werewolves Weres Wear Everywhere (Mature) (Chapter Three)

[Baby Jemma]

Well, I came up with a story in the psych ward I stayed in for a lot of June (and I was admittedly inspired a tiny bit by @LittleFallenPrincess's Monstrum series, but in a different sort of way than hers; do check out her stories because they are absolutely fantastic): a story about humanity and Weres (Werewolves, Werehawks, Werebruins, Weretigers, and Weregators) co-existing after a long tumultuous period...for now. Of course, something has to change.

As a notable WARNING: there are a lot of mature themes in this story - bigotry from antagonistic forces, first and foremost; this is a modern take on Jim Crow/HIV panic for Weres when it comes to humanity (and some Weres believe in Were-supremacy), and to be respectful to the subject matter, I will not skimp on just how a society of humans and Weres has that underlying tension and real life problems, so consider this your only warning on that. Adding on to that, politics. There is political stuff in this: one of the MCs is a pro-Were politician who wants to enact change for Were-rights. Quite simply, I have no intention of insulting parties on other sides. I don't do that with stories because I don't wish to offend, but quite simply, the politics cannot be avoided, and I promise not to inject my own political views into this story. Granted, it's difficult to be objective when it comes to stories; we all suffer from that, but I will do my utmost best to avoid any issues and avoid offending.

As far as other warnings, police brutality and corruption is prevalent (given the Jim Crow style hatred for Weres), there is a notable case of domestic violence and domestic sexual assault hinted for a character, violence, and sexual themes. I promise to give warnings at those points; I have not ever skimped on a warning before, and I promise not to do it now. There's also language (up to "fuck"), but if you're reading one of my stories, that's a given.

About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance!

Now, on to the show:

-

Chapter One: The Meeting

-

 

The alarm of the clock blared in Stephany’s ears, and a soft groan exited her lips. Eyes still closed in defiance of the brand-new day, she fumbled in the dark before slamming her hand on it, only managing to turn it to a radio station. She opened her eyes and hit the clock again, this time turning off the alarm. She noted with sorrow that her nighttime…misadventures had not improved with time. Maybe a doctor could help…if a doctor would help.

 

“It’s Saturday,” she mumbled, ripping off the tabs of the saturated diaper. “The hell could be so damn important on a Satur-” She froze, remembering just what was so damn important on a Saturday. “Aw, hell!”

 

Stephany did a quick shower, barely managing to scrub the affronting smell off of her. Then she threw on an outfit that did nothing for style: a T-shirt without a logo and jeans with the zipper halfway done before kicking on a pair of sneakers, not even caring about the loose laces. It was haphazard, like her frizzy red hair, her green eyes rheumy from sleep.

 

“Fuck me, I can’t be late to this,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes and stuffing her purse full of her crap before exiting into a dreary April morning in Seattle.

 

She noticed the two Weres almost immediately. Weres. The bane of her fucking existence. Yeah, humanity and Werekind did not get along, hundreds of thousands of years of tumultuous skirmishes evolving into a tentative peace. These two were Werewolves, but there were four other types: Werehawks, Weretigers, Werebruins, and Weregators, all of them looking quite animalistic…with the exception of Werewolves who alone could try to hide amongst humankind.

 

“Hey, babe,” one of the Weres crooned while the other let out a wolf whistle. “You got time to come with me, right? We could have a great time together, you and I!”

 

“Go away,” Stephany growled, hugging her arms together; she deeply regretted not bringing a jacket to fend off the drizzle from the sky.

 

“C’mon, don’t be stingy, baby,” the other one said, crowding around her, sniffing her hair.

 

She grabbed both of his hands, and with ten simultaneous snaps, the fingers of the Were were broken, and he let out an agonized scream.

 

“For the last time - and I’ll give you two simple words to follow: Fuck. Off!” she growled, her eyes blazing with rage.

 

The uninjured Were grew pale. “You…you’re a-”

 

“Yeah, I fucking am,” she snarled, baring the fangs that had gone unnoticed by the other Weres. “Last chance to fuck the hell off.”

 

“Fine, you fucking bitch!” the injured Were whined. “I bet you suck in bed anyway!”

 

The two left, and Stephany sighed. It sucked to be a Were.

 

A normal person may have been confused. Being a Werehawk meant one could fly! A Weregator could submerge themselves for long periods of time! Werewolves were masters of disguise and could run forever! Werebruins had outstanding physical strength! Weretigers were stealthy and powerful!

