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[stylespotlight]

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[mote-historie]

McCall's PATTERNS: Krimmer Effectively Trims a New Russian Suit. White a Smart Frock Shows an Attractive Combination of Plaid Taffeta and Serge. McCall's magazine, November 1915.

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[kaurtrends]

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[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Rose

Written for @hinnymicrofic February 2024, using December 2023 Prompt 28

Written with love, because everyone gets busy sometimes, and the world always needs more hinny! Also - as usual, stretching the definition of micro!

Rose sat on the bench, watching as the flock of pigeons pecked in the dust at the foot of Nelson’s Column. She enjoyed watching the birds. Everyone else seemed to hate them, to regard them as a menace, but she always found them comically amusing. 

She tried to come here most weeks, though it wasn’t as often now. The journey was too much for her aching hip. But she’d force herself if she possibly could, because what was the alternative? Sitting alone in her little flat? Rose much preferred to be out in the fresh air, especially on a day like this. 

Besides, coming here, to Trafalgar Square, always made her feel closer to her Stanley. It reminded her of trips to see the paintings in the gallery behind her, when they were first courting. They didn’t know much about art, her and Stanley, but the gallery was free, and neither of them had much spare cash in those days. Besides, it made her feel very posh, dressed in her best frock and hat, looking at the paintings. Afterwards, he’d buy them an ice cream, and they would sit together on these very benches, watching the pigeons, laughing together and falling in love. 

She sighed to herself. He’d been gone eleven years now, and it still felt like she was missing a limb, but sitting here, on a bright, sunny day, he didn’t feel so very far away. She smiled to herself, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as she allowed herself to imagine that he’d left her for just a minute to go and buy those ice creams from the little kiosk by the steps. 

Her eyes drifted open once more, and wandered over the other people gathered in the square. There was a group of school children, racing back and forth, and scattering the pigeons, while their increasingly harassed teachers attempted to corral them. Three young women that she thought were probably nannies chatted in Spanish as they pushed their young charges in buggies in the direction of Admiralty Arch and St James’s Park beyond. A man in a smart business suit carrying a briefcase was talking to someone on one of those new-fangled mobile phones. 

Then a young couple caught her eye. They approached from the direction of Whitehall, walking hand in hand, and eating ice creams. Hers was chocolate, and his was strawberry - exactly what she and Stanley would have chosen. She wasn’t sure exactly how she knew, but it was immediately obvious to her that they were very much in love. Perhaps it was the easy way that the girl tilted her head into the boy’s shoulder, or the way he dropped occasional kisses into her hair. It warmed Rose’s soul to see it.

They made a handsome couple, she thought. The girl was extremely pretty, petite, with a wicked smile and the sort of hourglass figure that Rose had so envied in her youth. She had long red hair that tumbled down her back, and a healthy crop of freckles dusting her skin both above and below her denim shorts and stretchy strapless top. Some of her friends at the bridge club might have had something to say about the substantial amount of skin the girl was showing, but personally, Rose thought she looked cute as a button. She liked to see the young making the most of their youth. It was gone all too soon.

Her boyfriend was tall and slender. At first glance, you might think he was skinny, but the lean, whip-like muscles visible down his arms below the sleeves of his faded green t-shirt told a different story. His hair was black, and very messy, and he was wearing wire rimmed glasses that reminded her of the ones Stanley used to wear. As she watched them, the light breeze caught his hair, and Rose saw a strange scar running down his forehead and through his eyebrow. She frowned, wondering what could have caused such an injury. It was a shame, she thought, that such a handsome face was so badly marked, but the girl didn’t seem to mind and that, supposed Rose, was all that mattered. 

Together, they wandered across the stone paving, stopping to look up at the statue of Nelson as the boy tossed the last of his wafer cone into his mouth. The girl gazed upwards, frowning as though confused, and the boy dipped his head to say something to her. The girl looked even more puzzled, then her face cleared, and she nudged the boy playfully, clearly catching him in some joke at her expense. The boy caught her wrists, grinning at her, and she giggled, then protested when he leaned forward to lick her ice cream. They were both laughing when he released her, and she offered him the remains of her cone. He made short work of it, and then drew her towards him, crashing his lips into hers.

Now that’s a proper kiss, thought Rose. The two of them stayed there, locked together, as though they were the only two souls in the entire city, and when they finally broke apart, Rose could see a look of euphoria on the girl’s face. Grinning broadly, she took a pace backwards, spread her arms wide, tilted her chin to the sky and began to spin around. She appeared to the woman as the embodiment of pure joy.

The boy just stood and watched her, his own expression making it clear just how besotted he was. His hand dropped into the pocket of his jeans, and even at quite a distance, Rose could see him swallow hard, as though he was bracing himself for something. A moment later the girl stilled, facing him. Rose thought perhaps he might have called her name. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, the boy dropped to one knee, and in the same movement pulled a small red box from his pocket, presenting it to her. 

The girl’s hands flew to her face, which flushed bright pink, a vivid shade that clashed violently with her hair. She nodded vigorously, and her eyes brightened with tears. Gently, the boy took her hand, and slipped a ring onto her finger, then stood and pulled her back into his arms once again. A few minutes later, arm in arm, they began to stroll back up towards Charing Cross Road, passing quite close to Rose as they did so.

“Congratulations,” she told them.

“Oh! Thank you!” exclaimed the girl, beaming. The boy said nothing, only grinned.

Rose sat and watched them go. They both seemed so young, perhaps not even into their twenties. Once again, she was reminded of her and Stanley. They’d married young too, but then again, so had most people back then, eager to put down roots after the war. Stanley had worn his RAF uniform on their wedding day, and he had looked so very handsome. They’d been separated for so long, Stanley aboard a Lancaster bomber as a navigator, while she did her bit on the home front, working as a nurse at a city hospital during the Blitz, each of them facing terrible danger every single day. She remembered how terrified she’d been that he might never come back to her, and when she saw him standing at her door on that wonderful day when he did, the wave of relief was so powerful that her knees buckled underneath her. They’d been married six months later, battered and bruised and very much not the same innocent couple eating ice creams in their Sunday best in Trafalgar Square, but perhaps loving one another more fiercely because of it.

Twisting her shoulders, Rose could just pick out long red hair alongside a messy black head in the crowds, silently wishing them every happiness. She was glad they would never have to know the horror of a war that threatened their very existence, or the pain of an enforced separation where neither could be sure whether the other was even still alive. They would make a beautiful bride and groom, she was sure. 

The shriek of a delighted toddler, racing through the flock of pigeons momentarily pulled her attention away. When she looked back, the boy and the girl were gone.

#hinny microfic #hinny #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #ginny weasley #harry x ginny

[telekinetictrait]

"There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor." (A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens, 1847)

surprise!!! here's some boys for y'all!

fashion just... didn't change as much or as drastically for men as it did for women. there's a few reasons for this, like the association of fashion with women, that fashion was one of few accepted ways of women's expression, that the way men were dressed was under less of a microscope... etc. etc. also, a lot of top hats were worn pretty much through the century, but i kept on forgetting them :(

1800s directory

cc links under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics

aleksander and anatoly : peebsplays' unrequited hair + regency activist outfit / historicalsimslife's regency suit + standhardheld's made for walkin' boots

barthélémy and burton : thesimsblues' brutus hair + get famous outfit / vampires outfit + standardheld's made for walkin' boots

cecil and ciprian : cliffirem's gavin hair + niksims vampireprincess sideburns recolor + peebsplays' collins regency set + standardheld's made for walkin' boots / happylifesims' vincent fashion set + suit

dalton and dylan : johnnysimmer's chris hair + niksims vampireprincess sideburns recolor + joliebean's viago outfit + vampires boots / happylifesims' 1830s greatcoat

edwin and elmer : johnnysimmer's vevesims' elias hair update + peebsplays' baby chops + historicalsimslife's authoritative aristocrat suit + mmoutfitters' fancy feet shoe recolor / happylifesims' 1840s suspenders outfit + horse ranch gloves + base game boots

ferdinand and frazier : plumbobteasociety's elm hair + simmerofthedawn's top hat evening recolor + peebsplays' albert facial hair + batsfromwesteros's victorian daywear with jacket (royalthornolia chronicles purple patterned recolor) + vampires boots / simmerofthedawn's top hat day recolor + theroyalthornoliachronicles' night at the opera set

gavril and godefrid : peebsplays' bertram facial hair + pandorasimbox's azariah sacksuit + base game boots / ameyasims' invested vest + pants recolor

harlan and hershel : igorstory's franz facial hair + batsfromwesteros' franz joseph hunting hat + lady-moriel's bureaucrat set + plumbobteasociety's foxtrot shoes / simmerofthedawn's top hat day recolor + linzlu's timely overcoat + ameyasims' invested pants recolor

idris and ira : kocatmeow's daryl hair + igorstory's franz facial hair + sylvanes' mysterious lord coat (tsr download) + plumbobteasociety's foxtrot shoes / chere-indolente's vanzetti's chore coat + ameyasims' invested pants recolor

jerome and judah : johnnysimmer's vevesims' luciano hair update + igorstory's brute facial hair + simmerofthedawn's top hat day recolor + lollaleeloo's victorian suit (tsr download) + plumbobteasociety's foxtrot shoes / simmerofthedawn's top hat evening recolor + vintagesimstress' 1896 cutaway frock suit + mmoutfitters' fancy feet shoe recolor

thank you to @peebsplays @historicalsimslife @thesimsblues @cliffirem @lost-my-plumbbob-in-your-pond @happylifesimsreblogs @johnnysimmer @joliebean @mmoutfitters @plumbobteasociety @simmerofthedawn @batsfromwesteros @theroyalthornoliachronicles @pandorasimbox @ameyasims @igorstory @lady-moriel @linzlu @lunenore @chere-indolente @lollaleeloosstuff @vintagesimstress

#my sims #sims 4 lookbook #ts4 lookbook #sims 4 historical lookbook #ts4 historical lookbook #sims 4 victorian lookbook #sims 4 regency lookbook #ts4 victorian lookbook #ts4 regency lookbook #223 years #historical #georgian #regency #victorian #1800s #1810s #1820s #1830s #1840s #1850s #1860s #1870s #1880s #1890s

[omnomnomdomcaps]

Aristocrats (An ABDL Story) - Remastered

Screw it, I'm putting my stories back up. - ONND Nestled comfortably in the bosom of old-money suburbia, Fairvale was an upstanding town with an upstanding populace that had only the finest in taste and style. Grayson Dawes was no exception, standing in the old town square in a subtly striped blue suit, with a dapper red bowtie fastened below his neck. As he stretched his arms, his reddish beard swaying ever so slightly in the autumn breeze, one might have easily assumed that he was loitering, when it fact he was but waiting for his contestants to gather. 

The square was typically quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The shops and markets enjoyed their usual clientele, and the library saw its share of bookworms shuffling in and out. The townsfolk lived near and traveled lightly, leaving so few cars on the road that the whole place looked as if it were of a bygone era. And from the edge of the central green, Grayson Dawes could see it all, but the shade of his favorite oak meant that few could see him in return - and that was just the way he liked it. 

Lily was the first to join him there, strolling to their meeting point with a ruffling coming from her petticoat, and a crinkling coming from underneath. She stood tall, slender but shapely, with long auburn hair and a freckled face that seemed to befit her dollish white dress. Now in her mid twenties, she would be the most experienced of the day’s players, and she announced her presence with a most proper curtsy, blushing slightly as the wind kicked up the back of her outfit. 

“Well, well, well, right on time, my dear!” Grayson praised, though he had in fact expected nothing less. 

“Mmmmhmmm,” she smiled, before putting a finger to her cheek and asking coyly, “Does that mean I get bonus points?”

The man chuckled in turn. “We’ll see about that,” he shrugged. 

“But that wouldn’t be fair!” another voice interjected.

The second contestant had come on perfect cue, holding down the ruffles of her short dress as she walked up to join the group. With the same white, petticoated frock, she was perfectly matched with Lily - but of course, those were the rules. 

Rose may have lacked the height of her two compatriots, but not the presence. Full-chested, with a bob of blond hair that went down to her chin, she was bold, vivacious, and at times rather loud. The others enjoyed her passionate spirit, and appreciated that her competitive fire never veered into jealousy and pettiness. 

“Now now, darling,” Grayson Dawes held up a finger, “I will remind you that judgment is wholly subjective, and I can’t promise that Lily’s perfect attendance isn’t going to sway my opinion ever so slightly. Also, what is that I smell?”

“Oh, nothing,” she shifted her eyes away and blushed, taking a half step back before she noticed, luckily, the approach of a small figure to whom she would be able to lend her spotlight. 

"Ah, sweetheart," Grayson smiled, "wwe've been expecting you."

With barely five feet between the ground and her black pixie cut, Violet was the most diminutive of the day’s contestants, with wide, expressive eyes that spoke more loudly than she ever did. Having just recently turned twenty, she was also the youngest and ostensibly the least experienced of the three, though her sharp mind and playful dynamism had already signaled to the others to not take her lightly. Just as Lily and Rose, she wore a short, ruffly white dress on the day, and she curtsied without a word as she walked onto the green. 

The three ladies smiled at one another. In a dynamic as intricate as theirs, they knew that most women would fight to be the center of attention, and they felt lucky to be able to dole the honor out fairly. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Mr. Dawes began, taking a large step into the circle, “it’s time for us to review the rules. 

“First, as always, and most importantly, we are not to expose ourselves to any of the fine citizens around us. Doing so will result in immediate forfeiture, and unfortunately it would leave the future of this contest in some jeopardy.

“You will each receive one turn, and one turn only, to display your chosen talent. You will be judged on your creativity, boldness, and grace. And the winner, as always, shall be tonight’s centerpiece. 

“Do we have any questions?”

None of the three spoke up, each smiling slyly with their hands held behind the backs of their dresses. And so, the man continued, turning his hand to the tall, brown-haired beauty. “With that, Lily, would you care to start?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she declared proudly, taking a step forward into their circle, “For my performance today, I will be playing the part of Miss Marilyn Monroe.”

The other girls tilted their heads inquisitively as their eyes followed Lily strolling away. Grayson Dawes, meanwhile, stroked his bearded chin with one hand as he observed, using the opposite arm to support it. 

“She’s going towards the back of Henway Market,” noted Rose, as she carefully watched the girl’s route. 

“A natural wind tunnel,” added Grayson, “I can see what she means by a ‘Marilyn Monroe’ performance.”

