#mill of the stone women

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Il mulino delle donne di pietra (1960)

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From Italian director Giorgio Ferroni comes the Gothic film IL MULINO DELLE DONNE DI PIETRA aka MILL OF THE STONE WOMEN (1960)... in COLOUR! The film stars Pierre Brice, Scilla Gabel, Wolfgang Preiss and Herbert Bohme.

Context setting 00:00; Synopsis 18:22; Discussion 29:57; Ranking 50:35

[halloweenhundreds]

Il Mulino Delle Donne di Pietra is widely known as Mill of the Stone Women. An unconventional bloodsucker tale with an unconventional love triangle and purportedly Italy’s first horror movie in color.

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Frankenstein (James Whale | 1931)

Il mulino delle donne di pietra (Mill of the Stone Women | Giorgio Ferroni | 1960)

[mariocki]

Il mulino delle donne di pietra (Mill of the Stone Women, 1960)

"Can you really not remember? Or maybe you don't want to. I'm starting to understand. You want to deepen my remorse and give me nightmares. No. No! I'm not guilty. It wasn't my fault!"

[chronivore]

Mill of the Stone Women - Wikipedia

[fibula-rasa]

Lost, but Not Forgotten: The World’s Applause (1923)

Direction: William C. de Mille

Scenario & Titles: Clara Beranger (more about Beranger at the Women Film Pioneers Project)

Camera: L. Guy Wilky

Sets & Costumes: Paul Iribe

Studio: Famous Players-Lasky (production) & Paramount (distribution)

Performers: Bebe Daniels, Lewis Stone, Kathlyn Williams, Adolphe Menjou, Brandon Hurst, Bernice Frank, Maym Kelso, George Kuwa, James Neill

Status: presumed entirely lost

Synopsis (synthesized from magazine summaries of the plot):

Corinne D’Alys (Bebe Daniels), f.k.a. Cora Daly, is a theater star who has “taken the Rialto by storm.” Unfortunately, Corinne also has a desperate hunger for publicity. Her manager, John Elliott (Lewis Stone), who also happens to be in love with her, advises her to be more sensible about her career. A famous artist, Robert Townsend (Adolphe Menjou), has become enamored with Corinne, and wants to paint her portrait. Despite John’s warning that Robert wishes only to “see more of her,” Corinne sits for the portrait. 

Robert plans on throwing a party to celebrate finishing the painting but declines to invite his wife, Elsa Townsend (Kathlyn Williams). Elsa comes to her husband’s studio anyway and finds the portrait and a pearl headdress that Robert is going to gift to Corinne. In a jealous rage, Elsa takes a knife to the painting and then to her husband—fatally stabbing him. Elsa also happens to be John’s sister and she calls him in a panic to help her. John arrives at the studio in secret and helps Elsa escape the scene. Meanwhile, Corinne and the guests begin to wonder where their host is, and Corinne then finds the body of the painter.

John convinces the police that Corinne is innocent. Corinne leaves town to avoid the storm. Unfortunately, John then becomes the primary suspect, as he had a notable fight with his brother-in-law months prior. When John is arrested, Corinne returns and confesses to Elsa that she feels morally responsible for Robert’s murder. Elsa then confesses to committing the murder herself. It’s implied that Elsa commits suicide via “the watery route.” 

Now that both John and Corinne have been cleared of suspicion, they are free to marry and Corinne has lost her appetite for publicity.

Transcribed sources & annotations below:

Moving Picture World, November 11, 1922

News from the Producers

Conducted by T.S. da Ponte

Changes Titles of Two

Three new titles have been chosen for as many forthcoming Paramount pictures.

William de Mille’s recently completed production from an original story by Clara Beranger, in which Bebe Daniels, Lewis Stone, Kathlyn Williams and Harrison Ford have the important roles, has been permanently titled, “The World’s Applause.” “Notoriety” was the title originally chosen, but when it was found that another company had a prior claim, it was changed temporarily to “Paths of Glory,” which in turn has now given way to “The World’s Applause.”

Mary Miles Minter's latest picture, just completed under the direction of Charles Maigne and adapted from Stephen French Whitman's novel, "Sacrifice," is to be called "Drums of Destiny."

"Racing Hearts" is the title chosen for the new picture Agnes Ayres is just starting under the direction of Paul Powell. This is a story by Byron Morgan, author of the Wallace Reid automobile racing pictures, and Miss Ayres has the role of a race driver who goes in and wins a thrilling speed contest when the regular driver fails to show up.

Both "Drums of Destiny" (titled "Drums of Fate" on release in 1923) and "Racing Hearts" are also lost films.

Exhibitor’s Herald, January 20, 1923

REVIEWS

BEBE DANIELS IN

WORLD’S APPLAUSE

(PARAMOUNT)

A fascinating story of the life of an actress who unwittingly becomes involved in a murder mystery which almost brings about her downfall professionally. Lavishly presented, very well acted and directed in William deMille’s best style. Length, 6,528 feet.

An original story by Clara Beranger provides Bebe Daniels, Lewis Stone, Kathlyn Williams, Adolph Menjou and others with a suitable vehicle in which to display their talents. There is good story interest for the most part, with good surprise value and considerable dramatic suspense in the contest of wits between the detectives and John Elliott and his sister.

Lewis Stone plays the role of Elliot and gives an unusually convincing and consistent characterization. The director, author and producer are to be congratulated upon securing Mr. Stone’s services for this part. Miss Daniels appears in the role of an actress who is a hound for publicity, and the moral of the story shows how ready the public is to condemn these children of the stage. Kathlyn Williams has the role of Elsa Townsend, wife of an artist in love with the little actress, who in a fit of jealousy kills her husband. A difficult role, but played with restraint and conviction. Adolphe Menjou is the artist. Bernice Frank was the maid; Mayme Kelso, secretary to the actress, and George Kuwa, valet to Townsend. James Neill was Elliot’s valet, while Brandon Hurst played James Crane, owner of a string of newspapers.

Corinne d’Alys, popular Broadway star, poses for Townsend while he paints her portrait. On the day he is to display the painting he gives a party at his studio. As the guests assemble, Mrs. Townsend comes to the studio, discovers a valuable pearl headdress which her husband is to give to Corinne, and the portrait of the actress. In a fit of jealousy she strikes him down and leaves the studio with her brother, John Elliot. The discovery of the dead artist throws suspicion upon the members of the party. Corinne telephones to her affianced husband Elliott and he succeeds in convincing the police that she is innocent. Crane takes a hand in the investigation, however, and dogs Elliott’s footsteps. A confession from Mrs. Townsend finally clears Elliott and the little actress, and she no longer seeks the world’s applause, but is content to settle down with John.

The Film Daily, February 2, 1923

A Typical DeMille Entertainment With the Usual Atmosphere

William DeMille Prod.

“THE WORLD’S APPLAUSE”

Paramount

DIRECTOR…William DeMille

AUTHOR…Clara Beranger

SCENARIO BY…Clara Beranger

CAMERAMAN…L. Guy Wilky

AS A WHOLE…Consists of situations and atmosphere intended to provide visual appeal but that is as far as it gets

STORY…Artificial and quite theatrical; flavored with sensational bits that will make it popular with a certain crowd

DIRECTION… Very good as far as production goes and usually handles story with good judgment but ending is too long arriving

PHOTOGRAPHY…Excellent

LIGHTINGS… Good

PLAYERS… Lewis Stone and Bebe Daniels featured with Stone doing his usual good work and Miss Daniels a suitable but not beautiful Corinne d’Alys; others Kathlyn Williams and Adolphe Menjou

EXTERIORS…Few

INTERIORS… Many elaborate settings

CHARACTER OF STORY…Star seeking publicity is cause of man’s death at the hands of his jealous wife

LENGTH OF PRODUCTION… 6,526 feet

Probably because there is a moral to it the unpleasant bits in “The World’s Applause” will have to be excused but it does seem unfortunate that they have to wade so deeply into scandal and sensation providing incidents in general, to get to it. Before you finally learn the lesson of this film—that success is not measured by the amount of prominence you attain—you are treated to some mighty intimate scenes in which a popular stage favorite is the sensuous, central figure. She is very deliberately sought by a famous portrait artist, a married man, who plans his seduction in elaborate style. Of course he has a studio establishment which figures prominently in his scheme and the very innocent young moth runs headlong into the flame heedless of the warning of her manager, who really loves her. The aggravating thing about these petty publicity seekers is that you are expected to accept their sugar-wouldn’t-melt-in-their-mouth attitude for the real thing.

But this Corinne d’Alys spoils it all, or the title writer does it for her, when she admits that her would-be lover will give her everything but “a narrow gold band.” The titles, incidentally, are very bad. There is one in which the true lover warns the girl that the artist wants her to pose for him so that “he can see more of her.” The titles are quite off color in many similar instances. This one particularly seemed to strike the Rivoli audience as a thoroughly fine humorous touch.

William DeMille is following closely in the footsteps of his brother, Cecil, when it comes to making pictures with plenty of pictorial appeal and colorful atmosphere. In this respect the picture is interesting and should satisfy. From a story angle, it is all a matter of taste. Where they like theatrical, sensational stuff, it is all very nice but where they want clean, wholesome stories, it may be different.

