#rogarou

[kairunatic]

Oof friend zone hahaha

Awwww rogarou scared of the sea and bashkar here to comfort him bruh i freaking ship these two

[twoclaws]

A Native Woman Battles Neocolonialism and Werewolves in "Empire of Wild" - Electric Literature

Cherie Dimaline on writing a novel steeped in folklore and the struggle for Indigenous representation

[momolady]

Avery the Immortal: Part Six

Mama continues to take care of Avery, and while it sometimes seems like a strange and impossible feat, she starts to see a glimmer of hope in him. Meanwhile, Avery starts to understand grief.

Trans Woman Reader x Male Deity(also reader in second half)

Taking care of Avery is like taking care of the weirdest cat at the shelter. He’s quiet and intense, yet he knows absolutely nothing about his surroundings. He’s an odd one. I’m not sure he’s as old as he claims to be. I’ve met quite a few young mages who claimed to be a centuries-old dragon or whatever, that’s nothing new. But Avery is different, and right now giving him a roof over his head is the best I can do to try and get him to open up.

I have noticed sweets going missing in the house. I usually keep a stash of my favorite snack cakes and popsicles handy, because I never know when the mood will strike, but I find empty boxes in the cabinets. Then I’ll find the bathroom trash can overflowing with the plastic wrappers. Does he think he’s being slick? Is he eating the sweets in the bathroom to hide? Or is he just that odd of a person?

In any case, I enjoy having Avery around, even if he is a weird cat. I’ve been training him to do future readings to bring in money to my own little business. I’ve been doing tarot readings, palm readings, and all sorts of fortune-teller shit since I was in high school to save up money for my transition. Going into the military was another scheme to save money towards it. I can admit now that wasn’t the best idea. Then again, who thinks well as a teenager?

Avery has an ability to read people, see certain things on a deep level. I believe he is an empath, which means he can tell a person what they want to hear. When that’s the case, they tend to pay way better. It’s a bit underhanded, sure, but sometimes there are people who won’t listen to anything at all, and those are the ones I send to Avery.

I have a lot of repeat business, locals who know me and what I am capable of. But most of my clients are tourists, high schoolers from neighboring towns, bachelorette parties, and people just looking for a good time. These are usually Avery’s clientele.

“None of these people actually believe in magic, Mama,” Avery grumbles as I help him get set up. He’s quite pretty, even with his zombielike complexion, so I dress him up with some makeup, and try to liven up that pale skin with my best rouge. The androgyny angle makes him more credible to the patrons. If you came in to get your fortune done and found some skinny white boy, you’d probably laugh and walk out the door.

Avery rubs at his eyes, and I grab his wrist. “I told you not to rub!” I snap at him. “You’ll smudge your makeup.”

“This mascara is awful,” Avery groans.

“Would you rather wear false lashes?” I give him the eye. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve suffered through a decade of wearing false lashes. You’re not strong enough.”

Avery grimaces. “Why would you do it if you didn’t like them?”

I sigh. “Because some people think a woman has to present herself at a certain level of femininity at all times. And since I may not be everyone’s favorite version of woman, I may have tried too hard at one point.”

Avery goes quiet for a long moment as I finish touching up his nails. “I think you’re woman enough Mama,” he murmurs. “But only because women scare me.”

I laugh, chuckling to myself as I shake my head. “That’s smart.” I grin at him. “It’s not about being enough, but about being happy with yourself.”

Avery shrugs. “Are you?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah. Took a long time, but I’m finally happy.”

Avery’s eyes fall down onto his hands. “That’s good. You deserve it, Mama.” He looks over his nails. “Ugh, what color is this?”

I hear the chimes on the front door ringing as someone comes inside. “Fortune teller color. Now go get behind the table!” I shoo him as I go to the front.

It’s strange to see a man come into the store alone. Usually he has a girlfriend dragging him along, or a herd of drunk friends around him. This man looks haggard and unkempt. His hair is mussed and his expression is a hair away from panic.

“Can I help you?” I ask cautiously.

“Uh,” he looks around, stepping forward and stumbling. He picks himself up and looks at me. “I was told to come here for help.”

“Help?” I move towards the counter, where I keep a few forms of self defense. “What kind of help?”

“They said you could stop the process,” he twitches. “After the bite, there is still a chance, right?”

