#it was pure unbridled mayhem i tell you

[kodiakwhiskey]

All Hallows Eve

Here I am! 3 days late! my life is pure unbridled chaos lately.

Pairing|| Steve Harrington x Fem!reader (now that i'm typing idk what pronouns i actually used)

There's always something happening in Hawkins, and who knows what kind of mayhem occurs during Samhain.

TW: gore, halloween, implied smut, guns, the nail bat, normal ST stuff(lmk if there's another tw needed<3 )

"So you're telling me, you don't remember her coming and getting her cone in a bowl?"

"Should I?" Robin rolled her eyes at him. Shifting her attention to you, she rested her head in her hand, palm against her cheek. "You know that wasn't the weirdest thing she did Robin. In first grade she cut her hair in the bathroom during recess." Robin spun around to see Steve walking over to you. She was convinced he hadn’t noticed you, but for once it seems like she was wrong.

“Hey, Y/N” He leaned against the shelving, careful not to put too much weight on it and save himself from knocking everything over again. “Have you seen the new Swamp Thing?”

You put the movie you were looking at back, before grabbing another and going over the back section. “No. Do you have any recommendations? I have a date coming over tonight and I want to impress him.” Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach, but laughed nervously. 

“Here check these out.” He pulled you over to a completely different section, the words ringing in his ears. You? Have a date? That was like next to impossible. You’d always been the single one. You didn’t date, like, ever. You noticed the far away look in his eyes as he handed you a couple movies.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

“Yeah of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” Because I wanted to date you. He wants to scream it at you, he wants to just buck up and tell you, but before he could say anything you took both movies, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“Thanks Harrington. I’ll be returning these pronto if they’re garbage.” You laughed and went over to the counter, chatting with Robin as she got the tapes rented to you.

Steve didn’t see you for a couple days after that. He knew you’d come by, because those two movies had been returned, in pristine condition like you always did when renting. He tried to inquire with Robin, but she just shook her head at him.

The next time he saw you was at school. Your hair changed, and it looked like your wardrobe had as well. His feet started carrying him towards you, but he stopped midway when Nancy walked over to you. That seemed like a bad idea. He refocused on his locker, conveniently across from yours and decided to just get his bag situated.

"So… how was it?" Nancy seemed way too excited to inquire about your first date, barely giving you time to grab your textbooks. "And be honest. You don't have to spare my feelings."

"Ugh Nancy it was horrible!" You sighed and checked your hair for the 50th time that morning. "I have literally never been so mortified." She moved your hair around a bit, wincing herself at the damage.  "Oh geez, is it that bad?" You felt like you could cry again as she put her hand on your shoulder.  

"Honestly I wouldn't be able to tell unless I was looking for it. Come on, you look fine. Let's head to class. " She grabbed your textbooks for Civics, closing your locker and pulling you away. "So what even happened?"

"You wouldn't even believe me if I told you." The two of you make your way through the halls as you recount the weekend to her.

By the time you reach class you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You had this class with Steve. The thought of him seeing you like this was mortifying, even with your already low self esteem. You watched him take his seat next to you, pulling out his binder. You looked away before he caught you staring, and you buried your face into your textbook. This class lasts a whole hour. You usually looked forward to it, being paired with your crush usually helped but right now you wished you took the day off. 

"How'd you like the movies?" Your face fell at his question. You didn't get to watch them and wouldn't be able to for a while. 

"They were great! I'll probably rent them again to show my dad when he gets back." You hated this, but you couldn't hurt his feelings like that. He was so genuine to you. 

He was quiet the rest of class, unusually so. You spent the rest of the morning overthinking it. 

By the time lunch rolls around you find yourself in the library. Wedged in the window seat in the corner, your small lunch sitting next to you as you read, lost in the world of Narnia. You were absentmindedly munching on your sandwich, having to restart the page because you keep getting distracted. A dip in the cushion causes your attention to pull away from the book, to Steve who is sitting next to you. 

"You don't have to lie to me to spare my feelings." 

You blush and look up from your book at his goofy grin, and hit him with your book. "Shut it Steve."

"Is everything ok? You normally ignore me but you seem off today." You turned away from him, pulling your knees up to your chest. "If it didn't go well with Ian, don't feel bad you really dodged a bullet with that one."

"That's a mean thing to say about your friend."

"You're more of a friend than he ever was." He looked over at you, your hair falling in front of your face.  "Seriously what happened?"

"He caught my vhs on fire…" You paused, turning your head away to look at the book shelf,  "And my hair."

"Can we talk? About what's happened."

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Harrington." He recognized the hurt you tried to make with your playful tone.

"You know what." The bell rang, and you gathered your lunch, stuffing the rest of the bag into your backpack. "Please, just hear me out."