Bebe Daniels handles the role of Corinne adequately but she never gives the impression of being sufficiently beautiful to have “The World’s Applause.” Lewis Stone is always capable but deserves a more sensible role. The cast, on the whole, is suitable.

Story: John Elliot’s new star, Corinne d’Alys, is swept off her feet by sudden success. She accepts the attentions of Townsend, an artist, the husband of Elliot’s sister, who paints her portrait. Townsend is accidentally killed by his jealous wife and Elliot is arrested. His sister, realizing Elliot loves Corinne, commits suicide, leaving a confession which clears Elliot and cures Corinne of her craving for publicity.

One of those negative reviews that makes you want to watch a movie more, eh? Moralizing and misogyny on full display! Phew.

The Moving Picture World, February 1923

“World’s Applause” Released January 21

William de Mille, Paramount producer, departed temporarily from his custom of filming stage dramas when he made "The World's Applause," which was on the Paramount release schedule of January 21.

This is an original story by Clara Beranger, who has written the scenario of all of Mr. de

Mille's recent photoplays. Bebe Daniels and Lewis Stone are the featured players in a cast which Mr. de Mille considers one of the best he has had in his long career as a producer.

An ultra-modern note is struck by Miss Daniels in her costumes, it is reported. In each succeeding scene she wears something different from the preceding one, and although Mr. de Mille never allows his photodramas to descend to the level of mere fashion shows, this feature of "The World's Applause" is certain to intensify every woman's interest in the picture, Paramount says.

Variety, February 1923

WORLD'S APPLAUSE

Paramount picture presented by Adolph Zukor. William DeMille production, featuring Bebe Daniels, Lewis Stone and Kathlyn Williams in story by Clara Beranger.

At the Rivoli, New York, week of Jan. 28.

Corinne d'Alys..........Bebe Daniels

John Elliot........Lewis Stone

Elsa Townsend...Kathlyn Willams

Robert Townsend, her husband…Adolphe Menjou

James Crane...Brandon Hurst

Maid to Corinne...Bernice Frank

Secretary to Corinne.........Maym Kelso

Valet to Townsend..George Kuwa

Valet to Elliot......James Neill

“The World's Applause" is a screen treatise on theatrical publicity and exploitation with a twist that a certain theatrical personage's craving for newspaper "notices" and the desire to be the talk of the town boomerangs viciously when she is indirectly implicated in a murder mystery.

The theatrical personage is Corinne d'Alys (born Cora Daly), who has "taken the Rialto by storm," but who is counselled by her manager-lover (Lewis Stone) to cease her craving for the world's applause and deal seriously with her work. This is momentarily disparaged by her

with ensuing developments taking the audience rather interestingly through the usual five-reel span.

It starts with Robert Townsend, an artist who has "arrived" (Adolphe Menjou), becoming enamored with the favored and favorite footlights beauty and honoring her with painting her portrait for the annual Parisian exhibition. Townsend is married to the sister of John Elliot, the impresario, and a parallel situation develops of Townsend slighting his wife for Corinne, and

Townsend interposing himself between the actress and her suitor, Elliot.

At a studio party in Corinne's honor to which Townsend did not invite his wife, the latter enters

through the private studio door and, enraged at her husband's nonchalance, slashes the portrait and stabs the artist fatally. She telephones for her brother, who also enters unbeknown to the guests in the outer rooms. Both slip away, but not without being seen by a newspaper

publisher, whose testimony implicates Elliot, who shields his sister. Elliot is arrested on first degree murder charges, but is absolved when his sister confesses to Corinne. The sister runs away, and there is a suggestion she commits suicide via the watery route.

Not much to the story, but rather deftly handled by DeMille in his customary pretentious manner—never lavish but always in good taste. The captioning is pithy and bright, and such leaders as "the public always believes the worst about an actress" is good lay propaganda for the profession.

Miss Daniels sports a nobby collection of clothes to excellent advantage. Mr. Stone is a sincere opposite, who also has the ability of really acting when called upon. Miss Williams, too, accounted for herself handily.

The picture pleased at the Rivoli

Abel

Cine-Mundial, April 1923 p. 218 & 239

EL APLAUSO DEL MUNDO

(The World’s Applause)

“Paramount” — 150 metros

Intérpretes principales: Bebé Daniels y Lewis Stone. Colaboradores: Kathryn Williams, Adolphe Menjou, Brandon Hurst, Bernice Frank, Maym Kelso, George Kuwa y James Neill.

Argumento de Clara Beranger. Dirección de William DeMille.

Argumento

Corina, actriz, tiene sed insaciable de publicidad y se muere por ver su nombre en letras de molde, bien grandes, aunque sea a costa de escándalo, sin escuchar los consejos de su empresario, Elliot, que la ama. Los periódicos mezclan a la joven en un lío en el que ver un famoso pintor que le está haciendo su retrato. La noche en que el artista va a celebrar con un banquete la terminación del cuadro, se presenta en escena su mujer, disputan, y en un acceso de rabia, la consorte se apodera de un cuchillo para destrozar la pintura y, accidentalmente, mata al artista. La homicida es hermana de Elliot y éste trata de salvarla a to-

(Continúa en la página 239)

NUESTRA OPINION

(Viene de la página 218)

da costa del presidio. Llega hasta a asumir la responsabilidad del delito, cuando las sospechas recaen en su contra, por causa de un disgusto tenido, meses antes, con su cuñado. Pero, justamente cuando la policía va a detenerlo, la hermana confiesa su crimen y Elliot y Corina, sus nombres limpios de mancha, se casan.

Tengo debilidad por Lewis Stone como actor. Quizá por eso me haya gustado tanto esta película, de impecable dirección. Por causa de la reducción de los escenarios, se concentra el interés en el tema y eso añade fuerza dramática a toda la obra, aunque el argumento no tenga, ni con mucho, excesiva novedad. Si se sujeta la película al análisis, se corre el riesgo de dejarla maltrecha. Prefiero, pues, dar sólo idea de lo que a mi me pareció. — Guaitsel.

Translation:

Lead actors: Bebe Daniels and Lewis Stone. Supporting actors: Kathlyn Williams, Adolphe Menjou, Brandon Hurst, Bernice Frank, Maym Kelso, George Kuwa and James Neill.

Scenario by Clara Beranger. Direction by WIlliam DeMille.

Scenario

Corina, an actress, has an insatiable thirst for publicity and would die to see her name in lights, even at the cost of scandal, without listening to the advice of her manager, Elliot, who loves her. The newspapers mix the young woman up in an imbroglio with a famous painter, who is painting her portrait. On the night that the artist is going to celebrate the completion of the painting with a banquet, his wife appears on the scene, they argue, and in a fit of rage, the wife seizes a knife to destroy the painting and, accidentally, kills the artist. The murderer is Elliot’s sister and he tries to save her from prison at all costs. He goes as far as assuming responsibility for the crime, when suspicion falls on him, due to a disagreement he had with his brother-in-law, months before. But, just as the police are going to arrest him, the sister confesses her crime and Elliot and Corina, their names clean, get married.

I have a soft spot for Lewis Stone as an actor. Maybe that’s why I liked this impeccably-directed film so much. Because of the limitation of settings, interest is concentrated on the theme and this adds dramatic force to the whole work, even though the scenario isn’t very excessively novel at all. If you subject the film to analysis, you run the risk of dealing damage to it. I prefer then to give only the outline of how it seemed to me. — Guaitsel.

Photoplay, April 1923

THE WORLD’S APPLAUSE—Paramount

CLARA BERANGER seems to have dramatized the recent newspaper headlines. An idol whose fame has been built upon publicity gets involved innocently in a murder and the aforementioned publicity turns out to be a boomerang, demolishing said idol. Tritely told by William de Mille, who isn’t living up to early expectations. Bebe Daniels is pleasant enough as the idol.

Presumably, this writer is alluding to the Mary Miles Minter / William Desmond Taylor scandal from February of 1922. Kind of an interesting assumption given that, at the time, Minter was still under contract with Famous Player-Lasky, the same company that produced The World’s Applause.

The Story World and Photodramatist, April 1923

The World's Applause

With the excellent theme of regeneration after a terrifying experience, William De Mille slices his emphasis a bit in the story of The World's Applause; though he presents a warning to all actresses or public servants who, in their greed for applause, get themselves talked about in the wrong way, he misses the hole by a few inches because Corinne D'Alys is not the one to pay the piper most heavily. Even though she claims she is morally guilty of the murder, I found it

difficult to believe her regeneration more than skin-deep, possibly because the suggestion of the suicide of the physically guilty but wholly justified wife fades so quickly into the scene of Corinne's future happiness.

In lieu of convincing plot to express his theme, Mr. De Mille has resorted for public appeal to the tinsel more often found in a C. B. de Mille production—to lavish sets and to gowns for Bebe Daniels as daring and gorgeous as any of Miss Swanson's. For admirers of this young actress, the picture will doubtless be more or less satisfying, but contrary to dramatic principles, to the opposition have been given the histrionic opportunities 

It is many pictures since I have seen such an amusing lothario as the unfaithful husband; but pushed too far by his desperate wife, he rises to the breaking point very naturally. The development of the battle of their wills into one of physical violence and murder deserves high

praise as an example of loss of mental control at the moment of physical contact. The stellar role from the dramatic angle is that of the neglected wife—excellently portrayed by Kathlyn Williams. The story revolves around her problem of protecting her home and retaining her

husband's love. It is she who struggles and suffers through her hasty deed, and in the end sacrifices herself that her brother and the foolish enticer of her husband may be happy.

