gabi's writing

kenma: you, um, want to go out or something?
kuro: omggg kenma??? you’re asking me on a date??? with a rose??? the most romantic flower in the world???? ToT ToT ToT
kenma: … not anymore

(they go on the date)

((I didn’t have time to write anything for kenkuro day, so please accept this commission I bought from @pk-draw <3 Thank you again, Gabi!!!))


Chapter 91 Thoughts.


The moment I clicked the new chapter was the moment I had the very same thoughts. I even double checked the titles. Then the penny dropped to my mind.

So Isayama decided to make another time-skip and also a change of character views as well.

It has been almost 80 years after this:

Almost 40 years after this:

Almost 30 years after this:

Almost 20 years after this:

9 years after this:

4 years after this and other events from the first chapter of manga:

And 3 years after this:

And we are at the year 854 now.


Continue under the cut!

Keep reading

  • Napoleon: If I run and leap at Peril, he will almost certainly catch me in his arms.
  • [Illya walks in, coffee in hand]
  • Napoleon: COMING IN! [runs at Illya]
  • Illya: NO! I'M HOLDING COFFEE! [drops coffee on the floor and catches Napoleon]

It’s almost as if Gabi is shovelling her meal into her mouth without pausing for breath; and Falco watches her with a concerned expression. It’s too excessive and she starts to cough, much to Falco’s panic.

He pats her on the back in an attempt to help and exclaims, “Take it easy! We’re not on rations, you know?”

Gabi’s coughing fit soon passes and she gulps down some water to help. As she turns to Falco, she grins and says proudly, “I know! But I want to grow up to be big and strong like Reiner, so I need to beef up!”

To add emphasis to her words, the young girl raises her arms and flexes her muscles; her actions make Zofia and Udo laugh in-between bites of their food.

Reiner is sat nearby, but on a different table, with fellow senior warriors. He overhears the children’s conversation and it makes him smile.

But then, it’s like something cold cuts through him; he can only remember when he was young and naive, and wanted to be brave and selfless like Marcel. He wanted to be like Marcel so much that he threw himself in harms way when they were in Utgard; and for what? To save someone that would later try to kill him in Shiganshina.

Reiner puts his fork down on the table; suddenly he feels like he’s lost his appetite.

anonymous asked:

I want more r76 headcanons now.. When did 76 call reaper gabe again? Was ir an accident during the mission? Was it during panic? Was it habit- that gabe pointed out something or gave jack coffee and it just slipped out? "Thanks gabe." Did jack even notice he said it? I.. i need more.. Please.. I am a lowely memer... spare some headcanons.. please...



(Context: a bully starts yelling at Jack on the first day of boot camp.  Before Jack can react, another cadet steps in.)


“Holy shit,” the other cadet - Reyes - breathes with exhilaration, “Qué chingados, cabrón, that was fucking BALLSY what you just did - holy shit, I cannot believe you just talked us out of that - ”

“Uh, hello?” Smith asks, “We helped too.”

“You didn’t put on the fucking waterworks, man, holy shit, dude,” Reyes turns towards Jack, “I legit thought you were crying in there.”

“A few tears are easy - you gotta sell the part where you’re ‘trying but failing to be stoic,’” Jack grins at him, and winces a little at how his left cheeks smarts up at the motion, and he gingerly puts a hand to the sore spot, muttering, “Damn, you got a mean right hook too.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that - I was trying to hold back,” Reyes chuckles, but he doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic.

Doesn’t matter to Jack though.

What matters is that Reyes had gotten mad and reacted before Jack could even decide what to do.

And that means more to Jack than anything else.

“…How long have you been boxing?” Jack asks curiously, and Reyes looks at him in surprise, muttering, “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve been punched more than I care to admit,” Jack replies and he hears Jackson snort at that, and Jack grins, “Okay, so maybe sometimes, I deserved it.  But you can always tell when someone’s actually practiced and when someone just fucking throws a fist.”

Reyes stares at him with an unreadable expression and then sighs, “About two, almost three years now.  Took it up when mi tío suggested it instead of - you know, yeah, just about three years.”

There’s a story there, behind that hesitation.

Jack smiles genuinely, patiently at him.

He’s always willing to wait for a good story.

Reyes looks at him with a little bit of embarrassment until Jack sticks out his hand.

“What?” the cadet asks in surprise and Jack just grins, “Name’s John, but I fucking hate it, so call me Jack.”

“Are you fucking serious - ” Reyes breathes, “A goddamn handshake?”

“Aww, after all we went through, and you won’t even shake my hand?” Jack mocks at him and Reyes glares at him fiercely before smirking wickedly, “I can see why people want to punch you, jackass.”

