Art by Standing Stones
Please don't direct me to your thread, I tried my best to make this one. (╯ ⁎⁍̴̛͂▿⁍̴̛͂⁎)╯
1/ Taken
2/ Open
➶ About me - My Rules - Turn ons - Turn offs - Pairing/Plots - Samples - Faceclaims ➴
You can call me Stone, but I'm as soft as butter, I promise.
Let's not waste time, first things first, a little about me! What kind of partner am I?
╰❥ I simply adore OOC planning and gossiping. The more we get to know each other, talk about our characters, flesh them out and get excited over the role-play, the more dedicated I will be when it begins and as it goes on. I'm the kind of person to make Pinterest boards, playlists that I think suit the theme. I do hope that you like that too.
However, I do require somebody who does more than the minimum of chatting OOC. Otherwise, it's hard for me to feel invested.
╰❥ I am literate and write long detailed posts. I'm trying to improve my writing skills, so as to avoid it being flowery, or saturated with big over the top words as it used to be.
I am aim to give you quality. So, be patient with me as I do write multiple paragraphs. If you aren't comfortable with that, then I don't think this will work.
╰❥ I can double- in fact, I like to double and bring more side characters into the fray. It makes the world feel more real, more vibrant, even if they aren't always front row. I, however, do not intend for this to be used as me playing a male love interest to you. While it would be lovely if you doubled as well, you don't have to take on anything more than you are comfortable with. One of you is delicious enough- Yes, please swoon here.
╰❥ I play as female characters to male counterparts. Allow me to be blunt; they are hot, maybe tall or maybe shorter but always mommies. The tall ones will deliciously bully cute shorter guys to see what desperate reaction they get, the short ones will collar their bigger partner, have them barking like a dog on all four and leave them in a puddle for shits and giggles. They are not submissive. Switches at best. You can tie them up, tease them and get them panting- but once they get free, they snap back twice as hard.
╰❥ I will never write for your characters. Ever. I will not god-mode, overwrite what you wrote, and certainly NOT lead the story for the both of us. I want us to be equal partners and work together to have fun and create something worthwhile. Please do NOT give me a post where you character does nothing but stare at a wall or doesn't interact with mine beyond a "hello". I don't beg.
That being said, if you want our characters to do something in particular in your post- which would involve you taking some control of mine- by all means, let me know and I'll be fine with it.
╰❥ I adore dark twisted romances and sensual tension.
That distorted, obsessed, masquerade of 'love' held by male stalkers/psychos/gas-lighters that drive them to do unspeakable things to get what or who they want. How they so masterfully use side characters as pawns, manipulate their feelings and then throw them under the bus when they are no longer of use in getting close to their quarry. And yet they appear like model citizens- Even if the other Female Lead knows the truth, which makes the situation all the more madness inducing.
The sexual tension aspect is to say not outright crassness but rather an escalation, a suggestion of what they desire. From getting just a little too close to breathe the object of their affection in as they pass, to making deep unbroken eye contact as they lick ice cream from their fingers, to openly giving a peep show (wether it's wanted or not).
"I want you and I want you to know that I want you."
╰❥ I know this isn't everybody's cup of tea, but I like pretty men. Femboys, crossdressers, pretty as a picture and as whoreish as they come. (Hah cu- cough) I'm really not into guys whose facial features are rugger masculine. Sure they look entertaining- but they don't rile me up. Pretty guys make me fall ... like a stone- Excuse me. Spare me the look!
Break Brats, Not Rules <3
Important- MUST READ:
Unfortunately, it's come to my attention that a lot of people are trying to force me into a purely dominant role where my character would be the only one to ever take action, initiate sex or advance the story. It's not fair and it's not fun. So, to avoid this, I need you to please read this. I don't want to be a pain, but I need to ensure you understand so we don't waste our time.
So... for your guy...
Is he horny? (points furiously to the 'yes' button)
Don't make him sit there all expresso depresso until my lady decides to fuck him. Don't make him be the shrinking violet who always needs to be pulled into the action!
If she's ignoring him, have him slide over on his hands and knees and kiss up her legs, lick her inner thighs, his hands running up her sides to grab her hands and push them into his hair.
He is supposed to want her too- So he needs to pull his fingers out of his ass (literally and metaphorically) and go get her. Run forest run!
Does she have him tied up and is edging him like the Bitch my ladies are? Have him lose his mind, not just sit there twitching a little. Tell me everything going on in that cute little head of theirs! Have him strain against the restraints, try to get out of them like a feral animal, try to move himself to get release he is being denied!
Is she not paying attention to him, while he is tied up, making him watch her take 'care' of herself? Make. Him. Beg. Or, better yet, break free and go at her like a crazed dog.
Is she trying to leave him for somebody less crazy? Chain that bitch up and teach her she can't live without him, whether she knows it yet or not.
When in doubt, ask yourself what a slutty yandere bunny boy in heat would do?
This mindset also applies to normal day to day things. Do not make him a doormat who runs and cries at arguments or lets themselves be pushed around!
Any attempt to make me deal with a character who will just lay there and expect to be assaulted, bullied and meaninglessly degraded will end with me ending the role-play.
So... for your guy...
Is he horny? (points furiously to the 'yes' button)
Don't make him sit there all expresso depresso until my lady decides to fuck him. Don't make him be the shrinking violet who always needs to be pulled into the action!
If she's ignoring him, have him slide over on his hands and knees and kiss up her legs, lick her inner thighs, his hands running up her sides to grab her hands and push them into his hair.
He is supposed to want her too- So he needs to pull his fingers out of his ass (literally and metaphorically) and go get her. Run forest run!
