Serenity - Chapter 9

Serenity - Chapter 11 (Final)

Masterlist

Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.

Mary wasn't quite sure when she awoke the next day, but by the time she did she could feel it would've been the latest she'd done so. She flinched when she felt the bed dip next to her, fingers combing through her hair, not completely aware of her surroundings in her sleepy state. A calming voice quickly soothed it.

"It's just me." Her demeanor quickly changed and she relaxed once more, blindly finding Reuben to cling on to during such a rarity. He was hardly ever in the room when she woke up. She only ever really woke up on her own or from Emilia.

She knew he was dressed by the layers of fabric she felt and fiddled with lazily, humming in content with an equally lazy smile. The man hummed his own, a light laugh at her early morning state. Even he could tell she wasn't completely awake yet.

"Best to enjoy it now before it's gone." He advised, piquing her curiosity.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means this is the calm before the storm." Mary turned over onto her back and blinked her eyes open to look at him, appreciating the curtains that remained closed.

"What're you going on about? What storm?" Mary was practically begging now, quickly awakening from his antics as she sat up on her forearms.

"Why, my dear, it's the Baron's birthday today." He gasped as if he was offended she'd forgotten, but Mary could tell it was but a simple jest. She swatted at his chest and fell back down onto his thighs, using them as her own pillow as she giggled, Reuben soon joining.

"You gave me quite a fright, I hope you know." She said through their little fit. Reuben wiggled a finger at her cheek teasingly and she scrunched her nose.

"That was the point." He leaned back against the headboard as she gave a large stretch, groaning at the relief of it before sitting up.

"I didn't get up too late, did I?"

"It's only ten." He shrugged as if it was nothing, but his smirk said otherwise.

"Only ten?!" Mary gasped in shock and shot up from the bed, peeking out the window then whipping around towards Reuben again. "Why did no one wake me up sooner?" The catcher stood and stepped towards Mary, brushing her hair behind her shoulder.

"You needed sleep." He placed a kiss on her forehead before moving to the wardrobe. "But nevertheless, you're awake now. And we need to get you ready for the party." A knock sounded from the door and he went to open it, Emilia stepping inside after an exchange of words with the catcher. He eyed Mary, then left the two of them to their own devices. The maid

looked over at Mary and offered a cheery smile.

"Would you like to see your dress, Miss?" Mary nodded eagerly, Emilia disappearing only for a moment to return with her said dress.

Her jaw dropped at the sight of it.

The atmosphere changed rapidly in the room, a thick silence filling it. She didn't know what to think. How to feel. She was frozen in place as her eyes watered, overwhelmed.

In front of her hung the very dress she made for herself. The very dress she never thought she would have the chance to wear. The very dress that was her mother's favorite.

She sniffed as she stepped closer to it, reaching out to run her fingers along the chiffon fabric, memories flooding her now busy head. Everything hit her all at once, it seemed. Grief, excitement, happiness. Guilt. Images of her and her mother flashed by, along with her father occasionally. Then the sight of her mother's body lying in their dining room.

She could still feel her lifeless eyes boring into her very being, not at all like the mother she knew. How she was denied her own time to mourn beside her body, to weep as her father had before she arrived.

The maid called for Mary, but in vain as it was muffled to her. She felt it harder to breathe, holding onto the bed post for support as she gasped for breath. She moved to sit on the bed and clutched at her throat as she wailed desperately.

Emilia rushed to her side, soothing her as best as she could in her own panicked state.

"Miss Mary?" The blonde moved to kneel in front of her hunched over form, taking hold of her hands to stop them from almost choking herself. "Miss Mary!" The seamstress finally reached Emilia's eyes, the latter motioning for her to breathe with her, guiding her through the motion.

"Miss Mary, focus on me. Only me, okay? How my hands feel, what I look like - every detail, okay?"

Mary nodded as she began grounding herself, following the maid's orders as best she could. Emilia continued to breathe with her until they were in sync, and then some. She made sure not to move from her spot on the floor until absolutely positive that Mary had recovered. When she had, the maid moved to sit beside her once more, resting a hand on her far shoulder to rub it in small circles.

"Thank you..." Mary whispered, not quite meeting Emilia's eyes in embarrassment.

"Not a problem at all, I assure you." The two of them stayed that way for a few more moments, then Mary stood to retrieve her dress and quietly made her way to the bathroom to change. Emilia made quick work of it when she stepped out, Mary staring at her reflection. The cut on her head remained, however more faint than before. Her eyes were bloodshot and began to swell from her previous attack, she just hoped it would go down by the time the party started.

Emilia fussed and took her time with the seamstress' appearance more than she would've for anything else. However, as it being Baron Bomburst's birthday, she took great care.

Mary wasn't sure what to expect. How many people would be there? How extravagant would the party even be? Even though she trusted Emilia's judgment she couldn't help but wonder.

Mary hoped she wouldn't have to sit and wait for the festivities to start, but with how long it took for her to get ready she supposed she didn't have to worry about it at all. She failed to notice the time, and it was only when Reuben visited her room to escort her that she noticed.

He stood in awe at her appearance. She had cleaned up quite nicely before, but somehow he was stunned time and time again. In that moment she was nothing short of ethereal. Mary could only avoid his stare, cheeks growing rosy with his blatant gawking.

"Reuben?" The man closed his mouth, stepping towards her while in his own trance. As he stopped in front of her with his gloved hands lifted, hovering over her waist before finally easing them onto her. His hold was gentle, as if she was made of porcelain. Being the very first time he was truly dumbfounded, a grin reached her lips.

"I'm afraid the baroness herself would be envious."

"You could be beheaded for such talk." Mary teased. Reuben simply clicked his tongue and offered his arm to her to which she gladly accepted.

"No matter. We have a birthday to celebrate."

As they neared the throne room the music from the orchestra grew into a crescendo, followed by occasional clapping from what sounded like a larger crowd. When they stepped around and through the archway leading them into it Mary first noticed the vibrancy of colors in the room, or moreso a singular color.

A multitudinous flurry of different shades of purple spun around the room, others remaining seated at the tables along the sides. Some were as joyful as can be while the rest held quite the exact opposite. Streamers and balloons dawning the Vulgarian colors were placed around the room for all to see, along with table coverings and other miscellaneous accessories.

A look of shock spread over her face at first, but the longer she took everything in, the quicker it transformed into a bright smile. Reuben walked her down the stairs, delicately taking hold of her hand as he did so. She was led around the crowd of waltzers and to an open bench at the table, coincidentally where the two females Mary spoke with earlier were sitting with their own partners.

"Oh, my! Is that you Miss Mary?" Mildred, she recalled, chirped almost as soon as they sat down.

"Well I'll be, it most definitely is!" Aundrea  responded. If she didn't know any better, Mary would think they were sisters. "And is that the notorious catcher I see at your hip?" The older woman winked, causing Mary to blush.

"You have a keen eye for the obvious, Miss Bauer." The minor insult easily slipped off of his tongue, but it seemed to be quickly brushed off.

"You should've seen them when they walked in!" Mildred whispered excitedly. "Everyone's heads turned!" Mary felt a swell of pride in her chest, adjusting her posture to sit up more straight while they began to plate their food. 

"Yes, everyone will be asking for dresses now!"

"And insight -" Mildred's whisper was cut off by Aundrea shushing her aggressively with a giggle, giving her arm a light smack. Reuben simply rolled his eyes and poured Mary and himself a glass of champagne.

"Thank you." The small group continued with their giggle-filled small talk as the men looked on at the crowd, the bunch nibbling on their food while doing so.

As annoying as they could be, Mary found the two ladies to be quite humorous and enjoyable, save for all of the useless gossip. It came as a distraction for her, to feel as if she had even a chance at fitting in somewhere at last. Soon all of the voices, music and hustle and bustle of the room became muffled, tuned out and she took a moment to relish in the feeling of that moment and appreciated all that she had. With her mother in mind she let a gentle smile reach her lips, water beginning to pool against her waterline.

A hand then moved to her thigh cautiously. Mary looked over at Reuben as she held that same smile.

"I just wish Mother could be here to see it." She whispered. Reuben reached up and brushed away a stray tear that had unknowingly slipped.

"She can, I'm sure. And she's more than proud." He glanced over at the main floor. "None of those today. We celebrate." He stood up and held out his hand to her with a slight bow. "My lady?" Mildred and Aundrea awed and nudged Mary.

"Go on!" They both whispered hurriedly in unison.

Mary's smile widened and she gladly took his hand, allowing herself to be dragged to the mass of bodies waltzing. As before, they placed their hands properly and began their steps, Mary feeling more confident thanks to Reuben and the champagne.

At that moment all that existed was the music and the two of them. Mary's stomach tingled with excitement as they spun, giggling to herself while he smiled on in amusement.

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" Mary asked out of the blue.

"I may have a feeling."

"I don't want this moment to -" Mary gasped as the large castle doors burst open suddenly. The music screeched to a halt along with the people. Multiple footsteps echoed as they entered the throne room, Mary peering around the bodies trying to see what was happening.

When she could finally see her eyes widened. Her body froze on the spot, her head the only thing that moved as it followed the disruptors. Three guards, one man with an all-too-familiar grumble. Two practically dragged his body as dead weight while the third led from the front, everyone parting to let them through to the barons.

Mary's breath was shallow and Reuben felt as her hands grew sweaty, quickly grabbing at his wrist and arm and stepping closer to him. As they passed the two of them she noticed her father glance at her with a prideful smirk that made her nauseous. The catcher instinctively pulled her away to stand a bit behind him.

