Little Edit I Made Of My Fav Clown ☺️

Serenity - Chapter 3

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 stared at the ceiling of the rather minuscule bedroom. She hardly slept that night, restless. Rapidly thinking about what the following day would bring. Or rather what the Child Catcher would bring.

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on something else, whether it’d be new ideas or just ways to organize the shop, she couldn’t bring herself to stop wandering off to him. Question after question. Wondering.

He said the others at the castle lacked creativity, but that only left room for more questions instead of answers. Was the castle really that bland? Was it that lifeless?

The morning went by at a leisurely pace, and the afternoon even more so. It was as if the world was mocking her. It made her lose her focus. Made her more sluggish. Though it didn’t make her work any less remarkable. She would strive for nothing less than perfection, after all. But it all just so happened to be on possibly one of the busiest days she had in quite some time.

She began to question if there was a special occasion she and her parents were missing out on, or a festival perhaps? A birthday? The possibilities were endless in such a village. But just being a busy day would have to suffice for the time being.

She quickly patched up a pair of lederhosen with some difficulty, which she would never openly admit. The leather was tough to sew especially without the proper equipment. It was already irritating to work with even if she had all of the correct tools. But to compensate for the extra work and material, she charged more than she would for a simple fix. Which the men always had their own opinions on.

After trading with the man she slid her sketchbook in front of her on the stand, readying her pencil over the faded paper. Maybe coming up with some ideas for him beforehand would put her mind at ease? Unless he already had a specific one in mind, then her sketching would be pointless. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.

A candy man, he said? She doubted he would be willing to change his entire fit, rather than something to just throw over. A gentle smile graced her lips, the thought of him wearing such a flamboyant suit amusing her.

At last the pencil began to move across the paper, scurrying and scratching as ideas began to flood. Almost too many to keep up with. It didn’t take long for the first design to be completed with customers stopping by for a quick fix every other minute. She labeled what colors went where and what the fabric would be for each piece. All in great detail.

She repeated the same process for a few others, and thankfully it helped the day go by quicker. The sky was a deep gradient of orange and purple by the time Mary closed up the shop. She closed the double doors, turning to tidy the rest of the room in preparation for the day after. The old wood creaked beneath her feet to fill the airy silence, and it was peaceful. A breath of fresh air after the tiring day.

Once finished she trudged up the stairs to see the dining room empty which was a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. The stove was cold, pots and pans left the way it was that morning. Her father’s cup wasn’t even on the table or in the sink. That was what made her stomach churn.

A cough sounded from her parents’ bedroom through the closed door, growing more violent the longer it continued. The sound of it struck a fear in her that left her paralyzed. She listened. Waited. A minute later it came to a stop.

And the silence that followed frightened her.

Her breathing soft, she strained her ears to listen for even the smallest sound. Anything to ease her frantic mind. Then she heard her mother’s muffled voice.

Mary let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and at last began to prepare everything for dinner. She washed the vegetables and set out the cutting board and knives, chopping them up when she heard a door open. Feet shuffled across the floor, a pair landing beside her.

Her mother placed a larger pot inside the sink and turned it on, moving to light the stove.

“Ma,” Mary whispered softly when she heard a sniff, her own eyes glazing over. “Please stop.”

“Liebling.” Her mother’s voice held a mixed tone. Stern, yet trembled. Mary let it be, a tear escaping down her cheek.

Once they ate and the dishes were washed the older woman waved Mary over into her bedroom, her father still sitting at the table. She sat on the edge, Mary sitting almost directly behind her with a brush. She began to carefully remove the bun from her mother’s hair and combed her fingers through it in an attempt to undo any knots or tangled hairs.

“What did he want?” She asked Mary when she began to brush. She halted her movements for a second before continuing, caught off guard by the blunt question. “And don’t lie to me.” Her daughter hesitated, then huffed.

“You must swear not to tell a single soul.” Her mother let out a heartfelt chuckle.

“Who would I tell, dear?” After a minute or so of brushing she answered.

“He wants me to make an outfit for one of his characters.” A short moment passed and Mary honestly couldn’t tell what her mother was thinking. She didn’t still, didn’t sigh, didn’t gasp. Mary even convinced herself that she didn’t hear her, that is until her mother spoke.

