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#Zsasz and Roman were totally together
colaghost · 3 years
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As a bisexual, watching Birds of Prey when I was still denying my bisexuality is extremely funny looking back on it now. Like every woman in that movie, was strong, beautiful, badass and the men were pretty, evil, and asshole-ish. And I somehow convinced myself that I was still straight. Like what?! I knew I liked the guys, but the girls were just jehebajdvsjsgshnssbjahebdj
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stardancerluv · 3 years
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Comfort
Summary: Reader in one case…and well Roman in the other are having rough days. So here is how those rough days are handled. Enjoy!
Had a rough go of things yesterday and needed some character comfort! Hope you all like it.
Dan Torrance
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Sighing, you trudged over to the boarding house. Using the key Dan gave you let yourself in. Seeing, he was still at the hospice. You pulled off your shoes and clothes that hung on you heavily. Going to one of his drawers, you opened it took out then pulled on one of his t-shirts and some of his extra soft pajama pants.
Closing the distance, you went over to his bed. Pulling the blankets back, you went and laid down. You pulled the blanket back. Sighing, you closed your eyes. The anguish that had filled you was lessening but still still there. A few tears, slid free from your eyes and after running down your cheeks, they came to rest on Dan’s pillow. After taking a few shaky breathes, you finally let yourself drift off to sleep.
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Dan shivered as he let himself into his apartment. Turning, he locked the door. Hung up his coat, turning he saw you and swallowed. Your sadness hung like a fog in the air. Sitting in the chair beside the door. he began to loosen the laces of one boot before pulling it off and doing the same to the other one.
He wondered what had happened to make you so sad. You had been a good spirits earlier in the day. He could reach into your mind but he chose not to. When you were awake, you could tell him. Perhaps over dinner or while you watched something comforting on tv.
As he took in the mound of discarded clothes and even how tightly wound the blanket around yourself, it was evident you had not had a good day.
With his shinning, he reached out in warmth and comfort. Easing into his bed beside you. He brushed some hair that had fallen into your face. Even in sleep you looked ill at ease. He pressed a kiss to your temple. Softly he whispered with his mind and aloud, “I’m here.”
A soft sound came from you and turned you curled up to him but still remained deeply asleep. He was glad that he could be a source of comfort even as you continued to slumber on.
I know I used the hug…but that hug looked so amazing.
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Anger
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“Come quick.” Zsasz, rasped into the phone.
You had gone out to grab a treat you and Roman loved. Fresh, warm croissants, a bowl which was the right size for the two of you and expresso. He was getting bi-weekly shot of botox to curb the chronic headaches.
Afterward, you’d sit and indulge while the rest of the world could disappear till the evening would encroach. Roman, would slip on a killer suit, a fake brilliant smile, and a pair of shades that would obscure his eyes; so no would see that the smile he gave them never reached his eyes.
Something happened. Something shattered his “me time.”
On the opposite weeks, he’d have a shave or a hair cut or get fitted for a suit. Those days, afterward, the two of you would sit, curled up on one of the many comfortable sofas or lounges and read the society pages. Genuine, laughter would come from him.
He’d share stories of how ridiculous all those people were. When he had been a kid, he had seen behind all their masks, you delighted in the stories. He’d gesture and speak with his hands and yet again, you’d see that smile that was rarely ever across his face downstairs.
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Taking the elevator, you wondered what could have destroy his mood. Mere moments ago, be had sent you off with a brief kiss on the cheek before laying down in his silken robe for the injections. His anger filled voice, greeted you before you saw him. He was raging, his blue eyes were twin flames. Your heart sank.
“Roman, I’m back.” You held up the bag and the covered cups that barely contained, the rich delicious scent of the expresso. “I got the tiramisu and croissants!”
You hazarded a glance. A put out looking Canary, rose an eyebrow as she looked at you. You shrugged. Zsasz, who had always had a flair for calming before you entered Roman’s life looked at a loss at what to do. When he looked your way, you gave him a half smile.
“You’re fucking back?” Roman, turned grabbed a pillow; his robe flapping around him.
You nodded.
“Fuck this, I don’t want any of that right now. Get the fuck out of here.” He snarled. His features rough.
When he had first pushed you away so angrily it had hurt. You ran and even thrown the goodies on the floor as tears had prickled your eyes. But now, you knew better.
You still couldn’t exactly dodge the pillows he threw. This one hit you square in the stomach, you wavered a little where you stood but you kept the expresso and bag of goodies safe.
“Roman, she only….” Zsasz’s voice trailed off as Roman grabbed another pillow.
“You two, get the fuck out of here too!” He held up the pillow.
An idea sparked in your as you watched him clutched and moved the new pillow in his hands. Putting, everything down you grabbed the forgotten pillow that had come to rest at your feet.
You walked over to where Roman stood.
“Oh Roman.” You said softly.
Turning, his anger still prevalent as it kept his features sharp. “Didn’t I tell you to fucking leave?” The edge was there but actually wasn’t as sharp. You could do it.
Quickly, you glanced, towards Canary and Zsasz, you gestured as if to say, I got this. You two can leave Zsasz hesitated but he left when you nodded.
That’s when you did it. You threw your pillow at him. It totally confused him. He dropped the pillow he had been holding. “What? What the fucking are you doing?”
You smiled and snatched, one of the pillows at his feet. “Throwing a pillow back at you.” You said simply.
“Don’t think I can’t land one harder.”
“Oh really? Do I get a running start?” You asked a playfulness entering your voice.
“I’d fucking run now.”
“Ok!” You ran just past him and grabbed another pillow.
Running again, you looked over your shoulder and watched as he aimed and threw.
Damn, moments later it got you square in the shoulder. An umph, came from you. He had been write it hit harder. “Hey that wasn’t much of a running start.”
“I never fucking promised anything.”
That’s when you threw yours. He dodged it.
“All you can do?”
“No!” But you grabbed and began running again.
Taking one of the other hallways you figured you could creep around and get him by surprise him.
You were rounding the corner, you glanced over your shoulder and didn’t see him. A tingle of victory began to fill you. But when you turned back to look in front of you, he was right there.
It so startled you, that you screamed.
He chuckled. Both of your hands lowered as you looked at each other.
********
A few fallen pillows were around the two of you, as you both were eating from the tiramisu. The croissants were already a distant memory.
When his feature were completely soft and there was even a twinkle that came from his eyes, you finally asked. You rested your head on his shoulder as you handed him back the spoon.
“What happened?”
He inhaled but then he exhaled. You glanced at him from through the strands of your hair.
He dipped the spoon in and enjoyed a good spoonful.
“Harleen Quinzel.”
You pressed your lips together. You knew not to ask for anything further. Her name spoke volumes.
Not wanting to remove your head from his shoulder you had to. If the two of you were going to enjoy the expresso, you had to. You handed him, his first.
He took a sip and slid you a look, a smile tugging on his lips. “Rematch?” He eyed one of the pillows that was the closest to the two of you.
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littleoddwriter · 3 years
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Hiya! Your prompt list interested me and I would like to request you a Zsaszmask story with Dialogue Prompt n°5 "I wasn't sure your remembered me". Plot: During a fight with a rival gang, Victor gets knocked out and suffered amnesia. It hurts Roman who tried everything to help him. Angst+happy ending would be nice. I am sure it will be brilliant as always! Thanks in advance and have a nice day!
Remember Me | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask
Hiya! <3 Thank you so much for this delightful request! It's totally run away from me, istg (it's over 4k words long, rip). I really hope you enjoy what I've done with it!
summary; see above.
notes; Angst with Happy Ending; Amnesia; Hospitals; Recovery; Mentions of Murder and Fantasies of it; Mentions of having been stabbed and shot; probably bad depiction of how hospitals and such work despite the medical dramas i've watched.
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Stupid fucking rival gangs. He wished he could kill them all over again.
Stupid fucking Victor Zsasz. He was always so fucking loyal and protective.
Fucking hell!
Fuck!
Roman was fuming; his blood was still boiling, thrumming through his body in high speed, making him tremble. Although to be fair, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was only shaking because of his rage. It might have also been caused by the fear that’s settled deep into his bones.
Fear! He, Roman Beauvais Sionis, the notorious Black Mask – scared! It was laughable, really.
It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Victor’s blood was all over his clothes.
It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Zsasz was lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes attached to him, looking so lifeless.
Because yes, it was scary, indeed.
Roman thought even the cruellest people in the world would agree that the uncertainty of whether or not the person you cared about the most was coming back to you at all or not, warranted such feelings of fear. It was perfectly fine.
If only it didn’t feel so wrong.
If only he didn’t feel like ripping his own heart out, so he could make these emotions stop.
That’s one of the many reasons that he despised just how close he was to Victor, how close he let him get.
He’s always known that someday, he may as well lose him one way or another.
And then what?
He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
The strangest thing of all to him, in this very moment that he’s been sitting on the hospital chair next to Victor’s bed, was that he hasn’t left that spot even once so far. He was too scared to move. He felt as though the second his eyes left Zsasz’s shape, he would suddenly disappear. Because right now, he was still here. He was still alive, if only just barely, but he was still here.
He hadn’t even dared to change his clothes, the dried blood making them crusty and uncomfortable. It was disgusting and under any other circumstances he would have gone to change the second he had been out of danger.
Yet, here he was.
If only Zsasz knew just how much he actually cared about him.
Thinking about it though, he probably did. He seemed to know Roman better than he knew himself. Sometimes that scared him, but most of the time it only lit this raging fire inside him. He couldn’t stand the way he depended on this one person.
It was dangerous.
He couldn’t help himself, though. He’s tried before, but every time it led him right back to Zsasz. A strange pull kept hold of him, not letting him get out of Victor’s magnetic field under any circumstances.
Roman knew that Zsasz would probably say that it was some kind of fate thing. Destiny. They were meant to be together from the day they’d been born, only to wreak havoc on Gotham the way they’ve been doing ever since.
It was kind of charming, really, that Victor was so set on his theories about the universe. Sionis never questioned that Zsasz might have a point, considering that his purpose was to free all these birds from their cages, but he often failed to extent his belief in Victor’s theories to themselves.
Until now, at least.
