#I love how slimy and sad and vulnerable he is deep down inside

[princelythirsts]

I have 573 f/o’s but like once in a while I have to stop being in denial about them like yeah I 100% selfship with Homelander and idk if I posted about that here before

it’s funny bc that makes my second “what if Superman but evil” f/o

[cognitivefunk]

Misery Loves Company

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Characters: Dazai x MC Rating: T Warnings: Suicide mention, angst, alcohol Word Count: 2,567

Invariably, the dark is drawn to innocence. Such purity comes along, shining brilliantly, almost too bright to gaze upon in the vast sea of ugliness. But just as vibrantly as it shines, it is mournfully temporary in this diseased world. There are those more capable than others of masking the true nature that hides beneath the surface. The nature that bubbles and seethes, corrupting and tainting the heart and the mind with its poison, always inches away from coming straight to the surface.

In essence, it’s like cramming a puzzle piece into place. But when it doesn’t belong to the same set of pieces, it only creates the illusion of assimilation. In truth, to show the ugliness of one’s heart is the quickest method of ousting one’s self. The outcast, the other. It’s best to smile and pretend that all is well in the end, for the comfort of others. Because inside is where the weakness lies. The weakness that cannot bear the burden of being seen for what it is. It’s frail, and it’s vulnerable. But it is also passionately destructive.  

A drink to chase away the demons, sleepless nights of cold sweat and shame. It’s a filthy cycle, he would be the first to admit it, but it is a cycle nevertheless. A cycle he found himself in time and time again. Sip by sip, his thoughts become muddied, a temporary peace to lay the demons at rest. The burn of the liquor on his throat was a reminder of his sin. In the morning, it would be followed with the ardent sorrow that consumed every inch of him. He didn’t deserve the escape, but he was a coward. The guilt was cumulative, and he wondered how much his body and mind could take at times. To die would be a blessing.

To live was a perpetual curse. Moments of fleeting happiness weighed heavy on his heart. At times he still yearned for the chance to feel human. Albeit, maybe it was very fitting to cast his humanity aside when Comte came to him that fateful night. He had never felt human to begin with. A grim smile splayed across his face, as he cradled his head in his hands. To become a monster, is truly poetic. In life he was a leech on the misplaced trust of others. Sweet words, empty promises… He never could follow through. He laughed to himself, a hollow sort of laugh that went through the motion with no semblance of joy to be found. He couldn’t even manage a successful suicide. The last time should have been the last. But then how would he atone? As if his existence could ever be atonement. Thus, for him to live off the life essence of others, made sense to him. He had always done so…

He sighed, unnatural golden eyes lifting toward the window at the sound of pelting rain. He sat there, listless, watching as the water streaked down the windowpane. He envied the water, flowing freely, but it also made the ache in his heart squeeze harder. His limbs felt heavy, and his chest felt tight, but he pushed himself up from his desk to push the window open, to feel the cool droplets kiss his skin. He shuddered at the coldness of the rain and slowly lifted himself out the window. The rain was the only sound outside; it was an otherwise abysmally quiet night. He wandered aimlessly to the garden. The hydrangeas had not yet blossomed yet, but it was fitting. He wasn’t sure if he should be allowed the comfort of their beauty, but he was drawn to them as a sort of lonesome comfort nevertheless.

His body sunk down onto the wet ground, his eyes fixed up at the rain. Each drop that hit his skin reminded him of his existence. He was tangled in the thoughts of wanting to become one with the rain and just wash away, and wanting to face his sins head on and become a better man. He doubted himself capable of the latter. He felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes and he bit them back, closing his eyes and falling back against the paved walkway. He wanted to stay like that for a little while. Just slip into his drunken stupor and float away. That’s it, just float. Don’t think about existing.

With innocence comes ignorance. You had been finishing up with the dishes when you saw movement outside the expansive windows near the dining hall. You almost thought you’d seen a ghost, so you continued on with your work, but something was tugging at your mind to go check. You dried your pruned fingers on the dishtowel before skirting off to your room to grab a sweater and your umbrella. It was raining hard outside, and you didn’t think you would be able to sleep until you determined the source of the “ghost” you had seen.