I furrow my brow, moving my hand over the pepper spray. “I can tell you’re scared, sir,” I say. “But you have to tell me exactly what the matter is.”

He presses up against the counter, his long fingers gripping the edge. He has extra joints in his hands. Not good.

“The wolf,” he shudders. “At least I think it was a wolf. It was big, and hairy.” He starts to wheeze and he lays his head on the counter. “Help me please!”

“Mama?” Avery comes out from the back. “Are you okay?”

The man jerks, his neck and shoulders cracking. His eyes get wide as he focuses on Avery. “You!” he snarls. He lunges toward him, tackling Avery onto the ground.

I grab the gun, but by the time I move Avery has the man on the ground instead. The man is kicking, screaming, and he has already started to transform into a rougarou. Avery pushes down on his neck, pressing hard. The man’s hands wrap around his wrist, trying to fight him off, when a blinding light envelops them both. I stagger backwards, hitting the counter and knocking a lamp off. The breaking lamp causes a power surge, and everything goes dark.

I hear breathing, low and harsh. Then I hear sobbing.

“Avery,” I gasp, running forward. “Avery, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Avery sighs. “Are you alright, Mama?”

I let out a heavy breath, clutching my hand around my chest. “The man...” I step forward, “What’d you do? What was that?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Avery says. “I won’t do that.”

I wave my hand in the air, conjuring lights that float around us. Looking down, I see the man on the floor, still pinned under Avery. He’s sobbing, covering his face with his strange, new hands.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“I stopped his pulse,” Avery says. “Then started it again. The shift stopped in that moment between the two. I’m afraid it wasn’t soon enough. He looks like a rougarou, but he still maintains his humanity.”

I help Avery off the floor, then kneel down beside the man. “Shut up shop, Avery. Lets get this one taken care of.”

Avery and I get the man set up in the bedroom next to Avery’s. He’s very weak, and his emotions are out of control. He mostly just cries and keeps himself hidden under the covers. For a few days Avery and I tend to him, giving him food and drink and trying to get him to speak.

“What’re you going to do with him?” Avery asks me.

“Not sure,” I sigh. “I’ve never had this sort of situation before. Not sure exactly what the protocol is.” I sit down on the porch, watching through the trees. “I’ve dealt with rougarou before, but…” I lay my head into my palm. “Iggy just looks like one. He’s fully human aside from that.”

Avery tilts his head to the side and squints at me. “Iggy?”

“We haven’t gotten a name from him, so-” I wave my hand up and down my body. “His body looks like Iggy Pop made out of jerky, you know?” I hesitate. Avery’s strange expression doesn’t budge.

“Don’t know anything about music, do you?” I sigh.

Avery glances aside and his expression becomes a bit distant. “My friend used to sing a lot. Especially when he was cooking, or taking a bath.” He looks at his hand and the chipped nail polish on it. “Something about an apple tree.”

“The Andrews Sisters?” I ask.

Avery shrugs. “The only time I really paid attention to music was because of him.”

“Well, in any case,” I say, knowing he wants to change the subject, “since we don’t know his name, I called him Iggy.”

“But what are we going to do with him?” Avery insists. “Are you going to keep him here too?”

“I have a cat. Might as well have a dog,” I sigh.

Avery’s features become cross for a moment as he looks at me. “Am I the cat?”

I smile to myself as I stand back up and head through the door.

“No, Mama, seriously - do you call me a cat?” Avery follows me inside. As I go into the kitchen, Iggy is hunched over the sink, holding his head under the running faucet.

“You’re out and about, that’s good.” I come up beside him, standing before the counter while the cold water drizzles over him. He has patches of hair here and there, and his skin is definitely leathery and jerky-like. His face is long, stretched into wolf features. His eyes are a deep green - usually a rougarou’s eyes go black.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a pill,” he grumbles.

“I think you have full reason to be,” I reply. “What you’ve gone through... not many people make it out alive, let alone with their humanity.”

Iggy sits up from the sink and turns back to look at Avery. “What’d you do to me?”

“I stopped the curse from spreading,” Avry states blankly. “I stopped your heart so the curse went away. When I restarted it, you-” he stops himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what it would do.”

“No,” Iggy sighs shaking his head. “I thought I was going to die, or worse.” He rubs his eyes and sits down at the kitchen table. “I made the mistake. I should pay for it.”

Avery fidgets in place. He looks at Iggy, then quickly turns and leaves the room.

