he is a dapper man in the second one

Escape:   the medical school years

“I thought for sure that Japanese whisky was going to take it,” he said, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. Jamie shot a glance at his friend, looking for his opinion.

“It seemed so, until you waited thirty seconds….then,” John said.

“The Finish,” they both said together, and laughed.

John Grey and Jamie Fraser sat together at an airport bar, ready to go home from the International Whisky Competition.  The two men had been friends for a couple of years, but were vastly different.  One, a good-looking dapper, slender man with blonde hair and the other, a strikingly handsome, tall red-haired man.

“Damn, Fraser, this whisky is marvelous,” John said, taking another sip. “I wasn’t surprised when you won it.”

Jamie nodded, “Dougal will be ecstatic.  It’s been decades since Fraser Distillery has had a win.”  He raised a glass to his friend, “Here’s to you, Lord Grey’s Single Malt, for winning second place!”  They clinked glasses and drank deeply.

“Ah, Jamie,” John said, “it’s been good to see you.” He nudged his friend with his shoulder. “How’s married life?  I’m still somewhat pissed off you didn’t invite me to the wedding.”

Jamie laughed, “There were naught but, what? Fifteen people at my weddin’, John.  Dinna be discouraged.”

“Still.  Would have loved to meet your wife.  Tell me, does she play chess?” John nudged his friend again.

Jamie laughed.  “No.  No she doesna care for it.  She’s currently in medical school, so she doesna do a whole lot of anything but study.”

“Aw,” John said.  “Bloom off the rose already?”  He put his hand on top of Jamie’s.  “Want to talk about it?”

Jamie looked at his friend and laughed.  “Take yer hand off me, or I will kill ye.” 

John laughed and picked up his drink.  “Come on, Fraser.  I need food to sober up for this flight.”  He motioned to the bartender for a menu.  “King’s pawn to king four.”

Jamie laughed and drained his glass.  “Queen’s knight to queen bishop three.”


Alec had been staying upstairs.  Jamie thought it best he be close by. Unbeknownst to Claire, Alec would drop her off at the front door, park the car, and walk up the stairs to her old flat.  He stayed in the one bedroom, needing nothing more than a place to lay his head.  He was sure to be quiet, used the shower only after she’d been dropped at school, and ate his meals out.  He was not in the way of the kitchen renovation being out tending to his daily duties, and Jamie agreed that with the stairs out of commission, Claire would never know.  

On the plane.  See you in the morning.  Everything okay?

Quiet Thursday night, lad.  See you in the morning.  Sàbhailte shiubhlas, mo charaid.

Aye. Mòran taing.  Taing airson h-uile rud.  

A half an hour later the doorbell rang, and Alec couldn’t believe what he heard from the flat downstairs.  He checked the time.  Jamie would already be in flight.  Dammit. Spoke too soon.


The study session began well enough.  He said he was having trouble with Biochemistry, so they started with that.  Claire wasn’t sure if he just didn’t understand the intrinsic nature of metabolism, or if he just didn’t care.  Either way, it was like talking to a brick wall so she suggested they move on to something else.  
 

He chose Anatomy.
 
That’s when it got uncomfortable.  The first time he brushed her breast, she moved back from the textbook he was showing her, and got up to get her own.  
The second time was blatant.  That’s when Claire got up, and got his coat.
 
“I’m tired, Robert.  As I said, two hours.  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to call it a night.”   
Horrocks slowly closed his book, and gathered up his notes.  He moved at a snail’s pace that was getting on Claire’s nerves.  She dropped the coat on the kitchen counter and gathered up their refreshment dishes to rinse them. Perhaps if she started to clean up he’d move a little faster.

She jumped in shock, the glasses shattering in the sink when she felt his hands slide over her hips.
 
Once again, before she realized what she was doing, her palm was stinging from the slap.  When she looked at him, his tongue was working over a small cut on the side of his lip.  Her wedding ring must have caught him.  Good.
 

“You goddamn, bloody bastard,” she hissed.  “Get the fuck out of my house.”
 
Horrocks pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, then pulled it away to glance at the drop of bright red blood.  She was pinned against the counter and he wouldn’t move.  He looked her up and down.  “Come on, Claire.  We both know why you let me in tonight.”
 