Your throat felt tight as you swallowed nervously, it was darker than you had realized and you thought about turning back when you saw what looked like a body lying near the garden. For a moment, you wondered if you should go back inside and alert one of the other residents. Your heart quickened in your chest, your thoughts solidifying the ghost theory, but you fought back the fear and inched closer slowly. “Hello?” your voice was dampened by the falling rain, and you hoped the body would move to show you that it wasn’t a corpse. Dazai did not move. He tightened his eyes and furrowed his brow, his solitude intruded on. He was in no condition to wear the mask of the clown, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Maybe if I don’t move, she’ll go away.

There was a permeating uneasiness in the air and you decided to try again, “Are you alright?” As you approached the drenched figure his frame came into sight, almost hidden among the budding bushes. “Dazai!” you exclaimed, nearly dropping your umbrella as you ran over to him, dropping to your knees to check on the man. He took a deep breath in, gathering himself before he smiled and opened his eyes. “Toshiko-san, you shouldn’t play outside in the rain, you’ll catch a cold.”

He managed to keep his voice level, but it was quiet and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. You could smell the gin on his breath and you frowned, aiming the umbrella over his face to shield him from the rain. “I could say the same thing about you, it’s cold out tonight, you should go back inside…” Your worry only made the ache in his chest press deeper. Who was he to you for you to show him such unabashed kindness? Or were you like that with everyone? A frown seeped into his façade and he lifted a hand to cup your cheek. It felt cold and slick, leaving an almost slimy sensation but you didn’t flinch.

“Yoshiko-san…you’re too defenseless,” there was an unmistakable sadness in his voice, it was dark and vast, and you could have sworn you were glimpsing into oblivion in that moment. “Go back inside; I just want to be alone for a while.” The corners of his eyes looked wet, but you couldn’t be certain if it was from the rain. For his sake, you would believe it was the rain. You felt like there was a boulder in your stomach, and it twisted your guts as you shook your head.

“I’ll go in if you get out of the rain. I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re out here,” you tried to reason with him. Your soft hands reached out to pull his Taisho-style kimono closer to his chest and he grabbed your hand, causing you to pause. He didn’t move, and just stayed there like that, staring at your hand and feeling it under his grasp. Your hands were so small, and they were still pruned from washing the dishes. “If you reach for a falling man, he will drag you down with him.”

You wanted to tremble from the cold but you battled against the sensation, not wanting him to think you were shivering because of him. It was from the cold, from the sadness of the situation, but you didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him. You wished you could pull him out of his own head and embrace him in comfort. He was so cold. Even for a vampire, it couldn’t be good for him. “Then I’ll sit here in silence until you’re ready to go in.” You weren’t going to budge. Not when you could see the condition he was in. You wanted to show that you were there to console him.

His eyes were swimming so he shut them again, lifting a heavy hand to cover his face, wanting to just disappear into the ground beneath him. He still hadn’t let go of your hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was seeking your warmth or just wanted to hold onto something so he wouldn’t disappear. I’m a despicable man…

The smell of you was wet with rain, and the heat of your blood was beckoning. He frowned again, groaning against his hand as he let go of yours. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the rain, but he was feeling weak against your tempting light. “You really are too defenseless…” he meant for his words to sound more warning, to have malice to scare you away from him. But they just sounded empty. Empty.

Defeated, he moved his body against his will and sat up, sighing as he faced you. “Will you leave me alone if I go inside?” he asked, searching your face for a sign. What was he searching for? For affirmation? You watched him for a moment, unsure if you should really leave him alone. Your heart was reaching for his. You didn’t realize he had gotten so close until you felt his breath on your lips. His hand was resting on your thigh, as he leaned closer to you.

“If you don’t leave now, I’ll kiss you.” He said it like it was a threat. How could his kiss ever be a threat? Your expression turned confused, and it was that very expression which sealed his decision to claim your lips with his. You could taste the gin on his lips, and he kissed you as though he wanted to engulf you with him. His tongue slipped between your lips and you didn’t fight him when he deepened the kiss, his hands drifting up to cradle your face against his.

He released you, his breaths coming out in puffs. You hadn’t realized you dropped your umbrella until you felt the cold water running down your face, waking you from the trance you were in. Dazai was standing beside you, offering his hand to help you up. He had already grabbed the umbrella, and you shakily took his hand and he helped to pull you to your feet. He was silent as he started to walk back toward the mansion, turning only to make sure you were still under the umbrella and following him. The tension in the air was thick, and you weren’t sure if you should say anything. It was an uncomfortable silence.