“And there we go,” Rose updated, as the three saw a large gust strike Lily, threatening to lift the frills of her dress as she strained to hold it down with both arms.

“Oooh,” Violet suddenly chimed in, “I think I know what’s happening.”

“Oh?” Grayson raised an eyebrow, though neither he nor Rose dared take their eyes off of the active contestant.

“Uh huh,” the petite brunette continued, “see the way her face is straining? Anyone passing by is going to assume she’s just struggling to keep her dress from riding up. But if you look very closely…”

“Oh, she’s filling her diaper!” Rose pointed, “Oh, that’s sneaky!”

“My goodness,” Grayson chuckled, “Using the embarrassment of another act as an alibi - her experience is really showing!

“And look at that timing!” he added, as the three observed the blast of wind subside, allowing Lily to release her tight grip with a distinct look of relief - and a clear blush - on her face. 

The girl made her way back to the group to the welcome of gentle applause, adjusting her dress as she walked. Slowly, her blush subsided, leaving her with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. 

“Well done!” the man praised, giving Lily a soft kiss on the forehead before playfully patting her bottom, “Although it looks like we’ll have to do a bit of cleaning up when we get home.”

The girl giggled, the blush returning to her cheeks as she hid her expression behind her hand. 

“Now then, who’s next?”

“Oooh, me! I’ll go!” Rose volunteered enthusiastically.

“Oh?” he stroked his chin again, “and what talents will you be showcasing for us?”

“Well,” the blonde playfully bit her lip, “I’m going to go down from the library entrance… without stepping down the stairs!” 

“Without stepping down the stairs?” he repeated, “Hmm, well that does sound quite interesting. Alright, off you go.” 

The busty blonde began on her way. “Oh, and one more thing,” she noted, pausing after a few steps, “Daddy? I’ll also be needing a change when we get back.” 

With that, she flipped the back of her dress to show the others her thick, plastic diaper. And though they would only glance at it for a brief moment, it was instantly clear how right the girl was. The front and bottom were discolored, with padding ballooned to more than twice its normal size, and likely on the verge of leaking. The back, meanwhile, was characterized by an unmistakable bulge that seemed to darken that portion of the garment. In layman’s terms, it was a very, very full diaper. 

The other girls weren’t exactly shocked by this - all of them were well accustomed to wearing and using their diapers, as their daddy reminded them that proper little girls do - but they were impressed, and they tracked with keen eyes as Rose made her way to the library building, one of the oldest and largest structures in the town square, and began her way up the steps. 

“Wait a minute,” Lily raised her brow, “didn’t she say she wouldn’t take the stairs?” 

“She said she wouldn’t take them down,” her daddy corrected, “not really much else she can do to get up.” 

“That’s true,” Lily admitted, as she tried to count the building’s steps. They were old marble prisms, individually longer than they were tall, and divided into three sections of roughly a dozen steps each, with marble plateaus connecting. “So what is she planning to do?”

“Well,” Grayson thought aloud, as they all watched Rose approach the end of the staircase, “she certainly isn’t planning to jump, and I don’t think hopping down would quite satisfy her promise, so that just leaves one option…”

“The railing?” Violet asked softly. 

“Exactly,” her daddy nodded. 

No sooner had these words escaped him than Rose reached the doorway of the Fairvale Public Library, took a slight bow for her adoring onlookers, and shifted over to the edge of the massive staircase, positioning a leg of either side of the top portion of the ornate steel railing. 

“Oh wow,” Lily blushed from afar, as she watched the blonde begin to slide down, “that’s got to be quite the feeling.”

“I can imagine,” Mr. Dawes agreed, “It’s only natural that she rotates slightly as she slides, which means that that railing is going to be pressing against every part of her diaper as she goes down.”

“Smushing the mess in the back,” Lily continued the thought, her mouth almost watering from the excitement, “then pressing down at the bottom and front…”

“And all the while she has to keep herself covered up,” Grayson chuckled, “What a ride!” 

Indeed, it was. The three could see Rose panting as she disembarked from the top portion of the slide, walking slowly along the marble plateau to the middle segment. After taking a moment to catch her breath, the blushing, flustered blonde set off on the second railing, contorting her face to hide her intense stimulation while desperately covering up her thick, well used underwear with her the front of her dress and her right hand, using the left for balance all the while. 

Soon, she would reach the bottom of this slide as well. While her partners were oohing and aahing, Rose caught her breath once more before setting off on the final leg of her journey. This time, she wouldn’t be able to hide everything. 

She still covered up her underwear - those were the rules, of course - but, somewhere along the final railing, her expression slipped. As cold steel pressed hard into the front of her soaked padding, the intense, stimulating pressure became too much for what was inside. Rose’s eyes opened and crossed, and her mouth followed suit, a slobber forming on the edges of her lips as she simply could not contain what was building up any longer. 

Luckily, it seemed that no one else had noticed, and Rose staggered off the bottom of the slide, covering her face as she tried to regain her composure. Then, she slowly made her way back towards the group, panting desperately all the while. 

The others applauded. 

“That was really good!” Violet chirped. 

“Great job,” Lily congratulated her. 

“A bit of a close call there,” Daddy observed, “but you did very well. Excellent job.

“I suppose… that only leaves one more.” 

All eyes turned to Violet, and she nodded, smiling confidently. “For my turn,” she said, softly but surely, “I’m going to get Daddy a cup of coffee.” 

The other girls responded immediately with raised eyebrows, but she went on. “I’m just going to need you guys to hold on to my remote,” she said, handing her daddy her phone with a familiar application open, “and to help toss this.”

With that, the diminutive girl took out the other item she had hidden in her dress - an enema bulb, freshly emptied. And in an instant, the others’ quizzical looks turned to wide-eyed intrigue.

“When do you think -” Rose began her thought as the three watched Violet scurry about on her her way, “When did she-”

“Probably as you were coming back,” Grayson shrugged, as he began to work with his remote control, “She can be remarkably discreet about these things.”

“I suppose she’s heading to the farmers market,” Lily posited, and the others nodded. It offered the best coffee in the square, after all, and settling for anything else - especially for her daddy - was a line Violet wasn’t going to cross. 

“Look at her run,” Daddy remarked, “She’s built up quite a head of steam.”

“She has to,” Rose chimed in, “She’s trying to contain herself from both ends.”

“Trying to keep the enema inside her,” Lily followed, “and trying to keep her reactions to the vibrations hidden at the same time. Can’t be easy.”

“Most certainly not. And even the market seems to be within bluetooth range, so there’ll be no reprieve there,” Grayson added in, before interrupting himself suddenly, “ Oh, how rude of me! I haven’t been sharing the control with you two - so terribly sorry!”

“Oh, oh!” Rose turned her attention to the device, as she and Lily slid over to either side of the man’s shoulders, “I think I know the way to do it.”

With that, the blonde made a motion on the phone similar to a cursive stroke, and the two standing by her oohed and aahed at her form. In the distance, they could see petite Violet squirming with her legs criss-crossed in front of the coffee vendor, her mouth clenched shut by clearly desperate force. 

“Looks like she’s having some fun over there,” Grayson Dawes smiled, pulling a trinket from underneath his blazer, “Lily, would you be a dear and help us observe more properly?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the girl nodded obediently, taking the device - a quaint pair of opera glasses - into her own hands before bringing it up to eye level. 

“Quite a bit of squirming going on,” she reported, “I can see her jumping up and down, face turning red, but she seems to be holding it together whenever she faces anyone. Oooh, and it looks like she just collected the coffee!” 

“Is she putting it into a bag?” Rose squinted, raising a hand to block the afternoon sun. The errand-runner was turned away from the other three as she collected the beverage, so scarcely a fragment of her plastic carrier was immediately visible.

“Good eye!” Lily confirmed, “Oh, that’s really smart.”

“And what’s so smart about it?” Grayson Dawes asked, in that paternal, patronizing tone that all of his ladies so adored. 

“Well, you see,” Lily chirped, with the enthusiasm of a child boasting of a pop quiz answer, “if she was holding a cup in her hand, then it would probably burst if she suddenly squeezed it - if she got a cramp, or had to hold back from moaning. That reminds me - Rose, could you do that thing again?”

“Oh, sure!” the buxom blonde immediately obliged, turning her attention back to Violet’s phone, where she made several smooth, careful strokes.

In the distance, all three could see Violet’s cheeks start to burn crimson as the sensations hit her. Grasping the handle of the plastic bag in her fingers, the small brunette hopped on alternating feet and spun around with eyes closed as she waited desperately for the waves to subside. And then, finally, she regained her momentary composure and lunged for the town green, her aim squarely at the bearded gentleman standing under the tall oak. 

“DoublemochalatteextrasugarjusthowyoulikeitDaddy,” she desperately stammered, managing to hand the bag over an instant before she loudly released the content of her bulb into her diaper, letting out a long, pent-up moan as she did. 

“Well, well,” the man smiled, “it seems we have our winner.

****

That night, as per the rules of their contest, Violet was given the privilege of lying on her back squarely in the middle of the massive king bed in Grayson Dawes’ bedroom chamber. Her chest was bare, her perky breasts pointing directly up at the ceiling as they glistened with a gathering sweat. She was bound, with red ropes about her wrists and ankles that confined her to the burgundy sheets. And her diaper - a fresh change since the afternoon, of course, but one she had already taken the liberty of thoroughly soaking - was being untaped, a signal that the festivities were about to begin. 

On either side of her, her two “sisters,” positioned on all fours and naked except for their drooping diapers, lowered themselves towards the petite brunette. With smooth, thirsty lips, Lily began to suckle on Violet’s left teat, Rose on Violet’s right. All the while, Grayson Dawes was positioned at the foot of the bed, working his tongue in twisting motions between the prostrate girl’s legs. 

Violet bit her lip and squirmed about as much as her restraints allowed, her hands reaching to the sogging bottoms of her playmates’ diapers, where she started to playfully squeeze. Her eyes were closed, consumed by tears of passion and lust. And her panting, whimpering mouth was open, inviting the next phase of the fun to commence. 

As Rose outstretched along Violet’s chest, Lily lifted herself up towards the brunette’s face, locking lips and tongues for a moment before raising herself up further. Soon, her own breasts hung over the champion’s mouth, and Violet suckled softly, teasing the excited nipples as she tasted them. 

Grayson, meanwhile, was also working his body upwards by the foot of the bed. Content with his foreplay, he brought himself onto his knees on the mattress, holding his black-haired lover by the hips as he eased his throbbing member into her, making sure to keep his torso upright so as not to interfere with the other celebrants. 

As the bed began to shake harder and harder from the repeated motions of Violet being thrust towards the headboard, her partners wordlessly exchanged places in perfect synchronicity. Lily worked her way back down towards Violet’s chest, while Rose brought her large bosom upwards, enjoying a luscious kiss with the whimpering girl along the way. Violet, all the while, continued to fiddle with the other girls’ diapers, carefully working her fingers inside to tease their wettening parts. 

As each of the lovers approached crescendo, Lily and Rose would get their chance to embrace their beloved daddy. In turn, he would lean forward to caress each of them, showering kisses upon their lips and necks and whispering patronizing teases into their ears, continuing to thrust into Violet all the while. 

When they were all finished, Lily, Rose and Violet would be changed into fresh diapers and tucked in in a row in the luxurious master bedroom, with their daddy joining at the end. Each one slept soundly and comfortably. 

The next week, they would repeat their game, competing to see which of the girls could most gloriously humiliate herself, and rewarding her accordingly. And the week after that, they would do it again. 

For most outside of Fairvale, their lust and depravity would be far too much to handle. For these four, however, too much never seemed to be enough.

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fifteen

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

She Knows It by Steven Rodriguez

Roman sat back in a plush chair outside the glass-walled conference room, his dark eyes fixed on the meeting taking place inside. Ever stare at something for too long before your mind just takes it and runs with it? Or you say a word too many times until it loses all meaning? That was how Roman was feeling.

With each passing moment he sat in that chair ‘people watching’ his mind wandered further. The conference room began to look less like a conference room and more like a giant fish tank with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and bland artwork that was supposed to be thought-provoking but only induced boredom. And let's not forget the generic, mass-produced paintings that were meant to add some color but ended up blending into the beige office walls perfectly. So stimulating.

The ergonomic design of the chairs in the room was reminiscent of strange coral furniture one might find in a fish tank. The potted plants in the corners probably aimed to add some vitality to the sterile environment, which likely saw many long hours and late nights without exposure to any natural stimuli.

Yes, the longer he looked the more it looked like a fish tank. 

The men in their suits became a school of angelfish, drifting aimlessly. The women with their bright colored high fashion frocks like Discus fish effortlessly floating through the water. 

And there, in the center of it all, perched on the table leafing through papers and glancing back at her laptop was Belladonna. Her inky-black hair flowing loosely, cascading down her shoulders like the elegant fins of a betta fish. Dressed in the black jacket, and silver jewelry that Roman had delivered for her that morning made for a striking contrast against that only solidified his odd comparison. Beautiful and elegant. And just like a female beta fish, she seemed to furrow her brow when approached by her male colleagues - he was well acquainted with the difference between her ‘resting bitch face’ and her ‘are you that fucking stupid’ expressions to know that her colegues were not impressing her with theri smart deas. 

Why was he comparing the woman he wanted to fuck to a fish? He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddamn it, Cobblepot.” He muttered under his breath, refocusing his attention on the conference room and trying to shake off his annoyance.

Fuck he hated fish.

Roman couldn't understand why people would choose to have fish as pets. 

Fish were about the most ridiculous idea for a pet Roman could think of, but people loved them. Maybe because they were cheap and easy to dispose of when they inevitably died - just a quick flush down the toilet. Some people went for the more exotic options like lionfish, piranhas and even electric eels. But at least those were interesting, lionfish were venomous, electric eels looked scary as fuck and he could certainly see the benefits of having something like piranhas floating nearby. Perfect for getting rid of unwanted guests...or bodies.

Roman didn’t personally like fish. In fact he thought they made horrifically boring bets and he had little interest in pets in the first place. He didn’t even have any as a kid. Though that might have been due to his parents not having any faith in Roman not using them as target practice or something. 

Bit extreme. He didn’t hate animals, he just found them like he found most living things; clingy and annoying. 

He looked back to Belladonna adjusting her glasses and combing a hand through her hair. He liked those glasses on her, he’d have to see if he could convince her to wear a sexy little pencil skirt, then he could live out the sexy librarian thing again, the first time it was for the novelty of it. Not because he particularly liked the woman but hey, a fantasy was a fantasy.