The way he’s been feeling since Victor got knocked out, stabbed, and shot made him unsure of everything, now.
Because it truly felt as though with the very real notion of possibly losing his Victor, he’s suddenly felt so lost. Incomplete. It was as though with every action the rival gang’s taken, another part’s been ripped out of his body, his heart – his very soul.
It was absolutely horrific and now he could only hope that Zsasz would wake up again, without any permanent damages. He didn’t know what he would do if there were any at all. Would he rage? Mourn? Kill? He just hoped he’d never have to find out at all.
Several weeks later – fifty-six days, in fact – Roman sat in his chair beside Victor’s bed, like he’s done day and night since it had first happened.
Of course, he had changed out of his clothes after the first night, showered and slept, but he’s done it all in Zsasz’s hospital room. He didn’t dare leave him.
All business was done over the phone, or by meetings in Victor’s room. It wasn’t the most convenient situation. It also left him exposed, seemingly weak, and he’s made certain that they all knew that if they so much as thought of him as any less dangerous and cruel, they’d be dead faceless men. They seemed to have taken his threats seriously enough. At least nothing has come up so far.
After a while, Roman has started to hold Victor’s right hand in both of his, stroking his thumb over his palm, his wrist – tracing the only scar he found there. He even talked to him. The doctors have said that often times it helped to talk to a coma patient, that they’ve woken up earlier than expected – or at all – when they’ve been spoken to. So he had muttered about the incident that even got them there in the first place, but as time has passed, he just started talking about everything and nothing.
In rare moments of sentimentality, he’d even go on about how much he missed Victor, how scared he felt, even after weeks. Maybe especially because it’s been weeks – almost two months– now. He was so afraid that perhaps Zsasz wouldn’t wake up after all. The doctors have certainly never given him a clear answer.
Lost in his musing, he felt Victor’s hand, which has been still enveloped by both of his, twitch.
He immediately held completely still, not even breathing, as he looked at Zsasz curiously, expectantly.
“Zsasz?” he rasped, sounding so small to his own ears that he cringed internally.
The hand twitched again, fingers clenching and releasing around Roman’s hand.
“Victor, hey. Come back to me, hm?” he spoke softly, a nervous smile twisting his mouth upward.
After a few more moments, Victor’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, he seemed to adjust to the bright lights in the room. Clearing his throat and groaning quietly, he sluggishly turned his head to the side, his eyes meeting Roman’s.
As soon as he had taken him in, Victor’s eyes widened.
Roman felt confusion coursing through him.
Zsasz looked – scared? Confused as well? He certainly didn’t look very happy to see Roman alive and well next to him.
“Who are you?”
The world seemed to stop around Roman; his heart was pounding, feeling it in his throat. He was kidding. He had to be.
“Excuse me?” Roman inquired instead, giving Zsasz a chance out of this uncalled for joke.
“Who are you?” Victor repeated, his voice still hoarse and broken, but louder. He looked so genuine, too.
An icy chill settled in Roman’s stomach, spreading through his entire body.
“Now’s really not the time for jokes, Mr. Zsasz,” Sionis reprimanded him, trying once more to make Victor react differently and say he’s only been kidding after all, before he called a doctor in panic.
But then Victor pried his hand out of Roman’s tight grip and said, “I’m really not joking, sir.”
Okay, maybe he really wasn’t, because Victor’s certainly never called him ‘sir’ outside of sex; even then, it was a rare occurrence.
Sionis took a deep breath and then leaned over to press the call-button, hoping the doctors – who were all on his pay roll, of course – would have an answer that was at least mildly satisfactory.
No such luck, though.
The doctors came in and asked Roman to step outside first, so they could check Victor over.
In front of his room, Sionis started pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration, anxiety, and rage. He was trying so hard not to explode; it made him tremble all over again. He felt exactly like he had when they had first come into the hospital nearly two months ago.
This was just a really bad fucking nightmare. It had to be.
When the doctor and his nurses were done checking him over, they asked Roman back into the room. He’s kept his distance now, not daring to come any closer to Victor, his Victor.
“You said you don’t know who this is?” the doctor – whatshisname – inquired calmly, looking at Victor, but pointing at Roman.
“Yeah, no idea,” Victor replied, his voice started to sound clearer, which only made it so much worse for Roman when he couldn’t detect any underlying inflection that may have told him that this really was just a prank after all.
“But you do know who you are, correct? Do you know your name?” the doctor continued, looking at Roman, a hint of fear in his eyes. He hated it. He wanted to gouge them out, so he didn’t have to see the fear anymore. Instead, he just looked away, staring at Victor intently.
“I know who I am, yeah. Name’s Victor Zsasz.”
“Alright. Could you tell me what year we have, Mr. Zsasz?”
His brows furrowed, deep in thought, and then, “2002.” Fuck.
The doctor stopped short, Roman’s hands clenched into tight fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking audibly in the all too quiet room.
“I’m sorry to say it, but it is actually 2019. Do you have any idea why you’re in the hospital at all?”
Victor’s eyes widened again, just like when he’s spotted Roman for the first time a little while ago.
“That can’t be right. No, I don’t remember that. What the hell’s going on, Doc? What did you do to me?” The last part was directed at Roman, who felt as though his heart’s been stabbed, ripped out and stomped on with those words and the accusatory delivery of them.
“Mr. Sionis, I’d have to ask you to wait outside until I’m done here, please,” the doctor said.
Without another word and as if he was on autopilot, Roman let himself out of the room and sat down in the chair in front of it, burying his head in his hands. This couldn’t possibly be true. He had to wake up from this horrible nightmare, soon. He just had to.
After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back outside.
“Mr. Sionis, it looks as though Mr. Zsasz suffers from amnesia. It was most likely caused by the blow to his head.”
“But he’ll be fine, right? Amnesia is only temporary. Right?” Roman hated that he couldn’t hide the anxiety he felt, the utter dread.
“Not always. We’d have to do some more tests, CTs and such, to make sure. After that I can disclose more certain information to you. Would that be alright?”
Sionis sighed, frustrated, “Yes. Do whatever you’ve got to, as long as it’ll help bring him back to normal.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll go and order the tests right now. I’d suggest that you go home now. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any new information, but it certainly wouldn’t do any good to confuse Mr. Zsasz even further now, when we barely know what’s really going on. Alright? I promise to be fast.”
“You better be,” Roman muttered and turned to leave the hospital, his driver waiting a couple of blocks away from it.
Normally, he’d have been raging now, throwing things, spitting into doctors faces, cussing them out – but he couldn’t.
He was in shock.
He could barely process the reality of what was even happening.
He felt so alone.
Two days later, in which he might’ve gone a little mad, really, his doctor finally called him. When he’s come in to see him, he’s told him that Victor did indeed only suffer from temporary memory loss. Unfortunately, such amnesia was quite unpredictable and it could be a few days, weeks, months, or even years until all memories were back.
Still, the good news were that the doctor has managed to warm up Zsasz to the idea of going back to living with Roman, after assuring him that it’s been this way for many years, now. To that Victor had first asked if he was gay, because apparently at that point in his life, Zsasz hadn’t had a clue about his sexuality, or that he could truly like anyone at all.
All of this was utterly ridiculous to Roman.
How can a person just lose access to such a big portion of their life, of their identity, essentially?
The same day that Roman’s received the news, he was also allowed to take Victor back home with him, already. Apparently his wounds had healed a great deal, while he’d been out, and so the rest could be done from home. Additionally, it’d be extremely beneficial to bringing his memories back if he was surrounded by things so familiar to him.
Roman hoped it worked fast.
“I had your old room prepared for you,” Roman commented when they’ve finally arrived back at the penthouse.
Victor was holding himself up with a hand on the wall. He hadn’t liked when Roman touched him and offered him to support him. Sionis couldn’t really find words for just how much he’s hated that.
“’Old room’? What’s with my new one?” Victor asked, almost looking like a caged animal, when their eyes met.
“Well, I had thought you wouldn’t want to sleep in one bed with me, right now,” Roman replied, hoping he’d catch on without needing him to spell it out for him.
Realisation dawned on him quickly, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “Right.”
“Exactly. Anyway, so this is your room, there’s an en-suite bathroom, through that door,” Roman explained, showing Victor around. He was glad that he was such a natural at these things, it eased him a little, bringing back some much needed familiarity.
“Huh, compared to the shithole I used to live in, this is really luxerias.”
“Luxurious,” Roman corrected him without thinking.
“Uh-huh, whatever,” Victor just muttered darkly.
“Dinner will be ready at 6pm sharp. Until then you can- I don’t know, stay in bed, I suppose. If you should need anything, or you’re having an emergency you can either call for my staff, or me; whichever you prefer.” Fuck, Roman really hated just how much he cared about this asshole. He’d never do this for anyone else. If it had been anyone else, Roman would have dropped them – killed them – the second they had to have been rushed to the fucking hospital.
“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Sionis,” Zsasz said, gingerly sitting down on his bed.
“Just call me Roman, Zsasz.” Or boss, he added in his mind, but didn’t dare to speak it.
When he left Victor’s room, he stalked into his own, silent tears gathered in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
He just wanted his Victor back.
Dinner was awkward to say the least. Victor sat in his usual place at the head of the table, to Roman’s right, and he ate just like he always did – like a fucking pig. But he didn’t talk to Roman at all, even when he had tried to start up a conversation. Instead, he only side-eyed him, looking suspicious of him. It enraged Roman.
In the morning, Victor didn’t show up for breakfast.
After a few minutes of waiting for him to come, Roman got up to look after Zsasz. His first thoughts had been that perhaps something’s gone wrong and Victor died in his sleep, but when he opened the door to his room – after knocking first, of course, he wasn’t a savage after all – Zsasz glared at him so darkly that an unpleasant shiver ran down Roman’s spine.
So he didn’t try to force him out if he didn’t want to. His doctor had told him to give him time and be patient with him, so he tried his fucking best to do exactly that. It was really fucking hard, though. He hoped that Zsasz would at least appreciate his efforts properly, when he was all his again.
In the end, Victor hasn’t come out of his room at all that day. It was extremely frustrating to Roman, who proceeded to trash his own room at night, when it had all just come to a head for him. He didn’t care if Victor could hear him scream and throw things, destroying them.