"Fine." You turned to face him. "Meet me after-school. This is your one chance Harrington. Better use it wisely." You turned on your heel, all but marching out of the library.

Steve spent the rest of afternoon classes thinking about you. He couldn’t be mad at you for being hurt, though he hated himself for it. He thought about freshman year when you had stopped talking to him. Then everything with Nancy happened and meeting the kids and he realized just how far apart the two of you grew. He made his way down to the field, seeing you on the bleachers. You were quiet as he sat down, and the two of you remained silent for a while. He didn't know where to start. 

“I’m sorry.I don’t really know where to start but I guess that’s a good start.” You kept facing the tree line, the wind sweeping back your hair “I should have called. I should have done more to speak to you. Everything I can say is just going to sound like excuses but I don’t want to make excuses anymore.��� He turns a little towards you, his knee bumping yours. “The truth is, I got swept up in life and I left you behind.” his hand slid into yours and you finally turned to face him, tears in your eyes. 

“You promised…”

“I know…” His hand brushed away a stray tear. “I won’t leave you again. For real this time.” Your face broke into a wide smile at his goofy grin. “Starting with tomorrow. You, me and Swamp thing. Unless you wanna go to that dumb party.” 

“I’d love to see a movie with you, but my tape player broke, remember?” 

"Not to fret. I have the perfect idea." He smiled and stood up, grabbing his bag. "I'll pick you up at 7?"  You smiled and nodded and he took off, waving at you as he made his way to his car, already late for work.

The next day you spent anxiously waiting at home. It was Halloween, but the debate was whether or not to wear a costume. Thanks to your work with the drama club, you basically had an entire wardrobe of costumes. But what to wear? Vampire? No… everyone was going to be that. Your eyes settle onto the headpiece of faux antlers you took during a production of a midsummer night's dream and you throw together one of the old Greek chiffons. Nancy helped you fix your hair last night, which required a drastic cut to your normally long hair. By the time you finished getting ready Steve was in your living room, talking with your dad. 

"Have her home by last call bud. I trust you." You could tell from the tone that your dad missed having him around. You reached the bottom of the stairs and your dad gave you a kiss on the forehead, telling you both to have fun before he went into the basement. 

Steve took you to the drive in, not expecting it to be busy, but it looks like everyone else had the same idea. The two of you parked and he jumped out, going to get food. You tried to spot familiar faces in the crowd but there were too many. You slumped down into the seat and fiddled with your bag while waiting for Steve to come back. 

The air got colder and you cursed yourself for not bringing a sweater. Something else felt off though. You popped back up in the car, but everything was empty. 

“Steve?” You opened the door of the car, stepping out softly onto the ground. “Harrington!”  There was an ooze sticking to the benches in the front, none of the other cars were here anymore. You felt a chill realizing you were alone. 

Steve ran into Nancy and Jonathan on his way back to the car, feeling a strange chill down his spine. “Hey, does something feel off to you guys?”

“Yeah Nancy had a weird feeling all morning, my moms been kinda freaking out too.” Nancy was looking around when she spotted Steve’s car.

“Hey I thought you were here with Y/N?” 

“What do you mean she’s in the…” His face fell when he noticed you missing. “What the hell?”

“You don’t think it’s the same thing as last time right?” Nancy knew you wouldn’t do well on your own, not with how things had been lately. If the Mind Flayer was still alive somehow? She couldn’t even begin to think about how scared you’d be. “Steve, do you still have that bat with the nails in it?” He nodded, and without thinking ran back to the car, hopping in and peeling out to go to his house, while Nancy and Jonathan hatched a plan. He wasn't expecting Dustin to be at his house when he got there. 

"Can't talk Henderson. " He ran up the stairs, Dustin trailing behind him.

"I didn't think you'd bail on me tonight."

"We had plans?" He rummaged through his closet before pulling it from the back. 

"Dude you don't remember? You told me we could watch that movie, you even rented it last week." Steve ran back down to the car.  "Why do you need the bat anyways."

"Well I have to go save my best friend now. "

"I thought I was your best friend." Dustin slid onto the passenger seat buckling himself in. "I'm coming too then." Steve didn't argue as he peeled out of the drive, racing back towards Nancy and Jonathan. "You still didn't tell me who it is you ditched me for." Steve’s small goofy grin returned when he thought of you in your costume. That grin turned into a sad smile, thinking about you alone out there, scared. 

"Y/N L/N. I think I love her." 

“Ew gross, that's my cousin, man. She’s almost a sibling.” Dustin’s complaints fall on deaf ears and Steve thinks of you.The drive flies by him as they approach, Nancy and Jonathan having accumulated the rest of the kids. 

It's so much colder out here, and you regret not staying in the car, but your feet drag you through the forest. If you can just get back to Hawkins you'll be fine. Your knees buckle, and you steady yourself on a nearby tree. A low growling in the distance shakes you from your frozen daze, and you move a little quieter throughout the forest until you see Hawkins from the tree line. 