"Why've they brought him here?" Mary whispered frantically.

"I'm afraid I don't know."

Once they reached the bottom of the steps the two guards dragging the man forced him to his knees, hands bound behind him. The third stepped up a few and gave a deep bow.

"Your excellency."

"What is this?!" The Baron belted in an outrage.

"A disturbance. He was found sneaking into the courtyard and attacked a guard there."

"Who are you, what brought you here?!"

"Charles... Elise." He drawled out. The barons scanned the crowd, sharp gazes landing on Mary who let out a shaky breath.

"Mary Elise?" The baroness called out to her. For a moment she didn't move, then reality struck and she stepped closer to the stairs, Reuben a few feet behind.

"Yes, your excellency?" Mary's voice quivered in response, hardly above a whisper.

"Who is he to you?" Without looking at him she replied.

"My father."

"The one who...?" Her silence gave her the answer. The baroness cleared her throat and turned to Bomburst, mumbling something into his ear with a side eye.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho." The Baron chuckled deeply, and it was without amusement. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have this fine lady with us today." He motioned towards Mary. "But be that as it may, with such a disturbance not only on my birthday!" He paused. "But with the entire village no doubt. Let alone one of my hardest workers. Mary," Bomburst gave her a frightening look. "What say you?"

All of a sudden she felt all eyes on her. But at that moment, she couldn't have cared less. Her original fear turned into adrenaline, then anger. Everything he had done to her and her mother flooded her mind and fed into it. The silence in the room grew heavy, She lacked expression, heavy lidded eyes turning towards the sorry man that knelt before her. She then took a breath.

"He doesn't deserve beheading." Mary watched as her father's eyes widened, followed by a spark of hope as he began to smile.

"Oh, thank you -!" The woman held up a hand and he silenced. She torturously stepped closer, stopping to think. Everyone held their breath, some leaning forward in anticipation.

"Feed him to the rats." All color drained from his face as his smile turned to a look of horror. Gasps echoed, some even applauded and cheered and the man was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming seamless apologies.

Mary just stared at the floor where he had been, thoughtless and vacant. A hand on her back brought her to, her head turning to its owner to see Reuben with an expression she couldn't read. He gave her a firm nod. However, what he least expected was the smile that began to form that was genuine in the worst way. Nonetheless, he welcomed it and answered with his own.

"Resume the festivities!" The Baron cheered.

Serenity - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.

"How long has it been?"

"Five hours, at least.”

"I'd say seven."

"I bet nine."

"Has she even eaten?"

"Hasn't left since the catcher brought her here."

"It's one thing to do your job. It's another when it's an obsession."

"You would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" The group of women gasped and stepped away from the door they huddled in front of. Reuben made his way towards them with an irritated expression. "I wonder what his excellency would think if I were to tell him you all were harassing his new seamstress." Comically, the women all glanced at each other with fearful expressions before speeding off.

He smirked rather proudly and turned to the door, carefully opening in to prevent any disturbance. There Mary sat at a desk, hunched over a barely made dress she was working on. Eyebrows knit together as she focused, she hummed as she worked, not taking notice of the man just yet. It was quite obvious to him that she was in her true element. She was relaxed, comfortable. Dare he say at peace. It was a pleasant sight to him, especially after all she had been through in the recent weeks.

She stopped when she heard the door close lightly and turned towards it, eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Reuben!"

"So sorry, it appears you were being eavesdropped." He spoke in a slightly agitated tone as he made his way over to her.

"Eavesdropped? By whom?"

"The other seamstresses." He rolled his eyes. "No matter, I got rid of them."

"Oh..." Her eyes downcasted in realization. "Well, thank you." She offered a smile before returning to her work.

"I must say, you work rather quickly."

"It's amazing what one can accomplish when left undisturbed." Silence followed, and only then did she realize how what she said sounded and looked up at Reuben with wide eyes. "I - I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all."

"I know, dear." Mary sighed in relief and returned to what was in front of her. Then she felt her face warm at the new nickname. "Though, you do need rest every so often." He spoke as if he was talking down to a child, looking at her with a knowing expression.

"I'm fine, Reuben."

"You haven't eaten since you've been in here for who-knows-how-long, so I find that hard to believe." Mary avoided his gaze guiltily. "As far as I'm concerned, you haven't eaten since I brought you to the castle which, at this point, would be two days."

"I'm sorry..." Mary spoke softly. "I just got excited." Reuben sighed and removed what she held in her hands.

"Understandably so." He patted her shoulder to get her to stand up. "It's time I showed you the kitchen."

Mary's head spun with all the twists and turns it took to get to the said kitchen. The castle was large, yes, but walking through it felt like a maze more than anything. If all goes well, she wasn't sure how long it would take her to memorize what led to where.

The kitchen itself was large, naturally. Everything was pristine, clean as can be. Multiple stoves lined one side of the walls, the most she had seen in one spot probably. Men and women scrambled about, however in an organized manner. It seemed they had a routine that worked for the lot and it took her by surprise. Then she remembered where she was.

"Kochin!" Reuben raised over the chaos that was the kitchen. A short, plump man began speeding in their direction, exasperated.

"Yes, sir?" He asked hurriedly as he wiped a rag over his forehead, whipping it back over his shoulder.

"Bring a plate over for the lady." He leaned down closer. "A nice plate." The man, Kochin, then nodded hurriedly before scurrying off and yelling directions to the other cooks. "Caught them right as they were about to start cleaning up." He looked over at Mary with a quirked brow.

"Well, now I feel bad." She mumbled and wrung her hands.

"It's their job. They're used to it by now." Kochin returned quickly with a heaping plate of food, holding it out to Mary who stood with wide eyes. Reuben's eyes urged her to take it and she hesitantly did so.

Reuben nodded at the man and turned Mary towards the exit to walk them back to his room.

"I can't eat all of this!" She exclaimed as soon as they reached the bedroom. She sat down at a nearby desk and stared at the heaping pile of food.

"Then eat what you can. Meanwhile, I have to take care of a few matters. I shouldn't be long. Don't. Wander." He then shut the door behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.

The food smelt amazing, to say the least. It was the most extravagant meal she had received in her entire life. She felt awful knowing she surely wasn't going to finish it, but she would've felt even worse if she didn't eat anything from it at all. Choosing the latter she nibbled at her food piece by piece, taking her time to savor the rich flavors. But her assumptions were correct.

She was only about a quarter of the way finished by the time she was full. Either her stomach was shrinking or she hadn't realized how little she had really been eating in the village. Then the food coma hit.

She pushed the plate to the side to rest her chin in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes open. She hadn't the slightest perception of time, only following her body's instincts as her head finally came to rest on her arms to sleep. She must have been truly exhausted with how fast it hit her. Typically Mary would fight herself when it came to falling asleep, lying awake for half an hour at least before she succumbed to it.

Just minutes later Reuben walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw Mary passed out on his desk. His eyes softened at the sight of it, knowing it was one of the few times she was truly at peace. He sighed and silently shut the door, taking off his coat and hooking it onto a rack that already held his hat before making his way over to Mary. He brushed a loose piece of hair from her eyes, debating on whether or not he wanted to move her and risk waking her up.

After a few seconds of thought he left to pull the sheets of his bed back, then hooked his arms beneath Mary, carefully lifting her to lay her on the bed. Thankfully, she didn't even flinch or move in the slightest save for incoherent mumbling at the action. He wasn't sure if he should've been concerned or not, but nevertheless he slid her shoes off of her feet and pulled the blanket over.

He was about to turn and leave, but his feet wouldn't move. He was planted by the sight of Mary's resting features. He took his time examining them, and he had to admit she had a unique facial structure. That was surely saying something considering his own.

She was rather beautiful in an original sense, in her own sense. It was a different kind of beauty that he couldn't describe. Perhaps he was around the middle-aged women of the castle too often, but even when he traveled to the village he never saw anyone that caught his eye quite like Mary.

There was a small knock on his door and he flinched when he saw Mary move the slightest bit, then he made his away over to it to see who it was.

"Apologies, sir," The maid spoke with a downcast gaze. "I was just coming to see if you needed anything else before you retired for the night?" She watched as Reuben disappeared for a moment, then returned with the unfinished plate of food and handed it to her with a sigh. 

"She will need another dress for tomorrow, as well." He spoke in a hushed tone. Emilia nodded. "That will be all." Reuben confirmed dismissively, practically shutting the door in her face.

He huffed and began unbuttoning his vest, loosening the cravat around his neck as he glanced over at Mary over and over. He shook his head and folded the clothing over the back of his vanity chair.

Everything was frozen. Or rather seemed so. It all seemed so much darker than she had remembered. It was a different darkness. A darkness that lurked in the daylight where it shouldn't have been.

Mary turned in the center of the plaza, looking around at the villagers staring back at her with unreadable expressions. One stepped closer. Followed by another. Then it all happened like a domino effect, a mob crawling in her direction leaving her without an escape.

Her body betrayed her, feet frozen where she stood. Her breathing quickened, throat constricting in on itself. She clawed at her neck as her legs gave out, her knees taking the impact against the cold stone. She wheezed as they all enclosed themselves around her until they were all she saw -

Mary's eyes opened to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. She breathed in, slow and thorough. Her cheeks were cold. Wet. She sat up slowly, body drained even after her sleep. She wiped her cheeks tiredly as she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side.

