#ms murdstone

[the-yellow-birdy]

Is it better to speak, or to die?

A/N: Long time no see! This is an unedited first draft of the "Call me by your name" with Jane Murdstone idea(without the grooming ofc). Please let me know if you want me to continue and idk if im gonna change this draft as well, since I wrote it a bit fast. Feedback is definitely appreciated!:)

L.O.L. - Yellowbird

//18+ audience only! - all characters are above the age of 18\\

Summer, 1867

As you felt the lightness and warmth spread across the naked skin of your body, the repeating of your thoughts was tuned out by the sound of crickets in the all-round shrubbery. Sweat dripped from your neck and down your clavicle, going further with every breath you took in of the thick mid-summer air. The serene crystals reflecting from the icy lake had never been more inviting. Your hair was drenched from your own sweat and sticking to your forehead in need of a wash from the shining water. You looked at your pocket watch.

A quarter to five.

Summers spent at your uncles were where you found the most solace. He and his wife were wonderful, they so often invited you to come here and visit them and their charming vacation home. Days here were spend, swimming in the many lakes and ponds you would find on your outings, visiting nearby cities, reading various books from your uncles’ impressive library and cherry-picking in the midday with your uncles’ wife, Mary. Mary was a warm, outgoing woman. She found joy and interest in everything she saw, while speaking terribly loud and out of order about it. A significant contrast to your more timid uncle. A quiet and closed of man, who preferred the comfort of his study and the much-appreciated knowledge of ancient artifacts from the dusty books he kept. 

When you saw through the personality differences, you found quickly, that they were made for each other. Especially when you on occasion caught a glimpse of them in the family room on your way to your chamber in the late evenings. There, in the privacy of their relation, they laugh, talk and exchange tender touches, soft laugh lines forming around your uncle’s mouth. 

More you haven’t dared stayed to witness, it would be rude and improper to impose on such tender moments.

The grass tickled your bare feet as you stretched the whole of your body.

There was to be a visitor this year. Uncle Cyrus was a widely acknowledged archeologist professor, teaching at the Da Vinci institute back in Berlin. He was a passionate individual who spent his summers nose deep in the same subject and area as his livelihood.

Although this year, your uncle had decided to open his home once more for interested candidates, who would very much like to visit the north Italian countryside with many findings from the grand sea not far. It had been several years since a fellow interested had accompanied him over the summer. Your uncle was an elderly gentleman, about seventy, his wife around a decade younger having carried no children nor related to any nieces or nephews except you, therefore he had begun searching for a new candidate.

It was to be a woman, he told you. A professor in anthropology, beginning the early stages of research in the areas of archeology.

“It is a marvel! Have you ever heard such unique wonder, Mary!”, your uncle shouted out of character, several weeks ago from his office, as you were sat reading in front of the fireplace. Truly a neck-breaking sight, as he stumbled frantically out of his study, your presence going unnoticed by him, and up the spiral staircase.

A woman. You had thought. 

Never had you heard of such a thing. A woman professor in anthropology.

You weren’t a daft girl yourself, of course you knew it was possible, never had you simply heard of it, often being told as a young girl to keep your head out of the clouds, the books you read had formed. Followed later, by restriction of said books. 

You sat back on your heels and let the wind blow against the ample flesh of your chest, yawning at the thought of the walk back to the vineyard. Brown and green stains had soiled the white fabric of your dress. You had laid upon it as an alternative for the blanket you had forgotten. Your undergarments used for drying the water of your skin. 

You begin dressing yourself by efficiently buttoning up your corset, followed by tying your undergarments and chemise. As you had put your dress and heeled boots on you stepped out of the Oaktree’s shadow and began your walk back home. You couldn’t remember at which hour the candidate would arrive, so you thought it best to pick up your pace.

---------

“Y/n! Wherever have you been, dear? You look as if the bear had gotten its paws on you.”, Mary looked bewildered as she descended the staircase.

The house was a French inspired Cascina residence. Beautifully build from the first laid brick to the last, with simple tree carved windows and a robust brick red roofing. The foyer of the home displayed simple white-yellow walls with paintings placed on them and the floor covered with a variety of Axminster carpeting.

It wasn’t grand, nor expensive, yet it was charming and the life it oozed never ceased to calm you, when you spend your summers here.

“Simply by the lake, Aunt Mary. I apologize for my appearance; I… tripped… on the way back.”, you lied, trying to seal it with a genuine smile.

She came quickly to where you stood. She held a gentle grip on your forearms, turning you in her grasp to further inspect. 

Her eyes looked upon your face, “tripped you say?”

“…badly”, you added, choosing not to look her in the eyes opting for the dress.

Aunt Mary apparently chose to leave the matter at hand, knowing the visitor would be arriving at any moment now.

“Alright well, go wash yourself off and change to a dress that doesn’t make you look like a rogue child. Ms. Murdstone shall be arriving shortly.”, she gave you a light squeeze to your upper arms.

“Ms. Murdstone?”, you whispered.

