Snowfur's. The white she-cat doesn't hesitate to rub her own face against his, and, without her even saying it, he understands that it's a silent "I love you", from the rapid beating of her heart against his chest fur.

Maybe...maybe this could work out.

Snowfur's pregnant with his kits. Bluefur's not happy, and she pulls him aside on a hunting patrol one afternoon to hiss into his ear:

"If you even think about breaking her heart, I'll tear out your organs and feed them to rats."

It's a scary threat, and he's almost positive that Bluefur would follow through with it.

Whitekit's a beautiful kit, he muses. Muscles already pump through his white-colored fur, and his yellow eyes shine brilliantly at Thistleclaw whenever he scampers to meet his father after he comes back from a patrol or from hunting.

Tigerkit and Whitekit are close friends; Tigerkit, previously the only kit left in the nursery, after his littermates death, seems to enjoy in showing Whitekit around camp and introducing him to all of the warriors and apprentices.

Bluefur is very close to Whitekit – almost like a second mother. She brings him back things from patrols to play with, and showers him with almost as much attention as Snowfur and Thistleclaw already do. It makes his claws unsheathe on how close the blue-furred she-cat is becoming to his family, how she does everything in her power to make him feel like a horrible parent and mate whenever she strays near.

He's convincing himself that he loves Snowfur, and he definitely does care about her, but he's beginning to realize that it's nothing more than good friends; when she told him she was pregnant, it was as of a friend was doing so, telling him about their relationship. He wants to love Snowfur; he wants to be able to feel a gust of wind being taken out of his body, to soak up every glance and patrol they share together, to finally understand what love is, feel blue fur pressed against his own dark gray... No.

That's not his life; he loves Snowfur. She's his mate. They have a son. He is not in love with Bluefur. He hates Bluefur. That is his life, and that's how it'll always be.

I'd be just like Pinestar, he thinks bitterly as he shares a fat water vole with Windflight and Robinwing. Leaving my mate and son, never saying a proper goodbye, forcing Snowfur into raising Whitekit all on her own...no. I'm not the nicest cat in ThunderClan, but even I'm not that cruel.

Everything goes how he wants it; he, Snowfur, and Whitestorm just might be the picture perfect family. It's all going to plan – he can die happy, knowing that he successfully resisted lust and temptations, preferring the safer and more joyous option.

After all, what life could he possibly have had with Bluefur? Getting past the part where she hated every single hair on his pelt, she would never go for him. As far as he knew, she didn't want to take a mate – she'd turned down Thrushpelt's kind gestures and sweet deposition for the option to be alone for the rest of her life. Even though he hated to admit it, he couldn't help but feel happy that, she'd never have a mate. Maybe if she wasn't with another tom, he could push the feeling of love, want, and lust all down until it was buried underneath lies and deceit, underneath a heavy weight of false love for the beautiful Snowfur.

It all spirals down when he wakes up from a small nap to Robinwing's apologetic face, telling him that it's about Snowfur.

He crashes through the crowd of cats, and sees white fur, stained with blood. Snowfur. Oh no...no...she...no... Nothing seems to be coherent at the moment; everything seems to be in slow motion as he looks through the crowd of cats, trying to find the killer of his mate.

"Bluefur took her out hunting, to get her out of camp," His heart stops and his blood runs icy cold when he hears Fuzzypelt murmur that. "Poor thing was struck down on the Thunderpath after the two chased away a ShadowClan patrol."

"She'll be known as a hero," Goldenflower meows.

"Poor Bluefur – loosing both Moonflower and Snowfur? I can't imagine!" That's Swiftbreeze.

"Don't forget about Whitekit; he probably doesn't know what's going on...," Tawnyspots sighs.

"I heard that Bluefur is telling him – she's the closest to a mother he has." Adderfang adds.

He can't help the growl that leaves his throat as he practically stomps his way over to the nursery, where Robinwing has just reappeared and Bluefur was standing in front of his son. His Whitekit. He doesn't know what's happening, but Whitekit wails and leaves Bluefur and Robinwing, bolting to where his mothers body was. Robinwing says something to Bluefur and then follows him, padding to where the dead body was.

But he focuses on Bluefur as he approaches her with gall in his every pawstep.