Betafish weren’t boring. 

Hell, females could be so aggressive that they would attack males, nip at them to establish dominance and it could result in injury and even death.

God, he loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to take a bite out of him. It was what he found fascinating about Belladonna, she was afraid of him, no doubt, but she didn’t act like it. Hell, she’d put a gun in his hand and all but dared him to shoot her. Fuck the woman had some balls, her temper flaring like the vibrant fins of a betta.

They were some of the most common fish in aquariums, but commonality didn’t mean less interesting. Hell, diamonds were as common as taxis but that didn’t stop everyone from falling all over themselves saving two months salary for one. Bettas in particular were well liked for their beauty, intelligence and their spunky personalities.

The problem was that most people didn't know how to properly care for them or keep them happy. Instead, they would see these stunning creatures and impulsively buy them, only to place them in tiny fish bowls that were unfit for their needs. Her shabby loft came to mind, a place far below her worth. She'd chosen to keep a low profile, to avoid the limelight that should have been hers. 

Eventually the shimmer in their scales would fade and they’d more than likely be forgotten about. Not Belladonna, she shimmered in a dark room.

Roman blinked, suddenly aware that his mind had been drifting into an almost absurd fantasy about fish. He scowled at the thought, silently cursing Oswald Cobblepot again for filling his head with such useless information. The man had a penchant for talking endlessly about his various collections and interests, and naturally, in his years of knowing Oswald Cobblepot he’d been forced to absorb information about things he didn’t care about whenever they spoke. 

Cobblepot had a thing for penguins and naturally with his collections of oddities at the Cyrus Pinkney Natural History Museum. He also collected seemingly useless information, which he then forced upon Roman in their younger years.

Roman knew far too much about fish for his own personal liking: including tips on how to care for betta fish.

He shook his head, his thoughts went to some strange places when his mind was stagnant like it was currently. 

His fingers tapped impatiently against his leg, the urge to barge into the meeting growing stronger by the second. But he knew she would bear the brunt of those consequences and then he’d be subject to hers. And while Roman was sure he could turn that frustration into something a little more fun with most people, Belladonna wasn’t most people. He sighed, forcing himself to remain seated.

He needed to get a gameboy or something, watching the meeting Belladonna was stuck in wasn’t good for his IQ, he could feel it dropping by the second. And by this point it had to have dropped at least by thirty points, because he’d been waiting for thirty minutes. 

Once he’d focused on their moving lips it had gotten a little bit better, he couldn’t quite read lips but he could make out some words:

"Emergency... Urgent... Expensive… Client… Fired…" Roman whispered under his breath, catching a few words. Roman's eyes flicked to Zsasz, who stood beside him with an air of stoic indifference. "You picking up anything useful?" he asked in a low voice.

“Nope.”

Zsasz shook his head, but Roman wasn’t surprised, he noticed that the man's gaze seemed to be following Belladonna's assistant, Daisy, as she moved around the room. Fair enough, he was Zsasz’s boss, not his goddamned babysitter, it he wanted to eye fuck Daisy; let him. Someone should.

She was too tiny for Romans taste anyway, he liked curves, hips, breasts. Daisy was just too petite for his taste. But judging by the way Zsasz was watching her, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Back to the meeting, it didn’t seem to be wrapping up or getting any better. He knew from the way her brow furrowed and the tenseness in her shoulders that whatever was the topic of discussion wasn’t a very pleasant one. It didn’t look like she was bearing the brunt of anyone's wrath but rather she was trying to untangle a mess. She hadn’t even noticed him there on the chair in the small waiting area and he hadn’t really said or done anything because at first watching her had been somewhat fascinating. Then he made the comparison of the conference room looking like an aquarium and then… Shit. He needed to stop this.

Roman checked his watch again, scowling. Thirty-five minutes now with no sign of the meeting ending. Roman's fingers went back to tapping impatiently on the arm of his chair as he watched Belladonna continue her heated conversation with her boss. 

She threw up her hands, clearly exasperated. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair. 

Maybe she finally felt his gaze on her but he seemed to catch Belladonna's attention and she looked at him, he winked at her and she at least smirked at his little flirtatious charm, but she was still clearly strained by the weight of the conversation she was having. 

He knew that look well, it was the look of someone who was surrounded by incompetence or someone who was forced to fix something that wasn’t their problem to begin with. Roman gestured with a nod of his head, urging her to join him outside the conference room. But she only shook her head softly, her expression remaining serious, before turning her attention back to her boss. 

Pulling out his phone, Roman quickly typed a message. 

'Problem, angel?' 

As he hit send, his eyes flicked to Daisy, who often had Belladonna’s cell in her possession, glanced at the notification. She offered Roman a little wave hand, held up a finger then showed the text to Belladonna, and after a brief pause, Belladonna texted back, as her eyes darted back and forth from the phone to whomever was talking 

'Can't talk.'

"Damn it," Roman muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. 

Well, he couldn’t necessarily be angry, it wasn’t like she was ignoring him. But he still wasn’t wild about being sidelined. He wanted her undivided attention, not this nonsense with clients and deadlines. Frustrated but simply too stubborn to quit, he decided to try another approach and texted Daisy instead. 

‘Everything alright, Daisy? Your latte is getting warm.’

She was sitting at the conference table looking up from a laptop then looking at her phone, her eyes met his as she read the message, and she offered Roman and Zsasz an appreciative smile. They could see the tension in her shoulders begin to ease, if only slightly.

She seemed in a far better mood than Belladonna and offered a smile and twirled her finger around her temple to convey the insanity of what was currently happening. Roman chuckled.

‘Everything alright Daisy?’

She looked like she was struggling to put her thoughts into words and after a minute she got up, whispered something to Belladonna, who looked back and forth between Daisy, Roman, and her boss before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Finally," Roman murmured, as Daisy excused herself from the conference room. 

The moment the door swung open, a cacophony of raised voices spilled out into the waiting room, as predicted, it wasn’t good.

Daisy emerged looking utterly relieved to be free from the chaos within. As she approached Roman, he got to his feet and held out her iced green tea latte, from the way she was looking at the cold drink one might be tempted to think that Roman was holding out a winning lotto ticket. She gratefully accepted the drink and a quick sip seemed to energize her a bit.

​​"Thank you," Daisy said gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and taking a long sip. Her expression softened, and she let out a frazzled breath, trying to shake off the tension that clung to her like a second skin.

Zsasz watched the exchange with an amused glint in his eyes, leaning casually against the wall. He gave Daisy a playful wink, which elicited a small smile from her before Roman's deep voice cut through the lingering tension.

“Daisy, Daisy… What’s got my girls so worked up?” She smiled at Romans' endearing ‘his girls’ note. “Bad day?”

She shook her head, “It’s one for the books, that’s for sure.” She took another sip, “Falls into the category of ‘its not our fault but it is our problem’ kind of thing.”

"What's going on?" Roman asked, charming concern coloring his voice.

"It's been absolute chaos since this morning," She began, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Long story short, we had a huge post-fashion week photo shoot scheduled with the Gotham Literary Society, but there was some sort of paperwork snafu with the permits. Now we're out of a location and scrambling to find one to accommodate the client."

“Yes, I read about that, the site’s just been restored after a two year long renovation.” Roman added casually. Daisy nodded and emphatically gestured with her hand in confirmation as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Exactly! We need to find another location by tomorrow or we might lose the client, Lauren is pissed and well, everyone is scrambling to figure something out." She explained, frustration creasing her brow. "Her bosses are breathing down her neck, which means she’s breathing down our necks. There's talk that if we lose this client, several people might lose their jobs. It’s literally no one’s fault but someone’s gotta pay, right?" She glanced back at the conference room, worry etched in her features. "We're trying to find a place for the shoot, but it's practically impossible because most popular locations are booked already and have been for months. It's the week after fashion week, after all."

“Big client?” 

“Huge,” She looked around and lowered her voice, “Adrian Blackwood.” Romans face lit up in recognition. “He just debuted his entire collection and lets just say he had other offers for people to work with, we need to figure this thing out but we’re running out of time. He’s expecting the details to be confirmed by the end of the day which is officially in,” She paused and looked at her watch, “Six hours. Any place worth booking is booked out and any place available isn’t worth the trouble.”

"Are you or Belladonna's jobs at risk?" Roman's concern for their well-being was palpable, his fingers tapping against the side of his leg as he awaited Daisy's response.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I'm not sure. Belladonna might be okay, but I can't say the same for myself. Assistants get fired all the time, we’re a dime a dozen but I’m pretty sure Belladonna would march out with me while giving them all the stiffest middle finger ever.”

Roman scoffed, of that, he had no doubts. Despite Belladonna’s claims of not having any friends, she was loyal, he’d only recently seen just how loyal.

"We can't have that," He said, shaking his head. He looked back at the chaotic conference room, his gaze finding Belladonna's once more. Roman furrowed his brow in thought before an idea struck him. "Daisy, I think I can help," He declared. "Tell her to come speak with me."

Daisy seemed uncertain, glancing between Roman and the ongoing chaos inside the meeting room. She took a deep breath, seemingly weighing the potential consequences, briefly opening her mouth to try and argue but Roman insisted and his tone of confidence seemed to convince Daisy it was worth the interruption. Finally, she shrugged, an air of ‘fuck it’ in her demeanor. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the lion's den to relay Roman's message to Belladonna.

Again when the doors opened the tense tone of their words floated out, she whispered to Belladonna who looked between Roman and Daisy, confusion evident on her face. He was pretty sure she was telling Daisy she wasn’t going anywhere but Daisy appeared insistent. And she must have convinced her because Belladonna let out a sigh, rolled her shoulders and reluctantly approached her boss. 

They talked for a minute and her boss didn’t look very happy, clearly unimpressed by Roman's presence, waved her hand dismissively. But after a minute and some vague gesturing with her hands she conceded and Belladonna strode out of the conference room, back rigid and heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Roman watched her approach, noting the tension in her shoulders and the tight set of her jaw. She wasn’t happy by any means, though she was doing her best to conceal it but the irritation was simply radiating off her.

"Ok, Daisy said you needed to talk to me. Make it quick, Roman, I’m kind of in the middle of something." She snapped, her patience wearing thin.

“I can see that,” He wore something of a smug smile and after a silence long enough to start to get on her nerves, he spoke again before she could bite back with something smart. "Daisy was just telling me about your little predicament. It seems you're in need of a new location for your photoshoot, and quickly.”

"Yes," she replied tersely, impatience and exasperation seeping through her words. "But can we please get to the point? My boss is already in a pissy mood and I’m pretty sure I’m next on the chopping block if I don’t get my ass back in there."

"Question?" He said, clearly not bothered by her eagerness to wrap up their conversation.

"Fine, what's your question?" His leisurely questioning was starting to grate on her nerves, and she couldn't help but glance back to her boss, who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on their conversation.

"Am I a joke to you?" Roman tilted his head looking both disappointed and confused. Sort of reminded her of a puppy with its ears half up and half down trying to suss out a high-pitched sound.

Belladonna stared at him, confused. "What?”

"Use my club," 

Belladonna stared at Roman, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "Use your club?" Momentarily thrown off balance by his unexpected offer.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and smooth. "It's mine to do with as I see fit, it’s empty during the day, and should have more than enough space to accommodate your shoot. You can use the space however you need.” Roman smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “and you can vouch for its legitimacy since it's up-to-date with all the necessary permits and licenses."

"Would that help?" he asked, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

"Yes, it would," Belladonna admittedly a bit lost for words

She hesitated, shifting on her feet. The offer would solve all her problems for the shoot and might even put her in a better spot for work. She’d obviously need to run it by her boss.

As if reading her mind, Roman gestured towards the conference room.

"Go. Run it by your boss." Roman said with a playful flick of his wrist, shooing her away as if she were a mischievous cat lingering too long by the cream. His dark eyes twinkled with amusement at her hesitation, a side of him few got to witness. "Do you need a slap on that gorgeous ass to get you moving?"

Her eyes flashed with something sharp, but she bit back a retort and turned on her heel, striding back toward the conference room before Roman could follow through with what she hoped was only a joke. As she spoke to her boss, he could see the shock register on her boss’s face. She glanced at Roman, then back to Belladonna then back to Roman, who allowed himself a triumphant smile, knowing he was about to be the hero.

Belladonna motioned for Roman to join them, trying not to let her surprise – or her gratitude – show too openly. As he stepped through the door, the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. All eyes were on him, but this time, he was not the source of any problems. In fact, he was the solution – a role that felt surprisingly gratifying. With his charming smile and easy manner, he greeted Belladonna's boss.

“Ms. Preston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His smooth tone eased the tension in the room as effectively as a tranquilizer. 

"Mr. Sionis, this is a pleasant surprise," Laura said, her demeanor considerably improved as she reached out to shake Romans’ outstretched hand. 

“Oh, please, Roman is fine.” 

"Belladonna here, tells me you're interested in leasing out your club for our shoot." She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted as though she wasn’t sure she bought it. 

Surely there had to be more to it, right? 

“Leasing? Oh, not at all. Can’t have a face this gorgeous wearing anything other than a smile.” Roman's gaze drifted to Belladonna before turning back to Laura. "I'm more than willing to assist, by providing my space free of charge," He responded smoothly. "It won't be a problem."

Laura was one of the most assertive people Belladonna knew, never one to be told what to do, never one to let a man swoop in and save the day… Yet, here they were… Either the situation was worse than Belladonna had initially thought and Laura couldn’t afford to lose this client, or her boss too, was drawn in by Romans’ charm, she wouldn’t be the first or the last. Hell, it happened to Belladonna more times than she could count.

Laura eyed Roman skeptically, her expression guarded "So let me get this straight, Mr. Sionis. You're offering us the use of your club; one of the most exclusive night spots in Gotham for our shoot, free of charge?"

Roman nodded, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips. "That's correct, Laura. Consider it my contribution to the arts."

Laura shook her head incredulously. "Well, I'm afraid I can't accept your offer without some form of compensation. Your club is a prime location, and we can't just take advantage of it for free." Laura stood clicking her pen several times as she contemplated her next move. "But, you know, Roman," She began, "I think we could generate some fantastic publicity for your club through the shoot. If you’re unwilling to accept monetary compensation, maybe some good publicity in the fashion industry might suffice."

"Oh? How so?" 

A smirk played on his lips as if he didn’t understand what Laura was proposing, he knew damn well. But he was at least smart enough to know that he had to let her feel like she had a say in this whole thing.

