#david copperfield imagine

[royalsunshinehotel]

hi hi hi hi!!!! love your work! love your fics!!!!!! amazing and wonderful and lovely and wow💗💗 is it too much to request a gawain imagine??? he's had a long day and is annoyed at everything but he comes home to his wife and melts into her because she makes everything better. slow, loving smut in the end?? love your copperfield smut too⭐️ david and gawain are dreamy asfffffff

Crawl Home (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

thirty six days until monkey man!!

A/N: The first half of this fic is based on lore I've heard about Charles Dickens being regarded as "the man who invented Christmas." Could be filthier, but I digress.

It was the dead of winter, about to be Christmas in London, and it was supposed to be a good, cheerful time of year, but a calm holiday never seemed to be what laid in store for David Copperfield. It was bordering on ridiculous. The whole day, something hot, sharp, and painful had been stabbing him behind the eyes, and he couldn't get it to stop.

He'd been out of the house since the sun rose that morning, doing everything he could to get it together for the holiday. The two of you were actually going to leave the city, back to his Aunt's home, but the energy in the air told him that the trip was all but doomed.

You heard him coming back, stuck in his head, chatting to himself, more annoyed than he usually would have been.

He struggled with the key, and you don't even look up from your book. Usually when he's this heated, it's best to let him wear himself out.

"I just don't understand the need for everyone to go to the shops at once!!" He blew through the front door, slamming it behind him, stomping his boots clean of snow.

"Really? why would they do that?" You asked, knowing your words really weren't of consequence at that moment.

"It's like there was an announcement that everyone steps out at 11am, I could barely get out the front door of the publishers! Ridiculous! Any shopping? Why do we have to get people gifts!"

"David, it's Christmas, give the people a break." You tried, closing your book and putting it to the side.

"They would do the same! People don't want to show a shred of mercy for the less fortunate!" His hands were tight at his sides, his feelings simmering, almost at a boil.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, your husband ran a hand over his face, his curly hair fluffing up as he pulled off his hat.

"I nearly brought home two children that were 'available to work' on the corner near Darby St. Some rich toff was chatting to the Dad, god knows where they'll end up!" David and his big heart.

A familiar ache pulsed through you, "I'm so sorry lovey."

He just roamed the streets of London, seeing and feeling everything!

"I scared their father, I'm sure I can find them tomorrow though." You knew your husband. Tenacious was a word for it, but you should really start preparing to have two more on your Christmas vacation. Later, you thought.

"I worry for you, and your big heart."

"You won't be saying so when we've got two children to feed for Christmas." When, he said, he was thinking about it too.

"Hm, since we're adopting street urchins now, I should take advantage of our privacy." It was an inappropriate thing to say, but you knew if you didn't fuck him into a more temperate mood, there's no way the children would agree to come with him, even if he did find them again. He would, you knew he would but still.

"You are sitting in my lap." You had your chest in his face as well, however you gave him another moment to notice that.

"Back down to earth, are we?" You teased lightly, David's hands cold against your skin.

"...Have you been in your nightgown this whole conversation...?" You shivered as he pushed the gown off one shoulder.

"Yes. I think, since it's the holiday, you might take time off." Your words seemed muffled, heat pooling in your belly as David put his mouth to work on your breast, cold hands kneading the flesh casually, because he'd been doing it for years.

"You've been working so hard on your serials, I miss you." You all but moaned as David's freezing fingers teased your hardened peaks,

"How much?" He flashed a smile up at you, as you adjusted your legs.

"You should feel!" You prompted, and a cold hand wandered down to your dampening heat. You moaned loudly at the contrast of temperature, pitiful and absolutely perfect.

David whined, in the way you like.

Now normally, the two of you would tease more, enjoy each other with hands and mouths. Its a favorite past time for you like to hold his member in your hands and watch it twitch and grow...another day perhaps.

For now, you're not rushing, but you're not going to wait. You warm your hand a moment before pulling David free of his trousers. He sat perfectly still, like a good boy. He deserved a treat after the day he had.

Helping you, he took a large hand and bunched your nightdress to your hips, and he supported you, other hand on your ass as you mounted him.

He was simply so lucky to have you.

With a wet, filthy sound, you took your husband in deep. It was supposed to be a treat for him, and here you were, barely a thought in your pretty little head.

It was his fault, his cock was too lovely!

He paused, to let you catch your breath, but with a squeeze to your rear, you begin to move, to ride.

"You always feel so good inside me," your breathy little whine prompted a nip to your collarbone. The soft velvet of the chair only heightened how your hair stood on end.

You'd wanted to take control, you'd wanted to come after him like an avenging fertility goddess, taking what you want.

And yet, like most things, you were doing it together.

"I'll always crawl home to you." He murmured, trying everything he could to stay calm. Not too calm, but calm enough.

"You'd better keep your big heart wide, I know sometimes it hurts." You crooned into his ear as he tightened his grip on you, just as greedy as he needed to be.

"It's all worth it for this comfort I receive from you, dear wife." He groaned, humming against your skin. You smirked, bringing your hot breath up to his ears.

Cold. Not for long!

You tugged his earlobes between your teeth, pulling ever so gently, as David melted under you.

A few more rolls of your hips, and you clench down around him, muscles keeping him hostage in you as you milk him for all he's worth. You get to keep him safe, when he's inside you like this.

"What was that, worrying about gifts for the family?" You grabbed his chin, pointing his face towards you.

He smirked, before giving you a sweet, chaste peck, "Once again dearest, you are all that I need."