She wasn't sure how long it had been before she finally stood, looking back over at the bed to see a dress laid out for her. Mary pondered for a moment on whether or not she should wait on Emilia, then decided against it and ran a bath for herself.

As much as she fancied the dresses, the tightness of them drove her up the wall. She cursed whoever thought up the idea of it as she began to tighten what she could, being sure to keep it looser for her own comfort. However, she huffed when the door opened. What she expected to be the maid turned out to be Reuben with a plate of breakfast and the huff became a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

She was taken aback at his appearance. Mary had been so used to seeing him clad in black that his undershirt on display was a sight she unexpectedly welcomed. His vest was still buttoned, encased around his more lean form accompanied by his cravat. The more dressed-down appearance seemed out of character for the man.

The catcher quirked a brow in amusement, catching her more wandering gaze. 

"I feared you were the maid." Mary chuckled in an exasperated fashion.

"And why would that be?" He set down the plate and made his way over to her. "May I?" He motioned to her dress and she nodded in approval. He took the laces from her, bare fingertips grazing against her soft skin enough to set it ablaze.

"I know these dresses are supposed to be more form-fitting, but I'm certain she's trying to suffocate me." Reuben chuckled. It was light, different from the darker tone she was used to hearing while he was on the job.

He was far more gentle with his movements than Emilia was and Mary welcomed it gratefully. She couldn't explain what she felt whenever his hands brushed against her, but she was sure she was growing more and more drunk on it. Then it stopped. She stopped herself from pouting and turned to face him with a gentle smile.

"Thank you." Mary then turned to his vanity and grabbed a hair tie, quickly pulling her hair into a bun. "You didn't have to, you know." The woman sighed as she made her way over to her breakfast. She took her first bite, then looked up at him with a doe-eyed look. "Did you eat already?" The catcher nodded and leaned back against the desk beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, making her somewhat self-conscious as she ate. It was awkward for her and she began to drown in it.

She swallowed her current bite and gradually looked up at him. Reuben quickly averted his gaze elsewhere and she noticed a pink hue begin to dust his cheeks. Her chest fluttered and she took another bite in an attempt to hide her growing smile.

Later on, Mary found herself back in the sewing room after Reuben walked her, having to leave in that direction anyways. After closing the door he made his way to the throne room to the swarm of aristocrats and nobles that surrounded the barons.

"Ah, Catcher!" The Baron exclaimed, the group of sycophants parting themselves as he made his way over to Reuben who bowed deeply to the cheerful man as he approached.

"You called for me, your excellency?"

"I did, I did. Where is that lovely seamstress of yours?" Reuben faltered.

"Working on your lady's dress at this moment, my lord."

"It's coming along well, I hope?" The Baron began leading the two of them away from the crowd.

"I have no doubts."

"Good, good. Now," He stopped and faced Reuben. "I want you to bring your lady tonight to join us for dinner. You've built her quite the reputation, catcher, and I'd like to know more about this woman should she be our new seamstress."

"With respect, your excellency, she's not my lady." The Baron's eyes widened, then squinted as he drawled out a chuckle with a wink.

"Of course she isn't." It took all of Reuben's will not to roll his eyes. He was devoted, sure, but even the ever loyal catcher had his moments of irritation with the barons. Bomburst pat him on the shoulder before heading back over to his throne to mingle once more. Reuben huffed, straightened his coat with a snap and made his way back upstairs to Mary.

"Dinner?!" Panic set in Mary's eyes, putting an abrupt stop to her work. "I - I only just got here two days ago - and why would they want to have dinner with a seamstress?"  Reuben, sensing her anxiety, tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested a hand on her back.

"Being chosen to be the barons' seamstress is nothing short of a rarity. They simply wish to get to know you better to see if you're a good fit." Mary chuckled despite her current crisis.

"Was that on purpose?"

"Not in the slightest." Mary stood up and began to pace.

"What if I slip up and say something I'm not supposed to? Or do something I'm not supposed to?" She whipped around to face Reuben. "They won't put me to death, will they?" He sighed and stepped in front of her, lifting his hands to rest on the sides of her arms. Even with his gloves, she could feel the heat of it burning through, enough to soothe her almost instantly.

"You have no reason to worry." He watched as Mary's gaze remained downcast, eyes glazing over yet not a single tear falling. Timidly she reached up to hold onto one of his forearms, refusing to meet his eyes.

Then cool leather met her chin, gently coaxing her to face him. As her head turned her eyes continued to stray, and only when she sensed the smallest bit of confidence in the midst of whatever she was feeling did she meet the hazel of his eyes. It wasn't until then that she realized the little distance between them.

Everything was still in that moment. Seconds felt like minutes, where minutes felt like hours. It was all a haze, the smell of him intoxicating her, making her lightheaded. When she felt his lips on her own she froze for the smallest second, then began melding them as she reciprocated. The softness of his lips caught her off guard, but it was dearly cherished. The kiss was gentle, fervorous. Short.

They pulled back ever so slightly, eyeing the other for any sign of hesitancy or doubt, and when they found none they went in once more without a second thought.

It was more potent, held more passion. Gradually their breathing grew heavier. His fingertips ghosted over her jaw, reaching further back to cup it and draw her closer. Her hands found their way to the lapels of his coat, balling the fabric beneath.

It was awkward for him at first with his damned nose, but a few seconds in and he was almost perfect. In fact, Mary relished in the feeling of it brushing against her cheek. It brought her a sense of tranquility, and reminded her of who she was with.

When they broke away it was a slow movement, regretful. He stared at her with an intensity that left her weak, that would leave anyone weak. It made her feel as if she was all that mattered in that moment. Mary wrapped her arms around his torso, Reuben holding her close to him, head resting atop her own that nestled in the crook of his neck.

Mary wasn't sure what to think. She felt lost. Confused. Of everything that had happened over the course of the past two months, it was all blurring together and made her head spin. She tightened her grip around him in fear and puzzlement.

Mary focused on the feeling of him. The way it felt to have their bodies so close to one another, sharing the new moment of intimacy. Her lips still felt warm, tingly. Something bloomed in her chest, something she was unfamiliar with. It was indescribable to her yet it filled her with such an elation.

When they pulled away a single drop traveled down her cheek as Mary smiled at the man in front of her. He ogled with a sense of adoration, using his thumb to brush the tear away. Then a breathless chuckle escaped his lips.

"The Baron thought you were my lady when I spoke with him earlier." Mary held a curious mien.

"Oh?" Reuben's lips twitched in amusement.

"I told him you weren't, and yet here we are." It was Mary's turn to chuckle. A light giggle that made his heart flutter uncharacteristically.

"Am I, then?" Mary murmured, her expression thoughtful. Her next words were but a whisper. "Am I your lady?"

"I'm afraid so. I fear the day you soften me, and I'm even more fearful that it's already started."

The Scarred - Chapter 3

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

“The hell is happening?” Penelope whispered to herself as she stared with a wide eye. She carded her hand through her hair, unsure of what to do, what to think. Whoever was behind this, they were patient and calculative. It frightened her. It frightened her and yet she hadn’t even met the person. That was the most unnerving part about it all.

Her hand moved to pick up the larger shards to throw away, then to grab the broom and sweep the rest. She scrambled to look through every hatch, every door, cabinet and closet for anything that might have been left behind. Yet there was nothing. Once more, the only sign that someone had been there was the face that had been cleared already. There was no lingering smell, not even a hair. Not a single spec of dust out of place.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay - okay.” Her mouth rambled on as she carried out her night routine, heart pounding faster than she would have appreciated as she tried to relax under the warm stream of water. Her feet padded against the cold tile as she tended to her formulating scars, pacing the small room before throwing on her pajamas. She raced to her coat, fumbling through the pockets for her phone and shuffled through her contacts. The coldness of it rested against her ear as she chewed on her cheek, wiggling the fingers of her hand absentmindedly.

“Penny?” The familiar voice made her perk up. “What’s up?”

“I just needed someone to talk to…” The woman practically whispered. She made her way to lay on her bed, listening attentively to the shuffling in the background over the phone.

“Oh, ’course, hun,” Emma had an underlying tone of understanding in her voice. “Did everything hold up okay at the shop?” Penelope thought back to the bald man.

“Yeah - everything went fine. Sold three vases.” She started fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Three? That’s amazing!”

The voices echoed in the auditorium, the petite woman messing with the tassel that hung from her head. Everyone migrated to their families after having all walked the stage, visiting friends from time to time to say their goodbyes or reminisce in their memories. The woman searched for a familiar brunette bun.

“Penny!” She turned to face the voice, but was soon met with engorging flames. They towered over them all, everyone screaming and scattering in a panic. “Penny!” The voice screeched again, but no matter how many times she spun around and searched, she couldn’t find them. She started sweating profusely, both from the heat and stress of it all. Flames licked her skin, almost teasing it before it grew volatile.

Penelope’s eye snapped open, breathing heavily. Her hair stuck to her skin from the cold sweat she was left in. She laid there for a moment or two, collecting herself as best as she could. She imagined wind humming through her window, birds chirping as the sun’s first rays peaked through the clouds. She closed her eye again, imagining a bird.

What kind of bird it was, what it was doing. Perhaps it was a Swallow? It’s boring, brown feathers smooth as they glided and fluttered. The curious black eyes that fidgeted as it cocked and turned its head.

