#professor Lambert

[incorrectneopetsquotes]

Katie: Here’s a fun holiday idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Professor Lambert: Katie, no. Sandro: Mistlefoe. Professor Lambert: Please stop encouraging her. Katie: Someone’s halls are getting DECKED.

[bijuui9]

Professor Lambert

Lambert is teaching in full armour, lecturing students on the properties of drowner brains and their uses in potions. "Fresh brains are the best," he lectures before explaining that the best way to get fresh brains is to go out and find a drowner to kill. He launches into a full-on explanation on how to best approach a drowner and how to kill it as fast as possible, adding in that if any of them try it, they will likely die. "Leave the drowner hunting to witchers," he tells his students firmly. And yes, he admits it now. They have become his students.

It started several weeks ago, with a single boy helping him gather ingredients for swallow, he had already had the fresh drowner brain he needed for it. The boy was asking him questions whilst Lambert worked and when Lambert launched into a full explanation on the properties of each ingredient he was using and how they each reacted to each other, the boy took notes. The next day the boy was back with friends, Lambert was making a simple salve and found himself explaining every step he took and answering any questions the young men had and then some that weren't about anything Lambert had been working with at that moment. It just evolved from there, with Lambert returning to the labs to make potions and salves and students of Alchemy showing up to ask questions.

The first time Lambert found out they had a shitty teacher they were treated to an in dept lecture on ingredients, how to properly chop, dice, slice them, how to prepare them for different potions in different ways depending on other interacting ingredients. The students listened, took notes, asked questions, and even copied his method of preparing ingredients. He found himself teaching before he knew it himself, students taking diligent notes and participating in his demonstrations, copying his movements.

The first time a paper on drowner brains was given to him, he just stared and then found himself correcting any mistakes he found.

Before he knew it, more papers landed in his hands, and he found himself grading them in the evenings, much to Jaskiers amusements. A month later, one of the members of the treasury department stopped by with a contract and a bag of coins. A heafty sum too, and Lambert found he had been added to the payroll for the colleges Winter course on advanced Alchemy with an added course on basic Alchemy for beginning students.

After a good fifteen minutes of cursing, Lambert took the coin, read the contract and then signed on to teach for the winter and next winter too. Because the current professor had shit for brains and never showed up.

Which was why Lambert was now in a classroom, instead of the previous professor, having replaced the moronic sack of shit. He was in his armor, wearing a pair of reading glasses and the most annoying, ugly, black teaching robe Lambert had ever had the displeasure of wearing. But it was mandatory for professors so Lambert wore it over his armor. Fuck anyone who said he had to go without armor and his swords. He was teaching in his gear and that was that.

[moxymaxing]

Almost every significant Prime Defender character

[knighteclipsed]

"Valter." For the past few weeks, Lyon has been blissfully unaware of the man's presence on this archipelago. But due to circumstances, he (unfortunately) knows. "Tell me the truth: did you do something to Professor Alfred? "

He had not expected the prince of all people to show up. Was this island some sort of Grado reunion? (It only grew more and more interesting with each face that appeared.)

“ Alfred? ” he repeats. He doesn’t know an Alfred– (A moment; a click.) Wasn’t that what—(Rafal, was his name)—had called their intruder?

“ Oh. Him. ” (He hums to himself, not offering any useful information.)

[foreverknightalways]

As Clifford Hiatt talks to reporters, Frankly, I'm sick of crime, and I know I'm not alone. A flash of a camera brings on a memory, Nick can feel a memory come on....

Flashback: Chicago, Illinois, 1954.

Nicholas is being escorted down a hallway by two men. A woman comes up to him screaming, Dirty communist! Lousy Red! The two continue to lead Nicholas down the hallway as one man holds the woman back.

Back from his memory, Nick hears Clifford Hiatt continue, We're out to take back our streets.

[huntikfrance]

[FR] Découvrez une review en anglais complète de la Saison 1 de “Huntik Secrets & Seekers” faite par Media Hunter Reviews sur YouTube!

[EN] Discover the complete review of “Huntik Secrets & Seekers” Season 1 by Media Hunter Reviews on YouTube! 

[raebaekaedae]

SCWR Short: “Diamond in the Rough”

Series: SCWR Shorts Rating: PG-13 (Foul Language) Takes Place: During Volume 1, between Episodes 3 and 4 Summary: (1,589 words) “After an unforeseen schedule change, Haddy finds himself with an afternoon off. Deciding to use his time wisely, he tries to navigate the confusing halls of Beacon Academy to find a weapons lab to tune up Sleigh... instead, he finds two of his classmates...”

Why must Beacon Academy be set up like a maze? Never in his life did Hadrian think he would ever miss the rigid, overly organized, structured planning of Atlas… but here he was, turning corners in vain as he wandered around like an idiot. All he wanted to do was tinker around with his rifle, but that meant having to find the Weapons Lab, which was hidden away somewhere within the bowels of the Huntsman Academy…

It was a Friday, but his afternoon classes had been canceled after Mrs. Heather and her assistant, Mr. Port, were called away to deal with a minor grimm attack outside the city. Robyn and Ryder were playing videogames in their shared dorm and Monroe claimed she had some errands in Vale that needed attending, leaving just after lunch. So, he was free to finally roam and explore, deciding that the first thing on his list was to try to buff out some of the scratches on Sleigh’s stock.

After finally finding a holographic map that he could download to his scroll, Haddy could navigate to his target… on the fifteenth floor. No wonder he couldn’t find it. 

Opting out of the stairs, Hadrian stepped out of the elevator and into the hall. It was the same as every other hallway in Beacon, but the classroom doors were spaced further apart from one another. He peeked into the first open door he saw, finding a large, open training room with a complex, aerial obstacle course; that could be fun to try out later. With a smile, he continued on, reading each nameplate as he passed.

As he came closer, he could hear voices in conversation. Hadrian’s shoulders slumped as he quietly sighed, he’d really hoped that he’d have the Lab to himself. It sounded like only two people. If the Lab was as large as the other rooms on this floor, he could probably just sneak in and take a station in the corner.

“... I’m just saying, Golden Boys makes more sense…” one voice said with a very slight, but deeper drawl.

There was a chuckling scoff as the other voice, much more beautiful and smooth, but definitely also masculine, “That could be for any of us. That could be our whole team’s nickname for all we know. Chatterley’s Knights sounds so much more sophisticated.”

“Did you even read that book?” the deeper voice asked, exasperated, seemingly offended by the mere suggestion. 

“Of course not,” the other laughed, “That’s what I have you for…”

There was a brief pause, before the deeper voice flatly said, “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

“Mmmm… if you lose your train of thought, we can leave.”

By this point, the husky had reached the door to the Lab. It was cracked open, allowing the sound to roam free– and entry if his feet would move– but Hadrian just stood outside dumbly staring at the door with a raised brow. He knew the voices inside, they belonged to one of his quite popular classmates and said classmate’s teammate. However, the tone they were using made him question whether or not they’d welcome him in right now…

The deeper voice purred back, “If that’s your plan… you know so many better ways to make me lose my mind…”

Okay. Nope. He was not doing this today.

Hadrian turned on his heel to walk back to the elevator in embarrassed silence. He hadn’t even taken a step before his scroll went off, the loud cawing of Qrow’s text message alert screaming through the crystal quiet hallway. He froze, tensing up as he refused to turn his head back towards the now silent Lab. 

After a long moment, the deeper voice muttered under his breath, “Shit…”

“You can come in,” the, now embarrassed, softer voice said.

With a short grumble of his own, the dark-haired faunus pushed his way in through the open door, sticking his hands as deep into his pockets as he could as soon as he was inside, letting the heavy door close behind him. A few stations into the Lab were two blond boys. Gene Aurum and Lambert Aur of Team GOLD. Lambert was sitting in a roller chair, his katars disassembled on the workbench in front of him. They were out of his reach as Gene was sitting on the table blocking his view.

Lambert was slightly shorter than Ryder, but almost as lanky as Hadrian. He was very well toned with tight, compact muscle built to dance around foes and deal blows rather than avoid them despite his height. He had his arms crossed against his chest with a thin-lipped frown scowling his face with lines. He had shoulder-length, curly, dusty blond hair that he usually kept tied up in a tiny, high ponytail with the rest flowing down. 

Gene, on the other hand, was drop-dead gorgeous. He was easily the most popular guy at Beacon because of his stunning beauty and charm, not to mention his fighting capabilities. His blond hair was brighter and a tad longer than Lambert’s, usually held up elegantly with a braid or two thrown in. His skin was tanned and flawless. Average height, a body sculpted from marble, and thighs that Ollie would have KILLED for. He usually wore a small amount of makeup to brighten his already stunning face, highlighting his killer cheekbones, jawline, and beautiful amber eyes.

Had Hadrian not found out about “Diamond in the Rough” before he met Gene, he would have died at the mere sight of him. It did make his heart ache just slightly from time to time when he saw him in class though.

Like, seriously, the man looked like how Haddy imagined a male version of Aphrodite would look. 

And that wasn’t even getting into the model of a man’s personality and charm. How could one person be so perfectly beautiful, both on the inside and–

Focus. Bi-panic later. 

