#roman Sions

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Thirteen

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Chapter Thirteen

Make Hate to Me by Citizen Soldier

Like a captive panther, Roman paced the length of his expansive penthouse, prowling ceaselessly with the restless vigor of a predator confined to too tight a space. Coiled so tightly he could snap at the slightest hint of provocation. The resonant tapping of his shoes against the hardwood floor echoed like a metronome ticking away at his sanity with each stride. 

His mind became a swirling vortex of suspicion and paranoia in the aftermath of the encounter with Belladonna, morphing his thoughts into a Molotov cocktail of anger, mistrust, and apprehension. 

Who in their right mind gives a gun to a guy they’ve watched shoot three people; then challenges him to use it on her? Only a lunatic, that's who.

A woman with more fucking balls than half the men he employed. 

Belladonna-fucking-Black. 

She really hit a nerve, no. She didn’t just hit a nerve, she found it and went digging into it like she was searching for buried treasure, exposing the raw nerves she'd found. It was something he couldn't stand admitting, not even to himself. The fact that it was Craven who had got the ball rolling just made it all the more annoying; a stain on the polished and unaffected facade Roman prided himself on. 

Goddammit, she was right; Roman had swaggered into that place feeling like the King of Gotham, all confidence, the smell of sex still clinging to his clothes, but he stormed out like some kind of diva denied an encore. He fell right into Craven's trap, and he was fucking furious about it.

Every lap around the penthouse, room to room brought him no peace; it only coiled him tighter, his fists clenched and let go, like he was just itching for a fight. Ready to put holes in walls, which he had certainly done before. He had told Belladonna to trust him and she had. Trust. Hmm.

It should've been simple, but trust, especially when it came to dodging murder charges, was never so straightforward. Like trusting a rat bastard double agent, nothing was what it seemed. The straight-up move would've been to off her quick and dump her ass in Gotham Bay with Jimmy and his crew that fateful night, then find some stupid hot little something to bury his dick in until those dark eyes were barely a memory. But no, he got sucked in by her pretty face, long legs, and the fact she hadn't screamed or given him a reason to pull the trigger on her. So, dumbass that he was, he decided to trust her. And that made him a fucking idiot.

Trusting Belladonna—what a joke, right? But damn it all, he couldn't shake the nagging truth in her words. He'd listened to her interview tape, and Derrick was right; she walked in alongside Roman like she owned the place, like every single one of them was beneath her, and handled Ramirez like a goddamned queen, even when he practically called her a slut. His fists tightened at the memory, shaking with fury, and suddenly, he had a strong urge to introduce Ramirez's face to a sack of bricks. Over and over again.

Nobody talked about Belladonna like that, nobody disrespected his angel like that… That son of a bitch.

But then there was her admission to the detective; 

"Sooner or later, he'll move on, find someone more thrilling, someone willing to do things I won't. And when that day comes, I'll thank him for the good times and head my own way."

Did she really think he thought so little of her? Why did that piss him off so much? Because it couldn't have been further from the truth, damn it. Belladonna was sharp, she was sexy, and she had a backbone that most people lacked. She was probably the only woman unafraid of him, so much so that she dared to put a loaded gun into his hand. Ballsy move aside, it didn’t do anything to cushion the blow that had been her words to the detective.

They'd spun a tale of being deeply in love, he painted them as destined lovers, not star-crossed. She wasn't supposed to be so indifferent. But, she wasn't entirely off base. 

"Men like Roman don't fall in love," 

That's what she'd said. How the hell would she know? He scoffed mid-stride, like she fucking knew him? Roman never took kindly to being told who he was or what he could or couldn't do, no matter how absurd the assumption. Tell Roman Sionis not to do something? Fuck that, he’d do the thing, look good doing it all the while flipping you the bird.

 She should've told that bastard Ramirez that she and Roman were goddamn soulmates. That Roman would level the Gotham skyline for her, and she’d sooner walk over broken glass than leave him, because he was her whole world. 

Wasn't he?

It was a lie, their whole story was a lie, so there was no reason for him to be so pissy about the truth bomb she dropped, or was there? If there was one thing he could trust, it was that Belladonna didn't want to die; she wanted her life, she told him as such and people didn’t just lie about things like that. She wanted endless days where she slept in late, worried for nothing and had her mother. She wanted freedom.

Jesus, he'd completely forgotten about her mother, the one he was supposed to be tracking down. Damn it. That was a problem for another time. The point was, she had something to lose, and she wasn't dumb enough to rely on the cops to keep her safe from him. They couldn't even nab the bastard who almost killed her. Seemed like all he had these days were problems, and they all stemmed from a drop-dead gorgeous, black-haired, red-lipped angel, in a ridiculously short, red dress. Goddamn that dress...

It twisted his guts, this inability to either take her out or draw her in closer, and the frustration surged, hot and uncontrollable. What the hell was going on with him? 

He was Roman-Goddamn-Sionis.

Zsasz hovered by the doorway, a looming figure swallowed by the shadows he wore as naturally as Roman donned his suits. His stance exuded an unusual ease, yet his senses remained sharp, both were a byproduct of years working for Roman Sionis. He knew better than to disturb the heavy brooding with idle chit-chat; when Roman muttered to himself, he wasn’t looking for a response. It was simply a means for Roman to declutter his mind. Surviving as long as Zsasz had in Romans employment demanded an understanding of his boss's volatile state that often required him to take note of the tiniest details. As such, Zsasz only offered his thoughts when asked for them, always careful to maintain a neutral tone to soothe rather than aggravate Roman's inner mayhem. 

True Roman was his boss, but he knew better than anyone that just because the man paid you, didn't make you friends. He'd seen more than a few men make that mistake and pay with it in blood. 

Roman abruptly ceased his pacing, his stare fixating on a point in the distance, his fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. Trapped within his own thoughts, ensnared in his own skin, torn between a desire he didn't quite understand and the rigid creed he lived by. Yielding to emotion was tantamount to weakness, but he couldn't shake the sting of Belladonna’s words to his ego. 

"Zsasz," Roman grunted, finally acknowledging his lieutenant's presence without meeting his gaze. His voice carried a sharp edge, tinged with an unspoken plea for counsel. "What's your take?" 

Zsasz's response was measured, devoid of judgment or emotion. "If Belladonna's a threat, we take care of it. If not, we turn the situation to our advantage."

"Advantage… What the fuck does that even mean?" Roman muttered, the word dripping with a bitterness that left a foul taste in his mouth. The irony wasn't lost on him; Belladonna was both a potential threat and an unwitting pawn in his game, and as everyone knows; in chess you always protect the queen. 

But was she his queen or his pawn?

"Keep your friends close," Roman mused aloud.

"Keep your enemies closer," Zsasz added. 

But which category did Belladonna fall into?

Roman took a deep breath, attempting to push back the chatter threatening to overwhelm him. The silence hung heavy between them, pregnant with anticipation. He knew he had to make a choice, draw lines in the sand. Yet, for the first time in ages, Roman Sionis hesitated, caught up in the complexities of a business relationship he never anticipated.

The shrill ring of Roman's phone shattered the silence of the penthouse like a banshee's wail, its piercing tone cutting through the tense atmosphere. Despite its normal volume, the sound seemed ear-splitting to Roman's heightened senses, adding to the turmoil already swirling within him. His jaw clenched, a reflexive tic occasionally twitching along its line, as his mind spun with uncertainty. Ignoring the phone, he resumed his relentless pacing, the muted tapping of his footsteps lost amidst the tempest of his emotions.

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Roman growled to himself, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides, knuckles cracking every so often. 

"Should've tossed her out with Jimmy when I had the chance!" Zsazs reached for the phone, silencing its ring, Roman was in no mood to take phone calls.

He continued to grumble to himself, his steps growing more tense and chaotic, all pace and rhythm lost until he was all but stomping across the floor.

"Going goddamned soft over fucking pussy!" 

Pussy he hadn't even had yet, what the fuck was going on with him. He needed to fuck away his frustrations.

His phone violently vibrated against the glass tabletop, the incessant buzzing more piercing than a banshee's scream. It was an insistent reminder, a constant interruption to the chaos consuming his mind. Belladonna's name flashed across the screen with each call that went unanswered.

"Damn it, Belladonna," he growled under his breath, a dangerous brew of desire and disdain bubbling within him. He could have silenced it all—silenced her—with one swift move, yet here he was, tripping over an invisible thread he couldn't sever.

The buzzing paused briefly, giving a momentary break, but it was just a moment of calm before the storm resumed. Like clockwork, the phone buzzed again, its vibrations carrying an urgent, almost desperate tone.

"Can't even trust my own instincts anymore," Roman spat out, the admission tasting like venom on his tongue. 

"No! I just had to be a fucking gentleman and let the lady live!"

The phone buzzed once more. But Roman made no move towards it; instead, he let the sound saturate the room, a bitter accompaniment to his inner turmoil.

The incessant vibration of the phone served as a relentless backdrop, like the distant rumble of thunder signaling an approaching storm.

Zsasz stood by, silently, his eyes tracking Roman's restless movements, sensing the tension coiling tightly within his boss, ready to erupt at any moment. Zsasz knew better than to draw Roman's ire; he remained at a safe distance, a shadowy presence lingering at the edge of Roman's awareness.

Seven calls and counting. Constant vibrations that crawled beneath Roman’s skin, fraying his composure. On the eighth, something snapped inside him. He froze mid-stride, directing a sharp glare towards the source of the incessant noise.

"Enough!"  

His percussive fist slammed into a nearby wall denting the drywall, but there was plenty more where that came from “Zsasz,” Roman's voice rumbled low, barely containing the simmering fury. "What the hell is that racket?"

Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, Zsasz stepped forward into the light, his presence unobtrusive yet undeniable. 

"It's Belladonna," 

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscles there working as if to grind down the reality of Zsasz's words into something more palatable. Belladonna. Her name was a trigger, an invocation that stirred a fury within him he couldn't quell.

Like a match to gasoline, igniting a firestorm in Roman's chest that blazed through his veins, incinerating any last remnants of self-control. His hand shot out, snatching the phone from where it lay passive and unassuming on the table. The device became an extension of his rage as it flew across the room, colliding with the wall. Plastic and metal burst apart in a chaotic symphony of destruction, pieces scattering like shrapnel, and the room fell into silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of his reflection and staring back at him in the glass—a man barely containing the monster within.

~~~

Belladonna's grip tightened around her phone with each unanswered ring, the lifeline she hoped would connect her to Roman went unacknowledged. It had rang more times than she could count and before going to voicemail.

"You've reached the one and only, Roman Sionis. Your message should be as brief as my patience. Leave it, and I'll consider listening. Key word: consider. Good luck."

Even when she handed the phone to her unexpected visitor to leave a voicemail, her calls remained unanswered. With bated breath, she attempted a few more calls until finally, there was a response: 

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

Her face drained of color, and then the call abruptly ended. Belladonna's heart sank into the depths of her stomach, a feeling she had become all too familiar with lately and one she loathed. Roman wasn't going to pick up.

Her delicate fingers loosened their grip on the now-useless device, setting her phone down on the coffee table with a quiet resignation. It might as well have been an expensive paperweight now; there was no point in trying to make any more calls. Panic surged through her, a feeling she had never experienced before. This was the moment. He had done it—cut her off, left her to fend for herself. Maybe he had changed his number or just shut it off altogether. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her, leaving her feeling cold and abandoned.

She lifted her gaze to meet that of her guests; Oswald Cobblepot's. His presence loomed large in her living room, flanked by men whose hands rested near holstered weapons. With their unwanted intrusion into a space that was once a haven suddenly made the room seem so small and claustrophobic.

"Will Roman be joining us soon, my dear?" His voice was cordial as he lit up a cigarette, yet it held an undertone of something that couldn't quite be named—something predatory. Cobblepot leaned back in the armchair, steepling his fingers as he waited for an answer he seemed to know wouldn't come. The silence stretched between them, a taut wire ready to snap.

"Voicemail," she stated, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within. Whether it was the lie she spun or the certainty that awaited her on the other end, she couldn't decipher. Her words were matter-of-fact, belying none of the anxiety that skittered like frantic insects beneath her skin.

Cobblepot's eyes narrowed slightly, the edge of his mouth curled upward in what barely passed for a polite smile. It did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his face or the cold calculation that seemed to emanate from him. He shifted in his seat, the leather of the armchair creaking under his weight as he studied Belladonna. 

"My dear," he began, his seemingly gentle tone laced with a deceptive edge. “Are you quite certain, you’ve no way of reaching our lad, Roman? I really do need to speak directly with him. It's quite urgent." 

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder as he spoke, then gestured with a lazy flick of his hand, summoning a man in black to step forward. She hadn't paid much attention to his face before; in that moment, the guns aimed at her were her main concern. But now, her stomach lurched at the sight of the man's visage, a visceral reaction clawing at her insides. He had an imposing presence, his form seeming to swallow the light around him. But it was his face that truly unsettled her. It bore the cruel marks of recent violence, that sent the taste of bile churning from her stomach, she swallowed it down.

He was missing an ear. Just gone. It left a raw, ragged gap on the side of his head, the flesh around it angry and red. Blood seeped from the edges, staining his skin. The stitches, hastily done and looking like they were about to burst, pulled tight against his tender flesh, adding to the unsettling sight. She wanted to turn away, to look literally anywhere else, but her eyes remained fixed, unable to look away. A sharp intake of breath betrayed her shock, and her mouth hung open..

"There seems to have been a... misunderstanding regarding our business dealings," he continued, his words chosen with meticulous care. “Down at the docks.”

He fixated upon Belladonna, was a chilling abyss of malevolence. It bore into her with an intensity that made her blood run cold, a silent promise of the violence that lurked beneath the surface. In his eyes burned a primal fury, a seething resentment that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Her nails gouged into the flesh of her palms, leaving fiery crescents in their wake as she fought the urge to react. She shouldn’t have left. She should never have left Romans penthouse, and she was kicking herself for it now.

"I can't just let this sort of treatment of my lads go unanswered, you see. It's why it's rather crucial that Roman and I have a chat before someone else ends up hurt..."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "He must be busy, right now. I’m sure he’ll check his messages soon." The words were a gamble, but they were all she had.

"Soon, eh?" Cobblepot repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue with a hint of amusement. "Business can be so messy when lines of communication are interrupted. Misunderstandings can lead to... unfortunate outcomes."

She fought to keep her composure, knowing that any sign of weakness could be her undoing. Her mind raced, searching for an out— but her thoughts kept turning back to that night when Roman got word from Zsasz about the docks.

"Oh! I know!” His sudden burst startled her and she jumped slightly in her seat, which only drew a grin from her guest. “Perhaps there's a more direct approach?" Cobblepot suggested, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and malice. "Such as that panic button, there in your bag. A rather dramatic solution I know, I know, but effective. It sends a clear message, don’t it? Maybe he'll find the time to break away, eh?"

Yes! The panic button, she'd nearly forgotten all about the damn thing. He'd come running—if he chose to come at all.

"Sometimes, directness is the only way to cut through the noise," Cobblepot continued, watching her closely. She looked to the beg she'd tossed on the counter in a rage, then back to Cobblepot, he waved to one of his men, "Gents, the ladies bag, if you will."

A harsh pair of hands, rough and impatient, snatched the bag from the counter, diving into its contents with little regard for delicacy or discretion. They rifled through the bag's contents with an almost frenzied urgency. However, their zealous rummaging was abruptly halted as Cobblepot intervened, his voice cutting through the frenetic energy like a blade.

"Stop," he commanded, his tone icy and commanding and for the first time his voice matched his demeanor. The hands froze mid-motion, reluctantly withdrawing from the bag as Cobblepot's piercing gaze bore into their owner with an intensity that brooked no argument.

"Now, now, lads, a ladies things deserve more respect than that. Apologies Miss Black, may I call you Belladonna, Miss Black seems so formal and I'd like us to be friends."

She gave a slow nod, "Sure."

He smiled and the harsh hand that was just rummaging through her bag suddenly thrust it in front of her, "If you would please, Belladonna, lets see that panic button eh?"

Her fingers twitched, the button was in her hand, the ability to summon Roman battled with the fear of what would follow; would he even come? Cobblepot's words were a chess move, pushing her toward action while reminding her of the stakes, Roman's response notwithstanding. She pushed the button.