 

What was so bad? Everything else.

 

Every little thing, from the inability to eat anything other than meat; the restaurants, hotels, and apartments that had blazing neon signs saying, “No Weres”; the various anti-Were laws that seemed to pop up every day that crowded Weres into the worst neighborhoods and forbade them from doing so much as owning anything other than certain properties or have anything other than certain jobs; hell, the discriminatory attacks and the inaction from the law to prevent the humans from attacking Weres.

 

And that wasn’t even getting into Were biology. The way that Stephany was turned - a single one-night fling with a Werewolf - created a burning desire to feed, a constant hunger that could only be undone by turning someone into a Were herself - and even that was temporary at best, a screaming ache in her stomach that was making her think of doing something incredibly stupid.

 

So, she was going to a meeting of Weres to discuss her new life. Just fucking peachy.

 

Stephany ignored the stares as she walked through Belltown, the worst area in Seattle, ignored the mothers shielding their children, ignored the men with itchy trigger fingers. She just continued to walk to the seediest part of Belltown until she arrived at the large establishment that was her destination: The Crewe Club.

 

It looked fairly nondescript for a bar, with only a neon sign showing the name. The windows were dark, shuttered, and obviously reinforced; a sad necessity, given the large number of firebombers that struck pro-Were establishments.

 

She let out a sigh and opened the door. The interior shocked her. It was almost gothic in design, with beautiful stained-glass designs close to the windows, a mesmerizing chandelier, lamps with candle lights above every polished wooden table, with plush seats making the atmosphere downright cozy. The bar itself was also well-lit, showcasing every liquor bottle, the various cocktail options, and the food items for both Weres and the rare human who chose this bar to eat and drink at…not that many humans would choose to go here.

 

Behind the bar was a Weregator with a large gray beard spilling down to the top of his chest, his toothy snout protruding and greenish scales shining. He was cleaning glasses, one after another.

 

“Can I help ye?” he asked in a very deep Southern drawl, not even looking up from his latest glass.

 

“Looking for…” Stephany showed the Weregator the meeting card she had been given, “...Weres Anonymous?”

 

“Only humans and newly-turned call it that,” the Weregator said bluntly. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout us that’s ‘Anonymous’. But I can tell you’re newly-turned.”

 

“How?” Stephany was confused.

 

“The smell. The uncertainty. The fact that ye look like ye just jumped out of bed. You’re tryin’ to make a deadline. Don’t worry, kid; they ain’t gonna start without ye.”

 

“Where can I find the meeting spot?”

 

“Downstairs.” The Weregator jerked his head at a door she hadn’t seen.

 

“Thank you, Mister.”

 

“Just call me ‘Clay.’ Everyone does.”

 

“Thanks, Clay.” Stephany let out a sigh, walked to the door and opened it.

 

A dark, winding hallway with stairs greeted her. Her night vision, being a Were, was solid, seeing shapes of objects as clearly as if they were in daylight. She grabbed the railing of the stairs, taking it one step at a time down the meandering staircase. It seemed to take forever, and she wondered how Weres that were in wheelchairs could get down here. Then she nearly ran smack dab into another door, this one barred shut. She knocked on it.

 

A deep feminine voice answered, “You newly-turned? Clay told us to expect you.”

 

“Yes!” Stephany squeaked.

 

“Well, come on in; we don’t bite.”

 

The newly-turned Werewolf opened the door to see the largest Werebruin she had seen in her life. The Werebruin wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, and the smile on her furry snout was kind.

 

“Welcome, welcome,” the Werebruin rumbled, the look in her rich brown eyes filled with mischief. “I’m Nora, Nora Villanueva. I hope the walk wasn’t too far. What’s your name?”

 

“Stephany Mercer.” Stephany shook Nora’s hand, which enveloped hers like a child’s.

 

“Welcome, Stephany!” A huge Weretiger woman entered the conversation, her voice as perky and bright as her pink T-shirt and skirt. “I’m Zora Villanueva. Nora’s my lovely wife.” Zora’s whiskers on her striped face twitched excitedly, the look in her amber eyes warm. “Now, make yourself at home, please.”

 

Stephany looked around the room, the aromatic smell of raw meat tickling her sensitive nose. It was quite large and well-lit with scented candles. There were comfy couches to sit on, only one of which was occupied: a nervous-looking male Werehawk sat there, and he shrank away from her - visibly flinching - when she walked over to him.