Does she have him tied up and is edging him like the Bitch my ladies are? Have him lose his mind, not just sit there twitching a little. Tell me everything going on in that cute little head of theirs! Have him strain against the restraints, try to get out of them like a feral animal, try to move himself to get release he is being denied!
Is she not paying attention to him, while he is tied up, making him watch her take 'care' of herself? Make. Him. Beg. Or, better yet, break free and go at her like a crazed dog.
Is she trying to leave him for somebody less crazy? Chain that bitch up and teach her she can't live without him, whether she knows it yet or not.
When in doubt, ask yourself what a slutty yandere bunny boy in heat would do?
This mindset also applies to normal day to day things. Do not make him a doormat who runs and cries at arguments or lets themselves be pushed around!
Any attempt to make me deal with a character who will just lay there and expect to be assaulted, bullied and meaninglessly degraded will end with me ending the role-play.
╰❥ If you do not say hello nor introduce yourself when first messaging me, don't bother. A RP with anyone is a gift, not a right.
I hate having to be harsh right off the bat, but this has happened far too many times.
╰❥ Please send me a sample of your previous writing/posts. I need this to see if our writing has chemistry.
╰❥Naturally all the site rules are to be followed.
╰❥ Oh I do love a bit of good smut ... But I need story to be the focus and the smut to be the bonus. (Ooh that rhymed)
I guess a ratio of 30/70 (smut/plot)? I'll get bored otherwise.
╰❥ Please don't try to convince me to play men for your women. I shan't.
╰❥ My characters are not doormats. Don't expect to get away with treating them like shit. Or, if you feel brave, push your luck Darling.
╰❥ Quality matters more than quantity, but please don't reply to my novella with two paragraphs. It'll break my little concrete heart. You wouldn't do that, would you?
╰❥ I use real life or 3D face claims. As an artist myself, I respect your desire to draw your characters, love to see it might I add, but please don't use them with me.
╰❥ I reply usually within a week. If I'll be late I'll tell you, so please do the same for me. If I don't hear back from you through a reply nor in OOC chats for over two weeks, I will assume our Rp is over.
╰❥ Character MUST be over 21.
╰❥ Do not confuse our characters romance for ours. This isn't a dating site. Don't be a creep, leave that to your characters.
╰❥ Characters who swear up and down every single sentence, never seem affected by any hurdle nor wound or simply god-mode are a massive No No for me.
Topping from Bottom!
Oh I'm simply starving for this.
So, this is important! I like pretty submissive boys with uwu 'fuck me' eyes and trying to convince their "Mommy" to do terrible things to and with you. Go on, pout/whine like a child when denied- be a brat all you want! BUT do NOT be a doormat. Topping from the bottom is the Dom woman down and going ham on her from on top or (as the saying goes) from the Bottom. Your character needs to want to not just be receiving but giving pleasure too, give her a taste of her own medicine and tie her up for a change. Just because she's tied up doesn't mean a boy can't ride her strap on.
Just be ready for a punishment after.
So what is the squishiest stone into, I hear you ask? Two words! SUBMISSIVE YANDERES.
Biting, marking, hickeys, Cunningulus
Blindfolds, handcuffs, restraints, Dub-Con
Rough sex and/or making out (Throat fucking, tongue fucking, multiple forced orgasms, sexual exhaustion, hair pulling, spanking.)
Body Worship
Attempted Breeding by the ML( Creampies and such, but no actual pregnancy though)
Somnophilia
Intelligent manipulators / Male Yanderes
FL Teasing the Male lead 'til he's in tears
Clothes theft / Crossdressing
Male leads with hand/feet fetishes or so on.
Pretty androgynous Male leads
Desperate man whores
Making the sub eat his own seed
Femboys (with a mommy kink)
Oh I'm simply starving for this.
So, this is important! I like pretty submissive boys with uwu 'fuck me' eyes and trying to convince their "Mommy" to do terrible things to and with you. Go on, pout/whine like a child when denied- be a brat all you want! BUT do NOT be a doormat. Topping from the bottom is the Dom woman down and going ham on her from on top or (as the saying goes) from the Bottom. Your character needs to want to not just be receiving but giving pleasure too, give her a taste of her own medicine and tie her up for a change. Just because she's tied up doesn't mean a boy can't ride her strap on.
Just be ready for a punishment after.
So what is the squishiest stone into, I hear you ask? Two words! SUBMISSIVE YANDERES.
Now I get it- Really I do. The first time I heard that, my right eye began to twitch in confusion too. Get that checked out by the way. The idea is actually pretty simple: I think yanderes are damn adorable-
I'm talking about submissive, pathetic guys who over the course of the role-play become more unhinged, desperate and possessive the more obsessed they are with you.
Think of the cute, shy nerd stalking you from afar, taking pictures when the FL isn't looking. Heck, they probably have an entire wall full of them. The kind of doormat, who at the beginning was a pushover who has a hard time saying no to anybody and isn't used to standing up for themselves, or having anybody else do so either.
And then that one person comes out of rat bag nowhere and BAMM. A little bit of kindness- the kind the FL wouldn't even think twice about. But it means everything to this worm, who clings delusionally onto that moment, replaying it in his mind as if it meant something more than it did. They suddenly begin to offer to help with everything, going weak in the knees when you so much as look at them too long, running to whatever corner they can to jerk one off because god damn you paid attention to them. God forbid you give this guy praise... or degrade him.
The FL is strong, confident and twice as hot as the shower you cry in while listening to sad music. And she knows it. But despite multiple offers, she's not interested in macho men- Then, one day when our adorably useless boy fucks up and blows his cover. Maybe trying to get a picture, perhaps trying to steal a pair of her underwear, but she notices him. Her disgusted eyes fall on him, he's so pathetic. But god… he's so cute. So desperate. She wants to mess him up, to punish him for his behaviour, to see his crying face as he begs, swearing he'll be her good boy, that he won't interfere with her professional or love-life anymore, knowing full well that he will. But he can't help it, and can she really blame him? She is after all Mommy material.