[britneyshakespeare]

Being then in a pleasant frame of mind (from which I infer that poisoning is not always disagreeable in some stages of the process), I resolved to go to the play. It was Covent Garden Theatre that I chose; and there, from the back of a centre box, I saw Julius Caesar and the new Pantomime. To have all those noble Romans alive before me, and walking in and out for my entertainment, instead of being the stern taskmasters they had been at school, was a most novel and delightful effect. But the mingled reality and mystery of the whole show, the influence upon me of the poetry, the lights, the music, the company, the smooth stupendous changes of glittering and brilliant scenery, were so dazzling, and opened up such illimitable regions of delight, that when I came out into the rainy street, at twelve o'clock at night, I felt as if I had come from the clouds, where I had been leading a romantic life for ages, to a bawling, splashing, link-lighted, umbrella-struggling, hackney-coach-jostling, patten-clinking, muddy, miserable world.

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, "Chapter 19: I Look About Me, and Make a Discovery"

[cowboy-queer]

One of the best parts of the Apollo Justice game is the absurdity of the situation Apollo is in. Imagine you get hired by Frankie Jonas (you have no idea who the Jonas brothers are) and get asked to defend a local disbarred lawyer (who you do know). That disbarred lawyer adopted Criss Angel's daughter after he disappeared. Frankie Jonas killed Criss Angel. Two months later you find out you're going up against Joe Jonas in court and you haven't even heard Cake By The Ocean. Your client is a member of the LA mafia.

The next case you're on is a murder at Joe Jonas' concert, which you were invited to by him. His guest act was Björk, who unbeknownst to you is your mother. Also the mother of Criss Angel's daughter. But your father is not Criss Angel, it's Sufjan Stevens (deceased). The murderer of Björk's manager was Joe Jonas' bandmate JinJoo Lee.

The game culminates in David Blaine (who was in love with your mom, Björk) confessing to framing Criss Angel for David Copperfield's (your grandfather) suicide, and Frankie Jonas admitting that he has committed a second murder. And your new boss has been working with Interpol or some shit for the last seven years to take Frankie Jonas down and get his badge back.

[laginestra98]

After all your marvellous and complex posts about Celeborn, I just wanted to add a silly little thing.

SPOILER FOR 1899 (NETFLIX) AND INTELRUDE IN PRAGUE

I think that, if they must cast someone in that role, the perfect choice would be Aneurin Barnard.

First, because he already worked with Clark in Interlude in Prague, in which they have a love story that ends tragically (very tragically) and The personal history of David Copperfield. In Interlude they even meet at a ball!! Coincidence?? I don't think so, lol

(he play a goofy Mozart, here)

We met in a glade of flowers. I was dancing and he saw me there Galadriel, 1x07

Second, he is the perfect "husband who stays on the background while his strong-willed wife flirts with the mysterious handsome co-protagonist"

Here (1899) she, Maura, doesn't even remember who he is, neither that they have a son; she is too preoccupied to solve the mysteries on the ship they are in (is more complicated than that, btw) with the captain (Eyk, in the gif below) she barely knows, whom she (probably, but we'll never know because Nteflix cancelled it, sigh) has a cosmic connection with (ring a bell?)

I mean, imagine this

with this

He's perfetc for the role!

[isobelline]

What your favourite Dickens novel says about you:

(bear in mind, most of these are severely vibes-based)

The Pickwick Papers: You're most likely gay and have a close group of friends. Your favourite hobby is prank calling your local pizza place. You miss Vine.

Oliver Twist: This is the only Dickens novel you've read or you just really like the musical. You feel extremely sorry for Nancy. You're really attached to your pet(s).

Nicholas Nickleby: You have a strong sense of justice. You either have a travel blog or want to have one. Despite everything you believe that people are fundamentally good.

The Old Curiosity Shop: You're the oldest sibling. You're interested in lost media because you're hoping to find that one cartoon that scarred you as a child. You believe that things aren't what they used to be.

Barnaby Rudge: You've watched at least one major 90s sitcom in its entirety. You love gossip. You call yourself "a little gremlin" unironically.

Martin Chuzzlewit: Oh wow, you exist? Good for you, good for you... You like nature and I mean REALLY like it. You're a completionist. You love Tom Pinch with all your heart.

Dombey and Son: You have daddy issues (duh). You're very lonely but too proud to admit it. You love gothic literature and movies about creepy children.

David Copperfield: You relate to Aunt Betsey an ungodly amount. You like listening to podcasts and imagining that the hosts are talking directly to you. You just love life, man, and all that it has to offer.

Bleak House: You're academically gifted. You know how to knit/crochet/cross stitch/all of the above. In every social situation you're the "mom friend".

Hard Times: You're not like the other girls. You had a steampunk phase. You like to read about famous shipwrecks in your spare time.

Little Dorrit: You love Downton Abbey and/or The Gilded Age. You prefer Jane Bennett to Lizzie. You are on good terms with your parents.

A Tale of Two Cities: You're a centrist. Biopic is your favourite genre of film. You don't like going to concerts because they are too loud.

Great Expectations: There's a good chance you've read this because of South Park. You think Estella deserved better (and you're right). You read a lot of fanfiction.

Our Mutual Friend: You like your characters to be actual characters and not caricatures. You call tell a Cabernet from a Merlot. You have many dating horror stories.

The Mystery of Edwin Drood: You've been on at least one ghost tour. You dislike BBC's Sherlock because it is unfaithful to the books. You strongly considered going to mortuary school at some point.