 

Her voice was filled with confusion as she asked the couple, “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Oh, Dane’s new, like you,” Nora explained. Stephany had a feeling that Nora wasn’t being entirely truthful, but she let it slide as she sat on a couch. “We’re going to talk about so much, but don’t worry; it’s all to help.”

 

God, is that really it? I don’t need any help; I just want a fucking cure!

 

“So, how were you turned, Stephany?” Zora asked gently.

 

“I don’t think you deserve to know,” the Werewolf growled, a dangerous hint in her tone. It was embarrassing to her, it-

 

“Fetish-site?” Zora asked. Stephany’s wide eyes obviously gave the Weretiger all the proof she needed, as she continued, “That’s how most are turned. Some assholes use those sites to lure in vulnerable people, and-”

 

“I’M NOT FUCKING VULNERABLE!” Stephany snarled, before a wet feeling on her bottom-

 

NO!

 

She was peeing all over the couch, her jeans utterly soaked, and she started to sob hysterically, burying her head in her hands.

 

Not fucking vulnerable, my ass…

 

She felt a gentle hug from both sisters and, to her shock, Dane as well.

 

“I think you’ll need to see a therapist as well as us,” Nora said gently. “Don’t worry, they’re quite nice, they’re knowledgeable about LittleWere physiology, and...”

 

Stephany barely heard the words, lost in her stupid embarrassment, the outing of her fetish, wishing she was someone, anyone else.

 

I HATE being a Were. Why?! Why me?!

 

---

 

Well, that's that for the first chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed~

[kerry]

And here I was, wondering when/if anyone would ever create a new playground in which to set these stories. Congrats! This one is very promising...and even moreso because of the social commentary involved.

[Baby Jemma]

Well, it's been too long, but I have a second chapter out for Weres Wear Everywhere! But first, the reply:

On 7/8/2024 at 2:43 PM, kerry said:

And here I was, wondering when/if anyone would ever create a new playground in which to set these stories. Congrats! This one is very promising...and even moreso because of the social commentary involved.

Thank you, Kerry! I was hoping to make something unique with this. The irony is that this idea started at a psych ward, just writing out a story! It wasn't even AB at first; just something I came up with on the fly to talk to others; I only figured out about halfway through writing the first chapter that, "Yeah, I could make this a good AB story with a little more work!" And so it did, and so I hope.

Anyway, the second chapter:

 

-

 

Chapter Two: The Campaign

 

-

 

Kiana Kealoha was stressed.

 

So many things went into a run in politics, and even though she had easily won the Democratic party’s nomination for the 7th District in Washington as a House Representative, she was facing a Republican incumbent, Mads Hansen, who would do anything to stay in office, no matter how much it would hurt her, no matter how personal he got.

 

And he’s anti-Were, which helps him with the non-Were base.

 

Kiana truly believed that the vast majority of Weres had suffered enough. Were there some asshole Weres who proved the stereotypes about them right? Absolutely, but the vast majority, she felt, were victims who needed protection, not just from humanity, but from the few Weres who continued to exploit them.

 

She was branded a radical for it, but the youth supported her, and it wasn’t like Weres of legal age weren’t allowed to vote: just frowned upon (to put it very mildly) when they did. Of course, she was a politician, and mudslinging was part of the game, but she had a rule Hansen didn’t play by: targeting families was off-limits to her.

 

And he had tried to target hers.

 

Her wife, Minerva. Her daughter, Venus. Hansen went after them, hoping to dig up dirt on her past - and she couldn’t do anything about it because if she did, it would prove he could get to her that way, and he’d push harder. For now, he hadn’t found out too much, and she wanted to keep it that way.

 

Her sexuality (proud and out lesbian; Minerva was bi) wasn’t a secret, wasn’t a problem, not even with their extended families. Her ethnicity wasn’t the issue; Pacific Islanders weren’t exactly a rare sight in the state of Washington. Even her record wasn’t a problem; she was savvy in politics, despite being barely old enough to run for the House in Washington (twenty-five years old), no law-breaking, a clean slate. It all came down to being supportive of Were rights. That’s what it all came down to, in the end, even within her own party.

 

She sighed, finally ready to start the day with her first job on the list: talking with her campaign manager (and impromptu secretary and spokeswoman), Misty Devereaux.

 

Misty’s eyes were as warm and colorful as a chocolate cookie fresh out of the oven, her short dreadlocks perfectly permed and frosted, making Kiana feel a little lacking with her curly black hair a little bit off, her makeup not accenting her plain brown eyes. But her lifelong friend, despite being drop-dead gorgeous, was one of the kindest ladies Kiana knew - and a brilliant legal mind, to boot.