She took deep breaths, opening her eye once more to sit herself up on the edge of her twin bed. She stared at the soft carpet below her, loathing herself for waking up at such an ungodly hour. The faintest shade of blue colored sky if she were to squint. Penelope then stood, stumbling over to her dresser to change out of her now drenched sleepwear. She thought about taking a quick heat dump to cool her off, but the amount of energy it took for her to get in the shower right now made her shudder, so she settled with splashing cold water on her face instead.

She trudged into the living room to her box TV, turning it on and having the low noise of the news play in the background as she migrated to the kitchen. She decided to simply pop an egg sandwich from the freezer into the microwave, pouring herself a glass of milk to go along with it. She bounced when she plopped onto the couch, pulling the lap blanket from the top of it to wrap herself up in. Her eye stared at the screen with a bored expression, heavy as she watched.

With how consistent the news was it was a wonder to her how it was never a rerun. The same news anchor, the same monotone voice with the same type of news. A new murder case, Bruce Wayne’s next trip to an extravagant venue, cloudy skies with an expected drizzle all week. None of it came as a surprise to her anymore.

Crime rates continued to slowly increase ever since The Joker showed up. Penelope would be lying, however, if she said she wasn’t intrigued. From what she had seen on the news and heard from around the city, he was a very finicky person. He seemed so clumsy and careless, yet was always the one in control. No one could ever predict what he would do next, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

She somewhat felt bad for the first responders who seemed to just be ragdolled from one end of the city to the other or thrown into frequent traps when he was out and about. She couldn’t deny that the thought of it made her snicker, wondering how they hadn’t learned their lesson the first few times. It was all a joke.

A vibration sounded from her phone and she looked to where it buzzed on the coffee table, the green icon showing that she had received a message. She reached over and picked it up, flipping it open in curiosity.

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

Emma. Penelope smiled at her phone, fingers moving to reply when another buzz went off. An unknown number, and what was sent was the number twelve. That was all she needed to know who it was.

The two women sat at the counter, sipping casually from their now cold coffee cups as they made small talk. Emma noticed how tense Penelope had seemed when she first entered the shop, what with her stiff posture and gaze cast down on the floor more so than usual, so it was a relief to see her smile a little more the longer they talked. They had just finished with one of their many giggle fits when the bell of the shop went off, cutting it short. Their heads snapped to the front and Penelope’s stomach dropped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once again, the light of the shop reflected off of the bald man’s head as his eyes focused on her own. With every step he took she felt as if she just shrunk smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until he stood directly in front of them that she shot up from her seat, scrambling into the back room to grab the vase she previously prepared. Her multitude of tiny footsteps echoed from the back as Emma and the man practically held a staring contest, the latter holding a sickly sweet smile. When Penelope emerged from the back room with the vase her arm shakily handed it to him, sucking on her bottom lip anxiously. With how rough he seemed, the gentleness with which he handled the vase amused her. But she wouldn’t dare show it. Emma looked over at Penelope as soon as he left.

“Was he one of the three vases?” She quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Penelope took a deep breath in, then casted her a sheepish smile.

“Four.” Emma stood to throw away their coffee cups. “He paid yesterday. Said he was picking it up at noon today.”

“How much?” Penelope’s mouth started to water, mouth faltering as she tried to form a response.

“Just twenty-five.” Emma, always having been good at reading people, knew she was being lied to, but for her friend’s sake decided not to push. She knew that if Penelope ever held something back, she did so for good reason. She just chuckled.

“How was it when he ordered it?” Her voice took on an amused tone. “‘Begonia and baby’s breath, please’.” She mocked the man, driving the two of them back into a giggling fit. They wasted the day away talking, trying to busy themselves one way or another until the end of the day. The last hour was the hardest. In silence they sat and watched the grandfather clock tucked away in a corner. Yet it only worsened their predicament.

Fridays had always been slower than any other day, and it was on Fridays that they truly realized that time was never on their side.

When they had fun, it flew by. When they wanted something to just be over with, it dragged on. It was cruel. Time was cruel. Life was cruel.

Penelope knew these things. So when the clock sounded at the hour they were out the front door, Emma locking up the shop and tossing Penelope a smile. They gave each other their ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a good weekend’s and made their way back to their respective homes. The city was in chaos, full of eager citizens who all wanted the same thing as Emma and Penelope. Some had already made their ways into their local bars, choosing to drown out their lives or celebrate simply because they made it through another week.

As for Penelope, she sat on the edge of her open windowsill and watched. A cigarette balanced between her lips as she struck a match and lit the end of it, shaking it out as she breathed in the all-needed nicotine. Her weekly treat. One she decided to keep to herself. She rested her head on the wall beside her, the buzz starting to get to her after a significantly larger inhale. She stared out at the scenery in wonder, mind finding its first moment of peace since the last time she had a smoke.

A sudden knocking on her door jolted her from her spot, the stick nearly falling from her mouth. She quickly put it out in the ashtray next to her and climbed down to close her window, bare feet skittering across the floor. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peep-hole, yet no one stood at the door.

She unlatched it and opened it cautiously, peeking through until something caught her eye. She opened the door a bit wider to see a familiar vase sat on top of her welcome mat. Her vase. She noticed something dangling off to the side and delicately picked up the flowers to see what it was, and what she saw made her heart make its way to her throat. A playing card.

A Joker card dangled from the vase.

Reposting cause my boo is back ♥️🤍🖤

“Terrifier” - Art the Clown

Serenity - Chapter 10

Masterlist

Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.

The days seemed to pass by in a flurry, though Mary was appreciative of the work she performed in order to distract herself from the reality at hand. She lived in her own little world when she was in the sewing room. Even at the village, she had never felt so focused, no matter if it was because of who it was for. The seamstress hadn't taken such care of her work since Reuben's project.

It was well into the night and the woman hadn't left the room since lunch. With the catcher out and about she hadn't a reason to leave as he was always the one to drag her away from her work. Her movements were slower, more sluggish in her tired state. She was too close to finishing with the Baron's attire to stop. As always with practically muscle memory, she made final adjustments and corrections, clipping off dangling strings and whatnot.

Mary missed the presence that entered the room, the disappointed yet adoring look across their face. She heard a sigh from behind her and didn't turn to see them, already knowing who it was.

"I'm almost done, I promise." Mary answered his silent plea.

"You shouldn't put your work over your health." The catcher removed his hat and made way to stand beside her to see the finished product.

"How did it go?"

"Found two of them under a bridge." His usual pride was concealed by his own exhaustion. Any other time of the day he would've been boasting about it like a hero, which he was in a way.

"Two?" Reuben nodded. "How old?"

"I believe six and four."

"I don't ever remember seeing so many in such a short amount of time. That would make five in a little over a month."

"It happens from time to time. Nothing is ever consistent when it comes to children." He nearly spat. Mary finally quit fussing over her work and set down her scissors to face Reuben. She offered a weak smile.

"Finished." The man huffed incredulously, biting back a smile before the two of them made their way to his quarters. As Reuben began shedding his layers Mary undid her hair and jewelry, then turned to him. "Reuben?" She called gently and he turned to her as he pulled his cravat over his head. "Can you...?" She motioned to the back of her dress.

Without hesitation he stepped over to her, beginning to untie it in silence. It was a comfortable silence, however, and it was these moments that they seemed to cherish the most. It was a calm break from the chaos of the day, allowing them to wind down and relax, basking in the comfort of one another.

Reuben softly patted her waist when he finished and she thanked him, then made her way to the bathroom to finish changing. Mary made a beeline for the bed when she emerged, burying herself under the covers and closing her eyes for much needed rest. The room dimmed beneath her eyelids as Reuben turned off the overhead light, leaving on a faint lamp on the end table beside the couch as he opened a faded book.

She began to realize that the sheets started to smell like her, and less like the man they belonged to. Either that or it was starting to become a weird combination of the two which she personally didn't mind. It began to make her wonder if they were really together that often, or if anyone else noticed besides the Barons.

She couldn't remember ever having to rely on someone as much as she did Reuben. Not even her own mother. Perhaps it was because of trauma, that her mind would cling to anyone that gave her the time of day. She wondered if it would ever wear off, or if he would grow tired of her. As close as they were now, even with a fresh courtship, she couldn't bear the thought of being away from him. It scared her to even think about the chance of it happening.

Half an hour passed and she couldn't bring herself to sleep. She was exhausted, and the sound of pages being turned occasionally kept her in her sleepy state, but her mind had other ideas as she tossed and turned. Mary opened her eyes and glanced at Reuben. His head rested against his hand, elbow on the arm of the couch with his legs crossed as he continued to read his book.

"Reuben?" The catcher perked up at her voice. "Could you lay with me?" She almost whispered. His eyes widened in disbelief for a second, then he closed and set down the book, standing up and rounding the bed to the opposite side. "I can't sleep..." Reuben slid off his shoes and carefully crawled on top of the bedding to sit up next to her. She turned to face him and lay her head in his lap, resting an arm over his legs and curling into him.

"Is something bothering you?" Mary sighed and nuzzled herself closer to him. She was silent at first, thinking.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Mary whispered, her hand gripping the fabric of his pants. He didn't say a word in response, only began combing his fingers through her hair. It wasn't until he was sure she was asleep that he leaned his head back against the bed frame and closed his eyes.

"Marianne?" A voice echoed around her. "Mary?" The echo became clearer and the woman spun around in a tizzy, trying to find the source of it. "Mary!" The nearly unsaturated plaza began to spin with her movements. "Mary!" The voice cried out with no echo present and the woman in question spun around to see her mother kneeling before her with outstretched arms, face bruised and bloodied.

