#he runs around chasing people frothing at the mouth and snapping his teeth

[anticidic]

Imagine how useless of a vampire Dazai would be if he could get turned into one.

He has no ability to help him catch others so he just has to run after people trying to bite them. Chuuya could theoretically sit on a really high ceiling and Dazai could never reach him, he's just jumping and flailing around trying to bite Chuuya.

And Chuuya's just: What the hell, man.

[rotten-games]

The Wolf | Arke

No thoughts, only werewolf Arke. This is the first of four Halloween shorts I made that came out early on my patreon. The rest will be coming out scattered throughout the day ;)

The woods are silent tonight, the moon scarcely filtering in through the canopy as you traipse through the underbrush. The lantern on your hip just barely lights the way in front of you, the magic flame within undying even in the oppressive dark of the forest. Any sane person wouldn’t be here tonight of all nights—even any idiot would know to stay clear—but you’re on the hunt, you have been for years, trailing a creature intent on destroying everything it touches with claws and teeth and red hot anger.

You’ve been training for this moment for years now, you’re not going to let a little superstition stop you. Not now, not after so long.

The silver blade in your hand weighs heavy, even as stained with blood as it already is. You’ve killed many a beast by the end of your blade, and this one will be no different. This one should be no different.

You feel your entire body seize as a twig snaps somewhere in the darkness behind you, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through your very bones. Fear grips your heart but also… anticipation. He’s here. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, readjusting your grip on the blade and spinning with a practiced ease. The creature is clumsy and loud, but it isn’t blind in the dark like you are, and it’s had your scent for years, ever since it cornered you one night and gave you that scar that mars your stomach. How you survived, you’ve no idea, but that night only cemented your ire.

Jumping into a sprint you let loose a mighty cry, met only with a roar filled with mindless, frothing wrath. Heavy footfalls crush the plant life underneath the creature as it tears through the forest and as you run you can see its golden eyes shining between the trees as you turn to ensure you’re followed. A wild grin tears your face in twain because you know you cannot defeat it with strength or speed alone, no. You need your wits as well.

Trees buckle and bend under the sheer force of your prey bounding after you, a distorted howl echoing out through the woods like a strangled cry for help. The unwary would fall pray to such a call, as is by the creature’s design. Dodging and weaving, jumping felled trees and ducking underneath arching branches, the mindlessness of your pursuer worms its way into your mind until you’re not sure whether you’re running the beast into a trap or running to get away.

Just ahead there’s a clearing, you know this because you were here during the day just to set it up. Maybe you’ll succeed; maybe it’ll work and at the end of the night the creature you’ve been chasing for years will be dead and you can finally return home. But you doubt it.

The creature has eyes only for you, and by now your energy has waned. It’s gaining on you, hot jaws of death snapping at the back of your neck. It’s just a few paces ahead, it’s got to be, just a few long strides and you’ll—something trips you up; maybe your foot catches on a tree root or maybe the beast catches up for good, but either way you flounder as you fall, your mind doing flips as your balance utterly dissipates. Your ankle is wrenched by the motion and then you taste dirt.

Your prey becomes your predator and you become the prey as it lunges at you, the weight of years feasting on cattle baring down upon you mercilessly. Golden eyes meet your own and for the first time in a long, long time, you feel fear shoot through your veins like ice. The Wolf is here.

The acrid stench of rotten flesh and gore infiltrate your nostrils, suffocating you as the hulking brown-furred beast pins you into the dirt and huffs its overheated breath into through its flared nostrils. Slowly its long tongue unfurls from its jagged-toothed maw, thick globs of saliva dribbling down its chin and splashing onto your face as it inches slowly nearer, as if it’s savoring the moment it finally gets taste your flesh once more.

There’s no humanity left in those eyes, nothing mortal, nothing alive but the unending hunger, the bloodlust that drives the beast ever onward. Yet, there’s a flash in those eyes, a stutter in the motions, something you could almost mistake for… hesitation. Not even in that moment you’re given can you move; your body is utterly petrified, your arm, hand, fingers, unable to move to even attempt to scrambling for your blade.

It’s so close; if only you could reach it. If only you could… your own anger flows through you like wine at a soiree; generously and without end, those golden eyes matching yours in the sheer ferocity behind them. Yet the creature does not move, it does not lunge to tear your throat out. You’re not dead. It simply… watches you, golden eyes glowing in the dark, framed by a shaggy, blood-matted pelt. The claws that pin you, however, they sting, and already you feel blood seeping into the earth below you. A low growl rumbles through the beast’s chest, your entire body vibrating  with the sound.

It almost sounds… human. Oh, it’s monstrous in it’s own way, certainly, but there’s a familiarity to it, like a distant memory of an early-morning embrace amid the sheets, tired grumbles as you push a man out of bed, golden eyes pleading for just five more minutes. Your body goes slack under the weight of the beast, blood blurring your vision as claws sink into your tender flesh. It hurts, more than just physically, as if your soul is being torn from your very body with the memory. You’re stuck, and you have little choice but to accept it. And think, think, think.

Yet why hasn’t the beast struck you down? Why aren’t you dead? Is it waiting for something? For you to scream and cry and you both know that’s never how you’ve been? No… this feels different. Slowly, your try to reach for your blade; the hilt is right there at your fingertips and if only you could—the creature growls like it knows what you’re doing and pushes you deeper into the blood-soaked earth.

