the m o o n

a private & dependent blog for london falling penned by Drea.

[themcon]

{gal gadot, she/they, 38} We just saw {Áine Smith} entering {the rabbit hole}. I heard through the grapevine that their loyalties lie with {jabberwocks}, and that they also go by {the moon}. Be careful, they work as a {collections agent} and are known to be {frivolous}, {petulant}, or {presumptuous}. However they’re also known to be {clever}, {persuasive}, and {resplendent}. – {drea, she/they, gmt-5, trypophobia; animal abuse & death; sexual assault}

[shadowdavutoglu]

Bora had learned, over the years, how to sit back and listen without jumping in with questions or thoughts or advice. It wasn't easy, with a temper like his, but when he managed, it had always served him well. So often the most important things didn't come out until after someone had stopped talking--all Bora had to do was stay quiet, let there be a little awkwardness in the pause, and eventually the other person would fill it. It had worked on his siblings, when at first they might say what they thought they were supposed to and then amend it with how they really felt; and it had worked on his targets, helping him get information without revealing much of his own hand.

Áine wasn't a target, but she sure as hell wasn't like family. She was somewhere between the two--but the problem was, he couldn't quite settle on where.

That had been the problem six months ago, too. And the one he'd told himself he was going to avoid this time.

He kept his face neutral, though, when she said someone had set her up--that conclusion was natural. It was always a threat in their line of work. But after she went on, accusing the Jabberwocks and outlining her reasoning, he nodded, agreeing quietly, "That makes sense." It was second nature to just go along with it, to keep from speculating, to hold his own and the gang's secrets close to his chest...and so why did he almost say, "That's why we left Istanbul"? To sympathize with not being able to trust anyone? To reveal any of his past, and more importantly, his family's?

Instead he lifted the whiskey glass, focusing on the smooth burn of the alcohol. But it wasn't the whiskey that warmed him as Áine spoke again: she'd wanted him there. She was used to him. She enjoyed what they had. And it wasn't the whiskey that tied his stomach in knots just as soon as he caught himself thinking like that. She nothinged him. That was more like it, that was right, that was how it should be. Laughing slightly at the phrase, he stood up, taking another drink as he walked to the window. He could see his own reflection in the glass, like an apparition above the city lights--what are you doing?! he wanted to ask it. He shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have risked this.

And he shouldn't let Áine's unusual honesty make him want to stay.

He drained the glass--tried to harden his heart--finally turned toward her again.

"Well," he said flatly, "that sounds pretty fucking vulnerable to me."

[themcon]

Bora's incessant need to always be in control of his emotions when he was, in fact, never in control of them would sometimes drive Áine crazy. Not to the point of annoyance in the sense that it would ruffle her feathers, but in the sense of it was somewhat pointless how often he'd run those circles around a situation knowing full well that it didn't matter.

No matter what either of them might feel — which, for Áine is nothing, thank you very much — both of them know far too well that anything they'd have beyond nights of furniture-breaking, wall-cracking, bruise-leaving sex was doomed. Neither of them desired it, and neither of them were even going to play at it. A helpful lie, as long as you knew how to stick with it.

But the real crux of the 'driven crazy' by it was pointed by Bora's need to pick fights to make sure that he didn't end up on the odd side of the feelings wall. Anger was easier; sex was easier.

It meant that, more often than not, he'd attempt to draw her into some kind of fight or bait her into action because he was dealing with something complicated. She could see this and, on some level, she recognized it as something she did. Did she feel things for Bora? She nothinged him, that's what she felt.

... a helpful lie, as long as you knew how to stick with it.

As he shifted gears and pointed out her vulnerability that familiar feeling of hackle-raising goosebumps along the sides of her neck drew her attention down to her drink — and with a lift of her hand she drained the rest of the wine, setting the glass aside on a coffee table that likely cost more than most people's apartments in London.

She wasn't so much rising to the bait as she was choosing which sounded more fun, and it was a weighted decision with so many outcomes... but fuck it.

"You say that like you have any concept of what it might mean. Like you've known a vulnerable day in your life or think that I have, for some reason. It's really, really embarrassing when you speak of things you don't understand, Bora." A pivot then, as her brain marked for manipulation and subterfuge went into full effect, "How about you remain in the lane where you're extremely good at mindless killing and leave the, however piss poor, attempts at manipulation to someone who's better at it? There's a dance to it and I don't know that you have the... maturity for it."

