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bonstempsrouler) wrote2019-07-02 01:32 am
Information
Title(s):
Age: 30
Date of Birth: August
Gender: Male
Species: Weretiger (infected)
Marital Status: Single
Family: Mother, four siblings
Religion: raised Catholic
Occuation: Whatever pays
Threadjacking: Yes
Forth-Walling: No
Mindreading: Yes
Fighting: Yes
Injury: Yes
Romance: Yes
Smut: Yes
Offensive Subjects: If you think it needs a trigger warning run it by me first
Age: 20+
Timezone: Eastern USA; GMT(-4)
Contact:
One of the rarest forms of lycanthropes, there are only three tiger clans in the United States. The clans mostly keep too themselves. Their culture is also divided about purebloods, inherited lycanthropes, and attacked. Being given tiger lycanthropy is seen as a reward for a job well done. They think it is a sin to give it to someone not worthy. Tiger lycanthropy is one of the harder-to-catch strains. It is also one of the few that can be inherited, as well as caught. Tigers tend not to announce they are infected and entire families may stay in "the closet." Tigers have forced their clan members to marry other clan members, sometimes to keep the strain amongst themselves. Most have arranged marriages, they have been known to abduct known tigers, if an arranged marriage cannot be done. They are also a matriarchal society, unlike most of the other lycanthrope societies which are patriarchal.
Shapeshifter
Strength: All lycanthropes are extremely fast, strong, and resistant to damage. Their strength appears to depend somewhat on their actual size and somewhat on their level of supernatural power.
Healing: Lycans can recover from almost any wound other than that caused by silver weapons or fire; even then, alpha weres can recover from silver-inflicted wounds if they are not immediately fatal and wounds inflicted by fire can heal if the burned skin is cut away.
Senses: All weres have extremely acute senses, even in human form.
Silver: Lycanthropes are allergic to silver and feel physical pain from even skin contact, although some seem to enjoy the pain of silver jewelry.
Resistance: An ability to resist shape shifting, although none have so far exhibited the ability to prevent shift during the full moon without the assistance of another lycanthrope.
Control: The ability to finely control the speed, violence, extent and/or the time length of their shapeshift. Very few can shift hands into claws without a complete change to hybrid or full animal form. The most powerful may exhibit the ability to shift forms quickly, painlessly, or nearly at will without feeding or the recovery coma required of less powerful shifters. Furthermore, alpha weres may have the ability to force other shapeshifters to change form, or to prevent them from doing so.
Mercy: Some alphas have the ability to heal others, by a variety of means, most commonly physical contact.
Group Bond: Alphas appear to have a metaphysical relationship with the entire group that owes them allegiance. This bond is both a strength and weakness, allowing the leader to make use of the group's collective energy and account for its membership remotely, but also exposing the entire group to being controlled or fed upon through the leader. It can also expose the leader to some measure of control or influence if one of their followers is sufficiently subverted.
Maybe I should finally write it all down. Not that I'd ever forget it. Maybe I shouldn't - never know who might find it. I don't know why it's so important to keep it a secret. Am I ashamed?
Yes. I guess I am.
Bastard's one hell of a stigma. Who's your daddy, Cas? Huh? Hell if I ever knew. I heard it all the time though - children are nasty vermin when they want to be, when they find a weakness. Predators. I once accused my Momma of not knowing and she beat the tar out of me. I never said it again, but thought it... often.
A man who thought he was my daddy used to call. Ask how I was, if I was alive. Never did get the chance to talk to him, but sometimes I listened in. I still don't know if he's my father or not, but I heard his name once and took it as mine. Figured it wouldn't be so bad to use the name of someone that cared enough about me to ask. He stopped calling when I was 10. Never did hear from him again.
I don't think I've ever really forgiven Momma for that.
That's about the time I started to learn New Orleans. Cajuns are just one of the many ethnic groups down there, and look out for each other if you happen to be from the same place. People would pay me to do things. Mostly old ladies needing help.
School got in the way of making money. I stole on the side, tired of not having the things everyone else did. Tired of being a po boy Cajun with nothing but bare feet and attitude. Haven't had bare feet since then. Never did get rid of the attitude. I stayed with high school because I met this guy, and he said education wasn't an option - that no one had the right to be stupid, and that I was too clever to be ignorant. No one ever called me clever before. The man's name was Vanya, and I met him when I was sixteen, working as a night tour guide. Only reason I got the job was because I lied about my age, and they were too lazy or too desperate to check. Or maybe, as Vanya said, I just charmed my way in.
I guess I owe him some gratitude after all.
After that night I kept running into him, this foreign stranger. We'd talk, he'd buy me food, clothes, and he'd fuck me.
He was 25, nearly ten years older than me, and the experience was on his side.
Momma boxed me good a few times for the sass I'd give her about the nice things he got for me. "Whore!" she'd yell at me. "My son's a fucking slut!" I'd tell her to shut up in front of my half brothers and sisters, and she'd throw something at me.
One night she told me to get out. So I did.
I moved in with Vanya a year after I met him. Of course I noticed he'd go away once a month, business trips he'd say. Never did care, but I was suspicious after a while. Eventually he did tell me. I think my reaction was rather disappointing: I didn't try to kill him or anything.
Always said he'd do something special for my eighteenth birthday. So the night of, after some good, hard celebrating, I woke up, feeling a big rough tongue. Imagine my surprise to find a tiger looming over me. He fucked me like that, biting down on me.
I didn't talk to him again until my first full moon. He's the one that got me out of the city, and I got to see how beautiful I'd become. But nothing good lasts forever, does it? Vanya changed after he infected me. Or maybe I just saw the way he'd always been in a new light.
Every day I spent with him I grew more annoyed, irritated by his power games. The way he'd catch me off guard and fuck me like it was his right, the way he'd patronize me, like he was so much better. The way he tried to pretend I wasn't stronger than him now. He did some nasty things to me and called it putting me in my place. And every time he fucked me when I didn't want him to, or tried to humiliate me into submission, I hated him more.
One night I snapped. We were still out in the woods after a full moon, just enjoying the night. I was content to be alone, but he wanted to try and remind me of what I was to him. Before he could touch me I was on him.
Somehow I stopped myself from killing him. I should have, but I left him there for dead instead. When he came back to the house we shared, I told him to get out of New Orleans, out of my city. He was smart enough not to argue. Once he was gone I sold the house and kept the money - I didn't want to live with those suffocating memories. But leaving the house and getting rid of Vanya wasn't enough. After spending a few nights in a cheap motel, I left. I didn't say goodbye to anyone, because I was pretty sure there weren't many people left who would've really cared. My family knows I'm gone anyway - my mother would probably shoot me herself if she knew what I was.
So I left it all in New Orleans. I didn't let anyone top me again for a long time, too afraid it would be Vanya all over again.
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