“Wha- what???” Claire sputtered in disbelief.  “I’m married!”  Was he insane? 
 
He shrugged, and laughed.  “So?”  
 
“Leave.  Now.”  She hardened her voice, even though she was shaking.  

Fear.  Panic.  

He was big.  Not as big as Jamie, but big.  He was stronger than her, for sure. Her mind whirled frantically.  What was behind her she could use?  What could she reach for?

The blast of cold air surprised them both.  They turned toward the source in unison.  

Alec.  On the fire escape.

He casually climbed through the window as if it was the most natural thing in the world to enter a flat that way.  

“I suggest ye go now.  As the lady requested.”  

Horrocks studied the interferer for a long minute.  He didn’t seem as old as he looked after all.  Various scenarios flashed through his mind.  He could take him, but Claire was angry, and wired.  In the stramash, it would be two against one. She was feisty, and she’d not stand idle if he tried to get rid of the Old Man. Measuring his options, he decided it was best to retreat, and lay more groundwork. The thought of her struggling underneath him made him hard, but there were too many variables right now.  

So he stepped back, grabbed his coat and went to gather his books.  

Claire picked up his backpack and threw it at him.  “Don’t forget this,” she said.

They all froze when the small, ivory handled brush flew out of the bag and rolled across the floor.  

Claire gasped.  Uncle Lamb’s shaving brush. The brush I gave Jamie as a wedding gift.  She looked at Alec with such shock that it galvanized him into action.  He moved like lightening for an older man.  In one smooth motion he grabbed Horrocks by the hair, knocked his feet out from under him again, and dragged him to the door.  

Startled, Horrocks’ feet scrabbled against the hardwood floor as he tried to stand, yet wrestle the grip from his head.  

Horrocks’ head hit the door frame as Alec flipped the handle, kicked it wider, and threw the younger man out.  While Horrocks stumbled to his feet, Alec was through the door and all Claire saw as it bounced on its hinge and began to swing closed was Alec’s mighty shove and Robert going head first down the stairs.  

Alec stomped back in, grabbed the textbooks and papers and sent them the way of the body.  He grabbed the backpack, searched its contents for more, and threw it, too.

Entering the flat, he pushed the door closed, hard, with two hands, dead bolted it, affixed the chain, and turned to look at Claire.  

The room was awash in frozen air.  Claire was deathly white, and shaking.  He could hear her teeth chattering. 

“Come on, Lass,” he said gently, moving to close the window.  “Let’s have a wee dram, eh?”


When the bastard opened the door, it took him a good three minutes to notice him in the chair.  Even though his face remained the same, he flinched just a bit in the act of taking off his jacket before continuing.  Jamie took pleasure in noticing a stiffness in the man’s movements.  The bruises may have faded from his face and neck, but there were clearly new injuries.  Perhaps from a fall down the stairs… 

“Making yourself comfortable?”  Horrocks sounded much less bothered than he seemed.  Jamie could tell it rattled him a bit to find him in his flat.  “I was wondering when you’d seek me out.”  

“We’ve a lot to talk about.”  Jamie said, voice tight.  

“Not as fine a place as you have, Fraser.  But it’s what I can afford.”  Horrocks spread his arms as if he were showing off a palace. “One day, though, I’ll have what you have.”  He set his coat down on the chair.  “She’s bonny.  Claire. They talk about the luck of the Irish, but you!”  He wagged a finger at Jamie as if this was just some sort of locker room talk.  “You, Jamie Fraser, are the lucky one.” 

Jamie stood up, slowly.  “Ye come to my house, touch my wife, and think ye dinna have to answer for that?”

“Yeah, mate, well, there’s no way to prove that, now is there?  Maybe I was just helping clean up, you know?”  Horrocks smirked.

Jamie took a slow, deep breath.  His control was slipping.  Then the snake spoke again. 

“But here’s the thing, Fraser.  This university is good and all, but it’s not really working for me.  I might be persuaded to study elsewhere, but…” he paused, drawing out the moment.  “There would be the matter of money.  Expenses. Maybe you’d be willing to help with that.”