Both rising to the bait herself and deflecting it would hopefully leave him off-balanced... where it went from there? Well...

That's the fun part.

It didn't take her long to lift from her seated position and brush past him to a chair nearby, lifting a little black shift that had blended well into the ebon fabric in the piece itself so much as to be invisible until she pulled it up. She looked it over, shrugging out of her robe and, emboldened by what she considered his petulance, began to pull it over her and smooth it against her curves — not a panty line in sight.

[andrew-aatakni]

“It seems that most of it is also beyond my knowledge,” comes the dry response, Viktor’s frustration punctuated by the sound of a pile of papers hitting the floor with a resounding thud. A problem for another day. “After all, as I am so often reminded, I am the brother of inferior intellect. How can I possibly be expected to deal with all of this?” It’s self-sabotage in the most manipulative of ways. Viktor is well aware of their reputation amongst the Jabberwock leadership; arrogant, vain, not to be trusted with anything bigger than fledgling cases and customer complaints. No one will be surprised if they fail to adequately man the ship in the Crimson Monarch’s absence, and they intend to capitalise quite nicely on that assumption.

Leaning back into the comfort of the office chair, Viktor heaves a heavy sigh. The piss gloomy weather is but the forerunner of the seasonal depression which lurks just around the corner, and already their energy levels are being depleted by the smallest of efforts and briefest of interactions. Áine is an exception, and had been sorely missed whilst in prison, but she’s only the tail end of a long day filled with tedious budgeting meetings and shareholder assemblies. After further brief deliberation Viktor decides to brave the temporary wailing of the smoke alarm, reaching into the desk’s top drawer to retrieve a packet of cigarettes. 

“You just got out and you’re already eager to get back to work? Jesus. If I were you I’d take at least a week off. Go out, have some alcohol, eat some of the food you’ve been so cruelly deprived of. Debts will still be debts in the morning.” A flame springs to life beneath Viktor’s fingers as they strike the match and light the cigarette, nerves calming substantially after just the first inhale. “You know, it’s not healthy to be so obsessed with your job. Just look at my brother. He’s barely in his forties and he already looks ready for the fucking grave, grey hair and all. All this stress fucks with the brain, ages you faster than is natural. You should keep an eye out for that. Pretty things may be nice to look at when they’re whole, but it’s all the worse when they eventually crack. Broken toys aren’t worth much.”

[themcon]

The funny thing about Áine was... work was sort of her therapy. There was an art in it, and it allowed her to express things and 'practice' what it meant to be 'normal' in the eyes of society. She'd honed her craft so beautifully over the years with every wax and wane of her position in high society and didn't seem likely to wane much any more.

Prison had been downtime. Prison had been somehow methodical and driven in a way that spoke to whatever misfires were happening in her brain and she felt a strange purpose in those moments. She was still in prison, but she never felt as if she were out of place there.

No, to be quite honest, she sort of ruled everywhere she went.

"That's assuming I can not, somehow, do both at once, darling." Áine offered, reaching out to angle one of the papers they'd been looking at towards her and... if she put her mind to it she might be able to do something with it... but why bother?

This wasn't her wheelhouse.

Highly intelligent and gifted didn't mean you had to use it. Stay in your lane, no? But then again every lane was her lane depending on her mood, at least in her own mind.

"I mean if you are offering some form of entertainment that will distract me from work, I am game to hear it, but it is very likely I CAN do both, Viktor." She reached out to tap the very tip of Viktor's nose, brief and somehow not feeling too juvenile in that moment. As if Áine somehow knew the exact amount of pressure, time spent, expression, etc to use in that moment.

It was a gift.

Her eyes still rested on Viktor after a moment, gauging their mood further with an analytical eye.

[themcon]

[shadowdavutoglu]

There was something about how slowly she moved, the detached way she kissed his cheek, that made Bora feel more like he'd arrived for a business meeting than a booty call. Sure, it had been a while, and Áine had been through a lot...but most times they were wrapped up in each other as soon as they stepped through the door. They would fight, almost constantly, but that was part of the thrill.

But this didn't seem hostile, and that wrote off the other possibility, that she blamed him for what had happened. His hand found her hip as she leaned in, and he smiled against her jaw. "You never look like shit." That was the truth--even now, without makeup or fancy clothing to hide behind, she looked radiant. But her next words--I always come out on top--twisted the smile into a smirk, and he murmured, "We'll see." Let her take that how she wanted--maybe he only meant for the night.

