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thegreatwicked · 2 months

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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

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yuriosakawa · 1 month

Text

The Jokerettes - Persona 5 AU (Part 1)

HARPER

Name: Annie Amamiya-Takamaki

Age: 17

Grade: Second Year

Personality: Fashionable & Trendy

Likes:

• Her family

• Modeling

• Following the latest trends

• Fashion

Dislikes:

• Her family being judged

• People judging her due to her appearance

• Envious people

• Pervs

Persona: Canola

Element: Wind/Garu

All-Out Attack: "May You Drift Back To Sleep"

Long range weapon: Spears that come from her lyre

Melee weapon: Lyre

Description:

Annie is one of the most beautiful girls in school, and while this doesn’t bother her too much, it also brings a lot of trouble and more than once her older sisters have to come and rescue her from some creep or jealous girl

She sometimes joins up with her biological mother Ann who by now has become a world famous model, being an unstoppable mother-daughter power duo in the modeling world

Even though Annie can appear as shallow sometimes, in truth, she has a beautiful caring heart and loves all of her sisters equally as well as her dad’s many wives and always helps them by designing the most fabulous outfits for them for any occasion

Because despite liking to model alongside her bio-mom, her true calling is fashion, being a huge trendsetter and with dreams of becoming a fashion designer one day

Something that may not be so hard to accomplish, considering how well connected and influential her dad’s many wives are

Regarding family, the sister whom Annie gets along the best is Tomiko as they share much of the same interests and trends, while she’s in constant odds with her sister Sachiko due to their clashing personalities

Besides her biological mother, she gets along the best with Ohya as she’s something like a cool aunt for her that always brings her to the best places to party (with Ann and Ren’s permission, of course!), while she doesn’t get along so greatly with Futaba due to their individual ideas of bonding time

While on the Metaverse, Annie is known as Harper is the team’s mistress of disguise. She is very theatrical and enjoys making a huge spectacle out of her battles. Even if having a lyre for a weapon may sound dumb and unconventional, she has made the most of her situation by using it with a lot of out of the box thinking, or just simply whacking a Shadow on the face with it

——————————————————

2. PRINCESS

Name: Rin Amamiya-Nijima

Age: 18

Grade: Third Year

Personality: Brilliant & Polite

Likes:

• Her family

• Practicing aikido

• Studying

• Order

Dislikes:

• Her family being in danger

• People judging her family

• Being called a stuck up

• Disorder

Persona: Bia

Element: Phys/Physical

All-Out Attack: "Please, Excuse My Defeat Over You"

Long range weapon: Revolver

Melee weapon: Brass Knuckles

Description:

Rin has a sweet disposition and is very polite, even to her opponents both in the Real World and the Metaverse

She is a perfectionist to a fault and will become easily aggravated if things don’t go her way. She is also highly dedicated to physical training but outside of the gym she’s pretty easy-going.

Rin enjoys training in their Home Gym to better perfect her fighting skills and she is almost always found sporting earbuds so she can listen to her favorite punk rock and metal bands.

Whenever she’s not crunching it at the gym, she’s crunching it at school

Rin is easily one of the most academically intelligent of all her sisters alongside Junko, something her biological mother instilled on her since she was very little

By this point in time, Makoto has become the chief of the Police Department of the city, cleaning it from the ground up from its corruption. Mostly, at least…

She passed on onto her biological daughter the values of justice that her own father once passed on to her, something that to this day, Rin still follows like gospel

Regarding the rest of her family however, the sister whom she gets along the best is definitely Junko as they’re pretty similar and they almost consider themselves as twins given how close their date births are to each other with Junko just being a month or two older than her

While the sister whom Rin has the most trouble getting along with is Satomi due to her general disregard for the rules, something that the slightly older girl lives for

Besides her biological mother, she gets along the best with both Kasumi and Sadayo, the former because of their shared interest for working out and they often share the Home Gym in different occasions, and the latter because she can learn a lot from her

However, Rin’s relationship with Chihaya isn’t the best as she doesn’t really believe in superstition like she does

While in the Metaverse, she is known as Princess because in her words, her mother is the Queen, so that makes her a Princess and has the role of the team’s muscle/tank with her brute physical strength that somehow the Metaverse has amplified. She could’ve easily been the team’s leader too, but that role has already gone for someone else

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3. GLITCH

Name: Mari Amamiya-Sakura

Age: 16

Grade: First Year

Personality: Quirky & Joyful

Likes:

• Her family

• Video games

• Anime

• Computers

Dislikes:

• People judging her family

• Her stupidly frizzy hair

• Being called weird

• Not being to properly navigate her family through the Metaverse

Persona: Gamayun

Element: Support Skills

All-Out Attack: "Looks Like You Just Got Yourself A Glitch"

Long range weapon: None (As the Navigator, she doesn’t require one)

Melee weapon: None (As the Navigator, she doesn’t require one)

Description:

Mari is the embodiment of a ray of sunshine and has 10000% charisma.

She genuinely loves everyone he meets and enjoys putting smiles on people’s faces, is very silly and has a very childish sense of humor. She also has a lot of energy and has a habit of rambling without realizing it, especially if it’s about anime or anything else she may like

However, Mari can be self-conscious and always worries what others may think of her

Out of all the Jokerettes, she is the most like her biological mother, who at this point in time is a very popular and successful Twitch streamer and gamer with a whole lot of sponsors

Both are prone to random singing outbursts of their favorite anime openings, goofy jokes and harmless pranks to make people laugh.

Regarding family, there’s no sister who Mari gets along better or worse as she loves them all in equal amounts and they make sure to always show her how much they all love her back, same thing with her dad’s many wives

While in the Metaverse, she’s known as Glitch and is the team’s navigator. Her Rebel’s Garb has special rocket boots so she can quickly fly to anyone in battle who needs assistance. Her boots have a button on the heel to activate them, and she likes to click her heels together to turn them on much like Dorothy on her favorite story from her childhood. Though she never complains about her job, she sometimes worries about her ability to navigate and support the team and sometimes wonders if she’s doing a good job and sometimes worries of what if she’s late the next time something awful happens and she’s not fast enough to save her sisters

——————————————————

4. SHADE

Name: Sachiko Amamiya-Takemi

Age: 17 (Slightly older than Annie, Toshiko, Tomiko, Akari and Mizuki, but younger than Satomi)

Grade: Second Year

Personality: Reserved

Likes:

• Her family

• Books

• Animals

• Candy

Dislikes:

• Her family being in danger

• Injustice

• Sickness

• Her mother being called 'shady'

Persona: Metradora

Element: Curse/Eiha

All-Out Attack: "You Missed Your Doctor’s Appointment"

Long range weapon: Sniper Rifle

Melee weapon: Syringe needles

Description:

Sachiko is very reserved and quiet with people, but that is because sometimes it is difficult for her to relate to others

Although many believe that she is a girl with a tough and indeferential character, in truth, she is very sensitive and does not tolerate injustice or mistreat towards any living being.

Sachiko wants to follow in her mother's footsteps, who at this point in time became a respected member of the medical community once again and actually works in Tokyo’s biggest and best hospital, and become a doctor who takes care of others.

Regarding family, the sister whom she gets along with the most is Mizuki since both have the same values of spiritualism and interest in the occult, while the sister who gives her the most grief is Annie as she’s not as pinky or girly like she is and all the glitter and bright colors that her little sister uses at a near constant basis hurts her goth eyes

Besides her biological mother, Sachiko gets along great with both Sadayo and Makoto as she feels like if the older women can keep her safe no matter what, while her relationship with Ohya is a bit iffy and many times did she and Takemi had to work together to stop her from drinking

While on the Metaverse, she is known as Shade and is the team’s main healer, but her Dia/Healing spells takes a lot of energy from her so can only do so much at a time. Strangely enough, and despite her introverted personality, she also has a “mood-boosting” ability, where she can positively affect the emotions of others. This can only be done by making direct contact with someone and the effect only lasts temporarily. Though she never complains about her duties, her sisters often worries about her need to please others and reminds her that she can’t help others if she doesn’t help herself first.

——————————————————

5. ISIS

Name: Junko Amamiya-Kawakami

Age: 18 (Few months older than Rin)

Grade: Third Year

Personality: Strict & Demanding

Likes:

• Her family

• Being the best

• Leading others

• Study sessions with her sisters

Dislikes:

• Her family being in danger

• The dark

• Rowdiness

• Disobedience

Persona: Hathor

Element: Bless/Kouha

All-Out Attack: "Outta my Way!"

Long range weapon: Rope dart

Melee weapon: Khopesh

Description:

Junko is can be extremely royal, so she expects everyone to treat her like it.

Usually, her attitude is selfish, arrogant, and sassy, plus extremely competitive

But deep down, Junko’s a very caring, kind, and thoughtful girl who cares about her family.

She is the Ying to Sadayo’s Yang, who by now became Shujin’s new principal and turned the school who at first only cared about its reputation to a true place where students can both learn and feel safe, as both complement each other in the oddest but bestest ways

Regarding the rest of her family, Junko is closest to her sister Rin as both are closer in age and actually consider themselves as twins, while she has issues with both Satomi and Akari with both of them being the reckless daredevils of the family

Besides her biological mother, she gets along the best with Haru and even helps her manage Okumura Foods alongside Tomiko when she runs her own cafe while her relationship with Ohya could be better as she can’t understand how free-spirited she could be at times

While on the Metaverse, she is known as Isis and due to her being the oldest and her dominant personality, she’s the natural leader amongst her sisters. However, despite being leader, she’s not the Wildcard as that particular honor goes to another of her sisters

#alternate universe #original character #The Jokerettes #persona 5 #character profile

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 1 year

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Who Killed William Dean? A tale of Spies, Politicians and Swindlers

On August 13, 1918, the last day of William Dean’s life, a couple of unusual things happened. Early in the day he asked a neighbor leaving for Boston if she would get in touch with the police for him. He had information for them. He didn’t say what.

Later in the evening he got a visit from his friend, Charles Rich, the local political kingpin. Rich was a judge in Jaffrey as well as a banker and politician. Rich would later say he visited William Dean to ask how to treat an injury he had just received when his horse kicked at him, leaving him with a black eye and head injuries. Dr. William Dean had stopped practicing medicine and had long retired. He lived as a gentleman farmer. Nevertheless, he advised Rich on his injury and Rich returned to his home at about 10 p.m. Roughly two hours later Dean, 63, left his house and went to the barn on his property. Unlike most farmers who milk their cows at first light and dinnertime, Dean milked his single cow at the unconventional hours of midnight and noon. Upon entering the barn, he was attacked, beaten, strangled, bound up and carried to a cistern on the property.

Dr. Dean’s wife Mary worried about her husband. The next morning, when a hired hand arrived to begin mowing, she asked him to look for him. He was dead, she feared. She even speculated he was under water.

Mary was 68 and losing her faculties. But her immediate conclusion that her husband was dead raised suspicions. When Dr. Dean’s body was discovered, suspicion fell on Mary, who was also Dean’s cousin.

But there were two obstacles to the case against Mary. There was no evidence that she was at odds with her husband. While she was not completely rational, probably suffering from dementia, she was never known to be violent. And, she was physically not a likely suspect. Smashing her husband’s head, strangling him and carrying him to a cistern were beyond her abilities.

With the case against her seeming unlikely, townspeople turned their attention to the potential spy in their midst: Laurence Colfelt.

William Dean needed money, though not inordinately so. He and his wife had moved from their large house to a smaller bungalow on their property. They rented the large house to Laurence Colfelt and his family.

Colfelt, a New Yorker, lived on a trust fund. It wasn’t unusual for people from elsewhere to come to Jaffrey, but it was unusual for them to spend the winter. Colfelt’s lack of any work and lack of local ties made people suspicious of him.

Rumors circulated that he was German, or at least had German sympathies. Might he be a leader of the spies flashing signals to one another in the New Hampshire mountains? Might he, or other spies, have killed Dean because he had caught on to the spying operations in the hills?

The man who had probably the biggest target on his back in the murder investigation was Charles Rich, the banker and friend of William Dean.

The morning Dean was discovered murdered, Rich had a fresh black eye and bruises on his head. He explained his horse had kicked at him and knocked a board he was carrying, striking him in the head. Many in town doubted the story. Though William Dean and Charles Rich were friends, one other odd occurrence implicated Rich. The day Dean’s body was found, an employee and friend of Rich’s visited Mrs. Dean and cleaned up the barn where the murder took place. Perhaps he obliterated evidence in the process.

A grand jury empanelled to investigate the case concluded that Dean was murdered, but the members of the jury could not determine who did it and to this day it remains unsolved.