He must have been lost in his thoughts a LOT longer than he thought because both of the golden boys were staring at him with crossed arms now. Haddy quickly motioned back towards the door and stammered out, “I was just coming to do some work, but I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just be going…”

“Wait!” Gene called, reaching out to stop him, “Uh, would you do us a favor and… not mention this to anyone?”

Lambert scoffed, throwing his head back before he flicked it over to Gene and harshly stated, “Oh c’mon. Of course, he’s gonna tell. He just transferred here, he has absolutely no friends or street cred, no life– I mean, seriously, it’s a Friday afternoon and he’s in the Weapons Lab– and now he has the world’s biggest scoop on the most popular dude in school? We’d be lucky if the whole school, Ozpin included, didn’t know before dinner.”

“A. Ow,” Haddy stated, a little dumbfounded by the blond’s bluntness, “B. Rude. C. I’m not a dick, I’m not gonna out anyone. D. What do you mean no life? You’re here too, and you have a freaking boyfriend you could be out on a date with right now–” Which got a short, hardy laugh out of Gene, “– And E. Why does it matter? Everyone already knows?”

Again, Lambert snorted in irritation, “Wow, you really are new here. Dude, no one knows.”

He felt his brow furrow as he turned to Gene. The handsome blond nodded, agreeing with his boyfriend as he hopped down from the table, “I appreciate that you won’t say anything, but, Lamb’s right. Ru and Doron– our teammates– don’t even know.”

Hadrian stared in disbelief for a beat-and-a-half, almost letting his jaw drop, before he quickly snapped back to reality and explained, “You– You guys do know my dorm is right beside yours, right? We share a wall.”

“Yeah?” Gene replied, confused, “What does that have to do with anything?”

Again, the husky just gaped for a minute before he stated the obvious, “Uh, I live with Monroe.”

He watched in slight amusement as all the color drained from both their faces instantly, realizing that Monroe had probably known for a LONG time about their relationship given her semblance. Lambert quickly stammered out, “Cade wouldn’t say anything! Hell, she didn’t say anything to us.”

“Yeah, but, we share a room with Robyn and Ryder too.”

“Oh shit.”

Hadrian smiled softly, adding, “I know I haven’t been here for too long, but I’ve been here long enough to know that Robyn has an extremely hard time not talking, and Ryder isn’t very good at keeping secrets...”

Lambert ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, “We are so screwed…”

“Um,” the husky added, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure it’s just our class that knows.”

“That would explain why Pygmy stopped hitting on me in second year…” Gene muttered. 

“... And why Doron and Rupert never seem to bother us on a date night…” Lambert added.

With a smile, Hadrian turned back to leave the pair to grapple with the fact that their secret relationship was the worst kept secret in all of Beacon, pausing as he looked back and said, “Oh, and it’s not Golden Boys or Chatterley's Knights, by the way.”

When the blonds looked up, Haddy smirked, “It’s Diamond in the Rough. That’s what we called you guys…”

Without another word, he walked out, catching Lambert’s drawl just before the door closed, “Wait. Who’s the Diamond and who’s the Rough??” followed by Gene’s howling laughter.

[koroart]

2am Dadbert doodle — being a teenager is hard, especially after you see your professor’s dad die and the Horrors come back ( takes place in my Lambert lives AU … )

[thedemonofcat]

It's winter in Oxenfurt, and Jaskier is spending these months working as a professor at the Academy. One night, he finds a cat outside in the cold. Not wanting the animal to freeze, Jaskier decides to take him in.

In some ways, the cat reminds him of Geralt.

When spring arrives, Geralt comes to fetch Jaskier, temporarily accompanied by Lambert. Jaskier's cat persistently meows at Lambert.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Jaskier's pet cat is actually Aiden, a Witcher.

[inexplicifics]

Hello from Ufa, Russia! Could you add me to the map, please?

Also, for wip ask game some L/A/M?

Hello in Ufa! You're on the map! Have a snippet of a modern college AU:

“As you know,” Professor var Anahid says as Milena takes a seat and begins setting out her pencils and notebook, “due to Professor aep Loernach’s maternity leave, we’ve had to reshuffle some classes, so please say hello to anyone around you who you don’t recognize. In Nilfgaardian, naturally.” Milena smiles and turns to the man who’s just sat down in the next seat over, and who definitely wasn’t in her first semester of Nilfgaardian 201: she’d remember a six-foot-tall redhead with remarkable musculature and a formidable scowl. “Hail, sir; honor and glory to you,” she says carefully, minding the gutturals. He looks a little startled. “Hail, lady; honor and glory to you and your house,” he replies. He’s better at the gutturals than she is, but he’s got a fairly thick Nordling accent, which makes some of the vowels a little odd. “I’m Lambert,” he adds, in Nordling Common. “Milena,” she says, offering a hand, which he shakes. “You do the gutturals very well.” To her surprise, his ears go pink. “Ah - thanks,” he says, ducking his head a little. “Your accent’s fuckin’ elegant.”

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Licentious Affairs

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, definitely dub-con, a little non-con, use of restraints, having sex with a demon, some animalistic behaviors, descriptions of blood, biting, degrading, hair pulling and i think that's everything

summary: you and dalton grew closer over the course of the fall semester. you sense a mutual feeling but still, a crush feels forbidden. on the night that dalton decides he needs to unlock all his memories for good, something possesses his earthly form and you’re left at its mercy. 

a/n: when i saw the new installment of this franchise, something about him being possessed had me kicking my feet and giggling. this is 100% self indulgent bc I feel like this is so niche lol. it strays from the events in the film(obvi) but I hope whoever comes across enjoys and i'll get back to my kpop postings shortly :3 ~nero

possessed!Dalton Lambert x female reader

word count: 4.4k

pt.2

The breeze was crisp and the trees were warm bouquets of orange, yellow, and sun-bleached green. As you walked across campus, the leaves crunching under your feet you appreciated the change in season. Wrapping yourself a little tighter in your knitted cardigan, you pulled out your phone checking your notifications. Swiping out of your social media a message from Dalton popped up on your screen. 

van gogh: r u out of class yet 

y/n: walking to the dorm rn

van gogh: okay, i’ve got something to show you

Turning the volume up on your music and stuffing your phone back into your stubby front pocket, you continued your walk to the dorm. Your mind was scattering all the different possibilities of what Dalton could’ve found out. Since the beginning of the semester, his art professor had been unleashing techniques on him to tap into a deeper artistic space. Through this theory of unlocking, he opened up memories that were tucked away so tightly that he forgot they were his own. Throughout the semester, you’ve been forced to be around his revelations as you were his dorm mate, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy his company. 

At first, you thought it was just you being good-natured and wanting to extend a hand to him in a time of need. But as his walls crumbled down you wormed your way in and slowly you found you guys becoming quite close. Opening the main doors to your dorm building the way the air felt never failed to bother you. The brick walls made it constantly humid and it was borderline suffocating with how many bodies passed through the day. Dragging your feet across the floor, you began to feel the day place its weight on your body. You felt another vibration in your pocket but ignored it, deciding to look at the notification once you got settled in. 

Opening the door to your room, you were met with Dalton hunched over the canvas of his current piece. He was so focused on the painting that he didn’t hear you come in until the door clicked shut. You dropped your bag on the floor and he finally looked up. 

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah, you looked pretty focused on that freaky ass painting.” 

“If not for this freaky ass painting, I’d still be “boring.”’

Flopping onto your bed, you chuckled remembering the first interaction you guys had with each other. You so desperately were trying to break the ice with your roommate and least to say it was the smallest bit painful getting some info out of him. As Dalton added the last few strokes of creativity, he put down his brush and wiped his hands off with a rag. Meanwhile, you were getting lost in his every move. You were tracing him, the way he moved, really just the way he existed. Losing yourself in your thoughts you didn’t hear him calling your name. 

“Y/n…y/n? Are you even here right now?” “Huh?- Sorry was spacing out, long day.” 

You were praying that somehow he wouldn’t think too much of it and just pass it off as you disassociating and not internally doting on him. You sat up as he walked over to your bed, the mattress shifting as he sat. 

“So you know how we learned I can astral project right?”

You nodded and raised your eyebrows urging him to go on. 

“Well, I think, whatever I’m remembering–if I finish that painting I’ll remember everything.” 

You looked at him, brows furrowing and your eyes showing an incredulous type of fear. Memories from the last time he projected flooded your mind. Whatever was stalking that other plane had it out not only for Dalton but for anyone in his vicinity. It left you stricken, but subconsciously you knew you couldn’t leave Dalton to deal with it alone. 

“You wanna…go back again?”

“I think it’s my only option y/n.”

You sighed knowing there was really nothing you could do to get him to think otherwise. You stared off toward the cryptic painting searching your brain for a solution that didn’t involve him going back to that other world. Nodding, more towards yourself, you looked back at Dalton. 

“Okay. When are we doing this?”

There was a small flash of a ‘thank you’ that graced his features. The relationship you shared was beyond the parameters of normal but it was exactly that that allowed you guys to grow so close with one another so quickly. He let out a sigh a dour expression taking over. 

“Tonight.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line forcing yourself to become comfortable with the reality of the situation. Slightly nodding, you stood up grabbing your bag from the floor. 