You are exactly the same. "They haven't killed me, if that's what you mean." He didn't know what she meant, or know what to do with this strange distance between them. He'd been so focused on convincing himself that things would be the same as always, he hadn't prepared for the possibility that they'd change in a different way than before.

Instead he just followed her lead, leaving his boots by the door before going to the bar cart and dropping a few ice cubes into a lowball glass. He wasn't particular enough to search through all the bottles, but when he found an Irish whiskey he filled the glass and joined her on the couch--but on the far end, like strangers. "So," he said finally. "What's all this about?"

[themcon]

There was an almost imperceptible tilt of her head and loft of her brows as he asked what it was about. Were she smarter in that moment, she'd recognize that he seemed a bit off as well. Still very much Bora, but slightly off...

But she wasn't. She didn't see it as a thing to worry about in that moment and she was just grateful to have someone in the room with her... apparently being forced to share a space with other women had made her body grow accustomed to the presence of other people; she hated it.

Eventually she'd get over that want and return to her usual self — the 'don't need nobody' attitude that has been pervasive in her whole life settling back in — but for now she just allowed herself to, at least partially, relax in Bora's presence.

Her glass of wine was swirled gently, before delicate fingers settled against the base, holding it near her thigh with an odd stability that most people couldn't muster; the heart of a con woman and killer really made things seem more stable, no?

"Someone for sure set me up. I don't know who, but..." There. There was a pause for a moment that brought way too much up to the surface; does she say what she's thinking or... the pause was brief, however, "I think it might have been one of mine. I don't know the exact reason why but there is a precedent for this sort of thing, especially if one wants to rise through the ranks."

Her position might not be high profile in the sense of being a leader, a right hand, a second-in-command-with-the-Liddell-name, but it still offered her a lot of opportunities, and it's true that some people would very much kill for it.

Perhaps even literally.

"That's not the whole of it, really. I just needed someone in my space right now. I needed a person that... I guess I'm more used to. Don't get me wrong, Bora, I still nothing you with every fiber of my being, but I do enjoy what we get up to when things are right." What passes for a sigh escapes Áine's lips and she wrinkles her nose; what does right even mean in their case? Mostly she wanted to cross the space between them and bite down so hard on his lip that for the next week and a half while it heals every time he bumps it against anything he thinks of her.

Maybe he'd even make it more interesting and things would escalate... but that's for another time.

"Just... fucking be here, you bellend. I'm not asking for much more than that. I'm not vulnerable because I don't DO vulnerable, but I've been inside for six months and I want to return to normal."

They might never be 'in love' or close to it, by both their admission, but she would be emblazoned on his soul for all time as a woman he could not forget. She knew that much.

[oh-the-hcrrcrs]

Oh for fuck sake. What we the odds of colliding with someone who knew precisely what sort of bullshit he was on, and exploited it with finesse ? He should have known better. The socialite had made the news in the worst possible way and he had not much of a doubt of who she meddled with. His smile settled on his lips as she asked whether he remained out of trouble. That took some nerve, taking the words right out of his mouth like that.

His lips pursed into a thin line and he glanced away, defeated for an instant. Very clever. "Assuredly I have. You won't be seeing my name in the paper anytime soon," he mused, a distracted air on his face as he reached out to catch a petit-four from a waiter's tray. Eyes straying toward the woman who had been holding her leg instants before he did, he watched her scowl and with a puzzled look on his face, turned back toward Aine. "She seems lovely. I'd almost feel bad I tore you out of her claws," most likely she was one of his coworkers, but he had never seen her before, which either made her important or insignificant.

"How do we feel about getting some fresh air," which was quite a terrible way to refer to his smoking habit. He'd tried to quit a couple of times already, but his nerves didn't allow him to fully let go of the habit. "I could go on my own, but I don't do well with loneliness," not precisely. He thought it weird, being alone in public, but people exhausted him.

[themcon]

There was an oddness to being alone in public that tended to draw the eye in unwanted ways and, not just that, but the pervasive loneliness that crept into most people when they were left to their own devices in a public setting...

Áine had no such compunctions, but she had seen it enough to understand what it meant.

Part of her was relieved for the excuse to leave behind her would-be assaulter, as if somehow she felt threatened in any way — a ridiculous notion, to say the least — but she didn't have the energy after her incarceration to start a fight just now. Besides, it was extremely public and very likely she'd be caught if she broke someone's wrist even if she smiled through the whole thing. Her public persona can only afford to get into scuffles of the tabloid variety, not the first page news variety.