When you came to the door, you were the one who ended up opening it, wanting to see him enter the building. He watched you, an unreadable expression crossing his features before masking it over with a placid smile. “After you, Umeko-san” he placed his hand above your head on the door, holding it open as he ushered you inside. He shook the umbrella before closing it, leaving it lean against the entrance of the hall to dry. “I’ll walk you to your room,” you offered and his expression tensed again. He didn’t say no, so you figured it was alright to walk him to his door.

The walk to his room was just as awkward as the walk to the mansion, and you wished you could think of something to say to cut the tension. The both of you stood outside his door and while his hand reached for the handle to go inside, he paused, and glanced back at you. “Goodnight, Kimiko-san”

“Dazai…it’s __” your voice cracked slightly and his expression fell, both in surprise and regret. Normally you let him call you whatever he felt like, but it especially stung after he had stolen that kiss out in the garden. For some reason it made you feel unwanted and a rush of your own painful memories threatened to surface. Dazai played the fool, but he was observant and clever. He could see something flash across your face, and the tears from before threatened to spring back anew.

They say misery loves company. He breathed deeply, “__-san” your name left his lips as a whisper, but it blossomed in your heart and you met his gaze with your own, the familiar desire to be wanted, to be acknowledged written across your face. I am a truly despicable man…

He pressed you against the wall, his nose trailing along your jaw as he breathed in the scent of you. He could taste sorrow on the air, and it reached inside of him, pulling him to you. He wanted to pull back before it was too late. His lips trailed the side of your cheek until they found solace in your lips again. He pressed against the kiss, groaning quietly into your mouth. You felt his tongue against yours once more and it made you shiver. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a silent declaration that his kiss was welcome. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen from his kiss, and his eyes were darkened with lust.

He pulled back; his eyes seemed to glow with fervor as he examined your face closely. “Oyasumi, ___-chan” There was something tender in his voice and he gently removed your arms from his neck. He wanted to walk you back to your room, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he found himself outside your room right now. He pushed the handle down and opened his door, turning to say one last thing before he exited to his room for the night. “I can’t do this to you, not tonight. Not like this,” he murmured quietly. He was still intoxicated, both on the alcohol and on his own melancholy. He didn’t want to taint you like this. He had to show some restraint for his own sake. Selfish as though it may be.

You cleared your throat and fixed your mussed hair, nodding in response. “Of course…goodnight, Dazai-san” you offered a small smile of your own, for his sake. You were glad to see him retreat back to his room instead of lying outside for the night. As you left for your own room, he leaned against the door of his from the inside, slumping against it until he sank to the floor. He sighed and cradled his head into his hands once more. It ached for now, but tomorrow he would pretend nothing had happened. For her sake.

[carnistcervine]

Chasing Away the Monsters, Chasing Away the Angels

Warnings for uh, child abuse(or at least implied abuse), mild horror, and uh implied(??) gore?? Yeah, I’m not 100% on these warnings but I’m tagging them anyway.

