#sp7 alfredo

[unvexes]

do mcyt fans know about jordan captainsparklez being in love with an alien abomination in sugar pine 7 or is that a fact that i alone am saddled with

[waveridden]

i thought i knew what sp7 was (steve suptics old group vlog channel) but evidently i do not

this is like 80% correct except there was like lore and they were playing characters. it was intentionally very heightened, and not just in the typical way of vloggers being Personalities. suptic and co also wanted to be Filmmakers TM and even released a short film, so some of the episodes of alternative lifestyle would veer into filmmaker territory. the most famous example of this, and the one i am most likely to be thinking about at any given moment, is akrasia, their season 1 finale where they killed off one of the main cast members. (he came back later)

i cannot in good conscience recommend watching alternative lifestyle, for reasons ranging from "i don't actually know if it was good or if i was just the right person at the right time" to "a couple of them have turned out to be scummy, in non-catastrophic but still bad ways" to "quality drop after s2" but if you are at all curious, i would recommend the episode where they get the name sugar pine 7

also forgive me for two-birds-one-stone-ing but jordan captainsparklez was there, insofar as a lot of steven suptic's friends showed up at various points. he was more recurring than a lot of them although i don't remember any prominent episodes he was in. mostly that he was there and that he was dating alfredo, the secret eighth member of sugar pine 7, who was a freak who lived on the roof. here's an episode about that

[asshatdick]

via @jallenmc on instagram

[sugar-chop-7]

some alfredo notes from the stream:

he cant play fortnite cause theres too many spheres on his hands

also because theres too many warp reactors

buckley thought he wasnt even allowed on the internet

hes the reason facebook is banned in china

[ohyucky]

steven is such an angelic man

[nyoschief]

Can you share with us a WIP of your writing? Or maybe a little tease of it? Thank you! ^w^

sURE????

Rating: MatureContent: Cow Chop, Sugar Pine 7Pairings: Brett & Lindsey, (one-sided)Alfredo/AutumnCharacters: Brett(CC), Lindsey(CC), Jeremy(SP7), Autumn(SP7), Alfredo(SP7)Tags: 1910s, 1920s, 1930s, War, Werewolves, Crime, (sorta) Origins StoryWarnings: Cat Calling, Anger Issues, Unwanted Sexual Advances, Minor Character Death, Guns, Past Forced Tattooing, Gore, Mentions of Dog Fights, Werewolf Genocide, AlfredoWords: 11,282 

“Sorry it took so long to meet you again.”“I mean, no rush, I’m just kind of going screwy, you know, the usual.”“Glad I’m not the only one.”

“Found her half crazy without a pack. I’m teaching her to control herself during the full moon but she likes being by herself mostly.”“How old was she?”“Barely fourteen, last year, she’s still new.”“I can teach her.”“No, sorry, but we’ve bonded.”“Pack, huh? Don’t lose it.”

“Papers,” the woman demands, staring up at him blankly. Brett hands them to her, eyes drifting over to the man being led down the hallway, his eyes glancing backwards at Brett, nostrils flaring. He can’t tell if the man’s just curious or wants to fight him, not at this distance, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to dwell on that when his papers are handed back. “To the left, down the hall, room number forty seven.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says with a nod and turns on his heels. Brett sniffs at the air as he goes and pauses as an unfamiliar man steps into the hallway, freezing at the same time Brett does. After a quick glance at each other, Brett keeps going, walks right past him, and ignores the way the man shrinks away and hurries in the opposite direction. He hates the smell here, chemicals and bleach, clogs up his nose and makes his head start pounding.

Even so, he keeps his head up and gives the designated room a rap on the door. It opens immediately and he’s met with a smiling face.

She opens her mouth only to freeze. Her smile drops the moment she inhales, eyes wide. Brett can only quirk an eyebrow and shoot a glance over her shoulder.

The doctor smiles at him and says, “Come in, come in, please, sit on the cot.” Brett hesitates, even after the nurse steps aside, hands curling against her chest, covering the red cross emblem. He steps forward and puts on a grin as he does as requested, sitting down on the foam bed. “This is nothing to worry about, just a test to make sure you’re hard-boiled! Don’t want you dropping like a fly on the front line, do we?”

“Course not,” Brett responds with ease. The door clicks shut and he watches as the woman keeps her head down, hurrying over to the small cart against the wall. Brett smiles at the man when he approaches, offering his left arm when it’s requested. “I can assure you, I’m perfectly healthy.”

“And how! But the tests will tell me for certain,” he responds, a small bottle in his hand. He unscrews the cap and squeezes the small pipette on the top. Movement over the doctor’s shoulder catches Brett’s eyes and he looks up in time to see the nurse who stares right at him and bites down hard on a pencil. She stops and looks back at him, waiting for a response.

…What?

Fire flares on his forearm. Brett subdues a flinch and looks down to see the droplet of clear fluid sitting on his skin. It singes, burning at his skin, making it turn red. He clears his throat, controls the waver in it, and asks, “What’s this?”

The doctor’s back is turned to him and he replaces the bottle in the cart. “Oh, just a test to see if you have any skin allergies.”

The nurse hurries over and quickly wipes off the droplet with her sleeve. Brett grunts softly, the smear stinging even more. She just slaps a wet cloth over his arm, cleaning it up entirely. He hisses under his breath so the human can’t hear, “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” she responds. His skin is still red and Brett can smell her fear, acrid and sour, stinging his nose to breathe in. With a quick glance at the doctor’s back, the woman withdraws a small tube from her pocket and puts a dollop of the cream on the area. Rubs it in with haste.

“Washburn, results?” the doctor asks, finally turning around. The woman pauses and pretends to inspect Brett’s arm, leaning down to squint at it. The redness has already started to fade.

“No reaction. I think I may have accidentally scratched him with my nail, but nothing to do with the test, Doctor Frederick.”

Brett remains quiet, even as Doctor Frederick sighs and wanders closer. “Dumb Dora, is nobody home? Couldn’t have gotten in with the ANC instead of the Red Cross?”

“My apologies, Doctor,” she responds on automatic, stepping to the side to allow her superior to inspect Brett’s skin. He holds his arm up for a closer look and the doctor squints through his spectacles.

After a moment’s deliberation, he gives a firm nod and retrieves a piece of paper from his desk. The nurse peers at the paper and lets slip a sigh, shoulders dropping, patting her chest in relief. Fountain pen in hand, Frederick waves Brett over and says, “Full name, please.”

“Brett Hundley, Two Ts, H-U-N, D-L-E-Y.” The doctor scrawls the name on the paper and gives a nod. He stamps it, signs, blows on the drying ink, and hands it over to Brett. “Is this all?”

“Yes, that’s all, you’re free to go. You’re doing a great thing here, Hundley, make our country proud. Close the door when you blow.” Brett can only nod at the man and turn to leave. He catches sight of the label of the bottle the man had used liquid from, reads ‘wolfsb-’ oh.

Before he can exit the room, Brett whispers to the nurse, “Thank you.”

He thinks he hears her say, “I’m sorry,” right before he shuts the door behind himself

He picks up the Red Cross brochure and pockets it, both dread and anticipation bubbling inside his stomach as he heads home to tell Mother of his acceptance into the war.

He celebrates onboard the boat on their way back home. Brett can barely feel the rolling of the waves as he drinks his beer, laughter bubbling all around. Maxi gives him a wicked grin and starts flicking bottle caps at him, sniggering the entire time. He has a very tired Frank curled up against his side, purring and kneading at his jacket, even as Harley and Oscar bicker on the other side of the table. They’re the only ones left in the bar at this stage, even the bartender has cut them off from alcohol and called it a night. They still have four or five bottles left, enough for another hour, especially with how little Oscar and Harley are drinking between their banter.