For fear of your bones cracking under the weight of your captor you freeze, body trying its best to relax into the hold as if you aren’t at the volatile mercy of a bloodthirsty beast. You inhale sharply, and try to reach for a name you haven’t allowed to leave your lips in years. “Arke?” The beast freezes, bulky muscle going rigid, its hold tightening momentarily like a twitch. Your heart jumps, whether it’s for joy or fear you don’t know, but it writhes uncomfortably in your chest and you suddenly want to throw up.

He’s still in there.

“Arke it’s me, you remember me, right?” You try to slap on a smile but your face is loathe to obey, your body shivering as if in fear. But it’s not fear, and your breath isn’t laboured and harsh, and your eyes aren’t starting to sting with water years in the making. You’re choking on your words now because the emotions you’d thought were locked up are mangled in your chest; they’re ugly and mutated beyond belief after being suppressed for so long. You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to love the man. And you want to kill him. Because this is not Arke. It can’t be Arke. The creature huffs a hot breath across your face and you swear you see its body pulse. You manage to find your grip on your blade but you don’t have the strength to stab the creature, you don’t have the strength to stab him.

“Please tell me you’re there.” You find yourself whispering, unable to do anything but tremble and fight back the tears. The creature pulses again, its maw twitching open in a strangled whine. It’s like the world blurs in that moment, as if you can’t quite tell the difference between the wolf pinning you down and the man in your thoughts, your dreams, your past, grimacing in front of your face. Golden eyes flare almost amber, the weight that held you down releases you and suddenly you’re free. You can breathe again, but the creature is cowering up against a splintered tree that shines moonlight down against the bloody being before you. Arke, to be certain.

The wolf whines and scratches at its muzzle as if attempting to tear it off entirely, as if trying to release itself from its monstrous prison. There’s no anger left within the beast, just fear and hurt and loneliness. In the light now, despite how strong it makes Arke’s kind, a ragged scar, an ugly mottled burn, is highlighted down the better part of his side. You drop your lantern, rolling it away, and suddenly you’re cast in your own darkness. “Arke,” You take a step forward only to receive a low growl, a warning not to take another step. Yet you do, murmuring his name in that way that always comforted him. Eventually you’re barely a meter before him, curled up and whining by the felled tree. You kneel. “Come on, let’s go home.” He doesn’t budge, golden eyes squinting dubiously. Indeed, you’re not sure he should go home with you; he’s killed a lot of people. And even if he was forgiven how would he readjust to life outside the hunt?

You can’t help but hiss as your open wounds continue to bleed, and suddenly you can’t climb back to your feet. You’re weak, like there are ropes around your limbs that tie you to the ground. As you press your now shaking hands to your body they come away covered in thick blood. Your vision blurs. All you see is darkness.

A bird chirrups loudly above you as you’re slapped awake by the sunlight, an ache in your bones keeping you exactly where you are. Your skin stings and itches from little bug bites, your hair a disheveled mess matted with blood and saliva and—Arke! You can only curse when your attempt to sit up ends in pain; it lances up your sides and throbs in your head, but at least you’re not dead. Yet. A low grumble radiates out a bundle of cloth beside you, black fabric stretched taut by… broad shoulders? Arke pops his head out from under your coat, his mouth covered in dried blood and golden eyes bleary with sleep. The two of you stare at one another for a long time, perhaps too long. He’s… human. His body is covered in mud and blood, and his hair and beard have grown in too much, but he’s human. Yet despite that, all you can say is, “You took my coat.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Arke’s voice sounds hoarse as he looks down and wraps it around himself even tighter. Underneath there’s nothing but scars and wounds still open, hair where there wasn’t when last you truly saw him. He’s gaunt, you realise, his muscles doubtlessly there but… he doesn’t look healthy. “I… um.” His hand wipes some shaggy brown hair from his face but flinches as a sharp claw nicks his cheek. When he growls his teeth are sharp and there’s something animalistic in the way his body rumbles with the sound. You guess you were wrong, he’s no human.

“The bite,” Is all you can think to say, gesturing to the horrible scar that mars his forearm—the fool thought he was helping some stray dog. “I thought it was meant to make you…”

“I don’t know what happened. First I was me and then I was an animal. Even when I transformed back every morning the wolf was still controlling me,” Arke coughs behind a knuckle shoved into his mouth, angry teeth gnawing the joint raw as he struggles to find the answers you both seek. Eventually his hand falls away and so do his eyes, guilt morphing his brows into something horrible and ugly. The burn you now see extends up his neck and along his jaw, the mark you left on him those years ago just as ugly as the mark he left on you. “It was only anger and… and… You should have killed me. You should kill me.”

“Do you want to die?” This isn’t a normal conversation, your mind protests, but it feels as if you’re talking to the monster that you’ve stalked for years; you can’t remember how you talked to Arke, how you acted with Arke, how you loved Arke. Maybe a part of you should feel proud for bringing him back, but you’ve trailed him for so long it feels like you’ve just lost your prey to another hunter.

He’s silent for too long, as if afraid of the answer, but eventually he shakes his head. “No. But I did. When I was the animal.” He swallows, then tentatively reaches across to check your wounds. He’s clumsy with his claws “You should get to a doctor. There’s one in town, I’m sure and—”

“Come with me.” You blurt out, snatching up Arke’s wrist as he tries to pull away. “Come with me.” You repeat. An ache courses through your body but the heartache would be worse. At least physical pain dies, at least you eventually get better. You’re not sure you could stand another loss. There’s a low growl at the back of Arke’s throat, lips curling over sharp teeth as if to snarl out of reflex. “Arke, please, I can’t do this again.”

It looks as if he’s about to protest but his hard stare turns tender as he sighs in defeat. His arm goes slack in your grip, years of being apart coming back to him all at once. “I missed you.” He admits almost silently.

“I missed you too.”