Anywhoooo- this morning my brain was pretty much like, how about some Azula angst. Partly based on some of my own thoughts about Azula, like I never really believed that she was upset because she thought her mother thought of her as a monster. I always felt it was a but more complicated that that. So here’s a fic where Azula has a nightmare and then does some introspection.

~~~

Azula marched proudly into the throne room. Her father was waiting for her, ready to congratulate her for a job well done. She had captured her traitorous Uncle, her pathetic failure of a brother, and even slain the Avatar and brought the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes to their knees.

When she stepped into the room, her father was grinning widely at her. However, her gaze slipped to the side. Her heart stuttered, but she kept the surprise from showing on her face when she saw her brother, Zuko sitting in a wheelchair on the side of the room. His head was wrapped in a slightly bloody bandage, messy hair poking through in some spots. Half of his face drooped slightly. He stared, fixedly, into the void. His eyes, the windows to his soul, were wide but empty and dark. /The house was dark, and only a single figure stood at the window, holding a barely flickering candle./

Her eyes returned to her father as she smiled and bowed.

"You have done me well, Azula. You've surpassed my expectations. You have single-handedly handed the Fire Nation's victory over the world to me on a silver platter." He grinned widely. "And as for my lame excuse of a brother, well, he is to be executed for treason. And your brother..." He gestured to the side, "he's been dealt with." Ozai grinned wider. "Fixed. If you will."

Azula gave her brother a cruel grin, but even as she met his eyes directly, his gaze did not meet hers. She smelled the faintest hints of burned, rotting flesh. Poor Zuzu probably needed his bandages changed.

X~X

Azula went into her brother's room. His head swiveled to meet her, but the rest of his body remained utterly still. He was so still, and completely silent. His wide, dark eyes slightly sunken in. One could have easily mistaken him for a corpse propped up in a wheelchair if it weren't for the fact that he was still quite clearly breathing. She brushed past the ominous feeling his eyes gave her, and went right up to him.

"Looks like I win, Zuzu." She said grinning cruelly.

But Zuko didn't respond. Or acknowledge that she had even said or done anything. Azula faintly smelled burned, rotting flesh.

"The healers haven't changed your bandages yet? Zuzu?" She asked tauntingly.

No response.

"Look at me, Zuzu!" Azula barked, annoyed.

Zuko continued to gaze into the void.

Azula huffed and stomped away.

X~X

Azula made her way to the throne room. She felt giddy once she heard the news, the Fire Nation had assumed complete control over the world. The weak, lesser peoples had all been assimilated under her father's mighty banner.

She was surprised to find the Fire Sages there, holding some kind of ceremony.

"Ahh, Azula." Ozai said evenly. He was grinning, but not because he was happy to see her. "Thanks to you, I now hold complete dominion over the whole of this world. And with that, I retire my position as Fire Lord."

Azula's heart fluttered. Could it be? Was he really about to- "Really?" She tried to withhold her eagerness, only letting a little surprise slip through.

"Yes. Now that the Fire Nation has become the whole of the world, I am no longer required for such a position." Azula smiled to herself as she prepared to hear the words she had always waited to hear.

Fire Lord Azula, yes, that sounds quite fitting. Rolls off the tongue quite nicely.

"I shall be ascending to the eternal status of Phoenix Lord."

Wait, what?

Azula blinked.

"What?"

"I will be ascending beyond this mortal flesh into an immortal form that can properly rule this world." Ozai grinned. "Since you have done me so well, I figured I should give you the news in person." He grinned wider, showing sharp fangs. "You are no longer needed, Azula."

Azula numbly fell to her knees. Words tumbled from her mouth as she gazed wide-eyed at the ground. Bowing her head, knowing better than to disrespect Father. "You have beaten me at my own game..."

Ozai lifted her chin and she met his burning gaze. "Don't flatter yourself, Azula. You were never even a player."

X~X

Fuming, Azula marched to her brother's room. He was propped up in his wheelchair as usual. His head swiveled to meet her, but his eyes stubbornly refused to gaze into hers. Rebelliously staring deep into the void instead. Azula marched right up to him, indignant.

"Look at me!" She growled. He refused, dark eyes gazing hollowly. She yanked him up, forcing his face to meet hers. She gazed deep into the abyss of his eyes.

/The house was dark, only a single figure standing in the window with a barely flickering candle. But he wasn't alone, actually. There was something behind him, it's hands clasped on his shoulders. He was mouthing the word 'run.'/

A cold chill ran down Azula's spine, her inner fire diminishing from it's force. She dropped Zuko in his chair, hands shaking. Zuko wasn't staring at nothing.

He had been looking behind her.

Cold hands clasped firmly on Azula's shoulders. The stench of burned, rotting flesh assaulted her nose. Her hands dropped by her sides, accepting of her fate. A cold slimy tongue and teeth from a jaw open much too wide pressed into her head. She glared at her brother, expecting him to smile now that she had finally gotten her punishment. Only, he didn't. His dark, hollowed eyes almost seemed sad. Then again, why would he be happy? He was always the kindW E A K one.