The weakness of the plot is early evident for the first big dramatic scene does not include the supposed lead. While Corinne is in another room with the guests, the artist's wife declares to her husband her intention of being present at the dinner to celebrate the completion of his portrait of the actress. When her husband urgently remonstrates, she seizes a knife and in the old sensational manner slashes the portrait. He seizes her hand, the exasperated animal rises in her, and she plunges the knife into his side. Horribly frightened, she phones to her brother; he assists her to escape and later denies all knowledge of the crime.

Meanwhile the supposed lead, growing tired of waiting, opens the door on the body of the artist. The guests, sensing a scandal, leave Corinne to enjoy the notoriety her desire for applause has brought upon her. The brother is suspected and his and Corinne's financial backers withdraw their support. Instead of remaining to fight it out, Corinne leaves town. The brother is arrested, and his sister is torn between her love for him and her fear of prison bars for herself. When Corinne returns, she goes to the wife and claims the moral guilt.

In a rather confused manner the story rushes through the confession of the wife and the suggestion of her suicide to the inferred regeneration and future happiness of the actress with the recently bereaved brother. Odd thing, poetic justice! Frankly this picture is not up to the De Mille standard; its appeal is to the more superficial emotions and through the eye rather than through the intellect or heart of the discriminating spectator. It is not the clean, wholesome picture I had anticipated.

Picture Play Magazine, May 1923

The Screen in Review

“The World’s Applause.”

If you are a young actress who will do most anything for publicity, this film will be a lesson to you. Otherwise it will be sheer entertainment, cooked up by William De Mille and charmingly acted with Bebe Daniels as the publicity-mad star and Lewis Stone as her manager. The story has really original twists in it and is directed with humor and restraint. Its only flaw is the incredibly silly subtitles. I don’t understand how Mr. De Mille let them get by in one of his productions which always bear a certain imprint of good taste and sophistication.

[movieposters1]

[entitled-fangirl]

Devotion.

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.

Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women

A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.

Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!

Masterlist

.............................................

"Benjicot!"

The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 

He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.

He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."

"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.

He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."

She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."

He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."

She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"

"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."

"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.

He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."

"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."

Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."

She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"

Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."

She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."

Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 

…

"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."

Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."

"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize-"

"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."

Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."

Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 

Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"

"What did you say?"

Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."

Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."

Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."

Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."

The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"

"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 

He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."

…

"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 

"Aye."

She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.

He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."

She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 

He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.

Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."

He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."

"Benjicot, please." 

"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."

She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."

When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."

And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.

"A- Aeron?"

Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."

Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 

She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 

She spun around. "Did you know about this?"

"What?"

Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"

Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 

She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 

The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"

"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."

Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"

She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"

Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."

Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 

He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."

Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"

Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.

"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Were you there when it started?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body. 

"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.

Benjicot's longsword. 

Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 

Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 

"You killed my brother?"

…

Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 

His sword collided with another and he looked. 

"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 

Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"

Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."

"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 

"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.

Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.

Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 

So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 

Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 

The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 

There it was.

Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.

Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.

But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.

Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.

"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.

Benjicot snarled. "What?"

"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."

Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."

"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."

Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."

Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."

"I said shut up!"

Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."

Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 

He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.

"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."

…

Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.

He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 

"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 

"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.

She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."

He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 

"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"

He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."

"You've done enough, Benjicot."

"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."

"Leave, Benjicot."

He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."

She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"

"Not by will."

"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"

She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."

He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.

"You never wanted me."

Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 

The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.

He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."

"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."

"It's not that easy."

"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"

"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"

She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"

"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"

His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."

She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"

Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."

"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"

He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."

She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."

"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"

She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"

"-Shut up," he ordered. 

She looked up in shock. "What?"

"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."

She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."

She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."

He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 

They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-

He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 

He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"

She let out a whine.

He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."

She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 

"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.

"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.

In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 

"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.

"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 

"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.

She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."

"Darling-"

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 

"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 

"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."

He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."

"I don't think you mind."

He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."

"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."

His brows quirked up. "Will I?"

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."

He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."

…

Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.

The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.

Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."

Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 

Aeron Bracken was wrong. 

Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.

........................................................

[notyetneedcoffee]

Stretch

Kinktober - Size Kink NSFW - Adults Only

Summary - The Witcher is just so big.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” You smiled up at the Witcher. “Particularly tonight.”

“Hmm.” He rumbled, though you noted his golden eyes kept darting down to you.

Standing close to him and wearing stays that held your breasts high, gave him a particularly enticing view. You knew how to take advantage of your small stature when it came to men. This man, however, was always a challenge.

People milled around the hall dressed in their finest. A large fire blazed in the hearth and musicians played. No one danced. This gathering was not that kind of celebration.

Some people considered the Trades Celebration archaic. The villages in these mountains, being isolated and small, would gather once every ten years. Some of the men and women would bed others from other villages to diversify the bloodlines of each isolated area. As the main objective of the celebration was pregnancy, a famously sterile Witcher seemed decidedly out of place.

“I could say the same for you.” Geralt finally said. “I would not have expected you to be anxious to become a mother.”

“I’m not.” You leaned a little closer to him to speak conspiratorially. “But there are great business contacts to be made here.”

He nodded. You were a herbologist. He often sought you out for rare and valuable ingredients.

“What brought you here?”

“Bruxa.” Geralt frowned. “After I cleared them out, I was offered a place to stay for a time and asked to attend tonight by Marthox.”

You grinned, glancing at the rich village elder and his four daughters. “Do you think he’s ignorant to the fact that you are unable to pass on your magnificent genes?”

“Probably.” He took a long drink from his glass.

“Do you plan to deflower one – or all – of his willing daughters anyway?”

“No.” He leaned down to your ear. The top of your head only came to his shoulder. “I’m more interested in something a little more feisty.”

“Then why are we wasting time here?” You grinned.

Geralt just turned and marched out of the hall. You had to jog to keep up with him. As soon as you turned the corner into a dark hallway, the Witcher paused. He swept you up and tossed you over one shoulder.

You swallowed a squeak, grabbing the back of his jacket out of fear of the height. “Geralt!”

“You were moving too slow.” He chuckled.

His room boasted its own large fireplace, stone bathing tub, and soft bed. You bounced in the middle of the mattress when he tossed you down. Geralt grabbed your foot to unlace your shoes. Laying there, looking at your foot in his large hands, feeling his strong fingers rub into the arch of your foot, lit the fire in your belly.

Geralt placed a knee on the bed and leaned over you. His white hair fell forward and you could smell the mead upon his breath. “It’s good to see you, little one.”

You touched his face, running your fingers over his high cheek bones and strong jaw. When you skimmed the soft skin of his lips, he lowered his head and kissed you. Your tongue eagerly reached for his as the kiss grew rough.

Geralt broke away with a satisfied noise. He gathered your skirts in his hands, lifting them to your waist. Your legs instinctively fell open for him as his rough hands slid along your thighs. As his thick finger teased your opening, rubbed around your clitoris, awakening your arousal, you laid your head back and studied his looming form.

You adored the time spent with the Witcher in bed. You felt tiny, delicate, and feminine under his touch. He exuded power. His strength could take your breath away, but you never feared he would hurt you. His wide chest engulfed you. His thick thighs pushed your legs so far apart.

Geralt’s head lowered between your legs, tasting your sex, licking and sucking at your clit. Fire circled through your body. You needed more. Pulling at the laces of your bodice, you desperately fought to free yourself from your clothes. Geralt manhandled you around, tugging at skirts and throwing away underclothes. Once naked, he again buried his face in your cunt with a determined growl.

You pulled at his white hair, shaking as his grumble vibrated through your clitoris. Two thick fingers slipped through your wetness, spreading your slick, pumping against sensitive flesh, and stretching you. Deep moans poured from your mouth as your hips rocked into his face.

Geralt rose to his knees, rubbing at your clit and fingers pumping wetly in your cunt. Your back arched as the coiling tension threatened to snap. The corner of his lip curled up. His gravel deep voice poured over you like warm honey. “That’s it, little one. Come all over my hand and I’ll stretch this pretty little pussy over my cock.”

You shook, cunt clenching at his fingers, wetness flooding over his hands.

As you lay there feeling your thighs quiver, Geralt stripped off his clothes. He did so with efficiency and no attempt at seduction, still the flex of his muscles and sight of his hard flesh caused the fire to flared hotter.

Geralt crawl over the top of you, mouth covering your breast and sucking your nipple to a hard peak. His kisses trailed up your neck, teeth grazing your skin. Kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, he pushed your legs further apart with his knees.

You felt the wide head of his cock rub along your entrance. With immense control, he pushed in. The stretch bordered on pain, but under assault of his kiss, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, your body rocked up against him to invite him deeper. Rocking slowly, each thrust pushing him further, filling you. Heat burned down your chest to settle between your legs.

He sat back on his heels, pulling your body along with him. You cried out at the change of angle, his cock hitting just the right spot. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Memorized you watched Geralt allow a drop of spittle to fall up on your clit. His thumb circled and stroked as he fucked into you harder.  