“Yes yes, you know? The assisting candidate of your uncle.”

You nodded slowly, letting the name of the woman sink in. Ms. Murdstone. It was a rather odd name for an unmarried woman you pondered.

“Off you go!”

As you gave your aunt a curt smile and looked down, you went to ascend the staircase. Unbeknownst to you, a soaked washcloth was further from your reach than you had thought--

You froze in the middle of the staircase, quick steps of your uncle coming into view at the top, as three knocks had rung out in the room. Silence. 

You turned to look down at your aunt, yet her eyes already laid upon her husband. Hurriedly your uncle went past you.

“Y/n, there is no time, give a quick greeting and leave to change thereafter.” Mary whispered tightening your uncle’s butterfly.

How utterly humiliating. 

It is no secret that first impressions matter, yet your disorderly mind has kept you from making just that. This woman was going to be met by a soiled dirty looking young woman, will she not have a fright? 

Please lord, forgive my poor deeds.

As your uncle took a deep breath to calm his nerves and looked towards your aunt and you, a quick furrow of his eyebrows as he laid his eyes upon your dress, he turned the doorhandle and stepped aside.

In your peripheral you observed the darkness of the woman’s shadow, yet you couldn’t keep your gaze fixed upon the carpets any longer. 

“Ms. Murdstone, a pleasure to meet you!”, your uncle nervously laughed, his figure disappearing behind the woman.

It was the first glance you ever laid upon her.

As she sauntered through the blackwood door, the first thing you noticed was a significant height difference between her and yourself. She had the skin of a snowclad field in winter and hair black as raven feathers, styled to the sides of her head. She looked around the space as if assessing the quality of the housing, foregoing any introduction of herself. The woman wore an all-black attire, from her corsage to her skirts, to her low sitting cap. Her gloved hands were clad in front of her, trading the warm energy of the home with a sophisticated and poised aura.

The woman turned midway through the door, looking at your uncle, “pleasures all mine, Mr. Bamford”, said the woman with a faux saccharine undertone. 

She smoothly shifted her focus in front of your aunt. “Mrs. Bamford, I presume?”, her honeyed smile went wide as she looked down upon your aunt, yet her eyes held something much unalike.

You looked to your aunt, her mouth fell slightly agape, “Uh.. Uhm.. yes, welcome”. She stuttered.

It was clear that the woman’s intensity had gotten the better of both Aunt Mary and your uncle.

“And this is…?”, you quickly turned your head to the woman who now, was meandering in your direction. Her eyes were trained on your face, and unamused expression had fallen upon hers. She looked back at your uncle as if expecting an answer. 

“Uhm Y/n, sorry... Ms. L/n…, Ms Murdstone”, you looked down. Your vision was disrupted by black fabric coming to place right in front of you.

Ms. Murdstone gave an unimpressed glance to your aunt and uncle, “I see. Look at me girl.”

A hand came to lift your chin.

You watched as she tilted her head to observe the state of you. Definitely not impressed. Your eyes searched for your aunt and uncle, who simply ignored your silent pleas, and kept up their mannered smiles. They gave each other a short-whiled look and went back to woman and the scene unfolding.

As your eyes went back to the woman, your spine chilling at the sight of the woman’s light blue eyes and found she had been staring directly at your face. 

Hopefully she is not bothered by it, it is not simply a dress to clean.

She quickly let go of you again. Her gaze leaving as fast as it came. Ms. Murdstone wandering further into the house, “My belongings have been left outside by the carriage, I believe a maid will fetch it, or am I to do so myself?”

“Oh yes, of course uhm, right away!”, exclaimed your uncle and went to call for the staff, while your aunt scurried after the observing woman, already entering another area of the house.

*click*

As you closed the heavy wooden door you watched your reflection in the window. Nervously you studied yourself. 

I don’t believe I have any filth on my face.

Tagelist:

@readingtheentrails @ladybathoryy @aemilia19

[daydream-cement]

Across the Room (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Reader

Lust at first sight when Jane spots you from across the room.

Author's Note: This is the fourth week of Smutember with @alexusonfire! The prompt was lust at first sight and who better for this prompt than sweet Janey.

You felt her burning gaze on your body all night. You have heard stories of Jane Murstone. Stories of her cruelty... and murmurings of her preference for the fairer sex. These quiet rumors had been told by your past lovers, and from the way Jane was watching you, she must have heard the same stirrings about you.

The party was big enough that no one would notice Jane and you eyeing one another. Her raven hair was pinned back so neatly and her pursed lips would shift ever so slightly when she smirked. She wore a gorgeous red gown - a shade of deep, dark crimson that was certainly clouding your judgment more than the spiked punch.

Your eyes watched her intently through all of her conversations and movements. It wasn’t until an acquaintance broke your train of thought that you lost sight of the beautiful ravenette. When you glanced over your chatty friend’s shoulder, Jane had moved from her earlier spot causing you to shift from foot to foot to search for her. 