“Alright. I’ll be right back. Just gonna run and grab some fairy lights so I can have some source of light in here while you play Sherlock Holmes in the upside down.” 

Dalton cracked a smile, a small chuckle escaping him. It was something that softened the heaviness of the situation, lifting the tension not only between you two but for your anxieties. It also made something flutter in your stomach, something you’ve desperately been trying to swallow scared of what would happen if he were to find out. You were about to open the door but a hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

“Your phone.” 

A gentle smile stretched across his face and there was something softer about him in this particular moment. Maybe it was the knowledge of the impending doom that would ensue in a few hours or maybe it was just two people being vulnerable. You weren’t sure what came over you but the urge to hug him was impossible to pass over and your body moved faster than your mind could react. Your arms wrapped around him finding relief and comfort in him returning the gesture so quickly. 

Pulling away from him you found a certain softness swimming in his eyes that you never noticed before. Feeling slightly overwhelmed and bashful you fiddled with your fingertips attempting to wash away the anxiety that was running through you. 

“Thanks. I won’t be too long.” 

Dalton nodded and you slipped out of the doorway. As you walked down the hallway to leave the building you were fighting a more than enthusiastic grin as you felt those same pesky feelings flutter through your being. If only you had a similar gift to Dalton’s you’d be able to see that he was feeling the exact same way. As soon as you left the dorm he sat back on his bed, his hands trying to wipe away the elation he felt from the hug you shared. He was fighting a similar demon as your own, the fabrication of feelings–a crush. 

As he laid back on his bed he was running through all his favorite parts of you, something that he didn’t think he could say out loud. His mind was in too many places at once, going back and forth between the budding feelings he felt for you and the unfortunate calamity that he was going to have to face not long after you came back. 

Coming out of the corner store, you were surprised by how fast the sun began to tuck behind the mountains. You had an interesting relationship with the fall season, loving how the weather changed and the natural warmness that fall carried. By the same token though, you wished daylight lasted a bit longer, especially tonight. You wished the sun would never set so neither one of you would have to experience the ire that attaches itself to Dalton when the night approaches. 

When you got back into the dorm building, there was a formidable sense of dread that you felt settle in your stomach. You tried to brush it off as anxiety now that the navy blanket of night was cast over the sky, but as you approached your dorm the feeling only worsened. Taking a deep breath as you turned the handle of the door, you exhaled as you entered the room, dropping your bag by the door and tossing the bag of lights on your bed. 

You were about to announce your arrival to Dalton but were surprised to find him asleep on his bed. You were gone for maybe half an hour so you didn’t think he’d be too deep in sleep. Admiring his form you quelled your thoughts by grabbing the box of lights out of the grocery bag and began to unravel them while calling out to Dalton. 

“Dalton…Dalton.” 

Plugging the lights in the wall, you called for him one more time before deciding to walk over and shake him up. But when you turned around, he was already sitting up on his bed. It spooked you because you didn’t hear him move.

“Jesus! Make a noise or you know, yawn or something. Scared the shit outta me.” You nervously giggled. That sickly feeling found its way back in your stomach again and you couldn’t quite figure out why. Moving the string of lights around your bed, you found Dalton being more quiet than usual and you ruled that to be the reason why your stomach was turning in knots. 

“You alright man? You’re being more weird than usual.” 

Silence. Crippling silence. 

Chills ran up your body and you tried desperately to feel some sense of normality about the situation. Dalton got up from his bed and walked over to his canvas, running his fingers over the freshly dried paint. He forced some extra air out of his nose somewhat resembling something of a laugh. You kept yourself on high alert as you walked over to your bag to grab your phone. As you got your phone and turned around your eyes met Dalton’s frame huddled in the corner of the room closest to your bed. 

The way the string of lights illuminated him caused that sinking feeling to turn into something more dire. You started to go beyond the safety of things just being “weird” and recognized it was fear settling into your bones. Dalton’s shoulders were quivering almost resembling what a laugh would look like but no noise was coming out. 

“Dalton, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

Ignoring your intuition, you slowly walked over to him, hoping that the lights would let you see something that you were missing from your distance away from him. You left a couple feet in between you two and you called out to him again, only this time he turned his head slowly in your direction. Any rumination of worry about your friend was quickly replaced with terror once his head turned enough for you to see his eyes. They weren’t his own. They were yellow and held malicious intent. 

You wanted to stand your ground but the gasp that left you made a sound before you could stop it. You watched a smirk grow on Dalton’s face and as you broke your chains of frozen fear, you turned around in an attempt to reach the door. Before you could take your second step towards your escape, your feet left the safety of the ground and your body was flung through the air. 

Hitting the art wall adjacent to Dalton’s bed your body flopped onto his bed, a shield of sheets as your protection. In a poor attempt to quickly figure out an escape you instead were met with the evil incarnate of Dalton. Your heart was pounding, fear and a dread of the unknown at the forefront of your mind. His frame was looming, staring you down like fresh prey. You gripped the bed sheets staring him down trying to convince yourself you weren’t fearful. Your plan was successful, but the longer you looked at him the easier it became for something more sinister to eclipse your emotions. 

Lust. 

A salacious intent swapping out the fear of him for the fear of yourself and your own emotions. Why were you feeling this? Could whatever was using Dalton as a vessel hear your thoughts? How could you look at him the same way after this? All of your questions were pushed to the back of your mind as the door to your dorm slowly opened and Dalton turned towards it. You saw nothing in the doorway but almost like a warning, a low timbre shriek echoed from his throat as a bloody goop tumbled out of his mouth. 

Whatever was entering the door from the other side left, the door clicking shut and his attention was unfortunately back on you. With a feeble bid, you hoped that calling to Dalton would release him of whatever had a hold on him. As Dalton turned around to grab the cord of lights from the wall, the way he stalked back over to you sent a familiar feeling to pool in your stomach.

“Dalton…I know you’re in there. Dal-”

“-To be face to face with what was keeping me from him recently was not what I expected to see. Nor did I expect it to be so filthy.” 

It felt like someone was trying to steal your heart from its chest. There was a certain grit to his tone that was not Dalton’s and you weren’t quite sure if it frightened you or excited you. As he wrapped the cord around his hand he stalked closer to you on the bed. 

“Most would be terrified in a situation like this, but you? I can smell you. It’s hard to ignore really.” 

You backed further to the wall suddenly facing the reality of your situation. Your heart sped up but not out of fear. The closer he got the more aroused you became but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself just yet. Before you had an understanding of what was going on in front of you, your wrists were taken and tied to the bedpost with the cord Dalton was winding up. 

“No!” 

A sudden urge to fight back, you weren’t sure if this was something you wanted under the given circumstances. As you tried to push back against the cord, an unseen force was pinning your body to the bed. Your vision was obstructed by the fabric of Dalton’s baggy long sleeve but the overwhelming feeling of arousal was something you couldn’t ignore when he moved to face you and you looked directly into his yellowed eyes. 

His hand snaked down the front of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was a twisted feeling, you dreamt of a moment like this but with the given situation you were struggling if it was right. As his hand toyed with the button of your jeans any doubt about the situation was pushed to the back of your mind and a gritty tone echoed in the silence of the room.

“It’s funny. Hearing you think you have enough strength to deny yourself pleasure.” 

You arched your eyebrow confused by his admission. He took heed of this and answered before you had a chance to vocalize your thoughts. He leaned forward stalking over your body before he placed himself next to the shell of your ear. 

“Your thoughts are so loud. Louder than his–if only…he could be the one to see you like this. He’s wished for it.” He pulled away grinning at you in a way that made your walls flutter around nothing. You wondered if the confession of your Dalton “wishing for it” was real or just something the entity used to get under your skin. 

You didn’t have much time to think on the matter as your heart rate picked up again at the unfortunate realization that you, were enjoying this. The smirk that rested on Dalton’s face let you in on the sadistic pleasure of whatever was taking control of him was feeling. Before Dalton moved away from the shell of your ear, he took a deep inhale of the scent of your neck. 

Humming in relish, he nipped at your earlobe gingerly pulling at the skin as he snaked down your body once more. You wish you had more control but the whimper that left your throat was something instinctive. As this primal version of Dalton reached your hips, your zipper was quickly unfastened and your pants were tossed to the other side of the room 

Dalton moved his legs so that he was no longer straddling your own and situated himself in between them. Sliding toward the edge of the bed, he slid down enough to be face first with your messy cunt. Your desire soaking through the fabric leaving no room for doubt in your feelings. Shoving his nose into your drenched panties, he huffed the scent of you a second time causing you to squirm away from the action. 

Closing your eyes and rolling your lips around your teeth, you tried to silence your whines to collect yourself. Once again trying to convince yourself that you had more power over your bodily wants and needs.

“Stop, please.” 

Your plea was met with a sardonic giggle and as you looked down and was met with the sick glow of his yellow eyes. Dalton stalked back up your body, hovering over your face and clicking his tongue at you mockingly. As you were entranced by the figure above you, you failed to realize that he unbound your wrists from the cord. The sudden freedom surprised you but was swallowed by the feeling of his hand slithering in your panties and rubbing his finger across your slick folds. 

Your body shuddered in hedonism, rolling your hips up into the feeling. As one finger slipped its way into your slick cavern your hands found solace in fisting the sheets. As he entered a second finger you couldn’t contain your sounds. 