"Well, I have it on good authority that the designer behind the collection is a huge fan of your club. Since your club would be the backdrop it seems wholly inappropriate if we don’t see the man of the hour. And I happen to know for a fact that the designer has a fantastic piece that only a man like yourself could do justice to.” Roman's ego swelled at the thought of being part of a fashion shoot. “It would be great exposure for both the club and the collection."

"I like the sound of that," he replied, nodding thoughtfully. "But one condition."

Laura raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what's that?"

"Belladonna does the shoot," Roman declared, his gaze drifting to where Belladonna stood, sorting through fabric samples. "She's got the skill, the eye. She'll be perfect."

Belladonna's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden turn of events. She opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, Laura cut in.

"I think that's a fantastic idea," Laura said, flashing a quick smile at Belladonna. "It would add a personal touch to the campaign. We all know Belladonna has quite the eye for male beauty,"

Belladonna hesitated for a moment, then nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She knew she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Great," Roman said, extending his hand. "It's settled then."

"On behalf of the entire team, thank you, Roman. And I look forward to the proofs,” She turned to Belladonna, “Don’t let me down, Belladonna. This goes well and I think you’ll have earned that bonus we talked about.”

“You got it, Laura,” She replied coolly.

“Alright, then let’s go make the client happy, I'll let him know about the change of venue, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Roman offered her a card from his jacket pocket.

Roman extended his hand, sealing the agreement with a firm handshake. "My pleasure, Laura. I hope you’ll find time to stop by, and if your client has any questions, don't hesitate to give them my card. I'm always happy to accommodate."

As the bubble of stress burst open like a fragile balloon, the aquarium fish seemed to have taken a cue swimming away. Daisy wrapped Roman in a hug that could rival the strength of an ant and crowned him a lifesaver, before following the other fish out of the conference room. Belladonna collapsed onto the table, hands rubbing her temples in relief… or maybe just exhaustion at the fact that it was only noon. Roman playfully nudged her with his foot, 

“Look at me on my white horse, saving the day!” He mused so proudly, “Seems it got you a bit of cred with your boss, didn’t it? And what was that, something about a bonus too?”

“And now I have an entire shoot to direct.” She replied with a tired smirk and a nod. “And yeah, she’s been dangling that bonus since the beginning of the year.”

He shrugged, prowling closer, caging her in with his arms as he braced them on the table behind her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, dark and sensual. 

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.” He paused, “You’re welcome by the way.”

She tilted her head at his playful remark, giving his belt a tug, pulling him into a kiss. Her lips brushed his several times, by now they were both used to the stares and quick little instances of phones being pulled out during his lunchtime visits. 

“Thank you.”

“You know angel, I have to say, I think these conference room meetings are starting to grow on me, I’m finding them very stimulating…”

“Keep it in your pants, Sionis, mama’s working.” His eyebrows shot up at that one, and his chest inhaled a deep controlling breath.

“Easy kitten, don’t forget who holds the cards here.”

“Let's see them.” Her mood had considerably improved but Roman found that was usually the case after he kissed her, “Full house beats a flush.”

Roman shook his head, a half-smile playing on his lips as he held out her coffee. Today, it was different - her usual rose-infused mocha, but iced. The cool container melted against her skin as she took it from him, the condensation leaving small droplets on her fingertips. 

"The girl at the shop insisted you try it iced with the warming weather," Roman explained, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"And you actually took her suggestion? Shocking," She replied, taking a whiff of the sweet aroma before taking a tentative sip. 

"Jokes on her, if you don't like it I'm burning that little cafe to the ground..." Despite his playful threat, she could tell Roman was only half serious. But the drink was surprisingly delicious, and she couldn't help but wear a pleasantly surprised expression as she took another sip. 

“Good?” He asked with a smug look, she held the drink out to him but he shook his head, so she took another sip and leaned forward to give him a kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips for a rose-infused mocha-flavored kiss. He seemed a little more interested in tasting the coffee now.

"And so the little coffee shop that could, lives another day... Have you eaten?" His concern might have been slightly pandering but it was still kind of cute.

Roman looked hard at her searching for any signs of deceit, Belladonna seemed very unamused at now having two people inquiring as to her dietary needs. “Been too busy.”

Roman reached into the small brown bag that had gone unnoticed until now, revealing a box of french macarons that were almost too beautiful to devour. After careful consideration, he chose a bright pink one adorned with delicate swirls and a sprinkle of glitter. The aroma of rich chocolate mousse wafted through the air as he playfully commanded:

"Open up." 

Belladonna licked her lips in anticipation before parting them to accept the treat. She nipped at his fingers, savoring the velvety texture of the macaron and the warmth of his skin against her lips. As she chewed, Roman chuckled and shook his head.

 "What am I going to do with you, kitten? Tie you down and force you to eat?" Belladonna shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the banter between them as well as how Romans eyes did that thing again; where they flared up and there was a little surge of something dark trying to get out.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into the nearest closet.

Professionalism be damned.

“Kitten, don’t test daddy’s patience…” He warned her with a growl, his voice low and dangerous.

Belladonna wasn’t quite sure what came over her but she couldn’t stop the words that slipped past her lips. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He jerked her forward into a hard kiss, and she was pretty sure she could feel that last little strand of his self-control pulled taut ready to snap as his tongue delved into her mouth and his hands slipped over her ass, lifting her onto the table. Standing between her legs, he pressed himself against her, feeling the heat of their bodies meld together. A guttural groan escaped his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck.

Oh, this naughty little kitten of his…

“You like to tease me, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice was gravelly and strained in between kisses, panting heavily before finally breaking away just long enough to speak a few words.

“I’m about five seconds from dragging you into an empty office and bending that sweet ass over a desk, Belladonna, and I don’t care who hears." He kissed her again, harder this time, “You wanna play like that? Call me daddy?” He grinned a wolfish lear against her lips, “I’ll make you fucking scream it.”

A knock at the glass window pulled them both from the edge of the abyss they were standing on, looking over to the windows, Zsasz stood with his back to them, he had knocked on the glass, and several people in passing were hurrying away. No doubt they must have snapped a few pictures that would be splashed over the tabloids and gossip rags tomorrow, hell, maybe even today, it was still early.

“Kitten,” His deep voice rumbled through the air, causing her heart to skip a beat. He paused and straightened his perfectly-tailored jacket, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before landing on her. 

“One of these days I’m not gonna care how many people are around, and if you get fired, I’ll just get you another job somewhere else.”

“My office is down the hall.” She tried to maintain a professional demeanor but felt her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Temping as that is, Angel,” He used her nickname with a hint of amusement in his voice, “I did come for more than just your afternoon coffee and to check to make sure you’ve eaten.”

“Has something happened with the cops?” Her curiosity was piqued by his serious tone.

“No,” His expression turned grave, “Does the name Maria Lopez mean anything to you?”

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall any information about the name. After a minute of concentration, she shook her head. 

“No,” she answered honestly.

“No one? Not a teacher, a maid, a friend, nobody?”

“No, I didn’t get along with most of my teachers. Our maids were mostly Italian or Greek, and after what happened with Olivia, I didn’t have many friends. Plus, my father wouldn’t allow anyone with even a hint of Hispanic heritage near me,” 

Roman looked confused by this revelation. 

“His best friend was Spanish,” she continued, “They had some kind of falling out between their families a long time ago. My father saw anyone with Hispanic blood as someone not to be trusted.” Roman nodded in understanding; he knew the type of person her father was. “Why do you ask?”

Roman hesitated before offering up what he knew, “If I tell you this, you do nothing. Do you understand me?” 

His voice took on that hard quality again, the one that readied her fight or flight instinct, he was serious. She nodded slowly, but he looked expectantly.

"Okay, I promise. What's going on? Who is Maria Lopez?" She asked.

He lowered his voice, “I think that’s the alias your mother has been using.”

Her jaw dropped. “You found her?”

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still verifying some things, but I needed to know if that name meant anything to you."

"If it's an alias my father chose for her, I never would've known to look for it." Understanding dawned on Roman's face as he nodded. "Where is she?" She demanded, feeling a surge of hope mixed with fear.

"I can't say for sure," He admitted.

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes sharpened. "You wouldn't ask me something like this if you didn't have reason to believe she was out there."

He was amused by her straight talk and she was right, fact was he had a lot more than he let on. 

“Maybe I do have something. But,” She visibly deflated, “Nothing happens until I can verify what I’m looking at.” He seized her chin, “You do nothing. You don’t even so much as Google that name, do you hear me, Belladonna Black?”

She hadn’t been called by her full name in years and the way Roman said it… Well, it had her wondering if she could change his mind about the whole office rendezvous.

“You’re really gonna find her?” He was trying to be serious and maybe a bit intimidating but she didn’t see it, she saw him assembling pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t even been able to find pieces to in four years. 

“I said I would. Anyone jumping the gun could result in more blood spilled. Do you remember what we talked about the other night after Stan left?” She nodded and gave a feint, ‘Yeah’ It was easy in the span of an evening with Thai takeout and sleeping in the safety of his cozy bed to forget just how real the game they were playing was. 

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” She took hold of his hand that gripped her chin and kissed it. 

“Alright. You’re going to finish out your day and I’m picking you up at eight, not a moment later. Any other work you have to do will have to be done remotely, understand me?” 

“You kidding, I’m a hero by association today, it won’t be hard to leave by eight.”

“Be ready.” She nodded, “Now, I need to be going, Angel. I have some errands to run and before you ask; don’t.”

Roman pulled her in for one more kiss, his hands settling on her hips, maybe a little lower than might have been appropriate for a goodbye kiss but she didn’t seem to mind. It was slow and leisurely, a gentle exploration of her mouth and she could feel the warmth of his wet tongue teasing the seam of her lips. With a satisfied 'Mmm' and a heavy restrained sigh, Roman pulled back, leaving her wanting more. But before she could protest, in Roman fashion he kissed the palm of her hand, his lips lingering for a moment before he left the box of macarons on the conference table, a gesture of sweetness in contrast to his confident and seductive demeanor.

“Eat up kitten, but not too much. We’re going out tonight.”

The hands of the clock on the wall had inched closer to six pm, casting long shadows across the nearly deserted office. Belladonna, now left to her own devices after sending Daisy home with Lloyd, focused intently on her task at hand: finalizing preparations for tomorrow's shoot. The responsibility of running it all loomed over her, a weight she now bore thanks to Roman's influence.

Belladonna adjusted her glasses and diligently worked through the shot list, making necessary adjustments and confirming equipment availability. She double-checked every detail, ensuring that everything would be in working order for the big day. Somehow knowing Roman would be there not only watching but participating made her a bit anxious.

Her gaze momentarily drifted to the corner of her desk where the mostly empty box of macarons caught her eye. A small smile played on her lips as she recalled Roman's 'doting boyfriend' act earlier that day. She reached for the box, taking out the last one; a chocolate and pistachio macaron, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its sweet aroma.

She’d never say it outloud but the Roman made one hell of a fake boyfriend when he tried, almost fooled her, before taking a satisfying bite.

As she chewed, her mind wandered back to Roman—his enigmatic presence and the powerful connections he held. She was putting a lot of trust in him, the feminist in her didn’t like how dependant on him she was and she felt a pang of unease. But at this point Roman had had multipl opportunities to either cut her loose or let her die and each time he did neither. 

The clock continued to tick away, marking the passage of time as she worked tirelessly to ensure tomorrow's shoot would go off without a hitch. And all the while, Roman Sionis' presence continued to linger in the back of her mind.

She redirected her attention to the list of garments for tomorrow's shoot, pulling out the photo of the piece Roman would be modeling, an intricately detailed, dark and alluring outfit that seemed to perfectly match his enigmatic persona.

"Damn, he is going to look incredible in this," Belladonna whispered under her breath, feeling a sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of capturing him on camera. 

The past week had been a whirlwind, and despite the chaos and danger, but oddly enough she felt perfectly safe. And the notion of Roman being close by while she worked, working in his club was oddly comforting.

She still knew practically nothing about him, and their entire relationship seemed to be built on a foundation of dependency and manipulation. 

Slumping into her chair she stared at the open search engine on her laptop thinking back to the last time she Googled him and how she didn't find much. At the time it had been disheartening but now she had more information on him, especially after her conversation with Cobblepot. She has a better idea of what to look for. She decided to try again, beginning her search at Gotham Preparatory School for Boys. 

As she browsed through the website, with some quick math she found the graduating classes section and quickly calculated which year Roman would have graduated. Once she located his year, her eyes were immediately drawn to his graduation picture – stone-faced, serious, and undeniably gorgeous. 

She studied the class photo, she noticed the space that people seemed to give Roman, as though he was a shark among a school of fish. It only confirmed Cobblepot's description of him – magnetic yet unnerving. People were afraid of him even at only eighteen. 

"Roman Sionis, man of mystery…”

Roman wasn’t Valedictorian and hadn't received any special awards or honors. However, his grades must have been decent enough for him to participate in extracurricular activities, and he was a busy boy. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she read the list – debate team, high-ranking chess competitor, social clubs, polo, squash, fencing, boxing, equestrianism, and swimming. 

None of those sounded like Roman but given the prestigious nature of the school, she suspected his parents likely had something to do with Roman’s busy schedule; something she could relate to. The thing that surprised her the most was the chess thing, she didn’t see Roman as having the patience for that sort of thing but by all accounts, he was very good.

"Of course, they'd want their son involved in everything," she mused, thinking of how similar Roman's upbringing seemed to her own.

Though she knew she should focus on the upcoming photo shoot, the enigma of Roman Sionis proved too enticing to resist. 

She clicked further into the archives next, finding a treasure trove of photos featuring Roman in his school uniform. The crisp white shirt and sharp black blazer and his immaculately styled hair seemed to be precursors to his current love for suits. Even as a teenager, he exuded an air of confidence and danger that was undeniably attractive. His stern expression, reminiscent of a young James Dean or Clint Eastwood, gave him a "resting bastard face" that somehow only served to heighten his appeal.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, unable to look away from the smoldering intensity in his eyes. Many of his photos possessed the quality to them that his eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went.

There was an alumni section dedicated to post-high school achievements like colleges, civic honors, and prominent family legacies where Roman was mentioned as a successful club owner, nothing more. There was no mention of any continuing connection with the school, but it did lead her to a page dedicated to significant contributors – including Roman's father, Richard Sionis.