#william dean #unsolved #cold cases #unsolved mysteries #crime #true crime

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offbeatcappuccino · 1 year

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the art of contract relationships ~ an excessive rambling about romance and an alchemy of souls part 2 reflection

Being an Indian, I'm no stranger to arranged marriages with almost everyone in my family including my own parents being in one. Though as someone who aspires to be "unconventional" and likes to stir up shit to unsettle my familial homeostasis on a daily basis and therefore would never be in an arranged marriage, I find the idea of them quite fascinating because of not only how terribly convenient they are since you have to do very little to woo your significant other, but there's something quite fruitful when it comes to plotting the arc of an arranged/contract marriage. There's this wonderful cognitive dissonance that arises when two people, who are practically strangers and have no inkling of affection for each other , are in forced close proximity to each other and have to put on the performance of a lifetime to convince those around them that they're in love with each other until they truly end up liking each other. Watching these dramas is like watching a block of ice boil on a stove- It's a slow burn of microscopic collisions (both good and bad) between two individuals inside the confined pot of marriage that forces them to let go of the frigid impenetrable boundaries of insecurity that they've closed themselves in and instead they choose to find liberation and happiness from where they least expected it.

The "contract" relationship trope is truly the amalgamation of all romance tropes you can have a little bit of every other trope in a contract relationship plotline- enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, soulmates, opposites attract, innocent cohabitation, unrequited love, etc. Now, if you're Indian, you also probably know that there only 3 types of marriages possible in our society - arranged (parents chose), love come arranged (you chose but your parents are okay with it), and love (you chose and your parents absolutely hate you and now you're disowned). With the third, love marriages, if you're Indian, you would also know how big of a trope "elopement" is with in Indian films. There's this rush of excitement, anxiety, and pain that hits you simultaneously as you watch a young couple risk it all as they hitch-hike across the subcontinent, leaving everything they know behind in "love" or whatever.

If you combine the elopement trope with the contract/arranged/ forced proximity relationship trope, then you've just unlocked my favorite romance trope of all time- when two people, much to the chagrin and shock of everyone around them, get married/live together, but it's not because they love each other, but rather because they are dependent on each other for protection or to fulfill their respective goals. A great example of this trope in action is from the Tamil movie Ghilli and the experience of watching it in theatres is perhaps the earliest memory that I can recall. In Ghilli, a young 20 something Kabbadi player named Velu , who runs coincidentally into Dhanalakshmi, a young woman who lost her family and is currently on the run from a predatory gangster, who wants to marry her. Velu fights the gangster's henchmen and brings Dhanalakshmi to his home, where he secretly hides her in his room from his parents and younger sister. Comedy and romance ensues as Velu tries his best to keep his secret and Dhanalakshmi finds her self falling one-sidedly for Velu. As a toddler, watching Ghilli was an intoxicating experience, there was something absolutely fascinating about watching Velu and Dhanalakshmi feel so naturally at ease with one another and enjoy the mundane everyday simplicities of celebrating birthdays, stopping hiccups, and looking at baby pictures even at the face of impending doom as a state-wide search has every police officer trying to find her.

After nearly two decades, I felt the same sort of excitement and awe watching the second part of Alchemy of Souls (AoS 2) After watching the first two episodes, I genuinely felt as though the writers of the show secretly hooked up an EEG machine while I was asleep, analzyed my brain, and wrote an entire show with every possible trope out there in the romance that has me squealing, jumping, and giggling:

Soulmates from a past life (technically 3 years ago) ✅

2. Opposites attract ✅

3. Marriage of convenience ✅

4. Running away and getting married in secret ✅

5. Fake pregnancy ✅

6. Accidentally spooning because it's cold✅

7. Second chances ✅

8. Playing too hard to get only to become an absolute simp at the end ✅

9. Amnesia ✅

10. Lots of hugs, hand holding, and accidental kisses ✅

Apart from checking off almost everything in my fantasy romance bucket-list, one of the reasons why Light and Shadow works so well for me as a show is because it so blatantly ditches the idea of rationality when it comes to portraying the relationship progression between Jang Uk and Cho Yeon (known earlier in the season as Jin Bu-Yeon). If you think of other popular romance k-dramas that aired in the past few years, such as Hometown Cha Cha Cha, Business Proposal, or Run On, there's a logical development of events that push the two characters into falling for one another as they end up understanding each other better over the course of the show. Then, there's AoS 2 like Ghilli, where all of that is completely thrown out of the window.

Though the marriage of convenience between Jang Uk and Cho Yeon is set up with the premise of freedom in exchange of ice stone removal, there's this wonderful cognitive dissonance that bubbles quickly within the first two episodes. Our frontal lobe is telling us how absurd it is for Cho Yeon/Bu-Yeon to already be falling in love hopelessly with Uk when she barely knows him, and yet our amygdala can't help but empathize with her when her sincere wishes for Jang Uk to see her beyond her powers. Then there's Jang Uk, whose words never really align with his actions. Just as Jang Uk put up another barrier between himself and Cho-Yeon, we see him go out of his way to illuminate her path with fireflies when she's trying to find her way back. In the same vein that Uk leaves Cho-Yeon waiting all night for him in his room, Uk spends an entire morning searching for her everywhere in Daeho Fortress, practically worried sick about her wellbeing, until he finds her happily shopping at the marketplace.

Jin Bu Yeon: I was hoping for this. I hoped you were the one who turned off the lantern and I hoped that you would come for me despite being of no use to you.

Jang Uk: Even if I did turn it off, it would not be due to the reasons you were hoping for. You know that. So, what are you going to do? If you want, I can help you create that witness you must bring to Sejukwon by the 21st day. That is, if you give up on that futile hope of yours.

Even Jang Uk mentions that he feels like he's going insane when he's with Bu-Yeon. In Episode 7, when Uk, goes back to Jeongjinjak to find Bu-Yeon, he refers to the Jinyowon lantern that brought them together in the beginning and complains to Bu-Yeon that it's broken and it wont stop flickering on and off.

Jang Uk: I am not done yet. I told you that the lantern was flickering. Jin Bu Yeon: So what? Jang Uk: So...When it is on, I am sane. It is clear to me that I must send you back as I promised. But, I go insane when it turns off. I just pine for you. That is why I came to see you. Jin Bu Yeon: So, what about now? Jang Uk: If you are upset and want to leave, I should get a hold of myself and let you go. Jin Bu Yeon comes close and blows air like she's trying to turn off a candle Jang Uk: What was that? Jin Bu-Yeon: I turned it off

In many ways, the lantern is Jang Uk, who battles internally with his growing inclination towards Bu-Yeon and his resolve to drown himself in misery and grief until the ice stone can be finally taken out of him and he can die. There's something beautiful about how illogical their love is because it speaks to how instinctual and effortless loving each other feels because they've been destined to be with each other from the very beginning. Even when they've lost their memories and have been revived from the dead, they manage to find each other every single time. Jang Uk and Cho Yeon are magnets that can't help sticking together even at the face of impending doom, even when its clear that Bu-Yeon will take over the body permanently, as much as both try to resist, they can't help but want to spend their last moments together even if it only lasts a couple hours. Nothing about their lives feel logical and it doesn't make sense, but it doesn't matter because everything feels right when they're together.

Jang Uk to Master Lee: I did not come hoping to spend a lifetime together. I just came to stay by her side until the very last moment. That could last a month, two weeks, or even just a few days. But, I decided not to keep count. I am going to believe that we will always have tomorrow.

The depth of Jang Uk and Bu-Yeon's relationship would not have been convincing if it were not for their dialogues, but also because of the actors themselves. Both Lee Jae Wook and Go Youn Jung did wonderfully in portraying their characters and the chemistry both shared was palpable throughout the show. In previous posts, I talked about how I felt that an actor's eyes play a crucial role in their ability to express themselves in a nuanced matter and add credibility to their lines. As Light and Shadow, Go Youn Jung''s doe-like eyes and Lee Jae Wook's steely gaze both contrasted and complemented each other like their respective characters' yin and yang jade. But, it's also how their facial expressions soften and become more fluid in every scene that they're together. Bu-Yeon's cheery demeanor brightens ten fold when Jang Uk does something to make her smile, and its only in her presence do we ever see him be so genuinely happy.

Even moments of heartbreak between the two feel so real like the scene in Episode 7, where Jang Uk tells her to go back to her maternal home and that he's letting her go, there's so much pain and anger communicated through her body language. The way that her eyes widen and maintain steady contact with Uk and how a tinge of redness in her eyes progressively become larger as she holds back tears has never so thoroughly had me empathize deeply with someone who has felt abandoned.

Another favorite scene of mine that really highlights this is when Uk goes back to Jinyowon to say farewell to Bu Yeon after she leaves him saying that she regained her memories. This scene is truly a testament to how far Jang Uk has become from "playing hard to get" to being the guy who has fallen too hard. The desperation in his voice as he chokes a little before he questions the ludicrousness of Bu Yeon's sudden change in behavior before he proceeds to ramble haphazardly about how he's not letting go and he'll wait for her is *chef's kiss*.

Jang Uk: I CANNOT DO THAT! I thought about it over and over again. The reason I want you to stay was not that I was confused or crazy. I just [...] I just like you that much. I had buried my memories but you took them out and helped me face them. You held my hand when I never thought I could. You helped me sleep when I could not [...] And for that, I cannot stop anymore. So I will be the brazier on a summer day. This time, I will be the one waiting until you begin to miss me

And don't even get me started on the kissing scene they had earlier in that episode. I've watched that scene an embarrassing amount of times, but only because its so eloquently constructed from the way that it's edited perfectly to coincide with the other characters talking about how the two weren't a real couple to begin with to how lost they are in each other that they're completely oblivious to the fact that they're in a library to how flushed they both look with Lee Jae Wook's ears turning a distinctive shade of scarlet red. After the infamous "Birthday Kiss" in It's Okay to Not Be Okay, I think the AoS "Lantern Kiss" will go down as one of the best in kdrama history

I also really enjoyed the other interactions that the show featured such as the dynamics between the Crown Prince and the rest of the characters including his turtle. I also enjoyed the chemistry and fluff between Maidservant Kim and Park Jin as well. Even So-i and Seo Yul made my throat choke up a little. This show's greatest strength this season is how it doesn't shy away from emotional vulnerability and the actors and written dialogue, which become the medium through which this vulnerability is embodied are what carry the show to its finish line.

AoS 2 isn't a perfect show and its clear from how uneven the pacing of the plot is. Despite only having 10 one-hour episodes this season, the show moves at a fairly sluggish pace for the first eight episodes as it takes nearly nine episodes for Jang Uk to discover that Bu-Yeon is really Mudeok. However, what is my biggest gripe with the show is that the writers made Jang Uk too powerful, at the cost of weakening the writing. The last two episodes feature the final showdown after two seasons of tension building up between Jang Uk et al. and Jin Mu et al. Yet, the conflict resolves itself in an underwhelming manner. Jang Uk is truly unchallenged and in order for him to take down some of the most powerful Daeho mages, all he has to do is simply plant his sword firmly down the ground to completely derail their plans of burning down the world. Even when face to face with the mighty firebird, Jang Uk manages to astrally project a bow at the perfect angle to take down the bird in his first try.

At the cost of making Jang Uk powerful, the writing reduced every character to being powerless. For instance, Jin Ho Gyeong, a powerful priestess, responsible for protecting Daeho's most powerful relics, is made out to be someone, who can barely fight back when the Unanimous Assembly attempts to retrieve the Firebird. Worse than Ho Gyeong is Jin Cho Yeon, who has neither showed magical prowess nor strength, despite also have promising potential as a priestess and mage. Jin Mu, once a formidable antagonist in the first season, is reduced to mockery as he does simply nothing when Jang Uk derails his plans. It's also this lack of engaging conflict, which pushes the writers to add unnecessary bait to keep the viewers engrossed in the show. There's a lot of moments in the show, where the writers bait a major character death only to Control-Z and miraculously save the characters thanks to Jang Uk. For instance, in Episode 6, which up till then, made a cure for Seo Yul seem impossible and his death along with So-i's evident, Jang Uk enters the picture and miraculously he's able to force Ho Gyeong to disclose the cure saves his friend. In Episode 10, when Maidservant Kim, Park Jin, and Lady Jin, are all hinted at dying while attempting to protect Jinyowon, Jang Uk again comes in and reveals to everyone that he and his group of allies have managed to save them. Finally, Master Lee, who has been portrayed throughout the season as an unreliable source of foreshadowing. I think these moments hinder the show's legitimacy and the plight of the characters. It's almost like "A Boy Who Cried Wolf", where we can't truly take anything that the writers throw at us earnestly.

Despite its flaws, I would like to reiterate that before AoS, I would have not seriously ventured into the historical fantasy kdrama genre. AoS was the show that had me watching kdramas again after I personally became tired of the "melodrama" genre that dominated Spring and Summer 2022. I can't wait to see the future works that the cast gets involved in the future!

#alchemy of souls light and shadow #jin bu yeon #jang uk #jin buyeon #cho yeong #naksu #seo yul #jin mu #lee jae wook #go youn #kdrama reviews #kdrama recommendations #kdrama reaction #kdramas #master lee

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ragemovement · 2 years

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Help fund the Strange Matters Co-Op Magazine and project here.