Jamie nodded, and released a small smile.  Extortion.  How surprising.

“You put up some money now, and I swear, you’ll not see my face again.” Horrocks stared at Jamie.  Waiting.  As much as he’d always regret not sampling Claire, this was fast becoming not worth it.  

Stormy, sky blue eyes met frozen, icy ones.  

Horrocks could feel the hate emanating from Jamie in waves.  Fraser was big. Very big.  Need to pick women with smaller husbands next time, he thought.  In his distraction he missed Jamie’s expression change.  In three strides the Highlander had reached his bookshelf and pulled off an artifact.

The sgian-dubh he’d lifted the last time he was there.  Dammit.  Meant to sell that by now.  

Jamie held the weight of the dirk in his hand.  This was his first Christmas gift from Claire.  It meant the world to him.  It had only ever been handed from her hand to his.  No one else had touched it.  No one knew that she’d inscribed his initials on the tang.  

Until now.  

To find that this… this….scum of the earth had taken it was too much. 

Slowly, he drew the small dirk from its scabbard.  

He hesitated too long.  By the time Jamie turned around, Horrocks was ready.

He swung at Jamie, and managed to connect so that the knife caught him in the throat just above the collarbone as he brought his arms up in a defensive move.  The sharp sting made him hiss in his breath, and only managed to enrage Jamie more. 

The noise started as a growl low in Jamie’s throat and escalated into an all out battle shriek, as he threw himself at Horrocks and they fell, hard, on the floor.   

“Ye know what this is?”  Jamie was inches from Horrocks’ face, sgian-dubh pressed deeply into his shoulder.  Jamie could see the blood start to bloom across the man’s shirt.  “It’s the supraspinatus tendon.  Yer rotator cuff.  If I cut this yer arm will flop from yer shoulder and ye’ll feel a pain like ye’ve never known.” 

Horrocks’ eyes grew wide.  Looking at Fraser, he didn’t doubt it for a minute. He tried to struggle but every time he moved the point of the dirk dug in a little further.   

“Or maybe ye have known.” Jamie continued.  “The pain of never being good enough. Not worthy enough.  Never measuring up to any standards, even the lowest ones.  You,” he enunciated, as he pressed the dirk deeper, “fucked with the wrong man.”

“Ye tried to take my wife.  My Claire.  My life’s blood.”  Jamie’s voice rose with every word until he was roaring in Horrocks’ face.  Spit flew from his mouth as he grew impassioned in his hatred for this man, and the fear he caused in Jamie’s soul.  He shook, his anger palpable.  Horrocks could feel the tremours coursing through Jamie’s body while he was pinned to the floor.  

“Ye dared to try and soil her beautiful body with yer disgusting, filthy hands.  Do ye know how unworthy ye are of her?  I could damn yer soul to hell right now and run ye through.”  Another slight push, and more pain. 

Jamie’s hand forced Horrocks’ jaw up so he was looking at him. His face in a vice grip, Robert squinted through the agony to find a smile on Fraser’s face.   

“So,” Jamie said, as if in casual conversation, “Such a shame ye’ll be withdrawin’ from the university now, isn’t it?”

Imagine Chris explaining how he found out you were placed on Team Iron Man.

You and Chris sat in the interview room, waiting for the next interviewer to enter. You were still giggling at how immature Chris had been when Sasha, the previous interviewer, mentioned that you were on Team Iron Man. He didn’t really care, of course, it was all part of the act to promote the movie. The whole reason they put you on Team Iron Man was because you were Chris’ wife; that little conflict of interest was creating a buzz with the media and the fans that promoted the movie in ways no one had imagined.

“You look so beautiful today, sweetheart,” Chris complimented.

“Thank you, honey.” You smiled. “You’re looking very dapper yourself.”

The door clicked open and the next interviewer came in, introducing himself as Max. You both shook hands with him then he sat down and the camera started rolling as he began congratulating the both of you on the success of the movie, as well as your second anniversary, and asking his questions. It didn’t take long for him to bring up the fact that you were on Team Iron Man, like you’d said- it was all people were talking about.