A commanding voice from behind startled you from your search for Ms. Murdstone, “Pardon for my intrusion…”

When you spun around to see who was speaking, you had to turn your gaze upwards when you were met with the sight of a chest of a woman covered in crimson fabric. Your eyes traveled her face Your lips parted slightly to suck in a breath - her beauty from up close left you speechless.

Jane’s eyes journeyed over you. Her gaze seemed so critical, but by the glint in her eye you knew she liked what she saw. A smile growing on her lips only further confirmed your suspicions that she had sinful intentions behind her words and movements.

“I was told by a mutual friend that we share a love of needlework.” Jane’s hand rose to rest on your arm, thumb brushing the inside of your elbow, causing chills to run down your spine. “Would you care for a walk?”

“Yes-” Your answer came far too quickly, so you had to deliberately slow yourself down so as to not seem too desperate for her attention. You spoke to Jane before turning to your acquaintance, you gave an apologetic smile, “I would like that very much. Apologies. I’ll see you later, hm?”

Jane held your elbow as she guided you through the crowd, her voice low and thick like honey, “I do love your dress, sweeting. The fit is absolutely divine...”

“This color on you is ravishing, but I could certainly do with less fabric.” You return at a volume low enough for only Jane to hear. 

You knew where this was headed. There would be no grand romance tonight. Jane’s grip on your arm was proof of that. She was only interested in the anatomy that lay under your skirts, and you weren’t opposed to hiking up your dress in some darkened corner for this beautiful ravenette. 

“Such a wicked imagination you have.” Jane growled as she led you away from the dancing and socializing towards a garden dimly lit by lanterns every fifty feet or so. When Jane passed her own acquaintances, she looked from them and then to you with a concerned expression, “Poor child was feeling faint and in need of fresh air.” 

It was hard to act out your fictional illness as Jane’s white lie pleased you greatly. You were able to shoot her friends a sad look before dropping your gaze to the floor so they couldn’t see how pleased you were with your current situation. 

Once out of the manor, Jane tugged at your arm as she strode towards a bench seated against the home in a delightfully darkened area. If you weren't mistaken, you would have nearly a half hour to return to the party lest you are missed and someone were to come looking. 

Jane gestured for you to sit and you did as you were told, grinning widely as she seated herself so your thighs were touching. 

“You seem to have an issue with staring.” Jane chided - her tone seemingly harsh while the smirk on her lips told a different story. 

Your reply was simple, “You are quite beautiful.” 

Jane was pleased with your response as she inched closer, looming over you in a way that made your heart race. Her voice was a low and silky, “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” 

“I’ve heard stories about you, Ms. Murdstone... of your power over women.” Your words were a question if Jane would do the same to you disguised as a simple statement of fact. You would feel honored to have her slender fingers dip between your thighs to take you to heaven and back. 

Jane’s face inched closer. Her one hand sliding over the back of the bench while the other reached over you to grip the arm rest, effectively pinning you into the corner. “Would you care for a sampling?”

She wasn’t truly asking. Her lips dipped down to yours before you could even respond. You moaned upon contact. Her lips were so incredibly soft and you weren’t but a few seconds into your kiss when Jane’s hands seized your hips and her body shifted to lean against yours. 

The odd angle of your back pressing into the wood would have been more agonizing, but Jane’s hand sliding up your chest over your breast drove you wild. She paused for a moment to cup your breast through your corset, her finger tips gracing the top of your breast where it lay exposed. All of her hand movements preambled something so much more pleasurable and you felt your heat dampening in response. 

Her hand slipped in the waistband of your underwear, her fingers wasting no time dipping into your folds. You sucked in a breath as Jane made contact with your clit while Jane exhaled slowly. “Oh, darling...” 

Your eyes glued themselves to Jane’s face, watching her every expression as her fingers explored your cunt. In an instant her fingers slipped from your heat as she drew them up to her mouth and tasted you with a long overzealous moan. Her eyes focused on yours for an intense moment as her tongue swirled around her digits. She wanted you to see how much she loved your taste. 

“Open.” Jane ordered as she transferred her fingers from her mouth into yours. The taste of yourself was faint, but you were more so aroused with the knowledge that Jane’s saliva was on your tongue. 

Jane watched you with darkened eyes. Her words made you feel as if she would consume you, “I’ve heard about you, darling. A maid and a cook in my home have told me about your wandering hands and talented tongue. When I saw you, I knew I needed to try you out for myself.” 

The ravenette pulled her fingers from your mouth and down they went again to play with your throbbing cunt. She found your clit with ease and began rubbing slow, methodical circles. To silence yourself, you attached your lips to hers - an action Jane accepted happily as her tongue traveled across your bottom lip before swiping across your tongue.

Your mind was clouded from desire. You couldn’t think of anything other than her hand between your legs. Any thoughts of being caught with Jane were absent. 

Her fingers moved faster around your clit. The ravenette knew you were limited on time and she wasn’t looking to extend out the orgasm by teasing you. 

Jane snaked her spare arm around the back of your neck, drawing your body to hers, and all the while her mouth never left yours. Your hips were writhing and bucking against her hand, desperate to come. 