The day after, Victor sat at the breakfast table first, to Roman’s surprise. Sionis didn’t say anything, even though he so desperately wanted to make a snide remark, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk of having Zsasz lock himself into his room, again.
“The doc said that showing me some things could jog my memory,” Victor rasped eventually, when Roman had been ready to get up and leave.
“I know. So you’re willing to do that?” He only received a nod in response.
For a moment, Roman mulled it over, thinking about what he could show Victor to help him remember his life the best and the fastest.
Then it hit him.
Zsasz didn’t remember him. Well, maybe he would if he saw Roman wearing his Black Mask in the club they’ve first met, when Galante introduced them to each other.
“Alright, I’ve got something to show you. I’ll just make a phone call and we could go, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, alright.”
Roman had made sure that Victor wouldn’t see him in the Black Mask until they were to re-enact their first meeting – only that this time they’d be all by themselves.
He really hoped this worked.
Roman told Zsasz to stand in the same spot he’s stood when Black Mask had first stridden in to greet Galante. Just like he’s done with Sionis since, he’d stood leaned against a pillar. Usually his arms would be behind his back, but it would put too much strain on the still tender wounds on his abdomen, so he just let them dangle at his sides. Roman felt a painful tug on his heart strings. He had missed seeing Victor like this.
“Wait here,” he instructed Zsasz, who just nodded.
Then Roman went back to the car and got out his Black Mask and put it on.
“If this doesn’t fucking work…,” he muttered gloomily, before he opened the empty club’s door to walk in, like he’s done all those sixteen years ago.
As much as he hated admitting it, he was lucky that the mask gave him such a sense of security and protection, so that whenever he wore it, he practically became a different person. It made it a lot easier to hold himself with all the extravagance and intent that he’s displayed over a decade and a half ago (and every other day before all this), too.
He watched Victor like a hawk as he marched up to him, and Zsasz’s gaze was just as sharp and piercing as was his.
Black Mask stopped right in front of Zsasz, only a few inches away. He tilted his head a little, and gruffly inquired, “Anything at all, Mr. Zsasz?”
Victor swallowed thickly; Roman could see the way his throat worked around it. Then his eyes widened again, just like in the hospital, but this time recognition lied underneath his sharp gaze.
“Black Mask,” he whispered, a grin spread on his face, showing off his two beautiful golden teeth.
Sionis inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” he rasped, a soft, sad inflection coming along with it.
“I’m so sorry, boss.” Victor lifted his hands and cupped the mask with them, oh, so gently. He’s always known to be careful with it. Then he stroked his thumbs over the seams and the roughly textured leather, a wonder in his eyes that Roman’s missed seeing more than he’d ever dare to admit.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Zsasz,” Black Mask said, his voice strained from holding back. He didn’t know just how much Victor remembered now. They obviously haven’t been more than employer and employee from the get-go.
But fuck, he wanted to hold him close and kiss him so badly. It’s been far too long since and all the hospital stress has made him desperate for the assurance that Victor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Still, he just stood there, watching Zsasz marvel at his mask for a while. Victor’s always loved his mask, and Roman couldn’t ever deny him from admiring it, when it was such a boost to his ego as well.
When it felt as though fifteen minutes must have passed, Roman got a little impatient, though. Victor’s not said anything since and he needed to know what other memories he’s gotten back; so he asked, “What else do you remember?”
Zsasz’s eyes were glazed over a little, having gotten completely lost in his own little world.
Under the mask, Roman smiled.
“Hm, I remember the Bertinelli Massacre,” the way he talked – it was a testament to just how far away into his mind he’s just gone, his voice sounded so light, pondering, Roman loved it, “And I remember you coming to Galante afterwards and buying my contract from him. How I became your exclusive assassin and later right-hand man. I remember how nervous you were about opening the club after your parents had just kicked you out. I remember how ecstatic you were when it had all started to work out in your favour, the way it should have.”
He paused.
Roman almost thought that had been it. They would have to wait for everything else to come back, too. And then who knew how long it’d take?
But then Victor continued with a smile on his face, “I remember the first time we’ve gotten each other off after I freed someone for you. And how you avoided me afterwards for a little while, so angry that you’ve given in to your urges. Then I remember how we just went from there. How we share a bed now, even though you hated it so much at first, but you can’t sleep anymore when I’m not there. And I remember just how close you are to owning Gotham the way you were always meant to do.” Zsasz ended it by kissing the mask’s teeth, like he would do so often.
Roman’s breath audibly stuttered. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, careful not to squeeze, just holding onto him gently.
“Take my mask off,” he commanded.
With a cute little pout, Victor did as he was told and gently took off Roman’s Black Mask, setting it down on the table beside them. As soon as he’s done that, Roman captured Victor’s pretty, plush lips in a searing kiss that conveyed all the emotions that have plagued him for almost two months then. Zsasz reciprocated it just as enthusiastically, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. They both groaned into the kiss.
Their mouths open, Roman immediately plunged his tongue into his partner’s mouth, tasting and exploring him again after so long. It may have been the most amazing and intoxicating thing he’s ever experienced.
After a couple of minutes, they separated, although their noses still brushed against one another, their lips just barely apart at all.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, baby,” Roman murmured, pressing another small kiss to Victor’s slack lips.
Zsasz smiled, “I know. I missed you, too. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.”
“Shut the fuck up, it wasn’t your fault, ‘kay? I’m just glad you’re back and all mine again. You are, aren’t you, Victor? All mine?”
“I sure am, boss. All yours. Only yours.”
Roman smiled, kissing Victor once more, a relieved sigh leaving him. He was beyond happy he’s gotten him back. He truly had no idea what he would have done if that hadn’t happened. Those past two months had been the worst of his entire life, he was sure of it.
“Never do that to me again. You hear me?”
“Never. I promise.”
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THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.
—part ii.
word count: 9.2k
rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.
warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.
notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.
special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!
and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3
Roman did not like sharing his things.
It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.
So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.
Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.
More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?
This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.
Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?
Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.
He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.
The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.
So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).
Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”
Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.
“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”
The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.
“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.
Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”
Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”
There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?
“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”
His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”
There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.
Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.
“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”
“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”
He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.
Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.
“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”
He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.
“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.
But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.
He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?
He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.
And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.
“—stairs, my darling?”
Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.
Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”
Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.
“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”
Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”
“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”
“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”
What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?
“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”
With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.
“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.
“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”
“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”
Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.
“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.
And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.
“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”
“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”
“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.
“Roman?”
“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”
A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”
“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”
When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.
“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”
“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.
He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”
“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”
“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”
Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.
The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.
But there was only one man he wanted to see.
Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.
“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”
Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.
“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”
“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”
“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”
“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well just say you’ll do it.”
“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”
Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.
“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”
“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”
The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.
“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”
“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.
“The surest.”
It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”
A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”
“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”
The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?
Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.
“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”
“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”
Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.
“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”
The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”
“Good man.”
It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.
Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.
He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.
“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”
“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”
A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”
“Was it chocolate?”
“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”
“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”
He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.
“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”
Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”
“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”
“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”
Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.
“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.
“Oh. Of course.”
“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”
“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”
Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”
Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.
“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”
“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”
The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.
“—pass with flying colors.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.
It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.
Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).
“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”
To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.
“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.
“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”
She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.
He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”
“I did not notice.”
“No?”
Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.
“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”
There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.
“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”
“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”
“I think he is boring.”
“Well, I could have told you that.”
A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”
“My man, is he?”
“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”
“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”
Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”
“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”
“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”
“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”
“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”
“You see? That is already too much.”
“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”
Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”
“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”
“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”
It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?
Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.
“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.
“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”
The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?
She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.
And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.
“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”
Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”
The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.
“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”
“Varya.”
“Surely you do not mean to.”
“V,” he snapped.
“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”
The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”
Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”
Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”
“Yes,” Varya replied.
“No,” Roman insisted.
“Romy, there’s a guest.”
“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.
“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.
Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”
“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”
Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.
And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.
From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.
“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”
He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”
“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”
Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?
Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.
“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.
When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”
Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”
Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.
“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”
His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.
“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.
“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”
He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.
“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”
Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”
The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?
These things take patience.
Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.
The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.
He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?
“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”
“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”
“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.
And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.
“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”
“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.
“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.
The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”
He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.
Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.
“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”
Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.
“What?” he asked flatly.
“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”
Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.
“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”
“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”
Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.
“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”
“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?
“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”
“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”
Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?
“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”
“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”
Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—
Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?
“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”
“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”
“Me?” he asked.
“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”
He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?
It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.
“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”
“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?
He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”
Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”
Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”
Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”
“I do not think so.”
“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”
A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.
“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”
Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”
“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.
“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.
Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”
He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”
“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”
“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”
The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.
“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”
Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.
“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”
He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.
“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”
Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.
“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”
“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”
The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.
“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”
And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.
Roman sighed, quite pleased.
Back to normal.
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thornfield13713 · 3 years
Note
Could I ask for more Earth-37? Maybe some Roman stuff?
Certainly!
So. My other favourite Roman. 
I’m going off three sources in particular here - Under the Red Hood, Birds of Prey and Batwoman. They don’t go together particularly well, but they’re my three favourite incarnations of the character, so that’s where I’m working from.
Roman is a relative latecomer to the Gotham criminal underworld, showing up about ten years after Superman’s first appearance, by which point the Gotham criminal underworld is pretty solidly dominated by the Rogues, and traditional organised crime by the Penguin. Sure, there are a few sad remnants of older, more traditional crime families still hanging around, but they are, very much, yesterday’s men. This is part of what Roman uses to build his power base, as he has a way of combining modern-style supervillainy with traditional mob activity that appeals a lot to disaffected former mobsters who want to feel like somebody again, but don’t fit in that well with the rising Cobblepot crime family.
Roman and Bruce were not, exactly, childhood friends. They were childhood acquaintances who tended to gravitate to one another at fancy parties they were both a bit too young for mostly out of self-defence. They don’t get on brilliantly as adults, partly because lies, masks and personas are something that really, really annoy Roman when he has to deal with people socially. Sure, he’s fine with over-the-top supervillain personas and physical masks, but people putting up a façade of being a totally different person to who they really are for social acceptability is one of those things that will immediately set off his temper, and that is volatile enough already. 