Mary quickly made her way to the throne room in a daze, eyes fleeting every which way. When she entered she quickly spotted the barons who, coincidentally, were speaking with none other than Reuben. His presence gave her just a smitch more of confidence and she stepped her way over, then offered a proper greeting.

"Your attire is ready whenever you wish to see them." The four of them looked amongst each other in quite a comedic action, then the Baron answered.

"Well, let's see!"

Once more, Mary rushed her way back up to the room with the three of them in tow. The elevator ride was quite awkward for her, however. With the sound of it buzzing the only white noise in the room it was painful, really. She couldn't be more thankful when they exited and continued their journey.

Her heart banged against her chest like a drum as they neared the entrance to the sewing room, hands beginning to sweat as her body nearly trembled with anxiety. She turned to face them, looking at each of them before turning the handle to gradually open the door. The barons peeked inside, walking further into the room when their eyes landed on what would indeed be their attire.

The Baroness gasped while Bomburst's jaw popped open, staring in fascination in a manner akin to a child. Mary slowly moved to join them in front of the mannequins, carefully watching their expressions.

"You're welcome to touch them, your excellencies."  And so they did. Their fingers traced over the intricate handwork, gawking at the different textures. Their eyes ran over their own mannequins a million times over.

"Miss Elise," Mary's heart skipped a beat. "You're hired." The Baroness spoke without ever taking her eyes off of her dress. It took everything in the seamstress not to jump for joy right then and there, but she most certainly couldn't hide the grin that pinched her cheeks. She bowed her head to hide it.

"Thank you, my lady. I won't disappoint you."

"I couldn't agree more." The Baroness finally looked over at her with a large smile, as if it was Christmas morning and she found presents under the tree.

"You'll have until the day after my birthday off from your work for what you have done. Then you can start your real work." Bomburst spoke, or really shouted, joyfully. The two of them gave her a nod before they left the room, murmuring about their excitement for the upcoming party.

When the door shut Mary rested a hand on her forehead and tittered with excitement, running over to Reuben to engulf him with a hug. The air left his lungs for a moment at the impact, but once he grounded himself he returned it and smiled down at her.

"They loved it! They really loved it!" Her voice muffled itself in his chest, then she tilted her head up and gently gripped the sides of his jaw to kiss his cheek. She was about to pull away when he stopped her and returned the kiss, however on the lips. It bubbled down her elated state slightly, and when he pulled away their cheeks were flushed.

"I'd say this deserves a celebration." Reuben offered with a wink and Mary giggled.

"What did you have in mind?"

No matter how many times she asked or pestered him with questions, he absolutely refused to answer her. Her curiosity, even she could admit, was what got her into trouble most often. She thought it one of her greatest flaws. She didn't even have her sewing to distract her from such misery as Reuben made it an official order not to let her into the room for her days off. As he said, for her 'own good'.

So, being as Mary would be officially living at the castle, she decided to explore a bit more. Of course, she only visited places she was more familiar with to prevent herself from getting too lost, but she did venture off from time to time and had to ask nearby guards for directions.

Mary then wound up in the throne room, a common occurrence as of late. It seemed so much yet so little happened all at once the more she looked on about the room. Everyone was split up into their own little groups, it seemed. There was a trio of women in a corner gossiping, a pair playing badminton, and a few individual stragglers. The largest group, however, was the one knitting, all sat in a row adding on to whatever it was they were all working on. She found it rather amusing more than anything.

"Well, hello, miss." A sophisticated voice greeted. Mary turned to the source, finding a pair of middle-aged women stood next to her. They wore bland gowns, yet their jewelry and wigs showed their higher status.

"Who might you be?" The brunette of the two asked.

"Mary Elise." Both women gasped and did little to hide their excitement.

"So you're the new seamstress?" The second woman dawning a light grey wig poked. Mary simply nodded.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are your names?"

"I'm Mildred Vogel." Answered the brunette.

"Aundrea Bauer."

"Why, I think those are rather beautiful names." The women tossed their wrists and giggled.

"Please, you flatter." Mildred bubbled and the two of them led Mary further into the room.

"We couldn't help but overhear that you finished the Barons' attire for his excellency's birthday!" Aundrea piped up rather loudly and Mary flinched, glancing around to see if any heads turned. To her relief, none did.

"Yes, yes, I can't wait to see what you've made to have them boast so openly!"

"Perhaps you could make us a little something, as well?" Mildred suggested and Mary began to internally panic when another voice interrupted.

"Now, ladies, leave the poor woman be before word gets out that you're pestering his excellency's seamstress." A man with a grey wig and elegant robe intervened, making his way over.

He looked down at the two women over his smaller glasses that balanced on his nose. At first they grew frustrated, but it quickly died down before they scurried off to who knew where. The stranger then turned to Mary.

"I hope they didn't give you too much trouble, Miss." He held out his hand. "Heinrich Fischer, Chancellor." She took hold of it to shake, but before she could remove her hand he covered it with his other and began to slowly maneuver them about the room as they spoke. He didn't seem to mean ill-will, it seemed more like a gentlemanly gesture than anything so she decided to pay no mind to it. Though it was awkward the first minute or so.

"It's not exactly what I expected it to be, I'll have to admit, Chancellor." She commented sheepishly and he chuckled.

"Of course not, dear girl, not at all. Not at all with all the stories floating around about out there."

"Stories?" He looked over at her in curiosity.

"Aren't you from the village?" Mary nodded. "Haven't you heard any stories from here? How the riches outweigh the amountiful brutality and whatnot?"

"I only heard bits and pieces from passerbys, but I never really trusted their opinions anyways." The Chancellor cleared his throat.

"Well, whatever the case, the stories seem to be getting more dramatic the further along they pass."

"How do you know if you don't visit?"

"Why, the prisoners, of course. It's amazing how much people talk when there's trouble a-brewing."

"Prisoners? Like children?"

"Children, yes, of course. Adults, too." He leaned in closer, speaking more quietly with a mischievous expression. "Though, many of those adults used to be children." He chuckled when he stood up straight once more, finally releasing her hand. "I figured you would know all inside and out about that with how much time you spend with the catcher."

"The topic just hasn't come up, I suppose."

"And speak of the devil." Mary noticed his gaze wander and followed it to see Reuben making his way over to the two of them.

"Chancellor." He greeted the man stiffly with a nod. "I'm afraid I've come to steal your company, if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course. She's your lady, after all. Quite a curious one." He quipped with a smile before waving them off and heading somewhere else. Reuben and Mary shared an odd look before she was dragged by the former out of the room.

"Not a fan?" Mary asked once they were out of earshot. Reuben held back a scoff.

"Eccentric. Everyone here is, including myself. But I like to think I'm the more sane one."

"Where are we going?" Mary questioned after a moment as he led her to an unfamiliar area of the castle.

"You'll see." He answered with a sly smile. She slowed for a second, then bit her lip to hide her own and trotted back to his side, taking hold of his arm. "Remember that celebration?" He recollected as they stopped before a larger doorway at the end of the hall. She looked at him in curiosity and he opened the doors, revealing a sight she only thought to be in her mother's fairytales.

It was a grand balcony. A miniature ballroom, one could say. Two large columns sat in the center, wrapped with vine and fairy lights. At the edge of the balcony sat a glass table for two, decorated with a candle and vase of a single rose. Food already sat covered at their seats in hopes to prevent any intrusion. It was a warm setting, one that remained dim so as to not outshine the stars above.

Mary stepped in further, circling to take in everything around her with a beaming smile before landing on Reuben. He looked on at her with fondness, the most gentle expression she had ever seen from him that was enough to make her cry. He followed in after her and took her hand, guiding her to the table to sit. She took a deep breath, still gazing at the scenery before her.

"I don't know what to say..." She finally whispered.

"Your face says enough." He noticed her cheeks redden and he smirked in amusement. They poured themselves a glass of wine before taking the covers from their plates. Reuben's smile widened when she gasped in excitement at the sight of the food. "Had it specially made for you." He winked and they began to eat.

Mary hummed at the first bite, having been the best meal she had since she'd arrived. They nursed their drinks throughout the supper, talking and poking fun at one another as if they'd known each other for years. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the atmosphere, but it was the most she had felt at ease.

"I used your cloak the other day," Mary's eyes glimmered in curiosity. "I'd say it's the most comfortable one in my collection."

"Was it really?!" She perked up. "It wasn't overbearing was it? Not too much?" Reuben smiled at her onslaught of questions.

"It was perfect, my dear." Her hands clapped together with joy.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me!"

"Well, I'm sure it's not the first time you've received such a compliment with all that you did in the village." He raised a brow.

"Not often at all, I'm afraid. Even still, I'm more thrilled with the fact that I'm actually doing something bigger with my material, something better where my work is finally paying off." Reuben noticed the relief in her winsome eyes as she rested her chin in her hand dreamily. "I only wish my mother were here to see how far I've come." The catcher stood up when her expression grew with melancholy, walking over to a nearby end table along the wall as he spoke.

"She would've been the proudest mother in the village, no doubt."

Mary heard him fiddle with something on the table's surface, followed by light scratching when music began to play. The sound of an orchestral piece brought an extra sense of comfort and she smiled at him as he made his way over, holding his hand out to her.

"Care for a dance, my lady?" The woman hesitated.

"I - I don't know how." Reuben tilted his head.

"Then I'll teach you." She thought for a moment, looking away in embarrassment. But he was patient.