Maxi flicks a cap, it hits him right beneath his eye, Brett grabs him and yanks him into a headlock. Frank yelps as he’s jostled awake, almost falling to the floor. Maxi begins struggling and Brett lets him for a few moments before releasing him. Again, Frank startles away before Brett could squish him as he’s shoved onto his back, Maxi grinning above him, eyes flashing golden and a laugh on his breath.

The doors slam open, someone yells, “GET DOWN!” and another person starts shooting. Maxi falls first, screaming and clutching at his shoulder. Brett rolls and drops to the floor underneath the table in time to see Oscar shoving himself in front of Harley. Frank starts running, feet pounding on metal, and immediately gets gunned down.

Brett doesn’t dare move, knows when he’s outgunned, ears ringing with gunshots, and waits until Harley ceases screaming, his body lying still, blood pooled around him and half his skull shattered.

Boots walk over and stop right in front of the table. An unfamiliar man crouches down in front of him, clean-shaven and a head of black hair. Brett ducks away from him and the man squints before saying, “Brett Hundley?”

He nods and responds, “Yes, Sir.”

“Did these monsters attack you?”

Monsters.

Brett looks over and spots Oscar’s ears out, claws ready for a fight that he never got the chance to end. Brett’s eyes shoot back to the man and he asks, “What are they?”

“They’re dead now.” Liar. They’re not dead, and even if they are dead right now, still and no longer breathing, they’d come back later. “Were you bitten?”

“No, they…” Brett looks over at Maxi’s body and gestures with a tilt of his head. “He grabbed me and pinned me, I couldn’t- he was so strong… what are they?”

“Don’t worry, we will handle this,” the man says again, holding a hand out. Brett takes it and slides out from under the table.

“I thought they were my friends…”

The man snorts and pats his shoulder, squeezing and trying to be reassuring. “Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you anymore. You’re almost home, soldier, are you not excited to see your family again?”

“Of course, of course… I? I’m not supposed to mention this to anyone, am I?”

“You’re smart. Yes, mention this to no one, not even your parents or wife.” Nonexistent wife.

Brett is quick to nod, still glancing over the dead bodies. He hopes he’s convincing enough, hopes he can claim the way his hands are shaking is from fear rather than rage. He receives a couple sympathetic looks from the soldiers when he shuffles past them, still holding their smoking guns and staring at the temporary corpses lying on the floor.

Is this all the government wanted from his kind? To fight in some war and then, when they return, capture them and do god knows what? Brett grimaces and heads directly towards his cabin, now reduced from five occupants to one.

He raises his voice and turns on her. She flinches. She cowers. Brett immediately withdraws, staring at her as she slowly lowers her arms from a defensive position. He runs fingers through his hair, pushing ears down against his skull until his claws recede.

With a steady inhale, Brett says in a level tone, “I am never going to hurt you.”

It hurts when she doesn’t respond, simply nods and turns around to walk away.

It feels like being shot, something he’s familiar with, when she hesitates by her room and looks back at him, only to say, “I guess some things are genetic.” Brett just stares as she closes the door and leaves him in the living room, standing in his own shame and regret. He’s tempted to go after her, slam the door open and say how dare you speak to me like that-

He immediately shakes the thought from his head, turns on his heels, grabs his coat, and leaves the house. Petrichor fills Brett’s nose as he walks across the cobblestone, shoulders up, ignoring the bright glow of the moon.

Right, the moon. Full moon tomorrow, that’s probably why he’s in such a horrible mood. Nothing a walk can’t fix. He’s been itching to shift for the past week and makes a beeline for the outskirts of town, brushing past the late-night strollers as he goes.

When Brett returns, it’s silent. Nothing unusual, but he can’t hear Mother’s snores. There’s picture frames missing from the shelves, the linen on the couch gone, things shuffled just the slightest bit.

“Mother?” he calls, walking over to her door. He knocks on it first, just in case she’s indecent, but opens it when he receives no reply.

Her coat no longer hangs beside the bed, purse missing, her knitting bundled up into a bag and tucked under the desk. Her throw no longer covers the bed, shoes missing from the closet, clothes gone from her drawers.

She left.

Brett inhales through his nose slowly.

He slams his fist through the door.

He pulls back with a wince, splinters sticking out of his knuckles, blood beading along his fingers and the back of his hand. The bed goes next, mattress tossed against the cupboards as they rattle, the metal frame snapping with a twang when he stomps on it.

Brett only leaves her room when every piece of furniture in there is cracked, broken, warped, twisted. He picks up a beer and gets two sips into it before putting it back in the refrigerator. It’s not that he’s glad she’s gone, it’s not that he’s sad she left, he’s just… why? He thought it’d be better with Father gone.

He doesn’t sleep.

It’s only when the sun breaks that he goes back to Mother’s room and tries to fix the damage he wrought.

Not that it makes a difference.

He’s going crazy.

Brett isn’t blind.

If anything, he’s self-aware.

It’s why when he realises he’s growling at the paperboy, he stops and retreats with a half-assed apology. Tries to remember all the lessons Mother taught him. His brain starts hollering when he thinks pack. But… there aren’t any other werewolves left, not here at least. The enlisters made sure of that.

Wait.

Brett hurries to the study, shifting through the papers on his desk. Sure enough, he finds the brochure he picked up on the day he enlisted for the war. The Red Cross. Maybe that nurse is still alive. She snuck right under their noses; no one bothered to check if the nurses were werewolves. Maybe she’s still smart.

Brett’s mostly just surprised by how simple it is; he shows up at the hospital and hands the receptionist the brochure, says he’s looking for an old friend, Washburn. The woman smiles at him, says she began working at the hospital after the war ended, and gives him her address.

He almost backs out, especially when it starts raining. She will remember him, perfect Anthirio memory, but she might just be creeped out by him tracking her down, and showing up on her doorstep. Maybe scream Murder! and slam the door on him.

He scares people, it’s just what he does.

He runs through the rain, head down, remembers the street names and counts the numbers on the houses until he stops at a small townhouse. Double checks the address, triple checks the number as the rain gets heavier, drenching his hair and the collar of his shirt. He hovers for a moment before he sucks in a breath and raps on the door.

Cutlery clatters from within and he hears the squeaking of floorboards underneath footsteps until the door unlocks and opens a fraction.

The nurse sticks her head out, unaged and confused.

Then she seems to register his face, takes a sniff at the air, and her face lights up with a grin.

Brett barely has time to brace himself before she launches, arms wrapping around him, heedless of his drenched clothes and the rain pouring down on them. He grabs her before she can slip, frowning and trying to think of what to say. He goes silent when she turns and buries her face in his chest, breathing. Her feet barely touch the ground but she doesn’t let him go, fingers clenched into his leather trench coat.

Brett doesn’t move until he hears a faint sob on her breath. He turns his head down, resting his nose against messy brown hair, and frowns at the bittersweet smell coming off of her, sad and relieved at the same time.

“Uhm,” he begins. It seems to startle her out of it as she quickly takes a step back under shelter and looks up at him. He can tell it’s not the rain that made her face wet as she wipes her cheeks clean.

“Ah, sorry, uhm, Mr. Hundley, I just… I’m so happy to see someone else.” So it’s true; the city has been effectively eradicated of Anthirios. Something on his face drops and the woman mirrors it. “Is your family okay?” she asks quietly.

“No family anymore, it’s just me.”