 

“Well, Kiana, you have a couple of meetings in the coming week,” she said in a chipper tone. “Mostly human constituents, but there’s a couple of Weres who really want to meet you, who do good work in the community…as much as they can.”

 

Misty’s voice was disapproving, and Kiana sighed.

 

“Let’s not get into this,” the politician said quietly. “Let’s go through the schedule.”

 

“10:00 AM today, you have to discuss with the team what the response to Hansen’s latest ad is, 11:30 AM today, public speech. 12:30 PM today, lunch break at a new restaurant who wants to meet with you, 2:00 PM today, run our new ads. Then we have it easy on Sunday: 1:00 PM on Sunday, visiting those Weres at The Crewe Club…”

 

Kiana glared at Misty. “Let’s not get into this.” Her voice was a touch hardened.

 

“Look, Kiana, you’re running on a bad platform already. I’m here for an honest point of view - I have not asked for more than minimum pay because you’re my friend - and this is my honest opinion: Weres aren’t accepted in common society for a reason. They turn people on a regular basis, make them slaves, and I don’t want that to be you.”

 

Kiana’s deathglare intensified. “Would it be the same if someone ran under a platform against Black people, women, or LGBTQ people?” she asked pointedly to her campaign manager. “It took centuries for Black people to have a modicum of freedom from the racism they received. It took even longer for women, and even longer still for some aspects of the LGBTQ demographic. And Weres have suffered since they and humans came into existence, as long as all of the above. I love you, Misty, but I can’t agree with you on this. I’m running on this ‘platform’ because I believe in it.”

 

“And I believe that if anyone could run on that platform and win, it’s you,” Misty said quietly. “I just…I want you to be careful. I’m seeing more anti-Were and anti-human sentiments than I’ve ever seen before. It’s a crisis, and it’s threatening to explode. I don’t want you or your family to be in the headlights when it does. Lord knows I’m scared enough for my little brothers.”

 

Kiana felt a bit of guilt. Yes, she had personally paid security to protect her family, Misty’s family, and the families of the people under her campaign, but the danger was still there, even though the people under her were mostly anonymous to all but the people within the campaign, which looked deeply at the background of anyone wanting to join. She had to take all of the phone calls at home by herself, so that her wife and step-daughter weren’t in the firing line of threats (including rape and death threats directed towards them). Her deputy campaign director, Gabriel Guerrero, had his home fire-bombed, and he and his immediate family were staying with Misty’s parents and little brothers for extra protection. Her home had been doxed online so many times that her family had been forced to move from place to place. 

 

She knew that things weren’t going to change without sacrifice…but she wanted the sacrifice to be hers alone, dammit, not the people supporting her!

 

Tears fell down her face, and Misty noticed.

 

“Hey, Kia, it’s okay.” Misty brushed the tears off of the hopeful politician’s face and gave her a soft hug. “It’s not your fault. I know your family situation is why you do this. You want to leave a beautiful world to your family. It’s a scary world right now, but I’ll support you because you’re my friend. Okay?”

 

“O-okay.” Kiana breathed once and wiped away her tears. “Okay. Let’s gather everyone here.”

 

Misty pressed the button on the intercom. “Okay, everyone, time for the meeting,” she said pleasantly.

 

Kiana sat down on a simple swivel chair as the small group of ten poured in.

 

First was Ray Heller, a very young intern - the youngest on her team, at the tender age of nineteen - with shaggy sandy-brown hair, and the only Were on her staff: a Werewolf. His ears were pricked, his baby-blue eyes alight, and she knew that if he had a tail, it would be wagging. She had vetted him personally, knowing he had been turned a while back by his own (and Ray admitted it was the case) asshole of a brother. But he was arguably her hardest worker (and that meant a ton when her entire staff worked their collective asses off), and his happy-go-lucky personality endeared himself to everyone.

 

The next person to show up was Gabriel Guerrero, his bald copper-toned head shining in the lights of the conference room, sunglasses always on, as he smiled at them beneath his trimmed, yet thick dark-brown circle beard. He was one of Misty’s friends, a quiet lawyer who only spoke when necessary, but he knew the right kinds of police well enough to gain protection during the rallies, even if Sergeant Chow was the highest-ranking officer who wasn’t in the pockets of Hansen, racist third parties, or was otherwise anti-Were.