She increased the pressure against your clit and you could hear the faint slick sounds of her fingers working against you. These sensations combined with the sloppy, intense kisses from Jane drove you over the edge. The ravenette swallowed your cries and quickly pulled her hand from your bloomers, not wanting to be seen in such a compromising position. 

Jane pulled away from the kiss and smirked down at you as her fingers pushed past her lips once again. You watched helplessly as she sucked her fingers clean. 

When she was finished she reached out and grasped your cheeks with a hand, tugging you close. With a wide smile, her tongue darted from her mouth and she licked your lips, delighted in the power she held over you. 

“That’s a good pet. We should probably return to the party before some notice our absence.”

“Indeed.” You murmur, slightly disappointed when she withdraws her hand and stands. 

You stood on wobbly legs and followed suit, trailing after her like a love struck puppy. Before you could draw too close to the manor entrance, Jane paused and waited for you. Her demeanor was significantly brighter than when you saw her roaming the party beforehand. 

“Would you care for tea tomorrow afternoon, darling?” Jane whispered, her teeth nipping at your ear. Her hand shifted from the small of your back to palm your ass through your gown. “We could continue our conversation.”

“Sounds divine, miss. I’ll have the opportunity to return the favor.” You coo before leaving a lingering kiss to the corner of her lips and leave her standing in the darkness of the gardens. 

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic

[kashilascorner]

the exchange Ms. Betsey has with Mr. Murdstone and his sister while discussing David's custody is especially poignant if we consider Ms. Betsey was very much a victim of domestic abuse herself

[popentertainment-moviereviews]

THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD (2019)

Starring Dev Patel, Tilda Swinton, Hugh Laurie, Peter Capaldi, Ben Whishaw , Paul Whitehouse, Aneurin Barnard, Daisy May Cooper, Morfydd Clark, Benedict Wong, Gwendoline Christie, Anthony Welsh, Rosalind Eleazar, Jairaj Varsani, Nikki Amuka-Bird, Darren Boyd, Matthew Cottle, Bronagh Gallagher, Anthony Welsh and Aimee Kelly.

Screenplay by Armando Iannucci and Simon Blackwell.

Directed by Armando Iannucci.

Distributed by Searchlight Pictures. 119 minutes. Rated PG.

Finally, the movie I’ve been waiting to watch all quarantine and I honestly had no idea what it was to be about.

I watched the trailer after watching the film, and when Dev Patel discloses that he thought the script was to be about a magician, it echoed my initial assumptions about the film. I completely forgot about the Charles Dickens novel David Copperfield and my mind had jumped immediately to the image of the modern-day famed magician by the same name.

Frankly, after my quarantine Dr. Who marathon, I was just excited to see a film with Peter Capaldi (the 12th Doctor).

My assumptions on a film about magic did not waiver in the film’s opening scene, as a dapper Dev Patel stands at a podium in front of an audience filled with people dressed in period costumes. I was surprised, but still expecting a story about a magician, as he ends his thoughtful opening line and walked through the back of the stage into the English countryside.

But only moments later, the scene opens on the kitchen of a period home, a scene in stress, and my brain lightbulb lit up: I was not about to see anything about the 20th century magician. It became clear that the magic was in the characters, their witty dialogue, their incredibly acted roles, and the reimagined world of Dickens’ David Copperfield.

I was caught off guard and completely enchanted by The Personal History of David Copperfield in all the best ways.

Admittedly, I’ve not read the original David Copperfield (but it has been added to my to-be-read pile). I’ve been told that it has some dark moments and for sure, I've seen the film Oliver! many times (also based on a similarly plotted Dickens novel) so I am familiar with that type of storytelling.

Right from the start, this film feels different. A woman in labor can set a very stressful opening tone for a film, but instead, we are given nurse maid Peggotty (played by Daisy May Cooper) engaged in masterfully timed dialogue with the estranged aunt (to the soon to be born David). Pegotty and Betsey Trotwood (played by the ever quirky Tilda Swinton) banter back and forth about their names. It is followed by Ms. Trotwood insisting that this baby will be a little girl, that should also be named Betsey Trotwood. The baby will make only good choices and not have her affections toyed with.

Clara Copperfield (played by Morfydd Clark, who also later plays blonde ringleted, dog-speaking, Dora Spedlow) gives birth to her baby boy, David (eventually played by Dev Patel) and a very disappointed new aunt abruptly takes her leave. (Don’t worry, we get more of her as the film goes on.)

Patel as David Copperfield (and really, he goes by so many nicknames in this film – “Trotwood” and “Daisy” to name only two) narrates the start of the film. He looks on at his younger self, reminiscing about his happy early days with mom and nurse maid, capturing the memories on little scraps of paper held dear in his treasure chest.

Then enters the formidable Mr. Murdstone (played by Darren Boyd) and we get a glimpse of the dark toned story yet to come. Thankfully, we are spared the darkness for a few more moments as Peggotty whisks David away to beachy Yarmouth, where her family lives under a brightly painted, capsized, upside down boat that they’ve turned into the perfect shoreside abode.