I'm talking about submissive, pathetic guys who over the course of the role-play become more unhinged, desperate and possessive the more obsessed they are with you.
Think of the cute, shy nerd stalking you from afar, taking pictures when the FL isn't looking. Heck, they probably have an entire wall full of them. The kind of doormat, who at the beginning was a pushover who has a hard time saying no to anybody and isn't used to standing up for themselves, or having anybody else do so either.
And then that one person comes out of rat bag nowhere and BAMM. A little bit of kindness- the kind the FL wouldn't even think twice about. But it means everything to this worm, who clings delusionally onto that moment, replaying it in his mind as if it meant something more than it did. They suddenly begin to offer to help with everything, going weak in the knees when you so much as look at them too long, running to whatever corner they can to jerk one off because god damn you paid attention to them. God forbid you give this guy praise... or degrade him.
The FL is strong, confident and twice as hot as the shower you cry in while listening to sad music. And she knows it. But despite multiple offers, she's not interested in macho men- Then, one day when our adorably useless boy fucks up and blows his cover. Maybe trying to get a picture, perhaps trying to steal a pair of her underwear, but she notices him. Her disgusted eyes fall on him, he's so pathetic. But god… he's so cute. So desperate. She wants to mess him up, to punish him for his behaviour, to see his crying face as he begs, swearing he'll be her good boy, that he won't interfere with her professional or love-life anymore, knowing full well that he will. But he can't help it, and can she really blame him? She is after all Mommy material.
Biting, marking, hickeys, Cunningulus
Blindfolds, handcuffs, restraints, Dub-Con
Rough sex and/or making out (Throat fucking, tongue fucking, multiple forced orgasms, sexual exhaustion, hair pulling, spanking.)
Body Worship
Attempted Breeding by the ML( Creampies and such, but no actual pregnancy though)
Somnophilia
Intelligent manipulators / Male Yanderes
FL Teasing the Male lead 'til he's in tears
Clothes theft / Crossdressing
Male leads with hand/feet fetishes or so on.
Pretty androgynous Male leads
Desperate man whores
Making the sub eat his own seed
Femboys (with a mommy kink)
Anal (Except for the Female lead pegging the Male Lead)
Pregnancy (Attempted breeding is fine.)
Anything in the toilet, stays there.
Vore
Age-play
Fisting
Extreme pain play
Anything to do with Snuff or Incest
Men who are dead fish in the bedroom- NO.
Overly muscular (bodybuilder type bodies)
Anything to do with anybody under the age of 20 is strictly off-limits. I don't want to hear about it in our role-plays.
Pregnancy (Attempted breeding is fine.)
Anything in the toilet, stays there.
Vore
Age-play
Fisting
Extreme pain play
Anything to do with Snuff or Incest
Men who are dead fish in the bedroom- NO.
Overly muscular (bodybuilder type bodies)
Anything to do with anybody under the age of 20 is strictly off-limits. I don't want to hear about it in our role-plays.
I would play the side underlined. If none of these take your fancy, feel free to suggest something, as long as it keeps with the tone of things i've written I like! No high fantasy though please! More Plots on the way!
He was always a doormat.
Yet, she hadn't always stepped on him. In fact, once upon a time, she'd tried to help him. They were childhood friends, both aiming for the same field of work. She'd tried to elevate him with her when she climbed the social circles upon their graduation years ago. She thought she was helping them both by befriending those with influence.
Instead, he had publicly turned away from her and her offer, loudly proclaiming that he'd never join a bunch of self-loathing narcissists and if she would, then she wasn't who he thought she was. He inadvertently called upon her ire rather than her empathy. From that day on, she made his life a hell. Whether right or wrong, it mattered little, so long as she saw that sobbing hopeless face. Yet he would always come crawling back like a dog. It wasn't like he could avoid her. They were neighbours.
Little did she know that the day would come when she'd go too far. When partaking in a sadistic bet, claiming to be sorry for all she'd made him endure, she pulled him into a closet and made out with him. Only for it to be revealed as nothing more than a sick joke. He broke. And, now, he was hellbent on breaking her.
So, a typical scenario! But here's the thing:
We could either keep this a normal bully x victim pairing, where the vindictive victim turns around, changes himself to become her tormentor instead.
OR
We could turn this into a Bully x Twin. The stronger of the twins comes back home after being away for years. Upon coming home he finds out what's happened and, incensed, decides to replace his brother. Being much stronger, in both mind and body, he has got a palate for revenge.
Yet, she hadn't always stepped on him. In fact, once upon a time, she'd tried to help him. They were childhood friends, both aiming for the same field of work. She'd tried to elevate him with her when she climbed the social circles upon their graduation years ago. She thought she was helping them both by befriending those with influence.
Instead, he had publicly turned away from her and her offer, loudly proclaiming that he'd never join a bunch of self-loathing narcissists and if she would, then she wasn't who he thought she was. He inadvertently called upon her ire rather than her empathy. From that day on, she made his life a hell. Whether right or wrong, it mattered little, so long as she saw that sobbing hopeless face. Yet he would always come crawling back like a dog. It wasn't like he could avoid her. They were neighbours.
Little did she know that the day would come when she'd go too far. When partaking in a sadistic bet, claiming to be sorry for all she'd made him endure, she pulled him into a closet and made out with him. Only for it to be revealed as nothing more than a sick joke. He broke. And, now, he was hellbent on breaking her.