He looks away, doesn’t want to be given her sympathy, but she just lets out a choked up laugh and says, “It’s just me too.” Brett looks back at the woman, both eyebrows up. “I was just… I kept looking at the newspaper, hoping for something. We had another at the hospital a few months ago, but as soon as his name was recorded, some officials came in and took him away. We were being hunted and… and I couldn’t find anyone else. But, you’re… you’re Genetic?” Brett gives a slow nod and sees her face light up with a grin. “Ducky! Then, we’re not extinct yet.”

“Yeah, not yet,” he agrees, shoulders sagging. He bows his head and pushes his hair back when it tries to get into his eyes.

Washburn seems to startle and takes a quick step back into the house, holding the door open and gesturing at him as she says, “You wanna come in?”

Brett responds, “I could be a killer.” Immediately regrets it; he can’t handle the only other Anthirio in the city rejecting him.

The woman just laughs at him and shakes her head. “I’ll take my chances.” He admires her bravery and kindness, smiles and keeps his head down when he steps inside and removes his coat. She takes it from him and hangs it up, saying he can leave his shoes at the door. Brett hesitates before doing as suggested, closing and locking the oak door behind himself.

He finds her sitting beside the fireplace, setting down a second cup on the end table as she asks, “Tea?”

He drops into the seat adjacent to her and says, “Please.” He hesitates before letting his ears out, shaking his head to try and get the water off. She does the same, ears blending with her hair as she ruffles her skirt to make room for her tail. “So, you know my name, what’s yours?” he questions, gratefully accepting the cup of tea as she hands it to him.

“Oh, sorry, Lindsey Washburn.”

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Lindsey,” he announces and offers his free hand. Lindsey takes it with a grin, watches as Brett leans forward to kiss the top of her hand, and he spots the sway of her skirt as he releases his grip. “Sorry it took so long to meet you again.”

“I mean, no rush, I’m just kind of going screwy, you know, the usual.”

“Glad I’m not the only one.”

“You won’t be the only one from now on,” she says with a grin, cradling her teacup in hand.

Brett takes a second to think that over before he nods and smiles back at her. “Yeah, guess so.”

Before he leaves, he yanks one of the cotton bracelets from his wrist and hands it over to Lindsey. She blinks, eyebrows up, before smiling appreciatively. The smile drops a second later as she states, “Oh no, I don’t have any scent markers to give you, I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright, as long as you can find me, it’s fine.”

She immediately smiles again and bids him goodnight.

Brett laughs at the look of surprise and pure glee that overcomes Lindsey’s face when she sees him waiting at the hospital entrance. She picks up her pace, satchel against her hip, and wraps arms around his middle. He leans in to nose against her temple, ignoring the sounds of people rushing around nearby, just grateful to have someone else with him. A week since they reconnected and she’s still the same bubbly woman since day one, a soft whine in her exhale before she bounces back with that bright smile on her face.

“So, are you walking me home?”

“That was the plan, hope you don’t have any other suitors planning on doing so.”

“Oh, you my suitor now, big timer?” she asks. When Brett looks at her, she sticks her tongue out and starts walking down the street, glancing backwards to make sure he follows. He keeps pace with her and holds out a newspaper. “What’s this?”

“Page three, left column,” he says, pinching onto her coat and tugging her out of the way of a coach. Lindsey flips through the pages as Brett keeps talking. “I’ll bet you three dollars that’s an Anthirio.”

She bumps into his side with a lighthearted laugh. “Anthirio, ooh, so formal.”

“Well, not everyone is a Werewolf, so it’s, you know, nicer to use the proper terminology rather than the more widespread one.” Lindsey just nods her head and hums, her pace slowing as she reads the newspaper. She comes to a stop a few stores down and Brett guides her out of the way of oncoming pedestrians. “They’re all losing their minds,” Brett confirms when she looks up at him with wide eyes, “no pack, no family, nothing. They’ve gone screwy and gotten caught.”

“Well, I mean, we can try to find them, can’t we?”

Brett scoffs and snaps, “You think I haven’t been trying?”

Lindsey’s eyebrows jump. “Wow, I mean, sure, but no need to get in a lather ‘bout it.”

“I-” He bites down on his retort and simply huffs in response.

It melts when Lindsey grins at him and says, “Don’t get all mad, just smile and laugh it off.”

“That what you do?”

“Yep, it works for me.” Brett exhales through his nose but gives a nod. “Have you checked the eastern side of the city? I know my cousins and aunt blew that way when the war first began.”

“I have. I’ve ankled up and down every street, sniffing at every door, and found nothing.” She hums again and hands the newspaper back to him. He slips it into his coat and adds on, “I was too scared to try howling, hunters might-”

“Ey! Bearcat!” Lindsey stiffens, the smile melting from her face as a trio of boys dart out of a sidestreet, weaving between other people to get closer. Brett squints as Lindsey ignores them until one skips around in front of her, slowing her down. “Oh Nurse Washburn, I think I got a cut on my lip, how ‘bout some cash?”

“You aren’t showing off your gams today?” She bats at the hand that tries to lift her lengthy dress. The man just laughs. “Come on, you’re a sheba, not a bluenose.”

His friend has the audacity to reach out for her arm only for Lindsey to wave her hand sharply and turn her head away. “Bank’s closed, so beat it, you dewdroppers.”

Brett remains quiet as she keeps her face blank and tries to go around them. She’s immediately cut off with outstretched arms as the shortest of the three leans in close and says, “Don’t be like that, a choice bit of calico like you needs a someone to protect her, yeah?”

Brett is about ready to shove them away when Lindsey just smiles and says, “You’re right, a doll such as myself does need a man to protect me.” She immediately links her arm with Brett’s, presses up against his side, and says, “Sorry, but it isn’t any of you lot. Now go chase yourself before my bimbo beats you up.”

Their attention shifts to Brett as he rests his hand over the top of Lindsey’s and starts leading her down the street. He gets a couple paces away before the cockier of the lot grabs him by the sleeve and tugs. “Who do you think you are, huh? Baby grand?”

Brett turns around slowly, keeps his head high, and holds out his right hand. “Brett Hundley. 39th Infantry Regiment, 4th Division, 7th Brigade, Fighting Falcons. I served on the front lines in France. Aisne-Marne, St. Mihiel, Meuse-Argonne, Champagne nineteen eighteen, Lorraine nineteen eighteen.” He can’t help but smirk at the way the boy hesitates when he accepts Brett’s handshake. He makes sure to squeeze that little bit harder than necessary as he leers and says, “We don’t have beef, do we? Because I’m a vegetarian and I’d hate to cast a kitten because you got in a lather. We both know who’d win that fight.”

“Of course, Sir,” he responds quickly, gaze lowered to stare at his shirt. With a nod and glance at the other two boys, hovering at a safe distance, Brett grins and pats Lindsey’s hand again.

“Keep out of trouble then. Go make whoopee elsewhere.” That said, he turns and resumes leading Lindsey back home, listening intently as the boys hoof it, hissing at each other, off to harass some other lady. Brett quickly looks towards Lindsey but she just grins at him. “You okay?”

“Just Jake,” she laughs, bumping against his side and pulling him back before he could walk into a lamp pole. “Thanks, they’re right drugstore cowboys! Glad you’re here at least.”

Brett simply nods. “Make ‘em gimps next time.” He promptly receives a light smack on the arm. “What? A couple broken bones should fix ‘em up.”

“They’re just a couple a’ idiots, leave ‘em be, they’ll learn their lesson when they mess with a moll, her man will teach them.” She brightens up immediately, clicking her heels on the flagstone. “Next time, you say?”