~~~

Roman's forehead glistened with sweat, each droplet born of the force with which he hammered the heavy bag. In the soft glow of his penthouse gym, his movements were sharp and fierce, releasing his pent-up frustration with every punishing strike. With each blow, he couldn't shake the thoughts of Belladonna's unwanted intrusion into his carefully guarded sanctuary of self-control.

The echoing thud of leather meeting canvas filled the space, accompanied by the rhythmic rasp of his breath. His usually icy gaze burned with an intensity that betrayed the storm brewing inside him—a mixture of anger, frustration, and an insatiable thirst for dominance.

Despite the chaos of his assault, Roman's actions were precise and calculated, each strike a testament to his control. It was as if he were conducting a symphony of violence, every movement deliberate and purposeful, yet fueled by a primal energy that threatened to consume him.

This was Roman regaining control, not through restraint or diplomacy, but through sheer aggression.

In stark contrast to Romans controlled fury, Zsasz worked with quiet efficiency in the next room, where the remnants of the shattered phone lay scattered on the dining table like evidence of a minor explosion. With deft fingers, he assembled a new device, transferring the SIM card from the broken phone to its replacement. It was a task he performed without hesitation, because this wasn't the first phone to meet an unfortunate fate, knowing well the expectations of his volatile employer. Thus far, when it came to phones for the year, Roman had come in under budget.

As he powered on the new device, its screen lit up, revealing a cascade of missed calls—all from the same contact: Belladonna. 

Zsasz's lips pressed into a thin line, the only sign of his concern as he navigated through the notifications. The calls all spaced less than a minute apart. Roman's outbursts were never without consequence; missed communications during such episodes often meant trouble—trouble that had a way of escalating quickly. Roman might have been angry at Belladonna right now but Zsasz knew his employer well enough to know that his current anger would pale in comparison if something had actually happened to Belladonna. 

"Roman," Zsasz called out in a calm tone, purposely keeping a safe distance from his boss's volatile aura. He didn’t envy that punching bag and he sure as hell didn’t want to take its place. 

"There are fifteen missed calls from Belladonna."

The rhythmic thuds of Roman's fists against the heavy bag came to an abrupt stop. He stood there, fist coked, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, sweat glistening on his skin, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at the bag that had borne the brunt of his anger.

His cold gaze shot towards Zsasz, annoyance flaring in them like a match struck in darkness. But there was a brief pause as he glanced from the bag to Zsasz. "So?" he snarled, turning back to the bag and raising clenched fists once again.

"Bit much for her," 

"Probably calling to beg for forgiveness, I think she needs to learn about consequences of being a fucking drama queen." His fists shot out again, pounding furiously into the bag.

"Yeah,” He paused, sucking his teeth, “Thing is they're all less than a minute apart." Zsasz countered, his voice betraying none of the alarm coiling tight in his gut. "And there's one voicemail."

That caught Roman's attention long enough to pull him away from the leather-skinned adversary. His fists uncurled slightly, tension still riding high on his broad shoulders.

"Play it," 

Zsasz tapped the screen, and the room was filled with a voice that neither of them expected—a dry British voice laced with the dark honey of veiled threats and unwelcome familiarity.

"’Ello Roman, my dear fellow, you an’ I have gone and landed ourselves in a  bit of a pickle. Care to join us for a drink at your lovely lady’s abode? There’s matters to discuss, an’ don’t dawdle too long, she's looking a tad nervous, this lovely lady of yours, it’ don’t suit her. Cheers."

The name 'Oswald Cobblepot' didn't need to be spoken; its owner's presence was felt through the speakers, sending a jolt of electricity down Roman's spine. The blood pounding in his ears drowned out the sound of the bag's chain swinging idly, and for a moment, all was silent save for the taunting echo of Cobblepot's invitation. 

"Get the car," Roman snarled, his lip curling in a vicious sneer. No longer the captive prey, he was now the relentless predator, every sinew coiled with deadly purpose.

Zsasz snatched up keys while Roman hurriedly threw on a shirt and jacket. Their swift movements came to an abrupt halt as the phone emitted a sharp, piercing tone, different than any ordinary call or notification. It was an alert—a signal that pierced through the tension like a wailing siren. Roman's eyes narrowed as he seized the device, his thumb pressing firmly against the screen to reveal a pulsating red icon.

"Panic button." Roman growled, his voice dripping with a volatile mix of rage and apprehension.