“Ah~! I can’t believe this is happening. I can’tbelievethisishappening.”

In your stupor of sexual panic, a low chuckle brought you back down to your body. His fingers curled inside of you repeatedly hitting the special spongey spot you cherished so much. As your moans became more frequent and less controlled, he removed his fingers from your pulsating hole and ripped your panties off of your sensitive frame. You whined out not only at the loss of contact but at the sudden cool air that breezed over your skin. Settling into your body you were panting heavily as you stared down Dalton. 

His yellowed eyes still igniting fear but simultaneously leaving you wanton and in a state of ache. That conflicting feeling flooded your brain again and soon felt guilt peering over the horizon. Before you were given the chance to wrestle with your thoughts, Dalton straddled himself over your body. One hand grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks to pry your mouth open just enough to shove his fingers into your mouth. He looked down at you, a small smirk adorning his face.

“Suck.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden roughness you complied immediately not wanting to make the situation even more escalated. Your eyebrows furrow, your face plagued with anxiety as you watch Dalton come closer to your face. The leftover stain of blood that was on his chin smeared across your lower cheek as his breath fanned over your skin leaving your body wanting more. As he removed his fingers from your mouth, he licks from your chip up to the tip of your nose. Dalton pulls away slightly so he can get a better look at your face as a venomous smile pulls at his. 

He takes the hand that was holding your face and drags it down the side of your cheek as he exhales a phrase that would chill your bones. 

“Everything I’m going to do to you…he wishes he could do himself.” 

The anxiety you felt prior was beginning to trickle back in as you realized the tank top you were wearing underneath the cardigan provided you little safety from the one above. Dalton’s hands slid up your torso underneath your tank top, his hands massaging over the soft flesh of your breast. Undoing the front clasp, your tits pancaked out of the fabric only for one to be caught by Dalton’s rough hand and the other encased by his lips.

You tried to keep a coherent thought, to push back against him but you lacked the mental will due to the rapture spidering through your body. As his mouth left your nipple, the cold air sent shivers through your chest and rippled down your back as his lips savagely placed open mouth kisses along your jawline, nipping at your skin with each release. 

Caught up in the feeling you almost blocked out the sound of his belt becoming undone. But as soon as you were aware, the time to react had come to pass. His cock, hard and heavy was pulled out from the layers of fabric and you felt it tap against your inner thigh. You were suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you were and the understanding of what was about to happen next rushed through you. 

“W-wait! I don’t, I can’t I~ah! Fuck!”

Before you had the chance to form a coherent thought, his cock entered your seraphic walls and his teeth bit at the skin on your neck. A mark that would surely leave a stain in the aftermath. Having already been overstimulated by the situation itself, the stretch of his cock was horrifically sinful. You couldn’t help the fluttering of your walls as he rocked his length in and out of you at a harrowing pace. 

As he finally let go of your neck he huffed out in the intersection of your neck and shoulder. His exhales made your skin humid and left you with another layer of unwanted pleasure. Trying to bring yourself back down to your body, your hand released the binding grip it had on the bedsheets and sought refuge in Dalton’s sweatshirt, something proving to be a mistake. 

A low growl erupted from Dalton’s throat and before you could register what was happening, he had pulled himself out of you and manhandled you to get on your hands and knees. 

“What made you think that you could touch me, hmm?” 

Like a viper his hand webbed itself in your hair, gripping it at the base and pulling your body up. Adrenaline pumping, you were searching for a viable response but came up with nothing but babbles. 

“I-I don’t, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

He controlled the movements of your head, forcing you to crane your neck and stare at him in his amber orbs one last time. Mocking your apology, he cooed at you. 

“Aww, you’re sorry? Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?”

Punctuating his statement by rushing his cock back into your ruined cunt, you cried out at the feeling. He shoved your face back into the bed, his pace now unrelenting and no longer a derivative of pleasure but rather of power. With every thrust you felt the tip of his cock assault your cervix, causing tears to well up in your eyes and dry into the sheets beneath you. It was overwhelming, feeling like all decision was stolen from you.

The only thing that filled the room now were the occasional groans from the figure above you and muffled sobs from yourself. You hated that you could feel the approaching feelings of ecstasy building in your lower stomach. The heat was building and the suffocating squeezes from your gummy walls around his cock were more than enough to alert him to your demise. 

“You gonna cum around me, you filthy slut? Enjoyed every second of this didn’t you?”

The guilt you were warding off finally made its way to the forefront of your emotions but you couldn’t find it within yourself to admit that you did, in fact, enjoy all of this. You settled for denial. Denial would save you from the inevitable self reflection you’d have to face. 

“No, no no I didn’t! I didn’t enjoy it. I didn-!” 

Your body cut you off, your orgasm washing over you reluctantly but comedically in timing. As your body shuddered around him, you heard that same derisive chuckle leave his throat mocking you yet again.

“Keep telling yourself th~aht.”

He pulled himself out of you, spraying his seed across the exposed portion of your back. The warmth felt overt, wicked, and it was something you didn’t want on you. You didn’t have the gall to face the being behind you. Instead, you let your body fall limp against the bed as the being fronting as Dalton stood up and fixed himself back into his clothes. From behind you heard him. 

“Say hi to him for me.”

Not expecting a response from you, he left Dalton’s body. His earthly form collapsing on your dorm floor. You didn’t have the strength to turn and help him up as he came to, too busy wrestling with your emotions as tears pooled out of your eyes. You heard your Dalton groan and stand up reaching to turn on the lamp light on his art desk. As the warm light illuminated the room, he turned around silence and shock devastating him as he took in the sight of you. 

You tried to quell your sobs, but your body kept shaking them out. Dalton slowly walked over to you trying to survey your body without touching you. When his eyes landed on the alabaster stains that painted your lower back a terrifying realization overcame him. 

“Y/n…? Y/n, talk to me.” 

The gentle tone was something you missed dearly despite only being gone for such a short amount of time. It comforted you knowing that the worst was over for at least right now. Dalton kneeled on the floor resting his upper body on the side of the bed. You turned your head slowly, still somewhat expecting to meet those hideous yellow eyes but when you saw the gentle and disconcerted brown pupils you were swamped with relief. Tears still were falling across your face, their frequency diminishing. 

You gave him a weak smile, a small “hey” leaving your lips. Like cracked porcelain, he wouldn’t dare touch you. He couldn’t break you more than he already had. His tone weak and regretful, he scanned over your fragile body trying to understand how this happened. He let his head fall next to yours, burying his head in sheets. 

“What did I do to you?”

[clemkruckinnie]

Can you write something like your ‘first time’ fic with Dalton, except the reader is a virgin and Dalton isn’t, maybe Dalton is the reader’s first bf too?

rocky road- d. lambert

a/n: i’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this! appreciate yall so much <333

it’s one of the first warm days on campus, after a long and brutal winter.

the courtyards are full of your classmates, the dorms practically empty as everyone tries to soak up the first few rays of sunlight.

you and your boyfriend, ever the introverts, decided to take advantage of the empty dorms, grabbing ice cream from the place right outside campus and eating it on his bed. dalton’s never been the type for a big social gathering, preferring his own company to anyone elses’. that is, until he met you. you, with your bright smile and warm personality, always ready to listen to his ramblings, or just let him sit in silence with you.

that’s what you two are doing today, finishing off your ice cream and taking turns catching up. dalton’s in the middle of a rant about his partner for a group project, when you notice a smear of his rocky road ice cream on his cheek.

“so i emailed my professor to let her know bryson had done zero percent of his- hey!”

without thinking, you’d leaned forward, licking the side of his face.

“what? it’s too good to waste.” you defend yourself. “i’m listening, keep going.”

“that’s pretty much it.” dalton shrugs, “that’s all i was gonna say before you licked me.”

you shrug, smiling.

“ok, you go next. did your roommate finally break it off with that tinder dude?”

“no! i don’t understand why. dal, when i tell you this man is the literal worst-“

your ice cream drips onto your thigh, the coldness stunning you momentarily.

the story you were about to tell dies on your tongue as dalton’s meets the skin of your thigh, licking off the drops of ice cream off your skin.

he comes back up, running a hand through his hair to push it back, then notices your flabbergasted expression.

“something on your mind?”

“you just-“ you gesture to your thigh, dalton raising an eyebrow.

“yeah? you licked the side of my face earlier.”

“that was your face, though, this was-“ you trail off.

dalton smiles softly at you, heat creeping into your cheeks at the way he’s looking at you.

“different?” dalton offers. when you don’t respond verbally, he shakes his head.

“tell me.”

“it was different. it felt- i just pictured-“

you sputter, your mouth moving faster than your brain.

“pictured what, baby?” dalton urges you. when you look down, silent, he grabs your hand, squeezing it lightly.

“hey, i’m sorry. i know you’re a virgin and i understand if you’re not-“

“i pictured your face—lower.”

you’re not sure where the confidence came from, and judging by the way his eyebrows shoot up, neither is dalton. he puts his hand on your knee, looking at you for assurance. you nod, heart in your throat.

“lower like—“ dalton moves his hand up, towards the middle of your thigh. “here?”

“no, lower like-“ your breath catches when he finally inches his hand towards where you need him, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your shorts.