Life was going to be strange for a while. It was her first offense, however, and she felt as if the people who had taken her in hadn't really wanted to arrest her. She had this air about her that most people just gravitated towards, and perhaps it was something to do with how little she gave a fuck — how much she nothinged people — that made her so enticing and easy to get on with.

You get invested because she doesn't seem likely to do the same back, even when she's flirting with you.

"Fresh air sounds divine, darling. Just let me top off my drink and we can go." This involved her turning to snag another full drink off a tray while pawning her own half-empty one off on someone with such a sincere smile that they nodded as if in thanks.

Áine has a strange power, it seems.

Allowing herself to hook her arm in with his own, loosely and with no agenda, she let him guide her towards whatever exit he wished, "You smell like mints but you can still kind of make out the scent of cigarette smoke. I don't mind if you smoke around me but if you blow it in my face I'll pout."

Was that all she'd do? Who knows.

[shadowdavutoglu]

It would be just the same as always, Bora told himself as he crossed town toward Áine's place. Nothing mattered except getting a few hours of distraction: not the wildly different lifestyles, not the way they fought more than talked, not even that Áine was a Jabberwock. Of course, that didn't stop him from keeping his eyes and ears open, just in case she were to drop any valuable information.

But there were no feelings wrapped up in it. And the one time things had felt a bit different...well, Áine had gone to jail, and Bora had gotten over it.

Still, once he'd let himself in and caught sight of them, he couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth. "So you escaped." A careful once-over confirmed that she was still as hot as he remembered, and he teased, "You don't look any worse for wear."

[themcon]

Áine had settled in on the couch, casual and free of make-up, still in a robe that was more comfort than style in that moment, but somehow managed to remain as majestic as she was in the finest silk clothing and jewels. The sound of his footfalls reached her before the sight of him did, her head tipping to one side.

It wasn't as if she had missed him — not really; it was more that he was going to be the first person she knew on more than a basic level she'd have face to face contact with after her time in prison. She'd lost six months but had managed to feel more active in prison than she felt right now, which was like razorblades beneath her skin.

The smile that ghosted across her lips was a mixture of bemusement and amusement, allowing her a moment to swing her legs over and hoist herself up slowly. She moved like some kind of odd, ethereal being across the space and pressed her cheek against his, lips kissing near his ear, "Is that your way of saying I don't look like shit? I had a bit of a rough go of it there, but I always come out on top, mm?"

Double entendre or just truth? Hard to tell. Her face was the same as it always was, somehow unreadable yet inviting, and her accent in that moment was implacable, "And you? You have... well, you are exactly the same. I know it has only been six months but still, I thought maybe..."

What, that he'd grow taller? His face would morph? No, he was still the same, familiar Bora he had always been: a thorn in her side at the same time as the only vine that kept her upright... she hated that last one because she didn't know how to define it.

That feeling was foreign and she didn't know how to parse it.

She swallowed it down like a dose of medicine and buried it in her gut to be ignored, "Whatever, do you want a drink? You can make yourself one."

She motioned with her own glass towards her liquor cart, filled to the edges with bottles of various types of alcohol from local and exotic places; she had a glass of wine, something so basic for her, and she took it with her back to the couch where she sank as if into a cloud.

It's not like she was going to make a drink for him. He might be a guest, but she wasn't anyone's handmaiden.

[andrew-aatakni]

Rare is the occasion on which Viktor is given the chance to actually do something worthwhile within the Jabberwock empire of shadows. Spending most of their days relegated to the law offices of the Red Rose — all polished mahogany furniture and smooth silk cushions, but a prison cell nonetheless — has left them restless and unsatisfied, perpetually tugging at the cruelly short leash the Crimson Monarch has befitted each of his siblings with.

Unfortunately silent obedience is the ticket that keeps you in the room, if not at the big table itself, and Viktor had learnt at a tender age not to question the choices and decisions made by those holding the cards. It’s not an entirely fair deal on Viktor’s part to be brought out only when the Monarch is absent or indisposed, but that’s all that’s presently on offer. It’s preferable for all involved for Viktor to saddle the gifted horse rather than look in its mouth.