"Move, now!" he barked at Zsasz, the urgency and gravity of the situation communicated in their exchanged glance. Without hesitation, Zsasz handed Roman a loaded gun, which he didn’t hesitate to accept, feeling an odd sensation about handling the gun once more. Especially since it was the same weapon Belladonna had thrust into his hand just a short time before.

~~~

The button, designed for emergencies, remained ominously quiet, devoid of any sound. Of course, it made sense; a panic button shouldn't give away the user's position. Still, a part of her wished for even a faint click, a subtle acknowledgment of her plea for help, some indication of its functionality. Yet, there was nothing but silence, exacerbating the sense of isolation and vulnerability.

She set it on the coffee table and her fingers clasped together in a futile attempt to steady herself amidst the escalating fear. Sitting across from her, Oswald Cobblepot's eyes flickered with a predatory amusement, reveling in the unease he instilled. 

"Ok," she said, her voice surprisingly steadier than she felt, but she still felt like throwing uo. She wondered if the lie tasted as bitter on her tongue as the truth of her desperation did. “He’s on his way.”

"Is that so?" He leaned back into the plush armchair, his fingers steepled before him, his gaze never wavering from her face. "I do hope he doesn't keep us waiting."

Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat a deafening drum reverberating through the room. The armed men stationed around her were like statues, and though it was irrational, she fought the urge to blink, because their unmoving presence reminded her of the weeping angels from Doctor Who. One blink, and they might spring to life. She opted for subtly crossing her fingers and toes for Roman's swift arrival. 

Her eyes first darted to the window, but that was no good. The ground below was too far to jump without risking injury, which made it useless as a means of escape. Living on the third floor didn’t offer her too many options. She could only go up to the roof which only put her in a more dangerous predicament, where would she go then? She’d be trading one trap for another. It wasn’t like she could sneak out the bathroom window either, it was tiny and not even a toddler could squeeze through it, besides, that also was under the assumption that she would be left alone in the first place. Judging by what she was seeing presently, it wouldn't surprise her if someone stood in the doorway and waited, not even giving her privacy if she actually had to pee. Despite her hands resting neatly in her lap, they were slick with perspiration.

"Well, while we’re twiddling our thumbs waiting for dear old Roman," Oswald started, tilting his head slightly, "Tell me, Belladonna, how are the lovebirds faring these days?" His voice oozed with faux interest, sharply contrasting the unspoken menace hanging heavy in the room's silence. 

“I must say, I was taken aback to see Roman parading around so publicly with a lady, but in a strange sort of way, it’s rather heartening. The poor lad's never been one for sticking to just one woman, especially not one so posh.”

Belladonna's throat tightened, constricting her breath. She bit down on her tongue, scrambling for a safe response, but she didn’t have one. This guy felt like a human lie detector, he definitely knew she was afraid, could she pass off a lie as fear? It was a hell of a gamble. The argument with Roman still stung, their harsh words lingering in her mind. Now, uncertainty clawed at her, making the idea of relying on him for rescue feel like nothing short of a pipe dream.

"Roman is... well, Roman," she hedged, her tone carefully neutral. 

But beneath the surface, panic surged as she continued to mentally map out escape routes and noting the positions of Oswald's men. Roman's absence left a void between her safety and the imminent danger. She had no choice but to prepare for the worst, to act as if she were truly alone. 

"I'm never bored."

A wave of dizziness washed over her, blurring her surroundings. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the fog that continued creeping in. The headache, a persistent throb since the police station that morning, pounded against her temples with renewed intensity. But maybe she would get lucky and it would turn out to be an aneurysm and she’d be dead before she hit the ground.

"Roman being Roman… Now that sounds spot on for the lad, doesn't it?" Oswald's amusement appeared genuine, his laughter almost convincing, but his narrowing eyes betrayed a deeper scrutiny. "You appear a tad off. Are you feeling quite yourself, my dear?”

"I'm fine, just a long day," she replied, mustering a forced smile that she knew wasn’t convincing anyone. Inside, her instincts screamed at her to move, to do anything other than sit there like a sitting duck. But she remained motionless, every muscle coiled for action but simultaneously frozen. 

"Of course," Oswald acknowledged, he looked almost sympathetic now, it really didn’t quit him. "Dealing with the police tends to ruffle feathers, doesn’t it? I do hope they maintained their decorum in your presence." She nodded with a soft ‘Mmhmm’, not remotely interested in hashing or drawing attention to their visit to the precinct or the circumstances as they left.

"You know, Belladonna, Roman is quite the peculiar individual." Oswald continued, prompting a genuine smile from her at the accurate portrayal of Roman. Wasn’t that the truth? "But that's his essence, isn't it? He's been that way since our school days." 

Cobblepot shook his head and pulled out a flask from his coat pocket, holding it out to her briefly. Normally, a drink would have been just the thing she needed, but at that moment, the sight of the flask turned her stomach for several reasons.

"Do you and Roman go way back?" 

Oswald chuckled deeply, looked like it. His reaction hinting that his sense of humor probably wasn’t on par with others. "Most certainly, all the way back to our days at Gotham Preparatory for Boys. Same year and all, me and Roman. Our families were close-knit for years until all that unpleasantness with his family. It's tough being the black sheep.” 

She had never been able to figure out what it was that had caused the clear rift between Roman and his family, but Oswald seemed to know. “Shame it was to find yourself on your own at such a young age. But that didn't stop him; look at him now! Building his own empire, a savvy businessman with a lovely lady by his side. Warms the heart. Gives the rest of us hope, eh?" Not enough hope for you, buddy. For a moment, he seemed lost in nostalgia, his gaze distant as if peering into the past. "Roman back then, what a force of nature…" 

"Never met a bloke more eager for a scrap than Roman. Always ready to throw fists, no matter the time or place. An’ he didn’t always win, but let me tell you, his opponents didn't walk away unscathed, that fella ‘as seen more blood than a turn of the century midwife.” He chuckled almost warmly but it was somehow wrong sounding. “A violent streak a mile wide, like a wild dog, really. By our senior year, Roman had men scurrying to the opposite side of the street just to steer clear of him, striking fear into everyone he encountered." His laughter resumed with a hearty slap on the knee, a memory amusing him while leaving the listener with the impression that most wouldn't share his amusement. 

"Once took a chunk out of a lad's ear. Oh yeah, blood runnin’ down his face, the other lad screamin’ in agony an’ not a one person stepped in to do anything, that’s the power Roman had. Should've seen him expelled and arrested, but you know how persuasive parents can be, can't they? Funny how things change; lately, I've never seen ‘im so calm and collected. Quite a departure from the Roman I've always known." His nonchalance in his recall of the memory, which by all means sounded horrific, seemed to completely tickle him and he slapped his knee again then wiped away a tear. 

He took a swig, the loud smacking of his lips likely to irk Roman—just as it did her. "Maybe it's all 'cause of havin' a lovely lady like yourself in his life. I reckon you've had quite the calming effect on our lad."

It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that Cobblepot and Roman were the same age. The difference between them was like night and day. Despite Roman being older than her, he still had that youthful spark about him. His smile could light up a room and make you feel like you were the most important person in the world with just a wink and a grin. He was charming and gorgeous.

On the other hand, Cobblepot looked like he had been through the wringer, more than once. He seemed aged beyond his years, with his face bearing the marks of countless battles lost. His smile wasn't exactly charming; it was a bit lopsided, his teeth slightly crooked and almost giving off a feral vibe. But that was what made him a bit scarier than Roman, at least at the moment. She never once thought Roman would sink his teeth into someone and rip out their throat, though he seemed to have a penchant for ear biting or slicing, and not in a fun kinky kind of way. Cobblepot looked as though he would go for the jugular and he didn’t care if it got messy.

"He's never been one to tolerate the paparazzi either, no siree. He's knocked out more than a few of 'em. Got himself quite the reputation, ain't that somethin'?"

None of that surprised Belladonna, not a bit. She kept up with the tabloids enough to know Roman Sionis was the last man whose face she’d shove a camera into. 

She squirmed on the plush couch under Oswalds uneven smile, feeling trapped in its luxury.

"Roman Sionis ain't got a bird on his arm like you, not a chance. Can't remember a time in all the bleedin' years I've known him when he's ever had more than a fleeting interest in a girl, that lasted longer than the time it took to get her into bed. Never seen him stickin' with the same tart twice; he's always been a 'use 'em and lose 'em' type, ain't he? Proper interesting, I tell ya," Oswald remarked in his typically casual tone, though there was a definite edge to his voice.

"With his fiery temper, most birds don't stick around too long, and I've never seen him being so lovey-dovey or payin' such close attention to a lady’s needs before. You must be a right gem, Miss Black. That's why, when I had trouble gettin' hold of him for a chat, I thought, maybe his new lady could help me track him down. So, I thought I'd pop by and pay you a visit. And here you are! Just as lovely as I imagined. Reckon you could be a good match for our bloke."

Belladonna wanted to scoff at that one. Special? If only he knew the mess Roman had made of her life. Or the further of that mess she’d made just an hour ago.

"Oh, he enjoys the chase, the thrill of something new and exciting. I'm just... the flavor of the month, you might say." She forced a dismissive wave of her hand, hoping it wasn’t shaking too noticeably.

Oswald leaned back, appraising her with a skeptic's eye. Whatever thoughts churned behind his calculating gaze, he kept them hidden for the moment. Belladonna held her breath, waiting for a response that didn't come. Instead, Oswald simply smiled, a knowing grin that told her he wasn't remotely convinced.

She was playing a dangerous game, but it was the only card she had left. And right now, her hand was all that stood between her and whatever plans Oswald Cobblepot harbored for Roman Sionis—and for her.

His thin lips curled into a smirk as he languidly reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket. Her pulse quickened, breath hitching slightly as she watched his deliberate movements, fearing a gun but what he pulled out was much worse. 

He withdrew a creased gossip magazine, flipping through pages with an air of nonchalance before stopping.

"Oh, come now, Belladonna. I think you're selling yourself quite short." 

He placed the glossy magazine on the table facing her, unveiling the stolen moment splashed across the tabloids.

The photo felt like it belonged to another lifetime, especially after the rollercoaster of a week they'd just been through. Frozen in that moment, it captured them mid-kiss: her hand resting lightly on his chest, the other tangled in the back of his hair. Roman's arm wrapped snugly around her waist, his hand cradling her cheek, the kiss filled with a passion that left no room for hesitation or doubt.

Multiple shots immortalized their intimacy, lips locked in a hungry dance, tongues entwined in a private tango. She had barely caught a glimpse of the camera lens before she leaned in for that impulsive kiss; she hadn't seen this specific photo yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it surfaced. Surprisingly, it took longer than she thought.

In the picture, they seemed like different people altogether, lost in a love that consumed them both. For a moment she initiated, Roman looked as though such affection came naturally to him, as if they'd been doing it for years. As opposed to what they were.

"But I think we both know you're more than a 'flavor of the month'." 

Belladonna's throat turned to sandpaper, her stomach churning with unease. She took a shaky breath, desperate to maintain her facade of indifference. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, attempting to form a response, but she found herself utterly speechless. Her silence spoke volumes.

"That's what I thought…" His eyes gleamed with malice. "See, this photo says two things to me. One: it means you've certainly got a hold of Roman's heartstrings, which makes you a very rare bird indeed. One I should like very much to be on good terms with," His smile twisted, revealing unusually sharp teeth. "Or, it means you really are just the flavor of the month, but damn, what a flavor it is. In that case, I'm wasting my time here, and you can't be of any real assistance. And that last one puts us all in a rough spot…"

She felt the room spin, her vision blurring at the edges, occasionally twinkling with fairy lights. Oswald wasn't here for small talk; he was a vulture circling his prey, ready to strike. Her body trembled as she fought back the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. This was more than a game of cat and mouse—her life hung in the balance, and she knew it.

"So, which is it, my dear, Belladonna?" Oswald purred, his gaze never leaving hers.

The room tilted, and Belladonna clutched at the armrest of the couch to steady herself. She could practically hear the trap snapping shut, the finality of her options dwindling to none. With every second that ticked by, her hope of walking away from this encounter unscathed slipped further out of reach.

Oswald's eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in Belladonna's demeanor as her body swayed ever so slightly. The steeliness that once laced her words now hung frayed and tattered. She seemed a porcelain figure on the verge of shattering, each breath drawn sharper than the last.

"He’s not coming, is he?" 

He let out a very heavy sigh that was full of what sounded like real disappointment, it was the only thing about his presence that she believed. "That's very unfortunate, isn't it?” His voice slithered through the air, but Belladonna's lips remained sealed, her thoughts ensnared in a tumultuous storm she couldn’t escape.  

Behind her, the cold muzzle of a gun pressed unceremoniously against the base of her skull, freezing her blood in her veins again.

“You must understand my dear, no one is more disappointed by the outcome of this little meeting than myself. I’d hoped for a far less messy conclusion, but it seems Roman has made that decision for us already, and I do hope there's no personal feelings. You must understand, it's just business." He patted her hand patronizingly, she nodded and closed her eyes taking a deep breath. "No, no, lads, let's do in the chest, this lovely lady deserves an open casket, don't she?"

Once more, Belladonna found herself staring down the barrel of a gun, the heavy weight of impending death pressing down on her. As the hand wielding the weapon leveled it directly at her heart, the world around her began to blur into a surreal haze. Clear sounds melted away into nothingness, replaced by a distant ringing akin to tinnitus, and the voices around her morphed into incomprehensible gibberish, like the muted chatter of adults in a Peanuts cartoon.

Despite the gravity of the unfolding situation, Belladonna felt herself drifting away from reality, slipping into a state of dissociation as if observing the scene from afar. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly amidst the chaos, the stale odor of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of gun oil emanating from the handgun aimed at her. Oswald's gestures appeared exaggerated, like some ringmaster orchestrating the final act of a grim circus performance.

Physical symptoms of discomfort began to ease—dizziness fading, headache receding, nausea subsiding, trembling abating, clammy palms cooling—she found herself suspended in an eerie calm.

The mundane sounds of shoes tapping on the floor, and the accompanying creak of floorboards beneath them, the whirr of her ceiling fan, with the loose bolt she'd intended to tighten to silence its occasional squeak all added to the surreal atmosphere.

She looked up the barrel of the gun to the indifferent stare of the man before her, and for a second she wondered if this was what a doctor facing a condemned convict before administering a lethal injection looked like. Silence stretched thick with anticipation until it was abruptly shattered by a forceful entry that brooked no subtlety, as the door to her apartment burst open.

Roman Sionis, a tempest of fury and resolve, stormed into the room like a cataclysmic force of nature, accompanied by Zsasz and a formidable cadre of a dozen armed men. Each figure exuded an aura of unyielding power and control, their weapons drawn with synchronized precision honed through countless deadly encounters, they moved as one, their steps echoing a deadly choreography perfected through the crucible of battle.

All of her senses swirled in a chaotic symphony, her pulse pounding like a drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the sounds of impending danger. Time continued to warp and stretch, as if caught in a surreal limbo, until her gaze finally lifted from the menacing barrel of the gun to meet Roman's intense stare.

In an instant, clarity pierced through the frenzy,  and the world snapped back into focus. Roman's presence enveloped her like a looming shadow, his aura pulsating with a barely restrained intensity that seethed beneath his calm exterior. As he stalked into the living room his every movement commanded silence and respect. Like he had clawed his way up from the bowels of hell, draped in darkness, emanating a raw power that left all who beheld him caught between awe and apprehension.

One thing was clear—Roman Sionis had arrived, a formidable force to be reckoned with, and he was fucking pissed.

The man holding the gun jerked suddenly and his hand landed heavily on Belladonna's shoulder, keeping her firmly trapped in place. He was quick to redirect the gun, pressing it menacingly against her temple. She took the motion, feeling it flow through her limbs but found herself still very detached from what was happening.

Oswald’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at Roman, almost as if he were greeting an old friend. But, while "old" fit, calling them friends was stretching it a bit.

"Ah, the man of the hour!" Oswald announced, his voice a mix of amusement and a hint of caution. "You've finally decided to grace us with your presence. Good thing too, Belladonna here was getting antsy, poor thing seemed to think she wasn't much of a priority at all." He reached for Belladonna's hand, giving it a reassuring pat, "See? I told you, you was something special, love."

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking like a warning sign of the eruption brewing within him. His eyes, black and hard, fixed on the cold steele still trained on Belladonna. 

"Put that gun down and take your hands off my angel," Roman growled, low and dangerous. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his black gloves creaking as his grip intensified.

Oswald was seemingly unperturbed by the lethal aura emanating from Roman, unlike his men who seemed more concerned with being in his vicinity, but a flicker in his gaze betrayed a hint of caution. He knew better than to mistake Roman's controlled fury for weakness, as he had told Belladonna, they went way back. 

"Temper, temper, Roman," he chided mockingly as if the whole thing was a prank or a joke that lacked a punchline. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Cobblepot. If your man doesn't lower his piece, I can guarantee there won’t be enough of you and your crew left to fill a matchbox. Tell them to step back, or I might just conveniently forget our... 'history' altogether."

Oswald gestured with a tilt of his head and a flick of his hand, the henchman behind Belladonna lowered his weapon, releasing her shoulder and stepping back but never quite relaxing his stance. It was unnerving, it looked as though Cobblepot had the disadvantage, Roman had more men and more guns, so why was Cobblepot smiling?

Roman's steely gaze held firm even as the immediate threat of the gun subsided, a silent triumph in the precarious power play. The atmosphere in the room shifted, Oswald still stood between Roman and Belladonna.

Roman's face remained unreadable, giving away none of the gut-wrenching worry that consumed him. He had honed the ability to hide his feelings, knowing they were vulnerabilities he couldn't afford to show. Just his mere presence spoke volumes, revealing far more than Roman wanted to let on.

"Come here, Belladonna," 

Oswald glanced downward and extended his hand to assist her in rising to her feet. Roman gritted his teeth at the contact but remained still as a statue. With cautious movements, she stood up slowly, her gaze wary as she searched for any sign of movement from him. Yet, he remained motionless, his expression impassive as if it were just another Tuesday for this asshole. Oswald didn't press further, simply aiding her to stand before offering a reassuring pat on her hand.

With tentative steps, she moved forward, drawn inexorably by the gravitational pull of Roman's presence. Each step was tentative, and she swayed slightly, feeling off-balance. As she closed the distance between them, she reached out with a trembling hand and grasped onto Roman's outstretched arm. From there, he took over, pulling her securely behind him, shielding her from harm and providing a sense of stability with his unyielding frame.

"Well now look at that, such a fine looking couple. Now that we're all here, we need to have a bit of a chat. Seems like you've been busy at the docks, Roman," Oswald said, attempting to steer the conversation towards territories less fraught with personal entanglements. "Shipping lanes are getting crowded these days. I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding there recently, let's clear that up, shall we?" 

"Nothing to clear up. Stay out of my business, Cobblepot," Roman replied curtly, his focus divided between the veiled threats and the fragile figure clinging to him. "And keep your men on a shorter leash."

Oswald's smile thinned, a hint of steel entering his previously jovial tone. "Just trying to keep the waters smooth for everyone. You know how messy it can get when lines are crossed."

"Then don't cross them," Roman shot back, each word laced with an icy finality. "Or next time I won't be so nice."

"Roman, one of my boys here is missing an ear, you call that nice?" He said it so lightheartedly as if he were making a joke he expected people to chuckle at. The man missing an ear didn’t seem to find any humor in the observations nor Romans presence, he just glared at Belladonna but seemed to take a step back when Romans abyssal gaze fell on him.

"Yeah, I sent him back alive." 

Belladonna's fingers clenched around his arm, her complexion draining of color to resemble the stark paleness of alabaster. This transformation made her dark hair appear even more striking, akin to the sleekness of a raven's wing—a detail not unnoticed by Roman. Though he refrained from displaying any overt reaction, he offered her a subtle squeeze of reassurance. In this game of power, every gesture was scrutinized, every weakness potentially exploited.

"Watch yourself, Sionis,"

"Always do," Roman replied, his eyes never leaving Oswald's.

"Lads, I think we've taken up enough of Romans time for the moment,"

With a nod to his men, Oswald signaled the withdrawal, and one by one, they filed out of the apartment, leaving the space feeling more like an open wound than a place she once found comfort in. Roman's posture was rigid, an unspoken threat emanating from his every pore as he shielded Belladonna with his frame. His hand found the small of her back, protective and possessive all at once.

"Let's get one thing clear," Roman growled, his voice a low rumble of barely contained fury. "Your boys come sniffing around my territory or my woman again?" He leaned in closer to Oswald, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I send 'em back in pieces." Romans admission of Belladonna as 'his woman' didn't go unnoticed, drawing a few glances.

Oswald regarded him with a cold amusement, unfazed by the promise of violence. "Protection is a tricky business, Roman." He strolled casually towards the door, pausing to adjust his cufflinks with meticulous care. "Better not skip our next little chat, hm? It would be most unfortunate to misunderstand each other over such... delicate matters. We still have things to sort out, we'll talk again soon."

Turning on his heel, Oswald, with a flourish that matched the grandiosity of his reputation, addressed Belladonna once more "My dear," he intoned, his voice slick as oil, "your hospitality has been most enlightening, an’ it’s been a pleasure to meet you, hope our paths cross again soon! So glad this all worked out!" 

Belladonna held her breath as she watched Oswald's back recede towards the door. He seemed to glide rather than walk, his every move calculated for effect. All the world's a stage, and while before she had often thought of Roman as a showman performing for a crowd, it came effortlessly to him. Oswald seemed to think his audience was larger than it was. His men, a cadre of shadows in suits, filed out behind him in silence. The door clicked shut with an air of finality.

Once the threat had physically left the premises, Roman's men sprang into action. Led by Zsasz they communicated with terse hand signals, moving like a well-oiled machine, sweeping through Belladonna's apartment with precision. The intensity of their search was surreal; they checked under tables, behind curtains, and inside cupboards. Every potential hiding spot was scrutinized, every corner scanned for bugs or any other surprises. The tension slowly began to ebb away as they methodically cleared each room, nodding to one another to confirm the absence of danger. 

Whirling around, he reached out, gently cupping her face. His eyes scanned her form, searching for any signs of injury, before finally locking onto her with an intensity that seemed to tether him to reality. 

"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" his voice low and gruff, strained with the struggle to keep his composure, the anger was still there though, just bubbling beneath the surface.

She could feel the heat from his body beginning to chase away the chill of fear that had seized her just moments ago. She tried to muster a response, but her body betrayed her, leaving her words tangled in a throat tight with panic and exhaustion. The throbbing returned, nausea surged back up, dizziness asserting control over her and all she could manage was a deathgrip on the lapels of his jacket.

“Loft is clear,” Zsasz, ever observant, stepped closer, his eyes scanning Belladonna with an analytical precision that missed nothing. "She doesn't look good, Roman," his voice devoid of emotion yet tinged with an urgency that underscored the gravity of the situation. 

Roman's jaw clenched, the mask of indifference he so often wore crumbling as his eyes took in the pallor of Belladonna's skin, the tremble in her limbs. 

"Talk to me, Belladonna," Roman urged, his thumb brushing against the nape of her neck in a soothing motion that belied the steel in his tone. 

His gaze sharpened at the subtle shiver that coursed through Belladonna, her skin a ghostly shade of white that even the dim lighting couldn't soften. Her eyes, usually so piercing and alive, now seemed to flicker with a quiet distress that pulled at something primal within him.

"When did you last eat?" 

Her dark eyes darted towards the door where Cobblepot had made his exit moments ago. "He was already here when I—" Her words tumbled out in a rush, the coherence of her thoughts frayed by the events that had unfolded. "I couldn't get out, Roman, and the panel was—" Her breaths came in short, panicked bursts, “The had their guns on me– he–he knew about the panic button–" 

"Focus, Angel," Roman cut in, his hand cupping her chin, compelling her gaze back to his. There was no anger in his touch, only a commanding steadiness that sought to guide her away from panic. "When. Did. You. Eat?"

Her lips parted, but it took a moment for the words to follow, hesitant and laced with confusion. "I– I'm– not sure." 

Roman's eyes narrowed, the pieces falling into place—a puzzle he hadn't realized was scattered before him until now. She was far more than just shaken from the experience.

Roman maneuvered her towards the plush divan, with each step, her weight leaned more heavily against him, her strength waning like the last flickers of a dying candle.

"Sit," he murmured, voice low, a command wrapped in a plea. But as he eased her down, her knees buckled like broken reeds, and she collapsed into his arms with the gracelessness of a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Belladonna!" Roman's voice cracked like a whip through the tension-thick air. 

Her name, usually a purr of possession on his lips, now a jagged shard of panic. He held her close, her body limp in his embrace, her face ghostly pale—a specter of the vibrant woman who'd challenged him at every turn.

"She’s crashing." Zsasz's voice was distant yet urgent, breaking through the tension with a sense of impending crisis. 

The words hit Roman like a bolt of lightning, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. In that moment, his determination solidified – she was his. His decision to spare her life that night wasn’t going to be undone by something as simple or stupid as a sugar crash, ice flooded his veins as he remembered Daisy’s cautionary warning about the consequences. He gritted his teeth, pulling Belladonna closer as if his mere presence could ward off danger.

"Damn it," Roman growled, pulling Belladonna tighter against him, as if his own strength could fortify her. "Get her bag! Daisy said she’s always got something in her bag!"

Without hesitation, Zsasz darted forward, snatching up the discarded bag and rifling through its contents. His fingers closed around a small bag of M&Ms, an inconsequential discovery under normal circumstances.

Roman barely glanced at him, his focus solely on Belladonna, her head resting against his shoulder, her breaths shallow. He nodded tersely, signaling Zsasz to approach with the makeshift remedy.

"Out. All of you," Roman commanded, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the room. Not needing to be told twice, they filed out.

With the room now empty, Roman carefully positioned Belladonna against the couch's armrest, her body limp like that of a rag doll. With an unusual tenderness, he ripped open the bag of brightly colored candy, handling it with more care than he had shown anything in years. He then extended a handful to her trembling hands. It was a strange contrast; instead of medical supplies like gauze, stitches, or alcohol, it was a simple ninety-nine cent bag of candy that seemed to be coming to their rescue.

"Open your mouth, angel," he said, his command softening into a gentle coaxing, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos.

Belladonna's eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion and confusion. With trembling hands, she reached for the offered morsels, but her grip faltered, spilling a few onto the fabric of the couch.

"Roman..." she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible above the turmoil.

"Take the damn candy, Belladonna," he commanded, crushing the red morsel before guiding it to her lips. His touch was both tender and possessive as his thumb brushed against her lower lip, slipping the piece into her mouth.

As she chewed slowly, the chocolate melted on her tongue, leaving behind a sweet trail on her lips. With each passing moment, the tension in Roman's jawline eased slightly, replaced by a sense of relief as he observed her. He watched every subtle movement, from the way her throat worked as she swallowed to the faint return of color to her cheeks.

But even as he fed her the candy piece by piece, his muscles remained tense with worry, minutes ticking by without solace.

"This never would have happened if you hadn't stormed off," he said, the words slipping out amidst the quiet concern, a hint of the anger that had not long ago consumed him. But even as he spoke them, there was no force behind the reproach, no venom.

The sweetness seeping into her bloodstream was a lifeline thrown across the chasm of her fatigue, she leaned forward slumping against Roman’s shoulder.

"You were being a dick," she murmured, the accusation slipping out with a weak breath. It was less of an attack and more of an exhausted confession, her words slurred by the effort it took to voice them.

In the hollow quiet that followed, Roman's silhouette loomed over her, his presence a dark canopy in the dimly lit room. His eyes remained locked onto hers, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling in their depths—anger, concern, something indefinable that tugged at the corner of his mouth, suppressing the reflex to argue.

"Maybe," he conceded, the word almost lost in the space between them. 

He could have retorted, could have unleashed the cold fury that so often defined him, but here, with Belladonna's life seeming to hang by a thread, such defenses seemed petty. 

As her head came to rest against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a grounding rhythm in the chaos. Belladonna's grip on Roman tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like a lifeline. 

"Your heart’s going crazy," she muttered low and quietly. With every pulse, her sugar levels climbed, dragging her back from the brink, each beat whispering promises of safety, of possession.

Roman's arms adjusted around her, movements deliberate, ensuring her comfort as they supported her weakened frame. The dangerous dance continued, the lines of their relationship blurred and redrawn with every shared breath, every silent oath spoken through actions rather than words. And as her sugar stabilized, Roman's gaze searched Belladonna's face for any sign of improvement.  

“We should get out of here boss,” Roman nodded to Zsasz’s suggestion. “I’ll call the doc.”

He leaned in closer, steadying her with one arm while using the other to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His voice was softer now, the hard edges worn down by worry. 

"Can you stand?" 

Belladonna’s eyes fluttered open, the fog of weakness still clouding her vision. She attempted to focus on Roman's face, the lines of anxiety etched deeply around his eyes. Her lips parted, but no clear words formed, just a breathy murmur that left her intentions as hazy as the room spinning gently around them.

"Alright." 

The word was a low rumble in Roman's chest, his decision made in the absence of a coherent response. In one fluid motion, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back, lifting her from the couch as though she weighed nothing at all. His hands, those instruments of both violence and protection, cradled her gently, lifting her from the couch as though she were made of glass.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, the world tilting precariously as he carried her toward the door. Belladonna's hands clung weakly to the collar of his shirt, the fabric bunching under her tentative grasp. 

"Get the car," Roman commanded without breaking his gait, his voice devoid of any emotion but the steel of authority. 

Zsasz nodded and slipped away to execute the order, leaving Roman to face the remaining men. Their eyes followed him, curious and calculating, but none dared to step out of line. They recognized the silent fury that lurked beneath the surface of Roman's composure—a fury that promised retribution should anyone challenge his actions or question his motives. There was no protest, only the silent acquiescence to his unspoken command, but there was confusion and questions. 

Roman Sionis didn’t do this. He didn’t carry anyone, he didn’t bring down an ungodly show of force for a woman. But none of them were stupid enough to voice these questions.

Roman's stride was unwavering as he navigated through the sea of exchanged glances from his men. The weight of Belladonna in his arms did nothing to hinder his pace, his jaw set in a hard line, every muscle in his body tensed for action. He could feel their eyes on him, watching this rare glimpse of tenderness from a man known for his ironclad control and ruthlessness.

He felt it too, the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Why the sudden display of care? What had changed the game so drastically that Roman Sionis, a figure feared and respected in equal measure, would expose even a hint of weakness?

But there was no time for doubt, no space for hesitation. The urgency thrummed through his veins like a drumbeat, propelling him forward. His priority was clear: get Belladonna to safety, away from prying eyes and lurking dangers. His world, which he ruled with an iron fist, could crumble if he didn't act swiftly to protect what was now an extension of himself.

The corridors of the building blurred past them, the staccato tap of his shoes against the floor punctuating the silence. Roman could sense the tension rolling off his men, the unasked questions about loyalty, power and possession. But they knew better than to voice them. They understood the unspoken rule—the boss's business was his own until he deemed otherwise.

The cool air kissed their faces as they emerged into the street, he shifted Belladonna slightly, ensuring her head was sheltered against the chill. Her breath, shallow and fragile, brushed against his neck, a reminder of her current fragility, something he was very uncomfortable with.

As the sleek black vehicle pulled up along the curb, Roman lowered Belladonna into the backseat with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh lines of his face. Then he turned to address his crew, his gaze sweeping over them with a cold intensity.

"Secure the perimeter. No one gets in or out without my say-so, and sweep it from top to bottom." he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

The men nodded, a chorus of murmured affirmatives filling the space between them as Roman slid into the car beside Belladonna. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing them away from the outside world. As the engine roared to life, Roman allowed himself a brief moment to look down at the woman in his arms, her presence a quiet assertion of his priorities.

She was safe—for now. And as the car sped away, disappearing into the night, Roman Sionis knew that the game had changed irrevocably, and all because of the woman who had unwittingly become his everything.

Fourteen