He gives a nod before quietly asking, “If that’s alright with you?”

“Pos-i-lute-ly!” Lindsey doesn’t once unhook her arm from his, leading the way. Brett takes her satchel from her, even as she sighs and rolls her eyes, but is more than happy to chatter and ask about his time during the war as they walk.

She shows up on his doorstep late in the night a month later.

“Yes?” he begins, only to step aside as she bustles past.

“I decided you’re coming to live with me,” Lindsey announces, traipsing across his wooden floor, hair soaking wet beneath her hat. He glances outside but it’s a cloudless night.

Brett follows after Lindsey into his bedroom. “Lay off it, what’re you on about?” She hums, removes her bonnet, and hangs it on the bedpost. He steps closer and asks, “No, seriously, what’s happening?”

“I just told you.” That said, she opens his drawers and starts going through his clothes.

Brett ruffles his metaphorical fur and tries to take his shirts from her hands. “That’s not an answer. Why? What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” She turns around with a taut smile. “It’d be nice to have another werewolf with me.” Her lips waver and her reddened eyes dart away from his as she sets the clothes on the bed. Brett breathes through his nose and frowns at the rotten scent underlying her sweet smell. She flits over to his bedside table and picks up a picture frame. Brett eyes the bruise on her neck.

He grabs Lindsey’s hands when she turns around, doesn’t fail to notice the way she jumps at his proximity. Brett eases the frame out of her fingers and doesn’t let go when she tries pulling away. He spots small crescents dug into her arms and releases his breath slowly. She just smells… clean and afraid. “Talk to me,” he says with a tilt of his head, “what’s eating you?” When Brett sits on the edge of his bed, she remains standing, staring down at his hands. Her own begin to tremble and Lindsey squeezes Brett’s fingers until it stops. He waits patiently, electric light buzzing overhead, an automobile rolling past outside. It gets to the point that Brett thinks she either didn’t hear or isn’t going to answer but then she opens her mouth.

“I killed someone.”

“Oh.”

She shuffles on her feet.

“Brett, I killed someone.”

“I heard.”

“I, uh, I want to show you.”

“You haven’t told anyone else?”

A shake of her head.

“I came straight here… he’s still in my house.”

“I can help.”

Lindsey sags in relief and bows. Brett leans forward and holds her hands to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss on her knuckles and looking up to see tears in her eyes. He smiles and lifts an arm, leaves it hovering in the air. There’s no hesitation as she moves into the hand, cheek in his palm, and lets Brett pull her down to press lips to her forehead.

“I can help, but you need to tell me what happened.” He leans back with a smile and watches as she raises a hand to wipe at the tears on her face.

“Why are you so nice,” she says, sniffling and adding on, “why is everyone in this city such an asshole?”

With a short laugh, Brett asks, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Hooch.” Brett gives her a look, frowning, but Lindsey nods resolutely. “Please.”

“Okay then, but out here.” She gives in with another nod and lets Brett lead her into the living room. Lindsey plops down into the seat in the corner, giving her thanks when Brett sets a handkerchief in her lap. It’s not until he comes back with a cold bottle of alcohol that he asks, “So, what happened?”

“I was called back to the hospital. Our new nurse didn’t show up for her shift, so I had to take over for the early night. I finished at midnight and had to walk home…”

“Bearcat!”

Lindsey stumbles and whips her head around, spotting only one of the men this time. With a harrumph, she spins on her heels and keeps walking, pace quickened. His footsteps scurry behind her, closer and closer until fingers snatch hold of her elbow. Lindsey yanks herself free and hears a ridiculing laugh over her shoulder.

“C’mon, doll, don’t be prudish.”

“Go home, Airedale,” she huffs.

“Oof, harsh, c’mon.” She’s dragged to a halt by the hand wrapped in the lapel of her coat. When Lindsey turns to glare at the man, he immediately moves into her space. Hand on her waist, she can smell the liquor on his breath as he whispers, “You don’t need no Father Time, I’ll take good care of you, make you the right woman.”

“I don’t- stop, I don’t need nothin’ from ya.”

The wicked grin on his face makes her heart beat faster, head tucked down as she keeps her hand on his chest, holding him at bay. “Course you do, doll, aren’t you glad I’m here to look after ya? No one’s gonna want a Rock of Ages, take what you can get, and I’ve got you.” He pops the clasp on her coat, Lindsey jumps, takes a couple stumbling steps, and ends up being shoved against a brick wall. She wheezes, breath knocked out of her, and turns away when lips get too close to hers. “It’s okay, baby doll, don’t worry, I’ll treat you like an angel.”

Taking in a deep breath, she meets his gaze and says, “If you don’t get away from me, I’ll scream.”

“Oh, come now, don’t do that, you’ll ruin our fun.” The hand on her waist slips under her coat to tug at the elastic of her skirt. Fingers curl over her chest.

She slaps him.

He goes stumbling back with a yelp.

Lindsey takes a couple rapid steps away from him, bunches her skirt up, and starts running.

“Oh, we playing, now, huh?” She doesn’t stop, not once, not with the sound of boots right behind her as he shouts, “I’mma comin’!”

She’s grateful when they start to fade, when she no longer hears his hollers and crows. Looping around the park, she heads towards her house. Lindsey arrives red-faced and breathing heavy, hands shaking when she gets out her key and struggles to put it in the lock.

It’s only once she slams the door shut behind herself and leans against it, panting and whimpering, that she closes her eyes. Forehead against chilled wood, she curls her fingers against her chest, tries to get rid of the phantom touches still lingering there. Lindsey yanks her coat off and hangs it up, immediately heading towards the washroom. She leaves her heels discarded on the floor, tosses her satchel onto the couch, and removes the cap from her head to let her hair out.

She starts a fire to heat the water and undresses whilst it warms; stockings, skirt, shirt, camisole, corset, bandeau, bloomers.

Lindsey immediately gets into the tin tub as soon as the last article is removed, doesn’t care that the water is barely lukewarm. She shivers when it cascades down her face and body, running fingers through her hair as she picks up a cloth to wash. Water gets in her ears and she leaves it there, relaxing in the muffled sounds of the water. The next splash of water warms her skin and she can’t help but sigh and lean back, eyes closed, facing the ceiling.

A hand yanks on her hair, keeping her neck bent at an awkward angle, and her eyes snap open.

The man from before grins down at her. “Found you,” he sing-songs. Lindsey immediately covers herself up as best she can with her arms, turning her head away and curling up.

“Get out,” she hisses. She squirms away with a wince at the tug on her scalp when fingers trace over her stomach and slaps at his hand. “I mean it, beat it.”

“Don’t play ‘round,” he coos. As soon as the hand in her hair leaves, Lindsey scrambles to the far end of the bath and grabs her towel from the wall. When she stands, she pauses, staring at him, blocking her way to the door. He just holds his hands out with a grin. “C’mere, I don’t bite.”

“I do,” she responds. The fire crackles on her right and she wonders if she can shove him into it or burn him a little.

“Ooh, feisty, huh? Little bearcat.” Lindsey huffs and wraps her towel further around herself. She tries holding her ground when he approaches only to end up shoved against the tiled wall behind herself. She braces an arm against his chest, keeps him back, and grabs at the wrist of the hand trying to sneak underneath the towel. “Wow, you’re strong,” he remarks.

She’s about to snap something back at him when his free hand grabs the back of her thigh and lifts. Lindsey jolts and her hand shoots out for balance. Both hands free, he picks her up and pins Lindsey to the wall.