Presently they’re being crushed alive by the pile of paperwork stacked high in one corner of the desk; a mixture of official Jabberwock correspondence and files detailing the intricate goings and happenings of the casino below. It’s suffocating work and nowhere near the leadership style they’d have chosen for the Jabberwocks - not that Viktor’s opinion on the matter has ever counted for much in the eyes of their brother or father. The smoke-detector blinking in the corner is a persuasive anti cigarette break tool, while gusts of wind and rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows are sufficiently snuffing out the idea of stepping outside.

They’re on the verge of calling in someone to disconnect the smoke alarm and taking that break from within the comfortable depths of the large leather chair, when the door cracks open, preceded by a single knock. The interruption is unwelcome, the voice that accompanies it less so.

“Why don’t you just open the door all the way and find out?”

She’s no substitute for a smoke, but Áine’s company doesn’t rank particularly high on the list of things Viktor’s been avoiding. The bizarre French accent, they assume, is a souvenir from prison.

[themcon]

Áine's psyche apparently needed a moment to adjust to the freedom she'd received, and upon seeing Viktor her brain corrected the mistakes of its past, regarding them as they were meant to be. Suffice it to say, the door wash pushed open and she strode through with the gait of a woman who belonged — not just here, but anywhere she walked into — and tipped her head gently to one side.

The accent was a hold-over from so many things, and for some reason at that moment it wanted to be free, to dance across the walls of the room for Viktor's appreciation. They were so incredibly specific in their likes, but she had an inkling that even they could appreciate the beauty she provided.

It took her but a moment to find a seat perched on one edge of the desk that, all at once, seemed both insurmountable and miniscule. Viktor seemed to feel odd behind it, and she didn't want to make their day worse... because the truth of it was, as stated before, she nothinged Viktor in a much different way. She worked with all the employees of the casino well or she would not still be employed as their, ahem, collections agent.

With Viktor it was sort of a long held understanding that they knew each other well enough to be in the same room and have intelligent conversations.

"That is a lot of paperwork and is well above my paygrade and knowledge," Áine offered, the French lilt that flowed against her tongue more subtle now, but no less inviting; if she were honest with herself none of this were above her paygrade, she could handle it, but she had no current designs on any of it... it didn't matter, she liked what she did. A hand came out to tap near Viktor's hand, indicating paperwork she could not quite read, "Does any of this lead me to work? I believe as a model prisoner and absolutely charming being I have avoided too much scrutiny for my being indisposed, so I can work pretty much now."

[desperate-housewives]

[lanalielalie-deactivated2024111]

[celebs-uhq-deactivated20231231]

Gal Gadot

[themcon]

where: the red rose casino when: a few days after her release, mid-morning whom: @viktor-liddell

It was hard for most people, post prison, to integrate themselves back into society.

Meanwhile, Áine took to it like a fish to water, finding not much was different between the two only she was surprisingly more bored being free than she had been behind bars. It wasn't as if she lacked things to do, but her purpose had been put on hold by all her time away and she just wanted to get back to work.

In jail she'd managed to find a purpose and spend her time on that, but now that she was free she was struggling to find the thing that let her release all the little demons in her person that people truly did not want to see from her.

So, when she found out that the Crimson Monarch was out of town for a bit — she didn't really care what he was doing or what it meant that he wasn't there, just how it effected her — she had a little twitch of annoyance that was swallowed down hard.

What helped was that Viktor had been the one to deliver the news and, in fact, was in the position to tell her her next job without much delay. She supposed that was one reason that it was good that the Liddell family had such a stranglehold on this particular bit of business, but it was fine.

She liked Viktor.

Well, no, she nothinged Viktor, but she was on good terms with him and found it easier to be friendly than venomous on most days — not that he's immune to her bad moods and that she can't find some annoyance to sling his way on days when he's trying very hard to push buttons.

A knock on the door to an office she knew well was all that announced her before the door started to creep open beneath her hand; finally she spoke, "Viktor? Are you in here, darling?"

The accent today leaned towards French. She had no idea how she'd come to passively shift her accent depending on the situation, but it came like breathing now; natural and unbidden.

[filmesbrazil]

[shadowdavutoglu]

who: @themcon where: somewhere in London when: late

For a long time, Bora considered not answering the text.

In the six months since he'd seen Áine, things had been...fine. They'd been good, he told himself, even better, and he ought to leave well enough alone.

But on the other hand--he could handle this. It was nothing, that had been the whole point. And anyway, he was up, coming back from a job that had gone even more smoothly than he'd hoped, when he'd thought it might take all night. Maybe that was a good sign.