While not unintelligent, Roman’s education was rather hampered by his parents’ focus on appearances above all else, and their habit of writing off anything short of perfection as a bad job. Whenever Roman did badly academically, his parents would simply pay off the school to ‘amend’ his grades and berate him privately for failing them, and utterly refused to get him tutors or any other sort of help, for fear that it would embarrass the family if any of it got out. This pattern continued into business school, and is probably the main reason Roman’s company crashed and burned within a few years of his parents’ ‘tragic deaths’ in a fire.
One of his first criminal ventures was gladiatorial pit-fighting in his club, Sionis Underground. This started out as a way of recruiting capable minions for the fledgling False Face Society, but after a while it became pretty clear that it was also a good source of income, and one that Roman found personally entertaining, and so became a mainstay of his criminal empire. He’s not quite as well-known for it as Roulette, largely due to having his share of other ventures, but his pit-fights are well-known to include fights against dangerous creatures, metahumans, and to sometimes go to the death.
Despite his violent temper, there are three people Roman has never lashed out against physically, and never will. These people are: Victor Zsasz, his minion/pet serial killer/human comfort blanket; Ms Li, the woman who handles the business side of his criminal empire without whom he would be lost; his daughter Circe, whom he is determined to be better to than his parents were to him, even if he hasn’t got much of an idea of how to do it.
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queenofgotham800 · 4 years
Text
Kitty-Cat
(Roman Sionis x Reader x Victor Zsasz)
Requested by: @oneandonlyizabelle
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(A/n): I'm sorry this took me so long. I hope you will enjoy it 💜🐈
Warnings: Gramatical Errors, Swearing, Blood, Death
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This is story of one kitten, who got lost from her owner. Here on streets, she was free, even tho she missed food, milk and of course her owner. Streets of Gotham City were huge, It wasn't like her little home.
That day, she was seraching some food, close to Black Mask club. In her world it was nothing, but another building in Gotham City.
Her eyes were looking on doors of that building, which suddenly opened. She wanted to run away, but her curiosity made her stay.
You came outside of the Black mask club sitting on stairs, pouring milk to few bowls, putting them on ground like every day. The cats were curious and thirsty, but only one of them came to you. She was black with scar through her eye. It reminded you Victor, and you smiled. Kitten was purring and you smiled, stroking her fur on head.
"Hey kitten, you came here again?" you smiled and opened the doors letting her into the club.
Little kitten was totally feeling out of her place, mostly becouse these buildings were just some background for her, and now they took whole another meaning to her. She sat in front of the doors, waiting for you.
"Aww, you are so cute," you held her up, carrying her through the club like a baby, looking for Roman and Victor.
"Darling? Look at this baby, she is so cute," you said, comming closer to Roman, who was dealing with some business, talking with two mans, that looked angry, becouse of you interupted their meeting.
You handed the cat to Roman, who was unsure if he should take her on his suit or bath her first.
"So... That's the cat..," Roman said, refusing to touch her. "Yeah.. Sorry about that by the way," you smirked as you thought at the accident that happened yesterday. Roman accused Victor of stealing milk from his fridge, and they had serious argument about it. Then you came and explained to them both, that you gave it to cats on streets.
"Look how cute is she," you smiled and said, "Pleaseee."
The two gangsters next to him were nervous, giving you ugly glares, which you ignored.
"Love, she is very cute, indeed, but i have some work to do," Roman leaned closer to you and whispered, "Those guys are big Tim and bigger Jim, and they are very dangerous honey."
"Then be safe," you said, giving him kiss.
"That's enough," big guy Tim behind Roman standed and pointed a weapon on him. Roman sighed and smiled, "and this is why I wanted to do the business in my warehouse," he turned to them, expecting Victor to appear from nowhere. But he didn't, you didn't see his blond hair, that you loved so much.
"Where is Victor?" Roman rolled his eyes, turning back to you.
"I have no idea, I couldn't find him in club.." you mumbled.
"I said that's enough!" shouted Tim again. Crowd of people was watching you with interest. They weren't afraid, they were just curious. In the crowd was surely many people who wanted Roman dead.
Then you did something unexpected. You stood in front of the guy with weapon, Roman was behind you. "Babe, stop it," he wanted to stop you, but you already pushed your head towards the gun.
"What? Are you going to shoot me or not," you laughed, watching his confused expresion.
"No, no way, nobody is gonna get hurt in my club and especialy not my girlfriend," Roman said, slowly catching your shoulder.
"No," second gangster Jim came to Roman, pointing a gun against his head too.
"As you wish," Tim said to you, ready to pull the trigger.
Suddenly the cat jumped from your arms on big Tim's face, who didn't responded fast enough, and simply forgot he is holding a gun, letting the trigger go, falling on the floor with little cat on his face.
He screamed and you felt Roman's hands pulling you closer, to the safe space as bigger Jim ran to help his brother.
"Don't move Tim, i'm gonna shoot that fucking thing from your face!" Jim screamed, aiming with the gun on little kitten.
"No!" you reached for the plate, on which were three drinks. As you took it, three glasses felt down, spilling the alcohol on floor, breaking. You didn't cared, and neither did Roman. Bigger Jim, was big, for sure, but not that tall you wouldn't reach his head. Roman smiled, watching you smacking the iron plate through the head of bigger Jim. Roman could swear he heared his head crack.
"Ugly piece of shit," you mumbled as Jim felt on ground, possibly dead. Then you came and took the kitten from Tim's face. "Ewww.. Roman, call somebody to clean this mess," you said as you saw the Tim's eyes. He was alive, breathing, screaming. His eyes were full of blood, which was running down on the floor like a river. "Yeah, sure, ehm.. Waitress?" he stopped some waitress and told her to clean bloody floor together with bartender.
"Well, now I'm scared," Roman came to you still refusing to look at the cat, while she angrily hissed at him. "But she is so cute," you smiled, but Roman looked concerned. "Babe, please, don't do this again.." he said, holding your cheek. You catched his hand and kissed it, "What else should I do? Watch how is somebody every day pointing a gun at you? I am tired of it... And I still love saving you," you whispered to him and he licked his lips at the thought of you saving him. It was a secret, which only you and Victor knew about. Roman was dominant, but from time to time he loved to be submissive one too.
"I should look for Vic," you said, "if he's not here, he will be upstairs."
"Kay, we will meet in the dining room, when dinner comes," Roman smiled, kissing you, "I ordered some pizza, I know you and Victor love it, " Roman watched you leave with kitten, upstairs to your shared apartment.
"Victor? Vic? Are you here?" you shouted through the apartment. At first it was quiet, and then Victor finaly shouted back, "Yeah princess, but you will have to find mee," you rolled eyes and listened to his humming melody of some song. "I have a surprise for you," you said, loudly, so he could hear you. "You do? I have too," Victor's voice was close.
You stopped next to doors, leading to the little room, which Victor used like workshop, to modify weapons. You knocked, "Can i go in?" you asked.
"Yes," he said and you opened the doors. His workshop was a mess of iron, steel, gun powder. Many guns were laying on floor and you nearly tripped over them.
"Look, I made you new knif.." he said, and then his eyes moved from you, to the cat. He was surprised and the cat hissed at him. Victor smile dissapeared as you came closer to him, giving him the cat.
"No, No, princess please don't.." he backed with worried look.
"Oh, C'mon, she was outside i brought her that milk from our fridge," you smiled and Victor lifted eyebrows. "So, this is the little kitten," he mumbled and tried to stroke her head. Kitten hissed at him again and scratched him. "Auch," Victor pulled away his hand. "Baby, we don't do this, okay, not to Victor and not to Roman," you turned kitten to your face and scolded her. "Sorry, Vic, she is just scared a bit." you turned to Victor.
"Scared, huh? Take the knife, I made it for you," Victor said, giving you the sharp knife.
"Oh, thank you so much," you put kitten down on floor, took the knife from Victor and tried some tricks with it.
"What is on dinner?" Victor asked and you smiled. "I am preparing dinner tomorrow love, today it's Roman's turn." you said and kissed him.
Breakfasts and lunches were prepared by servant's which worked for Roman, but dinner was special. Every day, one of you prepared the table and choosed the food, it was nice habit that you three had.
While was Roman preparing the table, setting up some candles, Victor came to him and asked.
"What's on dinner?"
Roman looked at him and smiled, "Pizza."
"Sorry about that.. You know.. The thing yesterday," Roman apologized.
"About.. That milk from fridge?" Victor asked with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah," Roman mumbled as he lit up the last candle.
"You don't have to be sorry, by the way did you saw the little kitten, with scar on her eye?" Victor asked him, "(Y/n) brought it here today, she looked happy with it."
"That kitten?" Roman asked scared, "Please tell me it's not in my.. our club," Roman shouted.
"I have no idea actually, (y/n) was at my workshop and she put her on floor. After that, she left and the kitten left too, I don't know," Victor caught his head.
"That kitten is not a kitten, it is a beast! You didn't saw what it done to big Tim. His eyes ended up on the fucking floor!" Roman was stressing and came to his sofa, turning to Victor.
"Victor, don't move," Roman said pointing behind Zsasz.
"What?" Victor asked and wanted to turn but Roman stopped him.
"Just. Don't move, kay?" Roman whispered this time.
You were tired, after you stopped in Victor's workshop, you went down to club to have some fun.
"Dinner should be ready in five minutes, I should go," you mumbled to yourself, going upstairs to the apartment. After you put down little kitten, you didn't saw her and you hoped she is alright, somewhere in apartment. As you went upstairs, you heared screams of Victor and Roman. It woken you up a bit and you ran through the apartment to help your boyfriends. They were in living room. You caught the knife, which Victor gave you, ready to attack the uninvited guest.
After you rush in there, you dropped the knife on ground as you watched Roman, standing on sofa screaming after kitten, which was licking her paws on ground and Victor, who was trying to protect Roman with pillows.
"Hold that monster away from me!" shouted Roman. They didn't noticed you, holding back laugh as you watched them.
"Where is (y/n) when we need her?" Victor mumbled.
"Right here," you smirked and walked closer to the cat, "Can you explain me please what is happening?" you asked and took kitten in your arms.