[mywingsareonwheels]

Got to say as someone who was familiar with Daniel Radcliffe 's work before Rowling's (via his absolutely superb performance as the young David Copperfield in a TV adaptation when he was a kid): he owes her nothing. There's always a lot of luck in acting but chances are he was going to be successful whatever happened. Can't imagine the HP films having been quite so big without his excellence though. She owes *him*.

[choco-bloop]

Thinking about E!False again and I think she would've loved to see David Copperfield (and should have seen him at least once)

Imagine False talking about her copper problems, given how much she uses and how much she oxidises in the nearby field, and Pix catches on and shows her David. I could just see False getting extremely interested in all the details with Pix just going "Its a mechanical marvel"

[trueishcolours]

"I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret—pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many companions—that I am in danger of wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidences, and private emotions. Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose, I have endeavoured to say in it. It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years’ imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing else to tell; unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment still) that no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the reading, more than I have believed it in the writing."

~ Charles Dickens, Preface to David Copperfield

[justforbooks]

A booklover’s dream, this astonishingly great debut novel focuses on family and the power of story in a world of magic, imagination, and serious literary criticism. In Wellington, New Zealand, Rob Sutherland is a hardworking lawyer with a lovely partner, Lydia, and a trying younger brother, Charley, known to his colleagues as Dr. Charles Sutherland. Rob is longsuffering: Charley keeps calling him, often in the middle of the night, to come up to work (Charley teaches at Prince Albert University) and help him catch the characters he’s accidentally released from books so he can put them back. Rob has always had complicated feelings for Charley: he loves his little brother and wants to keep him safe, but he definitely stays annoyed with him much of the time, too. Though four years younger, Charley was a prodigy, who went off to Oxford University the same year that Rob went off to Prince Albert. Rob would have been considered intelligent in most families, but felt overshadowed by a child who read Dickens when he was two years old. One of this novel’s central threads is the challenge of an adult relationship between brothers, with a touch of sibling rivalry, many old wounds, and a persistent bond of love, loyalty, and protectiveness that runs in both directions.

So: Charley is a genius, of the scattered, distant, dreamy type, who keeps accidentally bringing fictional (and nonfictional!) characters out of books. It can get messy. Rob is the exasperated big brother who keeps helping clean up messes – not always in the best of humors. Then the messes get much bigger, beyond anything that Rob or Charley is prepared to deal with – out of their control, and, it eventually becomes clear, outside of Charley’s causing. But Charley, and eventually Rob, do decide that it’s within their responsibility to try to save Wellington, or the world.

This is a story filled with vibrant characters, and that plays with the layers of what ‘character’ can mean. Some are Parry’s (her characters’) interpretations of those written by others, including the title character, Uriah Heep, who comes from David Copperfield and is thus originally Dickens’s, now read by Charley (and Parry). Some are Parry’s originals but, within this book, credited to another (fictional) author. [The indomitable Millie Radcliffe-Dix comes from The Adventures of Millie Radcliffe-Dix, Girl Detective, which unfortunately do not exist in this world I’m out here living in.] And some, like Charley himself, are the inventions of this book. It quickly gets to be a lot, but gosh, in the most fun ways. Again: there was never such a booklover’s book.

The title of The Unlikely Escape of Uriah Heep refers to a character who is not even one of the top five or ten most important in the book – although he is the character at large in the opening scene, when Charley calls Rob in the middle of the night (again). He will reappear periodically. In some ways, Dr. Charles Sutherland is the main character of the book – he has the splashiest powers, and the central conflict rages around him; mysteries wreathe his past; he will have great choices to makes. But it is Rob who narrates the bulk of the book (with a few interludes as exception). In part, I think this is because there is a heavy emphasis, in this world and in this telling, on how one person’s “reading” of another impacts the person being read. Rob’s perspective on Charley matters a great deal. I think Parry’s choice of Rob as narrator is interesting; it shifts the reader’s reading, in similar ways. Whose stories do we matter in? As Dr. Frankenstein tells us: “What you need to understand about protagonists… is that we’re all busy with our own plots. We can’t help it; we’re not used to sharing our stories.” If that’s not a lesson for the real world, I don’t know what is.

I’m still reeling and will enjoy thinking about what this book has shown me as I move through my world and reading. I think it has the potential to be one of those that shifts how I think about it all – which is a big accomplishment. Also, everything Parry writes plunges me deeply and pleasurably into other worlds, which I love. I finished this book and dived directly into another big thick one of hers. Do recommend.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[mylifebeingautistic]

book review: Keedie by Elle McNicoll

Set five years before Elle McNicoll's debut A Kind of Spark, this book follows Keedie in her mission to confront the bullies in her school. The book addresses topics such as teenage popularity, standing up for what is right, and complicated relationships between siblings.

Before this book I had already read A Kind of Spark and watched its TV show adaptation, and Keedie was my favourite character of both. So I was very excited about this book from the second I first heard about it. And it didn't disappoint! This book gave me almost everything I could have wished for.

I loved getting to meet Keedie's friends, Bonnie and Angel, who are also autistic, but have different support needs to Keedie. I would have liked to have seen more of them!

Keedie's relationships with her sisters, Nina and Addie, change throughout this book. I thought their dynamics as siblings were written very well. Nina's role in the story was particularly interesting, painting a very realistic picture of what it might be like to be fourteen years old and trying to fit in.

From this point on, I will be discussing spoilers for Keedie. If you don't want to see those, stop reading here!

Firstly, I loved this scene with Keedie and Mr Allison in the library. Keedie tells Mr Allison how she didn't like the books he'd recommended to her, which were all about the main characters having an autistic sibling, rather than autistic people getting to be the heroes themselves.