“I mean, it is my kink - ”

“I am going to regret saying that to you,” Reyes sighs before taking Jack’s hand.

His hand is rough around the knuckles and joints from years of boxing, but it’s warm too.

“Gabriel,” he mutters.

Encantado, Gabríel,” Jack beams at him and he sees Gabriel’s left eyebrow quirk a twitch at the Spanish, but Jack rolls on, “This is the part where you tell me you hate the name ‘Gabriel,’ so I can call you ‘Gabi,’ right?”

“Oh, holy fuck, now I really see why people want to hit you, pendejo.”

“Haha, should I put you down on the waiting list?” Jack laughs as they begin the walk back to the track, and Gabriel smirks at him, “I think I deserve the top spot considering how I knocked that motherfucker out.”

“Oh god, he just went down,” Jackson sighs happily, “Just ice fucking cold.  Damn, Reyes, you gotta show me how to do that.”

“Me too,” Fremont says gleefully, “I might want to take a few swings of my own at him.”

“Guys, c’mon,” Jack says, but he’s smiling too, “We can’t fight him again.  They’re gonna be watching us.”

“They don’t have eyes in the back of their heads,” Gabriel mutters, but there’s mischief in his tone and Jack -

Jack finds himself grinning too.

“Can’t believe we made ourselves the ‘problem group’ on the second day,” Smith moans a little, “My parents are gonna kill me.”

“Ey, ey,” Gabriel snaps at him, “We’re in the ‘fun group.’”

“Is that what you call it?” Jack chuckles at him, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, “What else you gonna call it?”

“The Morrison Defense Squad,” Jack suggests and Gabriel chokes a little as Jackson grins, “The Fuck Jones Crew.”

“I already said - ” Jack snaps playfully, “I don’t want to fuck him.”  Gabriel rubs at his eyes, muttering, “Dios mio.”

From over the buildings behind them, the rising sun begins to burn away the morning mist.

daringdarrington  asked:

14 for gaby and illya <3

hip kiss

Gaby is not, in general, a restless sleeper. she tends to cling like a limpet to anyone who sleeps besides her, winding around them like morning glory around a pillar. if by herself, she sleeps on her side usually, arms and legs tucked in close to her body, head resting on her arms.

Illya is watching her, because their lives are too busy to take moments of quietness for granted. even in sleep her face is focused, brow furrowed, mouth pursed. he wants to smooth the lines from her forehead, relax the tight corners of her mouth. it is early morning now, dawn just starting to lighten the distant ceiling of their shared room.

she isn’t a happy waker usually, either, so Illya has to get creative about ways to wake her up that put her in a (more or less) reasonable mood. 

it’s an easy thing to tug the fabric of her pajama pants down, revealing the curve of a hip, warm skin. she took a bath before bed the other night; she smells like jasmine and car oil, which is the first time Illya has ever liked that scent. he ducks his head down and places a soft kiss right where he likes to place his hand, if their cover requires it (or if he wants to feel her there, soft strength beneath his palm, or if he simply likes the shape of her, neat and perfect). it’s a gentle thing, until he places the very edge of his teeth into it and she uncoils into wakefulness, making a complaining sound as she does so. 
“are you part wolf?” she asks in German, voice thick and slurred with sleep. “stop that.”

“you liked it last night,” he reminds her, foolishly pleased at her drowsy, unamused stare.

she makes another grumpy noise. “I was awake last night.”

“you have to be awake now,” he points and soothes whatever leftover sting there might be with his lips. “time to get up, chop shop girl.”

“it isn’t even dawn,” she grouses, but one hand lazily tangles in his hair. “keep doing that and I might be alright with getting up.”

it’s a blatant stalling tactic, but if truth be told, he doesn’t feel like leaving the bed either.   

anonymous asked:

prompt: how about the first time napoleon hugs illya? and it's not just a small hug, but a long one? :D

Alright, here it is. It deals with Illya’s past as well, so you have to suffer through a little bit of angst (I couldn’t help myself, sorry lmao).
Fandom and pairing should be obvious I think.
Word count: 2,160
Thank you for sending the prompt, I hope you like it ❤ 

Keep reading

Maybe there’s a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together. Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong. You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.
—  Gaby Dunn

turningleafposts  asked:

5 for Gaby + Illya

“We have to go.” Illya’s voice is strained, accent thick against her ear. 

“– But darling, I just got my drink,” Gaby pulls her arm out of his grasp.

Illya’s lips turn down. His beautiful ‘fiancé’  is ignoring him for the man behind the bar who’s been passing her free drinks for the past hour. He taps his fingers together then moves his hand to her bare back, playing with the threads of her raspberry sundress.

“We go,” He insists. “You are drunk.”