"It's too bad El doesn't have powers anymore." Mike smacks Dustin in the back of the head as they walk through the woods behind the Byer's house. "What it's the truth? Then she could tell her where to go."

"Are you sure that portal is still open? I thought we closed Fort Byers during the first incident with the mind flayer." Will shakes his head at his brother's question, looking back down at the county map Nancy snagged from the gas station.

"No but this gives us a chance to figure it out without interruptions." 

The video store looked abandoned, and so did your hopes of finding someone. You went to grab a hold of your chapstick from the makeshift pocket, applying it to your chewed lips to try and bring some sense of balance back to you. You heard the growling again and threw the door open to the store, drawing the blinds closed. You'd just have to wait and hope it didn't break in after you. 

Your chapstick fell and rolled underneath a shelf, but was gone when you went to grab it. You also noticed your pendant and some other items on you had fallen off and disappeared during your trek. You managed to pick the lock on the door to the office using the paperclips and a screwdriver you found behind the counter, finding the shotgun you know the owner kept hidden in case of emergencies. With extra ammunition nonetheless. 

"Hey Steve?" He stopped when he heard Nancy's voice, turning around to see your necklace in her hands. "This is hers right?"

"Yeah…" He took it, a hope building in his chest. "It was a present when we turned 12. My mom gave it to her." He stared down at it, thinking about you laughing during your cheer practice freshman year. "I didn't know she kept it." Jonathan clapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him with them as they continued to the car.

"Come on lover boy. I think she might have left us a trail to the portal." Will was the first to hop in the back of the pick up their mom got for Jonathan. The rest of them follow suit, Steve keeping an eye out for anything he recognizes as yours.

You really regretted skipping out on dinner. You thought about the cinnamon rolls and the leftover chili waiting for you in the fridge at home and your stomach growled. 

"Fuck man. If I knew what fucking dimension I apparently was in I could find food." You grumbled some more about how this was not Narnia, nor Middle Earth and eventually you found some suspicious looking chips, chilling on the desk, open. You were that desperate yet. You stayed in the office having relocked the door behind you. It was quiet. It was safe for now. If something was hunting you, you doubted that it would be kept at bay by a metal door. This didn't seem like a time to apply Fey rules.

Steve yelled at Jonathan to stop as they reached town, spotting another item of yours.

He remembers the white shawl you brought, even after your father told you to grab a coat. He untangled it from the branches for the bush, your perfume still lingering on the fabric.

"We need to grab Robin."

"What are you talking about?"

"If she's in the Upside Down, she's seeking two things. A weapon and shelter." Jonathan nodded and they drove to Robin's house, her running outside as soon as Steve explains you're missing. When they pull up they see your antlers, right in front of the door, before they're suddenly broken apart. 

"Everyone else saw that right?" Steve nodded at Dustin's words, slowly getting out of the truck.

"I'm going in."

"Wait Steve, we need a plan!" Robin tried to reason with him as he stuck the keys in the lock. 

"Kids, you stay here, run communication." Nancy grabbed the bat, following Steve.

You were that desperate. The stale BBQ chips Steve liked so much made your stomach churn a bit, before it finally settled down. The door chimed and you gripped your hold on the shotgun, standing to face the door.

Steve didn't even think about it when he heard the click of the shotgun from the office. He found you. He had decided on the way here he wasn't going to waste another minute, and he wasn't going to let fear stop him from that sweet minty kiss.

"STEVE!"

The shout from Nancy saved you a bullet and also alerted you to your hunter.

You quickly repositioned and shot it in the head, the body of the Demodog falling to their feet. You double tapped for good measure.

"You are so hot when you murder supernatural beings." Nancy sniggers at Robin, her jaw almost hanging open. You do a quick scan before you disarm. 

"Does this mean I should start wearing leather?" You wink at Robin teasingly, and Steve blushed trying hard not to think about that image you planted. "I don't think that thing was alone." You ran back into the office and grabbed more ammo, stuffing it in your pocket. "I heard it from all directions before I locked myself in here." 

"God you are so hot."

"Steve, focus." Your eyes widened slightly when you fully registered what he said. "Wait what?" 

"Now isn't the time guys. The portal moved." Nancy's face fell as they peeked out the door. Jonathan was filling Will in on the walkie.

"Wait, hold on. Steve, what's going on?"

"I'm in love with you."

"You dignus! Not right now! I could have died!" You shove his shoulder lightly, chills running down your spine from the contact. "Where are we and why do you guys know what's going on?" The four of them paused at your words. You focused in on the walkie, hearing Dustin's voice on the walkie. "Steve, why is my cousin talking to you guys through a walkie-talkie?" Your eyes grew wide. "You did not put my cousin in danger like this you…" Robin rushed in between you and Steve, watching the rage build in your eyes. 