"That beast scratched me!" Victor shouted.
"Oh, C'mon, you have a lot of scars Vic," you rolled your eyes.
"Yes, I mean.. She could kill us," said Roman, stepping down from sofa, fixing his suit.
"She? No.. She would not do that. Right?" you asked looking in kittens eyes.
"Meow," kitten meowed and you kissed her on top of her head.
"I'm sorry, I think you have something mine," someone came into living room. He had long coat and suit, not expensive like Roman's, but still elegant. You turned to him, and asked, "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"I am the owner," he said and whistled. In second, little kitten recognized her owner, jumping down from your arms.
"Shadow, I missed you," he smiled on the kitten and then looked on you, "Thank you, for taking care of her. She got lost, I serached her whole weeks and when i saw you in this club with her, my hopes were restored. I thought she is lost forever," he smiled at you.
"We are glad that you found her," said Roman comming closer to him, but still keeping distance from the kitten.
"Well, you can visit her whenever you want," Owner smiled, giving you his number and adress on paper.
"Thank you," you smiled at him, taking the paper.
"Goodbye," Victor turned him to exit and waved.
After the owner of the little kitten named Shadow left, you were sad.
While dinner, you didn't talked as usual and Victor with Roman noticed something is wrong.
"What is happening my love?" Roman asked you, putting second slice of pizza on your plate.
"I just miss the kitten," you said, stabbing the pizza with fork.
"Hey, love don't be sad, we can look for some pet in shop," Victor smiled at you reassuringly.
"And we will go check the shop tommorow." said Roman, and you smiled at both of them.
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ao3feed-superbat · 4 years
Text
Sensible madness
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/34NkxPp
by Anna12aot
What if Kate and Bruce were born around the same time? What if the tragedies that made them the heroes they become, also happened around the same time? What if the two of them ended up living together? What if the two of them ended up as huge theater nerds? What if they had some actual healthy coping mechanisms along side their totally not super unhealthy vigilante detective hobby that nearly kills them on a weekly basis? What if everything wasn't a shitty cheap ass drama show written by racist, misogynist, homophobic, all the bad ism's and phobia's and ist's?
(No disrespect to the individuals who try to give us good diverse content. Actually, all the respect because DC as whole is a weak dumb ass bitch and kudos to those people for tolerating that bastard.)
Here is my sad, pathetic attempt to fix the DC universe that I am very much under qualified and under prepared for. Enjoy. (And I'll get to finishing the relationship tags soon, it's just not on the agenda right about now. There is just so many fucking characters. The character tags are technically unfinished because that won't be all of the characters showing up. Do I really hate myself and DC that much?)
Words: 633, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood, Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League: War, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (2017), Teen Titans (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kate Kane, Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox, Jim Gordon, Helena Bertinelli, Harold Allnut, Hiro Okamura, Vic Sage, Renee Montoya, Patrick "Eel" O'Brian, Zatanna Zatara, Basil Karlo, Talia al Ghul, Selina Kyle, Holly Robinson, Kitrina Falcone, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Rose Wilson, Grant Wilson (DCU), Joseph Wilson, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Gus Yale, Wendy Harris, Jacob Kane, Catherine Hamilton Kane, Diana (Wonder Woman), Jason Todd, Koriand'r (DCU), Roy Harper, Bette Kane, Duke Thomas, Tim Drake, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Stephanie Brown, Billy Batson, Harper Row, Cullen Row, Shawn Tsang, Natalia Knight, Sasha Bordeaux, Carrie Kelley, Jaina Hudson, Cassandra Cain, Cheyenne Freemont, Tiffany Fox, Luke Fox, Barry Allen, Wally West, Bart Allen, Jay Garrick, Iris West, Max Mercury, Clark Kent, Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers, Lois Lane, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Jonathan "Pa" Kent, Martha Wayne, Martha Kent, Thomas Wayne, Sam Lane, Lucy Lane (DCU), Donna Troy, Cassie Sandsmark, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, Akila of Bana-Mighdall, Queen Hippolyta, Atalanta, Antiope (Wonder Woman), Bana-Mighdall Amazons, The Amazons (Wonder Woman), Grace Choi, Anissa Pierce, Jefferson Pierce, Jennifer Pierce, Oliver Queen, Thea Queen, Emiko Queen, Dinah Lance, Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz, Jon Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jade Nguyen, Jennifer-Lynn Hayden, Artemis Crock, Ra's al Ghul, Nyssa Raatko, Silver St. Cloud, Wildcat (DCU), Tatsu Yamashiro, Jason Blood, Jason Bard, Crispus Allen, Kate Spencer, Onyx Adams, Boston Brand, David Zavimbe, Calvin Rose, Jean-Paul Valley, Santiago Varga, Baber Shah, Percy Sheldrake, Cyril Sheldrake, Jiro Osamu, Lonnie Machin, Harriet Cooper, Agatha Wayne, Vicki Vale, Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Harvey Dent, Joker (DCU), Jonathan Crane, Waylon Jones, Bane (DCU), Roman Sionis, Floyd Lawton, Hugo Strange, Thomas Elliot, Drury Walker, Jervis Tetch, Victor Fries, Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nygma, Cyrus Gold, Solomon Grundy (DCU), Shauna Belzer, Peyton Riley, Ulysses Hadrian Armstrong, Vandal Savage, Noah Kuttler, Julian Gregory Day (DCU), Thomas Blake (DCU), Arthur Brown, Count Vertigo, Garfield Lynns, Warren White, Charles "Chuck" Brown, Zeus (Wonder Woman), Onomatopoeia (DCU), Peter Merkel, Peter Merkel Jr., Deever Tweed, Dumfree Tweed, Victor Zsasz, Ben Turner, David Cain, Titus (DCU), Lady Shiva, Lazlo Valentin, Barton Mathis, Matilda Mathis, Mark Desmond, Mortimer Drake, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Ace the Bat-Hound, Bat-Cow (DCU)
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Clark Kent, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Kate Kane & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Kate Kane, Kate Kane/Renee Montoya (past), Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne (past), Kate Kane & Jason Todd, Helena Bertinelli & Kate Kane & Jason Todd, Kate Kane & Clark Kent, Kate Kane & Alfred Pennyworth, Kate Kane & Oliver Queen, Kate Kane & Damian Wayne, Kate Kane & John Stewart, Bruce Wayne & Kara Zor-El, Barbara Gordon & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Zatanna Zatara, Hal Jordan & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox & Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox & Luke Fox & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Kate Kane, Cassandra Cain & Kate Kane, Luke Fox & Kate Kane
Additional Tags: No Smut, No Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, will try to remember to add them later, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, I am trying to fix the entire DCU while very much trying not to, This was supposed to be like just about the Batfam, But I started doing research, and it was really confusing, Then I got angry, and then hyped, and this happened, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author Regrets Everything, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, How Do I Tag, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), fuck you dc, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Please Kill Me, I Tried, I Don't Even Know, some people die, no one stays dead, but god, God is Dead, Cause I killed him for letting DC continue this shit show, Nothing makes any fucking sense, This doesn't make any sense, It's a fucking mari go round of bullshit, enjoy, Explicit Language, To Be Edited, Not Beta Read, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Young Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Growing Up Together, Romani Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Kate Kane is a Good Parent, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon Knows, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, And they're all panicked gays, Fluff and Angst, Family Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Humor, Gallows Humor, Bruce Wayne's Sense of Humor, Jason Todd’s Morbid Humor, this is gonna get long, Like over a few hundred thousand, Or this will die after it's reached 3k, Don't Like Don't Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Because of arkham, Arkham Asylum, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships, read the tags, Tags May Change, Tags Are Hard, Body Image, Jewish Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Rewrite, Hispanic Character, Black Character(s), Native American Character(s), Arab Character, Arab Damian Wayne, We Die Like Men, Everyone is a minority in some way, This will have all the representation, Racism, Racist Language, They will suffer because of their racism, Don't worry, Don't Have to Know Canon, Hopefully you won't have to know canon, Because if I don't do this right, Than you will be so confused, Better Than Canon, I take most of my inspiration from the justice league cartoons, and from the harley quinn movie soundtrack, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Trans Character, Gay Panic
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/34NkxPp
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ao3feed-batlantern · 4 years
Link
by Anna12aot
What if Kate and Bruce were born around the same time? What if the tragedies that made them the heroes they become, also happened around the same time? What if the two of them ended up living together? What if the two of them ended up as huge theater nerds? What if they had some actual healthy coping mechanisms along side their totally not super unhealthy vigilante detective hobby that nearly kills them on a weekly basis? What if everything wasn't a shitty cheap ass drama show written by racist, misogynist, homophobic, all the bad ism's and phobia's and ist's?
(No disrespect to the individuals who try to give us good diverse content. Actually, all the respect because DC as whole is a weak dumb ass bitch and kudos to those people for tolerating that bastard.)
Here is my sad, pathetic attempt to fix the DC universe that I am very much under qualified and under prepared for. Enjoy. (And I'll get to finishing the relationship tags soon, it's just not on the agenda right about now. There is just so many fucking characters. The character tags are technically unfinished because that won't be all of the characters showing up. Do I really hate myself and DC that much?)