“So I’ve heard that Chris is still sore about you being on Team Iron Man,” Max started. You both chuckled when you heard Chris groan. “Does that make things difficult for you guys at home? Is there a Mr. and Mrs. Smith situation going on? Does your husband hold grudges?”

“You have no idea,” you chuckled, glancing at Chris who was trying hard not to laugh because he knew what you were about to say next. “When he found out I was on Team Iron Man, he actually scolded me for-” You started to tell the story but he cut you off before you could finish.

“She’s telling that story way out of context,” Chris held up a finger at you and you chuckled. “You have to know how I found out first to understand why I was upset with her.” He didn’t actually get upset, that was all part of the bid, but they didn’t need to know that. “So- I was having lunch with RDJ and Kevin Feigi when RDJ’s phone rang.” Chris used his hand to make a phone gesture and placed it to his ear, “he picked up, said nothing, then all of a sudden he looks to me with his eyes lit up and fist pumped.” He acted it out as he explained. “Of course, Kevin already knew so he was sitting there laughing softly to himself whereas I’m just completely clueless, wondering what they were both smirking about.”

“When did Robert tell you the news?”

“Immediately after his little cheer and fist pump,” Chris chuckled. “And he didn’t just tell me the news, he freakin’ rubbed it in my face. He was all like- ‘haha, Y/N is on Team Iron Man’, ‘your wife is on Team Iron Man’, 'what are you going to do, man?’ Etcetera, etcetera.”

“He was not happy with me when he got home,” you giggled. “He walked in and slammed the door behind him, tossing a Captain America shirt at me. I think he said, 'it’s Captain America or nothing.’ I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop to remind him that it wasn’t my choice, it was Marvel’s.”

“You know what the worst part of it was?” Chris added, “the entire time we were filming Civil War, she like- ditched me every time RDJ came along because she was on his team. I think one lunch, she told me she couldn’t make it because she was going over to his trailer city.”

“Like you’d pass up an invitation to his trailer for lunch,” you countered, laughing. “He has ditched me before too,” you defended your actions and Max laughed. “Literally, when it comes to going to lunch at RDJ’s- there is no friends or family clause, it’s just- every man for himself.”

“That’s true,” Chris nodded, laughing. “Mackie was so mad when Sebastian got invited and he didn’t, that was like-” he choked on his laughter, grabbing his left breast. “The best day ever 'cause I remember Mackie coming over to me complaining but I was going too.”

“Getting an invitation from RDJ is honestly the best thing ever, he has amazing food on his trailer. I think that’s the best part about being on Team Iron Man though, 'cause we’re always in scenes together and he always has food on him.” You told Max and heard Chris groan. “But then again,” you placed your hand on Chris’ knee and squeezed it gently, “it’s also great to be married to Captain America because he helps me work all that food off.”

“That’s all I’m good for, huh?” Chris teased, taking your hand in his.

“Well, you’re good for other things too but they’re filming this interview,” you responded with a smirk and Chris and Max laughed. “I can just see that becoming a gif and trending on Tumblr,” you giggled as you turned to the camera. “Can we cut that out, please?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Max chuckled with a shake of his head. “This interview is gold.”

“Yeah, and now it’s on the record that I’m good for other things too.” Chris winked and you laughed.

To Light The Way

This is for the Voltron gen minibang ( @voltrongenminibang ). So much shit happened to me during the bang it was like I got cursed and I wasn’t sure if I could finish it at all, but its done!

Art is by @trcelyneart , IT LOOKS HELLA AWESOME GO SEE IT. I actually completed this fic at the very last second so the fact that they managed to do art that accurately fits what I wrote from what I directed without complaining is an act of awesomeness I cannot hope to match *bows down in thanks and awe* seriously owe them. GO SEE THE ART.

Tags: Allura, Coran, Shiro, Keith, Lance, Pidge, Mice, Road trip (at the end), Modern au, vigilante, ish, mystery, also ish

Summary: When her father dies in mysterious circumstances and leaves her alone with nothing but questions, Allura sets out to find the truth.

Or the time Allura decides to go Sherlock with her family-friend Coran and the five friends she makes in the process.

Rating: T

Wordcount: 13253 words

Read more below!