C R U N C H

X~X

Azula shot up with a strangled gasp. Her knuckles were white from her grip on her sheets. Her hand flew to her head, the faint phantom pain still ringing through her skull. Her deft fingers detected no damage, and her hands both came back clean. Nor was there any blood or tissue on her pillow. The only moist she found was that of her nervous sweat, and the water that dared not fall from her eyes. She forcefully reigned in her emotions. It was just a stupid nightmare after all. Only stupid, soft, weak, Zuzu is bothered by nightmares. Still, she found that she could not fall back asleep after that. The feeling was much too fresh in her mind.

Whatever, she could use a nighttime stroll around the palace anyway. So she drifted along the halls, finding herself at Zuko's room. She poked in, feeling a dull disappointment and relief to find no one in there.

If Zuko was there, he'd be so annoyed that she came in. "What do you want Azula?" She slowly made her way to his bed, untouched since the servants last made it. He'd change his tune so easily if she told him she had a nightmare. "Oh... What was it about?" He'd move aside and open up a space for her. "Here, you can sleep with me if you want Lala." Her face hardened as her throat tightened. Azula got up and left the room, cold and empty behind her.

As she continued to drift about, she found herself at her uncle's old room. She opened it and peered inside. It was empty, of course... But she couldn't help but imagine her uncle sitting there. He'd gaze at her with a blank expression, neither welcoming nor dismissive. Even at this hour, she could picture him being awake. Either meditating or praying to the spirits. She and that kooky old man didn't get along. Truth be told, she did kind of hate him. He was lazy, weak, and a failure. But deep down, she knew that he didn't feel the same way. If she opened herself up to him, he'd be just as warm and welcoming as he is with Zuko. He was weak, choosing to nurture vulnerability instead of punishing it. "So, you had a nightmare, Princess Azula?" His expression would soften and he'd invite her in. Physically she lingered at the doorway, but in her mind's eye she wandered into the room and took a seat next to her uncle. He'd offer her tea and his useless proverbs. "Dreams are sometimes visions from spirits. If you had a nightmare, it could be a warning..." She could see him, offering a game of pai sho to ease her nerves. Azula continued on, leaving the dark room behind.

Azula stopped by her mother's old room. Almost floating right by it. Her heart thrummed as she carefully poked inside. She kept her face and breathing even, all the while expecting a dark, half burned, half rotted figure to lunge from the abyss and bite into her skull. But there was nothing. Just a cold and dark room. Rather than the stench of burned, rotting flesh, she found the faint scent of her mother's perfume, still not having fully faded away.

Dad always told her that mother had feared her, that she thought Azula was a monster. And rightfully so! Azula was a monster, a creature to be feared and bowed before. Just like her father. And knowing that her mother didn't love her made it so much easier to detach herself from her. To push her mother away. To love was to be weak. To be loved was to be weak.

Azula wasn't weak.

Sure it kinda hurt, she was her mother after all, but it was much better than the alternative.

To even think that she rejected her mother for nothing... That she had loved her all along.

Whatever.

She found herself at the royal chamber, where her father slept. She didn't dare knock. She knew that Ozai would be annoyed at her intrusion. He expected her to deal with her own problems, and she knew any vulnerability would be harshly punished. He might, might make one exception for her. As she is otherwise absolutely perfect, but it would be a tally against her.

Azula looked down, staring at nothing. She made her way back to her room. Nothing else to do having chased away all those who could or would care for her.

Not that she needed any of them of course.

She told herself that her mother thought she was a monster. That love is for weaklings.

Azula always lied.

[jinsoulsscalp]

selfpara;

short story adapted from fable ‘little red cap’ written for storytelling class. will be further adapted into a graphic novel. i think it’s semi-good so i figured i’d post it. keep in mind that (ir you read it) it’s a first draft, and also that it gets really gory (i didn’t mean for it to, but it did oops). 

the concept i had to start with was one of a role reversal, so i tried to stay somewhat true to the original plot while also adding a role reversal element. a lot of what is written will have to be cut and/or reformatted to fit a graphic novel format.

‘When you grow up wearing rose coloured glasses, all the red flags just look like flags’. It was a sentiment that Red wished she didn’t relate to as much as she did, but alas, it wasn’t like she could go back in time and change anything. It wasn’t as if any wallowing and brooding would bring back her innocence-- or her grandmother, for that matter. Those who knew her told her time and time again that there was nothing she could have done; that she didn’t know any better, and that she wasn’t at fault. The Wolves disguised themselves as men-- they could shift-- and they tricked her. But at the end of the day, Red had told them where to go. She had taken them for their word. She had shown kindness and vulnerability and it came to bite her in the ass.