"Well, I'll be on the hunt for better. The school wants more representation in the library." "Oh, there's some good stuff," I tell him. "Sherlock Holmes. Vincent Van Gogh. Mr Darcy. Jo and Beth March. Mr Dick from David Copperfield." His eyes dance with surprise. "I'm impressed. And they're all autistic?" "Sure," I say, heading for the exit. "They just don't have the paperwork."

I loved this part because it referenced some characters that I also think are autistic. Especially Beth March and Mr Darcy. I've always found them so relatable and thought they would be autistic if they were real and living in a time when they were able to express themselves and get a diagnosis. Maybe I could make another post about book characters I think are autistic. Would you find that interesting?

It crept up on us, this loss of how things used to be. People are now swept up in what other people think of them. From the choking taste of hairspray in the bathrooms to the group chats, something has shifted.

I really liked this description of the change that happens in school as you enter the teenage years. It's such a shame that it happens. Imagine how much nicer the world could be if we were all free to be ourselves, without worrying what others would think.

In the scene where Keedie speaks up for April when she is hit by the snooker ball, I liked how her differences that might be seen as a bad thing by some were useful in doing something good.

Other people have stops in their heads, like the barriers that come down to block a car from driving across train tracks. Other people keep certain words and behaviours inside, the barriers come down and they don't act. They wait. I don't have those barriers. Never have.

When Keedie confronts her sister after Nina's friends bullied Bonnie at the Founders' Day celebration, Nina says this:

"I did nothing!" Nina shouts, suddenly animated. "As usual, I did nothing wrong!"

Which I think is such an important point about how compliance and being a bystander to bullying is actually just as bad as doing the bullying itself.

"Exactly," I say coarsely. "You did nothing."

At the same time, I do feel for Nina, because I remember what it was like to be in her situation. You feel as if you have to go along with the bullies, because if you don't, they will turn on you too. And I'm glad she saw the error of her ways and apologised to Keedie at the end.

At the birthday party, this happens once again:

I silently challenge Nina with a glare. She can make all this go away. She can check her friends. She can take them somewhere else. She can stand up to them, stand up for us, for once. She can make a difference and choose not to be a bystander to her friends and their bullying tactics. But she says nothing.

I thought it was really accurate how in this scene, the type of bullying that Nina's friends use is one that might not seem like bullying to an outsider. Patronising tones, saying horrible things whilst smiling. It becomes worse later, but it is still the type of bullying that is difficult to report. Targets of bullying like this might not tell anyone because of how difficult it is to explain, or they might question whether to report at all, whether the problem is even real or if they're just overexaggerating it. I know this because it happened to me.

"Want to know the worst thing about being autistic? It's not the autism." I throw the napkin down and push back my chair. "It's people like you."

I really liked this ongoing metaphor of the North Star, as Keedie's reason to keep fighting.

If I'm a voyager of sorts, Bonnie is my North Star. I keep one eye on her at all times, no matter the state of the current, and I keep sailing towards it. She's my only North Star and that will never change.

When Keedie tries to give Angel's dad money so that Addie can go to his school, she doesn't have enough. But Angel's dad tells her:

"You be the person you needed at her age. Be her rock. Be the tree that doesn't move in the storm. You can do that, I know you can, you already are!"

I think this really influences Keedie to become the person we know in A Kind of Spark. She realises that she can't change her past, but she can change Addie's future, to make Addie's experience of growing up better than her own.

It's time to stop hunting sea monsters and start rescuing sharks. To keep gazing up at that North Star. Polaris never was just one star in the sky: it looks like a single bright light but it's made up of multiple stars.

Have you read Keedie? What did you think of it? Did you find it relatable in the same ways I did, or in different ones? Let me know in the comments!

[royalsunshinehotel]

Hello again! Sorry I didnt see that you answered my message tumblr didnt notify me for some reason 🤦‍♀️. And boy do i have ideas for ya boy, our heart and soul, David. (If u still write for him that is).

Picture this: you and david are newlyweds and on a honeymoon. Im picturing something like the channel islands like Jersey, where theres still a nice city aspect but you can get pretty solitary if u want. You run around, do some shopping maybe, goof off together. You both have a cottage that overlooks the water. You both walk by the edge of the water for a bit, completely lovesick and he just chats about how lucky he is that you said yes to him. He keeps telling you how lovely look and you keep teasing him too. Eventually the banter gets very heated and he drags you back to your room in the cottage and ✨️christens✨️ it with you.

This is just an idea btw, not a request or anything so think on this , and have a lovely day!

A Lucky Cloud (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

Giddy was the perfect word for it.

It had been exactly two days since you had met David at the church and become his wife. You find it's quite convenient because early that morning, you were able to kiss the top of David's nose to wake him, and instead of leaving, the two of you would take breakfast together. Your husband is quite a handsome man, it simply has to be said.

You watched him, as you always do, take a sip of his tea, large hands, long elegant fingers holding the cup. Those were the same hands you'd felt everywhere the evening before. He had the nerve to bat his long lashes at you, "What are you thinking, dearest?"

"You're all mine." You stated simple facts, David smiled and put his cup down.

"I am, we signed the papers." Til death do us part, though David said longer.

"And I'm yours." You grinned for no real reason, and David moved his chair back, leaving his lap open. It would have been a shame to leave that seat empty, so you pounced.

"You are. Gone soft on me, have you?" He sighed as you sat down in his lap, as if he had been holding his breath. 