Strange Matters is a cooperative magazine of new and unconventional thinking in economics, philosophy, politics, and culture. As a new start-up, we hope to become a leading literary and intellectual hub for Left heterodoxy, covering both theoretical and practical questions of social movement building while also providing a home for bold new philosophy, literature, criticism, and art. As libertarian socialists, we are proudly living our values as a 100% worker-owned and democratically run cooperative.

We are five co-editors from a range of intellectual backgrounds and life experiences; this breadth of interest is reflected in the magazine. We are committed to exploring structures and processes that can be used to build maximally democratic, self-managed, and non-hierarchical institutions. Our commitment is reflected in our organizational structure – how we work and deliberate day-to-day – and will shape the magazine’s content and engagement with its audience. We also like nice things, and are committed to creating a vital intellectual survey of art, science, journalism, and much else – to exploring meaning, in all of its shades and intricacies.

There is a vacuum in left-wing media for detailed coverage of the practical elements of social movements and direct action. There’s a need for blueprints, ethnologies, records of experiments, and oral histories – from organizing for tenants rights, against police brutality, for racial justice, and for immigrant rights; to structuring mutual aid, building worker cooperatives, and running democratic financial institutions.

Ours will be a brand new magazine, started from the ground-up during the pandemic era. You will have access to our website with both free content and paid subscription material. Your contributions will help us get off the ground financially and expand our content offerings to new and increasingly diverse areas of interest. It will also help us fulfill one of our key agenda items: paying our writers generously for their hard work. All this will help us build up a media machine to propagate new ideas about how to democratize everything.

For more information regarding funding allocation, planning, and future developments click through the link above.

#anarchism #politics #strange matters #coop #magazine #fundraising #project #libertarian socialism

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accidentalspaceexplorer · 5 months

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2023 Book Reviews: Genre Romance, Part 1

This is my catch-all for fantasy romances (no I'll never call them romantasies, I hate the portmanteau), SF romances, etc. Some of my favorite genres (which you can tell by how highly rated all of these are :D)

1. One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig: 4/5

Pitch: dark fantasy with sort-of tarot magic and a curse/sickness taking over the land

Review: I had quite a fun time reading this! The world and magic system are very unique, which I really appreciated. The plot is also good, with a couple of twists I wasn't expecting (along with a couple I was due to good foreshadowing!). I probably would have rated this higher except that it's also a romance and I felt very little about that aspect of the story - it just never grabbed me. However, I'll definitely be continuing on - that ending!

2. Baker Thief by Claudie Arsenault: 4/5

Pitch: aro police officer/baker witch "romance" where they have to solve the mystery of the baker's sister's disappearance

Note: Depending on your definition of romance, this may or may not fit on this list, as the book says that it is "meant to reframe romance tropes within non-romantic relationship and centering aromantic characters".

Review: This was very fun, and pretty cute to boot. I enjoyed the plotline, and all of the main characters, although it never really sparked that something extra in me. Although I'm very much in favor of including more aro and ace characters in fiction, I was also under the impression that this was a romance, and it is a very unconventional one, if it is one (as noted above!). A good thing, but I'm very definitely a romance lover, and so I think this isn't really the book (or if it's ever continued, the series) for me! However, I'd definitely recommend this to someone wanting a more aro-friendly relationship in a book, or for someone who just wants to have a fun romp in book form.

3. A Restless Truth by Freya Marske: 4.5/5

Pitch: book 2 in a trilogy; W/W historical fantasy romance that's also about a shipboard murder on a cross-Atlantic voyage

Review: I quite enjoyed this - Violet and Maud are excellent together, and I really liked the way their relationship was left at the end.

Slight spoilers!!!!! Since they'd only known each other six days, it makes sense that Violet isn't ready yet to tell her everything. And yet as someone who tends to fall hard, I appreciate Maud for being pretty much all in, or at least all in to continue. Neither of them have said forever, just "I want to continue", and I really enjoyed that.

Okay spoilers over: The mystery didn't do as much for me, but I was still turning pages quickly to get to the end. Looking forward to seeing how everything wraps up!

4. Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater: 4.75/5

Pitch: historical romance about a fae-touched girl with half a soul and the head of magicians in England

Review: I really enjoyed this - Dora was fantastic, and her banter with Elias was amazing. I loved the way it ended, and the choice at the climax, and the way the mystery was solved. Excellent!

5. Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher: 4.5/5

Pitch: T. Kingfisher's take on Beauty and the Beast

Review: Reading this is part of my attempt to get through T. Kingfisher's non-horror backlist (I can't really handle the horror haha). And I really enjoyed her take on Beauty and the Beast - it has a bit of her signature horror, as well as the sardonic, funny, and practical characters I expected. Holly made me laugh so hard. And I loved how much Bryony loved her garden.

#book review #roundup reviews #2023 reviews #genre romance reviews

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grotesque-grimoire · 3 months

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About

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my side blog focusing on witchcraft.

Blog info below; I recommend reading before you view the rest of the blog; definitely read before following. Enter at your own risk.

My main blog is homo-adaptionem. My herbalism blog is practical-herbalist. My YouTube channel is H. adaptionem. I have an on-going series called Witch Wednesday that's all about witchcraft. You can see all of my playlists at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/witchytpl. Read the FAQ here: grotesque-grimoire.tumblr.com/faq

Do not repost any of my content.

Stay safe and stay weird!

TL;DR:

disabled, LGBT, an adult

largely independent from other paths; original/unconventional correspondences & methods

curse positive

not Wiccan

some discourse

EXCESSIVE TAGGER; most trigger tags have "CW" before them; tags all slurs

doesn't mind like/reblog spam

doesn't check mentions or replies; send an ask if you need to get my attention

Like/reblog spamming is fine, I don't mind at all.

If you want my attention, you have a better shot if you shoot me an ask, as I rarely check my mentions/replies. I have a shit ton of stuff blacklisted, so I may not see your asks/mentions/posts if they include slurs, content triggering to me, etc. It's not that I'm ignoring you, I'm just trying to take better care of my mental health, y'know? Gotta police my own intake of content, etc. etc.

Most things are tagged, so block what you need to using tumblr's own blocking function, Xkit, or Tumblr Savior. Slurs and triggering content usually have a CW before them, even if the OP doesn't consider the content triggering. I tag excessively, deal with it.

DNIs/DNFs are useless and performative; I just block (& report if needed) who I dislike/etc, and I block liberally, for any reason. I respect most other people's DNIs, if they're accessible. If I can't read it, I won't bother. Don't like me? Block me.

OG tags: Answered - asks I've answered Face of H - pics of me grotesque-grimoire - refers to this blog H. adaptionem - refers to my YT channel of the same name Homo adaptionem - all og posts H's Adventures - pics from fun things I've done, outings, etc. H's Altars - my altars H's Bookstore Hauls - bookstore hauls H's DIY - my DIY shit H's Dollar Store Hauls - dollar store hauls, typically Dollarama and sometimes Dollar Tree when I've been back to the US H's Dumpster Finds - dumpster diving finds H's Hauls - all hauls H's Library Hauls - library hauls H's Plants - my plants H's Playlists - song playlists, usually on Youtube H's Recipes - all of my original recipes H's Thrift Hauls - thrift store hauls H's Vids - my Youtube videos H's Witchcraft - all of my witchcraft stuff H's Witch Hauls - witchcraft hauls H's Writing - my writing & related stuff Witch Wednesday - refers to my Youtube series about witchcraft

Disclaimers: /disclaimers

I don't consider myself to be a part of the LGBT community(s). Don't refer to me as "queer" or as "transmasc"/"transfem" cuz I'm not any of those things. I do not use the intersex label because I am not intersex; I am "hermaph". I sometimes use "tranny" for myself, but I don't want other people calling me it. I don't go to pride/LGBT events and I don't typically involve myself in LGBT spaces.

I'm not a part of any witchcraft, occult, heathen, or pagan communities. I don't belong to any covens, groups, or congregations. I am not Wiccan; I don't follow the Wiccan rede or believe in the rule of 3/the threefold law. I don't celebrate the Wheel of the Year or any Sabbats or Esbats. I don't adhere to New Age ideas like the law of attraction, law of assumption, law of radiation, etc. I don't believe in divination, astrology, or tarot, but I find them fun to play with sometimes. My correspondences, beliefs, and practices often do not align with popular/traditional correspondences, beliefs, and/or practices.

Despite being agnostic, atheist-leaning, and a secularist, I don't consider myself a part of those communities.

My opinions are my own and I speak only for myself. Don't lump me in with other people. Just because I like certain creators doesn't mean I share 100% of their opinions. Just because I like certain media doesn't mean I condone its creator's opinions or the content in said media.

I do not have time to vet every OP of every post I reblog. I don't use shinigami eyes bc it's incredibly flawed and has several trans/nb people marked as terfs bc they disagree with the creator.

If you find me at all annoying, block me.

#H. adaptionem #grotesque-grimoire #Homo adaptionem #About #Before You Follow #Pinned Post #Please Read #OP's Pronouns are They-Them #OP is an Adult #Ye Be Warned #Viewer Discretion is Advised #Eclectic Witch #Eclectic Witchcraft #CW T slur #CW Q Slur

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theissuewithjess · 9 months

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Jay-Z remix | "Ain't No Love"

I wanted to speak to something on my mind. Thinking about the 50th anniversary of Hip-Hop had me thinking about Queer Rap and if there was any that wasn't straight up cringe. This made me want to pick up the pen for the first time in years and I wonder what you all will think of the end result. PS this was made to be a sort of parody or remix Jay-Z's classic Heart of the City (ain't no love).

[Verse 1] Can't you see? There's broken glass, everywhere. Look bitch, don't you see the heroin needle over there?

The only heroine I'll ever need'll be Claire. 'Cause she got the pear that'll save me from this evil snare.

Because the only time I -- leave this hell we bare. Between the sheets like Isley, 6 deep and then we glare.

Into each others eyes. This abandoned warehouse fling began to make angels sing on and on to this unconventional love affair.

It's amazing we skipped rehab, lovin' the peace we have, until the cops bust harder than me. They sayin' "freeze f*g hands in the air".

[Hook] Ain't no love, in the heart of the city. Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no). Ain't no love, in the heart of the city. Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no).

[Verse 2] She runs, away leavin' me, dumb - founded I look and these thugs, pointing at me with at least three guns.

I say "you must think that 'we freaks huh?", two women asleep (uh) really need the machine gun? For two teens on the streets (bruh).

Polk city police wont cease until all 'em tranny's deceased and DeSantis can have peace as he feasts off the blood from fuckin' souls that he reaps (uh).

Your religions ambitions to eradicate will be as fruitful as your attempts to placate those who sit around and jerk all day to the pics of the Austrian painter by the edge of the bay.

Gon' need you to get the cum outta ya ears and to come out of ya years into the 2000's and hear these kids out for their legitimate fears. 'Cause they off-ing themselves, 'cause they think "daddy don't care". But to them one thing is clear.

[Hook] Ain't no love, in the heart of the city. Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no). Ain't no love, in the heart of the city. Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no).

[Verse 3] Kids don't just end up on the streets someone probably put 'em there. It's sick queer kids learn quick that life isn't fair.

Robbed pitifuly of the opportunity to prosper by some imposter on that Michael talkin' that "I'll be there".

Ya'll wonder why they talk so much 'bout makin' love. Ever wonder if it's 'cause they got no hugs?

You see 'em running around the ghetto assumin' they thugs. Funny thing is poverty is poverty & blood is blood.

These kids bleed the same color you do, they ain't all children either and no they don't practice voodoo.

You was raised in the church so ya fear those who don't act like you do. But if your kid wanted to jump what would you do?

[Hook] Ain't no love, in the heart of the city (where's the love?). Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no). Ain't no love, in the heart of the city (where's the love?). Ain't no love in the heart of town (naw no no no no).

#rap #hip hop #50 years of hip hop #queer rapper

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crazy-dog-lady-81 · 1 year

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Unconventional Conventions

Chapter 21

It came as no surprise to either Amelia or Kai. When he had received their legal request to undergo a psychiatric evaluation, Link had become extremely upset. This they had expected; if the tables were turned, they both felt sure they'd be feeling the same way.

However, they felt equally sure that they would manage to keep their emotions and behaviours in check. Link had erupted in fury and had caused significant damage to Jo Wilsons' apartment. When his lawyer had called to tell him about the couples' stipulation, he had thrown chairs, tables, and crockery about. To make it worse, Jo and her daughter Luna had been forced to leave, fearing for their safety.

The police had been called, and Link had found himself in police custody. Jo had decided not to press charges against him, and after spending a night in the cells, he had been released with a warning.