Words: 633, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood, Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League: War, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (2017), Teen Titans (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kate Kane, Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox, Jim Gordon, Helena Bertinelli, Harold Allnut, Hiro Okamura, Vic Sage, Renee Montoya, Patrick "Eel" O'Brian, Zatanna Zatara, Basil Karlo, Talia al Ghul, Selina Kyle, Holly Robinson, Kitrina Falcone, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Rose Wilson, Grant Wilson (DCU), Joseph Wilson, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Gus Yale, Wendy Harris, Jacob Kane, Catherine Hamilton Kane, Diana (Wonder Woman), Jason Todd, Koriand'r (DCU), Roy Harper, Bette Kane, Duke Thomas, Tim Drake, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Stephanie Brown, Billy Batson, Harper Row, Cullen Row, Shawn Tsang, Natalia Knight, Sasha Bordeaux, Carrie Kelley, Jaina Hudson, Cassandra Cain, Cheyenne Freemont, Tiffany Fox, Luke Fox, Barry Allen, Wally West, Bart Allen, Jay Garrick, Iris West, Max Mercury, Clark Kent, Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers, Lois Lane, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Jonathan "Pa" Kent, Martha Wayne, Martha Kent, Thomas Wayne, Sam Lane, Lucy Lane (DCU), Donna Troy, Cassie Sandsmark, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, Akila of Bana-Mighdall, Queen Hippolyta, Atalanta, Antiope (Wonder Woman), Bana-Mighdall Amazons, The Amazons (Wonder Woman), Grace Choi, Anissa Pierce, Jefferson Pierce, Jennifer Pierce, Oliver Queen, Thea Queen, Emiko Queen, Dinah Lance, Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz, Jon Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jade Nguyen, Jennifer-Lynn Hayden, Artemis Crock, Ra's al Ghul, Nyssa Raatko, Silver St. Cloud, Wildcat (DCU), Tatsu Yamashiro, Jason Blood, Jason Bard, Crispus Allen, Kate Spencer, Onyx Adams, Boston Brand, David Zavimbe, Calvin Rose, Jean-Paul Valley, Santiago Varga, Baber Shah, Percy Sheldrake, Cyril Sheldrake, Jiro Osamu, Lonnie Machin, Harriet Cooper, Agatha Wayne, Vicki Vale, Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Harvey Dent, Joker (DCU), Jonathan Crane, Waylon Jones, Bane (DCU), Roman Sionis, Floyd Lawton, Hugo Strange, Thomas Elliot, Drury Walker, Jervis Tetch, Victor Fries, Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nygma, Cyrus Gold, Solomon Grundy (DCU), Shauna Belzer, Peyton Riley, Ulysses Hadrian Armstrong, Vandal Savage, Noah Kuttler, Julian Gregory Day (DCU), Thomas Blake (DCU), Arthur Brown, Count Vertigo, Garfield Lynns, Warren White, Charles "Chuck" Brown, Zeus (Wonder Woman), Onomatopoeia (DCU), Peter Merkel, Peter Merkel Jr., Deever Tweed, Dumfree Tweed, Victor Zsasz, Ben Turner, David Cain, Titus (DCU), Lady Shiva, Lazlo Valentin, Barton Mathis, Matilda Mathis, Mark Desmond, Mortimer Drake, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Ace the Bat-Hound, Bat-Cow (DCU)
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan/Clark Kent, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Kate Kane & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Kate Kane, Kate Kane/Renee Montoya (past), Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne (past), Kate Kane & Jason Todd, Helena Bertinelli & Kate Kane & Jason Todd, Kate Kane & Clark Kent, Kate Kane & Alfred Pennyworth, Kate Kane & Oliver Queen, Kate Kane & Damian Wayne, Kate Kane & John Stewart, Bruce Wayne & Kara Zor-El, Barbara Gordon & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Zatanna Zatara, Hal Jordan & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox & Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox & Luke Fox & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Kate Kane, Cassandra Cain & Kate Kane, Luke Fox & Kate Kane
Additional Tags: No Smut, No Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, will try to remember to add them later, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, I am trying to fix the entire DCU while very much trying not to, This was supposed to be like just about the Batfam, But I started doing research, and it was really confusing, Then I got angry, and then hyped, and this happened, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author Regrets Everything, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, How Do I Tag, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), fuck you dc, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Please Kill Me, I Tried, I Don't Even Know, some people die, no one stays dead, but god, God is Dead, Cause I killed him for letting DC continue this shit show, Nothing makes any fucking sense, This doesn't make any sense, It's a fucking mari go round of bullshit, enjoy, Explicit Language, To Be Edited, Not Beta Read, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Young Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Growing Up Together, Romani Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Kate Kane is a Good Parent, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Jim Gordon Knows, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, And they're all panicked gays, Fluff and Angst, Family Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Humor, Gallows Humor, Bruce Wayne's Sense of Humor, Jason Todd’s Morbid Humor, this is gonna get long, Like over a few hundred thousand, Or this will die after it's reached 3k, Don't Like Don't Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Because of arkham, Arkham Asylum, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships, read the tags, Tags May Change, Tags Are Hard, Body Image, Jewish Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Rewrite, Hispanic Character, Black Character(s), Native American Character(s), Arab Character, Arab Damian Wayne, We Die Like Men, Everyone is a minority in some way, This will have all the representation, Racism, Racist Language, They will suffer because of their racism, Don't worry, Don't Have to Know Canon, Hopefully you won't have to know canon, Because if I don't do this right, Than you will be so confused, Better Than Canon, I take most of my inspiration from the justice league cartoons, and from the harley quinn movie soundtrack, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Trans Character, Gay Panic
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smokeybrandreviews · 4 years
Text
Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Anger Issues
First proper movie of the year, and it’s Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. Look, the DCEU is a dumpster fire, so much so that the WB has basically given up on it. They’ve started doing stand alone films as a way to recuperate their image and it’s kind of working. Shazam was fun as f*ck and Joker is rightfully getting so much buzz, it’s ridiculous. Even Aquaman was decent once it was released from the grimdark Snyder vision. Birds of Prey is not that. It is, at it’s core, a DCEU film. This thing might as well be called Suicide Squad but with chicks. It’s that ridiculous. But is it as bad as that? Let’s get into it.
The Great
The very best thing about this movie is f*cking Huntress. Bro, i LOVED Helena Bertinelli in this movie! Mary Elizabeth Winstead owned this part, one hundred percent! She was the MVP of this whole goddamn sh*t show but she sure as f*ck ain’t get MVP minutes! Huntress is in this thing for a grand total of ten minutes, man. It might be more, it might be less, but it definitely ain’t enough because she has NO time to shine! What little she gets, though, she kills! Talk about burying the lead, man. I understand that certain cuts needed to made in order to give the top-biller in Harley the god shots, but f*ck, dude. You can’t tease me with so much awesome and then just snatch it all away! F*ck you for that, movie. F*ck You!
The Good
This thing was cast incredibly well. I was on the fence with some of the announcements during development, but it came together nicely. There aren’t many weak performances and, overall, you can tell that everyone was having fun. There’s a lot of great chemistry among this group and i can see myself giving a proper BoP sequel a chance.
Margot Robbie is Harley Quinn. She embodies this chick like Ryan Reynolds embodies Deadpool, for the most part. She was my first pick going into SKWAD and it felt right seeing her in those hot pants. There were some issues i had with that character, mostly the vanishing accent, but she’s gotten much better since then an that growth shows here. It’s unfortunate that her character doesn’t grow in this two hour run time, especially considering how much time Harley gets onscreen.
Jurnee Smollet-Bell is probably the best Dinah Lance we’re going to get for a while. he was surprisingly adept at the part, even if everyone is butt-hurt that she was race-bent. Her Canary Cry was absolute sh*t but that was more the effects fault. Them sh*ts is cheap! Jurnee did a fantastic job as Black Canary and i wasn’t even mad she wasn’t rocking the fishnets while doing it. She kicks high.
Rosie Perez was an interesting choice for Renee Montoya but i knew she could be fantastic in the role if they gave her room to breathe. Perez could have brought that Puerto Rican heat to the role, and she did a few times, but not enough to make an impression. Again, that’s because this ain’t a Birds of Prey vehicle so all of the Birds had to kind of curtail their time in the camera, and overall character development, in order to make sure Harley got her face time with the audience. It’s kind of f*cked up and makes the movie less for it.
Black Mask was a goddamn spectacle! He’s smarmy, and arrogant, and flamboyant, and campy, and generally just brilliant. He’s one of the best villains of the DCEU, which ain’t saying much, but i can say just SO much about Ewan McGregor’s performance as Roman Sionis. His mask is stupid though. And he’s definitely Black Mask in name only. Still, for what this version is, McGregor delivers. If you’re curious what a closer interpretation of the comic character can be, check out Batman: Under The Red Hood. That’s a far more accurate representation of what Sidonis is supposed to be but I’m not mad what we got here.
Chris Messina as Victor Zsasz is okay. In the book, he’s out of his mine and ludicrously violent. Like, textbook psychopath crazy. In this, he’s still pretty f*cking nuts but he’s also wildly jealous and crazy possessive? I think that’s because of the insinuated relationship between he and Black Mask but you gotta read real heavy into that relationship to even broach that subject. Like, I‘m reaching with that statement but, for the most part, Messina does an admirable job of bringing this character to life.
The action scenes, outside of the awesome that is Huntress, is the real draw of this movie. Harley’s story is cliche and the Birds don’t get much time to develop so they’re kind of inconsequential but the action is superb. It’s, legit, John Wick levels of awesome most of the time. There is a lot of buzz about that jailhouse scene and it’s totally worth all the talk. That motherf*cker was spectacular!
The art direction is pretty amazing in here. This looks like how i think SKWAD wanted to look, but couldn’t because of Snyder grimdark nonsense. Like, if that trailer house had full reign to actually film that movie, BoP is what we might have gotten and it is a much better look for the type of movie these things are. Certain sets, like the funhouse and Sinonis’ club were awesome and the little flairs for characters were on point. The confetti beanbags were absolutely genius!
I would be remiss if i didn’t mention the costumes. Harley had a ton of costume changes, so much so a character mentions it in the middle of a fight, but i wasn’t mad. They all reflect her character and Margot Robbie is a helluva a Barbie to play dress-up with but so was Black Mask apparently. He had almost as many costume changes as Quinn and they were all amazing. I liked what they had Canary in, even if it wasn’t comic accurate and i absolutely adored what Huntress rocked in the beginning. All in all, pretty legit costuming, i must say.
Another one where the sound design is worth mentioning. The direction didn’t elevate this assblast of a movie but the sound design sure as sh*t did. There are a ton of punctuating songs and effects that give otherwise flaccid scenes, that extra Viagra boost to get them rock hard! It’s amazing what music can do for anything really. Throw a dope ass soundtrack behind constipation and you have a serenade that eases things up to drop that deuce. I say that because that’s how it feels watching this goddamn movie.
The Meh
Ella Jay Basco is probably the weakest part of this movie. She does an admirable job as Cassandra Cain for being so young but there are certain instance where you can tell this is her first big gig. She isn’t terrible by any means, there aren’t any terrible performances at all in this thing, but she was easily the weakest of the lot.