It paid off when she finally took hold of his hand and allowed him to whisk her away to the center of the balcony. One hand took hold of her waist while the other stayed joined with her own, her other placed on his shoulder.

"I just want you to follow my footing." She took an anxious breath and nodded. He began slower, allowing her to match his steps. "1 - 2 - 3," He mumbled. She stumbled a bit at first, apologizing for every misstep which he quickly dismissed, but after a few rotations she started to get the hang of it. "That's it." Reuben cooed and began to move quicker to match the music.

Mary began to giggle in enjoyment when she began to get the hang of it, allowing herself to focus more on the moment rather than worrying about her footwork. He returned her joy with a smile and decided to spin her. She shrieked in surprise, laughter pouring out when he pulled her back in close enough for their chests to touch. His hand moved to rest on her lower back, her own tickling the back of his neck beneath his hair.

The tempo of the song slowed, as did their movements. Their heightened cheerfulness died down to simple appreciation, but their gentle smiles remained. With both of their arms wrapped around the other they began to truly focus on one another. They took in every detail, every minuscule expression that crossed the other's face with admiration as they rocked themselves gracefully.

"I don't want to leave this moment." Reuben hummed at her comment.

"I believe you said that the last time we had a moment." Mary clicked her tongue.

"You know what I mean." He hummed again.

"I do. But if we never left that last moment, then we wouldn't have had this one." Mary simply sighed and laid her head in the crook of his neck.

"I can't remember the last time I've truly been this happy." He was left speechless as Mary looked up at him longingly, eyes glancing at his lips before she laid a soft kiss atop of them.

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future. 

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered. 

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it. 

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin. 

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something. 

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there. 

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg. 

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state. 

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain. 

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day. 

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself. 

“How long has it been?” 

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work. 

“One day…? But how?” 

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her. 

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?” 

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head. 

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?” 

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again. 

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?” 

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes. 

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer. 

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities. 

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake. 

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully. 

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked. 

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal. 

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them. 

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking. 

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

-

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered. 

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads. 

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed. 

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.” 

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every - 

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in. 

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck. 

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again. 

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum. 

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from. 

Then he spotted them. 

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms. 

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut. 

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa. 

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked. 

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength. 

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her. 

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled. 

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless. 

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped. 

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready. 

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.” 

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled. 

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found. 

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded. 

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge. 

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed. 

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed. 

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched. 

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness. 

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored. 

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him. 

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm. 

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen. 

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out. 

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence. 

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront. 

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together. 

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated. 

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced. 

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly. 

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit? 

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.” 

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off. 

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call. 

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried. 

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.” 

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child. 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it. 

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated. 

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least. 

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it. 

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child. 

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted. 

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown. 

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him. 

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it. 

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong. 

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Scarred - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The vase fell from her hands, the shattering glass echoing through the hall. Penelope’s mind and body grew petrified as she stared at the card sitting in the mess of glass, water and flowers. She fell back against her door frame, her breathing sharp and fast as she began to hyperventilate. She gripped onto the front of her bra to pull it away from her chest, looking for any kind of relief, any way to find space for her to breathe properly. Yet it did nothing. She knew she was making a scene, and she wanted so badly to hide away in her apartment.

But what about the mess? She asked herself amidst the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the ambience around her.

“’Scuse me -?” Penelope shot straight up, eye frantically darting towards the new voice. A tall, average built man stood before her, hands held out in front of him as an offering of peace. “Apologies, I didn’ mean to alarm ye. Are ye alrigh’?” His bright eyes held a gentleness in them, the same as his voice. It was soothing in a way she had never before experienced. It was hardly able to calm her, however, in her panicked state. “Righ’, dumb question…” He mumbled to himself, glancing between Penelope and her welcome mat. “I’ll clean this up righ’ quick fer ye, tha’ alrigh’?” She gave the smallest nod, letting go of her bra to wipe the tears from her face as he disappeared.

She closed her eye, grounding in an attempt to compose herself. Never had she broken down in front of a stranger. And never had she felt more humiliated by it. She hated coming across as weak and vulnerable, and she felt as if she was both in that moment.

Her eye snapped back open when she heard the sound of a plastic bag, eyeing the man warily as he walked back to start picking up the glass shards. He noticed how her breathing had only slightly improved, but it was progress.

“Why are you helping me?” The sound of her voice caught him off guard as he continued picking up the pieces.

“Juss doin’ my duty.”

“In Gotham?” The man sighed and looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor.

“‘Ard as it is to believe, miss, not erryone in this city is a crook.” It wasn’t until then that she noticed his thick accent. It was a surprise to her, however one she greatly accepted. She felt childish for it, but she was excited as it was her first time meeting someone with one. “Ye wann’ keep this?” He asked, holding the Joker card between his index and middle fingers. She hesitated before reaching to grab it. “Now, I’m not all tha’ superstitious,” He stood up with a huff. “But if tha’ is a genuine Joker card, I’d watch out if I were ye. Yer either really lucky, er ‘bout to be really dead.” He noticed the growing fright in her eyes. “Or! Some guy is juss actin’ the maggot and playin’ wit’ ye.”

“People are scared enough to impersonate Batman, I don’t think they’d dare to impersonate The Joker himself. Seems like he gets more bold by the day for a nobody, anyhow.”

“Then pray yer juss really lucky. He’s gainin’ reputation rather quick, if I do say so meself.” He spoke in a softer tone. He began to tie the bag as she continued to carefully watch him. “I don’t believe I’ve caught yer name yet?”

“Penelope.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Miller.”

“Penelope?” The name left his lips in curiosity. “Tha’s a new one.” Her eye shifted to the ground. “Bu’ it’s refreshin’.” The man offered her a friendly smile, but her expression remained constant. “Liam Garson. Juss moved in couple a doors down.” He pointed off to his left.

“Why?” He threw her a confused look. “I mean, why Gotham?”

“Oh!” Liam chuckled. “Well, why not? Barely any restrictions with the mob and cops runnin’ ‘round lie’ chickens wit’ their ’eds cut off. Sure, muggers an’ the lie’ crawl abou’, but tha’s the price ye pay fer freedom, righ’?” He contained himself from beaming when she gave the ghost of a smile.

“Well, I see where your morals lie, Mr. Garson.”

“Liam.” He jested. “An’ I may lack some, but I’m better off than over ‘alf the boyos ‘ere.”

“’Boyos’?” Penelope gave a small chuckle.

“Males, juveniles, youngins.” She nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll let ye be. Juss wanted to check on ye and make sure ye were alrigh’.” He started to back away. “If ye need anythin’, I’m in 329.” With a final salute, he disappeared into his own apartment. Penelope slowly turned around to head into her own, closing her door softly.

She looked down at the card caught in her nimble fingers. She couldn’t help the jolt that rushed through her body when she realized that if it was his card, he knew where she was. He knew who she was. She was somebody to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified. It made her start to question her own morals. Any other person wouldn’t even think to be flattered, so why would she?

He was a murderer, a psychopath. And yet she had half a mind to consider being flattered.

Really lucky or really dead.

Why would she be dead? Had she angered someone without her knowing?

She froze.

“The boss.” She whispered to herself in realization. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. The bald man had to be working for The Joker. Which meant he knew where she worked.

How much else did he know? Who all knew? How many people were following her?

Question after question ran through her head and it was almost unbearable. She didn’t know what she even did to be on his radar in the first place.

“- patrolling the streets trying to trace his whereabouts for the time being, but so far -“ The news anchor’s voice hummed softly from her TV and she practically ran over to it, snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn up the volume.

“Well, John, I think it’s safe to say that The Joker’s slow uprising is truly fascinating for the people of Gotham. Not only in the sense that he is beginning to make a name for himself, but it gives the chance for other criminals to wreak havoc on the city knowing that Batman could possibly be busy with him if things start to get out of hand, more than usual for what the mob calls a ‘nobody’.” The woman on the other line spoke. Penelope scoffed at her words.

“Way to give them ideas.” She mumbled to herself with a wide eye.

“Let’s just hope that Batman is able to do what he does best, and fast. Cause -“ Penelope switched the TV off, having heard enough of it.

It upset her that the city was putting their faith in a masked man, that none of them had the nerve to do something themselves. That they couldn’t even rely on their own first responders. That she couldn’t rely on first responders.

She began to peel off her bandages, dragging her feet towards her bathroom. So much had happened in only a week and it all started to catch up to her, her head starting to pound from it all.

The note. The glass. The bald man offering her a large sum of money for just a vase of flowers, that he possibly worked for The Joker, finding out The Joker had been tracking her for who knows how long.

Penelope reached into her medicine cabinet for pain killers, deciding on taking two with a glass of water. Finally she laid down on her bed, snuggling up to her fuzzy blanket with her eye closed in an attempt to fall asleep. She briefly thought about telling Emma, but if she truly was dealing with The Joker, she wanted her involved as little as possible.

For her safety. She thought to herself in reassurance before sleep took over.

The sounds of rushing water and seagulls filled the air around her, the occasional pair of footsteps passing by that she grew wary of from time to time. The sun began to disappear in the horizon, painting the sky with breathtaking shades of pink and orange on the rare cloudless evening. Music played softly from her phone that sat on one side of her, her dinner left half eaten on the other. Her legs dangled over the ledge as she watched from the pier. It was almost tradition on warmer nights, as it was a rarity. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the littered concrete and occasional plastic bag that floated by as a reminder of where she was.