You moaned, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck,” He growled. “Fuck, yes.”

You shook in his grip.

“Mmm.” Geralt’s hips moved faster, harder. “Again. Fuck. Come again.”

You squeezed your own tits. Geralt moaned. Your thighs quivered. You panted, breath escaping with each thrust. “Oh, gods!”

His fingers dug into your hips. He lifted your pelvis to meet each powerful thrust. Fucking you hard. You felt like you were being blissfully split into two. He growled. “I said fucking come for me.”

“Yes!” You snapped, shaking hard, whiting out.

Faster, rougher, and soon Geralt roared his own release.

He flopped back on the bed, pulling you along with him. You lay spread across his chest, a sated and boneless mass. No part of you touched the bed. You floated on a warm island of Geralt muscle. You rubbed your nose into the hair on his chest, breathing in his scent.

“Hmmm.” He sighed, one big hand coming up to rest on your ass. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You mumbled with a smile. “But I can’t feel my feet.”

“I’ll carry you if I need to.” The smile could be heard in his voice. “Cause I’m not through with you yet, little one.”

Want more? Check out my Master List.

[weirdlookindog]

Scilla Gabel and Liana Orfei in Mill of the Stone Women (Il mulino delle donne di pietra, 1960)

[suna-cerely-yours]

Say you love me (Losing all my innocence in the backseat) ft Tobio Kageyama

Synopsis: What should you do when you're being forced into marriage?

a. Seek ravishment from the most notorious rake

b. Get ravished by a stranger who you thought was the most notorious rake

c. Get married anyway d. All of the above

warnings: fem!reader, afab reader, 18+, mdni, themes of misogyny, historical inaccuracy, dubcon (not really but it's a case of mistaken identity), public sex, dry humping, making out, reader is called good girl.

a/n: think of it as a Bridgerton au. not historically accurate at all, and i might have gone overboard with the dialogue. i also use the phrase 'notorious rake' too much, but there's so much fun to be had in this universe

♛

"She's turning four and twenty next month! She debuted six years ago! She'll be on the shelf if you wait any longer. I've given enough autonomy to you, and clearly, I am the only one who's worried about the poor child!"

Your aunt announces to your mother a fair morning in September, having arrived at your townhouse in London a mere three days after you and your family had yourselves arrived for the season.

You freeze in your seat at the sudden change in topic (they had been discussing lace doilies, for heaven's sake), teacup raised halfway to your mouth. Your mother is also taken aback at this, although she hides it better than you, having years of experience dealing with your father's cousin.

Painting a gracious smile, ignoring your sudden personification of the stone gargoyles that graced the roof of your townhouse, she swallows her sip of tea.

"Surely, you've given this a lot of thought."

Your aunt sniffs, the flamboyant feathers on her dress quivering as you watch, teacup still in hand, " Someone has to! You handle a household so charmingly my dear, but you are too lax with your daughter. I should have known the moment you and my brother decided on teaching the lass Mathematics and Science. Honestly, had she taken up the piano forte instead she might already be popping out her third child!"

Your mother's smile becomes strained as she pats your hand, gesturing you to put down your teacup. "The piano forte is of course, a fine skill to be knowledgeable of. We have been looking for suitable er suitors for her, but you must know how the mart is, there's been a recent dearth of good men."

"What a load of hogwash that is! You know the ladies of the ton have been talking, after that whole ordeal with Lord Miya, especially Lady Evans- she gossips entirely too much for her own good. Either way, I have a perfect gentleman in mind for her, in fact they share quite a bit in common."

You watch in horror as your mother's interest piques at this, and your aunt barrels on. White noise fills your ears as you find yourself rising from the breakfast table, barely remembering to excuse yourself, rushing to your room. Gripping a bed post you lower yourself on your bed. It wasn't as if you were unaware of the fact that you were nearing an age after which you could no longer be looked at as an eligible option, nor were you unaware that your parents wished you married soon. However, you quite liked your life on the sidelines. You had a bit more autonomy than usual for an unmarried woman your age, and after what your friends and neighbors had said about marriage itself, you certainly were in no rush to partake.

You had to get out of this, by any means necessary.

♛

"D'you reckon Lady Wei has a female lover? I didn't know you could do that, Mama always said only men and women can be married, but that's such an old concept, don't you think?" your friend chatters, pointing out various people milling about at the Beauford-Shankar Annual Ball. You had attended every year, since your debut, and so had your friend, and usually the two of you would have a splendid time, pigging out on the different cakes and gossiping about the various characters who showed up each year. However, this year, you could barely stomach the few sips of lemonade you had, stomach turning at the prospect of meeting Lord Grant, the oh-so-perfect suitor your aunt has scrounged up.

"Oh!" she gasps, "and did you hear? Lady Garcia was ruined over the summer, by none other than our favorite rake, Lord Oikawa. She's apparently headed to the continent now, to traipse around, since she can spend her dowry as wishes. I wish I could do the same, Lord Oikawa please ruin me!" she laments, pretending to swoon against the window in front of which the two of you were situated.

Casting another cursory sweep around the ballroom, you turn towards your friend smiling, " And what news about our second favorite rake, Duke Kageyama? I overheard two ladies discussing he saved yet another poor girl from marrying her grandfather's schoolmate."

Your friend's eyes widen as she latches onto your arm, "Did I not tell you? He's so dashing, a libertine of course, having ruined what- at least fifty girls by now-" she stops to fan her face. "But all those women would have been positively miserable, had they married their intendeds. He's done the world a great good, if you were to ask me."

Smiling slightly, you're reminded of a quiet boy. You cannot recall his features very well, but it is rather hard to forget the only man who's ever caught your eye. You hadn't realized he'd turn into a libertine, but at least in your memories he'd always be the shy boy who'd helped his older sister secure her love match.

Lifting the glass of lemonade to your lips, you take a sip, before promptly choking, as you catch sight of your aunt and mother, being followed by a blonde gentleman, heading straight towards you.

♛

Tobio was decidedly not having a good time. Society events were low on the list of things he did enjoy, and after many years of not attending any, the Beauford-Shankar Ball was bordering unbearable.

"Tobio! Smile a little, you'll scare off all your admirers."

"Lord Sugawara, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's your first society event in nearly six years, why don't you look around? See if anyone catches your eye, or if you can even find that one girl who you used to stare at."

Tobio sputters, cheeks heating, "I- I didn't stare at anyone, and besides even if I had she would have been married by now."

Swallowing, an unbidden image of an eighteen-year-old girl comes to his mind, laughing at something Miwa had said to her. He'd been nineteen that year, much too young to even think about marriage and too focused on his sudden inheritance of the Kageyama dukedom. Miwa had married that year, and he had been running himself ragged trying to keep everything in order. But he remembered that one ball, the last one of that season, a young woman with a throaty laugh, big eyes and a closed posture, as if she were unsure of being there. He hadn't caught more than a glimpse of her, but her memory had remained, after all these years.

Suppressing a twinge of jealousy and sadness Tobio continued, "There was no one. Besides, it is becoming a little difficult to enjoy myself with all these Mamas glaring at me."

Sugawara tilts his head, surveying the room. "Ah, that must be because you've deflowered nearly fifty young ladies these few years."

"Yes, there's that but- wait, wait a moment, what? What did I do?" Tobio turns to Sugawara, astonishment smeared across his face, eyes narrowed incredulously.

"Deflowered, ruined, y'know all the good stuff." Sugawara shrugs with a small grin.

"No, what- I, no that's impossible. I- yes, there's been one or two women, but not- not young ladies. What are you saying?"

"Well, Your Grace, in the years you've declined to grace, ha, us with your presence, the gossip mill has churned quite a bit. You've prevented many marriages; I am sure you're aware."

Feeling completely discombobulated at the news, Tobio groans, "You have got to be jesting, there's no way- I certainly would know if I had ruined fifty young ladies, and I can assure you I have done no such thing."

"The truth is often not gossiped about my young friend. It seems as if the young ladies of the ton are taking advantage of your absence from society to escape from their intended marriages by using your name. They say they've been ruined by you, pay off a maid to spread rumors of 'catching' the two of you in the act and voila! No unhappy marriages for these women, and an expansion of your sordid reputation."

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Tobio sighs," and you did not think to inform me of these happenings, at least once?"

"I was completely under the impression that you were a right rake!"

Tipping his head back, Tobio sighs again. This was going to be a long season.

♛

"Well? What do you think about Lord Grant? He's the modern sort of man, isn't he?" your mother asks you the morning after the ball, hope evident in her eyes.

"He's nice, I suppose," you mutter, refraining from mentioning exactly how modern the man was. "Sure, if thinking a woman's only role in life is being a perfect wife- then yes, he's perfectly modern."

Your mother frowns at this," darling, you know Lord Grant is a better choice than being a spinster. He may have his faults, but your aunt is right, your father and I have been too careless on the topic of your marriage. You've always been the adjusting sort, surely you can adjust here as well?"

Pressing your lips together you offer no reply, choosing to focus on your breakfast instead. Your mother sighs, pressing her fingertips to her temple.

"All of this would have been easier had you just accepted Earl Miya's proposal two years ago. I don't see how you could refuse a man of his type!"