“No,” She shifts on the stool then glances back at Illya. “Wait a minute, you’re jealous aren’t you?”


anonymous asked:

*walks into alley* Hey... got any TMFU fanfic recs?

I’ve been in the TMFU fandom since the movie came out, so I have MANY fic recs. MANY. SoooooooOooOOoooo Maaaaannnny! Here are just a few of them, ranked in no particular order. (I might do a part 2 of this… or I’ll just keep adding recs… we’ll see.)

1. @perilouscowboy - Ao3

These are just to name a few. There are so many great fanfics. Read them all.

2. @lil-chop-shop-girl - Ao3

3. @imaginegallya 

I haven’t read all their fanfics yet, but I recently read this fanfic and it is quite good.

4. @illya-honey

5. @redperilandhislittlechopshopgirl

6. @darlingdiver 

7. tempered_rose - Ao3 

There are some other fics that look interesting by tempered_rose, but I haven’t had the chance to read them.

Read Later

These are fics that I haven’t had the chance to read yet but that look interesting and that a lot of other people enjoy. Check their works out and let me know which ones you like.

1. @edenforest - Ao3

2. @the-red-peril - Ao3

3. RNandSniper - Ao3

4. eLJay - Ao3

I have so many more fic recs, but I just don’t have the time (at least not right now) to write them all out, but I hope this list is helpful :)

tovianne  asked:

you're not trash, you're the absolute BEST because no one else has even seen the movie yet and I am needful. Illya/Gaby first kiss cause that hasn't happened yet and my HEART IS IN NEED

It has been over a month since the U.N.C.L.E. unit disbanded, over a month since she found herself once again in the quiet solace of her flat in West London, and over a month since she last shared a room with Illya Kuryakin.  Over a month.  

And, still, Gaby Teller finds that she cannot sleep.  

She has done everything in her power to change that.  Herbal teas, supplements, no food after eight o’clock and no wine after five.  She’s seen therapists at MI6 and their conclusion is all the same: just give yourself some time.  But if there’s one thing that Gaby Teller does not have, it is patience, which leads to many, many nights which consist of her angrily staring at her ceiling, resentfully trying to parse out what it is exactly that has lead her body and mind to this complete rejection of rest.  

It is on one such night- after she’s had three cups of tea, listened to records of supposedly “soothing music” that just sound like something one would play while torturing someone, and done approximately three hundred sit-ups, and yet still not fallen asleep- that she hears something.  It isn’t a big something or even a noticeable something, but it is a something all the same.  If not for her training, she might not have picked up on the rustle outside the door of her flat.  Grateful for the distraction from the insides of her own wiry mind, she creeps toward the source of the noise, her feet making almost no sound on the carpet as she approaches.  Her fingers curl around a small knife that she swipes from her bureau, hiding it behind her back as she presses her body against door, standing on her toes to peer through the peep hole and assess the source of the sound.  

She fights back the urge to laugh and cry and gasp all at once when a figure comes into view through the small, circular glass.  Illya, the man who has been undeniably running through her mind since he stood on the tarmac of a West Berlin airport, watching her plane take off for England with an unreadable expression on his face, now stands on the other side of her doorway.  His tall, looming figure looks suddenly small, with a wash of indecision in his eyes the likes of which Gaby has never seen before.  He holds his hand up to the door, as if to knock, then takes it down, shaking his head as if to clear thoughts from it.  He repeats this action time and time again, talking himself in and out of whatever it is he is there to do; it takes all Gaby has to conceal her laughter.  Then, all at once, he knocks twice, hard and fast, as if his body acted without the permission of his mind.  

Gaby swings the door open wide almost immediately, without the pretense that she hadn’t been standing there, spying on him.  A million thoughts run through her head, a chorus line of confusion.  How did he get into this country?  How did she find him?  Why did his government allow him to leave their country without a mission? Is she his mission?  She wants answers and lies and half-truths and promises and a million things that she knows she will never get from him.  So, instead, she just asks, not unkindly:

“What are you doing here?”

Illya looks as confused and blind-sided as she does, out of place in the frame of her doorway; he looks as though he just so happened to be walking along London’s dark and narrow streets and just so happened to appear at her doorstep.  His mouth opens once, then twice, then he speaks.

“I am sorry to bother you so late at night,” Illya says, his accented English more comforting to Gaby than anything she’s heard in the month since being parted with him, “I was not going to knock, and then-“

He stops, ending the sentence abruptly and then steeling himself, “But I have some unfinished business with you.”

Gaby’s heart taps against her chest double-time, and the grip on the knife behind her back tightens until her knuckles go white with the effort.

“Business?” She prompts, waiting for him to lunge, to strike her down under the orders of some higher-up in a Soviet uniform who wanted no evidence of the U.N.C.L.E. program.