"I have. How sad." David takes your chin with his thumb, and brings your mouth to his, kissing your pout. He tasted sweet, from the sugar cubes piled in his tea. He enjoyed your mouth for a moment, hands roaming over clothes, but he pulled away…

"As much as I would like to take you back to bed, I think we should take a walk today, just to say we did." You blinked at him.

"Outside?" You cocked your head. Why would he want to do a thing like that?

"Outside. Maybe just along the water." Oh, David did enjoy large bodies of water, you wouldn't deny him that.

"But not too far." You stated, looking him in his big eyes. 

I’d like to be back in bed within the hour, you thought. 

"Not too far." He confirmed, kissing your cheek. Your husband helps you up off his lap, coughing lightly, ignoring the state of his trousers. 

It's just another moment, that the two of you finished your breakfast, and got changed. You wouldn’t bother to tell David why you’re not putting on your various layers. You’ll just be wearing your overcoat and hoping for the best. 

You squeaked as David kissed the back of your neck, while helping you put on your coat. It was something simple, but you still felt weak in the knees. How strange it was! You weren't a woman who squeaked before you met David, and it still managed to surprise you.

He opened the door for you, and you tried not to wince as the cool air hit your skin. This would be a lovely interlude to what had been an alarming amount of time spent on marital relations. You would enjoy the break, or you wouldn’t let David see that you would much rather be inside, underneath him. 

Overall, you’d say your honeymoon was going quite well. You never saw yourself as someone who could get married, but then David barreled into your life and showed you how wrong you were. 

The autumn sun hit your skin and you sighed lighty, letting the cool fresh air take hold. He was right, as much as you’d hate to admit it. It was a lovely idea. 

You snuggled into your husband's arm, fingers toying with the cuff of his wool overcoat. Jersey was a fantastic choice for the two of you, plenty of good food in town, but plenty of nature too. You knew David grew up with natural life close by, maybe you could give your children the same luxury!

The two of you leisurely made your way down to the stony beach, you released his arm, and let him go to the edge of the water like you know he loves to do. 

“You were right husband, just this one time.” He scoffed at you, giving you a big toothy grin, sticking his hand into the lake. 

You sat on a large log and watched your husband enjoy himself. You breathe deeply, letting the air refresh you, cleanse. David came to sit by you. 

“Do you think our children will come here one day?” You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Our children?” He asked, voice tinged with incredulousness. 

“Tell me you’ve thought of them.” Before the wedding, it was practically all he could talk about!! 

“I have!” Since the wedding, he hasn't. He’d been a little lost in you. But he was thinking of them now.

David put your hand in his own, linking your fingers. 

“David.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to meet our children sooner?” 

“...Yes.”

Getting home was both a sprint and a blur. 

As a former chorus girl, you had to be athletic. David, your beloved, was typically not. However, today the power of desire would make him keep pace, behind you like a loyal dog.

A chilly fall breeze blew the two of you through the front door, David slammed it immediately after, as you pinned him against it, about to tear through his coat and shirt to get to him. 

He beamed as you put your mouth everywhere you could reach, frantically, like the two of you were reuniting after a war. He moaned into your mouth, your grip on his coat lapels unforgiving. 

“You’d debase me in the hallway, dearest?” he asked, coming up for air, only for a moment. You scowled at him, pretending to pout. 

Slowly, you backed away from him, and he batted his big eyes at you, “You should run then,” he cocked his head, “Or I’ll start without you.” 

His eyes flash as you strip off your coat, and sprint to the main bedroom, you whirl around and try to slam the door, only for your dearest husband to dramatically throw himself into the door frame. Oh bless him…

He gaped at you, and you laughed at him, “Minx!” he declared, “You’d lock out your husband?” 

“When he’s misbehaved, yes!” How dare he be unwilling to take you in the hallway! It never stopped the two of you before!

“I’d argue it was you who misbehaved!” He tried, as if you hadn’t been suffering on your day out. 

“Then come over here and punish me for it.” 

David stared at you a moment, as if he was trying to make a memory. You huff at this, kicking off your shoes, and flopping back in bed. He wouldn’t punish you, he puts the idea down immediately, as well as falling to his knees. 

“May I serve you?” 

“Since you asked so nicely…” He crawled to you, and you pulled him up next to you on the bed. How ridiculous it was, to have missed someone you had spent the whole day with. 

“I’d like your mouth, husband.” You purred, brushing your nose against his. 

“So take it, wife.” He replied softly, waiting for your next cue. 

You think a moment, about the first time you mounted your David’s face, and how relentless he’d been for you. Only stopping when you said. What a good man you had. All yours, just like he said. 

Your heart skipped as David gave you the goofiest of smiles, before pulling your shared pillows into place. He’s much too tall to fuck around without pillows.

“You’re a very good husband, dearest,” you beamed at him. You had read it was important to share such thoughts. 

“I can be better!” You scoffed, undoing the buttons of David’s shirt to reveal a lovely amount of his chest. The bedroom in the house where you were staying was tightly insulated, the autumn sun streaming through the windows, making the two of you perfectly warm. 

David’s face should have felt more familiar with how much time you spent enjoying it. It was almost unfair how he was designed, looking up at you from two comfortable pillows, expectantly, mouth open. 

You thanked yourself for having the foresight to strip off your heavier clothes, as you migrate in bed, to do what David had so nicely prepared for. 

Your firm grip on his hair, his long eyelashes fluttering, a pleasant, sharp nose. How every lady he set eyes on didn’t fall, was beyond you. 

Properly seated, and your husband’s neck supported, you slowly grinded against his beautiful face. Your husband didn’t stand for this, taking a harsh grip on your ass, and pushing you down further. 