“i can make that happen,” dalton offers, “if you want.”

you nod rapidly, dalton’s intense blue eyes meeting yours.

“i need to hear it, baby.”

“yes.” you breathe out.

dalton grins at you, leaning in for a kiss. this one’s different than the other times he’s kissed you—he’s needy, desperate to get his mouth lower, and lower, and…

he leans into you, your legs parting around him as you lay back into his pillows.

he pulls back from the kiss, leaving you dizzy as he tugs the hem of your top upward.

you oblige, lifting your arms up so he can get the item off as fast as possible. it’s flung into some random corner of your room, dalton moving to your bra before you can complain.

“can never fucking— there we go.” dalton gets the clasp undone, the way he phrased it reminding you once again he’s more experienced than you. it’s not something you should be insecure about, yet it is anyway, and dalton picks up on your shift in mood.

“baby?” dalton asks , fingers still pressed into your back. “you okay?”

the softness in his voice makes your stomach flip, and before you can even attempt to lie to him, it spills out.

“i’m just worried i won’t be good enough for you.”

dalton’s gaze softens, and he moves back up. you think he’s going to kiss your lips again, but he moves up higher, pressing his lips to your forehead. then, the bridge of your nose, then, under your eye. you giggle at the feeling of his lips on your face, and feel him smile against you.

“there you are.” dalton pulls back to look at you. “you are more than good enough for me. you’re everything.”

you catch yourself nodding as you look into his eyes, almost hypnotized.

“this isn’t a competition, okay? i just wanna make you feel good.” dalton assures you. he redirects his attention back down, sliding the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

“let me?” he offers.

you know better than to stay silent, but what comes out of your mouth next surprises both of you.

“please.”

dalton’s pupils dilate. “oh, good girl-“

and he’s kissing you again, the intensity turned up somehow as he pulls off your bra.

before he does anything else, he pulls his own shirt off, flinging it like he did yours as he leans back into you, skin to skin.

“you’re warm.” you tell him, dalton laughing softly at your honesty.

“you are, too. and soft,” he trails his fingertips up and down your sides softly, his delicate touch making you shiver.

“you’re so responsive,” dalton tells you, “i love it. helps me figure out what feels good.”

“when i touch myself-“ you start, growing shy when you realize what you’re about to describe.

“go on,” dalton urges you, the sweetness and genuine curiosity in his gaze giving you the push you need.

“i start out by playing with my chest.”

dalton nods, sliding his hands up. he moves to cup your breasts in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples. he groans softly as you buck into him, surprised at how quickly he’d found one of your sweet spots.

“like that?” dalton asks, already knowing his answer.

“yes.” you sigh, letting his hands work you over.

“never had a tongue on them, though. right?” dalton asks again. “bet that’d feel even better.”

“please, dalton-i wanna feel your mouth again.”

he tilts his head back slightly, adam’s apple on display before he moves back down. “you beg so nicely.”he tells you, not giving you any time to respond before he licks one of your nipples, leaning back and blowing cool air on it as he plays with the other one.

“oh-“ you moan out, dalton leaning back in to the other nipple and repeating his actions.

“look at you.” dalton marvels, sliding his hands back down again. “as fun as this is, i wanna taste you.”

the way he talks about it sends a pang between your legs, parting them further as dalton moves backwards. he reaches the hem of your shorts, grabbing the waistband and tugging as you lift your hips.

“you’re just as eager as me.” dalton jokes.

“maybe more.” you joke back. “only by a little, though.” you smile, dalton returning it before his gaze drops back down between your legs. he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, you repeating your previous motion to fully reveal yourself to him.

“oh.” dalton marvels to himself. “baby, look at you.” before you can even think of shutting your legs, he seemingly reads your mind, grabbing one of your thighs and pressing down to keep you open for him.

“i’m gonna take my time with you.” dalton tells you, eyes flicking from yours back down to your pussy. with his free hand, he trails a finger up through your slit, slowly dragging your wetness upwards.

“dalton-“ you whine, desperate for more than what he’s giving you.

“i know, baby.” dalton attempts to soothe you. he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, fingertip ghosting over your clit.

“i need you, please-“

he pulls away, cool air settling against the patch of your skin he’d been kissing moments earlier. you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he finally has mercy on you, dragging his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with his tongue once he reaches it.

you moan embarrassingly loud, thankful that your neighbors work the night shift as he starts to work you over. he’s slow and meticulous, savoring you as you whine and gasp under his mouth. it’s almost too much, and you find yourself squirming underneath him.

he puts a stop to that quickly, wrapping his arms around your thighs and tugging you closer to his face.

“don’t run from me.” he warns you, the seriousness in his voice making you dizzy as he continues to eat you out.

“won’t—“ you moan, voice giving out to a whine as he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks. “i promise, just wanna be good—wanna be your good girl.”

he moans against you, the vibrations rolling through your body as you shudder.

“fuck—gonna be the death of me.” he mutters. before you can respond, he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks, whatever comment you were going to make giving way to a loud whine.

“oh my god, dalton!” you cry out, hands flying to his hair to grab onto something, anything to keep you in your body.

his jaw goes slack against you as you tug, pulling him as close as you can as he continues to lick you. your brain feels fuzzy, each stroke of dalton’s tongue feeling like a little jolt of electricity as you get closer.

“baby,” you gasp, “i’m so close, please-“

dalton speeds his motions up, looking into your eyes as he does. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, until dalton pulls away, lips making a lewd smacking sound against you.

“do it, angel,” he encourages you, “cum on my face.”

the sultriness of the words he chooses and the harshness he sucks your clit with push you over the edge, nearly screaming dalton’s name as you cum.

he detaches himself from you, shaking his hair out of his face and moving to get on top of you.

“feeling good?” dalton asks you, only able to give him a dazed nod as your chest heaves.

“catch your breath.” he tells you sweetly, kissing your temple as you finally come down.

“i’m good. i’m really, really good.” you tell him, finally able to speak again.

“good. i can, uh-“ dalton sputters, as if he didn’t just tell you to cum on his face moments prior, “i can tell. do you want some water, or-“

“i want you.” you tell him. “i’m ready, i want you.”

“you don’t have to, i’m fine just laying here-“

“dalton, please fuck me.” you plead, his eyes darkening as you do.

“well, i can’t tell you no, not when you beg like that.” dalton relents, kissing you chastely before he pulls back to dig through his drawer.

“there we go.” he pulls a condom out of the drawer, tearing the wrapper open. he discards it soon after, pulling down his boxers and letting his already hard length spring free.

“woah.” you marvel. “is that-“

“because of you? yeah. you try listening to your girlfriend’s pretty moans with her thighs around your head without getting hard.”

you grin up at him, watching him intently as he slides the condom on, pumping himself a few times before he moves to line himself up with you.

“hold onto me.” he tells you, you obliging as he slowly starts to push himself in.

“oh-“ you gasp, clutching at dalton’s shoulder blades as his tip starts to stretch you out.

dalton pants above you, tilting his head back as he pushes in further. “so fuckin’ tight, shit—you okay?”

“yeah,” you tell him, “yeah, just keep going slow for a bit.”

dalton nods, grabbing his headboard so hard his knuckles turn white as he pushes further.

“almost all the way in,” he tells you, “you’re taking me so good, pretty girl. you ready?”

you nod, looking into dalton’s eyes as he finally bottoms out, his blue eyes rolling back at the feeling.

“oh my god-“ dalton moans, “fuck.”

the dull ache of being stretched open for the first time subsides pretty quickly, because the pain isn’t as strong as the arousal you feel from watching dalton. he looks angelic above you, face glistening, hair still messed up from your hands.

“move, dalton, please-“

he finds his pace quickly, his eagerness making your head spin as he fucks you. it’s like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to feel you like this, wrapped around him, clinging to him like he’s your savior.

“sweetest pussy i’ve ever fucked, shit-“ dalton groans, his words making your stomach flip. “‘s all mine, right? you’re all mine?”

“yes!” you whimper, scratching down his back. “i’m yours, i’m yours-“

dalton tucks his face into your neck, sucking and biting the skin there, marking you from the inside out as his thrusts get sloppier.

“i’m so fuckin’ close, you gonna cum again? gonna cum around this dick like the good girl you are?”

before you can answer, dalton brings his thumb down to circle your clit harshly, a broken moan clawing it’s way out of you.

“do it baby, cum with me, i’ve got you, i’ve-“

your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, clenching around dalton as you scratch his back.

“good girl, good fucking girl, good—oh, fuck! “

dalton’s thrusts slow to a stop as he pumps the condom full, head hanging low, strands of his hair brushing against your forehead.

he leans down farther, kissing your forehead again as you both catch your breath.

“you’re so beautiful.” dalton marvels, moving the hand not supporting him to caress your face. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” you tell him honestly.

“aw, i wear you out?” dalton teases you. “i’m gonna pull out, ok?”

he eases himself out of you, tying off the condom before tossing it into his trashcan.

“here,” he hands you the hoodie he’d been wearing and your panties, pulling his boxers and sweatpants back up as you get dressed. he climbs back over you, pulling you into his bare chest as he lays back down.