So, a typical scenario! But here's the thing:
We could either keep this a normal bully x victim pairing, where the vindictive victim turns around, changes himself to become her tormentor instead.
OR
We could turn this into a Bully x Twin. The stronger of the twins comes back home after being away for years. Upon coming home he finds out what's happened and, incensed, decides to replace his brother. Being much stronger, in both mind and body, he has got a palate for revenge.
Whichever suits you best!
She needs a husband.
Not a real one mind you, an actor to keep her family off of her ass. See, they keep asking her at every single get together if she's found somebody, but she doesn't have the time. Nor does she particularly want to- her last relationship was a fucking nightmare. Her Bf left her, shamed her, after he discovered her enjoyment in role-play, being restrained and domming her partner.
But the longer she goes without somebody, the more sons they try to push onto her. Exhausted by her lack of motivation, her father threatens to cut her off financially and out of his will. As a last ditch resort she finds a gigolo on the street, the ML. The ML has never had anybody offer to pay him this much... For nothing. FL doesn't want sex from him, despite her bringing other men around. The only thing she needs him to do is live in her house for a few months, to give the impression they are legit, and to drop everything at a moments notice to come to dinner parties and pretend to be her lover. But what happens when the Gigolo goes wandering where he was told not to, discovers her playroom and decides maybe playing the part isn't good enough anymore?
Not a real one mind you, an actor to keep her family off of her ass. See, they keep asking her at every single get together if she's found somebody, but she doesn't have the time. Nor does she particularly want to- her last relationship was a fucking nightmare. Her Bf left her, shamed her, after he discovered her enjoyment in role-play, being restrained and domming her partner.
But the longer she goes without somebody, the more sons they try to push onto her. Exhausted by her lack of motivation, her father threatens to cut her off financially and out of his will. As a last ditch resort she finds a gigolo on the street, the ML. The ML has never had anybody offer to pay him this much... For nothing. FL doesn't want sex from him, despite her bringing other men around. The only thing she needs him to do is live in her house for a few months, to give the impression they are legit, and to drop everything at a moments notice to come to dinner parties and pretend to be her lover. But what happens when the Gigolo goes wandering where he was told not to, discovers her playroom and decides maybe playing the part isn't good enough anymore?
FL has just started work at a BDSM club. She has a split job; On one hand doing makeup for performers and keeping them safe. She's casual about it, never mixes business with pleasure and just sees this as any other job- except this one pays well. However, one of the most popular subs there, the ML, has been making her work difficult so far. He acts like a little brat and won't listen to anything she says. He keeps claiming the last bouncer was better and refuses to take precautions she suggests. She can't stand him.
But one night, he gets into trouble in the private dance room when a client won't take no for an answer. FL practically breaks down the door and saves the little 'princess' who, after the ordeal, seems intent on making her make him her bitch. FL is completely against this, rejecting his initial advances- But this guy doesn't it well. He starts putting on provocative shows for her, railing himself with toys, making her be hands on with him when applying makeup or escorting him, scaring off her others, copping feels, licking down her fingers whenever she does his makeup... He does everything he can to insert himself into her life and so the chaos ensues.
But one night, he gets into trouble in the private dance room when a client won't take no for an answer. FL practically breaks down the door and saves the little 'princess' who, after the ordeal, seems intent on making her make him her bitch. FL is completely against this, rejecting his initial advances- But this guy doesn't it well. He starts putting on provocative shows for her, railing himself with toys, making her be hands on with him when applying makeup or escorting him, scaring off her others, copping feels, licking down her fingers whenever she does his makeup... He does everything he can to insert himself into her life and so the chaos ensues.
No Longer looking for this (Already got 2 going!) <3
He used to scare the shit outta her.
Twice her size, tall enough to dwarf her and with a glare that puts those highschool 'mean girls' to shame, it felt like she needed protection from him. Her new charge and next door neighbour, a Mafioso has never tried to exchange pleasantries with her. In fact, he seems intent on having nothing to do with her ever since the night where she and her one night stand made a bit too much noise against their adjoining apartment wall. He'd thumped back so hard, the wall shook and her partner ran for the hills. What was his deal? The Big Boss Man in charge, his father, said she could. She'd never let him know how he gets to her, as a matter of pride, so they just keep glaring and ignoring each other for weeks.
That is until she fucks up. One evening, when off duty, she gets a knock on her door, gets given a package and opens it in the doorway out of curiosity. She hadn't ordered anything?
Inside is an arsenal of toys; Fem boy maid outfits, cat ears, buttplugs, collars, chains and more…
Her charges door swings open abruptly, and out he comes, just in time to see her see that it was actually meant… for him.
"I- I saw nothing I swear."
He's not having it as he drags both her and the package in after him.
Twice her size, tall enough to dwarf her and with a glare that puts those highschool 'mean girls' to shame, it felt like she needed protection from him. Her new charge and next door neighbour, a Mafioso has never tried to exchange pleasantries with her. In fact, he seems intent on having nothing to do with her ever since the night where she and her one night stand made a bit too much noise against their adjoining apartment wall. He'd thumped back so hard, the wall shook and her partner ran for the hills. What was his deal? The Big Boss Man in charge, his father, said she could. She'd never let him know how he gets to her, as a matter of pride, so they just keep glaring and ignoring each other for weeks.
That is until she fucks up. One evening, when off duty, she gets a knock on her door, gets given a package and opens it in the doorway out of curiosity. She hadn't ordered anything?
Inside is an arsenal of toys; Fem boy maid outfits, cat ears, buttplugs, collars, chains and more…
Her charges door swings open abruptly, and out he comes, just in time to see her see that it was actually meant… for him.
"I- I saw nothing I swear."
He's not having it as he drags both her and the package in after him.