She wraps her hand around the back of his neck, turns her head away, and hisses, “Last chance, get away from me, put me down.”

“No way, I’ve dreamed of having you like this for ages.”

Lindsey scowls. She thrashes when teeth land on her neck and freezes as her towel is yanked away entirely. Fingers scrape over her leg. She tosses her head and knocks her chin against his nose.

He bites her neck.

Lindsey shoves him so hard he slams against the sink with a grimace.

“GET OUT!” she shrieks, leaning against the wall for support, wheezing. He startles, staring at her, eyes wide, still gripping onto the ceramic. “Out, OUT! My house, get OUT of my HOUSE!” She tries to fight the tears in her eyes and fails when they run down her cheeks. She picks up her towel and quickly pulls it around herself.

“What the fuck, what’s wrong with you?” Lindsey growls and the man backs off immediately. She follows his gaze and reaches a hand up, running over her wet hair, feeling her ears flat against her scalp. “Fucking… freak, you are!”

She loses it.

Snarls make her throat raw and her ears ring with his cries as teeth sink into flesh. Skin gives way and scarlet sprays her arms and torso, dripping down onto the bathmat. He falls silent when she tears out his throat, eyes wide and fingernails digging into her arms as claws shred him to pieces.

It’s only when his body lays in a number of pieces on the floor that Lindsey drops his head and steps back. Breathing raggedly, she cries at the pain in her arms when she grabs the edge of the bathtub, clambering in with oversized arms and half-changed limbs. Forehead to chilly tin, Lindsey takes in long breaths, her ribs shuddering as she keeps her eyes closed. She hears every bone snap back into place as she returns to a normal human form.

She’s sweating by the time she pours heated water over herself, washing away the red smears. Her skin is raw red when she finally runs out of water and extinguishes the fire. She forgoes the blood-splattered towel and tiptoes out of the washroom.

She redresses upstairs, heedless of her dripping hair, slips on her shoes, and wraps her coat around herself.

Only one thought on her mind.

Pack will make it better, pack will help, pack always helps, pack is safe, keep me safe, pack pack pack…

Lindsey cooks whilst Brett cleans the washroom as the phonograph plays one of her favourite tracks, ears twitching atop her head. She can no longer smell blood or the acrid stench of fear, replaced with pasta and the scent of the limes Brett took with him. He exits the room with two sacks in hand, says he will be back in ten minutes, and leaves through the back door. Lindsey glances at the washroom, pleased to find it spotless, towel and bath mat removed.

He returns to Lindsey setting down bowls of food at the counter. Kicking his shoes off, Brett sits down beside her and picks up his fork, noticing the way she’s watching him closely.

“Do you like it?” she asks as soon as he puts in the first mouthful.

Brett tries to give her a look, still chewing. Soon as he swallows, he says, “Let me eat it first, I know I’m an Anthirio but I can’t wolf it down.” It’s worth it for Lindsey’s chuckle. “It’s good. You really didn’t have to make me anything; I’ve already had dinner.”

“I didn’t want to leave you out,” she reasons with a shrug as she eats.

“Washroom is clean, not a trace of anything.” Lindsey hums and doesn’t add anything to it. “Body’s disposed of, no way to trace it back to you. You’re safe.” Another hum. He’s about to say something else when there’s a knock at the door. She sets down her fork and finishes chewing, hurrying over to the front door, brushing her ears away.

She pulls it open and is met with a pair of police officers. Swallowing her food, Lindsey quickly grins and says, “Hello, can I help you?”

“Miss Washburn?” She nods. “We received a noise complaint, a neighbour overheard screaming?”

“Oh, uhm, which neighbour?” The man gestures to the building on the right. “Oh, of course, uh-”

She twitches at the feeling of a warm body behind hers, stiffens when an arm curls around her shoulders and drags her tight against his chest. Brett just grins and says, “Sorry, officers, that was a fault on my behalf.”

“Pardon?”

“I, haha, apologies, Lindsey is a bit loud.”

She balks at him, eyes wide.

“Oh,” one of the men says, glancing away from the two.

“We’ll be sure to keep it down.”

The older of the officers gives a firm nod. “Do. Well, have a good night, Sir, Ma’am.”

“You too… Officer Cadel, Officer Hendricks.” With a tip of their hats, they step back and move towards their automobile. Brett closes the door.

Lindsey smacks his arm and he just grins. “What?”

“That was- That- You- You’re horrible!”

“Hey, it made them leave, didn’t it?”

“Horrible!” she stresses, even with a grin on her face. She spins on her heels and returns to her bowl of pasta, a laugh rumbling in her throat. Brett notices the way she steps in time with the record and trails after her.

Lindsey does the dishes, says she wants them done a certain way, and tells him to shoo as her ears pop out. Brett ends up going through her record collection, tail swaying on the floor. He receives a very displeased, “Hey!” when he switches out the current record for one of his favourites and can only shrug when she glares. The look disappears when the song starts up and Brett can hear her tapping her feet to it. He opens his suitcase and withdraws his throw, draping it over the back of the couch. He puts a picture frame with the others on the end table and sets a coaster beside it. Lindsey bustles past, says she will be back in a minute, and bounces up the stairs. Whilst she’s busy, Brett places his second pair of shoes by the front door, retrieves his pajamas, and changes in the washroom.

When he exits, he finds Lindsey running fingers over the throw he brought with him. She steps away with a smile and wraps her negligee tighter around herself with perked ears. “Sleep?”

“Yes, it’s late, I know you have work in the morning.” Brett wanders over to the couch.

Lindsey shakes her head. “They let me take the day off because of last night.” She spins on her heels, moving upstairs

“Goodnight,” Brett says. Lindsey pauses on the staircase and looks at him with a frown. Brett simply sits down on the couch and moves the pillows around to make himself comfortable.

“Brett,” she begins, waiting until he hums and looks up at her, “sleep?”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Yes, but… I have a double bed.”

Brett falls silent for a moment. He glances over at the kitchen before looking back at Lindsey and asking, “Are you certain? I don’t want to impose.”

Lindsey leans on the staircase banister and repeats, “I have a double bed. It’s comfier than the couch.”

“I’m fine with the couch.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure? After what just happened…”

Her ears turn backwards momentarily before she straightens up. “That’s why I’d like you with me, to keep me safe.” Brett almost tries arguing the point but he hears a faint whine on her exhale and she pats her chest until it fades. After receiving no response, she lowers her gaze and shakes her head. “It’s okay, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I’m coming,” Brett says as he stands. Lindsey casts him a glowing grin and hurries up the stairs two at a time. He can’t help but chuckle as he removes the record from the gramophone.

He knocks before entering her bedroom, hearing a small, “Come in,” as he pushes the door open. Lindsey’s busy fiddling with hanging her negligee on a hook, blue nightgown hanging down to her calves. Brett shuts the door gently, waiting until Lindsey finally sighs and hops into bed. “You can have that side, I like the morning sun,” she says, gesturing to the other half. Brett still hovers with a hand resting on the sheets. Lindsey hunkers down and quirks an eyebrow at him. “Go on, it’s not going to eat you alive.”

“You might,” he teases. She bares her teeth in response as the sheets swish with her tail. Brett makes sure to keep to the far edge of the bed when he settles down. “Goodnight,” he says once again, eyes closed as he rolls and puts his back to her.

“Goodnight,” Lindsey mumbles in response with a yawn.

Distantly, he hears a clock chiming the early morning hour. Before he can fall asleep, the bed shifts and Brett hums, looking over his shoulder. Lindsey presses her head to his shoulder and tucks against his backside. When she doesn’t say anything, Brett shrugs mentally and turns his face into his pillow. He doesn’t mention it when he awakens in the morning with Lindsey curled into his arms, fingers wrapped in his pajama fabric, face nestled against his chest.