“i can hear your heart beating.” you tell him, slinging an arm around his waist as he tucks his chin on top of your head. he rubs your back, content to just lay with you.

“get some rest, pretty girl. i’m not done with you yet.”

[ladyannemarie5]

Jaskier is more than happy to care for his witchers when they return to Kaer Morhen in winter, not that it's a sacrifice to be surrounded 24/7 by manly, strong, beautiful men, but he knows that his wolves can't be pampered by him the rest of the year because he spends every season with Geralt. 

So he comes up with an idea to make everyone see his witchers exactly as he sees them: heroic and delicious. 

A few years ago, Oxenfurt put out a series of portraits of the most handsome professors to motivate more people to go to college. Of course, the number of students inside the classrooms grew a lot. 

Jaskier wants to go further, so he tells Yennefer about making portraits of the wolves according to a different year theme. You know, a kind of calendar. 

Eskel, sweet and strong, will be Spring. Lambert, young and virile, will be Summer. Vesemir, wise and serene, will be Autumn. And Geralt, mysterious and silent, Winter. 

Jaskier can only be carried away by his fantasies. 

Thanks to Yen and his magic, by the end of Winter, in every place of the continent there is a series of magical paintings of the witchers of the wolf school exquisitely depicting a whole season that motivates all people to be kinder and more helpful to them. 

Some time later, wives and husbands convince their partners to call a witcher to solve their monster problems and give them generous tips, taverns fill them with beers for attracting so many people, inns give them the best rooms and as many bathrooms as they ask for, brothels fight to have one of them in their places and show off their charms. 

Jaskier has just invented themed calendars and is happy to know that his wolves are fully appreciated. 

The next calendar will undoubtedly feature Coën and Aiden.

[foragerknits]

Knitting in Victorian England

I wrote this for a class on Victorian Literature because my professor let me research knittinf and make a cape instead of writing a literary analysis paper. The cape that is discussed from The Art of Knitting is what I created for this project, with the illustration from the book on the top right and the cape I knit on the left. The book is from 1892 and is free on Internet Archive, and Engineering Knits on YouTube made a wonderful video about it. (More photos of the cape at the end!)

Knitting experienced a surge of popularity in Victorian England, and was even a topic of discussion in Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. After gaining popularity due  to industrialization, knitting became a common pastime for women. Knitting was important because it existed as a way for Victorian women of all classes to be seen as  virtuous and gave them the look of domesticity, while additionally functioning as a  means of income for working-class women by either knitting or writing about knitting.  

Industrialization shifted the view of knitting from economic necessity to a  fashionable pastime for gentry women. In 1589 the first mechanical knitting machine  was invented in Nottingham, which industrialized the knitting industry (“The History  of Hand-Knitting"). Dyed wool trade with Germany and the subsequent booming  industry of knitting pattern books turned knitting into something more accessible and artistic than solely practical (Rutt 112). Knitting became popular and fashionable for gentry women around  1835 (Rutt 111). Women of all classes have knitted long before the Victorian period, but  the industrial changes shifted knitting to a popular and fashionable pastime for gentry women, in addition to the economic necessity for working-class women. 

Knitting served as a way to keep women wholesomely busy. In The Art of  Knitting, a quote from the beginning by Richter reads “A letter or a book distracts a woman more than four pair of stockings knit by herself” (qtd in The Art of Knitting 2).  Knitting kept women busy without opening them up to new ideas that came from  letters and books. Furthermore, a writer in The Magazine of Domestic Economy writes how  useless the items (upper-class) women made were, but praises knitting in its effort “to rid of those hours which, but for their aid, might not be so innocently disposed of” (qtd  in Rutt 112). Concentrating on knitting produces something at the end of the hours of  challenging work but does not expose women to any material that the Victorians would deem dangerous or immoral. Thus, even when women made something useless, they  were keeping themselves busy in a virtuous way. 

Knitting also gave women the feminine and domestic look that was expected of  them in the Victorian era. This can be seen in Jane Eyre with Jane’s description of Mrs. Fairfax upon their meeting. Jane thinks, “[Mrs. Fairfax] was occupied in knitting; a large  cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of  domestic comfort” (Bronte 145). This is the first time the reader sees Mrs. Fairfax,  surrounded by a warm fire, a cat and engaged in a feminine pastime. She is the image  of domesticity. Jane admires Mrs. Fairfax, in part, for the comfort her nature, including  knitting, brings. Mrs. Fairfax shows the role knitting plays into the idea of women as  domestic creatures. 

Certain forms of knitting made women appear elegant. Frances Lambert, author  of 1842 manual The Handbook of Needlework, advises women to knit using the common Dutch knitting method, in which the yarn is held over the fingers of the left hand and  the needles pointed upwards, because it was seen as a more elegant style of knitting  (Rutt 113). While Rutt notes that this method was a faster way of knitting, Lambert does  not comment on this, but instead focuses on its aesthetic qualities. This style of knitting was popular because it allowed for the look of style that was mandatory in women’s lives.  

While gentry women were often restricted to making less practical knit items,  some knitting authors disparaged this for frivolity and immorality. Working-class  women did not have this criticism as the things they made were out of practicality and  meant for regular use. In picking yarn color and material, Mlle Riego de la  Branchardiere, author of Ladies Handbook of Knitting, Netting and Crochet writes “...and  let her be careful to make all she does a sacrifice acceptable to her God” (qtd in Rutt  116). Rutt asserts that although Victorian knitting is seen as producing useless knits,  some authors disparaged this (117). They instead encouraged women to focus on what  they saw as the spiritual aspects rather than on aesthetics, as everything women did,  including knitting, should enhance their virtue. 

While knitting was popular as a pastime, it was still used out of economic need  and served as a way for working-class women to earn money. Knitting was taught in  orphanages and poor houses, with the first knitting school opened in Lincoln, Leicester, and York in the late 1500s. One school in Yorkshire was established for boys and girls  who were “not in affluence” (“The History of Hand-Knitting"). The first knitting book,  titled The National Society's Instructions on Needlework and Knitting, published in 1838, was an instructional manual for teachers to teach poor students the art of knitting and  needlework. Knitting was used as a personal hobby, but also as a way for working-class  people to support themselves.  

The importance of knitting to working-class women can be seen in Jane Eyre. St John tells Jane, “It is a village school: your scholars will be only poor girls—cottagers’  children—at the best, farmers’ daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be all you will have to teach” (Bronte 541). Knitting will be a way for these young girls to get jobs and to be able to make clothes for themselves and their families. In this way, knitting was more than a fashionable and artistic hobby, but a necessity for many  working-class women. 

In addition to manufacturing knitwear, women were able to make substantial livings writing about knitting. There was a boom in knitting and needlework  publications during the 19th century (“The History of Hand-Knitting"). Some, such as  The Art of Knitting, were published directly by publishers with no one associated author.  Others were authored by women and were immensely successful. Cornelia Mee, who  published shorter pamphlet-type knitting books, sold over 300,000 copies during their run in print (Rutt 115). Francis Lambert, author of two editions of My Knitting Book, sold a combined 65,000 copies and was translated into several languages across Europe (Rutt  113). Knitting gave working-class women opportunities to earn money, whether it was  making knitwear or writing about knitting.

Knitting manuals contained various topics, such as some focusing on the religious and virtuous aspects of knitting as discussed previously, but most, if not all, had patterns in them. Under the chapter “Hoods, Capes, Shawls, Jackets, Fascinators, Petticoats, Leggings, Slippers, etc., etc.” in The Art of Knitting there is a pattern to knit a cape. Victorian knitting patterns tended to be broad and vague. Today's patterns are quite concerned with needle size and gauge, unlike many Victorian patterns. For instance, the cape pattern instructs the reader to “use quite coarse needles and work rather loosely,” (60).

Knitting was an important skill for women in the Victorian era, and they knit for a multitude of reasons. Knitting gave women the look of virtue, elegance, and domesticity. Working-class women used their knitting skills to support themselves and their families through making knitwear or writing about knitting.  

Sources:

The Art of Knitting. The Butterick Publishing Co. 1892.   https://archive.org/details/artofknitting00butt/page/60/mode/2up?ref=ol&vi ew=theater

Bronte, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. Planet eBooks. 1847. 

“The History of Hand-Knitting" Victoria and Albert Museum. 

Rutt, Richard. A History of Hand Knitting. Interweave Press. 1987.  https://archive.org/details/historyofhandkni0000rutt/page/n7/mode/2up?vie w=theater

[omgrachwrites]

I Love You So - Dalton Lambert

Dalton Lambert x Reader

Warnings: spoilers for insidious 5, lil bit of fluff, angst, probs ooc Dalton, mentions of possessed!Dalton

Summary: After Dalton accidentally puts you in terrible danger, he makes a difficult decision.

A/N: Soooooo, I'm in love with another fictional character, never saw myself writing for this franchise! Please excuse the poor gif, this was the first one I've ever made! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think! I love you all xxx

I'm gonna pack my things and leave you behind This feeling's old and I know that I've made up my mind I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my soul 'Cause you were cruel and I'm a fool So please let me go

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You stared at the clock on the wall behind your Professor as you willed time to go faster, you were just so restless, you needed to see him. It felt as though you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in weeks. In reality, it was only a few days, but a few days without any form of contact from Dalton felt like forever. You knew why you hadn’t seen or spoken to him, he felt guilty.