Richard's gray hair betrayed his age, though there was still a strong resemblance between him and his son. Unlike Roman, Richard wore a smile in his pictures – but it appeared rehearsed and artificial, reminding Belladonna of the way her own father would grin for the cameras. It was clear that Roman had inherited his father's good looks, but there was something more genuine in his features, less tired and fake than the elder Sionis.

Belladonna continued to read about Richard's long-standing support of the school, noting his service on the board of trustees and involvement in numerous fundraisers. It seemed that the Sionis family had a history of influence and power, making her wonder what role Roman's upbringing played in shaping the man he had become.

Who was Roman Sionis before he became Roman Sionis?

She stared at the screen, not ready to pack it in just yet.

She didn’t know if he went to college or where to look and she really had no idea what happened to him after he graduated, only that at some point his family had severed all ties with him and Roman had begun a criminal life. He had mentioned he’d done time in Blackgate, but she wasn’t sure of the reason. The criminal stuff didn’t bother her at this point, she mostly wanted to know about his family drama. Because personal family drama was irritating, someone else’s family drama was entertainment.

"Alright then," She muttered under her breath, typing in the keywords ‘Roman Sionis’ and ‘Blackgate’ then hitting enter.

Over a dozen arrest records appeared on the screen, and Belladonna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Most of the records showed Roman posting bail up until he was twenty-one, but then the pattern changed. The bail postings stopped, and he started doing more time in jail. She suspected this may have been when his parents severed ties with him, but she couldn't find anything concrete to prove it. 

Not surprising, a family like his was likely to have as many skeletons in their closets as hers did and like hers; they stayed locked up tight away from prying eyes.

She clicked on the last arrest record, dating back to when Roman was twenty-three. Her stomach churned as the mugshot revealed several injuries to his face – a black and slightly swelling eye, bloodied cheeks, and a split lip. He looked like he had been beaten very badly, yet his smug expression remained intact, as if daring the world to knock him down further.

"God, Roman..." 

Despite his injuries, there was something about his defiant gaze that made her feel a flicker of admiration. It was clear that Roman refused to be broken, even when the odds were against him. She could practically hear him boasting ‘You should see the other guy.’

Aggravated assault, property damage, trespassing, criminal menacing, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal weapons, resisting arrest, and battery – it was an extensive rap sheet that painted a portrait of a man prone to violence and chaos. 

"Roman, you really don't make things easy, do you?" Belladonna muttered under her breath, feeling a strange mix of concern and fascination. 

As she researched further into the dates of his arrests, Belladonna stumbled upon the court case where Roman was tried for these numerous charges. Limited to a mid-tier lawyer, she expected him to suffer the consequences of his actions, yet one by one, he managed to beat most of the charges. It seemed as though evidence had conveniently disappeared or witnesses had mysteriously chosen not to step forward.

"Interesting," She mused, intrigued by the power Roman appeared to wield even in his darkest moments. "How did you manage all of this?"

Her search eventually led her to the final charge that stuck: tax evasion. The out-of-place accusation left her puzzled, as it seemed far removed from the violent nature of the other crimes.

"Tax evasion? That's what they got you on, Roman?" Belladonna shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. Frustration gnawed at her as she tried to find more information on the bizarre charge but came up empty-handed. “Well, the permits make a little more sense now…”

The courtroom photos were grainy, like a lower quality paparazzi shot. His expression was one of pure disgust and irritation as he stood before the judge, his dark eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. The gavel came down, sealing his fate: three years in Blackgate Penitentiary.

She couldn't find anything on Roman's prison stint without hiring a private investigator or formally requesting court documents and that required the Freedom of Information Act which was time consuming and could be expensive and it wasn’t exactly subtle. And for some reason, she didn't want Roman to know she was digging into his past.

Her eyes narrowed as she typed in a new search query – this time focusing on Roman's initial arrest that had landed him in Blackgate Penitentiary. As she skimmed the articles, she discovered it was tied to an assault case against a local criminal named Tony Zucco.

"Tony Zucco?" 

A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She knew the name sounded familiar but couldn't quite place it. Frustrated, she opened a new tab and quickly Googled the man.

As the search results loaded, Belladonna found herself staring at a squeaky clean image of Tony Zucco – a self-made man from Old Gotham with a very old school mafia gangster look to him. He looked like the type of man her father surrounded himself with. 

The more she searched, the less information she seemed to find about the altercation between Roman and Tony. It was as if their conflict had been purposefully scrubbed from the internet. However, one detail remained consistent throughout the scarce information available – Roman had lost the fight, but not without causing some serious damage.

"Damn," Belladonna breathed out.

What did Tony Zucco do to earn Roman’s wrath? What could have possibly ignited such a violent confrontation between the two? Her instincts told her it wasn’t exactly a fight over a seat at the bar.

The case was open and shut. As far as she could tell, he’d done his three years and he was released on the date, not a day more or less. There were a few pictures from paparazzi’s of Roman after his release and he looked harder, features darker and sharper, grittier. But she couldn’t imagine that three years of prison was easy on a man like Roman who had known luxury his whole life.

Gotham was almost pretty at sunset, if you didn’t think about all the scum that came out at night, the fading sunlight doused the area in hues of orange and gold. Roman lounged against the hood of his sleek black Maserati, scrolling through his tablet. A smirk played on his lips as if he were watching a thrilling episode of his favorite show, waiting to see what would unfold next. 

Zsasz, Roman's loyal assistant, stood beside him, taking a drag from a cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. For once not wearing his jacket in a departure of his professional look, he wore a shoulder holster but it didn’t hold a gun. No, where a small firearm usually sat tucked against a mans side instead was the scabbard of a very large knife. Scars on his arms on full display since no one was around to be scared by them, besides when it came to nightfall in Gotham, the scarier you looked, the less likely people were to fuck with you and there weren’t many men who looked scarier than Zsasz. 

"Tell me she's asking better questions this time," Zsasz asked in a monotone voice with a hint of reservation. 

“She started with my old prep school this time." Roman said, his eyes never leaving the tablet. "Nobody ever thinks keyloggers are useful until they are," 

“I prefer a more hands on approach.”

Roman chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You think she’ll find my list of extracurriculars impressive?"

“Hell no. Squash is dumb, and polo is for spoiled rich pussies," Zsasz countered, blowing out another puff of smoke. Zsasz scoffed. 

A bark of laughter escaped Roman. "You do remember I played Polo, right?." Zsasz shot him a sideways glance, the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “

Zsasz's lips quirked. "Wasn't calling you a pussy." 

"Damn right I’m not." 

Roman's attention returned to the tablet, watching in real time as Belladonna uncovered more and more of his sordid past. Part of him relished the thought of her reaction. The rest rankled at her audacity to dig into his business but he had done just that too her so he couldn’t blame her much. Still, pretty stupid to think she could dig into him and he not know. He knew about her previous day of Googling after his little adventure at the docks with Cobblepots men and he’s watched as she searched up his old school.

He had to give it to her, she’d gone right back to work after he’d left and he was pleased to see that she didn’t Google the name Maria Lopez, just as she’s promised not to. Nope. But she did take a second shot at Googling him. Her first attempt at digging into Romans past hadn’t yielded much, turns out when you write in the name ‘Roman Sionis’ into Google it’s mostly just papparazzi pictures and a few articles on his club. Roman had paid good money to make sure those articles on his arrest and his younger years were at least seven pages back in the search results. You couldn’t erase a criminal past but you could make it harder to find. 

He admired Belladonna's tenacity. She was resourceful, stubborn, and unafraid to dig into his past. Those traits only served to make her more attractive to him.

"Let's see what else she has up her sleeve," Roman murmured, his finger swiping across the tablet screen. 

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he noticed Belladonna had uncovered his criminal record. 

"Ah, there it is. She's finally found my rap sheet," He said, his voice low and amused.

"Should've been her first step," Zsasz commented, looking over Roman's shoulder at the screen. 

"Oh come on now, give the kid a break. She's new at this."

"True," Zsasz chuckled, leaning back against the car hood. "I’ll give her this, she’s has handled everything so far like an old-school mafia woman. Haven’t seen tears from her once."

“Thank God for that, I can’t stand seeing women cry.” Roman agreed, his admiration for Belladonna growing with each passing moment "Indeed, she's been a champ,"

Flicking through the rest of the information she'd gathered, he spotted something that caught his attention. 

"Look here, she's found Tony Zucco's name."

"Tony Zucco?" Zsasz mused, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "She won't find much. He's been out of the game since you shut him down.”

"Ah, yes. Good ol' Tony," Roman sighed nostalgically, a distant look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Not the least of which was the scar on his shoulder,courtsey of Zsasz's loyalty. Roman met his gaze. 

"Good shot, by the way. The ladies seem to like the scars." 

Zsasz's lips quirked again. "Following orders.” Zsasz reminded him with a sly grin as he flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “What else has she dug up?" 

Roman scrolled through the contents of the laptop. "She found the shooting at the club." His mouth twisted. "Hard to believe that lazy bastard was in business for so long, Tony never seemed to understand the value of paying your people what they’re worth..."

Zsasz chimed in. "You had a better employee retention program." 

"I did at that." Roman said smugly. They both chuckled, enjoying the memory that many would probably find deeply suspicious or deeply unsettling.

"Yeah, poor Tony never saw it coming. Shame you didn't kill him," Zsasz said casually. "Could've gotten the club for cheap if there had been a death on the property." 

"True," Roman mused, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought. “A little restraint goes a long way Zsasz…”

His laugh died and Roman's eyes narrowed to slits as he zoomed in on an article that Belladonna was currently browsing. It was a piece the Gotham Times had published shortly after the shooting—one he'd somehow overlooked until now. The street lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows across his face as he scrutinized the text.

"Zsasz," Roman said, his voice low and dangerous. "Take a look at this and tell me what you see."

Zsasz took the tablet from Roman, his pale eyes scanning the screen with a growing sense of unease. He glanced back at Roman, his voice tense with anticipation. "Two very irritating names.”

"This makes it two times now," Roman muttered, a note of irritation lacing his voice.

"Two?"

"First, we miss Belladonna's hypoglycemia diagnosis," Roman said, tossing the tablet aside where it landed with a soft thud on the leather couch. “Now this.”

"Ah," Zsasz nodded slowly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "A determined woman does better research than the FBI. Maybe you should take Belladonna out for a nice dinner, thank her properly for her detective skills."

Roman's expression softened at the mention of dinner. The thought of her resourcefulness brought a rare sense of warmth to his chest. 

"Dinner?" he echoed, considering the idea. His hand instinctively reached up to adjust the cuff of his immaculately tailored suit.

Roman considered it. 

"Taking a half-Italian woman to an Italian restaurant... is that too cliché?" Roman inquired, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a semblance of amusement.

"Boss," Zsasz replied with a deadpan delivery, "clichés are clichés for a reason. But if you want something different, I know a place. Turkish."

"That little hole in the wall joint in the Bowery?" Roman's tone shifted with intrigue.

Zsasz gave a single nod. "That's the one."

"Karnıyarık," Roman mused aloud, a hint of hunger creeping into his voice as he remembered the savor of well-spiced eggplant and minced meat. "That does sound good."

"And don't get me started on the büyükanne's baklava." Zsasz's eyes gleamed with a rare spark of enthusiasm. "Better than any of those fancy restaurants, hands down."

Dinner was a good next step but there was a new loose end to tie up. Roman's amusement faded as he glared at the article again, picking out the names that had drawn his ire—Ramirez and Craven. The detectives first on scene after he'd been shot. 

Roman sneered at the article, muttering under his breath, "So that's why you've got it out for me..." 

His mind raced with thoughts of revenge and calculated moves, feeling the weight of their names pressing down on him. 

"This changes things," Roman said, the gears turning in his head. He looked at Zsasz with a new sense of urgency. 

"What do you want to do about it?" Zsasz asked calmly. 

"Call up the lawyers and our inside man. I want everything on Ramirez and Craven by Monday." 

"Got it, boss," Zsasz replied, nodding in agreement. His fingers were already reaching for his phone, ready to make contact and set things into motion. “You wanna wait on Metropolis? Left that doctor in pretty rough shape, he might talk, might not.”

“No, I think we’ve properly motivated the good doctor to keep his mouth shut. But let’s not take any chances, keep our travel plans as scheduled. And look into that other thing, I want that sorted by the time we leave, make sure she has everything she needs.”

"Now what?" he asked, curious about Roman's next move.

Roman's mind buzzed with plans and contingencies, the dark machinery of his intellect churning relentlessly. Craven and Ramirez had been the proverbial annoying thorn in his side since this whole damn thing started. He’d have figured out exactly what their beef with him was sooner or later but thanks to his little detective, it was sooner and he’d have to make sure he thanked her properly, wouldn’t he?

But he’d also have to tell her he’d been spying on her at work as well as her home, which really shouldn’t surprise her at this point. Well, she’d get over it.

The neon glow of the city reflected in Roman's dark eyes as he glanced at his watch, the ticking seconds a reminder that time was always moving. 

"Time to go pick up my angel from work." 

He pocketed the tablet and slid off the hood of the Maserati with predatory grace. Zsasz looked up from his phone call, nodding in understanding. Neither spoke of the growing reality, which was that Belladonna was quickly becoming a more central influence in Romans life, which made her dangerous.

Her beauty and courage had captivated him from their first meeting, and he found himself craving her presence more and more each day. 

"Boss, everything's set," Zsasz said, interrupting Roman's thoughts as he hung up the phone. "Our guys will get us what we need."

"Good," Roman replied, his voice low and intense. "We'll find out exactly what those bastards are playing at, and put an end to it. But for now… let's focus on something far more pleasant." He smirked, enjoying the idea of spending time with Belladonna, even if only for a brief reprieve from the darkness that consumed his world. “I’m hungry.”

When faced with virtually no information about Tony Zucco aside from his sterling reputation within the community and the many mentionings of his hand in local businesses, Bealladonna’s bullshit detector started going off. Jaded or not, a wise man once said if something seemed too good to be true then it was.

When one word didn’t work, she opted to cross reference the name of Tony Zucco with Roman Sionis and then she found it.

The words "shooting" and "Masquerade Noir" had caught her attention, and as she read, she began to piece together a story that had unfolded just months after Roman's release from prison.

The article detailed an incendent that had unfolded at the location that would later become Roman’s club, he had been looking at the building with a leasing agent when Tony Zucco and his men showed up.

