#were-creatures

I’ve seen a number of fics that turn Wednesday into a werewolf. Some are via a bite from Enid (which sometimes are also a mating bite), while others reveal that Wednesday’s been one all this time and just kept it hidden. And that’s fine! I don’t mind them at all. But, I also think that there’s a huge missed opportunity to delve into a different were-creature that could exist out there:

Werecat. More specifically, a werejaguar.

Looking up the average sizes of jaguars and grey wolves (the “default” wolf used in most werewolf media), the two species are pretty close to one another, though that doesn’t matter in the realm of fiction. It could be rather humorous to have werejaguar Wednesday still be a couple of inches shorter than werewolf Enid. Plus, this would put an entirely different spin on the “black cat, Golden Retriever” trope I’ve seen concerning the Wenclair ship.

But I really kind of want that AU that’s basically this?

But also werewolves.

Or like, at least a werewolf, and then like. Random were-creatures.

Because reasons.

Dinoween Days 7, 8, & 9: Werewolves/Wolfmen, Archeornithomimus, & Zombies

For @a-dinosaur-a-day‘s Dinoween.

Day 7: Myself as a were-Utahraptor under a full moon behind clouds.

Day 8: An Archeornithomimus hanging out in a pumpkin patch.

Rating: M Fandom: Saint Seiya, Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas Pairings: TBA Characters: (This chapter) Aries Kiki, Aries Mû WARNINGS: Moderately graphic car accident, major injury

Family has many meanings. Families of blood, families of choice.

Sometimes your family is a mish-mash of the most unlikely people, ranging from a two-thousand-year-old master vampire who drinks his blood bags with bendy straws, to the sixteen year old cat shifter who thinks he’s sneakier than he really is.

Sometimes your family is three guys your own age and a deep-seated need for revenge.

Sometimes your family of blood collides with your family of choice and you’re left with difficult choices, the impending enslavement of the whole of humanity, magical swords, stupid prophecies, and the older brother you thought was dead for ten years.

—–

“What’s your name, by the way?” Eve asks curiously.

The Were looks sheepish as he pads soundlessly along beside her. His hands are only handcuffed behind his back as per someone else’s orders. If Eve had her way, he’d walk freely.

If Eve had her way, the world would be her queendom.

But that doesn’t help the Were in the here and now. “I don’t have a name,” he answers her quietly. “I don’t remember it, anyway. Everyone calls me something different.”

“Can I call you kitten?” she asks, smiling sly as he squints at her. “You certainly look like one.”

He frowns, then huffs. “I suppose,” is the doubtful, rather surprising reply. “It’s less embarrassing than other things I’ve been called.”

Eve smiles. Ha! A rapport has begun to be established. “You can call me Eve,” she tells Kitten warmly.

He smiles a little. “Eve. It’s pretty, like you.”

She blushes faintly. It’s not a flirtation, she doesn’t think, but it’s been a while since she’s been called pretty. “Scary” comes to mind more often than “pretty” it seems.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes, until Kitten’s nose twitches, and his wary look returns.

“Why does it smell like blood down here?” he asks, glancing to Eve.

“Because this is the way to Medical,” she answers calmly, and stops at a door on the left. “We see to a lot of injured agents here. It’s alright,” she adds as she puts her hand on the doorknob. “No one’s going to hurt you while you’re here.”

Kitten’s nose flares, and his pupils elongate--but nothing else changes, and he nods, slowly.

Eve opens the door.

Kitten recoils, and makes an odd, bird-like chirrup. “Bad bad bad bad bad,” he mutters, and even Eve smells it now, an intense stench of blood and burned flesh. She covers her nose and peers cautiously into Medical.

There’s an orderly mopping up drips of blood in the waiting room. He glances up at them and grimaces.

“Two in one go,” he tells them bluntly. “You’re the Were 007 brought in?”

“Yes, this is... Kitten,” Eve introduces. “Is there a doctor available? M’s orders.”