"Lord Miya had proposed to me because he had lost a wager, Mama. I was not going to marry a man only because he was trying to honor his dignity."

"Nonsense, wherever did you get such an idea!"

"Well, you see, the other Lord Miya-"

"And whyever would you be a wager forfeit, of all things!"

There was no arguing against her. "Mama, I do not wish to marry Lord Grant."

Your mother appeared to have gained selective hearing.

"There's to be another ball tonight. You will dance with Lord Grant and form a more solid opinion on him. Your father is already quite fond of him."

"Mama, why are we doing this now? We don't have to listen to Aunt-"

"And stay away from the edges of the room and other dark corners, Lord Sugawara is friends with the nastiest men, I do not know why, he is a gracious man, but London's notorious are sure to be there tonight. The last thing we need is you to be found with, with that Lothario Oikawa, or worse, Kageyama!"

Rolling your eyes this time you retort, "Mama, the ton hasn't seen Duke Kageyama in years, I wouldn't even know who to look out for. As for Lord Oikawa-"

You stop. Lord Oikawa, notorious libertine, deflowerer of virgins, and all-round suave gentleman. Lord Oikawa, who from the whispers of the ton, was tall and handsome, and never turned a lady down.

You smiled.

"Mama, please be sure to ask Lord Grant to find me before the final waltz."

♛

"You've completely lost it, haven't you?"

You choose to ignore your friend, and continue your search for Lord Oikawa.

"Why is it, that he's our favorite rake, yet we've never actually seen what he looks like?"

"He's tall and handsome and has the prettiest eyes, or so I'm told. There cannot be many men that fit that description, can there?"

You discreetly point to a man standing in front of the painting of a fruit bowl, seemingly immersed in thought.

"There, he fits the bill perfectly, would you not say?"

Your friend follows your finger, before seeming to melt at the sight of the man.

"That's Baron Wakatoshi, he is quite tall and handsome, isn't he?"

"What about the man on the stairwell?"

"That's Lord Kuroo, he's quite a catch too, I must say-"

"What about him?" you whisper urgently, "in the center of the gaggle of mamas."

"That's Lord Kita, any lady who catches his eye would be the luckiest woman ever. And I mean ever-"

You groan, pressing your palm to your face. Why was Lord Sugawara acquainted with so many tall and handsome men? Granted he too was a part of the set, but surely friendship required more criteria? Perhaps a love of Plato, or horse riding?

Your friend suddenly tugs at your wrist, "that's him, oh my goodness, it has to be! Look at the refreshments, in the maroon coat, that's Lord Oikawa!"

An icy shiver bolted down your spine, as you glanced at the refreshments table. Now that you had found him, it was time to seduce him.

"The maroon coat you say?"

"Yes, he's reaching for that pastry look!"

You paused.

"That is not Lord Oikawa. That's Lord Miya."

Your friend looks at you with her eyes widened.

"You turned down a proposal from that man? It's worse than I thought!"

"No, I turned down a proposal from his brother, although they are identical, I suppose."

Your friend moaned," why haven't you introduced me to him, I could have been Lady Miya by now. You're a terrible friend."

"Er, I'm not exactly friends with him, but I'm sure he'll recognize me. Do you want an introduction now, or-"

A flash of navy catches the corner of your eye. You sharply turn your head, to watch a tall, dark-haired man slip out the garden door. Frowning, you glance at the clock, the final waltz would begin soon, and no gentleman would escape to the gardens right before it. It had to be him.

"I- I'm heading to the gardens, if Mama comes looking for me, tell her I'm in the gardens."

Your friend, still fixated on Lord Miya, flutters her hand in a go shoo motion. "Happy ravishment dear, tell me how it goes will you?"

♛

Tobio never should have believed Sugawara. Tonight's ball was worse than the previous and once Tobio caught sight of Oikawa it had been game over. Without looking back, he had rushed out the doors into the cool night. Making his way through the garden maze, he arrives at the center of it, where a small waterfall sparkles under the moonlight. Loosening his cravat, he pulls it off and slips it into his pocket, gulping fresh air. Tilting his head back, he closes his eyes, grateful for the solitary moment. He'd always hated the London ton- the socializing, the small talk, the judgement. Perhaps he ought to retire for the season and return back to his country home.

A rustling of skirts draws his attention, and he turns quickly, eyes flying open and, oh.

It's you. The girl from six years ago.

You don't quite look the same, but you do. Your stand straight now, eyes fixed on him. The same eyes, the same lips. Tobio feels the strongest urge to say something jocular, to hear you laugh again- to know if it was the same. However, before he can open his mouth, you're making your way to him, purpose in your steps. Instinctively he takes a step back, the back of his shins bumping into a stone bench.

"I," you begin, and Tobio's lips part at your voice.

"I," you say again, before stopping to take a deep breath. It takes every ounce of strength to Tobio has to not let his eyes flicker down as your bosom heaves with the motion.

"You're Lord Tooru Oikawa."

Tobio blinks. It cannot be, there's no way. No fucking way.

Before he can inject, you continue, effectively quashing any opportunity for him to rectify your mistake.

"I'm going to just say it, so please listen. I need to be ravished, right now."

Tobio's head has stopped working, and clearly so have his ears. There is no way in actual hell you said what he thought you did, and not to someone you thought was fucking Oikawa.

"I know it's improper to ask, and I'm not sure how these things go exactly, but I really need you to- to," you stumble over your words, clearly unsure what a ravishment entails.

Tobio finally finds his words and raises a hand to stop you.

"You have the wrong person, and I'm not sure why you're here, but your reputation would be ruined if you were to be found with me. Please let me leave you alone."

Heart pounding, he goes to move, but you quickly close in on the few paces that separate the two of you. Startled by your sudden proximity, Tobio drops down on the bench behind him.

"No, please. You don't understand- I need you to, to ruin me."

"You want to be fucked by Oikawa?" Tobio asks incredulously, feeling too confused and hurt to register the use of profanity before a young lady.

You frown, brow furrowing.

"Er, yes- I want to be ahem fucked, by you," you whisper the word, and a shiver runs down Tobio's back.

You move closer, placing your hands on his shoulders, and nudging his legs apart so that you can stand between them.

"Please, fuck me."

♛

You had no idea why Lord Oikawa was referring to himself in third person, but you decided to move on to more pressing matters. The man in question was looking up at you, eyes darkened, and mouth parted.

The rumors weren't wrong, and with a face like that- you could see why the ladies of the ton were queuing up to be ravished by this man.

There was something so curiously familiar about this man as well, although you suppose that was a part of his charm as well.

His hands rise to hover around the vicinity of your waist- hesistating.

Impatiently you guide his hands to your waist, heart backflipping as he immediately squeezes and pulls you closer to rest his head on your stomach.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

You shiver at his dark tone, acutely aware of his hands wandering, stopping occasionally to press into a particularly plush part.

"I know what I want."

"What if I were to tell you this is it? This is all there is to ravishment?"

"No!" you blurt out, sinking your hands into his hair and pulling, "it's not enough."

Inhaling sharply, he tugs, pulling you fully into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Wrapping an arm around your waist he leans in, lips brushing yours as he speaks, warm breath fanning across your face.

"Say it again, tell me what you want."

Heat pooling in your lower stomach, you swallow once before you're able to get the words out. You feel your nipples peak, pushing against the thin silk of your dress.

"I want you to fuck me," you whisper, "I need you to fuck me."

His eyes flutter shut as slowly exhales, one hand sliding up your back to rest on your nape. Tilting your head back he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss right in between your collarbones, then lower. You gasp as he licks across your décolletage, nipping at the swells of your breasts. Your nerves feel on fire, liquid lava coursing as he continues his ministrations.

"Who?" he murmurs, "Who do you need to fuck you?"

Whimpering you grind down on his lap, desperate for some sort of friction. Cursing softly, he rolls his hips up, and you whine as something hard presses against your core, at just the right angle- leaving you incapable of coherent thought.

"Please, again, just-" you cry, desperately searching for that rhythm again. Panting, he grips your waist again, lifting and moving you on his lap so that you're able to chase your pleasure.

The two of you rock together, Oikawa cursing under his breath as he scrambles to untie the laces holding your dress together. A faint part of you wonders why a rake with so much experience was struggling with a mere corset, but that thought vanishes the moment he slips his hands into your dress. Grinding against him, you frantically get rid of your gloves as he pushes your bodice down, baring yourself for him and the cool night. Sinking your hands into his hair you gasp again, as he nips at the edge of your nipple, before enveloping the entire thing.

"I. I'm-" you feel something building inside you, gasping for air.

"Yeah, just from this? Fuck, let go darling, I have you, just-"

You moan as your pleasure crashes over you, panting. He holds you close through it, pressing gentle kisses wherever he can reach. Panting, you come down from your high, hands gripping his shoulder for purchase.

Cheeks warm, you lift your head to look at him, finding his dark eyes trained on you.

"Open your mouth," he whispers, breath fanning over your face. Swallowing, you follow his orders.

"Wider."

You part your mouth even more. Pausing for a heartbeat, his eyes flicker down to your lips, before the corner of his mouth lifts- just barely- the beginnings of a half-smile. Leaning in, he licks into your mouth, muffling your whine. You move to kiss him back, but he sharply draws back.