Along with the gun that clicked from behind her.

“I’d say just jump and save me the work, but then I wouldn’t get your money.” A gruff voice spoke. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare turn her head or flinch a finger. Her heart rate picked up, stomach churning. “Well?” The man urged, losing patience.

“I don’t have any.”

“How’d you get that nice dinner, then, huh?”

“Been saving up for it.” A lie. The man just chuckled.

“Alright. How about you get off of there, put your hands up, and then face me. Slow.”

“I only have one hand.”

“So, raise your one hand, then.” Penelope awkwardly turned around on the ledge.

“Alrigh’, enough talkin’.“ The man halted, red quickly seeping through his jacket. She watched in horror as he collapsed.

Penelope looked up to see the man who had helped her the day before. He walked around the mugger towards her, switchblade in hand. When he saw her flinch he slowed his pace, tucking away the weapon to make her more comfortable.

“Y - you just -“ She spoke frantically, pointing towards the now dead body with a shaky hand.

“Killed a man?” She nodded quickly. He tilted his head dismissively. “Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.” She shied away from him as he took a seat next to her, arm folded in front of her. “Relax, miss. I juss saved yer life, did I not?” He looked over at her to see her chewing on her cheek.

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I do it -?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” The man shrugged. “Was either he killed you or I killed ‘im, an’ I wouldn’t dare let such a beautiful woman go to waste lie’ tha’.” Penelope scrunched her nose and scoffed.

“Beautiful woman…” She mumbled to herself. “If you think I’m easily won over by flattery, you’re wrong.”

“With all due respect, miss, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout fer meself.” The brunette noticed her eye take on a more gentle stare. He sighed, scratching at his beard.

“Why’re you here?” She asked, rubbing her left arm.

“I could ask ye the same question.” Penelope looked at him quizzically.

“Dinner.” Liam nodded.

“Was on a walk. ‘Eard the ruckus. Came to see what was ‘appenin’.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Aye. It sure is. A damn good one, if I do say so meself.” Silence fell between the two of them, however it was peaceful. Penelope quite enjoyed it. “If ye don’t mind me askin’,” Liam broke in. “What do ye plan on doin’ wit’ this Joker business? Assumin’ it’s not too late already. I mean, ‘ave ye told anybody?” She shook her head, focusing on her breathing.

“I haven’t.” Penelope swallowed as Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Ye ‘aven’t? Well, why not? Not even the cops?”

“What’ll they do?” She finally looked up at him. “What will they do? You’re the one that was saying yesterday that they’re all ‘running around like chickens with their heads cut off’.“ She began to rant, everything starting to catch up to her. Her eye began to glisten as it watered over. “And if they can’t help me, who can? Certainly not Batman!“ She spit the masked man’s name with venom. “They're all bought out by the mob, anyways! Why the hell would they care to keep The Joker from coming for just a single person, from coming for me -!”

“Miss!” Liam held onto her shoulders, keeping her steady. In a moment of desperation, she clung to him, and once again she caught him off guard as she started to break down for the second time. He began to gently stroke her back, letting her take in the silence to collect herself.

A van sat in the distance, tinted windows making it impossible to see through. It was cracked enough for him to see who was in it and he made eye contact with a pair of almost pure black eyes, giving them a faint nod.

The Scarred - Chapter 6

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The night air was gentle, forgiving as she walked the path upstairs. Her tired eye grew heavier with each step as she fiddled with the bunched up fabric of her turtleneck in an effort to keep herself awake. By the time she reached her floor she was practically sleepwalking, her feet almost sliding against the floor with what little energy she had left. When she reached the door she noticed that it was ajar and she huffed, lightly pushing it open.

“Liam, how many times -“

“Ah, there she is!” Penelope stilled after having slammed the door shut. Her head slowly turned to the direction of the unknown voice, face paling at the sight before her. “Just the girl I’m lookin’ for!” The green-haired criminal stood at her counter, setting down one of her few glass jars a little too roughly for her liking.

“For a while now.” Her voice was as even as she could make it, unwilling to let him know how terrified she truly was. The man knocked over a salt shaker with a gloved finger. He watched as she stared at him with a blank expression, however he caught a light glimmer behind it and it brought a wide grin to his face.

“You are an oddball, aren’t cha?” He began taking slow steps in her direction.

“You’re one to talk.” The Joker cackled, but it was far from genuine. He stopped just a few feet in front of her.

“It’s the scars, yeah?” He motioned to his mouth with a flailing wrist, but her eye stayed locked on his.

“Why are you toying with me?” Another cackle.

“Because you’re fun!” His laughter suddenly stopped and she pressed herself further against the door, trying to make it as subtle as possible. “I like fun.” The Joker’s tone had been deeper, sending a chill down her spine. “Everyone else is so,” He paused, motioning with his hands with a gaze cast upwards as he tried to find his words. “Boring.” His blackened gaze met with hers once more and he stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. “They’re all the same. Begging for their lives, strikin’ a bargain, but you,'' He poked at her shoulder. “You haven’t even bat an eye.”

“I suppose I’ve been expecting you.”

“Kept ya on your toes, hm?” He leaned closer, growing intrigued.

“You could say that.”

“After all those nights and here I am, still keeping ya on those toes.”

“The whole city is on their toes.”

“Oh, they should be. But you’ve had your little - ah - friend to lean on.” Anger flashed in her eyes and he swayed on his feet in excitement.

“There ya are!” He turned away to walk further into her apartment. “For a moment there I thought you were, like, a sociopath or somethin’!”

“Like yourself?”

“Oh, no no no no no, exactly the opposite.” The Joker turned around to face her again. He pulled out a switchblade from his trench coat and flipped it open. “But I prefer creative.” He reached her faster than she could comprehend, cold metal held against her throat with just enough pressure as to not break the skin, but enough to where if she moved it surely would. His other hand pushed her into the door, placed against the top of her rib cage to have some form of control over her breathing. But she remained still. Patient. She looked him in the eye, daring him to do something. A challenge.

Her phone ‘ding’ed and her eye snapped to where her bag sat on the floor, the painted man’s own eyes never leaving her form. When she looked back at him he held a mischievous glint in his eyes that no one would be able to miss, hummed, then he suddenly removed the blade.

“Now, uh, I’m gonna leave so you can get back to your dear friend - uh - what was his name? Oh! Right, Liam,” The name was spat out in a mocking manner. Her eye widened ever so slightly and he backed away from her towards her window. “Very busy tonight! Hope you enjoyed your little - ah - birthday party.” He laughed as he crawled out onto the fire escape, the sound echoing in her ears.

She decided to wait a few minutes to ensure he had left to bolt towards Liam’s apartment, quickly yet quietly knocking on his door with a sense of urgency. It wasn’t until that moment that everything started to catch up to her, that her entire being started to shake and tremble, growing numb with fear. The door swung open and Liam’s eyes shot wide like saucers at the sight before him.

“Christ almighty!” He immediately grabbed her and pulled her inside, walking her in to close the door. He held her firmly by her shoulders as she tried to catch her breath, her hand limply fanning her face in a poor attempt to calm herself.

“Liam, he c - he came -!”

“Penny.” Her friend tried to get her to focus.

“He - he was there, he -!”

“Penny!” She stopped babbling and looked up at him, a tear making its way down her cheek. “Who came?” Her breathing stilled for a moment.

“The Joker.” The woman immediately noticed the panic in his eyes, but he remained calm for her sake. Liam walked her over to the couch and sat her down, leaving to get a cup of water for her. She shook her head in refusal and he set it on an end table nearby. She squeezed his torso for comfort, tears streaming down her face as she continued to shake. He looked down at the carpet of the living room as she cried, hands wrapped protectively around her. When it all started to fade Liam decided to speak, voice gentle.

“‘Ow did he get inside?” He heard her take a shaky breath before giving him a muffled reply.

“My door was cracked open… I thought it was you.” He sighed.

“Penelope,” The Irishman felt her tense. “Wha’ did he do to ye?”

“He -“ She swallowed. “He put a knife to my throat.” Liam took a deep breath to compose himself while she pulled away and looked up at him. “And yet here I am.”

“I’m assumin’ tha’s not all?” Penelope sighed and laid her head back on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat to calm herself, regulating her breathing.

“I asked him why he was doing all of this.”

“And?”

“He said that I was fun. That everyone else was boring because they all say the same thing when he pays them a visit, I’m guessing.” Liam rubbed her shoulder.

“Well, now ye know yer juss really lucky.”

“Until he gets bored of me.”

“There’s too much to ye to get bored of ye, I’m afraid.” The woman lightly punched him in the gut and he chuckled.

“I’m serious, Liam.”

“So am I.” The man looked down at her with a look of adoration. “‘E’s right, ye know?” Penelope slowly sat up from his chest to look at him. “‘Bout erryone bein’ borin’. There’s so much I ‘ave yet to learn ‘bout ye, an’ I know I’ll never know errythin’ ‘cause there’s always gon’ be somethin’ new wit’ ye. Erryone else I’ve met?” Liam scoffed. “Gimme a week wit’ em’ an’ I’ll know errythin’ there is to know. There’s no secrets, no adventure, no thrill. Ey!” Penelope made a noise and he gave her a warning look to show he was being serious. “Yer unpredictable. An’ tha’s exactly wha’ ‘e thrives fer. Tha’s why ‘e said yer fun.” Liam pointed a finger at her. “If I were ye, I wouldn’t be worryin’ ‘bout ‘im sayin’ yer fun. I’d be worryin’ ‘bout why he’s worried ‘bout ye bein’ fun.” Her brow twitched in both confusion and curiosity, lips parted.