And it wouldn’t ever again.

With a final grimace at the horizon, the woman sighed, heaving herself to her feet and slinging her bag over her back before making her way out of the forest and into the small, decrepit shack by the river; the one no one dared go inside. It looked condemned, like it would crumble on your head the moment you stepped foot through the door, but Red knew firsthand that looks could be deceiving. And, besides-- the outside looked a lot worse than the inside. She’d spent years reinforcing the walls and the roof to make sure it was safe enough. The best way to keep trespassers away was to make sure it kept looking disgusting.

The door creaked as she inched it open, stepping inside to find a large, hulking silhouette across the room. The Huntsman. “You’re late,” he growled, deep and guttural.

“Yeah, well. It’s not like you had anything better to do than to wait for me,” Red retorted, sarcasm dripping off her tone. “I’m here now. Let’s go hunting.”

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

“You’re late!” a voice cried, worried and frantic, amidst the sounds of pots and pans hitting each other. Red’s eyes flew open as she scrambled out of bed, haphazardly making sure she looked presentable in the grimy little mirror she kept by her window before flying down the stairs. Red was typically quite punctual, but she’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to fall asleep due to pure excitement. Maybe they wouldn’t be seeing each other under the best of circumstances, but Red loved any opportunity she had to see her grandmother.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll be sure to walk quickly to make up for it!” the girl replied, kissing her mother on her cheek as she began to lace up her shoes.

The haggard middle-aged woman’s brow furrowed sternly. “Now, don’t say that! If you jostle the basket too much, the bottle of wine will shatter!” she exclaimed. “You need to be careful, love; I know you mean well, but this is important.”

Red straightened her posture dutifully, composing herself with a nod. That was right-- her grandmother wasn’t young and spry anymore. She was getting old and had fallen ill. Red wasn’t going to visit just for a social call, either, but instead bringing wine and fresh baking and other supplies-- her grandmother didn’t have the energy to do as much cooking in the daytime, so this would have to tide her over until Red finished school for the year and could go and stay with her to take care of her. “I promise, you don’t have to worry,” she soothed her mother, standing up to take the basket. “I’ll get this to grandmother, and I’ll be back before sundown. You can count on me.”

--- PRESENT DAY ---

“You’re throwing off the whole schedule,” the Huntsman complained as the pair prepared their weapons. His face was contorted into a permanent scowl, years of hardships and discomfort making grumpy his default. “We can only hunt the Wolves at night, Red. Someone catches us killing a seemingly defenseless man in broad daylight, and we’ll hang for it. You know damn well that they have most of the town’s elite under their thumb.”

“The sun set less than an hour ago. And I’m efficient.” A bland reply, with no emotion behind it, no punch to her words. The silver blades in her palms felt like extensions of her own limbs at this point. She’d taken down plenty of the Wolves in the years since she’d lost her family to them, and she had no doubt she’d take down more tonight. She had a score to settle, and she wasn’t going to rest until all of them were dead.

When the pair was primed and ready, with their vital organs protected and extra weapons strapped to their limbs, Red and the Huntsman disappeared into the woods, exchanging whispered ‘good luck’s before they split up for the night. If they needed help from their companion, they could call and the other would come running, but they typically did their best work alone. Trauma was something one had to work through on their own, and both Red and her mentor had a great deal of weight on their shoulders. They had both lost so much to the Wolves, and dealing with their pain was a solitary activity.

Sometimes Red wondered what would happen when it was all over and done with. When the Wolves were dead, would they keep in touch? Or was their connection purely for convenience-- did they just share the same goals and that was all that kept them together? Red couldn’t say she had anyone else in her corner besides the man who had found her on the brink of death when she was fourteen, bloodied and haunted by the sights she had just seen. After watching the Wolves tear apart not only her grandmother, but her mother too, they had come for her. She wouldn’t even be alive if the Huntsman hadn’t heard her cries and come to her rescue. He had taken care of her until she was well enough to take care of herself; an orphaned teenager, living alone in the home she once shared with her mom, going through the motions to make it through another day. When she was older, and stronger, he’d offered her vengeance. He’d offered her training and guidance. And when she was old enough, he’d offered her a place at his side, hunting the Wolves that hid in the shadows, tearing into any sad sack who was stupid enough to travel alone.