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Art at its Finest. Penguin x Reader

Originally posted by magicalworldofchatoevia


The weather in Gotham was always the same:
Dark, Cloudy, somewhat muggy, and on an occasion rainy, it varied between light breezy drizzles and massive downpours that chilled a person to the bone, soaking them from head to toe, umbrella or not.
Being a native Gothamite, you accustomed yourself to the dreary weather of the fair city.
But-
Some days on very rare occasions the sun would break free of its cloud prison and the skies would be rinsed clean of their gloomy, dark makeup and return to their natural, fluffy, cotton like states.  The city would be bathed in the golden light of the sun and things would seem at peace, the grass seemed greener and the people seemed happier on those rare sunny Gotham days, and today happened to just be one of those very days.
The warm lights of the morning sun streamed through the curtains that covered your bedroom balcony window. A gracious smile graced your face as you turned in bed to face the heated rays.
These rare days were your favorite.
Arms threw themselves in the air as you stretched out under your sheets, your eyes fluttering open, your vision blurry, as they try to adjust to the bright lights that bathed your bedroom walls in a soft glow. With a quick yawn you rolled yourself out of bed, smile still on your lips as you slipped into the bathroom of your small apartment. It was an old building like its hundreds of twins that lined the streets; few houses were actually free of the title “old,” but they were nestled in the private districts home to the big wigs, and politicians of Gotham.
You brushed out your tangled locks, before returning to your bedroom slipping on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, slipping on your trusty sneakers you headed to the living room. Pens, paintbrushes and canvas were scattered across the coffee and side tables, your eyes scanned the space for a particular item.  
Your sketchbook.
It was elusive, especially on days like this. With a gleeful grin you snatched it from under a pile of crumpled papers grabbing your shoulder bag you tucked it inside and headed out into the sunshine.
The streets were not too crowded this morning as you headed to the little coffee shop down the street, a quaint little café with yummy pastries and a lovely spot to sit and draw the passerby.
The quiet bell dinged over head as you entered the shop, ordered your favorite drink and took it to the patio.
Silently you began to sketch the unsuspecting people, anything that stayed still longer than a minute you attempted to put down in your small book. They’d move eventually and you’d start on a new one. People walking their dog, lovers who swooned over each other, the little robins and jays that hopped at your feet, anyone could fall victim to your sketching.  It was a mixture of things, young and old, large and small some remained with minimal detail as they sped past you in a hurry. However; there were few of them who lingered giving birth to full bodied, cross hatch, shadowed pictures with willow like limbs. You smiled at the graphite drawings continuing your work on a little boy who stood with his mother at the cross walk across the street.
A darkly dressed figure darted into the corner of your eye causing the little boy to be pulled close, silently you cursed at the change in position.
You looked up to watch the man who dared ruin your sketching; he stood tall as he strutted across the sidewalk,  immediately your pencil set to work tracing his thin outline on the paper, you quickly noted his left leg slightly dragged behind him, but not enough to be noticeable.
Silently you watched him from behind your strands as he stepped up the concrete stairs carefully, mindful of his leg, your eyes absorbed in his facial features as he passed you, his nose was somewhat crooked like that of a bird beak, his cheeks were high and his face was sharp, leaving his eyes to be hidden behind a pair of midnight colored glasses.
You tensed as he paused before opening the door; you were staring, too caught up in the mysteries that may lie behind those circular shaped spectacles.
He only waited a mere second before opening the door and heading inside, quietly muttering about the midday heat.