A week later, Link had finally undergone the assessment. The report had been pretty much as Kai's uncle had predicted. The psychiatrist had determined that Link was currently mentally ill. They had made a diagnosis of psychoses. Based on the episode with Jo, he had recommended that Link be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for treatment. That's where Link was now.

These events brought Amelia and Kai no satisfaction. Amelia, in particular, was hurting for him. She genuinely saw that Link was a good man, one who was going through a difficult time. She had no wish to make things worse for him, and if they had been able to come to an agreement about Scout's care, she wouldn't have asked any of this of him at all.

Even this morning, when her phone had rung, and their own lawyer had told them that Link had decided to drop his custody application, Amelia had felt no sense of victory. Of course, she and Kai were thrilled to learn that they would not lose their son. How could they not? But, they did see this as a reason to rub salt into Link's wounds.

Instead, they currently sat on their sofa, side by side. Kai had their arm draped protectively around their fiancé's shoulder. Amelia sighed and rested back into their side, laying her head on their strong shoulder. Kai placed a tender kiss on her head.

"I can't believe that it’s all over. Just like that. Without the fight, drama, or trauma that we'd expected, "Amelia mused.

A hum from her partner told Amelia that they agreed with her.

"I know we expected a fight, were even prepared for it. In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined that it would have ended like this," they replied.

"Yeah, for sure. It's impossible to believe that Link would be in psychiatric care, seriously mentally ill."

"Amelia, you need to remember that while none of this is ideal, at least he's in the right place, where he'll get the help that he needs. Plus, thanks to Jo not pressing charges, he’s going to be able to practice again as soon as he's well enough."

Amelia knew Kai was right. Link would be alright with the proper care.

"I hope he'll make good progress so he can resume his place in Scout's life."

Until Link’s mental health improved, they had made the decision to keep Scout away from him. As he progressed, Amelia and Kai were open to reconsidering this position and bringing him back into the toddlers life. Link would always be his father, and they were committed to making this three-way parenting scenario work.

Over the baby monitor, which was placed on the coffee table in front of them, came the sounds of Scout waking up from his afternoon nap. Still basking in the glow of new parenthood, Kai immediately stood to go to him. Amelia couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.

Her smile widened as she listened to the interaction between the two. She could clearly picture Kai smiling goofily at the blonde boy and reaching to pick him up gently. The neuroscientist spoke to Scout in a soft, calm voice.

"Well, hey there, lil' dude. Did you have a good nap? Come on up here so I can see you."

Amelia imagined Kai bouncing Scout on their hip while a still sleepy Scout wrapped his arms around their neck and cuddled into their body. Her mental image was proven accurate when Kai came downstairs with the boy.

"What are you smiling about, Shepherd?"

"My two favourite and most beloved people in the world."

"Oh. Well, in that case, please do carry on."

Kai set Scout down on his feet. The child sat down with his toys and Amelia's heart swelled with love as his new parent sat down with him. She knew that this play time Kai shared with him was vital to the bonding process between them. That Kai was patiently, diligently, and enthusiastically doing the work, made her love them even more, something that she didn’t think possible.

Amelia wanted him to have a parental figure in his life who would teach him to ride a bike, fish, swim, and once, she'd have said those things would be Link’s job. Now, looking at her child and her partner giggling together, she wasn’t so sure. Now she could picture Kai doing those things with him. And if she was being completely honest with herself, the thought filled her with joy.

"Hey, Amelia. Come join us. Family time means the whole family."

She didn’t need to be asked twice.

#kai bartley #greys anatomy #amelia shepherd #amelia x kai #kaimelia #amelia shepard #kai x amelia

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lstine919 · 1 month

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Analytical Application 4

Heimlich:

The Heimlich is that which is familiar to us, a quality of something that we feel keeps us safe. Freud defines it as “‘belonging to the house, not strange, familiar, tame, intimate, comfortable, homely,”(1) Since the heimlich is thought to be familiar, we feel comfortable with it, as we feel we understand it to a certain extent. Freud establishes another definition of the word: “that which is concealed and kept out of sight,”(2) which, when seen, can cause the heimlich to morph into the uncanny.

The familiarity aspect of the Heimlich is exemplified in The X Files by both the setting of the episode and The character of Tom Colton. The TV show takes place primarily on Earth, which causes the setting to often adhere to Freud’s first definition of the heimlich, stated above. The FBI office in which Mulder and Scully work is thought of as a place of familiarity, a place that is safe from the dangers of paranormal activity due to its large police presence. In this episode, the precinct remains safe. In contrast, the sites of the murders that occur, while in fact heimlich, don’t maintain the same safety. The victims being pursued in their office or at their home presents the viewer with the heimlich’s true vulnerability. Freud claims “what is novel can easily become frightening and uncanny.”(3) This episode adheres to this rule, as viewers of the show have likely seen the precinct before, and are also likely familiar with what an urban office building and suburban home look like as well.

Tom Colton and Scully know each other from their days at the academy, as established in the beginning of the episode (Longstreet, 1993, 00:04:12). Their partnership is heimlich, in contrast with Mulder’s novelty and his outlandish methods. Colton refuses to believe in or support the extraterrestrial task force that Mulder and Scully are a part of, and instead aims to work through the ranks of the FBI that he knows well, that he finds familiar. His inability to accept the methods of Mulder and Scully is an example of how by engrossing oneself in the heimlich, one limits their capability to validate anything outside of the inner circle of familiarity they’ve created.

Unheimlich:

In contrast, the Unheimlich serves as the antithesis to the Heimlich, marking something with unfamiliarity, a distance from the known reality of the viewer. In contrasting the heimlich and unheimlich, Freud writes that “The German word unheimlich is obviously the opposite of heimlich,”(4) but takes this notion one step further by noting that the heimlich and unheimlich contain similar features, deducing that “What is heimlich thus comes to be unheimlich.” Therefore, the unheimlich, or unfamiliar, is parallel to its counterpart, and there is only a fine line between the two concepts.

Applying the concept of the unheimlich to this episode of The X Files, one can understand that the showrunners take advantage of unfamiliarity in order to create a sense of curiosity and unease within the viewer. The use of ambient music throughout the episode contributes to an atmosphere of unfamiliarity, as ambient synth music is not a sound regularly heard in nature, but rather one made by electronic instruments. The novelty of this music to the viewer’s ears, especially in the 1990s, opens up the mind of the viewer, encouraging them to stay invested in the story in order to find out what other new discoveries are in store for Mulder and Scully. Similarly, creators use darkness in familiar spaces, such as a garage (Longstreet, 1993, 00:13:39) or Scully’s own home (Longstreet, 1993, 00:37:54), to create a sense of the unknown in a familiar world. Since the dark prevents the ability for something to be seen, one has no concept of what is around them, rendering their surroundings unheimlich.

The unheimlich is further exemplified when Agent Colton’s familiarity contrasts with the unconventional practices of Mulder. Specifically, the scene in which Mulder and Colton disagree over the results of the polygraph test (Longstreet, 1993, 00:17:23) shows how Mulder’s strange/unheimlich questions about the suspect’s age and whereabouts in the past actually help to solve the case. A moral of this episode is that while the unheimlich can prove frightening (such as in unknown spaces), using unusual methods can sometimes lead to the best outcomes. This can create a subconscious appreciation for the unheimlich within the viewer, which makes them more likely to watch future episodes of the show.

Uncanny:

The “uncanny” is thought of as a strange juxtaposition of the familiar and unfamiliar, which creates a primal disturbance in the viewer. The origin of the word, as Freud writes, comes from the word “heimlich”, which “on the one hand, it means that which is familiar and congenial, and on the other, that which is concealed and kept out of sight.”(6) Freud affirms Schelling’s innovative definition of the uncanny that combines these two concepts, claiming that “everything is uncanny that ought to have remained hidden and secret, and yet comes to light.”(7)

In this episode of The X Files, Freud’s concept of the uncanny is best characterized by the killer, Eugene Toomes, especially in the ways in which he moves around when stalking his victims. Toomes is a humanoid figure, presenting as a human on the outside - an appearance which is familiar to viewers. In a show about paranormal/extraterrestrial activity, his familiarity gives him the illusion of innocence— which is why when he is first captured, he is unsuspected as the killer. By analyzing the opera Tales of Hoffmann, Freud identifies an example of the uncanny in the doll.(8) Dolls, like Toomes, are uncanny because they are “to all appearances a living being,”(9) yet they are not constructed in the same way as humans; they are made of inhuman materials and operate differently (not at all). Toomes can be thought of in the same way, as his need for human bile for hibernation alienates him from the rest of the world, separating him from the normal functions of human behavior. Before killing each victim, he enters through seemingly safe openings, such as sewers, elevators, vents (Longstreet, 1993, 00:03:11), and fireplaces (Longstreet, 1993, 00:22:02). Audiences see these openings in everyday life, but obviously don’t expect someone to be lurking in them, waiting to commit a dangerous act. The way Toomes moves through these spaces is also uncanny, as he contorts his human-like body to complete inhuman feats. This contributes to the emotional and psychological effect of this show on viewers, as it utilizes the uncanny through the character of Toomes to portray seemingly harmless spaces as facilitators of violence.

The Mirror Stage:

The Mirror Stage is the period in a child’s growth where they come to recognize themselves in the mirror, becoming aware of their own visual existence and their existence relative to the space around them. Lacan writes that this stage “immediately gives rise in a child to a series of gestures in which he playfully experiences the relationship between the movements made in the image and the reflected environment.”(10) This quote describes the child’s reaction to this realization, and details the way in which he is able to understand this awareness - by moving and seeing himself reflected within the space. Lacan also claims that this stage creates an “ontological structure of the human world,”(11) suggesting that this is one of the core experiences of a child that creates a path for the rest of their growth.

While nobody in this episode of The X Files is literally becoming aware of their surroundings, the mirror stage is present through Agent Scully’s formation of herself within the context of her work, and whether she belongs on Mulder’s team or not. In the beginning of the episode, when meeting with Agent Colton (Longstreet, 1993, 00:04:12), Scully is unsure of her place. She wants to work on the case with Colton, but she’s worried that she might have picked up a reputation by being assigned to work with Mulder. While meeting with Colton and Mulder in the next scene (Longstreet, 1993, 00:07:08), she feels awkwardly placed between the two men, representative of the two belief systems she is torn between. When Mulder jokes about the color of “little green/gray men”, Scully looks at Colton in embarrassment. Since she knew Colton from the academy, he serves as a representation of Scully’s past, a context in which she knows her place and feels safe. Since she’s newly assigned with Mulder, she has not yet undergone her metaphorical “mirror stage”, an understanding and assimilation to the environment of her new position. As the episode progresses, there are several moments in which she begins to understand her own position. The polygraph scene in which Mulder agrees with her (Longstreet, 1993, 00:17:23) for example, helps her form an understanding of where she should be. This realization comes full circle when Scully scolds and dismisses Colton for interfering with Mulder’s stakeout (Longstreet, 1993, 00:34:51). She finally understands that Mulder’s theories are correct, and that she is meant to be by his side in the investigation— satisfying the final aspect of the mirror stage in which one becomes fully aware of themselves.

Collective Catharsis:

Collective catharsis is a concept introduced by Fritz Fanon that prescribes the need for an outlet where one can release the anger and hostility they have pent up inside. Fanon claims that “In every society, in every collectivity, exists—must exist—a channel, an outlet through which the forces accumulated in the form of aggression can be released.”(12) With this quote, Fanon emphasizes both the abundance of the concept and its mode of expression - through aggression. Fanon also presents several examples of collective catharsis, such as “games in children’s institutions, of psychodramas in group therapy, and, in a more general way, of illustrated magazines for children.”(13)

Collective catharsis is personified in this episode by Eugene Toomes’ killing of his victims. As previously established, collective catharsis manifests itself in the form of aggression. Toomes’ aggressive action that he uses for catharsis is murder. The show takes it a step further: while catharsis isn’t directly necessary for human survival, killing others is necessary for him. This comparison may possibly serve as the allegorical identification of an instinctive human need to harm others for our own survival. Perhaps the showrunners are suggesting that our longing for collective catharsis is just as dangerous to society as a mutant murderer when it manifests itself in sinister ways, and that we must think of healthier outlets for such aggression. A specific scene in which human collective catharsis is identified is when Mulder and Scully visit the man who investigated the previous murder at Powhatan Mill (Longstreet, 1993, 00:26:59). He felt a need to do extra research of his own in order to stop this killer. His need to hunt down the killer might have been motivated by collective catharsis. When Toomes is finally captured, the man reads it in the newspaper, and achieves his own catharsis from the success of Scully and Mulder (Longstreet, 1993, 00:39:25). His catharsis, as well as the catharsis of those who caught him, were finally realized.

From a more observational perspective, one can look at this episode as an instrument for collective catharsis in and of itself. We as the viewers have aggression that needs to be released, visual media has become an increasingly prominent mode in which to do so. While the characters within the episode achieve catharsis by capturing the killer, we as the audience receive catharsis through the intense emotional situations displayed on screen.