The orderly, who had been staring incredulously, straightened, and his face grew respectful. “For M? Of course. I’ll find a nurse.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Who’s M?” Kitten whispers, as he and Eve step through the door and let it close behind them.

“The head of MI6,” she answers, looking at him in surprise. “Didn’t you find that out?”

“I thought her name was--oh. OH. Right. Codenames.” He goes silent, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot. Eve glances down; he’s not wearing shoes, which is why he’s so soundless, and his toenails are a little longer, a little darker at the base, a little sharper. Like claws.

She puts her hand on his arm. He jumps, but she just lets it rest there, lightly, and he relaxes a little. His toenails go back to being toenails.

The orderly returns with a nurse and a doctor. They both look cautious, no doubt warned of what Kitten could do. But they see that Eve is actually touching him, and that he is reasonably calm, and they relax.

“Hello,” the nurse greets them first. “I’m Greta. This is Dr. Wallace.”

“Pleasure,” Eve replies. “I’m Moneypenny and this is Kitten.”

“Kitten?” Greta asks, curious, not mocking.

“Seemed good enough,” Kitten mumbles, avoiding both her and the doctor’s eyes.

Dr. Wallace looks at Kitten with calculation, then smiles and says, “Well, a full physical exam should come first. Would you prefer a male doctor?”

Kitten shakes his head. “I don’t like them,” he says frankly.

Greta and Dr. Wallace nod, knowing not to push for an explanation, and lead the way beyond the waiting room. Eve smiles at the orderly, who blushes and smiles back.

Kitten sticks close to Eve, and she notices that the closer they get to the smell of blood, the more nervous he is. She wraps her hand around his bicep, hoping to keep him grounded. She can feel the ripples in his skin as the fur pushes out.

Finally, though, they stop, and enter an exam room that is blessedly clean and smells of nothing more nerve-wracking than cleanliness. Kitten immediately settles with a deep sigh. Greta glances at him, curious again, but does not ask.

“Alright, pop up on the table,” Dr. Wallace instructs, picking up her stethoscope, “And we’ll check you over.”

Eve produces the key to the handcuffs, hidden in her bra, and winks as Kitten gapes at her.

“Less likely to see the shape of a thing when it’s hidden by your boobs,” she explains, going around behind him to unlock the cuffs. “I’m sure the man in charge of you won’t guess that a mere female stole it.”

“You’re not a mere female, though,” Kitten objects, turning his head a full one hundred degrees to see her over his shoulder. She decides it’s better not to ask how he does it. “Women can’t be “mere”.”

“Take it up with the patriarchy,” Dr. Wallace sighs, taking his left arm now that it was free and grimacing at the dirty bandages around his wrist. “Don’t they know how to clean and wrap wounds these days?” she mutters. “Greta, ointment and bandages please.”

Eve watches with interest as they go over him. Dr. Wallace exclaims over the size of his lungs, then demands to know why he doesn’t breathe as deeply as he should. He shrugs helplessly, and Dr. Wallace sighs, but teaches him breathing exercises.

“It hurts,” he mutters.

“Because you haven’t been doing it since childhood,” Dr. Wallace replies bluntly. “Come on, one more time.”

Eve politely turns away for the “turn your head and cough” part.

Finally, the exam is done, and it is announced that Kitten is healthy. They draw blood, during which Kitten is surprisingly calm, and Dr. Wallace orders him to pee in a cup in the adjoined WC. When he comes back out, she peers at the urine closely, then nods.

“Healthy enough color,” she announces. “We’ll see what comes back in the tests.”

And then Kitten is released. Greta walks them to the waiting room, talking to Kitten and Eve, which keeps Kitten relatively relaxed. Distracting him from the smell of blood seems to help him.

Greta says goodbye at the door. Eve and Kitten return the sentiment and walk away.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Eve says cheerfully. “Now we just need to--”

“Eve.”

“Yes?”