You sat frozen as the door closed behind the man, too afraid to look anywhere but ahead until he was inside. You set the pencil down admiring the sketches you’d managed of him. His face was scattered across the new page, dapper attire sticking out among the modern clothing of your other models. They weren’t enough…
He was different, even on one of Gotham’s brightest days, he seemed to be brooding, you didn’t fail to notice the way people moved out of his way, the looks they gave him as he passed were a mix of sympathy, and fear.
You stole a look over your shoulder, the little shop had become quite busy of the course of half an hour, he stood in line patiently waiting his turn to order; you placed your sketchbook in your bag and pencil behind your ear as you snatched up your drink before taking a deep breath and heading inside.
You took up a seat by the front window so you could still watch the passerby, and you could see the mysterious man through the reflection in glass, placing your sketchbook on the table your pencil set to work taking in the way his figure leaned on the umbrella held like a cane, the position of his feet and how his sunglasses were now placed neatly on the top of his spiked puff of hair, the grip on your pencil tightened as you strained to see the color of his eyes through the glass.
Blue, clear as the midday skies overhead, bright with thought and intellect; a shade that would put all the colored pencils in your arsenal to shame; how you wished you’d brought them today.
He strode up to the counter confidently, placing his order before handing over payment; he nodded gratefully and headed your direction to take a seat, your head swiveled to watch the passerby outside, hand supporting your chin as you watched.
There was something about him as you took peeks in the window; he was unlike anyone you’d ever seen. Unlike the mafia goons that ran around in packs, guns hidden in every crevice, or wanna be criminals that flooded the streets lurking in alleys. Certainly he wasn’t your average Joe Gotham Citizen, a certain aura washed over him, something you’d tried to mimic in your second sketches, but it would never compare to the real thing.
That spark, a hidden asset that you couldn’t name, he oozed it, even as he sat in the cushioned booth seat it radiated off his perched form. His shoulders, square, chin high, you could see the wheels turning as his eyes slowly slithered about the store-
Planning. Scheming. Dreaming.
What you’d give to know which one.
You went rigid as your eyes met in the glass-
His chilled gaze locked on yours, drinking in your form like a hawk with unsuspecting prey.
Your knuckles white, hand trembling as you gripped the pencil for dear life, drowning in his deep whirlpools that seemed to pull you down under further with each passing second.
Those eyes seemed to swirl right to your inner most thoughts, the corner of his lips up turned to a smirk as he continued to stare through you, your hopes, your fears, your dreams, all suddenly visible to this stranger,
“Kaupleput!”  
He blinked, eyes darting up at the counter, a pale lipped grin grazing his face.
Just like that, spell was broken, heart ringing in your ears as your chest heaved a sigh of relief   as he stood to retrieve his order, seconds later a sharp snap caused your hand to stiffen.
The pencil which you’d gripped for dear life, laid in pieces on the plastic coated table; silently you cursed as you brushed the wooden fragments into your hand before snatching up your empty cup and tossing your bag over your shoulder hurriedly getting up from your seat, head down as you scurried out, the bell ringing over head signaling your hasty retreat.
Those icy blue eyes plagued in your mind as you walked, the sun that bathed the streets in a warm glow only hours ago was gone, hidden behind a barricade of dark storm clouds.
How could someone make you feel so vulnerable, and yet so wonderful at the same time?
It was like his eyes peered into your very being, exposed and open for him to read a favorite book.
His name bobbed in your conscious
Kaupleput.
Where had you heard that name?
Your bag bounced against your hip as you neared your building, keys swinging on your finger.
In passing perhaps? It could very well be a common name; Gotham was a melting pot after all, a family name maybe.
Yes, a family name. There were plenty of elitist families living within the city; he certainly looked the part, you hadn’t a doubt in your mind he could certainly act the part.
The familiar click in the door set your mind at ease as you headed up the stairs to your apartment.
Not a moment too soon; your eyes caught sight of the heavy downpour outside, pounding against the window as you headed down the hall.
You slid your keys in the door and headed inside tossing your bag on a nearby chair, before crashing on the couch the bright light of your small television illuminating the room as you flipped through the channels.