"You." He spits out at her, claws unsheathing and ripping out dirt with each pawstep closer to the blue-gray warrior. Bluefur looks over her shoulder, grief in her eyes, and anger begins to florist in them when she sees Thistleclaw. "So taking my sister wasn't enough, was it? You had to take Snowfur away from me too, didn't you?" He snaps, tapping his paw against the ground impatiently.

Bluefur's eyes stretch wide with puzzlement, then disbelief, and she opens her mouth to say something, until Thistleclaw snaps:

"No, you don't get to talk! What makes you think that taking her on a stroll was a pleasant idea? That allowing her to fight, on the Thunderpath, when she has a son to worry about was a good thing to do? You must have something wrong with you, y-you piece of foxdung!"

"Thistleclaw," He jolts, snapping away from Bluefur's gaze and looking over his shoulder to see Stormtail standing behind him, blue eyes narrowed and tail swishing back and forth. "I know you're grieving, but standing and screaming at Bluefur isn't helping any cat. Go and grieve for your mate." He meows calmly, but still with anger and authority deeply embedded into his mew.

Oh, so now you act like you give anything for your daughters? He thinks, but decides against saying it aloud, and just narrows his eyes at the blue-gray tom. Turning away from Bluefur with one, last, smothering glare, he stalks to where Whitekit and Robinwing are, settling next to his son without a word.

He feels Whitekit pressing his small muzzle into his thick fur, and doesn't think twice as he wraps a paw around Whitekit's shoulders, bringing him closer to his stomach and wrapping his tail around him and his kit.

I'm sorry, Snowfur, he thinks as he stares at his mates body. You don't know how much I wanted to be able to love you, to love you like I love... Whitekit needs you – but I swear, Bluefur will pay for this. For everything she's done to me and our son. She'll never know the meaning of happiness ever again, not as long as I'm breathing and my heart's beating.

He intended to keep that promise.

He's surprised he can sleep the following night; his thoughts have been nothing but Bluefur that entire day.

Every cat in the Clan thought he was grieving for Snowfur, which part of him was, but the Bluefur-filled thoughts were nothing like they used to be, back when he was an apprentice and older kit. They weren't filled with the strange yearning to press himself against her, to smell her scent and to brush their pelts together. They were filled with a beautiful crimson against blue-gray, and long, blood stained claws clutching the shoulders of the dead cat.

He wanted to kill her.

I never want to hurt you.

Oh, but he does.

Why must everything be so complicated?

He trudges into his nest, sleeping near the center of the den, and curling himself into a ball; he can feel Rosetail pressing her shorter fur into his, but he ignores the comfort of his littermate, instead focusing on sleeping and sleeping only.

Instead of a cold wave of black, like he'd intended, he was instead in some mysteriously dark forest, mist curling at the edges of tree trunks and slithering around boulders. There was only dead trees and bracken; nothing seemed to be alive in this strangely barren wasteland.

"It's been far too long, Thistleclaw," The growl he heard out of the vast darkness startled him completely, and he jolted in his fur, blinking and swishing his head around to get a glimpse of the cat who said it.

Thistleclaw felt his hackles rise and his ears flatten. "Who's out there?" he snapped, not even in the mood to attempt to pursue the mysterious voice. "I'm not in any mood to play around. So, unless you're itching to have your pelt ripped off, I'd suggest you'd come out from wherever you're hiding and talk to me face to face."

A silver tabby, fur long but patchy and ragged, from what looked like seasons of fighting judging by the crisscross of battle-scars, slipped from the concealment of the dead bracken. The mist puffed out in a circle around his hefty paws as he padded swiftly toward Thistleclaw, dark green eyes scanning his pale amber ones as he came a rabbit-length away.

"Well, well," the tabby meowed, sounding half impressed and half annoyed, "Mapleshade was right about one thing: you're one piece of work when you're mad." The tom twitched a torn ear, cocking his head to the side. "What the matter?" the purr sounded unnatural. "Someone made dirt in your fresh-kill?"

Thistleclaw let out a hiss. "If you must know," he growled, curling his lip back and revealing sharp fangs, "My mate died yesterday. So I think I have the right to be a little mad." He snapped, already impatient.