“Penny?” The woman cast her eyes from her journal towards Emma, noticing her concerned expression.

“Hm?” Penelope sucked on her lip.

“You okay?” Emma noticed her eye glance off to the side. “You seem bothered.” Holding the same expression, she replied.

“I’m fine.” Her tight lipped smile was of no consolation to her friend. The brunette gently placed a hand over Penelope’s that gripped a pencil.

“Penny.” The woman in question gave a quick sniff.

“Just thinkin’ about that customer.” Emma sighed and took a seat on the stool beside her.

“He’s not going to bother you again, hun. He got what he came for. What’s done is done. Okay?” She gave Penelope an encouraging smile, but she wouldn’t take it.

“How are you so sure? How -“ She took a breath and fidgeted in her seat. “How do you know he won’t do anything?” Emma sighed again, but it had been more solemn.

“Truthfully?” She leaned back a little and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t. But if he tries anything, then I’ll settle for smashing a vase over that bald head of his.” Emma then stood up and headed to the back room leaving Penelope to herself. She closed her journal and began to chew on her cheek in thought, tapping her pencil against the leather cover.

The woman sat in the waiting room of an average office, heart pounding against her chest as her leg bounced. Her eye burned into the carpet, lost in thought. She heard a door creak open and peaked to see her therapist waving her inside.

“Miss Miller.” The older woman greeted as they both took their seats. “Last time I saw you we talked about your habits, correct?” She watched her patient nod her head. “Have you reflected on that at all?” She was met with silence as Penelope met her eyes.

“You never asked me to reflect.” She mumbled.

“Well, I assumed you would after I mentioned them to you.” The therapist’s tone had grown passive aggressive and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Perhaps I should use a more direct approach this time.” She opened the notebook on her desk and began jotting down some notes. “Can you think of any off the top of your head, then? Maybe we can branch off from that?”

You keep biting your cheek like that, you won’t have one to bite on.

“I bite my cheek.” The pen scribbled down her words.

“And what do you think is the reason?” Penelope took a long, shaky inhale and begrudgingly looked at the grey haired woman. She couldn’t explain why, but when she met her eyes she felt frustration, pain. So, as her patient, she decided to let her know.

“Ms. May, if I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to provide resources to help me, not make me question my own behaviors and feel bad about them.” The woman moved to speak, but Penelope continued. “You’re supposed to be a shoulder for me to cry on, someone I can trust. Someone who cares for me.” Water pooled along Penelope’s water line, leaning forward in her seat. “I’m trying not to think about my problems and yet you expect me to assume that you want me to ‘reflect’ on my habits outside of therapy knowing it would make me think even more about what the hell is wrong with me?” She watched as her therapist continued writing down notes and a wave of rage hit her. “Stop writing and listen to me!” Penelope cried out, tears finally falling.

Everything in the room stilled as the atmosphere thickened, and once Penelope was sure she had her attention she continued.

“I dread these sessions because I know you don’t care. Because I know I won’t get anything out of it. I’m just here to answer your questions so you can write your notes. But please. Give me something. Help me.” They held eye contact for a few moments and Penelope could see the hesitation in Ms. May’s eyes. Then she sighed.

“I can prescribe you medication. That’s the quickest way.” Penelope let out a breathless laugh in disbelief, looking away in disappointment. She quickly wiped off her cheek and stood up.

“I’ll schedule another appointment when I’m ready.”

As Promised,

Fan Art From Your Series “Blood Of A Rose” 🖤❤️

( P.S. You might wanna turn your brightness ALL the way up 😅 )

This is absolutely amazing and beautiful!! Thank you so much for taking an interest and doing this, it made my day! 💕

The Scarred - Chapter 1

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The bitter morning cold was relentless against her skin, encouraging her to attempt to tuck her face further into her coat. It was moments like these where she was thankful for the bandages as they kept half of her face warm. Cars and buses alike filled the streets during the rush hour, jaywalkers slipping between them when the chance presented itself to involve themselves in the madness. She shook her head to herself, hand reaching up to open the door to a petite shop with a ‘ding’. It was warmer, even somewhat humid. The smells of different flowers and herbals were dominating. She walked behind the small wooden counter to set down her shoulder bag, hearing faint rustling from the back room of the shop.

“Penny? That you?” A woman’s voice floated over. Footsteps grew louder as they entered the front of the shop until a head of brunette hair poked out. “Hey, you!” She chirped with a bright smile while the other just returned it with tight lips. She walked over to where Penelope now sat down, pencil and journal on the counter in front of her. The woman’s figure practically towered over her because of her poor posture that would surely cause problems in the near future. “Long time no see, stranger.” She jested, gently elbowing her side.

“You saw me yesterday, you goof.” Penelope practically mumbled, attempting to bite back a smile.

“Still too long.” The woman ruffled her hair, giggling as she watched her scramble to fix it once she pulled away. She disappeared to the back once more and Penelope picked up her pencil, beginning to jot down some notes as the brunette reentered with a small vase of assorted flowers. “Lunch is on me today, by the way.” She started to touch up the flowers to her liking. Penelope furrowed her brow at her, mouth moving to question her friend before she was cut off. “There’s a food truck just down the street I thought we should try. It’s mostly sandwiches, but I’m sure they have other things, too.” She looked up and smiled at the younger woman who gazed at her with a doe eye.

“Um -” She gazed nervously at the floor before looking back up at her. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” The woman laughed and went around the room to reorganize other vases and pots. It was quiet for a few moments, the sounds of pencil scratching on paper and her friend’s footsteps adding to the peacefulness. The outside streets were muffled in the background and Penelope relished in the calming atmosphere, the ghost of a smile gracing her face. It was soon washed away when a thought reached out to her, buzzing in her head. She started to chew on her cheek.

“Emma?” Penelope asked softly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, hun?” The woman’s chirpiness had died down slightly, sensing the more serious tone in the woman’s voice.

“Do I -” She started, pausing to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. She started to regret her decision of bringing it up, but decided that she now had to commit to it. “Do I have… habits?” It seemed the roles had been reversed, for now Emma was the one furrowing her eyebrows.

“I mean, everyone has habits, hun.” She looked at her friend’s face and immediately noticed the racing thoughts just from her eye, sighing once she did. “Penny, is this about your therapy?” Her voice took on a motherly tone and she slowly made her way over to Penelope who just nodded her head. “I don’t understand why you even visit her, still.” Her arm wrapped around Penelope’s shoulders, her hand rubbing the farther one in small circles. “All they do is pocket your money for hearing your life’s story and feed you bullshit.”

“I’m just too scared to stop visiting.”

“Why, because it’ll break your routine?” Emma leaned on the counter with her elbow, eyebrows raised.

“She knows the most and I’m scared to break that tie because of how much she knows.” Her large eye finally looked up to Emma, filled with desperation and fear. “What if she uses it against me somehow? Or tells someone else and then they use it against me? What -”

“Penny.” Her mouth snapped shut and her gaze cast down to the floor once more. “Not only are your conversations confidential, but - and I don’t mean this in a rude way - what would be so special about you that would make her spill your life’s story to someone?”

With candlelit faces, the two of them laughed. The younger woman’s eyes were glazed over with joy as her mother presented the cake in the dark room.

The soothing ambience of the soft music and boiling water in the background was a stark contrast compared to her raging thoughts. She made her way to the fridge, opening the freezer to pull out a bag of tortellini.

As thick smoke started to crowd the room, accompanied by distant screams, they stared at each other. Now both of their eyes were glazed, yet it held an entirely different meaning.

After having ripped the bag open with her teeth, Penelope warily poured the frozen pasta into the water, standing as far away as possible to avoid being splashed. As she waited for them to be ready she grabbed a jar of pesto from the fridge, then a larger bowl and olive oil from the cupboard.

“Penny -” She was cut off by her own coughing. “The window - open the window!”

Lightly sucking on the inside of her bleeding cheek, she brought the pot over to the strainer that had been placed in the sink. She leaned away from the steam as she poured in the pasta and water, setting the pot aside when finished. The bowl was brought over for the pasta to be transferred.

Even through the overwhelming pain, she maintained eye contact with her daughter for reassurance. She noticed the way she apprehensively glanced out of the window. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

The sound of glass shattering filled the still air of the room. Having now sat down on the floor against the counter she let her head fall back with a light ‘thud’, taking shaky breaths as she tried to ground herself. Suddenly, she cried out to the nothingness in front of her, not a yell or a scream. The noise had found the perfect middleground as she trembled.

Penelope wasn’t sure how long it had been. Hours, minutes, maybe even only seconds. Her legs were laid out in front of her now, head hung low with a gentle sniff every now and then. Her dinner had been long forgotten. She had lost her appetite. She looked over to where the small bowl had been thrown, white chunks scattered below where it hit the wall. Thankfully the wall was fine save for some scratched paint.

She begrudgingly pushed herself from the floor to cover the bowl with the pasta and put it in the fridge. Exhausted, she left the glass where it was, deciding to just clean it up after work the next day. With a soft ‘click’ her bedroom glowed with warm light and she trudged over to the small bathroom. Just as she was about to start her normal routine, however, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was small, barely noticeable as it blended with the egg-white countertop. The lined paper had some chicken scratch on it and she strained her eye to read it, yet when she could finally make out the words her heart dropped.

Don’t forget to smile.