 

Then the next eight filed in: Rainbow Jackson, a young enby Yakima Tribe member who served as another intern who lent their hand to transportation and venues for rallies; Lea Sorensen, a young intern with carrot colored hair of Danish descent who did double-duty with voice overs for ads and camera work; Jorden Furukawa, a young intern of mixed Japanese/Black descent who did cybersecurity and everything having to do with technology; Sukhwinder Kaur, a young heavyset Sikh woman who served as an intern that focused on advertising and news watching; Rhee Yeong-Won, a tiny young Korean intern who was an expert with social media who helped Jorden; Arikiwi Taylor, a New Zealand immigrant of mixed Māori and white descent and the manager of finances; Lyudmyla Kovalenko, an older Jewish-Ukrainian intern who focused on marketing, slogans, and brands; and finally, James Podmore, a tall, thin white man hailing from England who served as the head of security.

 

All of them took their seats.

 

“Okay, everyone!” Kiana’s cheery tone caused the entire group to smile - with the exception of Yeong-Won, who never smiled, but still regarded the cheery tone of her boss with positivity. “So, we have a plan to counter the most recent attack ad, right?”

 

“You know this shyte would never happen in any civilized country,” James said, rolling his icy-blue eyes that were somehow not hidden by his shoulder-length platinum blond hair. People often ribbed him by calling him the lovechild of Daemon Targaryen from House of the Dragon and Daniel Craig’s James Bond, and he took it surprisingly well as a response, giving as good as he got. Kiana got the feeling he was once MI6 or some kind of British intelligence, but obviously, he wouldn’t tell. “I mean, suddenly, Weres are ‘rapists out to infect your women and your children and your unborn babies, like with Kealoha’s family’. I mean, clearly a load of bollocks, but whatever sells in America, right?”

 

“At least we don’t call french fries with our fried fish ‘chips’, Mr. Bond; chips are clearly not fries,” Ray said with a cheeky grin, earning a calm glare from James, belied by a smile.

 

“No, we just call those ‘potato crisps’. See, we English have common sense.”

 

“Enough common sense to lose the War of 1812 against us.”

 

“Please, that was a minor sideshow at best.”

 

“Guys, can we please debate English/American stuff on your own time and not this time?” Misty asked politely.

 

“Very well, Miss Devereaux, my apologies,” the Brit said, nodding his head in respect.

 

“Of course, sorry, Ms. Devereaux,” Ray squeaked.

 

“But yes, ideas on the attack advertisement of Representative Hansen and how to respond best to it are strongly encouraged,” Misty said.

 

“On the bit of the attack ad, well, statistics don’t bear it out. At all,” Rainbow said, their long black hair covered in seashells, hazel eyes scanning their phone. “We could definitely cite a whole lot of shit on a minute long ad, shut Hansen down.”

 

“But running an ad that just rebuts him isn’t really effective; it’ll leave him time to go on the attack with more bullshit,” Yeong-Won piped up, her long black hair neatly covering her left eye, the right eye a calm brown. She never really smiled. “And he can spread a lot of bullshit and misinformation, and people won’t know what to believe.”

 

“Agreed,” Jorden echoed her lifelong friend, twirling a lock of her frizzy black hair. “What we need is something that fits this campaign, something that echoes both our message of positivity, while utterly shutting Hansen down. I just don’t know if we have the funds for a full minute long ad shutting him down.”

 

“I’d go after him, personally,” Sukhwinder said bitterly, her hair neatly hidden by a rose-pink turban. Her brown eyes were angry. “He’s gone way too far with putting Kiana’s family on the line.”

 

“So long as we don’t go after his family, Sukhi,” Kiana said. “I promised to make this a clean race, even if he didn’t.”

 

“Understandable, but politics is a dirty business, Kiana,” Lyudmyla said, brushing a strand of pepper-and-salt hair out of her gray eyes. “Unfortunately, his record is all we have on him, and he has a good one for the public. He runs on a racist platform that is popular amongst the old, the white, and the males amongst us, and since Weres have issues voting for many reasons, that leaves us with little to base on.”

 

“What if we hit him hard on his racism?” Ray asked curiously.

 

“Sorry, Ray, but a lot of the blokes voting for him - and there’s a lot, according to the polls - believe in that shit,” Arikiwi said, fidgeting with her trademark kiwi feather decorating her chocolate hair. “It’s a good thought, but we can’t afford to lose any of our voters, and we don’t have the coffers that Hansen has to make up for it.”