Really, he had no use for her beyond helping him kill the Wolves. And she did best on her own anyway. If you didn’t care for anyone, you didn’t have anyone to lose, right?

Red let a little sigh go, taking her usual perch in a tree by the path. The Wolves frequented these parts-- visitors from other towns who didn’t know any better would pass through in the night, and they’d be ambushed by the men would could shift into beasts. Red just had to wait until someone came along.

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

She was late. Red had always been absent-minded and easily distracted, and after a conversation with a neighbor that had gone on a little too long, she was running behind. If she was going to be home by that evening, she was going to have to take a short cut.

So that was what she had done, cutting through the forest instead of taking the well-travelled road that curved around it. There had always been rumors about people disappearing on this trail, but Red didn’t buy it. They were just tales told to children to keep them from running off into the woods. And if she went this way, she’d get to see her grandmother quicker.

She’d walked for hours without seeing another soul, protected from the sun by the large trees spreading their limbs across the path. She wished she’d brought some way of keeping track of the time with her-- by her approximation, based on the sun, it was nearly noon, but she had no way of telling for sure. Red was getting tired and hungry, though, so she sat on a log, opening her basket to indulge in the snacks her mom packed for her.

It was then that she saw him. Scrambling out of the trees and breathing heavy, face covered in gashes and sweat. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost, and his clothes were caked in mud. Red gasped as her eyes locked with his, hand coming to her mouth.

“Are…...Are you okay? What happened?” she asked, putting her basket aside so she could jump up and go to him.

“What is a nice girl like you doing out here all alone?” he wheezed out with a sly smile, scrawny, slimy hands coming to grip her forearm (for support, she assumed).

Red’s stomach sank. Her instincts were telling her to run. Telling her something was very wrong. But she associated that with the state of the man in front of her; surely she was just scared of what had done this to him. No matter how he looked, he was clearly in need, and what right did she have to ignore him just because he looked a little ragged? “I’m going to see my grandmother-- bring her some baking from my mother…..but, I-- you didn’t answer my question! What happened? Do you need help?”

She felt the man’s eyes study her face, dark pupils baring into her soul. “I need medical attention, my dear. I don’t imagine you have bandages in that little basket of yours.”

“No….No, I don’t but…..my grandmother surely has bandages in her home,” Red told him soothingly. He was shaking. Gently pulling her arms away from him, she went to get the rest of her sandwich, offering it to him. “Here-- please take this. I can’t go with you-- I have to be careful carrying the wine in my basket, but her cabin isn’t too far from here. The first house you come across. It’s blue, with a flower garden and a scarecrow out front. Hurry there, and just knock on her door and tell her that Red sent you. She’ll get you all the help you need.”

--- PRESENT DAY ---

It didn’t take much waiting for the first Wolf to show up. A homeless beggar came wandering across the path within minutes of Red taking her watch, and before she knew it, a scrawny, sick looking man began stalking behind him. He was without a doubt one of the Wolves-- torn clothes, covered in dirt, sickly skin. And they eyes. The beady, predatory eyes. No matter how they disguised themselves, you could tell by their eyes that they weren’t human.

Red jumped down from her perch, landing nimbly behind the beggar and the disguised wolf, dagger in her hand shimmering in the moonlight. “Run,” she advised the poor homeless man before lunging at his would-be attacker and pinning him to the ground. Before she could get him into a proper hold, he shifted, turning into a huge drooling carnivore, hungry for her blood, throwing her off of him.

Red rolled back onto her feet, eyes narrowing. With a skilled hand, she swiped at it, just nicking the creature, but that was enough. It’s reaction to the silver made it howl in pain, and she took that opportunity to jump forward, plunging her knife into the beast’s chest.

It was dead. She’d saved one more person from falling prey, but did it even matter anymore? It felt like she was fighting a hydra-- she took one wolf down, and two more sprung up in its place. She could kill all the wolves she wanted, but it wouldn’t bring her family back. It wouldn’t make her feel any more whole.

But at least this gave her purpose. Instead of drifting along, lost and alone, she was channelling her hurt and anger into something. And for now, that had to be enough.

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

She’d been walking right into a trap. She was the world’s stupidest mouse, sauntering right in without a care in the world, and now she was going to pay.

When she’d finally gotten to her grandmother’s house, it had felt off. The front door was ajar. The curtains were drawn. And she could see blood on the doorstep.

