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Vengeance or Forgiveness (Tuesday)

I'd like to say I'd forgive, but I don't think I'm capable of that anymore. I react like a wounded animal, lashing out at anyone who attacks me. Ever since I got the curse, I've lost any ability to be compassionate. I try, though; God knows I try to care, but the wolf won't let me. The wolf never forgives. Never forgets and never forgives.

I'm too bitter now to be compassionate, even if I wanted to, though. I've been exiled and beaten, rejected and chased away. All my wolf does is lash out back at them. They wound me, I wound them back. I don't know of another way to exist.

Muse: werewolf!Carl Wayne
Fandom: The Move RPF AU
Word Count: 112
Disclaimer: Complete work of fiction.

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Inspiration or Madness (Tuesday)

Title: Demons
Fandom: The Move RPF AU
Character: werewolf!Carl Wayne
Wordcount: 441
Rating: FRM
Warnings: mentions of werewolf violence and mauling, mental illness, the trauma of being a lone werewolf
Disclaimer: Complete work of fiction.
OOC Notes: There's a lot of backstory here I won't bore you with. But this is the AU he comes from, if anyone wishes to read through all the fics in this series/universe.

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I am a monster

I know Bev hates me for what I did. I hate me for what I did. I've never felt quite so disgusted with myself before. I hunt and kill as a werewolf because I must, but to have so few morals left I attacked my friends? I'm not sure I can live with myself anymore.

( trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, violence )

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[ooc] How Carl Got The Curse

[Repost from Under The Moonlight]

Shock had been the first thing he'd felt when the creature scratched his arm. It held back, as if waiting for him to react, but all Carl could do was stand there. The creature snarled at him, and it was only because a stray dog ambled into their vicinity that Carl was able to find his wits again and run, the creature sufficiently distracted.

He didn't even look at the wound until he got home. His sleeve was soaked in blood and had his mother not been awake, he might've just bound it tight and hoped for the best, but he found himself bundled into the car, a thick towel around his arm, as he was driven off to hospital to get it treated.

Several dozen stitches later and he was lying in a hospital bed, tired and drowsy. He still hadn't been able to describe what had attacked him and had settled for calling it a wolf, or maybe some sort of large shaggy dog. That it had not bitten him was surprising, but Carl really didn't care either way. It had still damaged his arm and that was more than enough. He lay back, dreaming of what had happened, determined not to talk about it until he was ready.

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