Scene by scene, director Armando Iannucci introduces us to the friends and foes of Copperfield’s memories that he then uses as the basis for the characters that he writes as an author (cue the recognition that this is the closest thing Dickens wrote to his real life story).

Fellow Dr. Who fans, Peter Capaldi plays grifter/father to a never-ending brood, Mr. Micawber, who crosses paths with David on many occasions and he is lovely in every scene. House fans, Hugh Laurie plays Mr. Dick giving face and humanity to mental illness supported by people who care.

There are too many incredible performances by this global ensemble cast to name everyone, but I dare you to watch and choose your favorite actor and line. What I can tell you is that I will be watching The Personal History of David Copperfield again and again, for the laughter, the music, the production design, and yes, the magic. I encourage you to do the same.

Bonnie Paul

Copyright ©2020 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: August 28, 2020.

[thefilmstage]

David Copperfield (Dev Patel) has a story to tell. It begins with his cute, precocious little self (Jairaj Varsani) making mom laugh and nanny Mrs. Peggotty (Daisy May Cooper) laugh even harder. He’s a headstrong boy with dreams of joy thanks to the overflowing love shown to him by everyone but his aunt (Tilda Swinton’s Betsey Trotwood) … for now. Like most widowed women of thirty with an estate in the Victorian Era, however, remarrying is a foregone conclusion for Ms. Copperfield. Enter the viciously domineering Mr. Murdstone (Darren Boyd) and his sister Jane (Gwendoline Christie), an untenable atmosphere for David, and the first layover on a memorably arduous life by way of child labor in a bottling factory. It gets worse before better and then worse still.

This is Armando Iannucci’s contemporary yet period-specific adaptation of Charles Dickens’ masterpiece using the title The Personal History of David Copperfield. He and co-writer Simon Blackwell have tasked themselves with distilling that massive tome to an under two-hour romp as breezy as it is funny. While this fact makes the adventure wildly entertaining thanks to some hard lefts into farce, it also renders the whole strangely upside down as my empathy quickly shifted from David to the one character known as his prime antagonist: Mr. Heep (Ben Whishaw). As our hero rises and falls through society’s ranks, he eventually finds himself in a position to turn his nose at those stationed exactly where he was not too long ago. That he grows from the experience doesn’t, however, discount that “bag guy’s” pursuit.

Continue reading our TIFF review of The Personal History of David Copperfield

[brothermarc7theatre]

"David Copperfield, the New Musical" show #772

Charles Dickens knew how to write. His characters, their journeys, the villains, and the plots were written with a rich, approachable, and intriguing authenticity to them. In Jeffrey Scharf’s musical adaptation of David Copperfield, for which he has written the book, lyrics, and music, Mr. Dickens’ beloved novel is given a lovely musical treatment. Complete with a mostly gifted cast and wonderful direction, the world premiere of David Copperfield, the New Musical makes for an enjoyable journey to see unfold at the Jewel Theatre.

(Josali Moran (Young David) and Emily Serdahl (Clara); Photo credit: Steve DiBartolomeo)

With Josali Moran as Young David the evening I attended (the role is alternately played by Carter Hulse) and Kyle Stoner as the title character, the growing up tale and romantic journey of David has a mostly effective tone. When Ms. Moran takes the stage, there is earnestness and wonder in her eyes and demeanor. Her voice is well-suited for Mr. Scharf’s score, especially in the “House of Daniel Peggotty” alongside Sheila Townsend’s maternally embracing Peggotty and Emily Serdahl’s excellent Clara. Unfortunately for Ms. Moran, the role of Young David becomes more of a pawn for the plot rather than central character going on a journey; especially, in true Dickens form, with the introduction of so many supporting characters. However, Mr. Stoner’s drop-in moments of narration and sublime vocals in the first few “I Am Home” bits carry the first act with rapturous delight. Mr. Stoner finally gets to shine in the second act when David has grown up. Mr. Stoner’s duet opposite a darling Emily Corbo as his first love, Dora, is alluring and extremely well-crafted, combining theatrical immediacy with literary sincerity. Ms. Corbo and Mr. Stoner share the score’s best duet, “Dor-or-or-a,” a bouncy tune featuring some of Mr. Scharf’s strongest lyrics. In case you’re feeling too jolly about the romantic success, the act two duet, “Always the Pleasure was Mine,” will absolutely rip your heart out, and rightfully so, under the beautiful harmonies and chemistry of Mr. Stoner and Ms. Corbo.