I put on coffee, offering Iggy a warm cup that he drinks happily. “You’ve got a home here until we can figure out what to do with you,” I tell him. “I know some people who can help, places you can go to hide. But you’ll be safe here.”

“Not much different than when I was out there.” Iggy says, looking over his hands. “My parents were Native and Romani. All my life I moved from place to place as we dealt with, well… what I am now.”

“Your family are hunters?” I ask in surprise.

Iggy nods. “Were,” he mutters. “Parents died a few years ago. I’ve been going at it on my own but I got… so stupid.” He lays his head on the table.

“You’re young, stupidity is a given.” I pet the top of his head.

That evening I return from the thrift store with some clothes for Iggy. I find Avery sitting on the porch, huddled over a stack of empty candy wrappers while focusing on his Gameboy. His knees are pulled up inside his hoodie, and the small desk lamp hovering over the screen reflects a glare in his eyes.

I walk up to him and sit down in the wicker chair behind him. “What’s bothering you? You’ve not come inside at all today.” I kick a stack of wrappers. “And where the hell did you get this candy? I thought I found your stash.”

Avery pulls his hood up to further hide himself.

“Hey,” I scold. “Look at me.”

“I’m a cat, I don’t have to,” he grumbles.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Avery, talk to me. What is wrong?”

Avery lowers his Gameboy and stares out into the distance. The air is becoming hazy with golden hues from the sunset, and lightening bugs are glittering in the trees.

“I made a promise to someone,” he whispers low. “I had done something wrong, and when they found out they got so mad at me.” He curls tighter into himself. “I was so terrified of losing them, so I made a promise to them I would never cause suffering to anyone.” He takes in a heavy breath. “I know I have to defend myself. That sometimes doing that isn’t the same as causing suffering. But-” his voice hitches. “What I did to him… I feel like I’ve really gone back on my word.”

“Baby,” I sit down on the ground beside him. “You saved him from being a mindless, soulless creature. What happened to him was not your fault. What you did may have changed him, but you were able to save his life.”

Avery turns towards me. “You’re just saying that,” he whimpers.

“No, I am not.” I pull him into my arms, hugging him tight. “What you did was a blessing,” I say. “Iggy blames himself more than you.”

Avery’s arms wrap around me, squeezing tight as he rests his forehead on my shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Mama. But I feel like that is all I can do. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve hurt Bill… Clef… anyone I really, truly, care about. If I hurt you...” He starts to sob.

“Hey,” I whisper. I lift his chin to see fat tears rolling down his face. “That’s is a risk a parent takes for their kids.” I smile at him, rubbing the tears away. “You may hurt me, Avery, that could happen with everybody and anybody. The difference is that you know when you’ve done wrong and you can fix it.”

Avery whimpers. “You won’t leave me?”

“No,” I scoff. “I would never think of it.”

Avery hugs me tight again, whimpering as I run my fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt before. Everyone has things they must carry.” I sigh and start rocking him. “It’s part of what makes us grow.”

“But it hurts,” Avery sniffles.

“Growing pains,” I chuckle. “Now.” I sit up and get Avery on his feet. “Clean up your candy wrappers, and go brush your teeth. If you get cavities you’re the one who is going to have to pay for it.” I give him a soft smile. “I’ll have dinner on in a minute. Iggy says he’s going to join us tonight.” I lift up the bag of clothes. “I found you something at the thrift store too. I think you’ll like it.”

I start to walk inside, and Avery quickly grabs my hand. “Wait, Mama,” he says urgently.

I turn back and look at him. “What’s up?”

Avery sniffles and wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I love you, Mama.”

I turn back to him, wrapping him up in my arms as tight as possible. “I love you too,” I kiss his forehead. I chuckle, giving him an extra tight squeeze. “You’re a frustrating mess, but I love you, Avery.”

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

Mama has gotten a record at the thrift store. She even pulls out her record player and sets it up in my room. That night, as I look over the record, I see the song that Bill always sang. I set the record on to play and lie back in bed, closing my eyes.

I don’t remember ever hearing this song performed by anyone but Bill, so it’s strange to hear these Andrews Sisters sing it. I’m used to hearing Bill’s deep voice singing in a whisper as he washed dishes or cut vegetables.