~~~

Things are heating up!!! @supernatural-lover @keffirinne

#i have too many stories #fanfiction is life #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #roman sions #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sionis imagine #dark romance #birds of prey #dc fandom #blackmasksmut #black mask fanfiction #black mask imagine #simping for the bad guy #WHo's the real bad guy #bop #ewanmcgregorcharacters

[lacontroller1991]

Whumptober Day 5: Roman Sionis x F!Reader

Main Master List || Whumptober Master List

Day 5: Hostage/Kidnapping/Held at Gunpoint

Summary: With reader now being known as Roman Sionis’s girlfriend, she becomes an easy target.

WARNINGS: 18+ Graphic depiction of physical assault, graphic mention of blood/bruises/swelling, gang violence, mention of drugs, reader didn't know that Sions runs a mob, graphic depiction of murder, gun usage, slight PTSD

The room is cold and dark. You don’t know where you are but you definitely know that you’re not back at home. Home. A place where you were ripped away from without anyone knowing. A harsh hand slaps across your face, causing your head to whip to the side. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, where is Sionis keeping his supply.” You let out a whimper as the man you don’t know grips onto your face, squishing your already aching face in between his short, fat fingers. 

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Another slap lands across your face as you spit out some blood. 

“So you’re meaning to tell me that Sionis’s little pet doesn’t know where he’s storing the drugs?” The man snarls as your eyes widen. Drugs? What on earth is he talking about? Sure, Roman is a bit… eccentric, but he wouldn’t be dealing drugs. Would he?

“What drugs?” You cry out, the rope binding your arms to the chair rubbing your skin raw as the man backs up, looking you over.