"Did I say you could do that? Sit on my lap and keep your mouth open, just for me."

Eyes flickering shut, you part your mouth once more, waiting.

"You're such a good girl."

Saliva pools in your mouth as he continues licking, one hand gripping your jaw, palm resting against your neck, to keep you in position- the other slipping under your dress, flirting up your thigh.

Which is exactly how your mother, your aunt, and Lord Grant find the two of you.

♛

Your aunt's shriek pierces the night, causing the two of you to fly apart- well it would've, had Lord Oikawa not held firm on your very naked back. There was certainly no way to misconstrue what was happening here.

Biting your lip to hide a smile, you glance up at Lord Oikawa, who seems shell-shocked.

"What on earth is this! I cannot believe it, this- this is a mistake," your aunt continues, as more people start trailing over, alerted by your aunt's shriek. Your mother rushes over immediately, "Your dress, button up your dress, my god."

Oikawa seems to spring into action at this, sliding his coat off and covering you, ensuring you're completely covered before helping you slide off his lap and stand on your own. As more people crowd around, hushed murmurs and gasps fill the air, the rake strikes again!

The crowd parts as two tall gentlemen make their way.

"What is the issue here-"

"Oho? What indeed is the issue here?"

"Lord Sugawara, Lord Oikawa," the man behind you (still standing so close) begins, before stopping short.

You decide to take over, your plan had worked splendidly, might as well help the man out a little.

"Lord Sugawara, Lord Oikawa," you begin as well, curtseying to the best of your ability in the oversized coat.

Wait. Lord Oikawa?

You whip your head back at the man behind you, and then at the men in front of you.

"Lord Oikawa?" you ask again, hesitantly, and the man beside Lord Sugawara makes a noise of affirmation.

"Tobio-chan, it looks like you've surpassed me and Lord Miya!"

Dread fills you as you realize why Lord Oikawa, no, not-Lord-Oikawa had been speaking in third person and had been so insistent on names.

You turn to your mother, who looks like she's taken to praying, and then back to the man behind- now beside you.

Lord Kageyama.

Thoughts racing, you breathe. No harm done anyway, all you needed was to be ravished- what did it matter if it just so happened to be the quiet boy who had caught your eye six years ago, who had somehow turned into a rake. How did you not recognize him?

"Alright everyone, let's let the family handle this. Back to the ball, off you go," the other Lord Miya's voice cuts through the chatter, and you catch his bemused eye as he winks at you.

Your aunt comes forward, anger visible on her face.

"I will marry her."

Everyone stops.

Lord Kageyama turns to you, " Let's get married."

[goryhorroor]

What are some underrated horror films? I have watched all the popular ones and need more! Thanks!

mentally prepare yourself because im ready to give a gumbo list (this has been sitting in my inbox because i had to ask all my friends and this is the list we came up with):

curse of the demon (1957) the serpent and the rainbow (1988) paranoiac (1963) the old dark house (1932) countess dracula (1971) golem (1920) haxan (1968) island of lost souls (1932) mad love (1935) mill of the stone women (1960) the walking dead (1936) the ghoul (1933) tourist trap (1979) the seventh victim (1943) ganja & hess (1973) dead of night (1945) a bay of blood (1971) let's scare jessica to death (1971) alice sweet alice (1976) the deadly spawn (1983) the brain that wouldn't die (1962) all about evil (2010) black roses (1988) the baby (1973) parents (1989) a blade in the dark (1983) blood lake (1987) solo survivor (1984) lemora: a child's tale of supernatural (1973) eyes of fire (1983) epitaph (2007) nightmare city (1980) slugs (1988) death smiles on a murderer (1973) intruder (1989) short night of glass dolls (1971) the children (2008) alone in the dark (1982) end of the line (2007) the queen of spades (1949) the housemaid (1960) tormented (1960) captain clegg (1962) the long hair of death (1964) dark age (1987) the crawling eye (1958) the kindred (1987) the gorgon (1964) wicked city (1987) baba yaga (1973) 976-evil (1988) bliss (2019) decoder (1984) amer (2009) the visitor (1979) day of the animals (1977) leptirica (1973) planet of the vampires (1965) lips of blood (1975) berberian sound studio (2012) a wounded fawn (2022) matango (1963) the mansion of madness (1973) the killing kind (1973) symptoms (1974) morgiana (1972) whispering corridors (1998) dead end (2003) infested (2023) (this just came out but im adding it) triangle (2009) the premonition (1976) you'll like my mother (1972) the mafu cage (1978) white of the eye (1987) mister designer (1987) alison's birthday (1981) the suckling (1990) graveyard shift (1987) messiah of evil (1987) out of the dark (1988) seven footprints to satan (1929) burn witch burn (1962) the damned (1962) pin (1988) horrors of malformed men (1969) mr vampire (1985) the vampire doll (1970) contracted (2013) impetigore (2019) eyeball (1975) malatestas carnival of blood (1973) the witch who came from the sea (1976) i drink your blood (1970) nothing underneath (1985) sauna (2008) seance (2000) come true (2020) the last winter (2006) night tide (1961) the brain (1988) dementia (1955) don't go to sleep (1982) otogirisou (2001) reincarnation (2005) mutant (1984) spookies (1986) shock waves (1977) bloody hell (2020) the den (2013) wer (2013) olivia (1983) enigma (1987) graverobbers (1988) manhattan baby (1982) evil in the woods (1986) death bed: the bed that eats (1977) cathy's curse (1977) creatures from the abyss (1994) the dorm that dripped blood (1982) the witching (1993) madman (1981) vampire's embrace (1991) blood beat (1983) the alien factor (1978) savage weekend (1979) blood sisters (1987) deadly love (1987) playroom (1990) die screaming marianne (1971) pledge night (1990) night train to terror (1985) the devonsville terror (1983) ghostkeeper (1981) special effects (1984) blood feast (163) the child (1977) godmonster of indian flats (1973) blood rage (1980) the unborn (1991) screamtime (1983) the outing (1987) the being (1983) silent madness (1984) lurkers (1988) forver evil (1987) squirm (1976) death screams (1982) jack-o (1995) haunts (1976) a night to dismember (1983) creaturealm: demons wake (1998) the curse (1987) daddy's deadly darling (1973) nightwing (1979) the laughing dead (1989) the severed arm (1973) the orphan (1979) not like us (1995) prime evil (1988) the monstrosity (1987) dark ride (2006) antibirth (2016) iced (1988) the soultangler (1987) twisted nightmare (1987) puffball (2007) biohazard (1985) cameron's closet (1988) beast from haunted cave (1959) the she-creature (1956)

[luveline]

Hi! I just read Prince steve's shot of the steampunk au and god, I loved it. I saw below it said you could make a request for it, so I wanted to know if you could do one about the how they met. I know it's mentioned, but I'd like to see what it was like at the time, if it's not too much trouble.

PS: qmo how you write, you are one of my role models 💕.

prince!steve au ♡ fem, 1.1k

Young people stand like dominoes in the sun, teetering, waiting to topple in on one another if given reason. Nine days of bated breath, the city waits in a ramping anticipation for Prince Steven to meet his soulmate.

You're almost hoping it isn't you so you can go home and rest your aching legs. Hours in the warm summer air, your worst dress sticking to the back of your clammy knees. You're not fit to meet the Prince. But… if you meet the Prince, and you were to somehow be his soulmate, you'd live an easy life. 

You'd live in a Palace, wear the finest clothes, eat the nicest foods (three times a day!). You could spend your days lounging under crystal chandeliers eating plates of fruit and expensive cheeses, air-conditioned and always smelling of vanilla, or sandalwood, or saffron. You've never tried saffron perfume, but it's the most expensive at the apothecary. 

The line mills shorter. You follow close to the heels of a girl dressed in better finery, a cherry red dress that looks like it's made of thin sheets of glass, her dark hair coiled in sweet cherubic curls at the back of her neck. They bounce with every step you take closer to the pedestal. You attach your attention to them, following the winding twist of them to the root over and over. 

You want very badly to be the Prince's soulmate. You'd be stupid not to want such luxury. But letting yourself believe that it's you out of the tens of thousands of eligible young people is asking to feel disheartened.

You convince yourself for the millionth time that it's not you as you follow the line inside of the royal gardens. Trees with weeping branches arc inward, their leaves kissing and sunlight dappled onto the people below. You feel it warming your skin as you take the final stretch. 

Apparently, for the King's soulmate search, he simply held out his arm and let women touch the inside of his palm with their pinky finger. He did this for two days. Prince Steven's search is taking much longer, as he's insisted on greeting and shaking the hands of everyone who's presented themselves. 

You wonder what that might feel like. He's a super pretty man, with exactly the sort of smile a Prince might hope to have. Whenever you see him on the holo screens you feel sick, wanting desperately to remain indifferent to him, but knowing you're just like every other silly young person in the kingdom. You want to be a special perfect royal. You want to take his hand and leave behind your disappointing life. 

Too bad it's a fantasy. 

"Next, please," says a young woman with red hair, looking at you pointedly. 