The statement of the leasing agent told of how Roman instructed her to flee and call the police and when she ran Tony’s men persued her. She imagined Roman's tall, dark frame acting as a barrier between the fleeing woman and Zucco's thugs. Roman then inteviened and tackled one fo the men by throwing punches but was qickly overwhelmed when he second man attacked Roman from behind. The witness report stated she saw Roman taking a severe beating on his knees before she went for help.

Roman out-numbered two to one, those seemed like his kind of odds. The image of his strong, muscular body entangled in a vicious fight made her shiver with both fear and admiration. It was compelling but something about it just wasn’t right. Where was Zsasz? She hadn’t bothered to look up anything about Zsasz, that one she had been a little afraid to look into.

The article continued stating by the time the police had arraived the two men were dead from gunshot wounds, Tony Zucco was shot in the chest but still alive and Roman was shot in the shoulder. She could almost hear the gunshots echoing through the empty building as Roman and Zucco traded fire.

Her breath caught in her throat as she envisioned Roman wounded and bleeding. She thought back to earlier that morning when she’d caught sight of him with that towel draped around his waist. She’d seen a few scars, one in particular on his shoulder, it had looked like a bullet but she couldn't tell from where she was.

As she absorbed the information, she could almost see the scene play out in her mind: Roman, bloodied but unbowed, bringing down the older man before collapsing into unconsciousness. It wasn't long after this brutal exchange that the police arrived, taking both men to Gotham General Hospital for treatment.

"Both men were treated and held in medical hold with armed police officers until they cold be taken to the GCPD." She read further. 

While there was push from Zucco’s attourney to have Roman thrown back into Blackgate for the shooting and there was a potential civil lawsuit against him, the judge had ruled that Roman was out numbered, out gunned and he acted in reasonable self defense. 

"Tony Zucco was sentenced to ten years for conspiracy to commit murder, assault with a deadly weapon, criminal conspiracy, and criminal solicitation. " 

It had been, as far as she could tell, a slam dunk case mostly thanks to the severity of Romans injuries and the leasing agent who had witnessed the whole ordeal. She had stepped forward offering testimony, ultimately clearing Roman Sionis of any wrongdoing.

She moved from one article to another that talked about Tony Zucco’s release several years ago and he hadn’t been mentioned that much since, choosing to keep a quiet profile until almost all mention of him stopped. And a price reduction of several hundred thousand dollars had left the building vacant, which Roman swooped in to purchase it months later.

"Masquerade Noir opens its doors... quickly becoming Gotham's hottest night spot," She read aloud, her voice tinged with disbelief. The club had been born from violence, yet now thrived with people fighting to get in.

"Roman Sionis: Behind the Mystery" – another article title caught her eye, and she clicked on it eagerly. Scrolling through the text, she absorbed every detail there were interviews with staff, patrons, all speaking very highly of Roman as an employer who ran an immaculate ship. Didn’t tolerate any shady activity and overall, all who set foot inside his doors reported they loved the experience and felt safe and eager to return even if a martini cost almost twenty five dollars.

"From violence to prospering into an icon of the city; one thing is certain – he has built an empire from nothing, and many are drawn to the allure of his power and charm."

The sudden buzz of the intercom jolted Belladonna from her thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest. 

"Miss Black, Mr. Sionis is in the lobby to pick you up," The security guards voice came through the speaker.

"Thank you, tell him I’ll be right down." She managed to reply, quickly shutting down her laptop and packing her bag. 

As she stepped out of her office and made her way to the lobby, she considered what she might say to him, or even if she’d say anything at all. He’d never forbade her from looking into his past, never warned her not to go digging and what kind of idiot would she be if she didn’t at least do some light Googling into a man that she was growing more intimately connected with? Hell, she was all but sleeping with him at this point, she was living with him. 

Her steps slowed as she entered the elevator and waited for it to carry her to the first floor. He did, however, tell her to ask fewer questions or learn to look the other way. 

"Angel," 

Roman's deep voice called as he saw her, his eyes alight with a mix of desire and possessiveness and he wore a smile that could charm the devil himself. He crossed the distance between them in a few swift strides, pulling her into an unusually passionate kiss that caught her off guard. There was no one here aside from the security guard who wasn’t even watching, why the show? Something put him in a good mood. 

"Hi.” She said a little breathlessly.

He ushered her toward his black Maserati parked outside, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "Hungry?"

"Actually, yeah." She replied, her previous queries now pushed to the back burner after that kiss and the prospect of dinner. She wondered what he had in mind but before she could ask he answered that with a question of his own.

"Ever had Turkish?" Roman asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

She wasn’t sure what it was but something had put him in a very good mood, it was hard to find any hint of those little tendrils of darkness that usually clung to him. It was then that she registered his question and her lips curled in distaste, the memory of her father's rants about 'those damned Turks' still fresh even after all these years. 

"No, of course not." She said it with an almost laugh, as if it was the dumbest question she’d been asked.

Roman's gaze sharpened, and she could almost hear the unspoken reprimand. “Excuse me?’ Who's never had Turkish in this cultural melting pot of a city? It’s almost offensive.”

“Sorry?” She shrugged. "Did you forget I'm half Greek and my father is something of a xenophobe?" She replied, unable to keep the slightly defensive note from her voice.

"What's that got to do with food?" He asked perplexed as the car pulled away from the curb.

Belladonna bit her lip. Did Roman really need her to explain her father's deep seeded, outdated, cultural hatred? She thought it was pretty self explanatory. On the other hand it was just as plausible for Roman to harbor no real hate for anyone unless they crossed him in which case that was most certainly a ‘case by case’ basis. He also seemed like an ‘I hate everybody equally’ type of man. He was a total social butterfly, floating between different groups without a care in the world. Old grudges and racial tensions didn't seem to faze him at all, personal grudges? Well, that was likely different.

"Turkish food," She finally said. "Greece and Turkey have been enemies for centuries,” She managed. "Ever since the Ottoman Empire conquered Constantinople in 1453, there's been bad blood between the nations. Even now they're still not exactly friends-"

"Despite both being NATO allies..." Roman interjected, one dark brow arched knowingly. 

His mention of something so political surprised her, Roman was smart but she didn’t really think of him as ‘politics smart.’ She had never thought of him as someone who paid attention to politics, let alone casually mention it. But in a way, it did make a certain kind of sense, the politics of crime.

"Just because someone is an ally, doesn't make them friends." 

She froze, hearing the echo of their own intricate affiliation in those words. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by an awkward tension. 

Without warning, Roman's hand reached out to cup her chin and he silenced any concerns she had with a deep, passionate kiss. His lips moved slowly over hers, lulling her into a relaxed state, slow, smoldering, possessive and hungry. When he pulled away, she was left breathless, her mind pleasantly unfocused. 

"Trust me, you're gonna love it," He purred, low and seductive, his thumb stroking over her lower lip. 

He didn't acknowledge her earlier words or the uneasy parallel she had drawn between them. If her comment bothered him, he didn't let it show. 

“Was your father that much of a bigot to keep you from trying some of the most delicious food known to man?” Roman's disbelief was evident in his tone, and it surprised her. She had never thought of him as a foodie but he seemed all riled up over it.

“Roman, what do you think?” She asked dryly.

"Come on," he said. "Time you tried some Turkish delight."

“That jello thing that little prick Edmund liked from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

Roman rolled his eyes, and scoffed. “You know classic children's fantasy literature but you’ve never had Turkish?”

“You mean, ‘I know classic Christian biblical propaganda?’ Then yes, I do. I went to an all girls Catholic school, remember?”

A sly smile crossed Roman's face. “Oh, Angel, trust me. That’s a detail I’ve never forgotten.”

Just an hour ago she’d read through as much of Romans criminal history as she could find, she was still no closer to discovering what it was that happened between his family and him. She didn’t for one second buy the fact that he’d done three years for tax evasion or that there was no validity to any of the other charges against him. 

He did it. She was sure. 

And she knew for a fact that the shooting that took place in his club couldn’t have been as simple as the article had made it out to be. 

Roman protecting a curiously present leasing agent when someone he had a sketchy past with had just happen to show up? Not for a second.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow Roman had found a way to get away with murder and attempted murder. And now, he was doing it again with Jimmy. Even more unsettling, she was helping him - at times, even enjoying it. She could hardly believe how comfortable she had become in his presence, especially since learning to read him better. As they drove through the streets of Gotham, for what was sounding more and more like a real date, Roman wore something that hovered between a smile and a smirk. His hand rested possessively on her thigh, thumb gently grazing her leg through the fabric of her jeans. Electric sparks shooting between their bodies like lightning bolts. She couldn't deny the thrill she felt being by his side, despite the danger and moral ambiguity of their actions together.

Roman was a man of many qualities, but at the forefront of it all was his ability to survive. She couldn't imagine how much blood he must have shed to get to where he was. Despite knowing he was dangerous and having witnessed his quick fire temper firsthand, and even being mildly on the receiving end a few times. She was drawn to him. 

Everything about this man should have sent her running and screaming.

But it didn’t. 

First he’d spared her life, then he’d saved her life more than once, called down an armed assault when she’d been in danger and nearly declared war with another criminal over her. Yet, here he was, sitting beside her, taking her to dinner after a long workday, to try something new. She wasn’t bothered by his touch, in fact, she craved it. Despite the red flags every Cosmo had ever told her to look for and run from there was a warmth emanating from those flags, like a bullet-proof, blood red blanket. 

Roman Sionis was a pit bull. An angry dog with a penchant for biting and slicing off ears. Dropping bodies where it pleased him and something about that knowledge set every nerve of hers on fire. 

He was a criminal. A killer with blood on his hands. And a psychopath with violence in his heart. And if there was a God in heaven, let him help her because she was falling for him.

Sixteen

I woke up a little early so here's a happy surprise for you guys! So, we got a little more insight into Roman's past, eh? Anyone else get the impression we're missing some information???? Belladonna does. Hope you guys liked this chapter, I know I'm teasing you guys mercilessly but stick with me I PROMISE YOU the smut is coming in the next chapter or two, it just depends on pacing but it will be worth it! Y'all have stuck with me this far just hang on a little longer. I need to work on a few one-shots but I have the next chapter mostly planned out so it shouldn't take quite as long. I also had some family in town so writing was put on the back burner for a little bit.

I'm really loving how this story is coming together and I really appreciate everyone's support, especially my mysterious anonymous questioner who checks in on me, I don't know who you are but I appreciate you! Comments and interaction comes from such a small group so the feedback and check-ins really do keep me motivated!

How do you guys like the new look fo the story??? I finally got Canva Premium so I think I'll be playing around with some more fun stuff like the bars and dividers. You guys know what to do, reblog with those crazy tags, comment and like! Reblogs are the best way to circulate work on Tumblr so we can reach more Toxic Fangirls! And speaking of which a big welcome to a new potential member of the Roman Sionis Toxic Love Fangirl Club who is actually a pretty damn good writer her/their damnself! Looking at you @gilverrwrites and my other toxic fangirls too! @hereticpriest @daenerys-skywalker @tarrenterror25 @supernatural-lover and @keffirinneYou guys are my cheer squad!

Have a great day, let me know what you all think, and stay toxic.

#roman sionis smut #fake relationship #fanfiction is life #original character #close proximity #slightly toxic #slight power imbalance #medium burn romance #shadows of deception #belladonna black #belladonna fucking black #i have too many fanfictions #roman sionis toxic love fangirl club #black mask smut #black mask #black mask fanfiction #roman sionis #roman sionis x original female character #simping for the bad guy #dc #dc fandom #dc birds of prey #there will be smut #romansionisfanfiction #romansionissmut #dark romance #ewan mcgregor characters #alternate universe #yandere #roman sionis has anger issues

[ramayantika]

–✦– 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨, 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙒𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣 –✦–

Usha Lakshmi Gargi Ratri Saraswati

Rati

(@krishna-sahacharini had figured it out 💖)

Amidst my box of pink, peach and nude shades of lipsticks, the bold red lip colour stands out. It appears as if it wants to mock me. 'You purchased me from Ladies Corner two months and I am still sitting in your box with an unbroken seal. Are you afraid of a colour?'

I have worn red sarees, red frocks and even red tops. I have red clips and rubber bands, heck even red sandals, but the prospect of applying red lipstick scares me. It makes me nervous. I have heard this boy tell me that you look gently and dainty in pink and peach shades like a fairy. The other day while coming back from college, I heard an aunty comment on a girl, saying, "God, did you see that bold red shade on her lips. It looks so improper. Girls should wear light shades that makes them look graceful."

But I remember applying the same red shade on my lips after borrowing her lipstick. She was reading a book then and I was trying out her lipstick. The colour suited me so well! For the first time, I got goosebumps when I saw my lips in red. It felt as empowering, liberating, bold as well as beautiful. My friend was observing my reaction and cheered, "You must wear red colour too you know. The shades you wear look pretty, but red has that charm which no other shade has." I blush and mutter a thank you. That evening I bought a red lipstick for myself.

Never wore it after I purchased it though. I always make excuses to myself. I carry a gentle, sweet, cotton candy persona so red isn't suitable.

Like always, I pick my light pink lipstick to retain my natural colour. I look at the black saree with golden borders carefully placed on the bed and then at my reflection in the mirror. Open tousled hair, black blouse, white petticoat and golden jhumke dangling down my ears. I bring the pink lipstick near my lips when suddenly the mirror turns black.

Gasping, I touch the mirror. I pinch myself to ensure if I am active or dreaming. The slight pain tells me I am actively experiencing this. My heart paces in panic. This feels like a scene from a horror movie and for a moment I brace myself to prepare for a ghostly attack when the black fades away only to reveal a lady dressed in dark red robes. Her outfit reminds me of sculptures of dancers, apsaras and goddesses from ancient Indian temples and paintings.

Her skin is as fair as milk. Well drawn arched eyebrows between which a red circular dot called bindu is carefully applied. Deep kohl highlights her beautiful pair of eyes. On her neck, I see a nuptial chain and a couple of jewelled necklaces reaching below her bosom. A thick strip of deep red cloth is tied around her chest. On her waist, I see a loosely tied waist chain and her hips sport a jingling hip belt. She wears a dhoti styled draped cloth which reaches till the knees to cover the lower half of the body. There was a specific name to it which I had read in a book. Sadly, I can't recall the name anymore.

I stare at her matchless beauty. She gracefully steps outside the mirror and stands behind me. Her thin fingers gently place themselves on my shoulders, and she whispers in my ear. "Did you recognize me?"

Stuttering, I try to form an answer. "Apsara Menaka?" She looks like a sculpture reborn alive from a temple after all!