This plot was inspired by my shock when my friends showed me this cosplayer. These are the same person.
[I feel the need to reassure any potential partners: When the allegations are made by the ML, he is 16 and the FL is around 22. However, those allegations are entirely made up. Nothing happens between the two of them at any point. It is a one sided delusional teenage crush and following attempt at revenge. Please be at ease, that when they do meet up again, 10 years have past and the ML would be approximately 26. I take the wellbeing of children very seriously, fictional or otherwise.]
She used to be a teacher.
And she was a damn good one too. Beloved by her students, always going the extra mile.
It was only natural for one of her students to fall for her. A young man, fed from a silver spoon his entire life, accustomed to always getting what he desired. When he confessed, she gently brushed him off, as any adult should. After all, she thought it was an innocent teenage crush, one which would fade with time.
Her kind words pacified him. He was young. He should look for love with somebody his own age. One day, when he got older, he would understand and any woman would be lucky to have him. Besides, she had no time for love, since her heart was already full looking after him and all the other students.
For a time, all was well. Until he spied her kissing another teacher after class. Feeling a sense of childish betrayal, and in his anger, he decided to make accusations against her. It was his word against hers. Everything changed after that. Naturally, nothing was ever proven- After all, she was innocent. Yet, to her chagrin, just the mere accusation was enough to get her kicked out of her school, have her beau break things off and have her overall reputation ruined.
It took years to recover, both in emotion and reputation. Now after a decade and moved country to escape her past, she has worked her way up to be one of the best teachers in her field. Working for the elite, she now teaches them at an exclusive restored 'Maison de Maitre' in the countryside. It only takes the children of the one percent. They call it the "Camp". She calls it heaven.
However, some wounds could not be healed with time. Frightened at the prospect of having to suffer such trials again, she went on to exclusively teach adult women after the incident. She cannot trust men- hasn't even been able to get into a relationship since. She is content. She has learned to be.
Yet he is not.
Back then, he didn't realise that she would be sent away. All he wanted was to get back at her, to hurt her like she hurt him. Perhaps born from a mixture of guilt and anger, his feelings have not been not so easily swayed. He swore to himself that he would find her, no matter what or how long it took. And now, as an adult man, having spent years tracking her down, the time to make good on that promise has come.
He was always pretty. She used to call him that. Turning himself into a girl was easy. Buy a wig, learn to use makeup, get the clothes, buy some fake documents and tape… a few things here and there. The disguise was perfect.
A sentiment that is only reinvigorated when upon their 'first' meeting, she doesn't recognise him. His plan is to use the seclusion of the camp to get close to her, make her fall for this version of him …
And ruin anyone who gets in his way.
She used to be a teacher.
And she was a damn good one too. Beloved by her students, always going the extra mile.
It was only natural for one of her students to fall for her. A young man, fed from a silver spoon his entire life, accustomed to always getting what he desired. When he confessed, she gently brushed him off, as any adult should. After all, she thought it was an innocent teenage crush, one which would fade with time.
Her kind words pacified him. He was young. He should look for love with somebody his own age. One day, when he got older, he would understand and any woman would be lucky to have him. Besides, she had no time for love, since her heart was already full looking after him and all the other students.
For a time, all was well. Until he spied her kissing another teacher after class. Feeling a sense of childish betrayal, and in his anger, he decided to make accusations against her. It was his word against hers. Everything changed after that. Naturally, nothing was ever proven- After all, she was innocent. Yet, to her chagrin, just the mere accusation was enough to get her kicked out of her school, have her beau break things off and have her overall reputation ruined.
It took years to recover, both in emotion and reputation. Now after a decade and moved country to escape her past, she has worked her way up to be one of the best teachers in her field. Working for the elite, she now teaches them at an exclusive restored 'Maison de Maitre' in the countryside. It only takes the children of the one percent. They call it the "Camp". She calls it heaven.
However, some wounds could not be healed with time. Frightened at the prospect of having to suffer such trials again, she went on to exclusively teach adult women after the incident. She cannot trust men- hasn't even been able to get into a relationship since. She is content. She has learned to be.
Yet he is not.
Back then, he didn't realise that she would be sent away. All he wanted was to get back at her, to hurt her like she hurt him. Perhaps born from a mixture of guilt and anger, his feelings have not been not so easily swayed. He swore to himself that he would find her, no matter what or how long it took. And now, as an adult man, having spent years tracking her down, the time to make good on that promise has come.
He was always pretty. She used to call him that. Turning himself into a girl was easy. Buy a wig, learn to use makeup, get the clothes, buy some fake documents and tape… a few things here and there. The disguise was perfect.
A sentiment that is only reinvigorated when upon their 'first' meeting, she doesn't recognise him. His plan is to use the seclusion of the camp to get close to her, make her fall for this version of him …
And ruin anyone who gets in his way.
"Enough."
The arrow flew silently through the air, like death itself upon the chill of a winter's night.
Released softly from her bowstring, it shattered rain drops as it sought out her mark, sinking cleanly, neatly in between the ribs with a soft knock against flesh. As if it had always belonged there.
The deer's hoarse shriek echoed as far as the trees would allow, before taking off through the shrubs with the desperation only a wounded animal knows. She tore herself from the undergrowth, a flash of red hair against the night, pursuing like a faithful shadow.
The low hanging branches whipped her cheeks viciously, damp roots like knots threatening to snare fumbling feet. She could not allow herself that mistake. Not tonight. No room for forgiveness when the smallest lapse of judgement meant risking losing her precious quarry within the thick ink of the wood.
No, not mine. Not yet.
Ahead, the din of hooves against the ground echoed her own beating heart. So deafening as the blood and adrenaline rushed through her veins, that she could no longer hear the raging rainfall. Natures' show of strength reduced to a mere inconvenience as her shoes fought to maintain purchase against the mulch of wet leaves.