Bibliography:

The X Files, 3, "Squeeze," directed by Harry Longstreet, aired Sep 24, 1993 on Fox.

1 Sigmund Freud, “The Uncanny” in Collected Papers Volume IV, trans. Joan Riviere (London: The Hogarth Press, 1948), 371

2 Freud, The Uncanny, 375

3 Freud, The Uncanny, 370

4 Freud, The Uncanny, 370

5 Freud, The Uncanny, 375

6 Freud, The Uncanny, 375

7 Freud, The Uncanny, 376

8 Freud, The Uncanny, 379

9 Freud, The Uncanny, 379

10 Jacques Lacan, “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function” in Écrits, trans. Bruce Fink (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2006), 75

11 Lacan, The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function, 76

12 Fritz Fanon, “The Negro And Psychopathology” in Black Skin White Masks, trans. Charles Lam Markmann (United Kingdom: Pluto Press, 1986), 112

13 Fanon, The Negro And Psychopathology, 112

@theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyvisualanalysis #psychoanalysis #subjectivity

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autosguide · 3 months

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Color Palette of the Roads: Unveiling the Influence of Car Colors

Embarking on the journey of selecting the color for your new car involves considerations beyond personal preferences. This exploration delves into common questions surrounding car colors, shedding light on whether color choices impact pricing, popularity, and even the age-old belief that certain hues attract more attention from law enforcement.

1. Price Tags and Pigments: The Myth of White Cars Being Cheaper

Are white cars cheaper?

Color Neutrality: In general, the color of a car is not a direct determinant of its price.

Model and Brand Influence: Pricing is primarily influenced by the model, brand, and optional features rather than the color of the vehicle.

2. Aesthetic Appeal: The Popularity Quotient of White Cars

Are white cars popular?

Timeless Elegance: White cars have maintained a timeless and classic appeal, making them a popular choice across various demographics.

Resale Value: The neutral nature of white often contributes to higher resale values due to broad market appeal.

3. Traffic Stop Tendencies: The Myth of Red Cars and Police Attention

Are red cars more likely to get pulled over?

Color Psychology: The belief that red cars attract more attention from law enforcement is rooted in color psychology rather than conclusive evidence.

Driving Behavior Matters: Vehicle color alone does not determine the likelihood of being pulled over; driving behavior remains a more significant factor.

Understanding Color Choices and Their Impact

Influence on Resale and Trade-In Values

Neutral Tones: Neutral colors like white, silver, and black often have broader market appeal, positively impacting resale and trade-in values.

Unique Hues: Unconventional colors may appeal to specific buyers but might affect resale values due to limited demand.

Personal Preferences vs. Market Trends

Subjectivity in Color Choices: Personal preferences play a significant role in choosing car colors.

Market Trends: Certain colors may trend in popularity due to fashion, cultural influences, or automotive industry trends.

Addressing Color Myths and Stereotypes

Objective Enforcement Practices: Law enforcement agencies base traffic stops on observable violations rather than the color of the vehicle.

Individual Driving Habits: Safe and law-abiding driving practices significantly reduce the likelihood of being pulled over, regardless of the car's color.

Conclusion: A Splash of Color in Your Automotive Journey

As you navigate the colorful world of car choices, remember that preferences, myths, and stereotypes can influence decisions. Whether opting for the timeless elegance of white, exploring the palette of popular colors, or debunking the myth of red cars and traffic stops, the ultimate choice lies in aligning your selection with personal tastes and considerations. So, embrace the spectrum of colors available, express your individuality, and drive away with a vehicle that not only reflects your style but also complements your journey on the road.

Call: (347) 616-6380

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://www.tijaraauto.com/cars-for-sale

Showroom: 1376 St Georges Ave, Avenel, NJ 07001

Facebook: Tijara Auto Facebook

Instagram: Tijara Auto Instagram

Twitter: Tijara Auto Twitter

#cars #new jeresy #automotive #used cars #classic cars #electric cars #personal-finance #car-buying #budget car nj #cheap used cars

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thegreatwicked · 4 months

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Shadows of Deception- Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Drive You Insane by Daniel Di Angelo

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

"What does your zodiac say about you?"

Roman scoffed at the very idea ‘Give me a break’. To him, it was just grown-up fairy tales, a celestial tooth fairy for women to get all starry-eyed about. The alignment of stars and planets predicting one's personality seemed preposterous, an amusement he dismissed with a dismissive roll of his eyes.

"What your favorite drink says about your personality?"

Attempting to distill the complexities of human character into a mere sip, at least that one had some merit. Bourbon, no nonsense. The older, the better, aged in a barrel with minimal exposure to oxygen. Sometimes these quizzes were amusing,

"What Greek god do you embody?"

Roman paused finding that particular magazine article headline kind of interesting, his folklore and mythology were a bit rusty but he gave it a thought since he had one to spare while he waited for the barista to finish up his order. Jesus, it had been years since he’d thought of something as useless as mythology and the only one he was really familiar with was Greek.

In his head, a damn parade of names was competing for the title of "Roman of the Day." Aries took the main stage, especially after the tango with Cobblepot's goons at the docks. Yeah, God of War was the flavor, temper and all. But there were others in the running, especially with Belladonna thrown into the mix for the past couple of months. Starting to think he and Hades might share more than a taste for a dark underworld and a brooding vibe, even if he wasn't exactly kidnapping Belladonna. Coerced, well, that depended on who you asked, didn't it? The plot thickened, and the emotional rollercoaster kept on rolling.

Leaning casually against the coffee shop counter, Roman's eyes locked onto the reflection staring back at him. The sharp lines of his black suit accentuated his powerful frame, every detail meticulously chosen. His hair, perfectly styled, added a touch of rebellion to the sophisticated ensemble. The Armani shades perched on his nose completed the look, casting an air of mystery.

A smirk played on his lips as he soaked in the image. Damn good, he thought. It wasn't arrogance; it was an acknowledgment of the effort he put into presenting himself. His appearance wasn't just a reflection; it was a statement, a silent proclamation of power, control, and, yes, undeniable charm. Why the hell not revel in it?

His meticulous attention to detail was more than just a morning routine, he never left his place looking anything less than immaculate but lately, he’d taken this routine to an obsessive degree. His customary lunchtime visit to Belladonna's workplace was an opportunity to see and be seen, and today he expected a bit more of a spectacle.

He was practically salivating at what today's reception would be like – the coffee delivery to Belladonna and Daisy. The excited whispers and jealous stares, that were sure to follow were like sweet music to his ears, especially with the little surprise he had orchestrated that morning: a delivery of the most extravagant roses money could buy.

In his mind, he painted a vivid picture of the grand entrance; strutting in like he owned the place, a flash of that infamous charm that captivated everyone around. And then there she’d be– Belladonna, hard at work, looking like a vision of effortless beauty, maybe even playing with one of the rare roses he had sent. She always knew when he was staring at her so of course she'd notice him, abandon whatever she was doing, and greet him with that adorable 'Hey baby.' The public display that followed, a couple of nice, lingering kisses – it was all part of the show.

But it wasn't just the show he was looking forward to. Belladonna's kisses were something else. Nothing like the coy games or aggressive maneuvers some women played. Hers had the perfect mix of teasing and desire, leaving him hungry for more. His mind, always wandering to steamier scenarios, now danced with ideas of clandestine encounters in her office – quick, intense, and hidden away in secluded corners.

Christ. His damn libido was on the rise, and the thought of breaking his self-imposed celibacy was growing more tempting by the minute. Being around Belladonna was pure agony, especially when she flaunted those curves in those sexy-fitting work outfits. The woman looked spectacular, and sure, he could make a few calls and have a willing girl on his lap in no time, ready to fulfill his every desire. But he didn't want them. Forced abstinence was nothing new; Blackgate had been a temporary home more than once. But this... this was different. He was doing it to himself, willingly enduring the torment, all in the hope that when he finally got her in bed, it would be worth the damn trouble. And from everything he'd seen so far, disappointment wasn't on the horizon. His grin grew wider.

Now that their coupledom had been plastered across social media and tabloids, the public perception of him had taken a rather favorable turn, it was night and day. It was a refreshing change to see himself painted in a mostly positive light, his every action was still scrutinized and analyzed. From the way he followed Belladonna to how he held and touched her throughout the night, even down to his lack of usual engagement with the press – the media was having a field day.

Could it be that the infamous playboy, Roman Sionis, was finally tamed?

Of course not, but playing the part was undeniably enjoyable, Jesus, he should have been an actor. The public lapped it up. Sure, there were a few unsavory remarks from notorious paparazzi, insisting that he was just using Belladonna and would toss her aside once the novelty wore off. If he were fair, that had been his pattern in the past. But it wasn’t like it was his fault; most women were just goddamned boring.

Not Belladonna, though.

Oh, yeah, today was going to be one for the books.

He didn’t let the lack of texts or calls thanking him for the roses get to him. No surprise there. Belladonna did mention drowning in post-fashion week chaos, and he could imagine her buried in whatever it was she did at work. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely clear on what that was. Photographer, yes, but beyond snapping pictures, the details were fuzzy. Ah well, he'd find out soon enough. He couldn't wait to see how she'd shower him with affection for his sweet gesture. Chicks love roses.

Despite the weekend's radio silence, Roman's confidence sailed high. He was certain his charm would effortlessly iron out any unspoken tensions between them. A twinge of surprise lingered that she hadn't reached out, but oddly enough, he welcomed the change from the typical clingy inquiries he'd grown accustomed to. All weekend his phone remained silent. Not a beep or a buzz.