Don’t sit under the apple tree, with anyone else but me. Anyone else but me. Anyone else but me. No. No. No. Just remember that I’ve been true to nobody else but you. So just be true to me.

No, I heard the song somewhere else. No, not me - Avery. The Avery before me heard this somewhere with Bill. I lay back, trying to go deeper into the memory. It’s dark, but the music is loud and the voices are everything. I smell beer, lots of it. I hear it sloshing from mugs and onto the floor. Men are laughing, drunk as hell, drinking as if their lives depend on it. I can see Bill sitting before me. His mug is almost empty and his skin is flushed. He looks at me - no, he looks at Avery.

The way Bill’s eyes focus reminds me of how he looked at me in bed when he was on top of me. I knew what it meant, and Avery knew it as well. They waited, peering at their mates before they got up and made their move. Bill took hold of Avery’s hand as soon as he could and the two of them went behind the bar.

The air is cold all around them, but they are suddenly so very hot. Bill grabs me - no, Avery - and his rough, strong hands clutch his body. They grab his hips, his rear, all while his mouth is plastered to Avery’s. He tastes like beer and salt, but Avery is focused more on how good he feels. They’re desperate, I can sense it.

Don’t sit under the apple tree, with anyone else but me. Anyone else but me. Anyone else but me.

“I need you,” Bill gasps into Avery’s ear. “I can’t hold it any more.”

“I know,” Avery’s skilled hands are already undoing Bill’s belt and pants. “I’m scared, Bill,” he says. “But when I’m with you, I’m safe.”

Bill presses Avery to the wall, kissing him hard as he lifts him off the ground. I can feel Bill’s hard cock through his underwear. I can feel Avery’s breath shudder as he realizes what’s going to happen.

Their love is urgent and powerful, not exactly gentle, not really rough. They try to keep their voices down, but as it starts to snow and the world goes quiet, it is hard to do. Their breath comes out in thick puffs of steam. I kiss Bill, tasting him as he throbs deep inside of me. No, he’s inside Avery, but it feels like me. His fist is around our cock, stroking us while still moving inside us.

“I love you,” Bill whispers as tears fill his eyes.

Avery kisses him, I kiss him. “I love you too,” we say.

The record scratches. Anyone else but you. Anyone else but you. Anyone else but you.

I lay there panting, my cum drenching my fingers and belly. I catch my breath in a sob. I use the back of my arm to wipe my face and a dirty shirt to clean myself up. I hug my knees to my chest, sobbing as I recall how much I loved Bill, how much I loved Clef. It wasn’t Avery who made me feel that love, although it did urge me foreward.

I would do anything to find Bill, to hold him, to tell him how sorry I was, and that I still love him. I want him to meet Mama too, because she’s so important to me.

I reach into the bedside table and pull out the picture of Bill inside. I look over his face, his smile, and I am comforted by it. I turn off the record and lay back down in bed.

[dailycharacteroption]

Kidnapper (Rogue Archetype)

The bane of those that value their freedom and that of their loved ones, kidnappers specialize in the capture of others. Whether this be taking prisoners in wartime, kidnapping for ransom or to deliver them to their masters, or even the malodorous act of human (or in the case of games like this, sapient races and creatures in general) trafficking.

The exact purpose these specialists put their skills towards affects their alignment, the only consistency being that they are good at it, using poison, precise blows, or grappling and rope, to subdue their target.

 Masters of binding and grappling, these rogues know all the holds to best reduce the struggling of their victim while they bind them, and can quickly and easily learn more.

This archetype also favors talents that focus on ambushing, hiding, using rope, fighting and subduing foes, and of course, connections to the black market.

If you’re interested at all in taking foes alive, the kidnapper is useful in that regard, and it leaves the class features mostly untouched for a wide variety of builds. However, I feel that this archetype also works great for antagonists for many games, given kidnappings role as a tool of villainy.

 Kidnapping is a major fear for some people, so I would treat it like one would a lot of other darker subjects, making sure everyone was clear with it before running it in the campaign. Of course, unlike most real-world scenarios, the player characters should be much better equipped to do something about it, whether they are rescuing someone, or captured themselves.

  In certain parts of the world, elves are seen as rare and mythical as unicorns, and there are those that take advantage of it, kidnapping visiting elves to be farmed for blood, and in some cases, flesh, for the decadent nobility to use both in mundane or magical rituals, seeking to elevate themselves above the common folk.