The spiky-furred, dark gray tom just shook his head, moving to turn away. "Look, if you just wanted to make small talk, I'm not up for it right now. Come back when I actually want to hear what you have to say."

He was already walking toward the opposite direction when he stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the silver tabby say:

"Don't you want to be able to get your revenge on Bluefur?" the strange cat asked.

Thistleclaw twitched his ear, unmoving. Is it really that noticeable? He thinks, his fur beginning to prickle. If Sunstar starts to realize that I'm thinking about killing one of my Clanmates...I'm done for in ThunderClan. I'll never become deputy. His tail moves from side to side, but he does not say anything more.

"You do, don't you?" Thistleclaw doesn't even have to turn around to know that the tom's eyes were glittering. "I mean, it was her fault, that Snowfur was on the Thunderpath that day. It was her fault, that Sweetpaw died, all those moons ago. It's her fault that Whitekit will grow up to be a soft, kittypet-warrior one day because she's teaching him foolish things like compassion, sympathy, and believing that kindness actually gets cats far these days." Still, Thistleclaw did not move. "Bluefur wants to be the next deputy of ThunderClan, when Tawnyspots passes – that ambition, that spark in her eyes, it's all there. She'll take everything from you, not unless you do something about it."

Thistleclaw, slowly, turns back to the tabby blinking. "But I can't kill a Clanmate – that's against the Warrior Code!" he cries. I can't kill Bluefur, I l- He stops himself right there, and remains silent, allowing his protest to grow still in the cool air.

The tabby blinks slowly, twitching his whiskers. "The Warrior Code was made to be broken," he meows, quietly at first. "No cat truly follows it anymore – certainly not your own kin, that's for sure." The tabby looked him over, as if assessing him right then and there.

He blinked. "W-what? My own-"

"Do you really think that 'Windflight' is a true ThunderClan name?" the scarred tom says with a laugh. "He's half-WindClan, which makes you a quarter WindClan. Like I said, the Warrior Code was made to be broken."

Thistleclaw frowns, before bowing his head, shaking it. It takes him a few moments – going through every possibility, every outcome of what would happen if he listened to this strange cat. He knew that Snowfur, and probably Whitekit – provided if he ever found out – would never forgive him for killing Bluefur. And I'd never forgive myself. But he knew that, by getting her out of his way, becoming deputy and then leader...everything would be better. His life would become a blissful scene, no longer plagued by Bluefur and her stupid, hideous face.

Finally, he sighs, shaking his head and looking the pale tabby in the eye. "Alright. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Do you know that RiverClan warrior?"

It seems like moons until she answers, her voice small but raising with each syllable.

"His name is Oakheart."

You liar.

You love him.

You'll never love me.

Why won't you love me?

"I didn't ask for his name," he spits back, tail lashing. "I said how. Do. You. Know. Him?"

She meets his gaze, eyes unmoving. "I don't know him – at least, not how you think I do."

He doesn't ask for more, he only stares at her, a nose-length away. "Traitor." He hisses back.

The claws come-

They hurt-

He sees amber-

Reddish fur too-

Oakheart.

He's laughing

As he tears into

spiky fur

blood's there

Oh StarClan, it's my blood

Why is no one helping

Snowfur please help me.

He sees Tigerclaw

but from the stars

he's grieving far worse than Whitestorm

Bluestar's with his son

she's not even looking

Why aren't you grieving for me, Bluestar?

No one cares.

Alone.

When Bluestar gets to StarClan, after moons and moons, he hides away for a long time. Not even Snowfur can find him.

When they meet, it's after she was hot on his trail, pursing him and trying to find her worst enemy. When they meet, they stare into each others eyes, before she utters the three words that he never, ever wanted to hear from her:

"I hate you."

I love you too, Bluestar.

Like I said, headcanons were incorporated into this.

Like: Sunstar was in love with Moonflower, and was close to Bluestar because that's all he had left of her (I thought it was a good idea), and Thistleclaw beginning his DF training after Snowfur died.

I'd like to thank Coqui's Song, and point you all to her oneshot (which can be found on her profile) "Thistle's and Thorns". We're both hardcore Blue/Thistle shippers, so any shippyness can be talked with by both of us (and also review her one-shot because FEELINGS).

I hope you all enjoyed!