"Hey we can talk about this later, but right now we're still in danger and we have to find the portal back." You mumble something and grab the radio from Jonathan.

“Hey Dusty?”

“Copy Sandman, I hear you loud and clear, what do you need?”

“Remember the old tire by the creek? Meet you there in 60.”

You handed the walkie back to Jonathan and walked out with the extra box of ammo, stuffing it into the plastic bag you grabbed from the entrance.

“How are we supposed to get there if we can’t drive?”

“That’s not wholly true. Jon showed me how to drive the truck once. I think I can manage.” The 6 of them were about to pile into the cab when Dustin spotted the familiar mop of their dungeon master.

“Hey Eddie!” He strolled over, poised to question his summoning when Dustin handed him the keys. “You can drive us.”

“How do you know there’s a portal at this place?”

“I don’t.” The four of them stopped, all simultaneously protesting. “Look, it's Halloween. Samhain. It’s when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.” You keep walking forwards. You’d make a portal if you had to. The constant paranoia was too much to handle. Seeing you go on without them, Steve started walking, quickly catching up with you, and the three of them followed suit. 

“Can we talk?” Steve’s voice rang in your ears, and you looked over to see he had taken the bat from Nancy, and was beside you now.

"About what Steve? That you were literally throwing yourself into danger for the last 3 years and didn't even have the balls to tell me? " He paused, closing his mouth and staring at you. "If the reason why we weren't talking was because I wasn't cool enough to trust, then why start now? Nothing has changed."

“That’s not what it is.” His hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards him. “If I had told you, you would have flipped and gotten hurt and I…”

“Think about how I feel, yeah? First you start dating Nancy and I see even less of you, then I find out you’ve been fighting in another dimension with her?” You turned around, marching forward. “We need to move. I want out of here.” Robin put her hand on Steve’s shoulder as you walked away, before following. 

The trek to the creek didn’t take too long after that, you trying to communicate with Dustin.

“I think there is actually a portal here, but in the water.”

“Great so I get to jump into freezing water. Terrific.”

“It won’t be that bad and we’ll be here to pull you out.”

 A twig snapping caught your attention, and you spun towards the noise, aiming the shotgun into the distance. “We need to go through now.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” The low growl caught everyone’s attention, and Nancy and Jonathan jumped into the water, disappearing under the surface.

“Robin go. I’ve got your back covered.” She jumped into the water and you fired a shot, another demodog falling to the ground. "Steve, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He looked over and swung his bat at one, knocking it to the side.

"For this." You shoved him into the water, his eyes wide, the scream lodged in his throat. You turned and shot another one, fumbling with the shells to reload. 

"Well. I guess it's now or never."

Steve emerged from the water, coughing and sputtering, your name coming out in a shout as he turned back towards the water. "God that self sacrificing bitch!" Steve threw the bat down, getting stuck in the muddy river bank. They waited a while longer before Steve started trying to go back. He had stripped his shirt off and was about to jump back in when you emerged from the water, meeting his face. Before you could say anything he was pulling you out of the water. “And you called me the idiot! Are you insane?! Why the hell did you-”

His words were silenced by your kiss, your hands on his cheeks. You were freezing now, your skin turning much paler than normal. “I love you too, Steve Harrington.” There was a slight cough in the background and before you knew it there was a towel around your shoulders.

They piled into the truck, heading to Steve’s place, where they deemed the safest from prying eyes.  Eddie finally introduced himself to you, and his flirty remarks earned a quick, quiet glare from Steve. 

Everyone else dispersed around the house, but Steve took you to his bedroom.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” As soon as the door closed his lips were on yours, his hands stripping you of your wet clothes. “What part of that said ‘Lets just leave the person we came for’?” you smiled and he pulled away, smiling too, before running to his bathroom and turning on the hot water. You pulled his heated blanket out of the bottom of his closet, plugging it in behind his night stand. His room hadn’t changed much, maybe some new posters, but the photo on his desk caught your eye. It was a new frame, considering you had broken the old one in a fit of rage. The two of you, right before high school. Right before he became King Steve and you became just another face in the crowd. The corner was still torn, and you could practically see the glass on the carpet. You felt Steve wrap his arms around you, moving the picture from your hand, and pulling you into the bathroom with him. It was going to be a long night for the two of you.

[pantoranqira]

My boy Gizka in Orange!

No but like I'm obsessed with the idea of clone celebrities. Like clones who did something SO stupid as a kid that every other clone on Kamino at the time knows who they are. Like imagine burping during a group lecture in an auditorium filled with MILLIONS of your brothers. Like there is no way that you can ever live that down. But hey, at least you drink free at '79s, right?