As soon as the bell rang, you packed up your things as quickly as possible, causing your friend to laugh at you. “that desperate to see your little Picasso?”

You rolled your eyes, “well I haven’t seen him for a few days, he’s been sick,” the lie fell from your lips so easily so you fooled even yourself into believing it was true, “I’ll see you later,” you waved at your friend before heading in the direction of Dalton’s dorm room on the other side of the school.

The door was open and he was standing at his easel when you walked in, his long hair loose around his shoulders. You smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “hey.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled and turned to face you, letting you give him a proper kiss, paint smudged across his forehead and along the bridge of his nose. He looked so gorgeous like this.

“Are you okay? You sounded freaked when you called,” you started as you sat at the end of his bed.

He sighed and sat next to you, fiddling with the frayed material of his jeans, “I guess that I’m just worried that the door won’t stay closed.”

“We’ll get through it together, just like we always do.”

A warm hand cupped your cheek, a thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek, “it’s going to scar,” he whispered, “I can’t believe that I hurt you.”

His big blue eyes welled up with tears and you placed your hand over the one he had on your cheek, “it wasn’t you. Dalton, I love you.”

He bit his lip as he stood abruptly, his fingers tangled in his hair. You let him pace around the room in silence, it looked like he was at war with himself. Finally, he looked at you sadly, “I can’t do this anymore, Y/N.”

Your heart plummeted as you stared at him, trying to process his words, “what?”

“I can’t let what happened last week ever happen again. I won’t let it happen again.”

You stood up and walked over to him, cupping his cheeks, “it won’t ever happen again.”

“Y/N, I can’t…” he trailed off, almost breathless, “I can’t take the risk. I have to let you go, I love you.”

“Who are you to make the decision for the both of us? You can’t just end our relationship just like that,” you snapped your fingers, “just because something bad has happened!” your voice was rising now but you couldn’t help it. It was like he was giving up.

Dalton took your hands in his, “do you think that this is easy for me? Y/N, I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t!”

“But I wanted to!” he shouted, causing you to take a couple of steps backwards, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, looking pained. When he opened them they were full of tears again, “I could feel how much he wanted to hurt you. Wanted to kill you. I love you Y/N but I can’t put you in danger again, I won’t.”

The bitter words that had sprung to your lips had died on your tongue as you saw how broken he looked, “fine,” you whispered as tears rolled down your cheeks, “it seems as though you’ve made up your mind,” he opened his mouth to reply, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I don’t want to hear it, Dalton,” your voice broke, “just stay away from me,” you sniffled and quickly left the room.

As soon as you were in the safety of your own dorm, you broke down and sank to your knees, crying into your arms, you can’t believe he would just give up.

As the weather started to get warmer your heart seemed to mend itself, it was difficult, at first it the pain was unbearable and you didn’t know how you would be able to get through it, but you did. You and Dalton virtually lived on opposite sides of the school, you didn’t have any classes together and he hated parties so you didn’t come across him. Dalton hadn’t even tried to call, but maybe that was for the best. You wouldn’t have picked up if he had.

Soon yours and Dalton’s relationship seemed like a distant memory, like something out of a summer dream and just like she had the year before, Dalton’s mom invited you to their Fourth of July party. You debated on not going but you decided that you couldn’t avoid him forever. Sooner or later you would run into him.

That’s where you found yourself at the precise moment, you were in the Lambert’s back garden, speaking with one of their neighbours. As you went to get a refill on your drink, a tall handsome figure went to stand at your side. You looked up at him, it looked as though he hadn’t slept in months and he’d cut his hair.

“I can’t dream without you,” he mumbled and you raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that was the point.”

He shook his head, “no I mean, I can’t sleep without you. I need you Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his skin gently, you still loved him, a part of you always would, “I can’t Dalton,” you sighed as his heart visibly broke and you stood up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his.

That was the last time you saw him for a very long time.

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 15A: Dreams

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see Help me baby, or this will surely be the end of me…

 - Dreams, The Allman Brothers Band (1969) [click here to listen]

“I’ll be upstairs in just a few minutes. Did you finish your reading?”

Ten-year-old William MacKenzie shook his head. “I was going to, but that’s when Daddy arrived with Jamie and Claire – I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. And then it was time for dinner, and then - ”

Gillian Duncan MacKenzie bent to kiss her son’s forehead. “All right then. Why don’t you get yourself all caught up?”

William’s eyes darted over to Claire, seated across from his mother at the kitchen table, sipping sweet tea.

“Jamie and I will be here all weekend,” she smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk with him about music tomorrow.”

His face brightened. “OK! See you in the morning!”

Claire couldn’t help but smile as William darted out of the room, footsteps quickly thudding on the stairs.

Gillian turned to face her guest. “He’s so excited. It’s not every day that a bona fide rock star is here in sleepy Wilmington.”

“Thank you for asking him to not tell his friends at school. I’m used to the attention now – ”

Gillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you?”

Claire shrugged. “Well – no. I don’t know if I ever will be. But one thing that won’t change is how much we value our privacy. So – thank you.”

“Of course, Claire. Privacy and discretion are what I do professionally – how could I not extend the same courtesy to you, when you’re a guest in my home?”

“Still. Thank you.”

A beat. Claire sipped the sweet tea Gillian had made – the same recipe she’d grown to love, those months at The Ridge. Gillian gently pulled Claire’s left hand across the table, studying her rings.

“You said this was his grandmother’s engagement ring?”

Claire nodded. “He inherited it when she died. His sister Jenny kept it for him, until he asked her for it. Called her the day he got home from The Ridge, and went to see her the next day. He gave it to me a few weeks later.”

“A man who knows what he wants.”

Claire smiled. “And I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

Gillian returned the smile, then focused on the wide band next to the engagement ring.

“I love how solid and simple your ring is. Silver?”

“Platinum. His is the same. Wide enough for an inscription on the inside.”

“I do,” she had whispered. Smiling through the tears. Thinking he looked just a bit ridiculous in his suit. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Love” across his knuckle.

“I do,” he had whispered. Eyes burning, full of awe. Agape at the simple gray dress she had chosen, his mother’s pearls around her throat. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Heart” onto her finger.

“I am so pleased to…” Professor Quentin Lambert Beauchamp loudly blew his nose into a polka-dotted handkerchief. “Excuse me. I am so pleased to pronounce you husband and wife. Jamie, you may kiss your bride.”

He did. To the applause of the ten dear friends gathered in Joe and Gail Abernathy’s Boston backyard.

“That’s beautiful.” Gillian lay her own left hand on the table, adorned only by a thin gold ring. “Dougal never gave me an engagement ring, and he insisted I have the gold band for our marriage. His is silver. He had just sunk all of his money into building The Ridge, and we couldn’t even afford flowers at the reception.”

“That’s beautiful, too, Gillian. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to upgrade. Because what you have now, is that much more meaningful.”

“I was sitting here, when Joe and Gail staged the intervention.” Jamie looked over at his wife – his wife!! – gazing up into the arbor behind the house. “The vines were heavy with grapes. I remember thinking, how appropriate that I’m looking at what could be wine.”

He pulled her closer against his side, and kissed the top of her head. Careful of the tortoiseshell combs that Jenny had so lovingly placed in Claire’s hair as she got ready this afternoon.

“Ian confronted me in a hotel room in…Sacramento, I think. I had been so wasted on stage the night before, slurring through half the songs. Jenny had come to see Ian, and she was so scared for me. She had already done the research, made a few phone calls. I puked the whole flight across country to North Carolina.”

“It’s always the ones we love who we hurt the most,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to hurt you, Claire. You know that, right?”

She turned to face her husband – her husband!! – and smiled. Reassuring.

“I do. And you know I’m never going to hurt you, Jamie. Right?”

He nodded. Couldn’t help but kiss her.

“Ah!”

Dougal MacKenzie and Alec MacMahon turned the corner, and cheered. “Here you are! Come on – don’t let us have all the fun without you. Can’t miss your own wedding reception!”

Gillian nodded. “I don’t need it. I have the life we’ve built together, and our son, and a man who somehow thinks the sun rises and sets with me. I’ll never understand it.”

Claire swallowed.

Of course Gillian noticed.

“Don’t ever doubt how much he loves you, Claire. I’ve seen you two together – you’re so natural with each other. That’s never going to change.”

She clenched her hand into a fist. Centering herself.

“It’s…it’s just so…intense, with him,” she whispered.

“We don’t have to tonight, Jamie. We have forever, now.”

His hands shook as his thumb softly, softly traced down her neck, across the pearls, and settled into the cleft between her breasts.

“I want to, Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. I just…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gillian asked gently. “I can be your therapist, or I can be your friend. But I will listen.”

Claire took a deep, calming breath. “Being on tour – I see now how he developed the addictions. Every aspect of it is so stressful. He feels so much pressure to lead his band, to write music, to live up to the fans’ expectations. And he has to deal with the label and the tour manager and the production guys, and do media, and somehow find time to eat and shower and sleep on top of all of that.” Her thumb twisted her wedding ring. “He’d use the drugs to come up, and the alcohol to come down. And the women to just forget about everything for a while.”

“Are those groupies?”