“Do you seriously not know that your lover is a crime boss?” He laughs as the others around you also laugh, confusion among other feelings predominating your emotions.

“He owns a club. That’s all he does.” You try to defend but something tells you that even you don’t believe it.

“Oh you sweet, sweet child. You really don’t have a clue. Roman Sionis owns a club, it’s true. But he is also one of the crime lords supplying Gotham with its drug problem.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Tears well in your eyes as your brain starts putting the pieces together. The random stains in some of his clothes. The faint smell of gunpowder. The random screams you hear. His off-putting behavior. It all makes sense now. Sensing your revelation, the man motions to two of the guys behind you. 

“Take her away.”

—-------

“Roman.” Zsasz walks in, a packet in his hands as Roman looks up from his desk, hair messy and still in his pajamas.

“What is it? Did you find her?” He walks around the desk towards his right hand man. The first few hours of your disappearance Roman has just thought that you finally decided to leave him and he threw a rage fit. He really only calmed down when Zsasz pointed out the fact that all of your stuff is still in the apartment and nothing was missing, only you. Which led to the conclusion that you have been taken. In which Roman quickly mobilized his men to try and hunt you down.

Handing Roman the file, Zsasz quickly steps away, knowing that Roman would likely throw another fit once he sees the contents. Opening the file, he pulls out the photos and he sees red. One photo is you in a chair, tied to the posts. Another photo is more of a close up where he sees the rope cutting into your skin. The last photo is another close up, but this time of your face. Bruises and swelling around your eyes, beaten cheeks, bruised, swollen, bloody lips and it makes his blood boil.

“What do you want to do boss?” Roman looks up and Zsasz’s eyes widen. Sure he’s seen Roman angry, but the calmness on Roman’s face even has Zsasz intimated. 

“Gather everyone.”

—-----

The sound of gunfire stirs you out of your unconsciousness and causes you to jump, only to be met with resistance. Men shouting orders and profanities barely contrast to the amount of gun fire being shed. You begin to cry, terrified of what’s going on. You try to get out of the binds but it’s only rubbing against your already broken skin. After a few minutes the gunfire stops, shoes clicking against the floor and you can hear a gun cock. 

“No. Please. No. No.” A voice begs as the footsteps stop.

“Where is she?” The voice sounds vaguely familiar but it also sounds muffled, like there’s a mask covering the voice.

“She’s in there!” Your eyes widen as you realize that they’re talking about you. Full out crying, you’re trying to loosen the rope as much as possible but it doesn’t budge. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” A single gunshot rings out and you let out a sob, shutting your eyes and silently praying that whoever just murdered that person is not here to murder you. “Open it.” The door creaks open as feet rush in, one coming directly towards you.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything.” You beg, tears falling down your face as you turn away.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Roman’s here.” Your eyes slowly open as much as they can as you turn your head towards the voice. 

“Roman? What are you doing here?” He shushes you as you feel your hands become free, the rope that was once holding you back now gone as you surge into Roman’s arms. “Oh Roman, it was so terrible. They said terrible things. They said that you run a gang and that you’re storing drugs?” His silence is deafening and you realize that the person who had you captured was right. “He was right, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses your claim but you know. 

“I can’t believe you. Why would you do that?”

“Look baby, we can talk about this later, but we need to get you some medical care. Kay?” You begrudgingly decide to let it go, letting Roman help you out of the chair. He motions for Zsasz and another henchmen to help you but you jerk away from them and into Roman. “You guys go away,” Roman motions for them to leave and as they do, Roman sweeps you up into his arms, knowing that you probably won’t like the fact that the floors are littered with bodies. “Just focus on me, okay. I’m going to get you out of here and we’ll talk.”

“Promise?” You lay your head into his shoulder as he struggles not to gag at the fact that your blood is getting on his Gucci suit. 

“I promise.” 

#roman sionis x you #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #lacontroller1991 #Ewan mcgregor #harley quinn and the birds of prey #harley quinn movie #reader insert #female reader #roman Sions x reader #black mask

[mako-neexu]

shion saying that the ORT fight could be a "grand temple of time 2.0" for her and goredolf rubs me off the wrong way...

#i get your intentions are nice and shes excited... #but this time it isnt really heroic or amything... #if anything the fight is dreadful the music shows that and any move could #be your last #unlike goetia this is a creature's corpse running full speed to its #heart and even that alone is so hard to beat you cant help but #count your blessings #but with goetia you can still kind of reason with him since hes an #intelligent being...and also doctor roman used ars nova #to nerf him so there was more hope of beating him... #i cant explain the feeling but it feels... wrong to hear sion being excited about temple of time and comparing it to ort battle

[tarrenterror25]

For the fanfic ask game 💖

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

📊 Current number of WIPs

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

*deep inhale* Tara, you literally asked all the questions I didn't think I would get when I shared this 😂

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

Yes. I have a Two-Face x F!OC that I am positive I will never let anyone see (minus 1). I have about 4-5 chapters so far. It's titled "Wait and Hope" and is about Harvey rekindling a romance with a long time companion/friend. Lot of Count of Monte Cristo references/quotes and focuses on sort of social expectations of people depending on their status. It's very angsty and I love it. The reason I won't let it see the light of day is because that corner of the Batman fandom is....a lot. Love 'em, but I'll continue to keep most of my Two-Face works to myself. EDIT: Yep, thanks for reminding Tara, there is another one, I will NEVER share. One person has read it but that is ALL. I will never post it and I won't even say what it's about. That shit is under lock and KEY

📊 Current number of WIPs

Well, 2 for sure and then actively working on one other so about 3 total.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

So I just had 2 ideas come up. One if for a Roman Sionis x F!Reader, lots of drama/angst inspired by Melanie Martinez's song "The Contortionist". It's some unrequited love, pining, self deprecating, and all that jazz. I originally was gonna write some mean!Joel Miller and then decided to do both, but then thought that there's so much mean!Joel already (nothing wrong with it) and I want to write something different and not feel like I'm just rehashing something else so I decided to do Joel with soft! f! love interest. He's gruff, rough around the edges, but he really likes her and he's trying to figure out how a guy like him can get close to her. He's not the smooth talkin' Texan we might all think him to be, no, he's gonna be clumsy, he's stumble, and it's gonna be adorable.

fanfic ask game

#thanks for asking 💖 #ask game #fanfic ask game #wip #roman sion #joel miller #tlou #two face

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Infatuation [Part 2]

Roman Sionis x Reader

Read Part 1 here

a/n:  this one is for you anon who asked about it more then once, I love you <3 I will write one more part and finish this story 

~~~

You had no returned back to the club in over a week.  After the events of the other night, you saw it best to continue the game.  

You laid on the couch in nothing but your pajamas.  You wore some loose shorts and a tank top.  You were watching something on the tv not really paying attention to it.  You were thinking about Roman.  He was all that was ever on your mind.  You thought about how close he was to you that night.  You thought about how he wanted you almost as much as you wanted him.  If you had not wanted to see how he’d act if you played with him that night you would have most likely been tangled up with him in bed.  You checked your phone religiously to see if he would call or text.  He never did.  You wondered if you had ruined any chance with him you had.  

You thought about going to the club tonight.  Maybe you should put on your sexiest outfit and go see him.  It was late he would definitely be there.  You wanted him more than anything...

There was a knock at your door.  You wondered who would be coming to see you at this hour.  You muted the tv and walked over to the door.  You opened it to see Roman standing in the doorway.  He looked you up and down with a giant smile on his face.  You felt your face flood with embarrassment.  You looked like a bum.  Every time you had saw him you were dressed to the best of your ability to show out for him.  “R-Roman,” you stumbled over his name.  “Hello there, gorgeous,” he licked his lips.  You leaned against the door, “How did you find where I live?”  “I can find anything about anyone if I want to bad enough,” he smiled.  You smiled slightly.  “Do you... um... want to come inside?”  You moved out of the way of the entrance.  “I thought you’d never ask,” he walked past you.  You closed the door behind yourself, leaning against it.  He examined your apartment.  It was small, but it was perfect for you.  You hoped he would not judge it too harshly.  “Nice place,” he spoke turning around to face you.  You blushed, “Thanks.”  

“So,” he sat down on your couch, spreading his arms along the back of it, “You mind telling me why you have no visited my club this week?”  You did not want to tell him the truth, but you thought it would be fun to.  You walked over to the couch, sitting down several inches away him.  “I guess I was just waiting for your call that never came,” you smirked to him.  He looked at you, “I thought this would be a little more fun.”  You giggled to yourself.  He reached his hand over to you, placing a firm grip on your exposed thigh.  You looked at him, he had lust painted all over his face.  “I think you owe me a kiss from the other night, baby girl,” he smirked.  He patted the empty space between the two of you, “Come on over here.”  You scooted yourself over to him.  He placed a hand on the side of your head.  He ran his fingers through your hair, “God, you’re beautiful.”  You smiled at him.  He leaned in, pressing his lips firmly to yours.  He stayed there for a moment before pulling you closer to him.  His tongue went deep into your mouth.  The kiss became sloppy.  You smiled through the kiss.  Roman rested his forehead against yours, “Oh the things I am going to do to you.”...

Your body jerked awake.  You looked around your room, a hand rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.  You grabbed your phone to check the time.  It wasn’t too late to head to the Black Mask Club.  You got yourself dressed, heading out the door.  

Although it was late, the club was still booming extremely busy and full of people.  You shuffled around looking for your target.  You saw him, surrounded by lewdly dressed women.  His arms draped over their shoulders.  Jealousy pooled deep inside you.  You wanted to smack him, throw all those women off him.  But.  He was not yours to claim.  Two can play at this game.

A game you were sure one of you had no idea you were playing.  You found a well dressed man sitting at a booth.  You sat on the edge of the booth with him, crossing your legs leaning into him.  “Well, hello there,” the man shifted his body towards you.  You placed a flat palm against his chest, “Hi, handsome.”  His hand went to your exposed thigh, inching up your skin.  You twirled his hair around your finger, staring into his eyes.  The palm you placed on him began traveling down his body, stopping on his cold belt buckle.  His other hand went to the back of your head, pulling you in for a kiss.  You made-out sloppily with him.  He wasn’t who you wanted, but he would do.  

Suddenly, you were pulled off of him.  Your ass hitting the floor.  “Fuck!”  You exclaimed.  You looked over your shoulder seeing Roman standing behind you with disheveled hair.  He wasn’t looking at you at all, only the man who you had been all over.  “Get the fuck out of here,” venom painted Roman’s tongue.  The club grew silent.  Everyone stared as the man ran out the doors.  All patrons were too afraid to make a peep.  

“Get your ass up,” he grabbed you by the arm, gritting through his teeth.  His demeanor changed instantly addressing the club, “Everyone get back to having a good time!”  He chuckled as the sounds of the club resumed.  He pulled you behind him.  He pinned you against a wall in a dark hallway a bit away from the main party scene.  

Your face was completely flushed with heat.  Piercing ocean eyes stared into yours.  You were breathing heavy.  

His gloved hand caressed under your chin.  “My little stalker.  Ghosting me for a week then showing back up and making out with some rando?  Real good stuff,” he bared a toothy smile at you.  It quickly fell into a frown, his hand pulling your hair back.  You sputtered feeling pain from him.  His nose ghosted up your neck, “You even stink like him now.  What am I going to do with you?”

You swallowed a heavy lump in your throat.  You breathed out heavy, your pallet completely dry.  His teeth grazed your skin.  Your heart pounded in your chest.  It was almost impossible to deny the arousal and excitement brewing inside you.  

“Out of all the ways women have tried to get my attention, you are the first to throw herself onto another man,” Roman whispered in your ear.  You could feel your legs shaking.  You sucked your lips, trying to calm down.  One of his hands ventured down your body, stopping right below your panty line.  “This is why you came here, right?  Wanted me to fuck you?”  He teased you, hot breath against your skin.  Your eyes fluttered, your head finally relaxing in his grip.  

“Too bad,” Roman whispered.  Throwing you onto the floor, adjusting his gloves.  “I don’t reward cheaters.  I also don’t like losing at games.  Try and play a little better next time, pretty girl,” he smirked down at you.  “Why don’t we try again another night?  Maybe I’ll take you to my penthouse and fuck you until that pussy is aching... more than I’m sure it is right now,” he leaned down to be nose to nose with you.  

Roman spun around on his heal, hooping a victory excitement.  You stared as he walked away.  

The games had just began.  

~~~

[END//Part 2]

~Thank You for Reading! <3 part 3 coming soon~

#roman sionis #roman sions x reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #Birds of Prey #black mask #black mask x reader #dc #sexymonsterfics #fanfic

[teledyn]

ANTIPORNO Trailer - Roman Porno Reboot - Directed by SION SONO (Cold Fish)

American porno is boring

#cinema #roman porno #sion sono #antiporno #Youtube

[coraljeno]

my roman empire because no one really gets what this means to me

(had to add the last one because ??#!#?#!$! hoping sion and hueka become friends🤞)

#nct #txt #nct dream #nct wish #mark lee #renjun #sion #sakuya #yeonjun #huening kai #tomorrow x together #kpop

[fallstaticexit]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore 💜

Thank you for the ask :) I always get sooo excited when I get an opportunity to answer one of these!

Since next COTF update is a bit Noa centered plus I've been playing with him in game the past couple days (and he's my little bb) I'll blabber about my favorite ex-pirate. 🤭💖

Noa was born in Selvadorada - there's a lot Noa doesn't know about his past. The little he does know are the very blurry early memories he had before he was taken in by pirates as a toddler and the little bits of information he was able to scrape up over time from his crewmates or the Freudian slip from his caretaker/Captain, Knox during one of his passionate drunken rants. He had no idea his mother was a witch until he after he had Adie and we actually learn in the coming update how he finds out about his Aunt Nora (via flashback). His way of connecting with his birth home is by embracing Selvadoradian culture by opening his failing restaurant, A Taste of Selvadorada.