[ashrimpnamedlauren]

10% Left au: Chapter Two

Crowfrost’s eyes shot open.

What happened? 

He sat up, his sight dizzy as he felt like his head was being ripped apart by foxes. Did.. Did we win? Is Blackstar okay? Is- He stopped, breathing heavily before closing his eyes. Is Dawnpelt okay? Are.. are my kits okay? 

He tried to get up, but he felt weak; it was as if his body was ripped apart from the inside out. He groaned in pain as he tried to take in his surroundings. He instantly started gagging a bit as he was whacked in the face with the scent of death. 

He instantly shot up, looking around with pure horror in his eyes as he realized what was going on. Bodies.. So many bodies.. Rowanclaw.. Toadfoot.. Starlingwing… So many dead.. 

He started slowly walking to the nursery. Dawnpelt.. She- He stopped at the entrance, his legs shaking before he almost collapsed on the floor.

Dawnpelt’s body was laid out in the nursery, her throat ripped to shreds. Kinkfur was next to her, her stomach ripped open and her guts spilled all over the floor. Ivytail was gone too.. Her head looked almost crushed. 

“Dawnpelt..?” His voice had become nothing more than a meek whisper, his front paws forcing him over to his mate. “Darling, please.. Don’t leave me.. Please, please don’t leave me..” He let out a loud choked sob as he crumbled into his mates fur. 

The first day he joined Shadowclan, a small, shriveled loner begging for help.. Nobody liked him, except for her. She helped him hunt, teached him how to fight properly, and always stayed by his side when others bullied him.

The warriors ceremony.. They got their names the same day. Even Blackstar was proud of him, when he caught a rook straight from a tree. Dawnpelt’s technique, of course, but they never told anyone. He remembered the days they spent together, rolling around in the grass and leaves, laughing and goofing around like they were apprentices again. 

Flametail’s death.. Dawnpelt’s grief and hatred for Jayfeather, blaming him for her brother’s death.. He was beside his mate always during that time.. Even if he thought she was wrong. 

Dawnpelt, telling him she was expecting his kits, just one moon before the battle. The tearful conversation afterwards. Wondering what the names would be.. Dawnpelt wanted to name one Juniperkit. He loved the name.. 

Hopeless futures, their kits growing up and becoming great warriors. One would be Juniperkit, of course, but the other names randomly generated in his mind. Bugkit. Gorsekit. Magpiekit.

He would never know that future now. His kits were dead. His mate was dead. Everyone he loved was gone. 

The grief overcame his mind so much, to the point that he didn’t even register the movement out of the corner of his eye. But he finally noticed when he felt something plop down next to him. 

He turned, and saw a shivering, grey and brown kit, that was bleeding from the right side of his face. It’s tufted, spiky fur gave away who the kit was. 

The tiny tom looked up at Crowfrost, and said something that made his heart melt:

“Papa..?” Crowfrost quivered up a small smile as tears welled up again in his eyes, leaning down and licking Spikekit’s head. “Yes, Spiky.. I’ll be your new Papa, okay? I won’t ever let you be hurt.”

The little kit purred loudly from the lick and smushed his face against his leg. “Papa.. fuzwy Papa..” 

The senior warrior’s heart melted almost instantly at this. He’s so sweet.. So innocent. I’ll never let him be hurt. Ever.

Nobody will hurt my son. 

---------------

“Podpaw, hold your ground!” 

The small Riverclan apprentice was fighting for his life. 

The Dark Forest was much, much more than anyone ever thought. Mistystar had been killed at the start of the battle, by a cat he didn’t know, and everything had fallen into mayhem. 

His mentor, Grasspelt, was by his side, helping him fight and making sure that he wouldn’t fall. He was thankful for her… He was bad at fighting. Without her, he would probably be dead right now.

But he was getting so tired.. He couldn’t even see his mom anymore, or Curlpaw. All he could do was keep fighting, but.. It was so hard. It was so hard to keep going, to keep fighting. It hurt to swipe, the soreness in his paws was becoming almost unbearable. But he couldn’t stop. He had to keep going, or else.. What was the point? 

“THE NURSERY! THEY BROKE THROUGH!” Podpaw’s whole body stiffened as he turned to see several cats breaking into the nursery. The yowl seemed to have come from Robinwing, who was valiantly protecting a bleeding out Dapplenose from the spirits. 

 “MOM!” Duskfur was in there! With his little siblings! She just gave birth yesterday.. She couldn’t fight! He had to help them! He started pushing through the cats, only to be held back by Grasspelt. 

“It’s too dangerous!” She yowled, kicking back a dark spirit as she spoke. “You can’t go in there!”

“Mom is in danger! I-i- I have to help her!” Podpaw wailed, swatting his mentor away and rushing to the nursery, despite his mentor running after him and screaming for him to stop. 