 

“I agree with Sukhi and Lyudmyla,” Lea said, her green eyes flashing angrily. “Going after families who have nothing to do with the race is always shitty to do in a political race, and it has to be answered.”

 

“Kiana’s made it clear that she’s not going to respond to any baseless remarks about her family,” Misty said calmly. “She doesn’t want her family involved any more than they have to be, and I don’t blame her.”

 

“Oh, oh, what if we ran a positive Were ad alongside one where we hammered him on his record?” Ray piped up again. “Do we have the funds to do two ads, like, a thirty second on the record and lies and a fifteen-second on positive Were interactions?”

 

Kiana’s eyebrows raised. “Do we have the money, Ari?”

 

Arikiwi scrolled on her laptop. “Might be a tad dicey for the rest of the month, maybe only one other minute long ad when Hansen’s got, like, five separate thirty second ads and two one-minute-long ads rolling, but it’s certainly doable.”

 

“Good thinking, Ray,” Gabriel said with a chuckle, patting Ray on the back. “You’ve got a bright future here, hermano.”

 

“Just doing my best to help,” the Werewolf said with a notable blush.

 

“Well, I just want to say, Ray, you’re an absolute godsend,” Misty said warmly, hugging the older teen, whose blush deepened.

 

Kiana was in full swing by now. “We have the advantage of social media; it’s the one advantage we’ve got over Hansen. Jorden, Yeong-Won, you’ve got the floor on all of the social media ads, right?”

 

“You’ve got it,” Jorden said with a smirk.

 

“You can count on us,” Yeong-Won said, the soft look in her visible eye radiating enough positivity to not need a smile behind it.

 

“Lea, Ray, can you two do the camerawork for some affected areas where Weres are working?”

 

“Definitely!” Lea said happily.

 

"Sure thing, Mrs. Kealoha!" Ray squeaked in excitement.

 

“Lulu, Sukhi, you’ve got the greenlight to market all the shit, right?”

 

“Damn straight we do!” Sukhwinder grinned.

 

“Well, it’s a plan, and I’m willing to do it,” Lyudmyla said calmly.

 

“Rainbow, you’ve got The Crewe Club scouted out, right?”

 

Rainbow checked on their phone. “It’s in a really sketchy area, Kiana. I’d worry about security…”

 

“It does no good to avoid the areas we’re trying to help,” Kiana said.

 

“And nobody’s going to lay a finger on her with me around,” James boasted confidently.

 

“I’m sure I can swing some police to help just in case; Sgt. Chow patrols that area a lot,” Gabriel said quietly.

 

“That works with me,” Rainbow said, their eyes showing trepidation. “Just be careful.”

 

“She will be,” Misty replied.

 

“All right, guys!” Kiana breathed deeply. “Let’s do the public speech next, keep things going upward!”

 

As she prepared for the public speech, Kiana had no idea how a single Were was going to change her life…again.

 

-

 

Well, I hope y'all enjoyed~

[Baby Jemma]

Okay, here's the third chapter of Weres Wear Everywhere~ Hopefully the next perspective (of the tritagonist) is clear and concise; I enjoyed writing this chapter from his perspective:

 

-

 

Chapter Three: The Doctor

 

-

 

Dane Yesinka watched, his sharp amber eyes blinking nervously, as Nora gently guided a protesting Stephany into the process of getting a new diaper on her; obviously, they were prepared for Weres with her fetish type. Except...she wasn’t being very cooperative, he noted.

 

“I’ll be fine, I’m not a baby!” the Werewolf protested, her arms crossed across her chest.

 

“You want my honest opinion? You’re not a very long way off from regressing that far,” Zora said calmly. “I’ve seen a lot of Little Weres in your situation - don’t think you’re the only one with a baby fetish - resist and end up in a much younger headspace. You keep protesting and denying, and it’s not going to help you or the people around you.”

 

“No, I won’t!” Stephany snapped, stamping her foot. “I just want a stupid cure, not some bullshit about ‘accepting babyhood’ or whatever shit you’re trying to sell!”

 

Nora sighed. “You know there isn’t a ‘cure’ for lycanthropy, Stephany,” the Werebruin said gently, as if she was talking to a toddler…or younger. “If there was, we wouldn’t have these problems. We wouldn’t have this racism. We wouldn’t have assholes trying to exploit fetishes for their own cruelty.”