Loud, borderline deafening. Smelly, borderline headache-inducing. Hot, borderline boiling.

Brett loves it.

Judging by the grin on Lindsey’s face as she takes the hand of her new friend and kicks her feet, she’s loving it too. He waves to the tender on the other side of the bar, ordering a Gin Rickey for himself and a Mary Pickford. Brett checks for the third time that night and spots the man still hanging by the staff-only door, dark circles cover his eyes, a liquor-less drink in hand.

Brett hands over the correct change to the bartender when he receives his order, picking the two glasses up and crossing the dancefloor. Lindsey pauses upon spotting him, giving one of her friends a smile and wiggle of her fingers as she meets him halfway to accept the drink. He leans close to ask, “Having fun?”

“I’m the swankiest flapper there is,” she crows, holding her drink overhead as she slips between the dancers. He follows after Lindsey until she plops down in a seat at the edge of the room and sets her drink on the table. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Definitely,” he says, taking a couple sips from his glass.

“We have to come back here sometime, I can smell another werewolf somewhere.”

“I think it might be the guy hanging out over by the door next to the bar.” She leans back in her chair, straining to see him. “Can’t tell, not close enough, but his behaviour is unusual.”

Lindsey gives a nod and leans down to fix up her stockings. One of the men passing by pauses to gaze at her, both eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He stops and immediately looks away upon meeting Brett’s warning stare. He sips at his drink and nudges at Lindsey’s shin with his foot. She casts him a grin and returns the gesture, mindful of her pointed shoes.

“How’s my makeup?” she asks and leans over the table towards him, eyes closed.

Brett spends a good few seconds inspecting her face before reaching out to poke her nose. “Perfect as always.” A pleased smile on her face, Lindsey picks up her drink and sniffs at it cautiously. Brett doesn’t call her out on it; she’s most likely used to checking drinks for spiking. She downs her Pickford and pushes the glass to the middle of the table, back of hand against her mouth when she hiccups.

“May I take your glasses?”

Brett lifts his head to meet the girl with a smile and responds, “Of course.” She picks up Lindsey’s empty margarita glass and pauses as she’s about to leave, staring between him and the woman to his right. He catches the tail-end of a gasp from beside himself and glances over at Lindsey. She’s got her eyes locked onto the snake charmer, lips parted.

Brett inhales through his nose and oh.

“Well, hello,” he greets, leaning back in his seat to smile at the young girl. Her gaze darts back and forth, mouth open with nothing coming out. “It’s okay, shh, secrets here. You Jake?”

“I’m…” She hesitates and glances over her shoulder at the bar.

Brett frowns; she still looks like a mere babe. What’s a babe doing working here? Why’s she not in class? What’s she doing being bitten barely out of school? The quirk of his lips turn down and he reaches out, offering. She swaps the glass to her left hand, places the other in his, and watches as Brett kisses the back of it. “You got bit too young, I’m sorry, doll.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” She waves him off with a forced smile, her eyes empty.

Lindsey stands up and the girl steps aside to make room for her only to be enveloped in a hug. “It’s okay, darl’, whatever egg got you will pay.”

There’s a hint of bitter laughter as she pats Lindsey’s back until she’s released. “He’s already paid, worry not ‘bout me. You havin’ a good night?”

“Right darb!” Lindsey crows as Brett salutes her with his drink.

The girl gives a nod and says, “I have to go, I have another ten on the clock.”

“Don’t let us hold you down, but we will most likely still be here when you finish your shift. Feel free to come bother us.”

“Okay,” she replies, glass in hand as she turns and collects another empty old fashioned and moves back to the bar.

Brett’s eyes track her as she hurries towards the staff door. He squints at the man waiting there warily until the girl simply brushes against his side, bumping shoulders, and slips past him into the room. The man’s eyes follow her, expression blank. Hm. Friends perhaps. An unfamiliar patron steps forward to try to enter the room only for the stranger to hold an arm out, barring his way, lips moving, too far away for Brett to hear. Whatever he says is enough to deter the man from following the girl into the back rooms.

“We’re not alone anymore,” Lindsey says, voice softer than it has been all night. Brett can’t help but smile at her; seems like they’ll have to come back here frequently.

When she wanders back, announcing that her shift is over, Lindsey grabs the girl by the hand and ushers her away from the tables, into the middle of the room. There’s a faint smile on her face, eyes darting around, one of the youngest people in the room. Brett knows she’s safest with Lindsey teaching her the Charleston and reaching out to play with the beads around her neck.

He doesn’t think much of it when the stranger who lingered around the staff door wanders over and sits down in the seat opposite Brett. With a sniff at the air, it confirms his suspicions. He has his eyes on Lindsey and the other girl. Brett would have accused him of being the one to bite the young girl - she looks around sixteen - but he’s not Genetic.

“A friend?” Brett asks, gesturing to the girl dancing with Lindsey.

He nods with a curt, “Yes. She werewolf as well?” Brett nods. “You bit her?”

Brett shakes his head and sips at his drink. “No, born Anthirio.”

“Anthirio…” the man mumbles to himself. Brett casts him a curious look but he doesn’t give anything away. “You live in the area?”

“West side, up north, it’s quite an ankle but she loves the atmosphere here. You?”

“I live wherever I want to stay the night.”

“Lone wolf,” Brett states, “yet this girl?”

He leans back in his seat and takes a drink of his soda. “Found her half crazy without a pack. I’m teaching her to control herself during the full moon but she likes being by herself mostly.”

With a downwards tilt of his lips, Brett asks, “How old was she?”

“Barely fourteen, last year, she’s still new.”

“I can teach her,” he offers.

“No,” he quickly says, “sorry, but we’ve bonded.”

Brett’s face splits into a grin and he leans over to clap the other man on the shoulder, heedless of the small twitch he receives in response. “Pack, huh? Don’t lose it.” Putting down his empty glass, he adds on, “I’m Brett, my doll there is Lindsey.”

“Jeremy,” he says in kind. When Brett gestures to the flappers, he cautiously adds on, “Autumn.”

Brett’s about to ask further questions when Jeremy stiffens, head upright. He follows his line of sight and spots Autumn being dragged away from Lindsey by a flashy young man, arm looping around her waist and holding her close even as she leans back. Brett squints but doesn’t have to worry for long when Lindsey worms her way between the two of them, back turned to the man, and herds the younger girl away from trouble, back to the dancers.

A screech tears through the room, startling the band enough that they fall still. Jeremy and Brett are both on their feet a second later, eyes scanning the crowd. Brett spots the pushy man rushing to the far side of the hall as Lindsey leads Autumn to the powder room. Jeremy sees them and hurries to follow the girls, leaving Brett to track down the assumed perpetrator.

He finds the man laughing with friends beside the bar, binning his cigarette. Brett wraps fingers around the back of his neck and yanks, ignoring the vocal protests as he tosses the man against the back door. He tumbles out into the cool air and lands on his ass.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” one of the man’s friends asks.

Brett wheels around to meet the duo with a scowl. “You lot stay inside, I only have beef with him. If you want I’ll make you all gimps.” There’s a wary moment where the three men look around amongst themselves before the two friends head back to their drinks.

“Cowards!” Brett whips around to the man of the hour, now standing on wobbly legs, and slams his elbow into his ribs. He falls back against the brick wall opposite the alley, a yelp to go with it. “Fuck, what’s with you? I don’t know who you are!”