The liberties taken with the characters in this movie are interesting. I’m curious as to see where this version of Gotham can go and what these particular interpretations of such iconic Bat-Characters can go. I don’t think they are great as a direct representations, f*cking Cassandra Cain is a particular sore spot for me because i adore her in the books, but i can give her chance. I can give all of these characters a chance. I rather adored this version of Huntress. Ma might be my favorite one! Well, almost. I’m pretty partial to Helena Wayne but i digress. While i don’t particularly care for how these awesome women are represented in this flick, i can see the potential. There is a unique vision here that is worth seeing through.
The writing is so-so. I can’t say it’s bad because there is a lot of good in there, tons of interesting ideas, but the execution is real poor. Most of these scenes feel like, on paper, they were dope as f*ck. On screen, though? Just underwhelming. It’s like they couldn’t translate what they wanted or needed to film for one reason or another. I feel like that might have more to do with the direction, I’m getting to that, but the core of a flick is the writing. If you’re script ain’t on point, you’re movie can’t be and i can see how dull them pages were to begin with.
The direction in this thing is mediocre. Cathy Yan did a “meh” job with this thing. A lot of that might have been due to the script but a great director can elevate straight schlock. Look at James Cameron. Avatar is an ass of a film that rips of f*cking Ferngully but his vision got it Oscars and the number one, highest grossing, spot on the all-time list until Endgame murdered that sh*t. Yan did not elevate this schlock. They had to go back to reshoots and have Chad Stahleski touch up some stuff. Like, the best parts of this thing, the action scenes, weren’t even directed by Yan. I mean, they were at first, but this thing got screened by the execs ad all of that sh*t was tossed out. Stahleski made them things pop! No telling what else he touched up, or f*cked up, on his way out.
The Bad
This is not a Birds of Prey movie. This is a Harley Quinn vehicle with a Birds of Prey cameo. I can see what they wanted to do with this thing, backdoor origin story for one of Batman’s strongest supplementary teams, but with no Barbara Gordon as Oracle, it feels hollow. Especially considering that the Birds, themselves, have next to no screen time. I get that Harley is the money maker but this should have been a Gotham City Sirens film.
The continuity of this sh*t is dubious. It takes place in the old DCEU. It’s legit a sequel to Suicide Squad. Harley references that sh*t twice. I don’t know what that means going forward, but this Gotham ain’t that Gotham at all. It’s weird to see because you spend a good amount of time within the GCPD and no Bullock or Gordon; The latter of which we’ve seen already. It’s awkward the way WB has decided to play fast and loose with what sticks and what doesn’t. Joker is a stand alone and so is Shazam. The Batman is going to be a stand alone or it’s own franchise. Aquaman and Wondy are still in the DCEU continuity but i don’t know how long they will be, especially considering Wonder Woman’s solos are all prequels that have no ties to that Snyder depression exercise. It’s nothing to just pluck her out and add her to a much better executed cinematic universe. With Flashpoint all but confirmed, It feels like none of this matters. This one, for sure, doesn’t.
The plot is still stupid. The McGuffin is better since the reshoots because dick pics? Really? But the writing is still stupid. The whole center of the conflict is ridiculous and the resolution is just blergh.
The only thing worse than the plot is the pacing. This motherf*cker drags! There are entire scenes where nothing f*cking happens and it’s stupid. Most of the time, it’s the scenes with Harley. Her arc is just so f*cking pedestrian. It’s well acted, i said as much above, but it’s SO dumb and i kind of hate it.
This movie really hates dudes. Like, i get it, right? Respect. Recognition. Women deserve all of everything. Equality, feminism, yadda-yadda. I get it. There are ways to execute that perspective which are good. A decent writer would convey that by actually writing decent scenes, not just turning all of the men in the film into juvenile caricatures of chauvinism. I personally don’t care, I’m not a neckbeard typing with one hand while breathing heavily on my monitor in my ma’s basement, but i had to mention it because everyone is mentioning it and they have a point. This is glorified misandry at it’s finest but, you know, patriarchy or whatever. I don’t care. It didn’t take me out of the movie, the sh*tty plot did that, but it was interesting to see in person. It’s hard to justify this bullsh*t when Atomic Blonde exists.
So the gay-baiting. Like, really, dude? If you’re going to do it, go all the way. I read somewhere that Black Mask was supposed to have a homosexual relationship with Victor Zsasz but nah. None of that is expressed in any capacity. There might have been a line referencing it, maybe, but that could have been in regards to the violent outburst in the club the night before. Ambiguous because you gotta sell this thing in China! Renee Montoya is legit gay in the books and, other than a passing line early on, it never comes up again. I think that might be because of the distinct lack of characterization for literally all the Birds in their own f*cking movie, but still. That’s massive part of her character and no one talks about it. No one talks about any of the LBGTQ bullsh*t they pushed in the promotion.
All of this controversy does this flick a disservice. It doesn’t deserve all the hate it’s getting and it definitely doesn’t deserve all of the praise. This is not some super “GRRRL power”, kickass, gay-loving, action flick. It’s a mediocre break-up story that happens to have some interesting action set pieces but, ultimately, is inconsequential in the greater scheme of things. This is the Ant-Man of the DCEU. I spoke about this at length a few days ago and the nonsense that I was afraid was going to happen, is happening. No one wants to sh*t on this flick because of “Muh representation”. It’s a female lead, female directed, piece of sh*t. It is. But it’s a fun piece of sh*t and easily the best, of the worst, of the DCEU but it’s still a piece of sh*t. It’s not changing cinema, it’s not some great step forward in representation, and it’s not doing women in the industry a great service. It’s a quirky, violent, nonsense of a movie and should be judged as such. Again, Atomic Blonde is a much better example of ho to “GRRRL power” your way in the box office. Go watch that instead.
The ending to this thing feels rushed and super anticlimactic. I felt bad about it. Seriously. The way this movie resolves, after everything that took place, is just whack, man. It leaves you wanting, especially after how charismatic Black Mask turned out to be more than that, there’s no resolution. No one grows. Everyone is exactly where they were at the start of this f*cking thing. Like, what was the f*cking point? I can tell they wanted me to think that these chicks had grown into something more but did they really? Did we really see any growth out of any one of them not name Harley? Hell, even Harley is still the same motherf*cker! Like, for real, dude? Someone read that script and thought, “Okey-Dokey, this is good enough!” I just wanted to punch this movie in it’s face when it was over. Like, f*ck you, movie.
The Verdict
Birds of Prey is a bad movie. It’s gorgeous to look at, the costumes are amazing, and most of the performances are super strong. However, the plot is stupid, the pacing is on drugs, and the best parts of this flick get, like, no screen time to breathe. The Birds are guest stars in what, very obviously, is not their movie. This really should have been called “Harley Quinn and The Tiniest Bit of an Origin Story For The Birds of Prey” because that’s what it is. Technically, this should have been Gotham City Sirens to begin with but i ranted about that before. Margot Robbie is bad at picking movies to produce and she definitely produced this one. Got her unfortunate and inexperienced fingerprints all over it. Kind of doesn’t matter what should have been, though, this is what we got and this is a sh*t time, for sure. But, it can be fun at times. There is about as much to like as there is to hate especially if you’re open to being blue-balled when it counts. If that sounds like a party to you, check this thing out. If not, you can pass on it. That’s how meaningless this thing feels.
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smokeybrand · 4 years
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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Anger Issues
First proper movie of the year, and it’s Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. Look, the DCEU is a dumpster fire, so much so that the WB has basically given up on it. They’ve started doing stand alone films as a way to recuperate their image and it’s kind of working. Shazam was fun as f*ck and Joker is rightfully getting so much buzz, it’s ridiculous. Even Aquaman was decent once it was released from the grimdark Snyder vision. Birds of Prey is not that. It is, at it’s core, a DCEU film. This thing might as well be called Suicide Squad but with chicks. It’s that ridiculous. But is it as bad as that? Let’s get into it.
The Great
The very best thing about this movie is f*cking Huntress. Bro, i LOVED Helena Bertinelli in this movie! Mary Elizabeth Winstead owned this part, one hundred percent! She was the MVP of this whole goddamn sh*t show but she sure as f*ck ain’t get MVP minutes! Huntress is in this thing for a grand total of ten minutes, man. It might be more, it might be less, but it definitely ain’t enough because she has NO time to shine! What little she gets, though, she kills! Talk about burying the lead, man. I understand that certain cuts needed to made in order to give the top-biller in Harley the god shots, but f*ck, dude. You can’t tease me with so much awesome and then just snatch it all away! F*ck you for that, movie. F*ck You!
The Good
This thing was cast incredibly well. I was on the fence with some of the announcements during development, but it came together nicely. There aren’t many weak performances and, overall, you can tell that everyone was having fun. There’s a lot of great chemistry among this group and i can see myself giving a proper BoP sequel a chance.
Margot Robbie is Harley Quinn. She embodies this chick like Ryan Reynolds embodies Deadpool, for the most part. She was my first pick going into SKWAD and it felt right seeing her in those hot pants. There were some issues i had with that character, mostly the vanishing accent, but she’s gotten much better since then an that growth shows here. It’s unfortunate that her character doesn’t grow in this two hour run time, especially considering how much time Harley gets onscreen.
Jurnee Smollet-Bell is probably the best Dinah Lance we’re going to get for a while. he was surprisingly adept at the part, even if everyone is butt-hurt that she was race-bent. Her Canary Cry was absolute sh*t but that was more the effects fault. Them sh*ts is cheap! Jurnee did a fantastic job as Black Canary and i wasn’t even mad she wasn’t rocking the fishnets while doing it. She kicks high.
Rosie Perez was an interesting choice for Renee Montoya but i knew she could be fantastic in the role if they gave her room to breathe. Perez could have brought that Puerto Rican heat to the role, and she did a few times, but not enough to make an impression. Again, that’s because this ain’t a Birds of Prey vehicle so all of the Birds had to kind of curtail their time in the camera, and overall character development, in order to make sure Harley got her face time with the audience. It’s kind of f*cked up and makes the movie less for it.