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth and walk determined to the top of the garden. Up three gentle steps and into a Palace of white, pearly stone. There's a long corridor lined with guards who eye you as you draw in. Deemed decidedly undangerous, they let you pass into a makeshift reception. You'd already had your name taken to be allowed in the line; nothing stands in your way of the Prince but chiffon pink curtains that shine like rose honey in the sun and a surprisingly small girl with a sword. 

And there, among an audience of officials and important people, sits the Prince. He looks smaller than you imagined, a little tired. The girl with the sword kicks his shin and he perks up, to the ire of the older members of his court. 

"Hey," he calls, "don't be shy! And don't be slow, either. Please. I missed dinner last night–" The girl clears her throat. Prince Steven takes on a more princely effect. "Please, come in." 

The audience isn't exactly paying attention. Any hope they had for a soul mate today has seemingly passed, and you can hear a few poorly muffled scoffs at your appearance. Surely the girl before you posed a more pleasing possibility. She looked like a princess. 

You stall a few paces from him. 

He frowns at you. In his garb, his neat clothes, a heavy platinum crown atop his head, he's strangely intimidating. You assumed he'd feel more familiar up close, like buying a gemstone from the catalogues and finding they've sent you zirconium, but it's the opposite. 

"Are you okay?" the girl asks. 

"She's fine," Prince Steven says, standing up from his ornate chair. He steps down from the short platform, even his steps a princely brand of perfection. "Well you're more than fine," he says to you, and you gather from the get go that he's not flirting with you, only joking to ease your nerves. 

He offers his hand. 

You take in a breath and approach him with measured steps. Being run through by his personal guards crystal sword isn't on your agenda this week. 

All you have to do is touch his hand and go home when nothing happens. You're nervous, but stalling any longer prolongs the awkwardness you've created. 

You step forward. 

Before your fingers can touch his palm, the feathered lines curled around your opposite wrists begin to glow. 

A silence falls. 

You take your hand back but the light doesn't fade. It's white, nearly cream in colour, with the density of fog but none of its cold. Prince Steven's eyes are wide and awash, the sun-kissed skin of his arm paled. "You–" he says, stepping forward again. 

You take his hand. You have to know. 

White light sears and then blooms, like petals unfurling, the source of it indistinguishable from your wrist or his. And then, when you're sure your heart might fall out of your mouth, the light dims. What remains is thin as fairy floss wrapped around your skin and his. 

He rubs the meat of your thumb with the tip of his, and that light glows soft pink, like flower jam. 

"It's you," he says. He sounds happy, as though you were a pleasant surprise. 

You tuck your hand behind your back, and the glow remains. It's you. You're Prince Steven's soul mate. 

"She doesn't look much like a princess," someone whispers. 

"I wouldn't say that," Prince Steven says, his eyes roving over you without apology. His smile is as authentic as they come. "I think you'd better meet my mother." 

"Now?" you ask. 

"Afraid so. Don't worry, though, you look pretty." He offers his hand again. "Come on."

He's a prince. You take his hand.

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Incest, noncon, G/G, miniaturization

I

As April looked out the window, she fancied herself stepping out of the plane and walking on the blanket of clouds. She knew it was, of course, impossible: no matter how solid those clouds looked, she would just plummet down, fall for ages. Shit, it might be a good alternative to returning home. It occurred to her that she was probably the first member of her family to have such fantasies, and not just because she was the first one to ride a plane- her mother, her tens of cousins… they lacked the imagination for such dreaming. To them the world was small, immediate, obvious. It stopped at face value. They would try to walk on clouds. They looked so solid, after all.

His brother Kevin, on the other hand, did have an imagination. He had imagined he could escape their hole of a town by dealing meth. Too bad he didn’t have the intelligence to make it happen. Kevin had lasted one week as a street dealer, the very bottom of the criminal ladder before the cops busted him. Well, at least he had tried.

April knew she should feel guilty for thinking such things, but after two years in College, surrounded by some of the most brilliant scientific minds in the country, the evidence was too great to ignore. She was, objectively, different. Smarter. Better. There was a reason that by age twenty she was on a full-ride scholarship, making huge strides in fields her mother had no hope of comprehending; that same mother, by age twenty, had managed to get knocked up twice, by two different lowlifes who vanished the second the little stripes on the tests turned blue. Birth control was, apparently, a concept far too complex for her mother to grasp.

Fuck. Why was April even going back home? Guilt, obviously. She had skipped two holidays in a row, and her mother had turned on the waterworks to an unbearable degree.  

April was smart enough to realize part of her spite came from fear. It wasn’t a rational thing, she knew, but she could feel it in her chest. She was different from her family, sure, but she was different from her colleagues as well. A part of her felt out of place, as if those men and women from comfortable backgrounds could smell the white trash inside her veins. Nobody said anything. Nobody looked at her in a weird way. But still… April felt that should one of them scratch her, the thin veneer she wore of an “admirable scientist” would flake off and reveal just another trashy blonde wearing daisy dukes and lounging by a 7-11 every weekend, getting wasted on cheap whiskey, just like most of her former highschool classmates. 

Her mind wandered to the secret hidden in her luggage. Dr. Mill’s words echoed in her head. It’s too valuable to take out of the lab, April. And besides, it’s bad for you to take work home. Trust me, you don’t want to burn out. You need to rest.

Good advice for anyone else, but not for her. What was she supposed to do for two weeks in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? Watch reality TV with her mom and listen to her whining about her oh-so-hard life? Catch up with assholes who peaked in highschool and whose peak had been a molehill? Drink at the one bar in town and watch dumb fucks trying to pick her up by extolling the virtues of their trucks?

No. No. Better to play the hermit, solidify her family reputation as a cold hearted bitch, and get some work done. Work, she knew, no one had a chance to understand.

II

June grabbed another chip. God, she was baking inside her car, but the AC was busted and she couldn’t afford to get it fixed- and besides, it was worth it to see her girl. She missed April so much, in a way she couldn’t fully put into words. She missed her in her body, in her chest. It was like having a stone stuck inside her and no way to get it out. That’s the closest she could come to explaining it. 

She had been missing her daughter for a long time, to be fair. At some point her baby girl had just… changed. Maybe when she had turned twelve or so. Suddenly June couldn’t understand what April was talking about, or what her interests were, or why she looked so miserable all the time. Sure, adolescence was a part of it, but there was something else in the mix. June tried so, so hard to be a good mom. Two jobs, extra gigs, trying to help April with school, trying to teach her to be a good person. That was all she could do, and she figured she must have done something right. June didn’t fully get why or how but April had managed to get into a good school, for free. June was so, so proud. She was also proud of some other things, awards and grants and such, that she didn’t really comprehend. Her girl was bright. Too bright, maybe. Maybe that’s why she was so bitter all the time. Too much thinking was like too little thinking, June figured. Neither was good. But she did try to talk to April, to bridge that gap. Couldn’t say it was working, though.

When she saw April coming out of the airport, her heart lit up for a second. Then she immediately thought: girl sticks out like a frog on fries. She couldn’t help it. April looked beautiful, sure, but beautiful in a weird way. She dressed like someone on TV, from New York or something. The other girls in town weren’t going to like that. Putting on airs was frowned upon. But fuck it. Her daughter was here. Home. Finally.

They hugged tight. Actually, June hugged April tight. April sort of… took it. June realized she had left sweat stains on her daughter’s blouse and felt ashamed. She couldn’t say why. It was like she was looking less at a daughter and more at a boss or something. 

The small talk felt icky. The drive to the house seemed to go on forever. June felt guilty about it. She tried to find something that would spark April’s interest, but… she had nothing to offer. That was a rotten feeling, having nothing to offer her daughter. And the drive only reminded June that she had experienced that sinking feeling for a long time.

III

April took a deep look inside herself. Yep, still not used to it. Her room still was unbearably, overwhelmingly pink. She had made a little bet with herself that she would get accustomed to it in a few days- and a week into her visit, it still bothered her. Sure, it was her childhood room and she had been too busy to redecorate, but… her mother had kept it exactly as it had been, dolls and everything. April had never liked dolls, and she still remembered having to pretend to be happy when her mom gave her a big doll house for Christmas- one, April knew even back then, they couldn’t afford.

At least she had managed to move the project forward. Nothing major, just a few adjustments, just slight improvements- but given the magnitude of her work, the sheer potential within it, even a small upgrade was monumental. It made her dizzy, sometimes, knowing she would change the world. She stared at the horrid ceiling. It still didn’t feel real, coming from this place and being on the verge of-

The scream from downstairs launched her out of bed. Her mind went to the worst possible scenario, and she hated that she knew, instantly, what had happened. Fuck. No, no, no. She flew down the stairs, blaming herself for leaving the device out in the open. What the fuck had she been thinking? How had she not foreseen the obvious, incredibly stupid, possibility of…

“April! April, what the hell?”

April looked around. The pile of clothes by the table told her everything she needed to know. Her mother was leaping, screaming her tiny, tiny lungs out. Twin flames erupted inside the young scientist. It worked! It worked exactly as she said it would work, and it had worked outside of a lab setting, out in the real world! All her calculations, all her experiments, all her theories had been proven correct by the diminute, shouting woman on the floor. This was not just a success, but a world-changing event. Logistics, storage, transportation, all would be revolutionized. She could imagine aid, medicine, clothing delivered to those who needed it- and, of course, there were the potential commercial uses…

On the other hand, there was the rage. This… woman, this absolute idiot, this stain on her own daughter’s DNA had just risked everything April had worked for. The sleepless nights, the hours upon hours of effort, the accumulated prestige, the grants- should the device be damaged in any way… 

“April! Help me! What happened? I went to use your phone…”

Phone? The device looked nothing like a phone. Surely her mother couldn’t be this stupid, could she?