“I saw what you did to that girl, my friend, I saw.”

The man’s face drains of colour. “Look, she stomped on my foot, was only fair!”

“Fair?” Brett stresses, giving his shoulders another rough push. “What’s fair is that you hurt her and now I get to fuck you up.”

“Hey, I’m sure her ear’s fine!”

Brett squints at him. What’d he do to Autumn’s ear? As if on cue, the door to the Speakeasy slams open. Brett wheels around to see Jeremy standing there, emotionless, fists curled at his sides, eyes hidden.

“He’s still alive,” Jeremy states, something like disappointment dripping from his voice. Brett grunts and turns back in time to watch the man attempt to make a run for it. He gets a few yards away before Jeremy slams him into the wall. Brett hovers beside him, watching closely. “Not for long.”

“Hey, hey, look, I’ll pay for her medical bills, whatever you need!”

“How’s she?” Brett asks slowly.

“Cigarette in her ear, she’s freaking out because she can’t hear, Lindsey says she’s taking her back to her place - take me there after I’m finished here.”

The man whimpers and Brett snarls, Jeremy joining in. “Your pack, you get first dibs.”

With a huff, Jeremy corrects him, “First and last.”

The man’s screams go unheard, quickly silenced with a punch hard enough to damage his vocal chords. Brett blocks the back door of the Speakeasy and keeps his ears perked for signs of the authorities, ignoring the wheezes and scrabbling going on to his right. Blood curls in his nostrils and when he looks back over, he can barely recognise the man’s face beneath the scarlet lines and the missing jaw.

Good.

There’s a moment where it calms down, where Brett can only hear two heartbeats - his own and Jeremy’s - and he knows it’s finished. Footsteps hurry to his side, heavy breath matching, and Brett raises an arm, lets Jeremy curl hands around it and tug him closer.

“Your friend better know what she’s doing,” he warns, leaning into his personal space. Brett can’t see his eyes past the smoked spectacles but he can smell the threat beneath his words, the seriousness.

He’s more impressed than afraid.

“She’s a nurse, she knows what she’s doing,” he informs, resting a hand over one of his. He feels it shaking under his palm and squeezes, taking a step away from the building. “I’ll take you to our place. You should remove your bloodied jacket before it arouses suspicions.”

Jeremy withdraws and is already removing the article as he moves towards the lifeless road. “Let’s go.”

Jeremy and Autumn both frown at the woven strings he gives them right before they split, an eyebrow quirked, asking what they’re for. Brett blinks slowly, looking between them both, only to find they’re legitimately confused.

“Oh, you have so much to learn…”

Autumn jumps at the sound of the door being slammed open and shut, blinking at the sight of Jeremy as he shrugs his jacket off and dumps it on the couch. He doesn’t take a seat, doesn’t even move into the bedroom to change, simply paces back and forth a couple times.

“…Jeremy, what?” she asks, glancing at him, turning her head so her good ear is facing him.

“I went to a dog fight,” he explains, “wanted to see if I could, could steal a dog from them, save it, set them all free, yes?”

Autumn bookmarks her page and sets the novel down in her lap. “Yeah?” Her ears slide out a moment later, allowing her to hear better.

“They had another- a wolf in there, a werewolf.” He rubs fingers under his spectacles and ceases pacing, standing nearby the window, curtains drawn. “And they were forcing him to fight dogs. He knew I was there and jumped at the cage and started whining and they just shocked him and dragged him off and-”

“…I don’t want to hear this,” Autumn says quietly. Jeremy nods. He doesn’t bring it up, even as he takes slow, deep breaths. He perks up at the sound of scratching at the glass, looks over at the window, and pulls the curtains back. Autumn goes, “Oh.”

“You didn’t hear?” Jeremy asks as he slides the window up and lets the creature inside. The fossa falls to the floor, eyes quickly landing on Autumn, and scampers over to her. She pulls her book further into her lap right as Alfredo shifts, sitting in front of her, pulling his mask out from seemingly nowhere. She conveniently blocks Alfredo’s lower half from view with the novel.

“What is- what are you reading, princess?” Jeremy holds back the urge to roll his eyes. Autumn simply taps at the title on the book for Alfredo to read. “As I Lay Dying - my goodest!”

Jeremy walks past them towards the kitchen, asking, “You’re staying the night?”

“I like to watch as my snake charmer crawls into the dreamland.” Autumn mostly ignores Alfredo. She doesn’t even blink when a fossa clambers onto the couch beside her and lies on her tail. The rumbling noise that comes from it a moment later is an almost-purr, choked and broken, like it’s rattling through a shattered vase.

Jeremy doesn’t think twice of the officer looking at them, simply keeps his arm hooked with Autumn’s and steps closer to the store side of the footpath. There’s a small giggle hanging in the air and Autumn reaches behind, tugging at Alfredo’s shirt. Jeremy nods at the man as he goes but otherwise doesn’t interact with him, head turned forwards, eyes hidden behind tinted spectacles.

A sharp inhale from his left. Jeremy breathes through his nose but can’t smell anything over the strong perfume store to his right. Autumn walks on, uninterested, or maybe just oblivious. Alfredo intentionally leans into their space, walking exactly in sync, chin resting on Autumn’s shoulder at an awkward angle.

“Stop!” Jeremy immediately comes to a halt, Autumn blinking in confusion at the sudden halt and Alfredo attempting to wiggle between them. “Don’t move, stay right there!”

Jeremy holds his free hand up and slowly turns around. The man wields his pistol, staring at them. Jeremy feels Autumn stiffen up beside him upon seeing the weapon and he finds he cannot soothe her apprehension when he rests his hand on hers. He attempts to grab Alfredo, trying to convey urgency, but he only receives a high-pitched laugh as Alfredo hunches over to slide under their joined arms. It’s not until Alfredo’s eye lands on the officer that they wriggle forward and stand up.

“Ah, mister police ma’am!” He can’t see Alfredo’s mouth moving, hidden behind the blank mask.

Jeremy quickly ushers Autumn towards Alfredo and steps before the officer, his gun wavering in his grip as he keeps his distance. Holding both hands up, Jeremy tilts his head and says, “I apologise for my cousin, sir. They- he hasn’t been the same after the war.” He glances back and sees Autumn hovering in front of Alfredo, ignoring the fingers playing with her hair. However, when he looks back at the man, his gun is raised completely.

“You three stay there, don’t move, nothing.”

“You can’t do the not make me- make me not move,” Alfredo laughs. Jeremy tries to glare but Alfredo isn’t even looking at him. “I move free, free like the Thai winds in the children’s ears.” He can only stare, trying for disapproving, but Jeremy finds himself being ignored completely. Autumn looks over at the officer and shrinks back from him when he steps closer, her shoulder against Alfredo’s side.

“No. Moving,” he reiterates.

“We don’t-”

“Li- little government man,” Alfredo taunts, faintly muffled, “try to be big fat potato sir.”

Blinking, the policeman asks, “What?”

“He don’t know I can go pe-pew pew.” Pointing a finger at the man, Alfredo imitates gunfire, only stopping when Jeremy firmly shoves the offending arm down.

“Officer, I’m sorry for him-”

“I’m going to need you to come with me to the precinct, all three of you.” Jeremy opens his mouth, keeps his hands raised, but the man cocks his gun and commands, “Now.”

Autumn whines, high in the back of her throat. Alfredo’s head twitches towards her before snapping back to the officer. “Now look, puny leather cowboy detective, you upset my- my princess of boyses’s little pinkies.” Jeremy hears the small rumble in Alfredo’s chest and twists on the balls of his feet to plant a hand on the middle of their chest. It does nothing to make the noise stop. Alfredo takes a daring step towards the officer, even with Jeremy’s hand in the way, and sings, “I eat your hair for the- the try to fuck with us.”