 A party member ends up knocked out and in the basement of beast traffickers who want to sell them back to the party for ransom. Trying to escape may be possible, but that will mean facing down the kidnappers and certain parts of their menagerie, including a starved owlbear.

 Serving a mythic nascent oni lord, Baruffez has spent his career rounding up the various mortal offspring of his master for years. However, when the rogarou discovers what he is doing with them, he flees. Assaulting the fortress of the Oni will require someone with inside knowledge, which Baruffez could provide.

[dailycharacteroption]

Karmic Monk (Monk Archetype)

It’s well know that the ascetic lifestyle and philosophy of self-perfection is what allows monks to go beyond the capabilities of their race, but while personal harmony is something they all strive for, some monks go further, tapping into esoteric secrets to not only achieve, but manipulate the harmony in themselves, and even exploit the disharmony in their foes.

These karmic monks can subtly manipulate karma itself that is rarely seen out of the fate-manipulating aspect of divination, not only defensively, but also offensively.

While lawful monks can still learn these secrets, it is worth noting that monks of a more neutral philosophy can make use of such abilities, seeking self-perfection through true harmony.

 The most basic ability of these monks allows them to respond in kind to the trespasses others level at them. In other words, those that have harmed them with spell or strike are easy targets for the monk’s strikes, and take more damage.

Both spells with moral alignment, as well as the abilities of creatures with a moral essense, have trouble affecting these monks, their harmony resisting such crass effects.

That harmony does, however, allow them to subtly alter how their ki affects their strikes, piercing the resilience of creatures whose defenses are pierced by morally aligned strikes.

In reaction to effects that have different effects depending on the moral compass of the target, these monks can subtly shift how they register, reducing or possibly negating such effects.

They can also empower their strikes with karmic ki, dealing additional harm to foes of various alignments and suppressing the supernatural resilience of such foes if they possess it.

The most powerful among them become nigh-perfect beings, similar to other monks of such exceptional caliber, however, the supernatural resilience that they possess is bypassed not by chaotic or any other such alignment, but rather, but a lack of alignment, making them very resilient to the attacks of outsiders and those who draw upon divine or profane power.

The end result is a monk that is geared specifically to fight against divine magic and outsiders of all alignments. If that appeals to you, you have plenty of potential to work with here. However, their focus on alignments can leave them somewhat underwhelming against more mundane foes. I recommend a modification of the classic approach and tie down build, focusing on divine casters and outsiders, not just powerful foes in general.

 One might argue that the karmic monks that retain a lawful alignment might have started out on a different monastic path, discovering the secrets of karma through their monastary’s library and other repository of information. Those that are neutral, however, may have come from a school of thought that specifically teaches the mysteries of this archetype, or else having cast aside lawfulness in favor of neutrality as they gained greater understanding.

  Bearing the black and white visage of a serene moonlight stag as their image, the Order of Karmic Truths studies the mysteries of morality and harmony in the land of the Twilight Coast, a land of perpetual night where the living and undead live in an uneasy peace. This strange balance intrigues the order, and they wish to study it closely.

 The rogarou mystics of Varun-Da learned long ago that death can come from even goodly sources, so the wolf-folk make sure to trust no outsiders, and some of their number learn to repay violence against them with karma itself, regardless of their motives. Some are born with magical power associated with this, while others train to become masters of the harmony outsiders would disrupt.

 While most karmic monks seek to balance themselves, only fighting to correct imbalances in others, others, like Jull Ironpaw, seek only balance through reprisal, and several other students have been sent to the infirmary after he lashed out at them. The grand master is very close to expelling him, but doing so would potentially invite the wrath of Jull’s warlike family.

[houl]

Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline . A middling story, that has so much potential but delivers so little. The central concept is intriguing, a missing man reappears as a travelling preacher somehow connected with a Canadian First Nations creature known as a Rogarou, but the execution is lacking. The characters jump to conclusions and act on nothing at such speed that I felt like I was reading in fast forward, yet so little happened at the same time. It presented itself as myth inspired horror and read like YA yet the scattered sex scenes suggested otherwise. . #empireofwild #cheriedimaline #rogarou #minimonotonebookclub #booksivereadin2021 #booksivedrawnin2021 #booksreillustrated #bookstagram #houlart #houl https://www.instagram.com/p/CPMJMGzhUM2/?utm_medium=tumblr