Noa was raised by pirates - After the death of his mother when he was a toddler, Noa was taken in by pirates. Before he met Orion and the Briars, the pirates was the only family he ever knew. His captain, Captain Knox, was the closest thing he had to a father even if they had a rough relationship where it often felt like Knox resented Noa. He also considered Knox's son, Roman, as his brother; their relationship wasn't all that great either, especially as they got older. He grew up around liars and thieves and for his whole life that's what he had to become in order to survive. Even though Noa is no longer a pirate, he still has the instincts of one and is constantly having to shake away old habits.

Noa is still besties with Orion's ex - When Orion was 14/15, she dated the Sulani Chief's son, Sione. Sione is a really nice guy but he and Orion just wasn't a match plus her heart was destined for Noa whether she knew it or not so their breakup was inevitable. Noa and Sione both share a trauma of losing someone close to them which is how they ended up being friends. Years have past and they still talk often and consider each other soul brothers (and yes, Orion was a little annoyed at first but she's used to it lol )

Noa was named after his Aunt Nora - (did anyone figure this out yet? 🥹 ) Nora is not impressed nor pleased by this fact. Quite frankly, she doesn't particularly care for Noa at all. It's complicated...which leads to Fact 5:

Noa doesn't trust Nora - we get into the why next update but Noa can always tell when someone's lying to him or if he needs to keep his guard up. It's a trait you pick up when you're a pirate, it's how you survive. And all the bells are ringing when it comes to Nora.

#cotf tag #the briar legacy #I love all my babies but Noa has this special place in my heart 🥰 #the way his story is so freaking important to COTF and Fallen Angel it's insane and I can't wait to share #also he deserve the entire world #Fact 6 - He's also a m*rderer?? #Yeah I'll leave that one in the tags #Ah yes #another classic Tahj's character really should have went to therapy

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

A Righteous King

1 For, behold, a righteous king shall reign, and princes shall govern with judgement.

2 And a man shall hide his words, and be hidden, as from rushing water, and shall appear in Sion as a rushing river, glorious in a thirsty land.

3 And they shall no more trust in men, but they shall incline their ears to hear.

4 And the heart of the weak ones shall attend to hear, and the stammering tongues shall soon learn to speak peace.

5 And they shall no more at all tell a fool to rule, and thy servants shall no more at all say, Be silent.

6 For the fool shall speak foolish words, and his heart shall meditate vanities, and to perform lawless deeds and to speak error against the Lord, to scatter hungry souls, and he will cause the thirsty souls to be empty.

7 For the counsel of the wicked will devise iniquity, to destroy the poor with unjust words, and ruin the cause of the poor in judgement.

8 But the godly have devised wise measures, and this counsel shall stand.

The Women of Jerusalem

9 Rise up, ye rich women, and hear my voice; ye confident daughters, hearken to my words.

10 Remember for a full year in pain, yet with hope: the vintage has been cut off; it has ceased, it shall by no means come again.

11 Be amazed, be pained, ye confident ones: strip you, bare yourselves, gird your loins;

12 and beat your breasts, because of the pleasant field, and the fruit of the vine.

13 As for the land of my people, the thorn and grass shall come upon it, and joy shall be removed from every house.

14 As for the rich city, the houses are deserted; they shall abandon the wealth of the city, and the pleasant houses: and the villages shall be caves for ever, the joy of wild asses, shepherds' pastures;

15 until the Spirit shall come upon you from on high, and Chermel shall be desert, and Chermel shall be counted for a forest.

16 Then judgement shall abide in the wilderness, and righteousness shall dwell in Carmel.

17 And the works of righteousness shall be peace; and righteousness shall ensure rest, and the righteous shall be confident for ever.

18 And his people shall inhabit a city of peace, and dwell in it in confidence, and they shall rest with wealth.

19 And if the hail should come down, it shall not come upon you; and they that dwell in the forests shall be in confidence, as those in the plain country.

20 Blessed are they that sow by every water, where the ox and ass tread. — Isaiah 32 | Brenton Septuagint Translation (BST) The English translation of The Septuagint by Sir Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton (1851) Cross References: 1 Samuel 25:25; 2 Samuel 14:14; Psalm 12:8; Psalm 72:1-2; Psalm 91:1; Psalm 104:11; Psalm 107:35; Psalm 119:95; Psalm 123:4; Psalm 141:4; Proverbs 1:23; Proverbs 11:25; Ecclesiastes 11:1; Isaiah 2:4; Isaiah 3:16; Isaiah 4:6; Isaiah 5:5-6; Isaiah 5:10; Isaiah 5:23; Isaiah 6:11; Isaiah 7:23; Isaiah 10:18-19; Isaiah 11:10; Isaiah 12:2; Isaiah 22:2; Isaiah 23:7; Isaiah 24:10; Isaiah 28:6; Isaiah 29:18; Isaiah 29:24; Isaiah 30:23-24; Isaiah 33:5; Isaiah 33:14; Isaiah 35:4-5; Nahum 2:7; Matthew 12:34; Romans 14:17; Hebrews 12:11; James 3:18

#righteous king #Jerusalem #women #blessed #Holy Spirit #confidence #city of peace #prosperity #rest #Isaiah 32 #Book of Isaiah #Old Testament #BST #Brenton Septuagint Translation #Holy Bible

[liminalpsych]

My collection groooows

Left to right:

The Complete Arthurian Encyclopedia

Gallant & True (an Arthurian zine I think I backed on Kickstarter at some point, it’s BEAUTIFUL)

The Mabinogian (Sioned Davies translation)

Black Book of Carmarthen

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (Faletra translation, also includes Vita Merlini and a bunch of excerpts from various texts eg Nennius)

The Lais of Marie de France (Waters translation)

Lanzelet (I tried reading it. I’ll try again. It’s so dry)

Chretien de Troyes: Lancelot, Erec and Enide, Yvain, Cliges (Ruth Harwood Cline verse translation, I only just now realized they’re out of order, it’s gonna bug me but not enough to fix it and take another picture)

Perlesvaus (Nigel Bryant)

Lancelot-Grail books 1-10 (including Post-Vulgate and chapter summaries)

Silence (Le Roman de Silence)

An Introduction to the Gawain Poet (Putter)

Le Morte d’Arthur (Keith Baines version)

Of Giants (look, Cohen posted some beautifully gay Galehaut/Lancelot and Green Knight and Gawain commentary excerpts on Tumblr and I couldn’t resist)

Arthurianism in Early Plantagenet England (recommended to me by someone who almost did her doctoral thesis on this topic until learning she’d been beaten to it by this text—a history of Arthurianism including the larping that a bunch of nobility did. It just arrived in the mail, I haven’t read it yet)

The Goddodin (Gillian Clarke version; not pictured on the shelf because it’s on my poetry shelf instead. It’s so beautifully translated though, highly recommend Clarke’s version)

Also not pictured: anything I have in ebook format (Tolkien’s translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, various modern fiction)

And then there’s the Arthurian adjacent and medieval and Renaissance stuff that isn’t really Arthurian but it’s related, so same shelf.

Return to Avalon (short story collection, modern, found at a used book store, why not)

The Book of Chivalry of Geoffrey de Charny (picked this up as a larpwriting reference forever ago, it’s a fascinating read)

Various editions of the Compleat Anachronist, the SCA’s publication

Life in a Medieval City by Gies (I don’t actually remember where I got this or why I have it or if it’s any good. I’m guessing it was another larpwriting reference)

The Book of the Courtier - Castiglione (larp prop and larpwriting reference, actually a really neat read)

Prism Knights by Winter J Kiakas (queer knight short story collection)

Letter Writing in Renaissance England (got this used as a larpwriting reference and it has been SO USEFUL and so fascinating!)

#reading list #arthuriana #Arthurian literature

[dduane]

can I ask why in a Wizard Abroad, Nita's irish name is Shonaiula ni Cealoidhean? I understand Aoine ni Cealoidhean for aunt Annie, but what's the derivation for Shonaiula? phonetically it doesn't seem similar to Nita or Juanita. (of course, Annie and Aoine don't, either...)

Yeah, I could see where it would be confusing, as they don't look close. ...But this is Irish we’re talking about. :)

Nita is of course short for Juanita, and Juanita is a diminutive-inflected variant of Juana, which is the female-gendered version of Juan, the Spanish version of John. So Nita's Irish-version name is derived forwards from Séan, which is the Irish version of John.

One of numerous “Séan” variants (though, admittedly, surprisingly few feminine-gendered ones) is a very old formation for a girl’s name: Sionnuala. Probably its considerable age contributes to its rarity these days. (The “-nuala” suffix has itself become something of a diminutive form for another (better known and still-seen) name, Fionnuala [who was one of the Children of Lír: the word means “fair-” or “pale-shouldered”]. ...But as a diminutive, it doesn’t work as such. The conventional Irish language diminutive suffix is -ín, which has been extensively adopted into Anglicized Irish words: colleen, boreen, smithereen*.)

In any case, when I went looking for Irish-language versions of Juanita—ideally, variations of a diminutive-inflected version of Séan—I came up annoyingly empty. I could have coined something, but I didn’t want to. I wanted an verifiable, extremely old Irish formation that one might reasonably expect one of the local Gentry to use. I kept coming back to Sionnuala, but the derivation (or the unclarity about it) kept bothering me.

Somewhere along the line, though, while I was doing research up at the Trinity College library, I came across one linguistic scholar’s suggestion for the construction of the name that gave me just what I needed. (And don’t ask me for a cite at this end of time. I just made a note of the potential explanation, said to myself “Thank GOD now I can get on with things!...”, and moved on.)

As you may already know, Ireland is where the Latin language was preserved by Irish monks during the post-Roman Empire period during which Latin fell out of European usage. (And they later re-introduced it to the Continent, which is why we even know about Latin at all.) As a result of having been made into a sort of linguistic safe haven, Irish has incorporated a truly astonishing number of Latin words. For example, when you’re in some bars or restaurants here and you head for the (gender-labeled) restrooms, you may find them labeled FÍR and MNA, and not have the slightest idea which door to use. But if you know any Latin at all, you’ll have a hint: because “fír” is an altered version of Latin vir, “man”, and “mna” is an abbreviation of Latin fem(i)na, “woman.”

The scholar in whose work this discussion came up suggested that it was possible that the diminutive hooked onto that variant of Séan was, rather than the Irish one, a Latin one: the -ola or -ula diminutive that one finds hooked onto all kinds of words, and which has seeped even into English (in weird usages like “pianola” and so forth). The respelling of “Séan” as “Sion-” could also have been an attempt at Latinizing the name. (Or an additional alteration via Welsh, which has Sîan.)

I looked at that and thought, “...okay, yeah! I’ll buy that for a dollar.” And did. (...And this explanation also makes the translation/structure of Fionnuala seem a little more likely—to me anyway. I mean, who names their kid after what their shoulder looks like?...)

Only one thing remained to take care of: making the name a little tiny bit easier for the reader to handle. Fortunately Irish orthography is a dumpster fire*** at the best of times, and has shifted a double handful of times just in the last couple of centuries. (You haven’t lived until you’ve fetched up at a crossroads over here and found the same town or village name spelled three different ways on three different generations of signage.) So changing a letter or two for the sake of euphony isn’t going to cause most scholars to cut up cranky: they’ll have seen lots worse.** As has been accepted as permissible in other parts of the language, I tweaked the consonants just a little and swapped the initial vowel for an “h”, just to give the non-Irish readership a hint about how to pronounce the word in their heads. And then I stepped the hell away from the issue and got busy with other problems.

So now you know. :)

(Also, just in passing: one other note here, since we’re talking names—not on the Irish but on the [kinda] English side: There’s a misapprehension that crops up from time to time regarding the name Juanita, which (applied to our protagonist) has caused some people to think that both she and Kit are Hispanic. ...What these people are missing is that in the 1950s, the name “Juanita” had a period of being a fairly popular name given to girl babies whether they were of Latinx descent or not. It’s also the name of a good friend of mine with whom I worked as a nurse, back in the day... and when I got around to writing SYWTBAW, I named Nita for my friend. So now everybody knows.) :)

Anyway: HTH!

*Why do we never see “smithereens” in the singular? A question for another day...

**Cf. the Anglicization of the name of the biggest in-city park in Europe. Its Irish name is Fionnuisce: bright/clear + water, for the springs and fountains that were there. This got turned unceremoniously into “Phoenix.” (eyeroll) Bloody colonizers...

***”And I mean that in a very caring way.” :))))

#A Wizard Abroad #derivations #names #etymology

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Touch by Steven Rodriguez

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Amid the swirling chaos that often accompanied Roman Sionis and his seemingly impulsive actions, there was a quality he held in high regard: an unyielding dedication to his word. Be it a menacing threat or a resolute commitment to arrive at a precise moment, you could rely on him like clockwork, knowing he would make a stylish entrance without fail.

This was why, when Belladonna outlined the terms of their arrangement, which included defined, timely visits rather than erratic ones, her expectations weren't high. However, she was pleasantly surprised when Roman appeared right on time at 11 a.m., bearing a to-go cup of her coffee and a tasteful box of French macarons tucked beneath his arm. He donned the role of the adoring boyfriend with such finesse that his true identity remained a secret, a master of disguise to rival any spy or vigilante. Cameras discreetly captured snapshots of his apparent devotion to Belladonna, and whispers that once contained scandalous gossip now hummed with admiration and envy.