Colum had organized a small gathering for the band and crew to celebrate the first show of the acoustic tour. No alcohol or drugs in the room – though Claire quickly learned that the rules by no means extended to hallways and bathrooms and storage rooms at the venue.

Jamie squeezed her hand, standing side by side in the corner, both of them holding a can of Tab.

“Yeah. I can ask them to leave, if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

“No need.” She dropped his hand and quietly approached the four women giggling on the other side of the room.

“Ladies. I’m Claire Beauchamp. I’m with him.”

She turned slightly, looked at Jamie over her shoulder, and then turned back to her audience.

“So?” A girl wearing a strategically ripped Def Leppard t-shirt popped her gum. “That’s not what I heard about the last time he was here.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. I will say this only one time. If you even think about flashing a boob, or smiling at him, or trying to get him alone? I will end you.”

The girls gaped.

“Tell all your friends here in Albuquerque, please. Are we clear?”

“And now, that you’re there with him?”

Claire smiled. “He’s eating and sleeping a lot better. Has a lot more energy. He so desperately wants to do everything right. And I’m not going to lie, Gillian – seeing him perform the songs he wrote for me at The Ridge, and then being there when he comes off stage, all keyed up from singing and playing the guitar…”

“It sounds like in many respects he’s replaced his additions with you.”

Claire looked up, meeting Gillian’ gaze. “Of course he has. The album and lead single will be called She’s My Addiction. Doesn’t get any more obvious than that.”

“And how do you feel about that, Claire?”

She lay her hands flat on the table. “I’ve never felt more…loved, and cherished, than when I’m with Jamie.”

She frowned and opened her eyes when he stopped brushing her hair, one morning in Minneapolis.

“What – ”

The pads of his fingers swept the left side of her neck, still a bit tender from his kisses after last night’s show. “I bruised you. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. I’m not.”

She swallowed. “But it’s so, so hard sometimes. He loves me for who I am, but I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. And he stresses over so much that he doesn’t have to. Gillian, he’s been having panic attacks all tour.”

“My God. Is he seeing anyone to help with that?”

Claire sighed. “You’re looking at her. Thank God I did that psych rotation when I was in med school. I’ve helped him recognize the signs, and he knows enough to tell me when it’s happening so that we can get away and I can help him through it. But I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t be everything he needs. He has to do a lot of work to explore what’s triggering him, so that he can manage that. Because after we take the break at the end of the year, we’ll be on the road for most of ’89. The label has booked more than a hundred shows.”

“And you’ll be with him?”

“Of course. He’s the air I breathe. I know this sounds insane, but we want to try for a baby next year. That way he can be off the road, off touring, to be with me if the timing lines up.” She sighed. “So I’ve talked to him about bringing a therapist with us on tour. He needs to have that kind of support from someone other than me. Especially when we’re in Europe and he’s playing soccer stadiums and dealing with a next level of bullshit.”

“Do you want some recommendations? Between Dougal and I, we can definitely help you find someone.”

Claire smiled thinly. “That would be wonderful. It has to be someone we both trust. Who can deal with all the craziness.”

Gillian nodded. “Consider it our wedding gift to you. I – we – really want to help you. You know this, Claire – getting sober is hard, but staying sober is so, so much harder. It does and doesn’t get easier with time. Dougal would say the same thing.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

She settled her chin into his shoulder, nestled securely in his lap. Together they watched the cornfields of Iowa glide by, thousands of feet below.

“No. Not really. The pills helped me deaden the pain. And my life doesn’t have that kind of pain at all, now.”

The private plane had four clusters of four seats, two seats on each side facing each other with a table in between. Jamie and Claire always had a cluster to themselves. Ian, his bass tech, Jamie’s guitar tech Arch, and Angus’ drum tech always sat together. Colum kept to himself. Leaving Angus in the final cluster – which he shared with the two groupies he’d been surprisingly faithful to since Albuquerque. He hated flying, but the girls certainly made it easier for him – plying him with snacks, rubbing his back, squeezing him between them in the big seat.

Claire turned slightly, and inhaled at his temple. Kissed his earlobe as he shivered. “I know you miss it, Jamie. And it’s OK.”

His grip tightened on her hip. “You taste so much better,” he whispered. Eyes far away.

Claire wiped the corners of her eyes. “I just love him, Gillian. So fucking much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so proud of him, for everything he’s done, and for the man he’s worked so hard to become. I’m not going to lie – sometimes it’s so damn hard to deal with everything. With all of his past shit, and how he still lets it mess with his head. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told him that none of it bothers me. Not the drugs, or the alcohol, or the destroyed hotel rooms, or what is probably hundreds of women. I can’t let any of that bother me, because that’s not the Jamie I know. But Gillian…”

Gillian reached across the table and took Claire’s hand.

“He makes everything so fucking hard sometimes. He starts to spiral, and he worries that I’ll have had enough and walk away. But then we just take a deep breath, and we look at each other, and all the bullshit is gone, and it’s just so easy again.”

“You need a day off!”

Jamie rubbed his hands over his face, exasperated. “I do have a day off tomorrow, Claire. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a show.”

She huffed, hands on her hips. “Not the point, Jamie. I saw the call sheet for tomorrow. You’re meeting with the label, and then with Colum to talk to the merch guy, and then the lighting team, and then you’re doing some local radio spots. That’s NOT a day off!”

He shrugged. “At least we can get dinner together and it won’t be shitty venue food.”

She pursed her lips, trying so hard not to scream. “Do you not remember the panic attack last night? You were sobbing in my arms, Jamie. It was really, really bad. And then you were so exhausted, but you wanted to be a hero and do the show anyway, and then you tripped over your fucking amp when you went on stage and could have broken your arm. Where would that leave us, hmm?”

He reached out to her – and she stepped back.

Not done with him yet. 

“You need rest, Jamie. Your body is going to shut down. And that won’t be good for anybody.”

“Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Beauchamp?”

A hint of a smile. Good.

“Yes. I’m your personal physician. I’m prescribing a day in bed, sleeping.”

He smirked. “OK. But only if you’re in it, too.”

She shrugged. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Yes you are,” Gillian smiled. “You said it’s intense between you – there’s no way it couldn’t be. Set aside his being a musician, and being in just about the biggest band in the world right now. Think about how and when you met. What had happened to both of you beforehand. All the changes you’ve made in both of your lives, in a relatively short timeframe. It’s overwhelming. And being on the road with him this summer had to have just upped that intensity.”

“We’re together non-stop. Which has been great, because we have so much time. We have what nobody else has, and I treasure that, I really do. But it’s also exhausting sometimes.” Claire paused, considering. “Nobody else knows what I’m about to tell you, but it’s another factor. We…we didn’t…” She closed her eyes. “We waited until our wedding night.”

Gillian’s silence was a gift.

“We were both so scared. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I think we were worried that…that it wouldn’t be good, for some reason. And it was good, Gillian. So fucking good. We both cried.”

“You’re everything.” He kissed her nose and cheeks and forehead and mouth over and over and over again, his tears mixing with hers. “My heart is going to burst.”

She hugged him tighter, nails digging into the flames tattooed on his shoulders. “Love you,” she whispered, breathless. “Love you love you love you love you…”

“I don’t need to tell you this, Claire, but I will anyway. It’s been a really good decision to spend so much time together, to really get to know each other, before you were married. Both of you deliberately wanted your relationship to be different from anything you’d known or done before. And now that last barrier is gone between you. So everything has changed, am I right?”

Indianapolis. Married one week. He couldn’t stop smiling at her, standing side stage during the show. She couldn’t stop giggling when he found her after the encore, threw her over his shoulder, and ran to his dressing room. His breath hot against her lips, breathlessly pleading for her to stay quiet, as they loved each other on the sofa and the techs and roadies and catering people and production staff bustled by the locked door.

“It has, Gillian. But in many ways it hasn’t. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like forever.”

New Haven. Married two weeks. The morning after a powerhouse show at the Coliseum. A penthouse suite overlooking the water. She had slipped out of bed in the dark, opened the curtains wide. Watched him watch her as she returned to bed. Held his gaze as they loved each other, dawn breaking over their faces.

“I get that. You’ve introduced another layer to your relationship. Probably the most complex layer that there is.”

Providence. Married two weeks and two days. Holding each other in a bath, Jamie’s hand splayed across her belly, Claire’s nose buried in the curtain of his hair.

“So, be patient with yourself, Claire. Cut yourself a break.” Gillian reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “And just enjoy yourself! My God – what an incredible life you have.”

Claire’s smile was the widest Gillian had ever seen.

“Holy shit. I married a rock star.”

“I heard that!”

And then Jamie was there, smiling, and kissing Claire’s smile.

Dougal hung back in the doorway. Exchanging smiles with his own wife.

“Come on, rock star. You said you’d help me hook up the new CD player.”

Jamie pulled back. Rubbed his nose against Claire’s.

“Hey, Dougal?”

Dougal crossed his arms. “What?”

Jamie stood. Squeezed Claire’s hands. Kissed her wedding ring.

“Love is a much better high than any drug.”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “I’ll put that on the new pamphlets we’re printing up for The Ridge. But the stereo won’t install itself. Help out, and I’ll even let you play that new stuff you brought.”