(Daniel Barrington Rubio (Mr. Murdstone) and Josali Moran (Young David); Photo credit: Steve DiBartolomeo)

The supporting cast is littered with outstanding performances, mostly at the hands of a jovial Martin Rojas Dietrich as Mr. Micawmber, who leads “Something Will Turn Up” with pizazz and true patter-song chops. His act two expositional rant, “The Villain is HEEP!” is sung with crisp diction and excellent nuance, making the resolution of the major drama easy-to-understand. Daniel Barrington Rubio is a menacing Mr. Murdstone, made complete by his imposing presence and sturdy bass in “Mr. Murdstone is the Master Now.” As previously mentioned, Ms. Serdahl is excellent as Clara, David’s mother. Her turn at “Darling Boy,” one of the score’s only true solos, is delivered as an emotionally stirring soliloquy, done justice by her voice and acting chops. Kelly Ground is a loveable mensch as Aunt Betsey, delivering Mr. Scharf’s comedic lines with impeccable timing and natural takes to the audiences. Never mugging but always engaging, Ms. Ground’s turns at “I Shake Your Hand, Sir,” and “This Boy!” are charged through with great gravitas and a serious display of deeply motivated work.

(Martin Rojas Dietrich (Mr. Micawmber) and Josali Moran (Young David); Photo credit: Steve DiBartolomeo)

The world David Copperfield is set in is designed resoundingly well, sans Steve Gerlach’s projection designs which, at times, serve a distinct purpose in contextualizing the town or skimming the time jump, but at other times are just pixilated distractions that are indistinguishable as a locale or caption. However, Mr. Gerlach’s set design is outstanding, taking up enough stage to give the company and set pieces plenty of room to move and detail. B. Modern’s costume design is exquisitely simple, never drawing attention to itself but adding personality and period-appropriate color to the cast. Michael Palumbo’s lighting design makes great use of illumination and shadow, and is always in great sync with Joseph Paul Stachura and Julie James’ direction. Both directors have found a rhythm compatible with Mr. Scharf’s adaptation; though too long a musical, the creative staff certainly maintains the integrity of the source material’s gravitas. Lee Ann Payne’s choreography delightfully creeps in when called for, adding a dose of uplifting musicality to the piece.

(L to R: Sheila Townsend (Peggotty), Josali Moran (Young David), Emily Serdahl (Carla); Photo credit: Steve DiBartolomeo)

David Copperfield, the New Musical closes this coming Sunday, and due its world premiere status, you’ll want to make sure, especially if you’re a Charles Dickens fan, to see this show in its early incarnation. Go see this show!

Details:

David Copperfield, the New Musical runs through December 23rd

Jewel Theatre in Santa Cruz, CA

www.jeweltheatre.net

[daydream-cement]

It Will Come Back (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Reader

Jane and you keep meeting for your weekly book clubs, but the books seem to all be sharing a central theme.

gahhd this was fun to write. thank you @tanith-rhea for the post that got me motivated to write this and thank you to my sweet baby @alexusonfire for being a beta <3

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

“Are you even listening? Honestly, sometimes I wonder if there is anything going on in that head of yours.” The sound of Jane’s cutting voice drew you from your daydreams of her. In your fantasies, she had you pushed back on the settee, her lips hovering inches above yours as she berated you for ogling her. In reality, she was seated next to you, her hands folded atop of a book in her lap. 

Each week the two of you met to discuss your chosen book of the week. She had been a faithful customer of the bookshop in which you worked and had both met, and while your friendship was quick to grow, you occasionally found her to be abrasive and self-righteous. It was something you could easily overlook when compared to her incredible wit and mesmerizing beauty. 

She repeated your name once more when she didn’t receive a timely reply; shaking your head and turning your gaze upward to meet hers, you spoke quickly to subdue her growing frustration, “Yes, I’m listening. Sorry... as you were saying about Ms. Brontë’s work?” 

Before speaking, Jane looked you up and down, her lips pursed and eyes narrowing in disbelief that you had actually been listening to her. She chose to begin her thought once more, her eyes lingering on yours to ensure you were paying attention this time, “I was saying that it seems like Brontë’s female main characters engage in obsessive relationships with other women... Would you agree with this sentiment...?”

“Are you referring to their relationships as platonic... or something more Biblical?” Your eyes widen at the unreserved question, which went far beyond the realm of polite conversation for your two person book club. 

Since meeting Jane, there were many urges stirred within you that you had rarely experienced up until that point. The occasional brush of your hands at the bookstore would set your cheeks aflame and cause your breath to hitch. Never had you been more attracted to another individual, and Jane being who she was made those romantic and lustful feelings far more intimidating than anticipated. 

She hesitated momentarily, her fingertips dancing around the edges of ‘Villette’s’ hardcover. It was hard to not focus specifically on her hands and the skillful way her pointer and middle fingers graced the inside edge of the book, “From my perspective, it would require reading through the lines to determine the full extent of their relationships.”

“Indeed...” You nod, holding back on providing too much of your own personal input until she prompted you further. 

With a deep breath, Jane set her book on the table nearby and turned her body towards you, her shoulders back and face proud, “How good are you at reading through the lines? And of course, I’m referring to the moments when you are not spacing off into oblivion, daydreaming about only God knows what.” The final four words were spoken in a lower register, one that made your insides churn with a sensation you had never experienced before. 