The fashion house was a whirlwind of madness, even more so than his previous visit. Models donning the latest designs flitted about like exotic birds of paradise, and flustered assistants scurried to keep pace with the tempestuous nature of fashion week. Roman dismissed it as the customary bedlam of the industry.

As he weaved through the labyrinth of fabrics, colors, and hushed murmurs, completely aware of all the eyes following him. Veils of curiosity hung delicately over their expressions, and Roman, a charismatic showman to his core, basked in their intrigue.

Accompanied by Zsasz, he effortlessly navigated through Belladonna's workplace as though he had always belonged there, and in a way, these were his people; young, professional, beautiful, glamorous, for hire. He radiated charm and charisma, extending a hand to designers, photographers, stylists, and even Belladonna's boss. His friendly disposition won over her colleagues effortlessly, leaving them with a positive impression of the man who had once been vilified by tabloids. Finally, he located Belladonna and Daisy in the heart of the organized chaos. With Zsasz in tow, Roman approached them, his steps exuding a graceful confidence. The mask of the devoted boyfriend naturally settled on his handsome features as he leaned in to kiss Belladonna, his lips brushing against hers with genuine affection.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted them warmly. Belladonna had barely let his name slip from her lips in a surprised whisper when Roman greeted her with another surprisingly tender and affectionate kiss on the lips. "Hello, angel," he breathed in a warm, adoring tone. Maintaining eye contact for a fleeting moment, Roman then presented Belladonna with her coffee. "A grande rose-infused white mocha," he announced. Her astonishment was evident as she blinked in surprise before graciously accepting the drink. 

She managed a soft, "Thanks, baby."

He quickly realized how he liked hearing her call him ‘baby’ with such warmth and affection like he was hers, but not in a way that would mean he belonged to her, no, definitely not, but more like he belonged. He didn’t linger for too long on how her lips curled into a half smile or how she seemed genuinely happy to see him, he quickly shifted his attention to Daisy, extending a beverage to her.

 "And for you, Daisy, a matcha green tea latte." 

Daisy was taken aback, both by Roman's presence and the fact that he'd brought her tea as well. Her disbelief was tangible as she asked, "How did you even know my order?"

Roman's chuckle held a playful glint in his eye. "A smart man pays attention to things ladies like," he quipped, his response accompanied by a charming wink. 

Daisy turned to Belladonna and in absolute bewilderment she couldn't help but express her amazement, tinged with a hint of envy. "How is it you bag such a solid ten, and you don't even try?" she asked, shaking her head.

Belladonna replied with a shrug and a subtle grin, "Just lucky, I guess."

Roman audibly scoffed, his voice laced with playful arrogance. "As if she could have resisted my charm." A sly smile danced on his lips as he continued, "Angel, I know you’re busy but, I'm afraid I need to borrow you for a moment for a private conversation." His emphasis on the word 'private' wasn’t lost on Belladonna and she nodded understanding its meaning. On the other hand, Daisy assumed it was just an excuse to have some time alone with Belladonna.

"You really can't keep your hands off her, can you?" Daisy teased. 

Roman replied with a mischievous grin, pulling Belladonna into his arms. "Can you blame me? Who could control themselves around this absolute goddess?" His flattery caused Daisy to nod in agreement and nearby hearts flutter, and swoon.

“Well, you definitely traded up from Jackson.” Daisy added. “Better make it a quickie, you’ve got a meeting in an hour, and don’t forget to eat something,”

“Not to worry Daisy, I’ll have her back to you in one piece,” With another wink and a charming promise, Roman led Belladonna away to a quieter nearby office, where they could have a moment of privacy for their conversation.

In the quiet seclusion of the obliging office, Roman wasted no time and began with an urgent inquiry. "Who the hell is Jackson?" His tone bore traces of annoyance. 

"He's my ex. Now, what's going on?" Belladonna swiftly attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere taking a sip of her mocha. 

"With a name like Jackson, it's no wonder he's an ex. What’s he have a room temperature IQ too?” He was prodding for a reaction but Belladonna wasn’t interested in entertaining his teenager-like antics. “This’s the guy who's engaged, right?" Her expression and tone conveyed a deep yearning to shift topics, but Roman, once engaged, was difficult to divert, like a Doberman chewing on a bone or a squeaky toy. 

"Yeah, can we move on?" she responded, striving to maintain the flow of the conversation.

"I mean, such a boring, vanilla name... Jackson..." She tried to change the subject, yet he remained unimpressed. 

"Roman!" she called, snapping her fingers in an effort to regain his attention. "Focus. You said we needed to talk. What's going on?" After a brief muttering about how her ex must have been a dull individual compared to him, Roman finally re-engaged. 

"I'm far more interesting," he muttered absentmindedly, silently looking for confirmation, when it became apparent that he wasn’t interested in the conversation until his ego was sufficiently stroked, she conceded,

"Yes, Roman, your presence is the remedy for boredom," she remarked with a pandering expression, she perched herself on the nearby desk, her posture poised in the sparsely decorated room, with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, facing Roman. She opened the box of macarons, hearing their sweet call, her well-manicured fingers selecting one, its lightly tanned hue hinting at a coffee flavor. As she bit into it, savoring the delicate and chewy texture that danced tantalizingly on her taste buds, she tried again to redirect Roman’s limited attention span. "Now, what's so important?"

Upon receiving the confirmation he sought, Roman adopted a serious demeanor. "We need to go to the precinct next week, I’ve held them off as long as I can but any more delays and we’ll start to look more like prime suspects than we already do innocent bystanders." he stated in a flat tone akin to how someone would discuss the weather. Belladonna's eyes widened, and her complexion paled, but Roman didn’t seem phased. "Relax, kitten. We're meeting with those idiot detectives with our lawyers. We need to give formal, informed statements. It's all part of the plan." However, this did little to ease Belladonna's anxiety, this much was obvious by how she sat frozen with the macaron just at her lips. Oddly enough it seemed to amuse Roman, he stood in front of her, plucking the macaron from her and popping it in his mouth. A look of indignance registered over the stolen treat but it quickly faded when she remembered what he said. “Don’t look so worried.” He said with a mouthful of macaron, not bothered at all, but then again Roman had had previous brushes with the law. He’d been locked up in Blackgate, after all. It probably was no big deal to him. “Just tell them what happened, kitten. Nothing to worry about," Roman reassured her. 

Confused and shocked, she hopped off the desk and took a few steps to disperse the nervous energy she had in her before she retorted, "You want me to tell the police what happened the last time we were in your club?" She couldn't fathom what he was suggesting, surely he couldn’t mean what he was saying.

A look of contentment crossed his face, and Roman appeared to be harboring a secret as if he had a plan she was unaware of. In the same predatory manner she had witnessed from him in the past, he smoothly lowered the window blinds and then stalked to her, nudging her crossed legs apart and pulling her as close to him as he could. His grin bore a devilish charm as he confirmed, "That's right, kitten. I want you to look those idiot detectives in the eye and vividly recount EVERY detail from your LAST visit to my club." He briefly halted and kissed her with fervor, continuing, "Every juicy, scandalous, and provocative detail."

Each word was accentuated by a subtle rhythm of his hips pressing against hers, and his hands explored her body, while his lips engaged in a passionate, voracious kiss. "Seriously, delve into the specifics, because we do have our reputations to uphold, don't we? And certainly, we don't have anything to hide, do we?"

Belladonna began to speak, intending to seek clarification, however, she only managed the word “But–” before Roman's finger gently silenced her words his thumb stroking her lips. 

"Trust me, kitten. You'll have your lawyer and me right there with you. Those inept detectives won't dare lay a finger on you, not this time. But we can certainly revisit the handcuffs later if you'd like." The memory of her prior experience at the precinct had nearly slipped her mind amidst the whirlwind of recent events. As much as she desired more information, she decided to place her trust in Roman, nodding with a hint of bewilderment. 

"Anything else?" she inquired.

Roman gave her a quick peck on the lips, seemingly unable to resist as Daisy had said, then took a step back and, in an abrupt shift, pulled out his phone, becoming all business once more. "Yes, I need to plan out some things, and I need to know what your work events look like. So, what's going on this week, angel?" His demeanor seemed more like that of a personal assistant than a formidable criminal. 

As Belladonna reviewed her schedule in her head, she had a rough idea of what her engagements were like but truthfully she was lost without Daisy, though one did spring to mind that existed outside working hours.  "There's a public event I'm expected to attend. It's a formal affair, essentially a high-fashion party, almost like a red carpet event," she explained. Pausing for a moment, she continued, "It's the kind of thing where couples usually make an appearance together. I don't typically bring anyone; I just make a brief appearance, take a few pictures, and leave as soon as I can." Her implications were rather clear: she was hinting at Roman to accompany her. However, Roman, ever the smug bastard, maintained his silence, wearing an infuriatingly knowing grin.

Nodding in response, Roman began typing on his phone while maintaining that sly grin. "I see," he replied, clearly enjoying the playful tension, letting the moment linger without rushing to grant her request. She gave him an expectant look but he returned only an amused stare.

"Angel, if you want something from me, you're going to have to use your words," he insisted, savoring her mild frustration.

She let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling in response. "Do you want to come with me?" Her words carried a distinct note of annoyance. Roman, playing the smug character he often did, putting on a performance as if he hadn't already decided to make a fuss. With an air of uncertainty about his response, he preserved a laid-back posture, waiting for her to refine her question. "Roman, will you be my date?" Her modified query appeared to satisfy him, and he drew her into his arms, sealing the moment with a passionate kiss. 

"It's a date, angel," he declared with a sly grin. "When is this little get-together?"

“Friday, they want to end the week with a bang, the cocktail hour begins around seven. Before that, I'm obliged to engage in handshakes and discussions with people in the industry, generally dealing with individuals I'd much rather avoid. It’ll be easier to sidestep those interactions if I have a date pulling me away constantly." Roman grinned at the implication and was more than eager to play his part in this scenario.

“Well, I assume you've got something fashionable to wear,” he suggested, well aware of her preference for a more understated wardrobe.

“Memo for you; Roman, I work in a fashion house. Yes, I'll have something smart to wear."

Roman smirked, his curiosity piqued about what attire Belladonna might choose. “And what label will you be donning, Angel?"

“Ask Daisy, she's in charge of my wardrobe for these occasions.” Roman nodded, pondering whether Daisy would consider any of his style recommendations. For all the judgments people might pass about Roman, he certainly knew his way around fashion.

He chuckled, "Angel, this is a golden opportunity," Roman reflected, noting the hint of confusion on Belladonna's face. In her view, these events were nothing but a nuisance, and she generally loathed attending them. Nonetheless, she patiently awaited his explanation. "It's the perfect chance to solidify our relationship, to make it official and public. Think of it as a grand launch party."

"You make it sound like we're a ship," she quipped.

Roman responded with a grin, his words bearing the weight of truth. "More like an intercontinental ballistic missile." Belladonna stifled a laugh; it was the most accurate thing she'd heard all day. "This is perfect timing, angel, all about making a grand entrance, just before our visit to the precinct." 

She didn't seem entirely convinced, so Roman, ever the showman, drew her into his embrace. "Picture it, Angel," he continued with enthusiasm, "a grand fabulous event, abundant photographs, people discussing us. They'll talk about how incredible we look together, how I can't take my eyes off you, and how you can't seem to keep your hands off me." He said the last part with a playful grin, and it was all part of his grand scheme to influence public opinion, a crucial element in his plan to confront her father. It made sense, and Belladonna relished the thought of opposing her father in this way.

"That's all well and good, Roman, but I hope you’re not expecting me to play the role of a docile girlfriend," she pointed out.

Roman's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh no, angel, even better. You're the high-powered, intelligent, sexy girlfriend who's making me a better man. The tabloids will eat it up."

Roman certainly possessed a way with words, capable of deftly navigating any situation. Maybe this party would ultimately be worth it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it would inevitably stir up her father's ire. He wasn't the type to take disobedience lightly, bitter memories lingering in the recesses of her mind as a constant reminder.

"Roman," she began, her tone now tinged with timidity as she hesitated to voice her concerns. Roman swiftly pivoted her in his arms, ensuring she was facing him securely in his embrace. 

"Angel?"

"My father, he... He'll be pissed," she confessed, her apprehension palpable. Roman's expression suggested he wasn't particularly impressed or concerned. "He'll do something, if he hasn’t already." she continued, unable to articulate the depth of her fear of him.

Fortunately, Roman was already aware of what she was reluctant to say. He gently tilted her chin up, guiding her gaze to meet his unwavering eyes, not allowing her to look away. "Angel, no one's laying a finger on you, you understand me?" Her lips parted, ready to bring up her mother, but Roman intercepted before she could speak. "And don't worry about your mother, angel. Your father is a businessman, a stupid one, but he understands the value of a hostage, which is what your mother is to him."

He continued to explain, "The issue for him is that he can't always use her to manipulate you. He has bargaining power over her life, but he has a quantity of one and only one. What's he going to do? Take away the only leverage he has over you?" Roman's perspective shed light on the matter, providing a rational view of the situation. Despite the clarity he offered, it also raised additional questions about his expertise and knowledge on the topic. Belladonna decided not to press further at that moment.

It was astonishing how Roman, a man known for his wild, chaotic, and impulsive nature, had a way of looking at things that could unexpectedly alleviate her concerns. His logic, although somewhat macabre, was undeniably sound, and it continually caught her off guard just when she believed she had him all figured out. Being safe and secure in the arms of a criminal was something she shouldn't be comfortable with, and she certainly shouldn't have such an intense desire to kiss him.