Illya nods once, but doesn’t begin the untidy business of destroying her like she thought he would.  Instead, something very, very different occurs.  He takes the smallest step forward and places one hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing the skin there, while the other slides along her waist, pulling her in a step close.  

He can feel her heart racing against his chest and wonders if she can feel his.  

Blindsided by this gentility, Gaby’s eyes slide closed, her entire body humming in anticipation of something she has wanted since their first mission together.  It has almost happened so many times before.  She was certain on their last mission that it would finally be.  At the New Years’ Eve ball for some eccentric art thief, Gaby thought he was leaning in to kiss her lips, but he diverted at the last moment, placing his soft lips against her cheek instead.  And then, again, that day she left West Berlin after the team dissolved, they were so close, but he stepped away and nodded his farewell instead. So, after all of the near-misses and almost could-have-beens, Gaby welcomes this moment, embraces what is to come.

And when it happens, when he kisses her for the first time, so sweetly she thinks they both might melt in the rain, she hates all of those would-have-beens all the more.  She hates all the days she’s spent before now not being kissed by this man.  

Then, all at once, he’s gone.  He steps away from her, watching as her eyes open in surprise.

“Yes,” Illya says, suddenly nervous and cagey, nodding once politely to the woman in the doorway, “Thank you.”

Down the hall he treads, his mind racing with his own doubts.  He shouldn’t have come.  This was a stupid plan.  Since he left her, he has not been able to sleep; his mind has kept him awake with all of the possibilities he left behind when he watched her leave.  Every time he lay in bed and tried to rest, his body would conjure new fantasies of the love he left behind.  He thought that, maybe, seeing her one last time might turn the page on her, that he might forget.  

But it worked in reverse.  Now, he only loves her all the more, and he knows she could never return the feeling.  How could she love him?  How could she want him?  What is he but a machine designed for the glory of the KGB?  How could anyone love a man like that?  With a little shake of his head, Illya heads for the stairwell, ready to live the rest of his life with a tree carved with her name growing through the middle of his heart.  That is, until a small voice cuts through the darkness clouding his mind.

“Wait,” Gaby protests.

Illya- and his heart- stops and he turns around, his chest filling with foolish hope.

“Yes?” He asks.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He does.  And, for the first time in more than a month, the chop shop girl and the Russian sleep soundly.

Sometimes Napoleon will stand in the doorway and watch Illya and Gaby slow dance after a tough mission
Sometimes he’ll pluck Gaby from Illya’s arms and place her on his feet and they’ll do this elaborate waltz while Illya is left brooding in the corner
It always ends by Gaby hopping off Napoleon’s feet and grabbing Illya by the hands so they all dance together. Orphan Black style
And they forget about everything else except this moment

turningleafposts  asked:

30 for Gallya?

When Gaby hoists herself up out of the pool, Illya finds his throat a little drier and the sun a little hotter. He can’t seem to make his fingers work either when she asks for a towel, leaning over him. Rogue drops of water splatter onto his cheek and she reaches up to swipe them away. Gaby’s thumb catches on his jaw. Illya turns his head up. She leans in closer, closer, closer – only to have Solo toss her the towel, breaking their moment with a soft smirk. 

Illya scrambles back, shaking his head, “It’s not what it looks like.”


The Naked Truth

Oh, one of my first real ventures into this fandom. I just really want to play with Gaby and Napoleon’s friendship you guys. 

Read it here on AO3

Summary: Five times Gaby walked in on Napoleon naked and one time he wasn’t

Gaby was exhausted. Listening to Janice natter all day (who was the wife of their current mark) was draining in a way that running through the city during a mission never brought. The only good that had come of the whole day- for it had brought no fruitful information- was that the wife had absolutely no idea of the going ons of her husband and Gaby was doubtful she would have to spend another day pretending to befriend the woman. The staircase to the apartment she was sharing with Illya and Napoleon smelled musty. She doubted the carpeted stairs had been cleaned in some time and her new orange manicure gleamed in glossy contrast to the worn and chipped railing.

She made her way up the stairs and pondered over if they had any nail polish remover. She didn’t actually like the color- Janice had been the one to pick it out– and she knew that my the end of the night the paint would be chipped after she had dug into her radio project. The poor thing had laid neglected all day and she was itching to get her fingers busy. It should be a quiet night anyway. Illya was on the outskirts of town, watching the boats come in and watching where the shipments to an Oxalide Toothpaste Company was really going to. She didn’t expect him until late that night. Napoleon should be quiet as well. Should be was the key.

Keep reading


Summary: Five times Gaby depended on Illya’s height, and the one time he depended on hers.
Pairing: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller
Rating: T
Warnings: None.
Other sites: ff and ao3

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