The woman chuckles and taps my cheek with her index finger. "I am the Goddess of Love, my darling."

My lips part in shock. I gaze at the reflection of the woman beside me. "Rati...." I murmur.

"Absolutely correct! Thankfully, you remember me. Many women don't -- atleast not in today's generation."

Hundreds of question circle my mind regarding why is the Love goddess here in my room on a random Saturday afternoon when I am to leave for an outing in an hour.

"My my, did you forget about the lady in red from your visions? I am here for that only," I hear the goddess say.

She snaps her fingers and the lady in red appears on my mirror. Her face looks eerily similar to mine. I hear Devi Rati again. "Do not look away from the mirror until the lady in red disappears."

The woman looks mesmerizing. She doesn't have the perfect zero figure like models do. I see her belly rolls and love handles. There are a few stretch marks on the side of her waist where a thin chain lies. But God, the confidence on her face and eyes makes me shiver. Her eyes makes me want to get lost. This was the woman, I wanted to be and not someone who pinched at her love handles and looked up hundred ways of removing stretch marks from my hips and thighs while fretting over my slight double chin and non existent jawline.

Devi Rati speaks again. "Look at her, love. Her bold red dress stands for the feminine energy she carries within herself. Do not confuse her sensuality with lust. Her eyes are bright and playful. She needs no man no woman to tell her how gorgeous she looks or how modest she has to look. She saw you look at the 'flaws' of her form, but she is beyond flaws and perfections of the flesh. She knows the trivial nature of beauty. It only lasts until the age of youthfulness runs. But does that mean one should not appreciate beauty? Should one not wear good clothes and adorn themselves?

"They should and everyone has the right to feel good about themselves. Do not cover or hide yourself. If you love a colour, a dress or a jewel, wear it. If the world has to judge you, they would just do it for a minute and forget about you in the next minute." She picks the red lipstick from my box. "Your life is too short to be spent in worry if a boy or that old woman down the lane will call you bold for wearing a simple red shade."

She gently applies the lipstick on my lips. Her eyes meet mine and what she says next gives me goosebumps once again. "When they tell you to cover yourself on their narrowed understanding of modesty and culture, remind them about me, Rati, the goddess of Love and Beauty. Remind them of the goddesses and their sculptures from the same temples they love to visit. Remind them of apsaras and beautiful maidens who were clever, wise, knowledgeable and beautiful. Remind them of the same golden ancient culture that looked upon the female form, every female body as divine and everlasting."

The goddess makes me stand up and removes her hip belt and ties it around mine. "Do not let them dim your shine. This powerful red shade intimidates many. This power, this divinity and beauty is your reminder that we reside in you. Your body is a temple for the divine Shakti. You are the legacy of us Goddesses, queens and maidens who carried wisdom and power equally. Do not let them take away or make you hide this powerful radiance from your mind, heart, body and soul."

Rati snaps her fingers once again and the mirror shows my reflection. I am dressed in the same red saree, bold dark kohl lined eyes, red lipstick, jingling anklets and roses in my hair just like the lady in red from my dreams. She winks and says, "I not only make two people fall in love, my love. I also teach how to fall in love and admire oneself."

"Thank you, Rati..." My eyes well up with tears. It's not because I look so pretty. It's because for finally acknowledging my identity, my power and my connection with these divine women and Goddesses who have looked after me and every woman on earth. I promise myself that I shall let no one especially a man to take away my strength and pride for me, not when I carry the power of the Goddesses in my bones.

"Now now, i would hate to see that kajal drip down your eyes."

I laugh and wave at the goddess. Time to show the world sakhis!

******** ***** ****** ******** ****** ***********

Look, I am really excited for this. For a while before writing about Sarawati, I thought maybe I shouldn't write Rati because I was afraid if I would do justice to her.

But as every piece of art that I do is inspired and dedicated to the gods. Nothing of it is mine, somehow the Goddesses made me do it skskkanskakasmsmsmsks so here I am. Mein jaa rahi nahane ab :)

Tagging all of you because I want all of you to read this 🤧: @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @tumhari-bhairavi @sanskari-kanya @krishna-sahacharini @krishna-priyatama @mere-heera @morally-gayy @shut-up-rabert @arachneofthoughts @thegleamingmoon @flowerheadkiller @ketchup-jar-ka @kaal-naagin

#desiblr #hinduisim #goddesses #samridhi writes #indian gods #indian goddess #writings #devi

[my18thcenturysource]

Today we're taking a look at the costume of an OLD period film, where my interest collide: 1920s and the 18th century.

Der Rosenkavalier (1926) is based on the opera of the same name by Richard Strauss, and the music from that is what accompanies this not so silent film. Since the libretto is changed a lot from the one of the opera, the movie also includes music from Strauss' Couperin suite. It was premiered in 10th January of 1926 at the Dresden Semperoper, and Strauss himself conducted the orchestra! Isn't that super cool? You can watch it on YouTube!

The costume design for this film was by Alfred Roller, Hans Rouc, and Stefan Wessely (the three of them usually worked in Art Direction), and Ludwig Rudlof was the wig maker.

I had never thought about this film until I was reading a magazine (a new one, from 1923 LOL), and there was a little column about Jaque Catelain (who plays Octavian in this film) and it had a photo from this film. And OF COURSE that sent me to a rabbit hole. I mean, look at him (and Elly Felicie Berger):

And, now something @vinceaddams always tell us all to look at: LOOK AT THE COAT SHOULDERS!!!!!! That's so good! AND FROM 1926.

Now, I love LOVE LOVE the costumes of this film. Let's take a look!

First of all, we have not one, but TWO robes de cour with the right kind of lace sleeves! One has a more historically accurate neckline, and the general silhouette of the torso. It was worn by Huguette Duflos as the Countess Maria Theresia von Werdenberg (the Marschallin):

And the other has a more square neckline (like in a middle way between a court mantua and a robe de cour), and the torso is less accurate (she doesn't seem to be wearing the right stays, nor the dress having the proper boning), but the petticoat is SPECTACULAR (worn by Elly Felicie Berger, as Sophie):

The women have both other dresses:

A robe à la française in stripes for Sophie:

This very flammable looking for the Marschallin:

And this one is also a robe de cour (kind of?), but with a petticoat and overskirt that feels more like a robe à la française. I mean, it clearly closes on the back, so I like to think of this dress as a robe de cour.

We also see Carmen Cartellieri wearing... this... dress and a coat/robe over it. This might be the dress that looks more like a halloween costume of the whole film, but honestly, I've seen way worse lately...

Now, let's just enjoy all of the menswear. They have some funny and odd cuff choices, but the general look is WAY better than many MANY modern 18th century set films and series. But the coats, the wigs, the cravats... it is all so pretty!

Here some early 18th century wigs:

LOOK AT THE VOLUME OF THIS FROCK COAT!!! Also, I LOVE that they kept the dark coloured hair of Jaque Catelain as Octavian in some parts:

And in other parts where he's supposed to be dressed nicer, he wears a white wig. This is also my favourite suit of the film, that looks taken straight from a Barbier illustration:

Now let's look at Paul Hartman as the Marschall. The silhouette that he wears is slimmer and fitted closer to the body than the other characters, being it from later in the century.

He wears a court outfit, that has too short breeches and too straight front:

His other main look is this suit with decorative lines, that along the riding boots, gives him the appearance of strict military dude. The front is nicely curved, and even the shoulders have a structured feel that matches the character. That's good costume design, my friends.

Over this outfit, he wears a carrick (or garrick) coat and a tricorn hat:

We also have Michael Bohen (as Ochs von Lerchenau) and Karl Forest (as Herr von Faninal). Their looks are kind of mid 18th century (?) and earlier 18th century kind of mixed together. They have different lengths of waistcoats and one of their coats (the one on Karl Forest) looks earlier to me. But in this comedy of errors, both of them are supposed to be kind of silly, so I accept that they look kind of odd. Still, better than many series I've seen lately.

So, to finish this post, here are some images from the film that I didn't use complete before, but you might want to see. Enjoy:

So, what is your favourite outfit from this film?

#1920s #18th century #period drama #opera #richard strauss #der rosenkavalier #the knight of the rose #1926 #long post

[stylespotlight]

Elevate your festive style with our chic long dresses! Crafted for the modern woman, these trendy outfits blend grace with fashion-forward design. From vibrant colors to intricate details, each dress is a statement piece perfect for celebrations. Shop now and step into the festive season with confidence and style!

#Dress for women #frock suit for women #short dress #kurti dresses

[discluded]

i'd like to share my thoughts on the pfw styling...

going with what you said about MA's market reach and market value, it would make sense why Dior gives them the more "experimental" looks. we saw how a lot of (mostly) western outlets post about MA this time around because they likely saw how much reach their asian counterparts got when they posted MA before.

by giving MA the "less boring" men's looks, Dior gets to show the public their range (like how you can style their runway looks for the streets or events). from what i've observed with them in recent years, their male ambassadors tend to go with classic cuts and silhouettes, usually suits and the like.

while i prefer those looks to what we've seen recently (i liked Apo's outfit but Mile's wasn't doing it for me), i can see why a brand trying to keep relevant would want to dress two of their most popular ambassadors in their "less traditional" designs.

I like this line of thought. A lot of the criticism coming out about current collections in fashion is that they operate thematically (ie, the witch theme for this show) rather than/or more importantly push the boundaries of silhouettes and cuts in the shape of designs

that being said none of the shapes they put on Mile and Apo have ever been novel per se so much as shapes typically not done in Menswear (*edit for clarification: I mean that marrying more traditionally femme silhouettes into menswear rather than putting them into things that could be in women's collections but rebranding it with #male aesthetics like changing the colors to beige, grey, black etc. 😑)

I have a bit more to say, but I'll end with this:

"I hate the term street-wear,” says Kim Jones, who is the artistic director for Dior Men and Fendi womenswear and haute couture. “It’s not a term that I find interesting at all. You can wear couture in the street if you want.” (WSJ, Oct 2021)

and

Hype, created by purely artificial and planned scarcity, keeps the brands front and center, shielded by their vapid and hollow pieties about “democratization of fashion.”

One simple answer is, opt out. In terms of style, go your own way. Don’t let anyone, and especially anyone on Instagram, tell you what’s cool. After a withdrawal, you will find this liberating. And don’t give any validation to the hypebeast sheep. Validation is the engine that keeps the hype economy rolling and the erasure of streetwear culture along with it. Or as Bengtson emphatically put it, “If rich people need to buy expensive, rare shit to feel better about themselves or justify their obscene wealth or just flash their plumage to those who are into that kind of shit, fuck 'em. They're fucking followers themselves. Why follow them?” (The death of street-wear is a class issue, High Snobiety, April 2022)

tl;dr - imo brands are big mad that street-wear was the focal point of particularly menwear for the last 7 years and chased that trend rather than led it as has historically been the role of high fashion houses

Kim Jones in particular seems kind of big mad about it (from my perspective) and now he's trying to create an audience for looks and cuts that aren't there. there is no audience and there won't magically become one for that shapeless frock they put Mile in. street-wear didn't only lead to the democratisation of fashion, it also told people they didn't need to bow to the emperor's new clothes.

#mileapo and fashion #mileapo x dior

[le-loup-et-lion]

This black velvet evening dress was worn by Jane Johnstone (1803-1847), niece of William Jardine founder of Hong Kong merchants Jardine, Matheson & Co.

The wide neckline and short sleeves of the dress are typical of fashionable evening wear of the mid 1820s. Although it retains remnants of the high-waisted, neo-classical shape popular at the beginning of the century, its construction shows the move towards the lower waists and fuller skirts of the 1850s. The use of velvet demonstrates the trend for more sumptuous fabrics after the dominance of cotton and muslin in the previous two decades.

The death of Princess Charlotte, the only child of George IV, in childbirth in 1817 plunged the whole country into mourning and set the high standards for mourning dress of this period. Fabrics such as silk and velvet were too shiny to be worn for the first stages of mourning, however, official mourning guidelines issued by the Lord Chamberlain decreed that black velvets and silks were permissible in the third and final stage. This dress would have been worn with an evening turban, long gloves and a pelisse cloak, often lined with chinchilla fur. It is likely that it was a gift from William Jardine and was worn when mourning the death of Jane Johnstone's grandmother, Elizabeth Johnstone who died in 1825.

-Via The V&A Museum

On children's roles in mourning:

From the perspective of costume, children were required to follow the stages of mourning and wear the appropriate garments and also attend funerals. For twelve months, children were required to mourn a parent, with the first six months in dull black or crepe to show deepest mourning. For the following three months of this period, the Ordinary mourning phase meant that they could wear black silk without crepe. For the final three months, children were allowed to wear half mourning colours. In General Court mourning periods, children wore mourning according to the mandated requirements, as well as for all relatives.

During this post-1760 period, girls would wear plain silk or muslin dresses with wide sashes. Boys wore ‘skeleton’ suits with soft falling frilled collars. Under the age of six, white dresses were acceptable for boys and girls, even under deepest mourning.

Throughout the 19th century, black was still the standard of mourning, particularly for children over six, and highly required for girls. Boys would have worn white dresses trimmed with black until the age of breeching (four to six). Breeching was when a small boy wore dresses before wearing breeches or trousers and was considered more of a rite of passage, rather than an eventuality.

Mourning regulation went through different permeations in the 19th century and became longer and more rigid. It was on the 7th of November, 1817 upon the death of Princess Charlotte that Lord Chamberlain ordered official Court mourning: ‘the Ladies to wear black bombazines, plain muslins or long lawn crape hoods, shammy shoes and gloves and crape fans. The Gentlemen to wear black cloth without buttons on the sleeves or pockets, plain muslin or long lawn cravats and weepers [white cuffs] shammy shoes and gloves, crape hatbands and black swords and buckles.’ For undress wear, dark grey frock coats were permissible. The Second stage was decreed two months later, with the allowance of black silk fabric, fringed or plain linen, white gloves, black shoes, fans and tippets, white necklaces and earrings, grey or white lusterings, damasks or tabbies and lightweight silks for undress wear. Men’s dress was unchanged. The third stage allowed women to wear black silk and velvet, coloured buttons, fans and tippets and plain white, silver or gold combination coloured stuff with black ribbons. Men could wear white, gold or silver brocaded waistcoats with black suits. The rules set by Lord Chamberlain crossed Europe, the United States (from the 1860s / 70s) and colonial territories, but Court mourning was longer than General mourning. General mourning was growing in popularity due to the accessibility of mourning costume and the cost.