Choosing to remain silent, she opted for a nod. Her surprise deepened as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Their lunchtime rendezvous was drawing to a close when a knock on the door interrupted them, along with a playful reminder from Daisy that Belladonna had a meeting scheduled and they needed to "wrap up their little make-out session." Belladonna nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and they left the office.

Roman couldn't resist adding while still within the view of curious onlookers,  "But I haven't had my dessert yet." As they were about to enter the studio, Roman had one more important piece of news to share. He revealed, "One more thing, Angel, I've got Zsasz and my associates looking into your mother’s last known location but I’ll need some more information from you about her later." Belladonna was visibly shocked that he was actually taking steps to search for her mother.

He offered his customary goodbye by placing a kiss on her palm. However, her response caught him off guard as she pulled him into a passionate, very public kiss that sent whispers and speculations racing through the surrounding crowd. Licking at the taste of the French macaron off his lips in a way that was far more suited for the bedroom than the workplace, leaving Roman a bit stunned. "Angel, what brought that on? Not that I'm complaining," he inquired with amusement.

Her response was simply, "Dessert, remember?" Before leaving, he made sure she knew that Lloyd would be available to pick her up when her workday ended and would ensure she got home safely. 

A final stolen kiss sealed their parting, Roman whispered adoringly, "Goodbye, Angel," leaving her yearning for the next encounter, he then called to Zsasz, announcing their departure. As they exited, there was a collective swoon from the onlookers, a mixture of admiration and envy as Roman and Zsasz left the scene.

~~~

Amidst the glowing praise and the mingling of fake smiles and genuine gestures, Belladonna found herself swept up in the allure of it all. She started to anticipate Daisy's notifications of Roman's communications, a subtle indication of her growing connection to him. Each visit concluded in the same manner, a delicate kiss to her palm that ignited a longing for his touch, followed by a passionate kiss to her lips. 

The line between reality and the façade they presented to the world began to blur for Belladonna. She questioned the authenticity of the smiles she received and even her own emotions. Yet, she found solace and excitement in the moments they shared, their private connection shielded from the prying eyes of the world. 

Roman found himself effortlessly slipping into the role of a doting boyfriend, surprising himself with how naturally it came to him. The revelation of Belladonna's predicament had intensified his possessiveness over her, but it also awakened a deep sense of protectiveness within him. He rearranged his club responsibilities and other activities to revolve around his visits to her studio, relishing the opportunity to observe her work and witness her confidence when she was unaware of his presence.

The salacious whispers that followed his entrance and the way her eyes locked onto him filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He delighted in the eagerness with which she approached him, greeting him with a kiss, a playful "Hey baby," and a hand gently caressing against his face. The attention they received as a couple was intoxicating, and he seamlessly integrated himself into her life, relishing in the attention that was centered on them, for the first time Roman was making tabloid news for a good reason.

Roman eagerly looked forward to Belladonna's smile and her touch, constantly seeking excuses to steal kisses from her or to touch her. He recognized that his behavior deviated from his usual approach with women, but as long as it garnered him the attention and admiration he desired, he brushed off any concerns. However, a conversation with Zsasz as they were about to leave for Belladonna’s studio for the party brought an unexpected realization to the forefront of his mind.

"So, you ever gonna sleep with her?" Zsasz's question caught Roman off guard, prompting him to reflect on the intimate aspect of their relationship. 

As Roman Sionis finished buttoning up his impeccably tailored suit and checked his reflection in the mirror, the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. Despite the two months of their intense and complex relationship, he and Belladonna had yet to engage in a sexual encounter. It was a shocking revelation, especially for a man known for his appetites and desires. The memory of their last intimate rendezvous against the wall in the back of his club came to mind, reminding him of their passionate connection.

For a moment, Roman's thoughts wavered as he considered the significance of this omission. He was used to a life filled with intense, hedonistic pleasures, and this deviation from his usual pattern was intriguing and unexpected. The question of why they hadn't been intimate loomed over him, and he couldn't shake it off.

However, Roman was quick to regain his composure. He had a knack for steering conversations and controlling situations, and this was no exception. With a deflection wrapped in a wry retort, "You ever gonna fuck that hot little assistant of hers?" he redirected the focus of the conversation toward Victor Zsasz, one of his closest associates. The mention of Zsasz's romantic pursuits effectively shifted the attention away from Roman's own experiences.

Still, the question lingered in the back of his mind, and he realized that he needed to have a candid discussion with Belladonna. He understood the importance of addressing this issue, especially given the depth of their connection. A sly smile crossed his face as he contemplated how he might bring it up during his upcoming visit to her art studio. Roman had a knack for theatrics, and perhaps he would slyly allude to their lack of intimacy in front of the cameras, leaving Belladonna with a private moment amid the public eye.

The sudden interruption of Victor Zsasz's announcement that the car was ready jolted Roman back to the present. He gave himself one last appraising look in the mirror, adjusting his tie and smoothing out his suit. The reflection staring back at him oozed charisma and confidence.

With a theatrical clap of his hands, Roman expressed his readiness. "Let's go make some headlines." The words were a testament to his flair for showmanship, and with that, he was ready to embark on another adventure, ready to face whatever surprises Belladonna and Gotham had in store for him.

~~~

When Roman made his promise to enhance Belladonna's security, he didn't cut any corners. In fact, there were a couple of close calls when she nearly triggered the new alarm system just by forgetting about it. However, the panic button installed near her bed did provide some solace. It offered her a sense of comfort, knowing that with a simple press of that button, Roman would be there in an instant, assuring her with the words, "I'm only a press of a button away, angel."

Oddly enough, her sleep improved, likely due to the reassurance the panic button offered. Yet, the persistent concern that lingered was her father's presence in her life, which had diminished considerably since their initial meeting. However, she had little time to dwell on these thoughts, particularly not tonight. Her workday raced on in its typical whirlwind fashion, bouncing from one meeting to the next, from one photoshoot to another.

As the day's work-related activities reached their conclusion, Daisy took the reins, and the more glamorous aspect of Belladonna's day began. It was the night when she and Roman were set to officially unveil their relationship to the public. While not much had been publicly stated about them, the rumor mill had been working in overdrive. Following Roman's advice, she deliberately avoided social media, although it wasn't much of a challenge, given that her online presence was minimal, restricted mainly to her work's website with only the essential information.

Belladonna had always preferred blending into the background rather than standing in the spotlight. She was more comfortable orchestrating fashion shows behind the scenes, ensuring that every detail was perfect. However, tonight was different, and she couldn't escape the bright lights of the red carpet. It was a high fashion event attended by industry elites, and she was stepping out with Roman Sionis, a man whose presence alone was like a magnet for attention.

Her nerves fluttered as she put on the outfit chosen by Daisy. She had initially requested a professional, sleek, and classy look, the kind that would blend in at a work event. But the equation had changed the moment Roman became part of the picture. She knew that the press and paparazzi would swarm over them, dissecting every detail of her appearance. It didn't matter what she wore; they would find something to talk about.

The black pantsuit Daisy had selected was a subtle compromise. It was something that allowed her to work if needed, and she wasn't a model by trade. Yet, it was also a conscious choice to present herself in a particular way. Black was timeless and classy, fitting for an event like this. The nude lace top, almost resembling lingerie, added an element of sensuality to her outfit. In the world of high fashion, it wouldn't be seen as out of place.

Belladonna didn't consider herself vain, but tonight, she was making a statement. She wanted to look good, both for the event and for Roman. There was something about him that made her want to be her best self, even if it meant embracing the spotlight, if only for a night. The outfit Daisy had chosen, though a little more Roman's style than hers, was a calculated choice to ensure she looked impeccable and drew the right kind of attention. She knew she had to step up and own the red carpet.

The echo of Roman's arrival seemed to reverberate through the loft as Belladonna made her way to the door. The anticipation of his reaction to her outfit had kept her on edge, and the range of emotions that crossed his face upon seeing her attire was a sight to behold. Curiosity and intrigue played on his features, while a hint of indifference lingered in his gaze, leaving her to wonder if he truly approved.

"You could have just texted me, and I would have met you downstairs," she quipped, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. Roman remained silent for a moment, still assessing her ensemble. Finally, he responded, "Lazy men let ladies come to them." It was a comment that mixed chivalry with Roman's signature swagger.

Her attempt to alleviate the tension with a slightly snappy question of “What?” was met with a moment of silence, during which Roman seemed to be sizing her up. The quiet stretched on for what felt like an eternity until, finally, he approached her, his hands reaching for her face. The gentle caress of his lips meeting hers in a slow and sensual kiss was unexpected, yet entirely welcomed. There was something oddly tender about the way he kissed her, a softness that contradicted his typically assertive demeanor. Belladonna found herself reveling in this side of Roman, the one that hinted at a deeper connection, making their facade feel momentarily genuine.

"You look stunning, angel," Roman murmured after their kiss.

His words of admiration caught her off guard, relieving the tension that had built within her. "Glad you approve," she quipped, referring to her choice of attire.

 Roman's response was laced with a hint of playfulness, "Well, I have to admit, I was hoping for a slinky sexy dress," he teased, leaning into the banter. "Suits are kind of a man's thing," he added, the corner of his lips tugging into a mischievous smile.

Belladonna met his playful demeanor with a coy yet confident expression of her own. "If suits are for men, why are women sexier when they wear them?" Her voice oozed confidence, nearly rivaling Roman's own level of cockiness. His eyes widened, darkening with a smoldering intensity that sent a jolt of excitement through her. With a decisive motion, he kicked the door closed, silently conveying his intentions.

"Is there something special underneath?" he inquired, his tone suggestive and charged with desire, as though he fully expected to get his way. Belladonna didn't quite trust herself or Roman to indulge in the passionate kiss he had initiated, knowing how quickly it could escalate. With a restrained resolve, she reached for her clutch, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "No." she whispered, her voice betraying a hint of longing and restraint.

She walked past him, leaving him sulking with his hands in his pockets like a petulant child. "You're no fun, Belladonna," he called out before catching up with her.

Chapter Nine

#i have too many stories #original character #fanfiction is life #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #roman sionis imagine #roman sions #romansionis #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis fan fiction #romansionissmut #roman sionis is a tease #birds of prey #roman sionis #black mask imagine #black mask fanfiction #simping for the bad guy #roman sionis is a brat #shadows of deception

[ezraswr316]

My Roman empire is my Zatt designs cus I can never settle on one for more than a week

This is in the time skip so he's like 17-19 ish range, he's working with the rebels, unlike Sion and rylan who are off doing their own thing

Even in the rebellion Zatt keeps his identity as a jedi only known to high ranking rebels like Hera, Mon mothma etc

#star wars #oc art #oc artwork #oc artist #star wars art #star wars oc #star wars the clone wars #star wars oc art #starwars #starwarsartwork #zatt #starwarszatt

[friendswithclay]

“Jar with figural decoration

From Karanog, grave 566

Meroitic Period (C. 100 B.C.E.-300 C.E.)

Ceramic and paint, h. 34 cm (13 3/8 in.)

Coxe Expedition, 1908 E818

From a grave in the large Meroitic cemetery at Karanog, this vividly painted jar was part of a set of funerary goods belonging to one of the elite members of Meroitic society. A frieze of foraging giraffes is painted in the midsection and one of undulating snakes around the upper body. Pottery was mass-produced in Nubia by Meroitic times, but its often vibrant and original decoration shows that ceramics were an important avenue of artistic expres-sion. Meroitic pottery contrasts markedly with the drab, utilitarian pottery used in Egypt during the same period.

The Meroites decorated their pottery with an inventive blend of uniquely Nubian, Egyptian, and Greco-Roman themes. This example is one of a number of jars from the Karanog cemetery with a giraffe motif. During Meroitic times, giraffes were not found in the arid environs of Lower Nubia but much farther south, in the savanna lands of southernmost Nubia. The clumsy appearance of the animals on the Meroitic jars suggests that the artists had never seen a living giraffe.

- JWW”

#friendswithclay #pottery #Egypt

[pretty-idol-hell]

I have mixed feelings on this.

Like, I’ll go to my grave insisting it’s “Reona”, not “Leona” because GODDAMMIT it messes up the “Do Re Mi....” naming theme otherwise. 

But “Sion”? ........Technically a legit romanization but I could do without that one.

[the-first-man-is-a-cat]

“Cast your gaze between Mount Sion and the Temple; look on that other little tribe who live separated from the rest of the inhabitants of the city. Ever a particular object of contempt, they bow their heads without complaint; they suffer every indignity without demanding justice; they allow themselves to be overwhelmed with blows without a groan; if their heads are required, they present them to the scimitar. If any member of this proscribed society dies, his companions will bury him secretly, at night, in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, in the shadow of the Temple of Solomon. Penetrate the dwelling places of that people, and you will find them in abject poverty, reading a mysterious book to their children which will be read, in turn, to their children. What they performed five thousand years ago, this race still performs. Seventeen times they witnessed the fall of Jerusalem, yet nothing can discourage them from turning their eyes toward Zion. When one sees the Jews dispersed throughout the earth, according to the word of God, one is indeed surprised; but to be struck by supernatural astonishment, one must encounter them again in Jerusalem; one must see the legitimate rulers of Judea, slaves and foreigners in their own country: one must see them still awaiting, despite all oppression, a king who will deliver them. Persians, Greeks, Romans, have disappeared from the earth, and a little tribe, whose origin antedates that of those great peoples, still lives without admixture among the ruins of its country. If anything, among the nations, possesses the character of a miracle, that character, I believe, is here.”

-François-René de Chateaubriand, 1806 - 1807

#jumblr #history #jerusalem #quotes #israel #palestine #took out two lines one irrelevant and one antisemitic (in the religious sense)