 

“She’s not-” Dane began, before he shut his mouth, don’t talk, don’t talk out of turn, or else…

 

Zora looked at the Werehawk calmly, the Weretiger’s eyes filled with sympathy, as he began shaking again. Why was he always this way around…no, stop thinking, you’re stupid, stop thinking you’re smart, if you were smart, you wouldn’t be here, it’s all your fault-

 

“So, Stephany, please just put the diaper on,” Nora said. “It won’t be fair to Clay to have him clean up an accident on the floor.”

 

“Fine,” Stephany said with a pout. Dane turned away politely as she changed herself.

 

“Don’t think that agreeing like that is going to change our mind on this, Steph,” Zora said. “We’ll need to call the therapist, set up an appointment soon; if you’re regressing this much already-”

 

“I’M NOT!” the Werewolf whined loudly, stamping her foot again.

 

“It’s not a good thing in the slightest; you could be looking at a permanent caregiver,” Zora continued, her voice filled with concern.

 

“And there’s not a lot of caregivers of Little Weres; there’s barely enough for the human littles,” Nora said gently. “And the way you’re regressing like this in front of us is not good either, we may need you to stay a-”

 

“‘M NOT WEGWESSHING!!” Stephany screamed, throwing herself on the floor and continuing to scream bloody murder in a temper tantrum of tears more suited for a young toddler than a grown woman, to Dane’s discomfort.

 

“Shhh…” Nora gathered the bawling woman in her huge arms, attempting to put a pacifier in her mouth as the Werewolf continued to speak nonsensical babble in response (to the Werehawk’s utmost shock; it was like seeing an infant’s mind in a grown woman’s body), before rocking her like a baby and nodding at her wife.

 

Zora immediately got on the phone, and Dane picked up the conversation with his keen ears, his beak smelling the awful scent of feces; he knew that Stephany was responsible, and yet…he felt strangely sorry for her. She was as much a victim as-

 

No, you’re not a victim. You’re not a victim if you deserve it - and you deserve it all.

 

“Yes, Dr. Lux Hawthorne speaking,” an intelligent voice, neither especially male nor female, said. “Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

 

“Yes, Lux, it’s Zora Villanueva speaking from The Crewe Club.” Dane watched Stephany out of the corner of his eye accept the pacifier and quickly go to town sucking on it with Nora looking relieved that she was finally quiet. He was grateful that the babyfied Werewolf shut up as well…but he didn’t want it to be like this.

 

“Let me guess: you have another patient for me? How badly have they regressed?”

 

“Fully losing English, no toilet skills or telling when she has to go, full loss of adult emotional processing, it’s bad, Lux. I’ve never seen a Little Were lose this much control this quickly. We might be talking permanent infant state at this rate. We need you here now.”

 

“You’re lucky you caught me at a free time,” the doctor’s staticky voice said on the other line. “I can be there in thirty minutes, depending on traffic.”

 

“We’ll see you here, and thank you, Lux.”

 

The phone call ended, and Zora turned to Dane. “I’m sorry you had to be here for this, Dane,” she said regretfully.

 

“Not your fault some young woman decided to go full baby mode,” the Werehawk muttered.

 

Nora looked at Dane, as Stephany continued sucking on her pacifier. “You know full well she can’t help it,” the Werebruin said calmly. “When Weres are turned with their fetishes, they tend to take the fetish with them. You have as well, even though you refuse to admit it; you’ve been going here long enough.”

 

He merely looked down with an annoyed huff as Zora called Clay on top, saying, “Clay, Lux is coming over.”

 

“Another Little Were?” the Weregator’s heavy Alabama accent came through. “Please tell me she ain’t pissin’ on the floor?”

 

“No, we’re good there,” Zora said. “And you know we clean up well.”

 

“Well, you’re gonna have to pay fer the stay.”

 

“Consider it paid.”

 

“Ugh…’ang on, I’ve gotta phone call comin’ from…fuck me. I’m gonna have to let ye go, Zora; this is important.”

 

“Who’s-” the Weretiger asked before the phone call ended. “Dammit, Clay…”

 

“He hasn’t told you much, has he?” Nora said as Stephany relaxed into her chest, the Werebruin quickly getting a fresh diaper on her, and handing the dirty one to her wife.

 

“He told us some politician might be visiting us tomorrow,” Zora grumbled, putting the foul-smelling object in a nearby bin. “Don’t know who or why, and I don’t exactly trust them, except maybe one.”

 

“Politicians don’t matter much here,” the Werebruin said, her voice a slight growl. “All of them want to screw over Weres, somehow, some way.”