He rushed in, and his eyes widened. Icewing! Did the warrior chase them off? Was Duskfur safe..?  But as he looked closer, his heart crushed as he saw that the white she cat was covered in blood.. 

And was standing over his mom’s body. 

“YOU KILLED HER!” His wail echoed with anguish, as he stared at the warrior.. No… traitor. “YOU KILLED MY MOM! HOW COULD YOU?” 

Icewing turned, and Podpaw’s anger overwhelmed him when he saw the look of victory on her face. She was happy that Duskfur was dead! Her own Clanmate, his mother, was dead because of her! 

Podpaw’s entire body became fueled with pure, unbridled hatred. WIthout thinking, he yowled and launched at her. 

Icewing snickered, and instantly dodged, turning around and slamming the apprentice into the wall. Podpaw’s entire vision went white as his head crashed into the bracken of the nursery walls, pain filling his head and causing him to cry out. 

Icewing let out a growl of victory, and slinked forward, her mouth opening to try and take a killing bite to his neck. 

Podpaw backed away, but he couldn’t, and he yowled out in agony as Icewing slammed a paw into his chest, making him almost vomit from the force.

No! I can’t die! Not here, not now! I can’t let Mom down!

“Time to die, foolish little apprentice! Just like your mother.. You are weak!” 

Icewing’s words, combined with his sheer determination to live, sent a burning energy through his veins, and he yowled, his left paw striking up and cutting a wound into Icewing’s belly, and ripped her stomach open.

He gasped, eyes wide with horror as the she cat instantly started shrieking in agony, collapsing to the ground. He didn’t mean to do that! It looked so painful.. 

But she deserved it. She killed Duskfur. She deserved to die. 

He watched Icewing’s last struggles for life, before she collapsed, her eyes glazing over and she was gone. He.. killed someone. 

But it was right.. Right? She killed his mom.. She killed his baby siblings. She tried to kill him. 

His thoughts were interrupted, and his eyes widened when he heard a loud squeak coming from his mother's body. He instantly bolted over, eyes full of horror at the sight of the small kit.. Surrounded by his siblings' corpses. 

He gagged, almost vomiting but held it back. He had to get out of here.. He had to protect his little brother. He picked the small baby up, walking outside. 

He didn’t think it would be so.. Quiet. 

Where was everyone? Did.. did nobody survive? Did he leave Grasspelt to die? Is Curlpaw dead?

Podpaw’s entire body started shaking. He couldn’t.. He had to leave. He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by his Clanmates' bodies.. He had to find shelter. 

He turned away from the dead remains of his Clan and walked out of camp with his little brother. 

[penninstitute]

Case #0180717

Statement of Damien Piper, regarding his life. Original statement given July 17th, 2018.

I am dangerous. That is a fact.

To share my story when I am a threat and a menace is ironic. After all, who hears out the beasts? Who wants to? You know that their teeth are sharp. But part of me cannot stand keeping it a secret. Withholding information - it’s a burden that weighs you down, and one that can only be alleviated through sharing the truth. It isn’t a secret to you, I’m sure. You, dear Archivist, who reads this now - you will know, sooner or later, against your will. Such is our nature. Such is fate.

With that, I give you my story.

I am a musician, and have been since I was young enough to still have my mother with me. I didn’t keep her for very long, because when I turned 12, she was taken, and I got another mother in her place. That other mother didn’t make music like my true one did. Its tune was scratchy, and ragged. It didn’t like my guitar, while my real mother liked it

It killed my father when I was 16. So I killed it. And after that, I was alone, later thrust into the hands of foster care with nothing but an instrument from another time.

My new foster parents were pleasant enough. They had three other children that they were taking care of, and I got along well with them. School, however, was a different story. I got bullied a lot, called various names, beaten and bruised on certain occasions - all not very fun things. I bore it, though. The last time I took action was when I killed the other mother, and since then I hadn’t the strength or will to do it again. I let myself be pushed around. I didn’t have the energy to fight back. That, I speculate, made me a prime target.

The only solace I found was with my guitar. It was a hand-me-down, given when I was 10. The instrument helped ease the discomfort of the harassment in school at first. Soon, however, the abuse worsened. And again I ignored it, telling myself I had no business trying to resist.

I think this was when it started growing, that throbbing, beating something inside of me. There was a connection being forged against my will inside my heart. Thankfully, I graduated without any fuss, but that feeling still lingered. It was only a matter of time before it would show itself.

On the night of my 21st birthday, I wrote my first and last song.

It came to me in the middle of the night, a strike of red lightning that scorched me and kept me awake until I’d written every last word down. And when I finished, I sat there, staring at it, uncertain of its conception but certain of its purpose. I knew what this song would do. I knew what I would do.