It was proving harder to breathe with each passing second, leaping through trees and shrubbery, as if each breath carried its weight and was slowing her down. Just a little more. She needed to keep it in her line of sight!
Fifty yards!
Twenty!
Any moment now. Any-
Thunder cracked like a whip overhead, its counterpart breaking through the thick canopy and blinding her.
The soles of her feet hit the sopping litter-fall at just the wrong angle. Too late. She hadn't the time to reposition. Her outstretched hand grasping at air as the surface acted like black ice beneath her. The weight of her already off-kilter body bore down upon her ankle, snapping it brutally into an unnatural angle and sending the young woman careening into the rough bark on the nearest redwood. For a fraction of a second, all seemed to freeze upon impact. Her warm breath painted the cold air as the wind was knocked out of her lungs, vision blurring as her eyes watered.
Freya shakily hissed in a breath through her teeth, biting down on her pliant tongue as she desperately withheld a scream. Later. She could scream later. But for now…
The grime of waterlogged bark coated her under nail as she clumsily threw herself forwards in a last ditch attempt. Her wide eyes wildly searched between the great trees for where she'd last seen it. In the distance a flash of movement snapped her to attention. The stag had gotten ahead, but she could see it was slowing, its movements becoming sloppy as its body gave in to punctured lungs. There was still a chance. She could still make it. She just needed to keep up a little longer.
The arrow flew silently through the air, like death itself upon the chill of a winter's night.
Released softly from her bowstring, it shattered rain drops as it sought out her mark, sinking cleanly, neatly in between the ribs with a soft knock against flesh. As if it had always belonged there.
The deer's hoarse shriek echoed as far as the trees would allow, before taking off through the shrubs with the desperation only a wounded animal knows. She tore herself from the undergrowth, a flash of red hair against the night, pursuing like a faithful shadow.
The low hanging branches whipped her cheeks viciously, damp roots like knots threatening to snare fumbling feet. She could not allow herself that mistake. Not tonight. No room for forgiveness when the smallest lapse of judgement meant risking losing her precious quarry within the thick ink of the wood.
No, not mine. Not yet.
Ahead, the din of hooves against the ground echoed her own beating heart. So deafening as the blood and adrenaline rushed through her veins, that she could no longer hear the raging rainfall. Natures' show of strength reduced to a mere inconvenience as her shoes fought to maintain purchase against the mulch of wet leaves.
It was proving harder to breathe with each passing second, leaping through trees and shrubbery, as if each breath carried its weight and was slowing her down. Just a little more. She needed to keep it in her line of sight!
Fifty yards!
Twenty!
Any moment now. Any-
Thunder cracked like a whip overhead, its counterpart breaking through the thick canopy and blinding her.
The soles of her feet hit the sopping litter-fall at just the wrong angle. Too late. She hadn't the time to reposition. Her outstretched hand grasping at air as the surface acted like black ice beneath her. The weight of her already off-kilter body bore down upon her ankle, snapping it brutally into an unnatural angle and sending the young woman careening into the rough bark on the nearest redwood. For a fraction of a second, all seemed to freeze upon impact. Her warm breath painted the cold air as the wind was knocked out of her lungs, vision blurring as her eyes watered.
Freya shakily hissed in a breath through her teeth, biting down on her pliant tongue as she desperately withheld a scream. Later. She could scream later. But for now…
The grime of waterlogged bark coated her under nail as she clumsily threw herself forwards in a last ditch attempt. Her wide eyes wildly searched between the great trees for where she'd last seen it. In the distance a flash of movement snapped her to attention. The stag had gotten ahead, but she could see it was slowing, its movements becoming sloppy as its body gave in to punctured lungs. There was still a chance. She could still make it. She just needed to keep up a little longer.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Tongues of fire licked at her ankle with every step, igniting a searing pulse in her neck as sweat mixed with rain and dripped down her face, stinging her eyes and leaving the taste of salt on her lips. Pushing herself off a protruding rock to gain momentum, the thought flitted through her mind that her lungs would give out at any moment. That was fine by her. So long as they gave out last.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The woods stood still, watching on whilst the two figures dove between the growing giants. Thunder shook the sky, illuminating them as the distance grew shorter with every second. One hand on her baldric feeling the hilt of her worn blade, the other extended in front, fingertips reaching, able to only just graze wet fur.
She felt its body heat in the passing air, water droplets sliding off its back, the ripple of powerful muscle hidden beneath its skin flexing with each stride. Another moment and it would be within her reach.
And then it was.
Freya threw herself upon it savagely, wrapping one hand around the beasts' neck, digging her nails as far as they would go into the rough hide. The other blindly grabbed for the knife to issue the coup de grace as she was dragged along. So close. Its slippery metal shaft evaded her and their bodies collided in the struggle, trying in vain to concentrate amid the chaos.
Until she managed to curl her fingers around it's hilt, raising the knife-
The stag lurched its head around. Its full weight hitting her square in the face. Behind her eyelids bloomed something white and hot. Freya recoiled, her fingers loosening just enough for the hilt to slip between them, her only weapon knocking against her leg and skidding into the forest, but where, for the life of her, she could not see as her vision swam. There were more important things to worry about.
Freya clenched her jaw, something wet oozing from her nose.
She had to do something fast, her arm was losing feeling, her muscles screaming in protest. Then, as if guided, her eyes caught the glint of water shone off the ragged feather of her arrow.
Her shaking grip on the stag waning, she reached over, curling her fingers around the jutting stump. With one great movement, letting out a desperate cry, she wrenched it from its bed of flesh, taking pieces as it went. Blood erupted from the opening, covering her fingers and eyes, as she mindlessly stabbed the beasts' neck in quick shallow motions, the hapless animal bucking as hard as its last vestiges of strength allowed. It was in vain.
