Jul 6, 2018
glow: s2
jenny + dimples
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Sweden
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
glow: s2
jenny + dimples
Adrian Hendricks has three shiba inus named Waffles, Boba, and Marshmallow.
OH MY GOOOOOOOOOD THOSE ARE THE BEST NAMES FOR SHIBA INUS…
arcadia has a cat. well, owen has a cat. well, it’s a cat that sometimes visits their apartment and meows at them so it’s not really their cat as much as it is a neighborhood cat but they let it in and feed it and it sleeps at their place sometimes but it also likes to be independent
Fanfic Aesthetics: Gallya Flower Shop AU - The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Drabble by @gallyavanting
Fragrant white gardenias. Bright blue roses. Vibrant orange lilies. All meticulously pre-rearranged, yet showcase a passionate message within the colors.
Perhaps a secret admirer sent this to her, but she already knew.
For some reason, the intense hue of the roses reminded her of those eyes, who belong to that tall man who ran the flower shop across the street.
For @cassiopeium. Happy birthday, Vi !!
38 + Gallya
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” (modern uni au)
Gaby’s cheek is squished against her fist. She leans on the sticky table, half slouching on top of it. She stares at the tall Russian across the pub, deep, a desperate crease between her brown. “He looks so wholesome,” she sighs.
Napoleon hums absentmindedly, eyes on his phone.
“And like a virgin,” Gaby mutters. “Like a wholesome, intelligent virgin who would treat you really nicely, and blushes if you would talk dirty.”
She has an idiotic little smile on her lips, like she has had for the past month while she’s been lusting over the Russian. Napoleon thinks she is acting like a fool, but at least like this she is so much nicer.
“I could teach him all kinds of thing,” Gaby continues, sighing deeply. “And then later we would have ice cream. And he would buy me extra sprinkles without asking. And then he would tell me all about his mother, who he loves very much, and we would hold hands. I would have hickeys on my inside thighs.”
Napoleon looks up from his phone. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”
Gaby sighs again, straightening her back, and leaning both elbows on the table. “He looks like a field full of freshly fallen Russian snow,” she exhales softly. “And I want to be the one making the first footprint.”
Napoleon can’t help his smile. “That’s actually quite sweet.”
Gaby hums, smiling her idiotic little smile. “And then I want to stomp all over it.”
“And now it’s weird,” Napoleon mutters, returning to his phone.
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Gallya + 48 or 50. You pick! :)
“You make me want things I can’t have.”
The diamonds glitter up at her from their royal blue beds, beaming.
“Which do you like?”
His hand is on the small of her back. Behind them, the little Swiss street is flooded with Christmas shoppers; armfuls of gift bags, hat boxes, gaily wrapped toys. The crowd is thick with furs and wool and hurrying boots, but even in the rush it all seems to stream around she and Illya, as if they are in their own little bubble.
Gaby peers up at him. “Why?”
“Let’s say I am —curious.”
It’s how he behaves when he is working a mark. The ease with which he slips into this confidence, this flirtation. She has only ever seen him so at ease in bed, when he is tired and panting, tracing her skin, having forgotten what they are. Nothing in the world could deter him then.
Gaby squints at his blond hair and his black coat, and how his nose and ears have reddened slightly in the cold. He must be a vision in Russia.She is still expecting him to smirk, to turn her away from this window and everything inside. Thinks that, perhaps, she will always be expecting it.
She has been staring at him for too long, so Illya turns his attention back to the flocked blue velvet behind the glass, points at something on the back row. “This one?”
It’s a sunset coloured thing, encircled by diamonds.
Gaby wonders if they are being watched. That this is some emergency cover of his, crowding her into this private world only to use the glass for its reflection, to hide their faces, to establish a reason for walking down the same street as their mark, a jeweller and a peddler of Nazi gold, three times in succession. If it is, it’s a cruel game.
Illya abruptly picks up her left hand and removes her glove, looks over her fingers. The icy wind chills them, so he holds them tighter. It’s something he has done a thousand times, admiring her like this, but this touch has intent. It frightens her. Or, at least, it pulls her heart up into her throat as if it does.
Illya hums thoughtfully. “Though, for your colouring—”
“You know,” Gaby interrupts, and it comes out shakily, light in her chest, as if she could possibly still be nervous with him. “You really are a terrible communist.”
This is usually enough to cut short any game he has. But he is still warm. “How so?”
Gaby slips her hand from his, tugs her glove back on. “You make me want things I can’t have.”
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Gallya + 34
34. “you’ve given me much more than words could ever say.”
it feels like illya has been waiting days when the nurse finally comes and tells him that gaby is now accepting visitors, and he all but springs out of his seat and sprints down the hall, his palms sweating and his heart pumping loudly in his chest.
he skids to a halt in front of her room, his shoes squeaking on the polished vinyl floor. he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow down his heart; gaby is tired, so tired, and, to him, the beating and pounding is so loud that it might disturb her. (it is a naive thought, but he does not know how to react in situations such as these.)
he takes a careful step into the room, then another, and he smiles widely when she waves to him, her face exhausted yet still glowing with joy.
there’s a small bundle in gaby’s other arm, resting on her chest. the baby is fast asleep, cozy and content and wrapped in a soft pink blanket. as illya approaches the bed, he can see a dark tuft of hair poking out of the blanket, and he feels his eyes well up with tears, but he lets out a chuckle, thinking the baby to be a miniature gaby.
he sits in a wooden chair next to the bed, and kisses his wife’s knuckles. he holds her hand to his face, relishing in the coolness on his skin.
“illya,” gaby whispers, her voice hoarse, “she is so beautiful.” she rubs her thumb across his cheek, and he kisses it as it swipes over his lips.
“like her mother.” gaby snorts a bit at that, and a moment later, she is falling asleep, and she has never looked more at peace, he thinks.
he wishes he’d had his camera with him, to capture the sight laid out in front of him. illya never thought he would marry, much less have children, and his heart swells, overjoyed for once that he has been proven wrong.
“you’ve given me much more than words could ever say,” he says to gaby, his voice barely audible in the silent room. the baby coos in her sleep, and a tear finally rolls down his cheek, though he is still smiling widely.
Knightgale + 34
34. The feel of fingers brushing together by accident“Lucas,” his name leaves her lips in a soft whisper, desperate -- like she’s choking on it. The tremor of power echoes along her bones, she feels drained. Sylvie is safe, the wolves are gone but her hands are heavy. The golden gauntlets on her hands weigh her down. Her heart thunders in her chest and the air rushes from her lungs. Flexing her fingers they feel tight and restricted, holding them up they glitter in the bright light of the Oz’ian sun. Dorothy raises her hands up and trembles, knees knocking together she falls to the ground. The Earth sinks under her knees and her jeans rip at the sudden pressure. “Dorothy!” Lucas’ scream echoes across the meadow and Sylvie bubbles with tears, Toto barking around the young girl in circles, keeping her safe from the invisible magic that Dorothy has produced within a matter of death-defying seconds. The wet ground seeps into the denim of her jeans and she holds her hands up high as he knight tears across the meadow, he runs for her, sword swinging at his side. Sweat slips across his brow and he makes it to her, hand catching her wrist to pull her up, “Dorothy, are you alright?” His voice shakes and he hauls her up into his chest, hand sliding from her wrist as his fingers touch her palm then brush along hers with the golden gauntlets on. “Is she okay?” Dorothy asks quietly turning her head up to look over his shoulder to find Sylvie standing in the meadow surrounded by burned -- dying grass and Toto protecting her. “She is now.”
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glow: 2.09 - rosalie
oh, fuck off, jenny! because i’m sad!