Your mouth felt dry as your mind went completely blank. Internally, you were wrestling with yourself: was Jane trying to accrue these feelings within you or was your mind just running rampant? Shyly staring down into your lap, your fingers twist and pull at one another you focus on the specifics of the book rather than your personal relationship to Jane. “If we refer to the text, Lucy finds Ginevra to have many negative characteristics, yet she finds her quite attractive anyway.”

You could feel Jane leaning in close to you, but you felt frozen in your current position, only able to watch her leaning in from the corner of your eye. Her hot breath was on your ear, you could swear you felt her lips grace your ear lobe, “A familiar experience for you, hmm?” 

“Pardon?” You croaked, eyes closed as you waited for her to touch you further. What you hadn’t connected was her recognizing how you looked at her, both finding her deeply flawed yet alluring. 

Than to smile at me, smile at me like that

You were positive she knew what she was doing. She would ask for you specifically when she asked your boss to deliver her weekly order of books for her Lady, each weekly shipment containing her own book for your book club. Each Monday, your employer would have a stack of books ready to be taken to the home of Jane’s Lady. 

As always, when you knocked at the door of her Lady’s home, the butler answered with a neutral expression and a nod. He silently led you down the same path as usual, down the hall to the parlor on the right where Jane was always patiently waiting for you. He announced your entry and Jane’s blue hues were on you in a millisecond, “Ms. Murdstone. This week's books are here for you.”

She set her embroidery to the side and picked herself up from her place on the settee, coldly looking to the butler, “Thank you... You are dismissed.” Upon the closing of the parlor door, Jane finally addressed you once you were both alone, her tone shifting from cold and uncaring to pleasant and, dare you say, loving, “If it isn’t my favorite bibliophile. How are you today?”

Your arms were beginning to feel heavy from the weight of the books, but you wouldn’t place them anywhere until Jane directed you to. She had scolded you previously about being presumptuous and you weren’t looking to get into trouble with her once more. Shifting the books from side to side, you answered her question absentmindedly, “Quite well... and you?”

“Books can be placed on the credenza.” Her hand gestured to a finely made credenza on the far side of the room and you immediately started towards it, looking to liberate your arms of the soreness beginning to build. From the sound of her voice, you could hear her following you across the room, stopping directly behind you. “No complaints... Are we really going to persist with this tedious small talk or shall we talk about something more stimulating?

You turned on your heels, chin tilting upwards to look into her eyes rather than staring at her chest. The smile spreading across her face was one of pleasure in her perceived dominance over you. Taking one more step forwards, she caused you to take a step back, your back hitting the credenza and her hands coming down on either side of you. Your voice was shaky with nerves, “Apologies, miss. What, uhm- What books do you have for us to- to read this week?” It was challenging to maintain a gaze with her as she leaned in closer, your eyes flickering down to her lips. 

“This one was a special order from a friend. I had your copy delivered to your home.” Her head gently cocked to the side, her hands sliding in closer to land on your hips, fingers balling up the fabric of your skirts to keep you close. You were hesitant, but you timidly reached forward, the very tips of your fingers grazing against the black fabric at the base of her corset. Jane’s voice was as seductive as ever, bringing chills across your skin, “I think you will find it... diverting.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, the pure anticipation of her kissing you at the forefront of your mind, “And what is it called?”

“Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.” When the words hit your ears, your eyes widen in shock and she lets out a light chuckle, releasing you from her grasp and backing away from you. Her eyes raked down your body before she spun around, returning to her place on the couch where she could finish her embroidery project. 

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

Jane sat closer to you than normal on the couch for your regularly scheduled book club meeting, her body turned towards you with a hand outstretched to stroke at the fabric of your dress, “And what did you think of the readings this week, pet?” 

Her term of endearment caught you off guard. The pet name combined with the memory of the erotic readings from the past week had your heart beating faster as blood rushed to your face. Speaking quietly under the heavy gaze of Jane, you were beginning to think she had suggested reading ‘Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure’ as a way of purposely driving you wild, “Salacious... How did you get your hands on a book like this?” You had no clue where Jane obtained a copy; she clearly hadn’t purchased it from your employer as you were the one to deliver all of her purchases.

The book had more than its fair share of erotic scenes, many of which left you having to set the book aside for a few minutes as you had never read something so graphic and sexual before. It truly left nothing up to your imagination. 

Jane ignored your question, not wishing to divulge the details in the arduous process she went through to garner two copies of the book for this week's readings. Her hand came drifting closer to your thigh, playing it off as her playing with the small ruffles at the edges of your skirt. “I wish they would have included more about the main character and Phoebe... Don’t you?” 

The relationship between the two women was mentioned briefly, but Phoebe was the woman who prepared the main character for the life of a ‘woman of pleasure.’ The details about the two’s love affair was brief and veiled, so Jane’s asking was intentional as she probed you about your interest in women loving women. Since meeting Jane, you only felt your desire for her growing, but you had yet to verbalize this feeling, making you hesitate in answering her question, “I- Uhm...”