'Work'—that had been the pretext he used to keep himself occupied during the weekend. The truth was, it wasn't until Sunday afternoon that it hit him – oh yeah, he had a bit of making up to do. Sure, he mulled over a spontaneous visit that night, but Roman, ever the showman, decided to save the grand entrance for Monday.

~~~

Yet things didn’t quite go how he imagined them, starting from when he strolled into the fashion house. It was bustling with activity, reminiscent of the previous week and while a few heads turned, there were more indifferent glances rather than the usual acknowledgment of his presence. He tried to brush it off as Belladonna had explained to him previously that the week after fashion week was just as busy, if not busier, now that they had to meet demands after new collections had been shown. But still, not a single smile, no acknowledgment of any kind? He might as well have no teven been there. He frowned, these people knew him, right? It wasn't his first time at the fashion house but he was less than amused but still, he was feeling generous, willing to settle for a less-than-glamorous reception. He was sure that would all change when he found Belladonna, she’d give him the welcome he deserved.

He shook off the strange reception, maintaining his charming smile as he made his way to the corner of the third floor where Belladonna usually worked. But to his irritation, it too was empty, devoid of Belladonna's usual charismatic allure. Now, annoyance crept further into his mood. He scanned the area but saw no real signs that anyone had even been there at all, he reached into his pocket to check his phone, expecting a message that might explain the absence– maybe a meeting, a phone call, or an impromptu photoshoot outside the studio. But the screen remained stubbornly blank.

“Maybe you should call her,” Zsasz's voice cut through the quiet, and Roman shot him a look.

Roman scoffed, muttering more to himself than to Zsasz, "Don't be stupid." The knee-jerk response was clear - why bother? She hadn't bothered to mention she wasn't at work; why assume she'd answer if he called? Yet, an unsettling unease nagged at him, urging him to rcheck his phone again. Not to make a call or send a text, but to check, as if the information might have miraculously changed in the sixty seconds– predictably, still no messages.

Roman shot Zsasz a look that said, *Seriously?* Sometimes, as sharp as Zsasz could be with certain unsavory tasks, his solutions were disappointingly simplistic. His jaw tightened.

"Roman?"

He swiveled at the voice that unmistakably wasn't his elusive angel and there stood Daisy, burdened with papers, a laptop, and files, looking somewhat taken aback by his unexpected presence, as if him being there was the last thing she expected. Always the adept performer, Roman effortlessly flipped his mood, turning a potential snarl into a charming smile as if following a script, erasing any hint of irritation before Daisy could catch wind of it.

"Daisy, sweetheart, let us take some of that."

Roman quickly placed the coffees on a the desk, playing both the useful and chivalrous cards by snagging a few files about to cascade onto the floor. Zsasz efficiently managed the rest, arranging them neatly on the desk and liberating Daisy's hands. Roman then promptly pivoted, swapping Daisy's now-empty hand for the green tea latte. She appeared both grateful for the well-timed drink and somewhat surprised by it.

At least someone seemed pleased to see him.

"What are you doing here?" The sincerity in her voice was all the confirmation he needed that Belladonna wasn't in the building. If she were, Daisy wouldn't be so astonished by his appearance.

"Looking for an angel, of course." Roman drawled, his voice a concoction of charm and confidence. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he adopted a casual stance, masking the underlying irritation with an air of nonchalance. Shooting Daisy an inquisitive look, channeling an irresistable lost puppy vibe, that would make any heart melt.

"She's not here." Roman could see for himself that Belladonna was absent, but Daisy might have some insider knowledge.

"I can see that.” The nature of his forced chuckle made him want to bite his tongue till it bled, but he needed to charm Daisy and snapping at her wouldn’t get him the answers he wanted. “Where else would she be?" Roman cringed internally at the banality of the question and the necessity to maintain a charming front.

"Yeah, obviously," Daisy chuckled in return, shaking her head as if acknowledging the simplicity of her response. "I mean, she was here this morning at her usual time but left around nine, said she wasn't feeling well."

Not feeling well? What happened? Why hadn't his driver informed him? He thought he was clear about his requirements to the driver regarding Belladonna’s whereabouts.

"Is that right?" Roman's curiosity had shifted to genuine concern.

"Yeah, she didn’t look very good; like she hadn’t slept at all. But honestly, it makes sense. Fashion week tends to drain us all; some just bounce back easier than others." Daisy pondered, staring at the ground, lost in thought. "You know, come to think of it, I don't think I saw her eat anything this morning. If that's the case, no wonder she felt like crap," Daisy remarked between sips of her latte.

"What do you mean? What does food have to do with it?"

With a nonchalant attitude, Daisy enlightened him. "Belladonna’s hypoglycemic. She can get pretty sick if she doesn’t eat. She didn't tell you?"

"Must have slipped her mind. Does she do that often? Forget to eat?" Roman inquired, his tone carrying a hint of indifference.

Daisy's eyes rolled, and she scoffed before nodding, clearly no stranger to the issue. "Well, not since you've started making your lunchtime visits, but yeah, when she's stressed, she's bad about it. Last year she passed out and cracked her head on the desk, had to call an ambulance, huge drama. She’s got a scar on her hairline from it; it was pretty nasty, two other people fainted from the blood."

"Hypoglycemic, huh?" Roman echoed, the revelation settling heavily in his mind. Leaning against the desk, he wore a subtle frown that betrayed the deeper concern beneath his exterior. "How’d we miss that?" he mumbled to himself, contemplating the extensive research Zsasz had conducted on Belladonna. If it had been a year ago, it would have been around the time of her attack, he supposed itmioght have been an easy thing to miss.

Daisy, seemingly indifferent to the weight of the information, nodded. "It's one of those things she doesn't talk about much. But it's not a huge deal; she manages it, mostly," she shrugged, hinting at a degree of skepticism. "Belladonna's not the type to play the victim, you know. Not even when she is the victim." Daisy's words lingered, encapsulating a truth that cut deeper than it appeared.

Roman absorbed this new information about Belladonna, a facet of her life he hadn't considered before. "So, what's the deal with hypoglycemia? She passes out if she doesn't eat, is that it?" he inquired, casually folding his arms across his chest. “Is this a ‘she needs insulin’ type thing?”

Daisy, shook her head, "Oh no, not insulin. It's a blood sugar thing. When she doesn't eat regularly, her blood sugar drops too low, and that can lead to all sorts of problems. The passing out is one of the extreme reactions, but it's not the worst." Roman's expression shifted, a mixture of concern and curiosity playing on his features. "If she drinks when her sugar is low, she can have a seizure. It's crazy."

The intricacies of Belladonna's health hadn't been on Roman's radar, and this revelation exposed a vulnerable side he hadn't seen before.

Daisy, now feeling fine with sharing Belladonna's personal medical history to her boyfriend of all people, continued, "It's why she keeps snacks stashed everywhere – in her desk, her bag, Seriously check her beag one of these days, she’s always got something quick to snack on– when she remembers. French macarons are her favorite. She's got this fear of passing out again, especially in public. Understandable after what happened last time, right?"

Roman nodded, the weight of the situation sinking in. The usually nonchalant demeanor he wore took a back seat, replaced by a more serious tone. "Yeah, I get it. Anything else I should know?”

Daisy hesitated, her eyes assessing how much information she should reveal. "No, she just has to check her sugar periodically throughout the day, with this little thing that pricks her finger.” She shuddered, clearly not a fan of hte prospect f finger pricking multiple times a day. “And stress makes it worse, but only because if she's stressed out, that’s when she forgets to eat. Fashion week is always a nightmare because of the crazy hours and running around from one show to the next. Belladonna is a workaholic and comes in clutch almost all the time but she tends to push herself harder than she should; I’ve literally found her asleep at her desk before, even on the floor."

She looked so... normal. But what did he expect? A neon sign saying hypoglycemic? "I had no idea. Thanks for letting me know." His thoughts shifted to the next mystery, and he couldn't help but address it, "Did my driver pick her up?"

"Oh, that kid that picks her up and drops her off, sweet guy." Yes, that one. "No, She had me call her a cab home, said didn’t want to bother him in the middle of the day,” She misinterpreted Romans irritation for concern and reassuringly touched his arm, “I wouldn’t worry too much about her, I bet she got home and just passed right out. You’ll probably get a phone call or a text anytime now."

"I’m sure I will." He paused, knowing full well that wasn’t the case, but he wore his best fake smile anyway. "Well, you enjoy that tea, and it sounds like I’ll just go and surprise my angel at home."

"Oh, I bet she’ll love that! Tell her I hope she feels better! Make sure she eats something, if she crashes it can take a while before she’s up and running again, she’s always so tired afterwards."

Roman flashed Daisy a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of confidence and intrigue. As he and Zsasz prepared to leave the fashion house, Roman halted, turning back with an air of casual authority.

"Oh, Daisy, could I trouble you for one more thing?" he called out, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Daisy turned, responsive and willing. "Sure."

"What was the name of the cab company that picked her up?" Daisy swiftly retrieved her phone, navigating to the recent contacts menu.

"Uh, Lightning Cabs. The driver picked her up around nine fifteen in the lobby."

"Perfect. Oh, and if you hear from her, could you let me know?" Roman extended his phone toward Daisy, a silent request for her contact information. She nodded emphatically, typing her details into his phone as if it were the most ordinary exchange, yet she was providing her number to one of the most prominent men in Gotham. "Let's keep this between us, huh? I want to surprise her and all that." A playful wink punctuated his sentence, and Daisy nodded in agreement.

"Sure, I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything." The subtle dance of charm and secrecy had played out effortlessly, leaving Roman with the information he sought while maintaining the air of pleasant camaraderie with Daisy.

"And if she feels under the weather again, let me know. I don’t want her taking a cab back home; you never know what you’re getting with some of those drivers, you know?" Roman nodded with a calculated show of concern, mirroring Daisy's exaggerated gesture, before she darted back into the bustling studio. "Goodbye, Daisy."

"Bye, Roman. Bye, Zsasz." Daisy’s parting glance lingered on Zsasz, who, Roman noticed, returned the attention with an intensity that wasn't entirely professional as she disappeared into the busy studio.

As soon as Daisy vanished from sight and they found themselves back in the car, Roman's charismatic facade faded, replaced by a scowl.

“I checked the feed at her place; she’s not there, unless she’s the invisible woman.”

“Of course, she’s not. Well, Zsasz, let's go on a scavenger hunt.” Roman initiated the search by dialing the cab company. “Yes, hello? I'm Detective Ramirez with the GCPD, and I need some information about a cab pick-up today in Park Row at 5324 Park Lane, suite 32, around nine fifteen? … Yes, I’ll hold.”

~~~

Roman pondered their destination — a storage unit. In his world, those spaces held a smorgasbord of secrets, ranging from illicit gains, to ill-gotten cash, to cold, lifeless bodies in deep freezers. The possibilities intrigued him as they accelerated towards the storage facility but he had a hunch any storage unit of Belladonna’s was more likely to contain yearbooks and stuffed animals, or whatever women held onto.

The storage facility, though utilitarian, boasted an unexpected level of sophistication. Locks, gates, keypads, and even barbed wire atop the metal gatessurrounding the premises, but what captured Roman's attention were the myriad security cameras. Not a blind spot in sight — a detail that would have impressed him if he weren't preoccupied with the mystery unfolding before him. He’d have to remember to come back and check this place for future reference, a good storage facility was like a plumber or a mechanic; people in his world were always looking for a good one.

"What are you hiding, angel?" Roman's thoughts churned with a blend of irritation and curiosity. Their conversation about transparency echoed in his mind, and the fact that Belladonna seemed to be veering off that course irked him.

The transaction of a wad of cash, a nonchalant greasing of the wheels of discretion, granted him access to the facility's surveillance footage. It was a nice place but looked like it didn’t pay as wella s he did, money talks and everyone listens.

The surveillance footage unfolded like a noir thriller, revealing Belladonna's covert maneuvers. Her discreet exit from the cab then waiting for it to leave and then vanishing act into a smaller unit escalated into a fascinating revelation as she emerged. Her high fashion work outfit replaced buy dark jeans, a jacket, boots and gloves, cutting quite the mysterious figure astride a high-performance motorcycle. The black machine, crafted for speed, agility, and precision, hinted at a taste for the adrenaline of the open road. It was a revelation that caught both Roman and Zsasz off guard, prompting a rare exchange of surprised glances between them.

"You find any record of a bike in her name?" Roman inquired, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor.

Zsasz, never one for lengthy conversations, replied with a succinct, "Nope."

Zsasz was meticulous in his work. The fact that Belladonna had slipped this detail past both of them added an unexpected layer to the enigma she presented.

Roman's lips curved into a sly smirk as his gaze landed on the helmet crowned with two triangular cat ears. "Well, that gives a whole new flavor to the name Kitten, doesn't it?" he chuckled, reveling in the subtle, cute, girlish touch that adorned her all-black riding ensemble.

The growl of the motorcycle reverberated within the storage unit, transforming the sterile space into a symphony of mechanical vigor. As the engine's low purr vibrated through the air, Roman's irritation, initially sparked by the clandestine escapade, brewed further into a sense of fascination.

The sleek and potent wildcard of a motorcycle in Belladonna's arsenal had Roman caught off guard. It unveiled a facet of his angel that transcended the realms of high fashion and artistic allure, presenting her as more than just a mystery shrouded in elegance. As it turned out, she was a speed demon, reveling in the visceral thrill of the ride.

“Seems my angel has wings,”

~~~

Chloe, her first sort of girlfriend, and she used the term girlfriend very loosely; Chloe had been the girl she’d skipped school with to explore sexuality and smoke cigarettes with, who threw her into the world of motorcycles and the wild thrill of racing faster than reason. The graceful dance of tight turns, almost brushing the ground, and the defy-gravity physics that kept the bike upright became an addictive obsession.

In the shadow of those attack scars and the chaos that followed plus the new chaos taht was her current life, riding became more than a thrill for Belladonna. It was a way to outrun all the crap that clung like caked on mascara. The city blurred into streaks of light as she maneuvered the streets, totally absorbed in the dance of speed.

She'd dodged more than she could count of those flashing blue and red lights more times than she could count, a dance where luck and skill wove together to keep her free. The city streets, especially in places like the Bowery where the police didn't interfere much, allowed her to let loose after dark. But with Roman in her life and his rule,s a midnight ride was out of the question, she’d have to burn rubber during the daylight. Despite the restrictions, the ride was her escape, liberating. In the sunlit hustle of the day, her mind was far from the haunting past. Roman, that mystery in her life, faded away, just a fleeting image in the mirrors.

Lost in her thoughts, the unmarked GCPD SUV she zipped past hardly registered until those familiar blue and red lights blazed in her mirrors. Roman's presence, though physically distant, rushed right back into her mind. There was no dodging this cop; space and time didn't allow it.

Why was this guy pullingher over? She didn’t do anything. It wasn't like she was tearing through the streets like a maniac, just pushing it a bit, like everyone else did. But cops, especially with motorcyclists, always seemed to have a bone to pick. Beyond the speeding issue, a deeper worry nagged at her — the realization that she couldn't afford any extra attention from the police. With a reluctant sigh, she pulled over, bracing herself for what looked like the least enjoyable part of her day.

~~~

Cops never appreciated sarcasm. Not on good days, and certainly not on bad ones. This particular officer wouldn't have tolerated her smart mouth even if she'd had a chance to use it; he had real hardass vibes, the type of guy who peaked in high school. The whole exchange played out like a bizarre scene, breaking all the usual protocols she'd come to expect. He didn't bother with the usual spiel, no request for the key to her bike, just a bold move—taking it. Now, that was a definite no-no. No standard procedure: no demand for a driver's license, insurance, or registration. She had this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, but it wasn't until she found herself halfway from her bike to the unmarked GCPD vehicle, ordered off her ride, that it hit her like a sucker punch.

She hadn't checked the guy's badge, hadn't asked for any form of ID, and she was about to step into an unmarked police car. Blind obedience. In the grand scheme of things, Roman was going to be pissed. Not a great move on her part, and she'd feel the repercussions soon enough.