Black Mask was a goddamn spectacle! He’s smarmy, and arrogant, and flamboyant, and campy, and generally just brilliant. He’s one of the best villains of the DCEU, which ain’t saying much, but i can say just SO much about Ewan McGregor’s performance as Roman Sionis. His mask is stupid though. And he’s definitely Black Mask in name only. Still, for what this version is, McGregor delivers. If you’re curious what a closer interpretation of the comic character can be, check out Batman: Under The Red Hood. That’s a far more accurate representation of what Sidonis is supposed to be but I’m not mad what we got here.
Chris Messina as Victor Zsasz is okay. In the book, he’s out of his mine and ludicrously violent. Like, textbook psychopath crazy. In this, he’s still pretty f*cking nuts but he’s also wildly jealous and crazy possessive? I think that’s because of the insinuated relationship between he and Black Mask but you gotta read real heavy into that relationship to even broach that subject. Like, I‘m reaching with that statement but, for the most part, Messina does an admirable job of bringing this character to life.
The action scenes, outside of the awesome that is Huntress, is the real draw of this movie. Harley’s story is cliche and the Birds don’t get much time to develop so they’re kind of inconsequential but the action is superb. It’s, legit, John Wick levels of awesome most of the time. There is a lot of buzz about that jailhouse scene and it’s totally worth all the talk. That motherf*cker was spectacular!
The art direction is pretty amazing in here. This looks like how i think SKWAD wanted to look, but couldn’t because of Snyder grimdark nonsense. Like, if that trailer house had full reign to actually film that movie, BoP is what we might have gotten and it is a much better look for the type of movie these things are. Certain sets, like the funhouse and Sinonis’ club were awesome and the little flairs for characters were on point. The confetti beanbags were absolutely genius!
I would be remiss if i didn’t mention the costumes. Harley had a ton of costume changes, so much so a character mentions it in the middle of a fight, but i wasn’t mad. They all reflect her character and Margot Robbie is a helluva a Barbie to play dress-up with but so was Black Mask apparently. He had almost as many costume changes as Quinn and they were all amazing. I liked what they had Canary in, even if it wasn’t comic accurate and i absolutely adored what Huntress rocked in the beginning. All in all, pretty legit costuming, i must say.
Another one where the sound design is worth mentioning. The direction didn’t elevate this assblast of a movie but the sound design sure as sh*t did. There are a ton of punctuating songs and effects that give otherwise flaccid scenes, that extra Viagra boost to get them rock hard! It’s amazing what music can do for anything really. Throw a dope ass soundtrack behind constipation and you have a serenade that eases things up to drop that deuce. I say that because that’s how it feels watching this goddamn movie.
The Meh
Ella Jay Basco is probably the weakest part of this movie. She does an admirable job as Cassandra Cain for being so young but there are certain instance where you can tell this is her first big gig. She isn’t terrible by any means, there aren’t any terrible performances at all in this thing, but she was easily the weakest of the lot.
The liberties taken with the characters in this movie are interesting. I’m curious as to see where this version of Gotham can go and what these particular interpretations of such iconic Bat-Characters can go. I don’t think they are great as a direct representations, f*cking Cassandra Cain is a particular sore spot for me because i adore her in the books, but i can give her chance. I can give all of these characters a chance. I rather adored this version of Huntress. Ma might be my favorite one! Well, almost. I’m pretty partial to Helena Wayne but i digress. While i don’t particularly care for how these awesome women are represented in this flick, i can see the potential. There is a unique vision here that is worth seeing through.
The writing is so-so. I can’t say it’s bad because there is a lot of good in there, tons of interesting ideas, but the execution is real poor. Most of these scenes feel like, on paper, they were dope as f*ck. On screen, though? Just underwhelming. It’s like they couldn’t translate what they wanted or needed to film for one reason or another. I feel like that might have more to do with the direction, I’m getting to that, but the core of a flick is the writing. If you’re script ain’t on point, you’re movie can’t be and i can see how dull them pages were to begin with.
The direction in this thing is mediocre. Cathy Yan did a “meh” job with this thing. A lot of that might have been due to the script but a great director can elevate straight schlock. Look at James Cameron. Avatar is an ass of a film that rips of f*cking Ferngully but his vision got it Oscars and the number one, highest grossing, spot on the all-time list until Endgame murdered that sh*t. Yan did not elevate this schlock. They had to go back to reshoots and have Chad Stahleski touch up some stuff. Like, the best parts of this thing, the action scenes, weren’t even directed by Yan. I mean, they were at first, but this thing got screened by the execs ad all of that sh*t was tossed out. Stahleski made them things pop! No telling what else he touched up, or f*cked up, on his way out.
The Bad
This is not a Birds of Prey movie. This is a Harley Quinn vehicle with a Birds of Prey cameo. I can see what they wanted to do with this thing, backdoor origin story for one of Batman’s strongest supplementary teams, but with no Barbara Gordon as Oracle, it feels hollow. Especially considering that the Birds, themselves, have next to no screen time. I get that Harley is the money maker but this should have been a Gotham City Sirens film.
The continuity of this sh*t is dubious. It takes place in the old DCEU. It’s legit a sequel to Suicide Squad. Harley references that sh*t twice. I don’t know what that means going forward, but this Gotham ain’t that Gotham at all. It’s weird to see because you spend a good amount of time within the GCPD and no Bullock or Gordon; The latter of which we’ve seen already. It’s awkward the way WB has decided to play fast and loose with what sticks and what doesn’t. Joker is a stand alone and so is Shazam. The Batman is going to be a stand alone or it’s own franchise. Aquaman and Wondy are still in the DCEU continuity but i don’t know how long they will be, especially considering Wonder Woman’s solos are all prequels that have no ties to that Snyder depression exercise. It’s nothing to just pluck her out and add her to a much better executed cinematic universe. With Flashpoint all but confirmed, It feels like none of this matters. This one, for sure, doesn’t.
The plot is still stupid. The McGuffin is better since the reshoots because dick pics? Really? But the writing is still stupid. The whole center of the conflict is ridiculous and the resolution is just blergh.
The only thing worse than the plot is the pacing. This motherf*cker drags! There are entire scenes where nothing f*cking happens and it’s stupid. Most of the time, it’s the scenes with Harley. Her arc is just so f*cking pedestrian. It’s well acted, i said as much above, but it’s SO dumb and i kind of hate it.
This movie really hates dudes. Like, i get it, right? Respect. Recognition. Women deserve all of everything. Equality, feminism, yadda-yadda. I get it. There are ways to execute that perspective which are good. A decent writer would convey that by actually writing decent scenes, not just turning all of the men in the film into juvenile caricatures of chauvinism. I personally don’t care, I’m not a neckbeard typing with one hand while breathing heavily on my monitor in my ma’s basement, but i had to mention it because everyone is mentioning it and they have a point. This is glorified misandry at it’s finest but, you know, patriarchy or whatever. I don’t care. It didn’t take me out of the movie, the sh*tty plot did that, but it was interesting to see in person. It’s hard to justify this bullsh*t when Atomic Blonde exists.
So the gay-baiting. Like, really, dude? If you’re going to do it, go all the way. I read somewhere that Black Mask was supposed to have a homosexual relationship with Victor Zsasz but nah. None of that is expressed in any capacity. There might have been a line referencing it, maybe, but that could have been in regards to the violent outburst in the club the night before. Ambiguous because you gotta sell this thing in China! Renee Montoya is legit gay in the books and, other than a passing line early on, it never comes up again. I think that might be because of the distinct lack of characterization for literally all the Birds in their own f*cking movie, but still. That’s massive part of her character and no one talks about it. No one talks about any of the LBGTQ bullsh*t they pushed in the promotion.
All of this controversy does this flick a disservice. It doesn’t deserve all the hate it’s getting and it definitely doesn’t deserve all of the praise. This is not some super “GRRRL power”, kickass, gay-loving, action flick. It’s a mediocre break-up story that happens to have some interesting action set pieces but, ultimately, is inconsequential in the greater scheme of things. This is the Ant-Man of the DCEU. I spoke about this at length a few days ago and the nonsense that I was afraid was going to happen, is happening. No one wants to sh*t on this flick because of “Muh representation”. It’s a female lead, female directed, piece of sh*t. It is. But it’s a fun piece of sh*t and easily the best, of the worst, of the DCEU but it’s still a piece of sh*t. It’s not changing cinema, it’s not some great step forward in representation, and it’s not doing women in the industry a great service. It’s a quirky, violent, nonsense of a movie and should be judged as such. Again, Atomic Blonde is a much better example of ho to “GRRRL power” your way in the box office. Go watch that instead.
The ending to this thing feels rushed and super anticlimactic. I felt bad about it. Seriously. The way this movie resolves, after everything that took place, is just whack, man. It leaves you wanting, especially after how charismatic Black Mask turned out to be more than that, there’s no resolution. No one grows. Everyone is exactly where they were at the start of this f*cking thing. Like, what was the f*cking point? I can tell they wanted me to think that these chicks had grown into something more but did they really? Did we really see any growth out of any one of them not name Harley? Hell, even Harley is still the same motherf*cker! Like, for real, dude? Someone read that script and thought, “Okey-Dokey, this is good enough!” I just wanted to punch this movie in it’s face when it was over. Like, f*ck you, movie.
The Verdict
Birds of Prey is a bad movie. It’s gorgeous to look at, the costumes are amazing, and most of the performances are super strong. However, the plot is stupid, the pacing is on drugs, and the best parts of this flick get, like, no screen time to breathe. The Birds are guest stars in what, very obviously, is not their movie. This really should have been called “Harley Quinn and The Tiniest Bit of an Origin Story For The Birds of Prey” because that’s what it is. Technically, this should have been Gotham City Sirens to begin with but i ranted about that before. Margot Robbie is bad at picking movies to produce and she definitely produced this one. Got her unfortunate and inexperienced fingerprints all over it. Kind of doesn’t matter what should have been, though, this is what we got and this is a sh*t time, for sure. But, it can be fun at times. There is about as much to like as there is to hate especially if you’re open to being blue-balled when it counts. If that sounds like a party to you, check this thing out. If not, you can pass on it. That’s how meaningless this thing feels.
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