“So much was written in such detail, but their small moment was far more compelling than her relationships with men.” Jane stated plainly, her hand now dancing up and down your heavily clothed thigh. There was a stirring deep within the pit of your stomach, much like the feeling that had grown when she had you pinned against the credenza earlier in the week. 

“That is very true...” Deciding to answer honestly, you glance up to meet her eyes again. This was an incredibly dangerous act as the urge to close any gap that existed between the two of you only grew stronger. 

“Have you had an experience such as this? With another woman?” Jane was incredibly straightforward, her hand’s relinquishing their grasp on your dress. The relief in anxiety you felt was only momentary as her hands only drifted higher, hands coming to rest on either side of your cinched waist. 

The way your heart was beating, you would have thought you had run around the manor twice with no breaks. As always, you answered Jane’s question with complete honesty (even though you hesitated and cut yourself off in the end), “I have not... but I-” 

“But you what?” She implored, drawing you in closer by your waist. You wondered if it was just your imagination, but you could feel the squeeze of her hands through the bindings of your corset. 

Even if it was just a figment of your imagination, you let out a whimper, your words a breathy whine, “I would.”

Her lips twisted into a satisfied smirk, eyes drifting slowly from your face to the top of your dress where your collarbone was bared for all to see. Wide eyed, you watch as she lowered her lips to your collarbone, placing a kiss to your flesh, causing a shiver to ripple through your body. 

Than to hold me just, hold me just like that

You would like to say that you didn’t know how you ended up in your current position pressed up against the parlor door with Jane’s lips on your neck and your skirts hiked up around your waist while her hand was quick at work within your bloomers, but the events over the past month clearly showed you would end up here at some point.

“Look how easily you gave into me...” She mumbled, pressing kiss after kiss to your skin. The movements of her fingers against you felt like nothing you had experienced before, but you knew you would be desperate to experience again. 

You can only let out a brief whimper in response, the movements of her fingers against your clit making your brain unable to form true sentences. Little ripples of pleasure coursed through your body, leaving you to become absolute putty in her hands. Melting against her touch, the only thing holding you up was Jane’s knee between your legs and the need to keep her mouth on your neck. 

Her free hand slipped your dress off your left shoulder, her lips coming down on the tender flesh there, beginning to suck at the flesh to leave the sweetest of bruises that would certainly impact your dress choices for the next week. Jane’s voice was hoarse and desperate, unable to hide how much she sought to pleasure you, “You just couldn’t resist me, could you?”

“No...” You whined, shaking your head frantically. With more confidence, you were beginning to participate more in the act of sex, your hips bucking against her hand while your hands wound up around her neck to keep her close to you. 

Her fingers drifted back, dipping into your sex momentarily to gather some of your juices to then rub against your clit, creating a slick friction that made your hips buck while a quiet moan escaped your lips. Jane continued her recounting, her mouth kissing its way back along your shoulder to your neck, so her teeth could grasp at your earlobe, “I saw the way you stared at me... Your mind drifting off. No doubt thinking about terribly sinful things, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” You admitted quickly, unable to hide any secrets of your desire from her. 

She seemed to hit just the right spot, a moan rising up in your throat that you were able to strangle out just in time was an indication of her pleasurable movements. Jane was so pleased with herself that her fingers worked firmer against your clit and her body put more pressure against yours, making it impossible for you to move away (not that you wanted to anyway). Her free hand snaked up to your face, grabbing your chin and forcing your gaze to meet hers. “You aren’t just a common whore though... No. You are my whore.”

Her filthy words made you whine and for the first time, Jane’s lips captured yours. It wasn’t the gentle kiss you always imagined to be your first. No, this kiss was rough and desperate, her teeth latching onto your bottom lip and allowing it to slide through her teeth before releasing it.

You felt your body begin to tense in the strangest way. All of her ministrations have culminated in the growing of the most delightful of sensations between your legs, but this reaching of the peak felt far too intense for you to handle. Throwing your head back, you stare up to the ceiling, biting at your lip and hoping to repress the intensity of the pleasure you felt. 

Jane must have sensed your nervousness as she leaned in close, hand coming to rest at the back of your neck while her work against your clit slowed ever so slightly. She leaned in close, her lips hovering over yours momentarily, “Give into it, my darling. You will be happy you did.” Her lips were then on yours again, kissing you deeply as her fingers quickened their pace once again, sending you over the edge in seconds. 

Your final moan was muffled by her mouth, making the ravenette smile against your lips. Pulling her hand from your underwear, she lifted her fingers to her lips, dragging her tongue across the digits languidly, making eye contact the whole while. Your chest was heaving, brain unable to comprehend the events of the afternoon. 

Jane pressed a lingering kiss to your lips before stepping away. Her hand strayed downward, fixing the layers of skirts that had become disheveled. When she was done, she pulled you towards her by pulling at the fabric of your dress to get you away from the door. Reaching out with her opposite hand, she grasped at the door handle, twisting and pulling it open, indicating for you to leave, “See you next week.”