I was going to perform at a bar tomorrow evening, some dingy little establishment few would’ve heard of. The audience milled around in the dank space, sleepy and lethargic like the place itself, and the whole scene spoke of laziness. And there I was, clutching my instrument with white knuckles, desperately aching to start playing. That inspiration from the night prior had grown to a crescendo inside of me. If I didn’t let the crimson song out soon, it would’ve surely consumed me.

Onto the stage I got, and I introduced myself, trying to temper the tension in my jaw. I held my guitar tightly and poised my fingers fatefully over the strings. Droopy eyes turned to look at me.

I strummed the first chord, and I sang that song.

Do you know what euphoria feels like? I’m sure you could attempt to draw up descriptions; I’m sure you will even say that yes, you know what it’s like. It’s unlikely you could understand what my euphoria felt like, however. Despite this, I will try my best to tell you.

It is like a pure, unbridled, madness. It is a joy you can’t resist, a song that fills your ears and swallows you whole, dragging you down into the depths of mayhem. It is motion, movement, that commands your limbs to move and begs you to dance.

And dance the audience did - they moved, oh they did. They swung at one another and howled with rage. Broken glass flew and knives went deep into vocal chords, splitting them open and spilling the song onto the floor. Bodies were broken. Bones snapped. Chaos and bloodshed reigned.

And through it all I sang.

Mind you, I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t my choice to continue singing. Being possessed by that feeling is… not something you choose. It takes you and it makes you sing.

It was a long time before I finally stopped. The experience had left me greatly winded. My throat was raw, and my eyes watered with emotion that I wasn’t sure about. I glanced up tentatively at the messy scene around me.

The human body has a lot of blood in it, didn’t you know?

Red. Red. Red. So much of it throughout the bar. And it was very quiet too. Seeing as there was no one to stop me, I left.

That is the end of my story. Since that day, I have done the same thing over and over and over and over again. They whisper my name in the back alleys. They talk of that mysterious band, Hamelin - the band that, they say, has music which is to die for. I can assure you, it is.

Perhaps you are wondering why I would willingly expose myself like this. After all, sharing my crimes puts me at risk of being arrested, and surely a beast doesn’t want that?

Well, it’s true I don’t fancy being arrested, but at the same time I felt I had to tell you. To serve something the way I do - it’s a burden, all forms of servitude are. My kind just so happens to be an extremely deep lifelong debt I can never repay.

Do I regret it? Sometimes. Sometimes I feel something heavy in my chest, a deep seated guilt telling me - rightfully, I’ll add - that I’m a monster, that the slaughter left in my wake is an act that can’t be condoned no matter the reason. Other times I enjoy it, letting myself really get lost in the music, embracing that madness. Most of the time, I try to ignore it. It doesn’t always work.

Did I choose it? In a way, maybe I did. Or circumstance was just cruel.

Regardless, now you know. Hate me, fear me, inspect me like some prized specimen - do what you wish. But whatever you do, I implore you to be aware, for it may come for you just as it did for me.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

This statement has a direct connection to Case #0140111 – the band described there, Hamelin, is the same name Damien Piper uses here. The connection between violence and music is… not one I would’ve made on my own. It’s an interesting association.

Mr. Piper makes… interesting claims, but Blair has found several consistent reports about violent brawls in establishments across the country, all of them ending with no survivors–and all of them occurring on nights where the band Hamelin is playing.

It’s interesting, for sure. No contact information for Damien Piper was in the file, so we aren’t able to reach out to him for more information.

[londontheatre]

Susan Penhaligon and Paul Bradley – Greg Veit Photography

Over the last decade the Finborough, under Neil McPherson’s astute stewardship, has garnered a richly deserved reputation for producing in-house, and hosting, revivals of long-forgotten and often overlooked plays that add eclectic depth to the contemporary dramatic canon.

Caste, by T.W. Robertson, produced by new company Project One, is one such: an exquisite little shimmering gem to delight the discerning playgoer.

Whilst Caste’s comédie de moeurs and language is rooted in the mid-nineteenth century (written in 1867) Charlotte Peters’s inspired and sparkling direction ensures its appeal to a modern audience to which long courtships and antipathy to inter-class marriage are as alien as swiping right would be to Victorians. Peters gets the mood, gets the history, gets the relationship-interplay and above all gets the humour. This is a lovely little historical document time-capsuling its period but it’s also a comedy – one of those funny comedies that make audiences laugh spontaneously rather than going through those polite West-End-theatre-audience motions.

To achieve this Peters needs a cast of believers, a cast that throws itself uninhibitedly into their roles with unbridled gay abandon (I use that phrase advisedly in its original Victorian sense). This is a committed company of skilled practitioners who are willing to stretch their craft to the limit to ensure near-comic perfection. Leading the way in this is Rebecca Collingwood as Polly, effervescent and endearing, annoying and alluring, scatty and seductive: she grabs the audience by the throat and screams “Listen to me!