And so, as he waited for traffic to clear from a still-bustling street, the warm light from the pub on the corner casting a glow that he didn't have to avoid--not this time--he pulled out his phone again.

[text: Bora] Where are you? I'll meet you there.

[themcon]

As her phone chimed, the night definitely mature but not yet retired, she picked it up and snorted. It hadn't taken him that long to respond, and yet still it felt as if he'd left it for ages. Usually he'd respond to those texts in hopes of getting laid, and honestly she was much the same way, but maybe he'd taken some time to process her 'freedom'.

Who knows, who cares. He was a means to an end and she needed the company right now. She had to get this off her chest, though the emotions she felt were a tiny bit foreign and mostly based in anger, she felt as if she owed it to herself to at least speak the words aloud to another.

If she'd been betrayed by her own people it would be a logistical nightmare to deal with and she might not share that particular thought with Bora, to be honest, but...

Áine knew someone had turned her in and she needed to bounce ideas off someone who she figured hadn't done it. There was no reason for Bora to have turned her in. They fought, they fucked, they fraternized, but they had never truly crossed one another at any point.

The night she'd fallen asleep at his place after they'd been entangled for hours and woke up in the morning to an expression on his face she hadn't recognized seemed a bit much. She thought nothing of it, though, at least that's what she told herself.

If she were honest with herself she'd have admitted that staying there and lying with him had been pleasant, but that would also involve her understanding emotions on such a level... maybe some day?

Either way, she had itches to scratch and conversation to be had, though she and Bora hadn't really done much conversing in the long run, and so it was only a few minutes after her phone chimed that she tippy-tappied into her phone.

txt: home. you know what to tell the doorman and my door will be unlocked.

Was that trust or just absolute certainty of her ability to take care of herself? Who knows. She'd never tell and Bora would never ask.

[amcrtentias]

where: blackbird coffee when: mid-afternoon with: open!

For Bil, quietly observing people as they rush about their business is one of life’s simplest pleasures. They’ve been sitting in the window of this café for three hours now, the dregs of the americano at their elbow long-since gone cold, neglected in favour of sketching anyone that caught their eye as they passed along the street outside.

Now Bil’s attention has shifted to an occupant of the café itself, their gaze periodically flickering over to the person as they carefully commit their image to a page in their sketchbook. It’s in one of these moments that Bil accidentally meets their subject's eye, so they prop up their work for them to see, hoping the soft pencil drawing will meet their approval (and go some way towards explaining why they've been caught staring). They raise their eyebrows then, a silent question in the hesitant half-smile that plays at the corner of their mouth: 'mind if I continue?'

[themcon]

Áine had forgotten the doldrums of being free.

There was a structure to being in jail that felt somehow far more exciting than the freedom they had right at that moment. Showing up at a cafe to get jostled around and pay eight quid for a coffee that didn't taste much different than the one they could have made at home — though perhaps more laden with sugar and chemicals than you'd thought — but appearances had to be kept and people within their circle did so love their 'artisan' coffee drinks.

A familiar sight in the shop gave her a bit more of a perk up — her favorite tattoo artist and the source of some of the ink on her body — Bil was once again using their keen eye to make art out of nothing. A man they'd been drawing had nearly blushed at being asked if they could continue drawing him and she had no choice but to roll her eyes, if only internally.

Bil had a power about them that made people feel comfortable, at least when they wanted. She wasn't sure if that should worry her or not, as it was akin to her own abilities of making people feel exactly what you need them to to get what you want, but she didn't nothing Bil as much as she did other beings in the city.

Bil inspired no feelings but still a familiar tug in the depths of her chest that hearkened to such ideas. Alas.

On the approach, she spoke towards Bil with her usual, genial tone and a hint of that Scottish brogue she'd been blessed with her entire life, "Bil, my favorite artist." a lean down now to brush her cheek to theirs and plant a kiss on the apple of their cheek, "I might need some new work done soon after my stint in confinement."

What a lovely way to say you were in prison for six months.

[dirbenaffleck]

GAL GADOT as DIANA OF THEMYSCIRA Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) Dir. Zack Snyder

[insanegirlblogging]

Adding girl in front of everything is in entertaining…girlblogging, girldinner, girlboss, girlfailure…some are a little overused but all in all, it’s a little fun. Also Pinterest post coming today!

xoxo