She’d rationalized it all, though. Clearly the man she’d met on the path had arrived. He’d probably left the door open in his haste to get treatment, and the blood was likely his! And her grandmother was ill; perhaps the curtains had been drawn because the sunlight was bothersome. Red could explain everything away in her head. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was ever wrong, so why would that change now?

The sight she found once she was inside, however, wasn’t something she even knew how to process. The blood she’d seen on the doorstep had just been the beginning-- the whole cabin was covered in blood, cabinets and walls splattered in dark crimson like it was some sort of twisted Jackson Pollock painting for some sick fuck who thought himself edgy. The bed in the corner of the one-room home was empty, and there was a body on the ground. Face-down and unrecognizable; clearly it was the source of the blood. With a sinking feeling, Red had recognized the nightgown the corpse was wearing-- long, blue, and floral. It was her grandmother.

And sitting at the kitchen table, lounging with his feet up, was the man she’d met on the path.

She didn’t have time to scream or cry before he jumped at her, clapping a hand over her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her torso and keeping her from flailing her arms. A moment later, she’d been thrown across the room, blacking out when her head hit a wall.

When Red woke up, she was bound and gagged, sitting at her grandmother’s table. The man was still there, still watching her. He told her he was a wolf, and that the only reason she was still alive was because she was bait. “A sweet young girl like you?” he’d crooned. “Someone will come looking for you before long. I’ll have myself a feast when they come.”

He’d sat with her and waited as tears ran down her cheeks, sobs muffled by the gag. Evening turned into night, and while Red grew more and more tired, she couldn’t sleep. How could anyone sleep in a situation like the one she was in? She felt like if she fell asleep, she would never wake up again-- and considering her circumstances, that wasn’t necessarily an irrational feeling.

In the early hours of the morning, she heard the calls. Her mother’s worried voice, getting closer and closer. The man-- the Wolf-- grinned at Red, an evil grin, putting his finger against his lips mockingly. She couldn’t make any noise if she wanted to, and he knew that. This was just a game to him. The apex predator toying with his food. Having a little fun before his hunger was sated.

Red couldn’t look away. She couldn’t close her eyes. She was transfixed as the man shifted into his beastly form, digging his large, jagged teeth into her mother’s body as soon as she came into the cabin. Red thrashed around frantically. Desperately. She tried to scream or get free, ropes chafing against her wrists. She finally managed to get the gag loose, yelling and crying for help-- there were no houses nearby, but surely if she was loud enough someone would hear? The wolf turned his sights on her, the same beady eyes the man used to look her over on the path before, now being used by a wolf, appreciating its dessert.

The pain was unbearable. She’d gotten scrapes while playing outside before, and she’d broken an arm as a child when she’d fallen out of a tree, but this was so much different. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and she could feel every spot where incisors punctured her skin.

And then, as quick as it had begun, it was over. The wolf slumped forward on top of her, making it all but impossible for her to breathe, but it had stopped. Opening her teary eyes, Red saw a man pulling the beast off of her. A real man this time-- eyes kind instead of dark and predatory. Before she blacked out again, she heard him whispering to her. Assuring her that she would be okay now. That he was there, and that the wolf was dead. That he would find her help. That was all she could remember before slipping unconscious once more.

--- PRESENT DAY ---

It was a successful night. By the time the sun began to rise, Red had killed four wolves, leaving their carcasses to rot by the side of the path. Anyone who knew what the Wolves were capable of would be grateful, even if the sight of the corpse was likely unbearable. Taking her time in the crisp early-morning air, Red walked back to the riverside shack. At first she assumed she was the first to get back (usually the Huntsman was in the common area waiting for her), but as she began to unstrap weapons from her thighs, she heard him. She heard low, muted sobs from the other room. No one else knew about this place. It could only be him.

Cautiously walking over to the back room, Red peeked her head in to see him, sitting on the ground, picture in his hand. It looked like a painting-- one of the ones families got commissioned, so that they’d have a portrait of their family. As Red came closer, she saw the people in the portrait; the man was obviously him (she could tell by the stature), but there was also a beautiful woman. And a little girl, no more than twelve.

Red had lost everything to the Wolves. And now she’d made the connection-- she wasn’t the only one.

Gently taking the portrait from the Huntsman’s hands, Red swallowed hard, giving her mentor a hug and rubbing his back comfortingly. For the first time in years, she let herself cry, and she whispered soothingly to him. “I’ve got you,” she murmured. “I’m here. It will all be okay.”

Maybe she didn’t believe everything she was saying. But, though she refused to admit it, this was her father figure. This was the man that had given her a future. And someday, she’d help him take his back.