“Mom… Did you think that was a phone? Why?”

“I don’t know! Phones change all the time, with new models and all that stuff! I just wanted to look up a recipe and now… what the hell happened to me? Why is everything so… huge?”

April took a deep breath, trying to hold back the anger boiling inside her chest.

“Mom, things are not huge. You’re… small, ok? The space between the nuclei of your atoms and the electrons was compressed via… it doesn’t matter. You’re not going to get it. The bottom line is…”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid! I may not have your fancy education but you don’t have the right to…”

The right? April could feel herself starting to shake. She had the right to say whatever the fuck she wanted to any moron, family or not, especially if that particular moron had just risked her entire life’s work! Where did this person get off, thinking she deserved respect? 

“You fucking…”

“April! Don’t you use that language with me! I’m still your mother, and…”

“And what? And fucking what, mom? What the fuck are you going to do? Try to make me feel guilty? Hold me back like you always have? Drag me to watch one of your braindead reality shows? Why? What gives you the fucking right? What have you achieved? Ever? The only thing you’ve done worth a shit is getting knocked up with me. Fuck, even my name is a testament to your tiny, mediocre imagination! I’m April because you’re June! What, was February too hard to spell?”

Suddenly, April realized something. Looking down at this diminutive being, finally looking as small as her mind, getting everything off her chest, she felt… good. She felt free, for once. Powerful. Why, she could just take a little step and crush her mother under her foot, feel her wiggling between her toes, trying in vain to escape. It was an intoxicating fantasy, and April decided not to delve into its morality. 

“April… how can you say such things? I raised you… I busted my ass for you! And now that I need your help…”

“No. We’re not doing this. It’s over. The pity party? Not happening. I’m over feeling guilty about the fact that I am better than you. And I am! I’m smarter, I’m younger, I’m more accomplished and I won’t apologize for it!”

“April, you need to fix this!”

“Oh, I need to fix the mess your own stupidity made? You’re such a fucking child! You know what? If you want to be a manipulative baby so badly, I’ll treat you like a baby.”

June couldn’t even think of anything to say before her own daughter, large as a building, imposing as the full moon, leaned forward, her hand darkening everything like an eclipse.

April looked at the small figure in her hand. It was pathetic, crying and screaming. All it would take would be a squeeze, and… She could do anything to this person. Anything at all. She didn’t seem human, and April took the time to turn her around, to look at every inch of her skin, almost as if she was admiring a particularly realistic doll. Had this… creature been the mother that had caused her so much heartache? How had she allowed herself to give energy and time to someone who had always been so… small? In the end, all the device had done was to give her mother’s body the right size for her mind, for her relevance in the world. She had always been just insignificant, and April felt silly for ever having felt any sort of responsibility towards her. Fuck it. She wanted to be an annoying child? She would be one. 

“Well, mom, take a deep breath. I’m taking you where you belong.”

“What-”

April let her tiny mother slide between her breasts, and smiled. It was a rather delightful sensation, almost tickling. April squeezed her tits together, just for a bit. At least that was one good thing she had gotten from dear mommy: a fairly large chest. As she walked back up to her room, she let herself enjoy the way the vibrations from her mother’s screams felt on her skin. Well, if her mom could scream, she could breathe. That was all she deserved. April lingered for a moment in front of the doll house, pushing her breasts together a couple of times for good measure. Finally, she picked the tiny woman from under her top, and placed her inside the house.

“There. Isn’t that nice? The house you always dreamed of! And…”

April started tossing old dresses from her childhood drawers, kept by some forsaken reason by her mother. It should be there, somewhere under… Ah. Bingo. She skipped to the dollhouse, opened the small bag in her hand and let the tiny clothes rain down on her diminutive mother.

“Now you can dress like a proper lady! Isn’t that nice? Shit, those clothes are better than anything you ever got me!”

“April, stop, please, I’m begging you!”

God, it felt good. Like things were in their proper place. Or rather in their proper size. April had always towered over this woman, after all. And there was something intoxicating, heady in the sheer sense of power she felt- for once, she was playing the role she was born to play. She chose a dress from the pile, one advertised, if memory served, as “Prom Night Mindy”. She got Mindys and Katies and Jennys- never Barbies. Dollar store dolls from a dollar store mom. 

“Don’t you like this one? It’s blue! Your favorite color! Put it on.”

“Have you gone crazy? No!”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In a flash, April held her mother in her hand. She looked so pathetic, so silly. Yet there was something… tasteful in her proportions, something April had never noticed behind the years of resentment. June was a beautiful woman- one that made a beautiful doll. Almost absentmindedly, April carefully squeezed the minuscule woman’s breasts. Quite firm still, she realized. Her mother squirmed and spoke in vain. April was almost in a trance, like she was seeing a toy for the first time. She flicked her finger, striking her mother’s ass. It probably hurt quite a bit, but April didn’t care. The way her finger bounced off those tiny buttocks was both comical and quite relaxing. Maybe she could keep her around, use her as a fidget toy, flick her now and then while working on important things.

“Put me down right now! What’s come over you?”

April took the dress.

“Okay, mom. Arms up, come on. Let’s see how you look in proper clothing, for once”

“No! I won’t…”

“Mom… I don’t think you understand. I can just close my hand and that’s it. The end. Vanished from this Earth. Who would even imagine there’s a tiny body in the bottom of the trash? You’ll never tell me what to do, do you understand? Now, hands up.”

June could feel her daughter was serious. She was capable of doing it. That realization alone was enough to both terrify her and break her heart. Slowly, she lifted her arms, and felt the coarse fabric on her skin. April put her back inside the pink dollhouse.

“Not bad! Give me a little twirl”

“It’s itchy…”

“Well, then maybe you should have bought better dolls with better clothes, huh mom? But I have to say, it does look good on you! Now, twirl!”

June felt ridiculous. She spun and the dress danced upwards. The size wasn’t quite right, and it ended up wrapping itself around her waist.

“Oh, mom! Looks like it’s a bit too short for you! Or maybe you just can’t help yourself and like flashing your stuff around town! What would Ken say? Well, I don’t think he would mind. He doesn’t have any… equipment. Not that you ever bought me a Ken, anyway. But you? Anatomically correct! Now, let’s get you out of that dress, find you a prettier one.”

April tossed the dress after ripping it off her mother’s body. Once again, she felt herself drawn to the beauty she held in her hands.

“Anatomically correct indeed…” she muttered.

Driven by curiosity and the pulsing sensation that grew and grew more powerful between her legs, April exposed with little effort her mother’s most private parts, keeping her thighs open with two fingers.

“April, what… What are you…?”

She tasted her mother like a delicacy. It was, April had to admit, a rather delightful experience, a bit like caviar- a small blast of flavor, mixed with salty sweat, topped off with a heady sniff of pheromones. April licked absentmindedly, her mind gone. It was… relaxing, in a weird way. Like smoking, she supposed. Something to soothe oral anxiety…

Suddenly, she felt her mom squirming, legs trying to close together, body contorting, screams muffled by those tiny hands. April couldn’t comprehend what happened, and it took her a few seconds to realize the simple, obvious fact.

“You came!”

June covered her face in shame. Her daughter was right. Torn between the still lingering sensation and the desire to cry her guilt away, she shook. It was wrong on so, so many levels… but her body had betrayed her, made her explode for her own daughter’s gigantic tongue…

“Oh no. Don’t you get all emotional now. You miniscule slut! Cumming like that because of your own daughter! Aren’t you one tiny whore? Well, I hope you enjoyed it! You know, I always wanted a doll with some kind of action, but I didn’t imagine this kind of action. But… this isn’t fair, is it? It’s not fair at all! You get to cum and I don’t? No, that won’t do!”

April tore her shorts and panties away, sat on the floor and opened her legs. She was soaked already; a fact she took in with an almost scientific coldness. This was certainly an application she hadn’t predicted for her invention, but then again, the greatest discoveries were often accidents.

“What are you waiting for? You have hands and feet and a tiny tongue to explore every inch of my pussy! Don’t you get it? You have the chance to be the world’s best sex toy! Doing things, reaching places no dildo could ever stimulate! So, get to it!”

“Are you insane? I’ll never…”

“Oh, shut up. Do I need to crush you under my foot? Is that what you want? Didn’t think so. So, stop yapping for once and be useful!”

April didn’t let her mother answer. The woman had spoken enough for three lifetimes. She simply grabbed June and placed her between her legs. She quickly realized the threat had worked, and a myriad of sensations coursed through her body. Fuck, this was revolutionary.

She let her head fall back, her body relax and enjoy. Her mind drifted as her breath quickened. Pleasure mixed with dreams of what was to come. Nobel Prize. A new world, beget by her genius. Entire industries transformed. 

And as for her mother… well, finally she was of some use. Nobody would miss her- and she’d look great in a tiny cage by her bed.

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