Watch me! Delight in my ability to transform from coquette to confidante in the twinkling of an eye!” This is never more evident than in her penultimate scene solo re-enactment of the ballet “Jeanne la folle, or, Return of the Soldier” where she goes full hyper-over- drive in her attempt to bring her sister down gently (!) regarding interesting news about her deceased husband (fill in your own spoiler). Sister Esther, wooed, married, birthed and widowed is played with discreet charm by Isabella Marshall who manages to combine dainty, love-lorn delicate and dutiful daughter with steely, strong-willed woman of the world to great effect. It’s is no easy part to play but Marshall pulls it off with apparent consummate ease. Progenitor of these two commoner sisters is Eccles (Paul Bradley), the amusingly inebriated work-shy scrounger of a father who wears cor-blimey trousers and a what-me- guv? bowler that doubles nicely as a gratuity receptacle. Bradley is fun and funny – never more so than when he mistakenly drinks milk instead of liquor.

Susan Penhaligon, Ben Starr, Paul Bradley, Neil Chinneck, Rebecca Collingwood, Isabella Marshall, DuncanMoore – Greg Veit Photography.

The class-above love-interest is supplied with suitable martial panache by Duncan Moore as George D’Alroy, suitor, husband, and MIA father of Esther’s child – the baby George – and his sidekick, Captain Hawtree (Ben Starr).

Moore is all tall-neatly- pressed-scarlet- uniform, the clipped-moustachioed besotted romantic who knows that he will be disowned by his upper-crust Mother – but he doesn’t care! Moore handles this with deft restraint never yielding to the temptation of edging into caricature. He looks dashing in his soldier’s get-up, of course, but in the post-marriage domestic scene he sports a long, silver-trimmed, cerulean smoking-coat to die for: I want one.

Starr as Hawtree is a great foil to Moore’s George, starting as rakish and worldly realist before subtly revealing his heart-of-gold by the end. Like the sisters, these two make an intriguing and engaging double-act and the four of them together create a secure platform for the intrinsic comedy to evolve.

Whilst Polly flirts away with Captain Hawtree her real suitor is gas-fitter Sam Gerridge, a Borough Road lad who tells it how it is and doesn’t suffer fools – and inebriated work-shy fathers – gladly. He also indulges in a nice patter of plumbing-pun metaphor. Neil Chinneck is excellent in the role and with his entrepreneurial persona and rags-to- hard-earned- riches ambition Chinneck shows that you don’t have to overplay cockney-comedy to create a believable character and get the laughs.

And then, gliding into the mayhem like a tall ship on a millpond comes George’s Mum – the Marquise de St. Maur. Susan Penhaligon effortlessly appears bedecked with all the grace, poise and venom of a vituperative swan, dismissing commoners with a haughty glance, putting down the little people with a bone-juddering sneer and showing exactly what it takes to be an upper-class cow. Once again, there is no caricature in Penhaligon’s performance just the pure joy of unbridled snobbery.

So we have a bunch of vivacious Victorians about whom Robertson is adept at poking fun, spinning a light but intriguing story around their mores, their loves, their attitudes and their station in society. Robertson is seen as the father of modern staging and broke the mould of fantasy theatre to introduce naturalistic drama, influencing many dramatists in the process. Caste is a great example of his work and Project One deserves major plaudits for bringing it back to the stage.

Review by Peter Yates

1867. George D’Alroy is a soldier and the son of French nobility. Esther Eccles is a beautiful ballet dancer from a poor family. When the two fall in love, two very different families are brought together.

After George leaves to serve in India, Esther must deal with a drunken father, a sister with a fierce temper and a terrifying mother in law. Not knowing whether she will ever see her love again, Esther must confront the class prejudices of Victorian England, whilst coping with the chaos created by her increasingly exasperating family members…

Widely considered both as T. W. Robertson’s masterpiece and a ground-breaking milestone in British theatre, Caste was described by George Bernard Shaw as “epoch-making”, whilst W. S. Gilbert said it “pointed the way for a whole new movement”, and when William Archer and Harley Granville Barker planned the programme for their proposed National Theatre, they were agreed that the mid-Victorian period should be “inevitably represented by its one masterpiece, Caste.”

Read our exclusive interview with Charlotte Peters

Celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Victorian classic CASTE by T. W. Robertson Directed by Charlotte Peters. Designed by Georgia de Grey. Lighting by Robbie Butler. Original music and sound design by Theo Holloway. Presented by Project One Theatre Company in association with Neil McPherson for the Finborough Theatre. Cast: Paul Bradley. Neil Chinneck. Rebecca Collingwood. Isabella Marshall. Duncan Moore. Susan Penhaligon. Ben Starr.

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