Rolling forward, you took hold of the bed frame, and took one of David’s wandering hands in your own, placing it on your belly, the other supporting your lower back. 

You adored his tongue. You practically married him for it. 

You continued to rock slowly against his face, harder and harder as your skin gets hotter and hotter. David made it so hard for you to contain yourself! You had been so calm and concealed when you met him, and now you were practically about to break his nose! 

A hand wandered up to feel your breast, and he groaned against you when he found it. 

You came loudly, boldly, onto David’s tongue, and you swore you could feel him smile against your pussy. He used his tongue to fuck you the whole way through, wobbling, clinging to the bedframe as tight as you could. 

He was the only one who could do this to you, the only one who stripped you down to your most vulnerable, and lavish you with care and sensitivity regardless of what mess he might see. 

His face was still wet with your release as you leaned back, your knees angry with you for staying still for so long. A lovely floaty feeling settled on the top of your head, like a very lucky, wispy cloud. 

David caught his breath, observing you closely. You crashed, pressing your face into his neck, his grip steady, unrelenting.. 

“Need you,” You mumbled into his hair, and you heard the vibrations of a chuckle in his chest. You really were a minx, and you knew it too.  

He helps you pull your underskirts up to your waist, his forehead pressed to your own as you feel a blunt pressure against your wetness. He’s warm, familiar by now, and it’s absolutely perfect. 

The two of you weren’t rushed by any means. David firmly rolls you back on top of him, your mouth sucking and biting at his neck at your leisure, as if he was some kind  of rare treat.

He thought, for a moment, about the first time he had you, like this, completely calm and unguarded. He vaguely registered you changing your pace as the relief the two of you were chasing got closer and closer. You’d said something so ridiculous he could almost laugh now, “You’re so good to me David, I’m afraid I don’t deserve you.” 

“What utter nonsense.” He said in the bedroom. You didn’t notice his words, completely preoccupied chasing release, faster and faster as you kept his pulse under your teeth. Your breathy little gasps and familiar squelching sounded like music, and your husband thinks to write this down. For personal use, obviously. 

The two of you held each other tightly through the come down, your head firmly resting on David’s chest, and he drew thin lines all over your skin with his fingertips. 

“I think I want to keep my hands on you forever,” He hummed into your hair. You laughed a little, leaning to press a kiss to his throat. His eyes fluttered shut at that, as they always did. 

“You can, you know,” you replied warmly, smiling as he did what he said, running large hands over you. 

“Hmmm…legs,” he traced his hands down feeling you there, as you casually brought your fingers through his dark, curly mane. 

“Hair.” You announced. He brushed his nose against your own.

“What are we doing?” 

“Saying what we love.” You hummed as if it was the most simple thing in the world. 

“Everything.” David sighed into your mouth, “Everything. Us.”

consulting credits to my dearest @youlooklike-clarabow

[back-and-totheleft]

The making of Oliver Stone, the Unmaking of Hollywood

When I think about Oliver Stone, I imagine a gambler at a craps table who bets every chip he’s got, every time, and usually comes out a winner. And, his gain is ours as well, for he has gambled everything on making some of the best films of our generation.

Check out Stone’s oeuvre, and you will be shocked at how many movies he has made; how many of his you have seen but didn’t know were his. The first Oliver Stone movie ever I saw (but I didn’t know until recently that it was his film) was The Hand with Michael Caine. I saw the film on TV when I was 6 or 7. It is about a cartoonist whose hand is cut off in a car accident, and the hand returns to haunt him and others. I couldn’t sleep for a week. I was constantly looking under my bed to see if a severed hand was there waiting to attack me.

Stone’s just-released memoir, Chasing The Light, reads like a movie script, for Stone’s life and career have indeed been worthy of the big screen. As we learn through riveting prose, the story of the boy Oliver Stone could have been written by Charles Dickens, but Stone is more David Copperfield than his namesake, Oliver Twist. Stone is placed in a boarding school during high school, removed from the parents he adores. His loneliness only increases when he is told over the phone at age 15 that his parents are divorcing and that his mother has moved back to France without even so much as a goodbye. He then learns shortly thereafter that his father has lost his fortune, and with it, Oliver’s inheritance. By his own admission, Stone has yet to fully get over this trauma.

Oliver then had to begin life anew, and to forge his own path, ultimately to the silver screen. It is that lonely journey we learn about in Chasing The Light.

The book opens with Stone’s recounting of his making the movie Salvador (one of my favorites) in Mexico on a shoe-string budget with a cast of characters, including James Woods with whom Stone has remained friends. But it is the excitement of creating a film with so little backing, and with such a great risk of failure, that excites Stone, and also the reader of his memoir. The results are stunning, with Stone succeeding at making what I believe to be the defining Hollywood movie about Reagan’s vicious war in Central America.

It is in this section of the book that Stone writes some of my favorite lines of the book:

The truth is, no matter how great my satisfactions in the later part of my life, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as much excitement or adrenaline as when I had no money. A friend who came from the underclass of England once told me, ‘The only thing money can’t buy is poverty.’ Maybe he really meant ‘happiness,’ but the point is, money gives you an edge, and without it, you become, like it or not, more human. It is, in its way, like being back in the infantry with a worm’s-eye view of a world where everything, whether a hot shower or a hot meal, is hugely appreciated.

I have to imagine that, somewhere, there is a sled or other such object for which Oliver pines, reminding him of simpler days, when he was the object of his parents’ love and affection, and when life seemed more certain.