 

“Except there’s this one who is running for the House-”

 

“Kealoha? Hah! I think the bitch is lying. She’s not for Were rights. None of them are, and she’s lying to get our votes, I know it.”

 

“Lying? Why would she run on Were rights? Why would she-”

 

“To get our votes. That’s what this entire party has done: tried to get our votes, and it doesn’t matter in the end because both parties end up screwing us, and nothing changes. That’s how it’s been for thousands of years, and that’s how it will likely be forever.”

 

Dane shuffled his feet, not wanting to give an opinion. Opinions were an excuse to hurt, they always were…

 

“Mmm!” Stephany was fussing behind her pacifier. “Mmm, mmm!”

 

The Werehawk merely rolled his eyes at the babyfied Werewolf. “Oh, stop,” he grumbled, holding his feathered head in his hands. “Unless you’re going to speak like an adult, please don’t do this. I don’t need this crap.”

 

Then a knock came on the door, and a phone’s flashlight was turned off as someone who wasn’t a Were (otherwise, they’d have never needed a light in the dark hallway) walked in. They were short and slim, about 5’6” 145 lbs., if Dane had to guess with wavy brown hair down to their shoulders, a pink fedora covering the top of their hair, their eyes a calm grayish blue. They were dressed casually gender-neutral but leaning feminine: pink hip-length coat covering a white T-shirt with no logo, a silver-and-black knitted scarf gently wrapped around their neck, a knee-length black skirt, pink leggings, and black flats.

 

Dane had met this person before: Dr. Lux Hawthorne, the premier expert on Were physiology and psychology. They had done his evaluation when he came here, and now, apparently, they were going to do this newcomer’s evaluation as well.

 

“Good evening,” Dr. Hawthorne said warmly, their voice neither especially masculine nor feminine; clearly, they had spent time trying to perfect the balance. “I trust that this little one here is why I’m here?”

 

“Yes, Lux, thank you,” Zora said gratefully. “I trust traffic wasn’t too bad?”

 

“I’ve had worse,” the doctor said with a shrug, looking at the suddenly silent and shy Werewolf.

 

“You parked your car in Clay’s safe zone?” Nora asked.

 

“I did, and I paid him double for a nice bottle of port Zinfandel that I’ll partake in when I get home; I’m quite partial to port wines. I don’t know where he manages to get his product, but-”

 

“Don’t ask,” the two married Weres said simultaneously.

 

“Ah, trade secret?” The doctor’s eyes were twinkling mischievously, as they examined Stephany, taking the pacifier out of her mouth to her excited babbling, with words sounding almost like how an infant would say “Mama!” to Dane.

 

“We know, but he’s threatened to skin us alive if we tell anyone, Lux,” the Weretiger said bluntly.

 

“And judging by his past, it’s a threat he can easily carry out.” The doctor was tickling Stephany’s bare feet, as the Werewolf squealed with laughter before her eyes widened with shock and realization, her new white diaper quickly turning yellow.

 

The Werewolf was sputtering in shock. “You, I, what, what the fu-”

 

“Ah, yes, I find a good tickle session always gets Little Weres back to adulthood.” The doctor’s look turned serious. “Doctor Lux Hawthorne is my name, pronouns are ‘they' and 'them', for clarification. What's your name?”

 

“Stephany Mercer, I, what happened? I-”

 

“Mind you, young missy, you’re not entirely out of the woods yet. You were in an infantile headspace for a good thirty or so minutes. I want you to stay here for the next day or so; that way, Mommy Zora and Mommy Nora can keep a close eye on you and treat you as they would a baby until you're ready to grow up again.”

 

Stephany opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor’s look brooked no nonsense. “And I do not want any arguments for anything they do. If they want to bottle-feed you, you will feed from your bottle. If they want your diaper changed, it will be changed. If they want you to have an early bedtime, you will go to sleep at that time. If they ask anything of you, you will follow their rules, or the next time, I might not be able to bring you out of infancy. Understood, Steffy?”

 

Stephany nodded abashedly, and Dane sighed, going to pack his bags.

 

“Dane, where are you going?” Zora asked in concern.

 

“Anywhere but here,” he said harshly, closing the door with a slam.

 

He stalked up the stairs, seeing in the dark as easily as if he was an owl. His mind was so full of turmoil that he didn’t bother to talk to Clay (who was gesturing with a cut-off sign to an intoxicated patron) before he walked out the door and back to his private home.

 

Back to his private hell.

 

-

 

Hope y'all enjoyed~