-Via The Art of Mourning

#historical fashion reference #children's fashion #dresses #mourning clothes #women's fashion

[tinydooms]

Today I went up to San Francisco with a couple of friends and attended a Frocktails meet-up, where a bunch of fabulously dressed women (and, like, three men)(and the handful of non-binary people who were there, too, and who out-dappered the lot of us) got together and drank cocktails and ate tiny fried chicken sandwiches and took photos of each other in our fabulous handmade clothes and discussed patterns and patterning techniques and fashion and vintage and our favorite fabric stores and also they let us bedazzle canvas bags while we did all that and I am so very, very, very happy right now. Very tired, but happy. I don't know who I loved more; the person in the teal menswear suit or the person in the cape or the woman wearing a dress made from the same fabric I made my pajamas out of or the man who looked like a reformed Peaky Blinder or the lady wearing a shocking pink frock with fishnets "because I don't know anybody here and don't feel self-conscious" and ---look, I just really love humanity sometimes, okay?

#personal #the human condition #just a bar full of sewists enjoying ourselves

[professorpski]

In the evening, for dinner, on board the greatest Atlantic liners that are patronised by wealthy and fashionable folk, the masculine passengers make a careful dinner toilet, wearing short dinner jackets with their white waistcoats, white linen and black satin neckties. If a gentleman... does not wish to don full evening dress for dinner, he may... change his sack suit for a black cutaway coat and dark grey or black trousers.*

The * then leads us to the bottom of the page where we learn that frock coats are NOT for evening wear ever, and that “Most men think is better not to dress for the evening at all if they are not in a position to assume correct evening dress,” so they wear their sack suits, or everyday suits instead.

This is from Emily Holt in 1915 in Encyclopedia of Etiquette. And money seems to be no object with her on this topic as she presumes that the men who are not in a position to put on their dinner jackets because their dinner jackets “are not at hand.” It does not seem to occur to her that anyone lacked a dinner jacket because of the cost, or that they might not own a cutaway coat. But then she was discussing rich people in this section especially.

You can see how tailored clothing which made up the bulk of the expense of men’s public clothing would act as a clear marker of class. Of course, women’s clothing did this too as not everyone could afford the most luxurious fabrics or accessories. But at least the widespread skill of dressmaking, as opposed to tailoring skills, made it possible for women to use sweat equity to make up some of the difference.

#travel clothing #travel tips #travel etiquette #history of etiquette #emily hold #encyclopedia of etiquette #1910s fashions #vintage fashions #menswear fashions #vintage menswear #fashion history #history of fashion #sewing #tailoring #dressing for dinner #ocean liners #dress history #costume history

[fadingoftheveil]

Fading of the Veil: 4

⏮ First Episode | 📃 Table of Contents

The steam from the locomotive cast a hazy veil over the platform, which was busy despite the odd hour. People in top hats and waistcoats, or voluminous dresses and feathered hats, bustle past in every direction. The scene is a riot of color and movement; the bright hues of the women’s dresses and the dark, muted tones of the men’s suits blending together in a mesmerizing dance.

Beyond them was the suspension rail. Unlike the city trolleys — which rode on a track inlaid into the road — the locomotive rode underneath its track.  Without fear of weather or traffic blocking the tracks, it was so efficient that people boasted you could tell the time by the arrival and departure of trains.

Ellamae could see a series of tubes on the locomotive engine side that glowed with the same energy that powered glowcells. It was a power source that Aldwin and his co-workers were responsible for; spending hours transferring what little magic they had into the factory machines, and yet she knew her brother would be thrilled by the technology of it.

She, on the other hand, could not help but feel a tainted by bitterness as she watched the wealthy all around her; enjoying the luxury of the train powered off the struggling lives of others.

‘Perhaps I could remember enough of it for a letter.’

Ellamae had no idea what words could describe the mechanics of what she was looking at, but she moved to take in every detail of the engine. As such, she squashed her nose right into the back of another person. The woman stumbled forward a step, and the huge arrangement of powder-blue hair on her head waved like a puff of candy-floss in a sudden wind.

“Well, I never!” The blue-puff woman snarled, swirling her heels and glaring down at Ellamae. “You need to watch where you are going! What if I had been hurt? What then?”

Ellamae meekly lowered her head in apology. They expected the tilt for someone of her class, but it also hid her features under the newsie cap her hair was crammed into. “I apologize, ma’am. This is my first time on a platform, and I am feelin' overwhelmed.”

“First time here, you say? Well, you certainly do not look like you could afford to be here yourself. Who are you here with? Where is your guardian? I would like to speak with them.”

That was not an unreasonable question, but Ellamae realized that she didn't know the answer. Fionntan Ward was nowhere to be seen in the sea of faces.

It took only a few steps into the crowd, and she had already lost him.

'Maybe I should leave,' she mused, but whatever amusement that thought brought was ruined by what the woman did next.

“I asked you a question!” Blue-puff snapped, jabbing Ellamae in the shoulder with her white-gloved finger.

Familiar burning anger lit up to protect her as Ellamae stared at the finger.

It would be oh so easy to break.

‘Just grab, and bend it back.’

Her fingers twitched eagerly.

“If you cannot produce someone, I will have no choice but to assume you stole your ticket to be here and call for assistance. Do you want that? Do you want me to scream for police? No, I bet you do not. So, one last time, where is your guardian?”

“That would be me,” Fionntan Ward’s voice said as a blur of dazzling white stepped between them. He leaned on his cane; his body positioned so squarely in front of Ellamae that she had to lean to see around his dark frock coat. "My apologies, ma'am. Has something happened with my ward? If so, I will take full responsibility."

The woman’s eyes were wide with her rage, but not for long. As soon as she took note of the patch on his shoulder, fear whitened her face and she edged back; as if the spot she had been in was now risking contamination. 

“N-no,” blue-puff stammered. “No, just see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

She spun on her heels and flounced away, her large pool of skirts swishing behind her.

Fionntan shot Ellamae an irritated glance.

"It was an accident," Ellamae said.

His hand landed between her shoulder blades, urging her forward with a firm push. 

The platform continued to buzz with activity, announcements echoing overhead. The steam train hissed like an over-sized tea kettle.

"I barely even bumped her," Ellamae snapped as they manoeuvred around families saying their goodbyes.

"I never said you did. However, it never would have happened at all if you were with me, like you are supposed to be at all times."

"Can you blame me for losing you? You're practically dressed the same as the rest of this lot; all dress shoes and top hats. I might as well 'ave been looking for a single sheep in a running herd."

He leaned in and said in a hush tone only just able to make it over the crowds; “I thought you might have run."

‘I thought about it.’

“The train distracted me,” she explained. “I thought I might try to remember it to put in a letter for my brother. ”

His eyes looked at her for no more than a moment, and his mouth pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. No words were necessary, because the message was very clear to her; Aldwin might not want to hear from her.

The surrounding people seemed to grow tenfold; all looming forms blurring past at unimaginable speeds.

There had been countless times Ellamae begged the police to let her talk to her brother, but they always refused. What if the reason was that it was Aldwin who had not wanted to...?

Within the mud of the alley, her brother looked at her with the expression of someone staring at a monster. On others, it was ignorable. On him, it was a weapon that cut cold pain into her chest with the ease of a knife.

“This is us,” Fionntan announced.

Far down the line, trailing only the caboose, stood a train car that starkly contrasted with the others. While the rest were lavishly adorned with vibrant wallpapers and scarlet curtains, this one consisted of plain wooden panels and a wall adorned with medical supplies.

In a remote corner, a silver-lined cell barely wide enough to sit in caught Ellamae's eye, briefly stirring a sense of panic. However, Fionntan guided them past it.

Entering one of the three unoccupied compartments, he gracefully placed his briefcase and cane on the shelf above the bench, then relaxed with a relieved sigh, closing his eyes.

“Close the door and sit down,” Fionntan instructed without looking to see if she complied.

Hesitantly, she did so, sliding the door shut and clicking the lock.

As she sat down, Ellamae had to stop her hands from reaching out to gather skirts that were not there. The trousers felt strange as she sank into the cushions. She didn't even have to worry about rearranging fabric for modesty reasons.

The stranger across from her remained silent, and when the train suddenly lurched forward, Ellamae gasped and clutched her seat.

As the platform with its bustling crowd slid out of view, the city of Sheeglen came into sight, still shrouded in the dark cloak of night. Perched on a sea cliff, the walled city appeared majestic. Ellamae strained her eyes but couldn't spot the stairs leading to her sea-level neighborhood.

In an instant, the train gained speed, leaving Sheeglen behind and venturing into rolling farmland.

New clothes, unfamiliar scenery, unusual transportation, and a seat with cushions more comfortable than any bed she could remember. All of this was enough to leave her head spinning, but it was only the beginning. She had tested positive for magic, witnessed a murder, and her life with her brother was... gone.

The shock that settled over Ellamae plunged her into silence.

Eventually, Fionntan — seeming content with ignoring her — roused and brought out a book, but he didn't bother to adjust the dim lamp suspended above them. Instead, raised bumps on the page awaited his touch to glide across.

As he delved into the text, Ellamae rested her head on the cool glass and watched distant twinkling lights speeding past, resembling shooting stars. With every passing moment, she felt herself growing further and further from the life she once knew.

Time allowed her overwhelming fatigue to dissolve into a deep pool of exhaustion, and her eyelids grew heavy.

Ellamae hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until a strange tingling feeling sent goosebumps prickling across her flesh jolted her awake. On her feet before her eyes had fully fluttered open, Ellamae frantically looked for the source of danger she knew was there.

The room remained unchanged, yet Ellamae's heart pounded.

‘Run.’

Fionntan halted his page-turn, fixing his gaze on her.

The train glided smoothly.

Her breath quickened, like she was in a frantic race.

‘Escape!’

The world closed in.

‘HIDE!’

The book snapped shut and was promptly discarded on the bench beside Fionntan. "Ms. Holt, it seems you may be experiencing a panic attack, but you can overcome this. Look at me. Good. Now, try to breathe with me. Take a deep—"

That's when she smelled it—a floral scent mixed with moss. Ellamae had encountered that scent before, but not here. It was from a place that couldn't exist.

‘It's too late now.’

Tearing her eyes away from Fionntan felt like breaking free from an anchor she desperately clung to, but dread compelled her to glance out the window just in time to witness the destruction.

A bolt of lightning crashed from the sky, but it didn't diminish. Instead, it lingered at the point of impact, expanding like a crack in stone.

As if seeking to contain it, a purple smoke rushed in and engulfed the spectacle.

Lightning and smoke swirled and thrashed, interweaving and compressing into a tightly wound ball of pulsing energy.

Then it exploded.

It radiated outward in a formidable wave, toppling trees and reducing houses to rubble.

Fionntan swore and grabbed her arm. 

She was wrenched to the floor as the blast tore the train apart.

Suspension Railway

The trains run on a suspension railway, which means the track is high up, and above the train rather than under it.

This train engine design was based on the designs by Raymond Loewy, specifically the PRR S1

#fadingoftheveil #gaslamp fantasy #fading of the veil #aetherpunk #ellamae #writblr #writeblr community

[irregularincidents]

While the likes of Scooby-Doo has placed the idea of folk impersonating ghosts for fun and profit in many people’s minds in the present day, a tradition of “playing the ghost“ existed in both the British Isles and Australia in the 19th and early twentieth century.

A while back I covered the case of the Hammersmith Ghost, where a borough in south London had an instance of mass-panic break out over a supposed haunting, there are in fact many, many cases from Down Under of people messing about in a similar manner.

These cases included instances as Perth’s 1882 appearance by the “Wizard Bombardier“, who for was known for wearing an ostentatious outfit of white robes and a sugarloaf hat. The Wizard’s strategy involved disorienting people with loud screams before hurling stones and other sorts of missiles at them and then running away.

Many of the ghost hoaxers were not identified, but one that was was one Herbert Patrick McLennan, who referred to himself as 'the ghost' to the press. He wore a white body suit, knee-high rubber boots, a long white frock coat, a white slouch hat with a feather, and a mask, “Haunting“ early 1900s Ballarat, the “unassuming“ clerk took the opportunity to assault and expose himself to various women, and when a reward was put out for his arrest by the cops, he threatened to shoot any policemen he saw on sight. ...He was nonetheless eventually captured and sentenced to a year in jail for his crime.

There are dozens of other examples too. Between 1880 and 1889 a woman covered in glowing paint “haunted“ a hotel and spookily played music on her guitar. Another strapped a full-size coffin to their body to give the impression they had just climbed out of their grave. In 1895, one prankster created a costume to resemble a knight and emblazoned the phrase “prepare to meet thy doom” on his armor, and would yell threats of decapitation at people to really drive the point home. One newspaper recounted a case of a woman coating herself in glowing paint to spook a Ballarat police man, but sadly I couldn’t find further details of that (below).

Wait led to this craze? Waldron, author of the article Playing the Ghost: Ghost Hoaxing and Supernaturalism in Late Nineteenth-Century Victoria, puts it down to a combination of low levels of law enforcement, increased amounts of leisure time for people living out in the Australian goldfields, and the considerable distance between the people of, say, Ballarat and centres of “religious authority“ such as larger established cities or England.

As for influences, some have said that the inspiration came from a combination of Western gothic literature mixing with the ghost stories brought over by Chinese immigrants that came over to work the goldfields. As for the average hoaxer? By reputation they were considered to be working class folk and “larrikins“ (ie gangs of mostly youths out to cause trouble and commit crimes), however, of the few that were actually arrested they were supposedly “school teachers and clerks and the like and a small number of middle-class women.”

As technology progressed, it also worked to make the costumes more spooky, with the invention of phosphorescent paint. Unfortunately, this paint had the unfortunate side-effects of eventually causing cancer, disfigurements, madness and death, so its application was a mixed bag as it were.

Much like the Hammersmith Ghost example, however, people quickly ran out of patience with the various ghosts and, well, gangs of people forming to beat the tar out of ghosts, which considering how some where jerks using it as an opportunity to hurt folk it’s not really that surprising.

Incidences of people Playing the Ghost came to an eventual stop with the outbreak of the First World War, where some 60,000 Australian soldiers died. It has been theorised by some that due to the enormous number of mass deaths even the more innocent ghost hoaxers no longer saw the humour in their pranks, and the fad just faded away on its own.

#irregular incidents #Australian History #hoaxes #ghosts #history #crime