But, as things turned out, Oliver would come to eschew certainty and comfort at every turn. For example, when he was a freshman at Yale, he quit school to volunteer for the US war in Vietnam. To me, it is this which makes Oliver the stand-out individual he is. While cowards like George W. Bush and Bill Clinton would hide behind the ivy walls to avoid service, Oliver went out of his way to sign up to fight. He would become a highly decorated soldier, earning a number of awards, including the Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts.

In the end, as we learn in his semi-autobiographical film, Platoon, which would win the Academy Award for Best Picture, the war in Vietnam would be a disillusioning experience for Stone. He would learn, as so many others did, that the US was not really fighting for democracy in that far-flung country, and that it was instead brutalizing a poor peasant society trying to shed the yoke of French, and then US, empire.

Platoon was the first Oliver Stone movie I saw on the big screen. I was 17 at the time, and I saw it with my very right-wing father. That movie blew my mind. The scene in which the Charlie Sheen character stops his fellow comrades from raping a Vietnamese girl shook my world. I had no idea until that moment that that sort of thing happened in war, and certainly not by US servicemen. That film, along with Salvador, would help to radicalize me and to make me the person I am today. But what makes Platoon great, I think, is that it captured in a dramatic fashion the cruelty as well as the fog of war. After seeing it, I talked to my boss at the sporting goods store I was working at about it. He was a Vietnam veteran himself, and he readily stated that Platoon was the greatest Vietnam War movie ever made because it told the story of the war so truthfully. This is the highest praise one could receive for such a work.

There is much more to say about Oliver Stone and his memoir. The book is a gripping read, and it is made all the more compelling by Stone’s incredible honesty about himself as a person; about his feelings, including embarrassing feelings that most people would leave to the therapy couch; and about his triumphs and failures. Oliver Stone, first and foremost, is an amazing human being, and to learn about him in his own words, with all his humor and candor, is a delight.

-Dan Kovalik, "The Making of Oliver Stone, The Unmaking of Hollywood," July 24 2020

[sharathvannapur]

Sharathvannapur.in

The History of the Novel: Where It All Began

Have you ever wondered about the history of the novel and how it all started? The novel, as we know it today, hasn’t always been around. In fact, it’s a relatively modern invention in the grand scheme of storytelling. Long before novels took center stage, stories were mainly told through epic poems, plays, and oral traditions. People would gather around to listen to tales of heroism, love, and adventure, but these stories were often delivered in verse or acted out on stage. The idea of a long, fictional prose narrative—what we now call a novel—was a pretty radical concept when it first appeared.

The first novels started popping up in the 17th century, and they were a game-changer. Suddenly, people could immerse themselves in a story that was all about the characters’ inner lives and emotions. One of the earliest and most famous novels is Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, published in 1605. This book was groundbreaking because it combined humor, adventure, and a deep exploration of the human condition. It’s safe to say that without Cervantes, the history of the novel would look very different today.

The Rise of the Gothic Novel: A Spooky Chapter in History of the Novel

Fast forward a bit in the history of the novel, and you’ll find yourself in the dark, mysterious world of the Gothic novel. If you love eerie settings, haunted castles, and secrets hidden in the shadows, you have the Gothic genre to thank. This style of novel really took off in the late 18th century, with Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto being credited as the first Gothic novel. Walpole’s story was filled with strange events, ominous settings, and a sense of foreboding that would go on to influence countless writers.

Gothic novels were a hit because they played on people’s fears and imaginations. They often featured innocent characters trapped in frightening situations, with mysterious villains lurking in the background. These novels weren’t just about scaring readers, though; they also explored deep themes like the struggle between good and evil, and the idea of the past haunting the present. If you’ve ever felt chills running down your spine while reading a novel, you can probably trace that feeling back to the influence of Gothic literature.

The Birth of Realism in the history of the novel: Bringing Novels Down to Earth

As we continue through the history of the novel, we arrive at the 19th century, where things start to get a bit more down-to-earth. This was the era when realism took the literary world by storm. Unlike the Gothic novels that came before, realist novels focused on everyday life and ordinary people. Writers like Charles Dickens and Jane Austen were masters of this style, creating detailed portraits of society that were relatable and true to life.

Realist novels were a breath of fresh air because they showed readers the world as it really was, warts and all. These stories dealt with real issues like poverty, class, and social injustice, which made them resonate deeply with readers. Dickens, for example, used his novels to shine a light on the harsh realities of life in Victorian England. His works like Oliver Twist and David Copperfield offered readers a glimpse into the lives of those who were often overlooked by society. Through these stories, the history of the novel took a significant turn, proving that fiction could be both entertaining and enlightening.

The Advent of the Young Adult Novel: A New Chapter

Jumping forward to the 20th century, we see another major development in the history of the novel: the rise of the Young Adult (YA) genre. Before the 1960s, there wasn’t a clear distinction between books for teens and adults. Young readers were often left to choose between children’s books and more mature, adult novels. But that all changed with the publication of books like S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders in 1967, which spoke directly to the experiences of teenagers.

The YA novel quickly became a genre in its own right, offering stories that were specifically tailored to the challenges and concerns of adolescence. These books didn’t shy away from tough topics like identity, friendship, and the struggle to find one’s place in the world. Instead, they tackled them head-on, giving young readers a space where they could see their own lives reflected in the pages. The success of the YA novel added a whole new chapter to the history of the novel, making literature more accessible and relatable to a younger audience.

The Evolution of the Novel: Blending Genres and Breaking Boundaries

Today, the history of the novel continues to evolve in exciting ways. One of the most interesting trends is the blending of genres, where elements of horror, fantasy, romance, and more come together to create something entirely new. This is especially true in the YA genre, where novels often mix horror and fantasy to deliver thrilling, otherworldly stories. Books like The Hunger Games and Twilight are perfect examples of how novels can break boundaries and appeal to readers across different genres.