“Robbery at local businessman’s restaurant turned deadly yesterday afternoon-
You paused on the breaking news report half interested, “a breaking development in the Bamonte’s shooting-
Scenes of downtown Gotham flashed across the screen as a reporter’s flat voice filled your living room.
“The four men that ascended on the restaurant owned by esteemed business man Salvatore Maroni, gunned down patrons and staff alike before making off with  thousands of dollars in cash,  have been found dead in an abandoned building on Gotham’s east side.
Images of the restaurant rolled across the screen, yellow caution tape blocking off the door, and glimpses of the blood soaked interior with G.C.P.D. officers surrounding the area.
Your eyes glued to a figure in the window as she continued to speak.
“The G.C.P.D. is currently investigating the cause of the deaths, the money has sense been returned Salvatore Maroni who is grateful this horrific event is finally over”
It couldn’t be…
 A lanky figure trying to avoid the cameras stood hunched behind the man who you assumed was Maroni, his face was pale and blue eyes alert and observant to his surroundings.
His sharp suit was replaced with a white staff uniform, it was him.
Kaupleput.
You jumped hearing a rasping knock at the door.
You weren’t expecting anyone; no one had asked to come over, carefully you crept to the door your hands wrapping around the aluminum slugger in the umbrella stand as you peered into the peephole.
Not a soul in sight.
The hallway was barren suave for a brown bag next to your door.
Carefully you slid the chain on your door hand still gripping the slugger as you opened the door just enough to poke the bag.
With no sign of movement you proceeded to stick your head out into the hallway peering down both sides before looking down at the bag, hooking the handle with the shaft of the bat and bringing it inside, mindful to lock the door.
One could never be too careful in Gotham.
You reached into the bag pulling out a note.
You left this at the café and I just had to see it returned. Beautiful work; however I made one small adjustment.
May our paths cross again.
-Kaupleput

You pulled out your sketchbook flipping to today’s work turning past the unsuspecting, lovers, birds, finally your eyes landed on the darkly shaded pages filled with his face.
In one of the blank spaces next to a quick profile was the scrawl of an ink pen.
A Name-
Oswald.

Day #3, Arranged Marriage AU

JB’s hooves thundered along the forest floor as Eggsy urged him faster, wind whipping by and mussing his hair and clothes. He ducked a low branch and burst into a wide, sunlit clearing.

“Damnit” he muttered, pulling JB to slow and stop beside a majestic dark stallion.

Viscount Harry Hart sat atop it, equally as majestic, with a small hourglass in his palm.

“Two minutes and twenty-odd seconds. That’s your best time yet.” he said and pocketed it.

Eggsy shrugged and hopped off his horse “Figured I should make every second count, yeah? Now are you going to sit there all day, or come down and fight me?”

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anonymous asked:

I mean his overall look by seasons

His overall look. Um.

Well if we’re going to be frank, this was my favourite Stefan look in season 1:

We never see his abs after season 1. Which is like, I mean, WHY?

W H Y?

In season 2 I was a fan of the hoodie:

He just looks so huggable in a hoodie?

Liked I wanted him to wrap his arms around me whenever I saw him in a hoodie, he just felt like such a bear of a man in one so when he did this in 2x14:

It was like well yeah.

In season 3, it’s when Stefan becomes more “adult” because the hoodie wasn’t going to last. None of his everyday looks stick out to me tbh but seeing him in a suit in 3x14 and 3x20, that will be my favourite Stefan look of the season:

I mean look at how dapper he looks. Clean-shaven, sharp lines, square shoulders. I think Elena’s reaction is funny because she’s surprised to see him, then there’s a split second where it looks like she’s noticing in him that suit and then there’s the irritation because he’s “bad” Stefan.

And 3x20:

Like Paul looks good in a suit.

Season 4, I knew which look I liked the moment you asked the question. The jacket and jeans in 4x18, oh my God. I remember when I just saw the webclip and I kept staring because I was like … … … but Stefan looks ridiculously good in this clip:

I also think Paul was feelin’ himself that day:

So it dds to it but the jacket fits his frame perfectly, the jeans aren’t too tight or too baggy, his hair was on point, it was the best look of the season for sure.

In season 5. I mean, I also like Stefan in basics. So 5x04, basic grey tee and a nice-fitting pair of jeans?

Like especially seeing that in person? It’d show off his muscles, his broadness without being too obvious.

I’ve honestly got nothing for season 6.

Season 7 reminded me of how well Paul wears clothes or how well clothes wear him, like I kept referencing it in each review I had so I have a few favourite looks:

Annnnd uh yeah :)

On Sunday morning, August 9, I made my way over to the Palo Alto Art Center for the second day of the Mobile Digital Art and Creativity Summit. This man, Jeremy Sutton, was walking toward me in the lobby. He looked so dapper–all I could say was, “You are wonderful!” Turns out he was to be one of my teachers that day. He taught a course in iPad Life Drawing using Sketchclub.