“Are you delusional?”

“Yes, yes, he is.”

Alfredo leers, taking a larger step forward. Jeremy stares at Autumn as she falls behind Alfredo. He forgets how Alfredo gets when mad, vibrating and leaning over him towards the human.

The gun fires.

Even Autumn flinches at the noise.

Alfredo crumples.

Jeremy swings around and grabs the man by the arm. The gun clatters to the floor a second after he snaps his wrist, a shrill scream following. As much as he thrashes, Jeremy yanks him to the side and kicks his legs out from beneath him, shoving the officer to the floor. He drops onto his chest knees-first, knocking his breath from his lungs completely.

Jeremy sees the ceramic mask sitting shattered on the pavement, spattered in crimson. His eyes snap over to Autumn, fingers curled in Alfredo’s shirt, yanking and tugging them both towards a nearby alcove. “Alfredo? Autumn?”

“Here,” Autumn shouts, a little too loud, but she’s breathing heavy and her fingers are stained red, shaking. She stumbles, trying to hold Alfredo’s weight, before just dropping to the ground completely. “Alfredo? Alfredo,” she says, trying to tug at scrabbling hands, “where’d he shoot you?” The most disconcerting thing is Alfredo doesn’t answer, exhaling whines and fingers sliding over wet-skin, still trickling blood. She unwinds the scarf from her neck. “Let me do it.”

Instead of answering her, Alfredo mutters, words severely slurred, “Noys- no seyes.”

“He got your eye?” A shake of their head. “Where’d he get you, c’mon, Alfredo, let me see.”

“Wou sream.”

As if on cue, the police officer shrieks once before being silenced.

“I screamed? When?”

Alfredo gives another shake and swallows. “Nu scream, no eyz.” Autumn pushes Alfredo’s head back, noting the hands still clutching at half of their face, red smudged across the nose and eye. She wipes at dripping blood running rivulets down Alfredo’s arms and frowns.

“Can I see? Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“No ees, my prinesuss.” She can’t even be bothered rolling her eyes at the nickname, simply starts tugging at Alfredo’s arms again, ignoring the weak verbal protests. Until Alfredo heaves a sigh and says slower, “No cream, ples my nocesweatli’lgurlbi.”

“No scream, I’ve seen blood before.”

Alfredo laughs, fluid caught in the throat making it sound like a strange warble. She gently starts prying away shaky, elongated fingers, already expecting the worst.

A gorey hole stares back at her, cracked teeth moving against the fleshy wall, pieces of white and silver peeking through gaps. Autumn wipes at the smears of blood above the bullet wound, frowning when the darker lines won’t disappear. It takes her a moment to realise it’s a symbol, tattooed into skin, unable to heal. A two-pronged diamond, sliced through the middle, perched atop a tripod…

She has no idea what it means.

The lines are wobbly, like whoever did it had a shaky hand, or maybe Alfredo was shaking.

The skin folds over the eye in a way that makes the socket look hollow, empty. Alfredo’s one working eye squints at her, blinking, awaiting a reaction.

Clearing her throat, Autumn asks, “Where’s the bullet?” Alfredo perks up at that, leaning towards her. Not getting the point, Autumn finds her hand being grabbed and pulled forwards. She opens her fingers in time for shards of broken metal and pieces of what she assumes were once teeth to be spat into her palm. Alfredo’s head tilts back with a broken smile, teary-eyed, blood staining the sclera pink. “Thanks.” She tips the fragments onto the pavement, unable to hear the way they tinkle.

Autumn simply returns to cleaning up the blood, getting Alfredo to look at the sky. “Did you swallow any blood?” A nod. She pulls her hands back to instruct, “Spit it out on the ground.”

Alfredo’s mouth opens. A decent pool of red spills out over puffy lips, dribbling down onto their already stained shirt. Autumn gingerly presses the scarf to the blood and wipes a majority of it away as Alfredo pants, jaw hanging, tongue poking through to appear on the other side of the gaping bullet hole.

Alfredo jumps at a noise Autumn doesn’t hear and looks up to see Jeremy staring down at them. His jaw tightens, eyes locked onto Alfredo’s face. Autumn quickly says, “Alfredo’s mask broke, we need another one, soon.” Alfredo nods and blinks up at the man.

Jeremy glances behind himself, at the drain he shoved the officer’s body down, before looking back at the duo and nodding. “We need to get moving; someone probably heard that and are coming to investigate.”

“Can you walk?” Autumn asks.

“My walky-feetsy prongs are not energy feels with face plate flesh.” As if to prove a point, Alfredo stands up without help, though they remain hunched, face turned down, hiding in the few shadows the street lamps provide, weak light bulbs humming within.

Jeremy removes his cap, places it on Alfredo’s head instead, and starts leading the way back to their small townhouse, constantly checking over his shoulder to see if they’re keeping pace. Autumn hovers close beside Alfredo. Just when they’re passing the hospital, Alfredo shuffles closer and hooks an arm with Autumn’s, grabbing for her hand.

“Walk you home, left gentleman I am, ah!”

Slowing down to walk closer to them, Jeremy states, “A good boy.” Autumn feels the way Alfredo buzzes excitedly, chest rattling, even as blood dribbles from the gash, dropping to the pavement. Jeremy glances at the dark clouds, illuminated by a sliver of moon, and hopes it rains soon to wash the blood away.

The first thing Jeremy says when they get home and usher Alfredo to the washroom is, “Why the hell is that tattoo there?”

“I don’t know what it means,” Autumn admits.

“It’s a brand,” Jeremy explains, moving to the window and peering through the blinds. When he turns back around, back straight, he states, “I’m going to track down whoever did that and I’m going to hurt them… a lot.”

“Okay.”

It’s not until decades later that Jeremy shows up in Autumn’s house and announces, “I have a job for you.”

She doesn’t look away from the television, notepad in hand, writing down notes from the news reporter. “Yeah?”

“How much do you know about computers? Security cameras?”

“A little, why?”

“The Humane Labs and Research are hiring a general technician, training included, for computing and security.”

“Okay, why?”

Jeremy steps in front of the television, blocking the subtitling, and says lowly, a growl under his words, “They’re taking werewolves and doing experiments on them. They have another guy in there. I’m posing as a guard and I’m going to break him out, but I need you to turn off their cameras for a while.” She looks unconvinced, tapping her pencil on the paper. Then Jeremy says, “They’re the ones who screwed up Alfredo.”

“…I’m in.”

[whoaa-lets-get-peas]

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The amount of sound in this episode is A1

[cool-loser]

This is what I imagine Alfredo from sugar pine 7 looks like behind the camera Also I just got into sp7

[thisnerdyninja]

Autumn's the type of person that wouldn't stand up to a bear. She also wouldn't run away. It doesn't matter to her if she had a warrior's or a coward's death, as long as she dies.

Steven Suptic, Sugar Pine 7

[mighwnt]

sugar pine 7 + screenshots of despair

[insane-weasel]

CaptainSparklez is labeled a DILF appreciation post

[calfchop]

i cannot describe the level of fucking disappointment

[patronsaintsofnothing]

how abt that smosh storyline huh???

[sugar-chop-7]

i found this picture on my computer and thought id share it

[whompwhompminecraft]

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Jordan on his relationship with Alfredo in sp7

[roosterteethaesthetic]

♡ follow for more roosterteeth aesthetic ♡