First, she'd need to figure out how the hell to explain ditching work without telling anyone where she was, plus she also kinda lied, which she knew Roman wasn’t af an of, but it wasn’t like she lied ot him… Going against Roman's strict orders not to venture out alone and not calling for his driver. Then, there was the bike and storage unit bombshell, which, to be fair, he never bothered asking about, but she’d also never volunteered it, that wasn’t going to do her any favors. And now, as the icing on the cake, getting pulled over by a cop right smack in the middle of a murder investigation, just a day before they were set to give their formal statements at the precinct.

Yeah, he was gonna be pissed.

He swung the car door open, playing chauffeur like she was some damn VIP, at least sans the cuffs this time. But seriously, what the hell was she getting pulled over for? Not a clue, and of course, that lawyer's card? Yeah, it was probably catching a breeze on its way to becoming litter. Roman might just decide she's due for a one-way cruise to Gotham Bay after this shitshow. Really, how much worse can this whole crapfest get?

"Well, hello, kitten..."

"Shit."

Here was how much worse.

~~~

His annoying smirk made her nervous, like, truly nervous. He just lounged in the seat like it was his throne, all smug and comfortable, like he'd done this police car routine a million times before, which he probably had. With a blink of disbelief, she hesitated before the door slammed shut on her giving her the final push into the vehicle, locking her in a confined space with Roman. The air in this cramped space hung heavy, like waiting for a judgment day or, in the darkest corners of her imagination, an impending execution.

Roman, though, smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was that kind that you put on when you're know something everyone else doesn’t know or the kind where you smile because screaming in public isn't an option.

The term 'shit-eating grin' was a perfect fit for the look he was giving. She couldn't quite figure out why he was so damn pleased or how they ended up in this mess, but at least the pressure of confessing her joyride was off her shoulders, hard to hide it when you’re caught red-handed.

A thick silence settled in, intentional discomfort left for her to stew in for his own twisted enjoyment. Just as irritation started to simmer and she was ready to snap, Roman ended the quiet with a tone full of casual amusement.

"You know, kitten, if you're in the market for something powerful between your legs, I’m only ever a phone call away."

Her expression twisted, a mix of annoyance and displeasure. For someone who was so vocal about sex, Roman sure acted like a prude when it came down to it, lots of teasing, ltos of talk but not much else to back it up. Bringing up their last encounter in the back seat of his car would probably just lead to more trouble, and her pride had already taken a hit. Reliving that memory wasn't high on her agenda, so she decided to let it slide.

"Do I even want to know how you found me?"

The smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by a bit of a scowl, not the expression seemed more fitting. "Doesn't matter, angel. I'm the one throwing out the questions here. So, lets start with this one: any clue how my day went?" Irritation played on his features, turning that once-amused smile into a disappearing act. He arched an eyebrow, silently demanding a response.

"Oh, I'm sure it was a hoot."

His grin took a wicked turn, and he beckoned with a finger for her to come closer, the gesture was very snakelike. Confusion washed over her — they were stuck in the back of a squad car, for crying out loud, how much closer wa she supposed to get? But that devious smirk of his persisted, and he pointed to his lap. Oh, goody, It was clear he hadn't forgotten their last rendezvous, and the look in his eye said that he had no plans of settling for a 'no.'

She shrugged off her riding jacket, giving in to his unspoken request. It was more than just a comfort thing; there was a power play going on, a subtle move to establish control in the cramped space.

This time, it wasn't the playful, sexy dynamic that they’d enjoyed before. Crawling into his lap felt tense, especially with his silence and the intensity of his gaze. He wasn't content with her perched on the edge, as she had initially tried. His disapproving 'tsk, tsk, tsk' and the shake of his head made that clear, and the firm hand on her back, along with a sharp pull, brought her completely against him, hip against hips. It was all about control.

“Angel, angel, angel… ” He paused, his fingers splayed on her lower back, thumb brushing her skin, “Tell me, do you know the significance of the Juliet Rose?”

What the hell was a Juliet Rose? She looked at him confused, not really understanding his question—significance? What was that supposed to mean? Roses were popular kiss-ass gifts, but she decided to keep that particular personal insight to herself; the ice that was Roman’s patience felt thin, and she didn’t feel like testing it further than she already had.

“Is it a death threat?” To go with the traditional answer of ‘love’ seemed like a stretch, and by this point, it was clear that Roman rarely did things without some depth of deep consideration. He shook his head so leisurely that it was hard to tell there was anything wrong, but she knew Roman was exceptional at donning masks. “Ok, I don’t know, significance?”

"Really, didn’t that fancy private school teach you anything?" Roman let out an exaggerated sigh and gave a small shake of his head. "Every flower has a meaning, angel. The Rose, it was Shakespeare's go-to bloom, you know? Especially in a little known play called Romeo and Juliet, maybe you’ve herd of it?” Everybody in the english speaking language knew that play. “Come on now, you know the line, don’t you?"

Roman's easy charm worked like, well, a charm, and smooth as the aged bourbon he drank and suddenly, any hint of dread in the back of the squad car melted away. It felt as if they were back to last Friday before the whole dock mess. Damn, those lips of his had a certain charm even when they were throwing questions around. Or was it just the effect of those late-night thoughts creeping in? Whatever it was, it worked. Oh, wait, he did ask her something, didn't he?

"Um," Belladonna thought back to her high school English class. Sure, she'd read the play like everyone else, but it wasn't exactly a favorite, she gave up. "Yeah, I don't remember much. I hated Romeo and Juliet."

Roman's expression of surprise appeared almost genuine, and if it wasn't, it was a compelling act. "You don’t like one of the greatest tragic love stories ever?" Belladonna wrinkled her nose at the notion that Romeo and Juliet could be anything more than a dramatic mess. He got the tragic part right.

"Romeo and Juliet is about a hormonal seventeen-year-old and a stupid love-struck thirteen-year-old. And over the span of three days, six people die. That's not a love story, it’s an episode of Jerry Springer. Anyone who's actually read the play would know that."

"You don’t think the notion of star-crossed lovers romantic?"

“No, I don't. It’s a tired and overused trope, horny teenagers use to justify screwing around and making poor decisions, as if it makes them immune to consequences. If two people really want each other that bad, they can get together without involving a murder-suicide.” Belladonna chose not to delve further into the irony of her words, especially concerning her and Romans own history. “Frankly, I'd rather read Twilight.”

“What in the hell is Twilight?”

“You’re better off not knowing.” Roman paused, considering it as if he were debating in his head. She wasn’t sure if he had ever read either play or if he was just going off pop culture.

Luckily, he let that topic slide, saving her from having to dive into the absurdity of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan's twisted, borderline abusive romance. Honestly, the whole murderous love thing was a train wreck. Opting to ignore the eerie parallels between their saga and the fictional nonsense, she steered the conversation back to the question he'd left hanging.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”

Oh, that quote. Sure, she knew it; everyone did, but still didn’t understand where it was going. It sounded a hell of a lot better when he said it. Roman looked away, reaching onto the seat next to him, picking up a rose, specifically a Juliet Rose. When she saw it, confusion and fascination played across her features as he held it out to her. She’d never seen such a peculiar-looking flower before.

Unlike other flowers, its petals flared out at the ends, forming an opulent, cup-shaped bloom with cascading waves. What made it truly captivating were the innermost petals, tightly packed in the center and gradually loosening as they radiated outward. The color transitioned from a bright yellow on the outside to an almost burnt orange at the center. She marveled at its intricacies, then lifted it to her nose, inhaling the sweet floral scent.

“Shakespeare used the rose to convey the painful side of love and the passing of time. In Juliet's lament on love, the rose is a metaphor for the darker aspect of love.”

Roman sounded like a literary professor or something, talking as if it were common knowledge. Belladonna just blinked, it wasn’t the first time she thought she’d had him all figured out and he’d turned around and shocked her, she did not peg him for a shakespeare fan anymore than she would have thought it possible for him to know the intricacies of the language of flowers or their meanings, she didn't even know that. Yet here they were.

“It’s one of the most expensive roses in the world and one of the rarest.” The charm instantly fell away and his displeased look returned grinding the breaks on his charm train to a halt. “And had you stuck around work instead of playing hooky, you would have seen the ones I had sent to you this morning.”

Shit.

His grin made a reappearance—the kind of grin that seemed to conceal something unpleasant, like the expression someone wears just before labeling you an idiot.

“You sent me roses?” she asked, and he confirmed with a nod.

“I sent you fifteen roses.”

Fifteen? What an odd number? Her confused look prompted Roman to dip his hand into the back pocket of her jeans. His touch rested casually on the curve of her ass as he fished out her phone. With a smirk, he handed it back to her, making the situation feel more like a playful game than a mere retrieval.

“Why don’t you Google it?” The fact that he whispered the suggestion didn’t bode well.

She swiped up and typed into Google as he suggested, ‘significance of fifteen roses.’ The result left her stunned:

15 Roses – If you've done something to upset someone and wish for forgiveness, opt for 15 roses.

Her head snapped up to him. Roman Sionis apologizing? Belladonna stood there, mouth agape, struggling to find words. His usually suave expression shifted into seriousness. If Roman Sionis was apologizing, her gut told her to just accept it, as it wasn't a gesture he tossed around lightly, if at all.

“Um, I uh, forgive you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you forgive me now. Now you’re the one who owes me an apology, and fifteen roses aren’t going to cut it.” The idea of being indebted to Roman Sionis wasn't appealing. It was never straightforward with him. Still, she couldn't help but ask:

"What do fifteen Juliet Roses run?"

"More than you can afford." She didn’t like how he said that.

"So," he began, and Belladonna felt a mixture of apprehension and curiosity as Roman didn't delve into details about the expensive roses. "Imagine my confusion when I stroll into your studio with your rose-infused white mocha only to find… nothing. No one says a word to me, and Daisy informs me that not only are you not at work, but you claimed to have gone home..."

His head shook, the tsks sounding almost predatory, and he continued, "But you didn’t go home, did you angel? Not only that, you didn’t call my driver, and you took a cab across town to a storage unit you didn’t tell me about, and you’ve been joyriding all over the city. I’m very disappointed in you, angel." The tone suggested either a deliberate exaggeration or a level of anger that hindered proper articulation.

"I had to impersonate a police officer to the cab company to find where you’d gone, and its a good thing their standards aren’t high because I’m a shit cop. Then I had to bribe the security guard at the unit to see the footage, and it’s a good thing he was cheap because I only had a few hundred on me, there goes my snack money. Finally, I get to see the footage, and surprise, surprise, my angel likes strong things between her legs, and off she goes to parts unknown. That left me leaning on a contact inside the GCPD to trace your bike, which isn’t under your legal name. It’s under your mother's name, and I spent the last four hours scouring this whole damned city looking for you, all the while the police are investigating us for a triple homicide." The sheer dedication to track her down was either annoying or oddly impressive, and she couldn't quite decide which.

"Can you see how that’s problematic?"

Belladonna knew she was in a bit of a bind. It sounded bad because it was bad. His hand, initially gripping her hair, tightened, and she tensed. However, he swiftly softened his grip, running his fingers through her hair to draw her closer.

“Angel, what part of ‘you don’t go anywhere alone anymore’ didn’t you understand?” His stern gaze bore into her, a mix of parental concern and disapproval, like she’d been caught breaking curfew and any moment he was about to tell her ‘she could do better’. He awaited an answer, and she hesitated before attempting to respond.

"Look, Roman, I—" Her words were abruptly swallowed as he yanked her into a kiss. It wasn't gentle or tender; it was hungry, almost demanding. Pleasure danced at the fringes, but the dominant force was control. It wasn't painful, but it carried a weight, a reminder that in his world, his rules were the only ones that mattered. As he eased back, he held her in that space where the air crackled with tension, close enough to feel the heat of a potential kiss but withholding any further touch. His voice dipped into a growl, a low, demanding tone that made it clear – the simmering anger, once concealed, was now seeping out.

"Belladonna, we have the goddamned GCPD on our tails, just itching to poke holes in our story. And we both know it's far from bulletproof because they know a few things: one, I’m not a good man, I’m a damn criminal and I like being a criminal. And two, I’m not a one-woman man. Two days before we met in the back of my club, I had six women in my bed, all begging to suck my cock and milk it dry, begging me to fuck every hole they had, offering to do the most degrading things if it made me happy, and I let them." He tilted his head curiously.

"Why on earth would a man turn that down for just one woman? I mean, you're gorgeous, and you're entertaining, but... It means a few things. Either you’re somehow the love of my life, and I’d do anything for you, thus making you a weakness to be used against me, or we’re both liars…” The coolness of his gaze was disturbing, and his detached nature, when any other criminal might be radiating unbridled fury, was just something else entirely. “Do you see my point?”

Yeah, she did.

"What happened to no more secrets, angel?" His tone was deceptively softer now.

"Jesus, Roman. Do you want me to lay out every detail of my life? Down the magazines I'm subscribed to?"

"No, I don't need to know about your Cosmo guilty pleasure, or your six-year devotion to Urban Photography Monthly. I don't care about your Motorcyclist Mechanic collection or the notes you scribble inside the margins. But I do need to know about this secret storage unit under the name Maribella Caruso on the other side of town and the fact that you own a twenty-thousand-dollar performance motorcycle for joyrides." He paused, eyeing her. "You don't street race, do you?"

"No, I just like to go fast," she responded defensively. Why did she feel the need to cover her ass all of a sudden? She hadn't done anything wrong—maybe a bit stupid and shortsighted. "And I wasn't hiding it from you. I haven't been on a ride in a few months. I don’t ride much in the rainy season, and I just go when I need to blow off some steam."

"And what were you trying to blow off steam from, angel?"

She exhaled sharply. Well, it wasn't like she could hurt his feelings, so what was the point in beating around the bush? "You."

"Me? What did I do?" His surprise seemed either genuine or a well-played act to make her feel guilty. "Oh, is this about last Friday night?"

"Is that why you sent me the roses?" Belladonna's tone carried a mix of curiosity and challenge, a hint of defiance in her eyes.

Roman's dissatisfaction surfaced, breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. In response, he seized her hair again, a flicker of irritation in his touch. "Angel, I get it, rejection isn't your usual flavor, but when daddy says no, it means no. When duty calls, you take your hands out of my pants, hop off my lap, and be a good girl and wait for daddy to finish his work."

Her wince betrayed genuine fear and pain, something Roman hadn't seen from her before. "Please let go," she requested, a subtle tremor in her voice. He released his grip instantly, an uncommon emotion stirring within him – regret.

"I thought you liked when I did that," he remarked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. His hand, now soothing the spot on her scalp, felt oddly out of character.

Belladonna wasn't having any of it. "No, I don’t like this," she asserted, frustration evident as she grabbed a firstfull of his hair at the crown of his head, yanking and jerking his head backward, full of fire and aggression. A rage filled snarl escaped him, his lips contorting into a snarl, teeth baring, and a flash of molten anger sparked in his eyes. Her power play took him off guard, like tugging at the scruff of a dog's neck; his hackles were raised in rage, all directed at her unless she took further action.

"I like this,"

As quickly as she’d ensared him, her fingers relaxed their grip, threading through his hair, massaging his scalp while still maintaining her hold. The aggression replaced by control, confidence and sensuality, mussing his meticulously styled hair.

Leaning down, Belladonna pressed her lips to his, sensing the gradual release of tension in his curled lip. Her tongue delicately licked his lips, an instinctive move to ease the lingering anger. The other hand cupped his jaw, moving down to caress his neck as their mouths slanted together. The dynamics shifted, and his anger seemed to vanish, like soothing a feral dog by scratching behind its ear.

Eagerly, he kissed her back, indulging in the talents of her lips. Unbothered by the slow, lazy pace she set, the power play held no significance; he simply craved more of that mouth, those lips.

Each pass of her lips and stroke of her tongue mingled with the pleasurable pull on his hair, and the rage that simmered between them faded. The car was heating up, with that in mind, she gently started withdrawing from him, before things got too out of control a series of soft, parting kisses leaving him yearning for more of his aggressive angel. When she finally let go of his hair, now in total disarray, her fingers massaged his neck, addressing the kink from looking up at her.

"Okay?"

His chest rose and fell all traces of agitation were gone, replaced by a wild look in his eye. Yet, through the fog of desire, he seemed to understad, and in a tone as unfamiliar to her asi t was to him, he uttered, "It'll never happen again, angel." Odd as it sounded, she found herself believing him.

"Thanks for the rose," she murmured, her tone seemingly calming any remnants of Roman's anger, more effectively than the kiss had.

"My pleasure, angel. Now, we need to head back. We have some things to talk about regarding tomorrows visit to the precinct."

His ability to maintain control in the heated moment surprised her, and she had anticipated more resistance when she ended the kissing session. "I’ll follow you."

"No, you’re riding with me."

"Roman, I get it, twenty-five thousand dollars might be pocket change for you, but that bike out there is the most expensive thing I own. Until some jerk puts a ring on it, it's my baby. I'm not leaving it here or trusting your goons with it." Leaning in, she kissed him, a strategic move to secure his compliance. "I’ll follow you."

In a rare turn of events, Roman didn’t resist. His chest rumbled with a growl, but he didn’t intervene as she put her jacket back on, pulled on her gloves, and zipped up. He chuckled to himself as she climbed off his lap and hopped out of the car without further arguments. In fact, he found it amusing when she reclaimed her key from the man who had pulled her over.

“Next time you take my key from my bike, you’re gonna eat it.”

He believed her.