It swayed from side to side as it slowed, dragging the young woman along with it like a limp marionette for another two agonising metres until with a whine it toppled upon her. Their bodies skidded to a halt in the dirt, hers trapped beneath its weight as sharp twigs tore through the fabric of her shirt and cut at her exposed back.
For a moment, she feared the animal would rear up again. If it did, there would be nothing more she could do.
However, as the beasts' final attempted breaths weakened, its shaking slowed until it was nothing more than one last gentle push against the palms of her hands.
Dark pupils dilated as they stared into hers.
Dead.
The sound of rain came again, reclaiming the redwood.
Freya couldn't make a sound. So exhausted was she as she laid there, pinned, letting the raindrops fall against her face, gulping in air. Gods, as she clung to the matted blood soaked body, she felt like she'd almost drowned.
It took all her willpower, her hands pressed into the quickly chilling fur, to not let herself fall asleep. It was deliciously tempting and she was so tired. So sore. But, she was all too well aware that it would be her last mistake. The rain and dirt would leech her warmth and hypothermia was an unforgiving bitch.
The young woman began to heave, overexerted muscles shaking violently and she crawled feebly out from under the carcass, turning to look back at the now empty eyes.
No death was instant. No kill painless.
She'd wished she felt sympathy for the creature. In the back of her mind, she felt like her intentions should have been to spare the thing any more suffering. Truth be told, Freya knew otherwise. It was not love nor kindness that she'd been screaming in her head. It was but one word.
"Enough."
She'd changed.
Then again the world had, hand't it?
Had she been asked years ago, by those well-to-do gentlemen who relished the idea, rather than the practice, of a hunt, whether she'd ever entertained the thought of putting her skills as an archer to use, Freya would have been mortified. Of course, she couldn't hold it against them, not truly. Not now.
Admittedly, they had surely envisioned hunting much in the same way young children envisage the wild west whilst playing cowboys and Indians with their toy swords and headdresses. All glory and pomp. Fancying themselves great hunters of the forests, stalking the woods, but not for too long mind you, as such skilled trackers such as themselves, bred from only the good stock, would certainly come upon their prey within mere moments. Oh no, none of that dilly dallying common folk call tracking nor dirty dung examining for them!
They would stroll in with their pristine slacks and shining pocket watches, cigar in mouth and be happened upon by only the most glorious of Stags. Then, they'd shoot it dead on the first try and spend a night feasting beneath the stars as the surrounding forest leaned in to partake in the revelry. What they didn't take into account was the blood. The struggle, the shrieks, the desperate attempts to flee. Looking another creature in the eye as you sunk your blade into their throat and watched that light be snuffed out.
The dirty, gritty nature of killing.
Freya didn't care for glory. She cared for survival, for food. She would eat tonight, and that was enough. She'd needed to drag the carcass back to her home. Skin it and preserve it before it began to smell and attracted a bear. Or worse. Except, her bloody knife was somewhere in the woods…
"Where'd that fucking useless thing go…"
She swore hoarsely, her hands digging into the mud as she pushed herself off the ground, "It can't be far. God, I hope it didn't fall into a burrow."
Taking a furtive glance around the forested floor, there was no glimmer of cold metal in the rain muffled moonlight. Freya clicked her tongue as she raised a shaking hand to wipe away some of the blood coagulating on her upper lip. She didn't have time for this. She needed to be home before sunrise, before the light of day made her more visible to… well anyone.
As if anybody would be around here anyways…
She pushed the intrusive thought from her mind.
Not now.
"How far did you drag me?" She questioned, turning from glancing at the lifeless stag back to the murky depths from which they emerged, Didn't feel that far. Guess there's nothing for it but to retrace my steps."
As it would turn out, finding it wouldn't take long.
She'd only trudged a few metres, clumsily trying keep as much pressure as she could off her twisted ankle, a difficult feat when walking in slippery mud. Yet, following the muddy hoofprints back up the path, she heard the distinct 'tink!' of water on metal. Off to her left, a slight glimmer contrasted against the dull brown of rotting leaves and growing clumps of moss in the shadows of the trees. Her knife, a little muddy but none the worse for wear, lay in a small opening in the forest.
Freya beamed, eyebrows raised, her body visibly relaxing as she stumbled over. She couldn't believe her luck! Perhaps it was on her side after all.
"Got'cha you gorgeous little bastard! I swear I'll never let you go ag-"
Her words got caught in her mouth.
As she drew closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness beneath the tree, the clump of 'moss' came into view. Except it wasn't moss, for moss didn't have feet.
She felt her stomach drop.
"Well, shit."
Tongues of fire licked at her ankle with every step, igniting a searing pulse in her neck as sweat mixed with rain and dripped down her face, stinging her eyes and leaving the taste of salt on her lips. Pushing herself off a protruding rock to gain momentum, the thought flitted through her mind that her lungs would give out at any moment. That was fine by her. So long as they gave out last.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The woods stood still, watching on whilst the two figures dove between the growing giants. Thunder shook the sky, illuminating them as the distance grew shorter with every second. One hand on her baldric feeling the hilt of her worn blade, the other extended in front, fingertips reaching, able to only just graze wet fur.
She felt its body heat in the passing air, water droplets sliding off its back, the ripple of powerful muscle hidden beneath its skin flexing with each stride. Another moment and it would be within her reach.
And then it was.
Freya threw herself upon it savagely, wrapping one hand around the beasts' neck, digging her nails as far as they would go into the rough hide. The other blindly grabbed for the knife to issue the coup de grace as she was dragged along. So close. Its slippery metal shaft evaded her and their bodies collided in the struggle, trying in vain to concentrate amid the chaos.