This blending of genres reflects the changing tastes of readers who are looking for stories that are fresh, exciting, and unpredictable. In this way, the history of the novel is still being written, with each new book adding another layer to this rich and diverse tradition. Whether you’re reading a classic like Pride and Prejudice or the latest YA fantasy, you’re part of a long, evolving story that has captured the imaginations of readers for centuries.

So, the next time you pick up a novel, take a moment to appreciate the journey it represents. From the early days of Cervantes to the genre-bending books of today, the history of the novel is a fascinating tale in its own right—one that’s full of twists, turns, and endless possibilities.

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[haveyoureadthispoll]

Set in the mountains of southern Appalachia, this is the story of a boy born to a teenaged single mother in a single-wide trailer, with no assets beyond his dead father's good looks and copper-colored hair, a caustic wit, and a fierce talent for survival. In a plot that never pauses for breath, relayed in his own unsparing voice, he braves the modern perils of foster care, child labor, derelict schools, athletic success, addiction, disastrous loves, and crushing losses. Through all of it, he reckons with his own invisibility in a popular culture where even the superheroes have abandoned rural people in favor of cities. Many generations ago, Charles Dickens wrote David Copperfield from his experience as a survivor of institutional poverty and its damages to children in his society. Those problems have yet to be solved in ours. Dickens is not a prerequisite for readers of this novel, but he provided its inspiration. In transposing a Victorian epic novel to the contemporary American South, Barbara Kingsolver enlists Dickens' anger and compassion, and above all, his faith in the transformative powers of a good story. Demon Copperhead speaks for a new generation of lost boys, and all those born into beautiful, cursed places they can't imagine leaving behind.

[denimbex1986]

'Forty years on from the year in which it is set, and released on the date of Winston Smith’s first diary entry, George Orwell’s seminal dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four (not 1984, despite how this most recent retelling has chosen to style the title) has received perhaps its highest-profile adaptation since Michael Radford’s film. Andrew Garfield plays the reluctantly rebellious Winston, and man-of-the-moment Andrew Scott is a smoothly vicious O’Brien. Cynthia Erivo makes for a suitably feisty Julia, and Tom Hardy reprises his Bane boom as Big Brother, although his contributions are wisely kept to a minimum. The talented supporting cast includes What We Do In The Shadows’s Natasia Demetriou and Black Mirror’s Alex Lawther, and the score is co-composed by Muse’s Matt Bellamy. Lavish cinema and television ads have brought the show to worldwide attention, and yet it’s likely to receive a fraction of the interest that, say, Ripley will obtain. Why? Because it’s an audio drama.

Granted, Audible’s new production of Nineteen Eighty-Four, which is billed as a disturbing, adult-focused and immersive experience, is a million miles away from a distinguished actor reading an audiobook version of Orwell’s novel. At times, it goes further than you might expect in terms of the sex and violence quotient; there is a love scene between Garfield and Erivo that, somehow, manages to be wildly explicit without showing anything visual (one can only imagine what it was like for the actors to record that particular scene), and there are nasty scenes of torture and violence that are none less chilling for being conveyed through a mixture of dialogue and sound effects. (Yes, Room 101 gets its full measure.) Muse fans, meanwhile, will be thrilled by Bellamy’s score, co-composed by Ilan Eshkeri and performed by a sixty-piece orchestra, that blends somber strings and piano with percussive electronic beats.

Director Destiny Ekaragha and screenwriter Joe White should be commended for a faithful and smoothly gripping adaptation that adds in a few successful set-pieces, such as Winston having an attack of paranoia on the train that his minor acts of rebellion are about to result in his immediate arrest. If it’s listened to on headphones in a public place, as it no doubt is supposed to be, Nineteen Eighty-Four becomes a deliciously chilling immersion in literary paranoia; you’re standing around your fellow citizens wondering which of them you’re going to fall in love with, which of them will betray you — and whether that will be the same person.

Clearly, Audible intends this to be a marker in a series of blockbuster literary adaptations that will change the face (or, rather, ear) of the genre. There was a Sam Mendes-overseen David Copperfield last year, with Helena Bonham Carter as Betsey Trotwood and Doctor Who’s Ncuti Gatwa as Copperfield, but it barely shifted the dial in terms of audience awareness. Ninety Eighty-Four feels different, and not just because of its A-list participants, rock star composer and dread-laden subject matter.

In a year where the word “Orwellian” is likely to be used more than usual in the course of the British and American elections alike, and where any tech blogger will write lazy articles talking about the way in which Big Brother, Newspeak and the rest have become part of our daily social media culture, it’s good to be reminded of the power of the original, translated into this new form.

Yet I remain unconvinced that this will be the crossover blockbuster success that Audible so clearly believe it will. Enjoy it for what it is — a few hours of sumptuously conceived and acted Orwelliana — and let’s leave the question of whether this will eventually come to replace visual entertainment out of the equation. Until, that is, Christopher Nolan is recruited to write and direct an immersive audio adaptation. Then we’re talking.'

[britneyshakespeare]

One thing that's really striking to me on my reread of David Copperfield is how Dora is arguably the most consciously humorous character in the book. David Copperfield is full of humor, generally. Most characters have at least some comic element to them, but Dora is very aware of her own, as much as she is her shortcomings. Dora is imaginative, creative, whimsical, and purposefully playful. The idea that people read this as vain frivolity is absurd to me.