~~~

Belladonna's leg bounced uncontrollably in the car from the moment she sat down. It didn't take five minutes into the ride from her loft for Roman to place a firm hand on her knee, attempting to stop the nervous action. Instead, her other knee took over the jittery motion. Roman let out a frustrated breath, slipping his phone into his pocket before turning to face her.

"Angel, if you don’t stop that, I’m going to take you over my knee," he warned, half teasing, half serious. The unexpected response halted her jittery motion in sheer shock instantly. Roman frowned, "Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t be able to stop. Oh well."

As they drove to the police station, he maintained his usual nonchalance, seemingly unbothered by the impending statements they were about to make. Belladonna, on the other hand, had never felt so on edge.

"How are you so calm?" she blurted out, genuinely surprised at his level of nonresponsiveness.

He casually shrugged, glancing up at her from his phone which he’d retrieved. "Not my first time." Was he playing angry birds?

"When was your first time?"

A sly grin crossed his face, "I was fourteen. What was her name? Alice? Anne? Eh, one of the women who helped around the house. I’m not sure, but hey, gotta pop that cherry sometime, right?"

"That's not what I meant." If he was serious, that explained a lot.

"I’m well aware of what you meant, angel. I’m not worried because I’ve spent more time in furry handcuffs than real ones. Trust me, in either scenario, the novelty of it all wears off after a while."

She shook her head, pressing further, "What if they want to do a lie detector test?"

"Polygraphs are inadmissible in court," he responded with a dull and measured tone that bordered on boredom. "Even if they did, it wouldn’t prove or disprove anything."

“But–”

“Angel, you could bomb every question they give you, and the polygraph chart could look like a bad sketch of the Rocky Mountains, and it wouldn’t change anything. The science behind them is flimsy, used to intimidate people into confessions, and it's been proven more times than anyone can count, that a polygraph is less reliable than the weatherman. Don’t worry about it. You’ll have your lawyer by your side; Derrick is a smart kid and knows what's what. You’re his top client. Just remember what we talked about last night, and you’ll be fine.”

Ah, last night at Roman's place—a fun trip down memory lane it had been, but in a way it had been helpful. Like making a gameplan, going over how the whole process would work and surprisingly Roman’s council had been helpful but then again, of course the man who had been to prison would know more than his fair share about how these things worked.

She nodded, “Wish I didn’t feel so nervous.”

“So don’t be nervous; be something else.” Mad, he had told her to be mad. In times like these it paid immensely to feed into stereotypes, like how women were hyper emotional for no reason. She had a reason she was under investigation for accessory to murder, she wasn’t being emotiona for no reasonl, she was scared shitless. But not as scared as she had been at the thought of what might happen if she were to turn on Roman.

“Belladonna, they’re going to try and put a wedge in between us, scare you and rile you up so let me be very clear about this. If you turn on me, I will make sure you live a long life while all the people you love live just as hideously long under the most agonizing circumstances possible. There won’t be a safe place for you to hide from me, and I’ll stop at nothing to see you suffer for it…”

“Like what? I’m not a light switch.” He chuckled darkly, and his hand slowly slid up from her knee to her thigh.

“Oh? Pretty sure I could give you a flick or two, and you’d turn on for me.” She didn’t have a comeback for that one because, well, it was a good one, but ignoring it didn’t change anything, nor did it determ him. “That’s not a no.” He gripped her thigh a little tighter.

The car hummed along the road, the tension palpable as they neared the police station for their statements. Belladonna shifted in her seat, her nerves evident but whether it was from their impending visit or the effect Roman had on her was hard to say.

“It’s not a yes, either.”

Roman grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Belladonna.”

A skeptical look crossed her face, anticipating his usual antics. “You’ll have to excuse me; I don’t wanna walk into the precinct smelling like sex.”

Roman scoffed. “Who said anything about sex? I wasn’t going to fuck you.” His hand slid up further, and he continued, “No, I was just gonna make you come once or twice. Does wonders for the nerves. Besides, whats wrong with smelling like sex?”

Her eyes searched his face for the punchline, but it never came. His self-assured expression remained, and realization dawned on her that he was dead serious. It wouldnt be the first time he’d coaxed an orgasm out of her, but there was a difference between what they did behind closed doors and what they did in a moving car on their way to the freaking police station.

“We’re ten minutes from the station; you’re good, Roman, but you’re not that good.”

His smugness transformed into a different expression, a blend of satisfaction and a touch of shock. It was as if he was contemplating a challenge that hadn't been issued. Right? That wasn’t a challenge.

“People get stuck in traffic every day, angel. It’s a hell of a way to pass the time.” His gaze traveled up from his hand along the length of her legs to her face, relishing the uncertainty he found there. “You know, you do still owe me for those roses.”

“Never gonna let that slide are you?”

He shook his head, “I can’t allow debts to go unchecked, angel, not even from you.Iit’s bad for business. People hear I’ve gone soft then it’ll be nothing but work, work all the time.” He removed his hand and turned to face her in the seat placing a hand to his temple the other on his knee tapping as he thought, “How should I collect…?” It was possible he was teasing but it was also possible he didn’t know how to let something as simple as a bouquet of roses go and he’d outlive god trying to have the last word. “Any ideas, angel?”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No, but I’m still curious what you think might satisfy me.”

The concept of satisfaction and Roman seemed like they would always be at odds with one another, how could someone like Roman ever truly be satisfied? Was it even possible?

“I have no idea what even makes you tick, Roman, I’m pretty sure the usual stuff wouldn’t work,”

“And what is ‘the usual stuff’?” The air quotes were unnecessary, but it probably made perfect sense to him as he lived anything but an ordinary life.

“What motivates any man, blowjobs and cash.” She avoided his gaze opting for a glance out the window instead, but she could feel him staring and she swore she could feel the grin on his face.

Roman chuckled at her response, a low sound that reverberated through the car. "Blowjobs and cash, huh? Well, you certainly know how to speak my language, angel." His eyes gleamed with a playful spark as he leaned closer, a conspiratorial air about him.

Belladonna couldn't help but smile despite herself as if that was a language any woman couldn’t figure out, but his playful banter did momentarily distracting her from the nerves about their impending visit to the police station. She sighed, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Roman."

He winked. "And that, my angel, is precisely why you can't resist me."

"But, in any case, you're spot-on about the money part, but as for the blowjobs? Well, you might be onto something there. What man doesn’t love a pretty pair of lips wrapped around his cock?"

She chuckled, "Very funny. You telling me you want fifteen blow jobs?" When he responded with silence, his expression as unyielding as stone, she couldn't help but press further, "Don't tell me you don't have a little black book to take care of that."

"I have several. Organized by city. And they're probably wondering why I haven't called any of them in two months." She froze and looked back to his smug face. What did he say? "But then again, I'm off the market, so it doesn't paint a very good portrait of a boyfriend if I'm out fucking my waythrough a briar patch of daddy issues, does it?"

"Are you saying you haven't been laid since we met?" His unamused expression was all the answer she needed. Her lips started to form the words 'what?' or 'why?' but she couldn't complete the thought. Suddenly, the notion of the car being stuck in traffic wasn't so far-fetched. "You haven’t—"

"Fucked anything but my hand? Why no, kitten, and trust me, I thought those days were long over.” She recoiled slightly from him uncertain what he was about to say, but what was remaining unsaid was giving her pause, she didn’t think he was that kind of man... “Oh, kitten, relax, I don't force anyone into anything, not my style, but I've got an appetite, and we've got a few minutes before the station. It seems my skills are in question," he smoothly removed his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. The certainty in his movements left no room for doubt—something was about to unfold in the confines of the car. "And while having my dick sucked is lovely, it’s not hte only thing that gets me off." His actions conveyed a sense of inevitability. “You wanna know what gets me off? Control.”

His arm coiled around her waist, pulling her onto his lap, a position she found both thrilling and unnerving. “Fact is, you do owe me something—fifteen somethings, to be exact, His breath, warm on her neck, sent shivers down her spine as his hands rested on her back, drawing her body against his, a familiar position from the previous day in his car.

“Fifteen what?”

"Orgasms. Let's start with one."

~~~

Chapter Twelve

I swear I will be working on my Star Wars stuff next! When you get into a writing groove, you just gotta ride that wave! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters give me a reblog and a unique tag! Thanks for reading!

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sions #roman sionis is a tease #roman sionis #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #i now have a hair pulling kink

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