Until she managed to curl her fingers around it's hilt, raising the knife-
The stag lurched its head around. Its full weight hitting her square in the face. Behind her eyelids bloomed something white and hot. Freya recoiled, her fingers loosening just enough for the hilt to slip between them, her only weapon knocking against her leg and skidding into the forest, but where, for the life of her, she could not see as her vision swam. There were more important things to worry about.
Freya clenched her jaw, something wet oozing from her nose.
She had to do something fast, her arm was losing feeling, her muscles screaming in protest. Then, as if guided, her eyes caught the glint of water shone off the ragged feather of her arrow.
Her shaking grip on the stag waning, she reached over, curling her fingers around the jutting stump. With one great movement, letting out a desperate cry, she wrenched it from its bed of flesh, taking pieces as it went. Blood erupted from the opening, covering her fingers and eyes, as she mindlessly stabbed the beasts' neck in quick shallow motions, the hapless animal bucking as hard as its last vestiges of strength allowed. It was in vain.
It swayed from side to side as it slowed, dragging the young woman along with it like a limp marionette for another two agonising metres until with a whine it toppled upon her. Their bodies skidded to a halt in the dirt, hers trapped beneath its weight as sharp twigs tore through the fabric of her shirt and cut at her exposed back.
For a moment, she feared the animal would rear up again. If it did, there would be nothing more she could do.
However, as the beasts' final attempted breaths weakened, its shaking slowed until it was nothing more than one last gentle push against the palms of her hands.
Dark pupils dilated as they stared into hers.
Dead.
The sound of rain came again, reclaiming the redwood.
Freya couldn't make a sound. So exhausted was she as she laid there, pinned, letting the raindrops fall against her face, gulping in air. Gods, as she clung to the matted blood soaked body, she felt like she'd almost drowned.
It took all her willpower, her hands pressed into the quickly chilling fur, to not let herself fall asleep. It was deliciously tempting and she was so tired. So sore. But, she was all too well aware that it would be her last mistake. The rain and dirt would leech her warmth and hypothermia was an unforgiving bitch.
The young woman began to heave, overexerted muscles shaking violently and she crawled feebly out from under the carcass, turning to look back at the now empty eyes.
No death was instant. No kill painless.
She'd wished she felt sympathy for the creature. In the back of her mind, she felt like her intentions should have been to spare the thing any more suffering. Truth be told, Freya knew otherwise. It was not love nor kindness that she'd been screaming in her head. It was but one word.
"Enough."
She'd changed.
Then again the world had, hand't it?
Had she been asked years ago, by those well-to-do gentlemen who relished the idea, rather than the practice, of a hunt, whether she'd ever entertained the thought of putting her skills as an archer to use, Freya would have been mortified. Of course, she couldn't hold it against them, not truly. Not now.
Admittedly, they had surely envisioned hunting much in the same way young children envisage the wild west whilst playing cowboys and Indians with their toy swords and headdresses. All glory and pomp. Fancying themselves great hunters of the forests, stalking the woods, but not for too long mind you, as such skilled trackers such as themselves, bred from only the good stock, would certainly come upon their prey within mere moments. Oh no, none of that dilly dallying common folk call tracking nor dirty dung examining for them!
They would stroll in with their pristine slacks and shining pocket watches, cigar in mouth and be happened upon by only the most glorious of Stags. Then, they'd shoot it dead on the first try and spend a night feasting beneath the stars as the surrounding forest leaned in to partake in the revelry. What they didn't take into account was the blood. The struggle, the shrieks, the desperate attempts to flee. Looking another creature in the eye as you sunk your blade into their throat and watched that light be snuffed out.
The dirty, gritty nature of killing.
Freya didn't care for glory. She cared for survival, for food. She would eat tonight, and that was enough. She'd needed to drag the carcass back to her home. Skin it and preserve it before it began to smell and attracted a bear. Or worse. Except, her bloody knife was somewhere in the woods…
"Where'd that fucking useless thing go…"
She swore hoarsely, her hands digging into the mud as she pushed herself off the ground, "It can't be far. God, I hope it didn't fall into a burrow."
Taking a furtive glance around the forested floor, there was no glimmer of cold metal in the rain muffled moonlight. Freya clicked her tongue as she raised a shaking hand to wipe away some of the blood coagulating on her upper lip. She didn't have time for this. She needed to be home before sunrise, before the light of day made her more visible to… well anyone.
As if anybody would be around here anyways…
She pushed the intrusive thought from her mind.
Not now.
"How far did you drag me?" She questioned, turning from glancing at the lifeless stag back to the murky depths from which they emerged, Didn't feel that far. Guess there's nothing for it but to retrace my steps."
As it would turn out, finding it wouldn't take long.
She'd only trudged a few metres, clumsily trying keep as much pressure as she could off her twisted ankle, a difficult feat when walking in slippery mud. Yet, following the muddy hoofprints back up the path, she heard the distinct 'tink!' of water on metal. Off to her left, a slight glimmer contrasted against the dull brown of rotting leaves and growing clumps of moss in the shadows of the trees. Her knife, a little muddy but none the worse for wear, lay in a small opening in the forest.
Freya beamed, eyebrows raised, her body visibly relaxing as she stumbled over. She couldn't believe her luck! Perhaps it was on her side after all.
"Got'cha you gorgeous little bastard! I swear I'll never let you go ag-"
Her words got caught in her mouth.
As she drew closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness beneath the tree, the clump of 'moss' came into view. Except it wasn't moss, for moss didn't have feet.
She felt her stomach drop.
"Well, shit."
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