“Will you?” Mary sighed.

“I will. I had a feeling it wouldn’t end well no matter the decision. It was either decline and insult the Baron’s henchman, or accept and face the wrath of the people when they find out.”

“When they find out?”

“It’s only a matter of time.” Mary stood up once finished and put away the brush. “Those intrusive bastards.” She mumbled to herself and her mother just smiled.

“Well, what does he want? Do you know?” Her questions surprised Mary, taking everything better than she thought she would. Just two days ago she was scared to death of him when he first entered the shop and now there they were having a casual conversation about what his next lure would be as if it were common gossip.

“All he said was a candy man. I sketched out a few ideas I had today. Whatever it turns out to be, I just hope he likes it.”

“Only a fool would find your work distasteful. But it is interesting how he is giving you so much free reign for something so seemingly important to him.”

Mary felt guilty for not telling her the whole truth. She trusted her mother more than anything. Not because of familial relation, but because of how much they had been through together. What they still went through together. She meant well, and it wasn’t as if she was lying. She just didn’t want her to worry more than she already did.

By the time her parents finished getting ready for bed and settled down Mary was downstairs collecting all she needed. She put her sketchbook and pencil in a simple tattered shoulder bag along with her favorite measuring tape. She then checked upstairs to make sure her parents had finally fallen asleep before heading to the front of the shop.

She peaked out the window of one of the doors, making sure no one was still wandering the plaza. When the coast was clear she carefully left the shop, turning the knob as she closed it to prevent any unnecessary noise.

Her hands nervously twisted the strap of the satchel as she turned to face the wide open space. She rarely ever ventured out in the dark, let alone to meet with someone. She supposed she was a bit of a hypocrite since she considered herself to be a reclusive person herself. Now, she wasn’t heavily introverted, but enough to call herself one.

Mary took a few steps into the plaza, looking around for any sign of the man. Would he be hiding? Or was he confident enough to just wander in? Perhaps she was too early? She chewed on her lip with blooming panic as the questions began to swirl, but was put at ease when she saw him step out from a nearby street.

Never would she have thought she would be relieved to see the Child Catcher, but alas she sighed at the sight of him. The relief gradually diminished, however, with every step she took closer to him.

Being in his presence would strike fear into even the toughest man in the village. To say he had a reputation would be an understatement. To the others in the village he was a sadist, taking great pleasure in capturing the children and watching them cry and suffer. Same with the adults he had executed for having them in the first place. Mary, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think of the man. As far as she was concerned, he was just doing his job. Maybe he had a bit of too much fun doing it, but it was a job nonetheless.

When she reached him he leaned his head in the direction he came, turning to walk back down the street with Mary in tow. When she turned the corner she saw a horse standing in the middle of it, patiently waiting. She felt intimidated as she stood beside it, being short enough as it was. She turned to the catcher who held a hand out, offering his help.

“Where are we going?” Mary asked warily.

“The bridge.” His bluntness surprisingly made her trust the man more, made him seem like he had nothing to hide which was ironic given the situation.

After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and collected her skirt with the other, placing her foot in the stirrup to push herself up onto the horse. She gasped when she felt him lift her up with a startling amount of strength, yet was still careful in his movements. It was rather deceiving compared to his more scrawny appearance.

As he hopped on behind her she began to welcome the height difference, it even put the hint of a smile on her face. His arms reaching around her to grab the reins soon brought her back to the reality of the situation. After he kicked and the horse began to move she quickly gripped onto the saddle in front of her, never having ridden a horse before as it took on a graceful walk, and once she grew used to it her smile returned.

“Enjoying yourself?” The man behind her piped up in subtle amusement.

“Very much.” Was her simple response. She looked up to the sky, the stars beaming down brightly. Not a single cloud was in sight. “Imagine the view from the castle.” Mary mumbled, losing herself in the many new sensations the night already brought her.

“It’s better than the one down here, no doubt.”

“Well, do you ever look at them?” She questioned, her eyes never leaving the sky. She couldn’t understand why, but she felt more comfortable talking to him as they were. It was refreshing for her to talk to someone new. Someone who was willing to listen, or rather seemed like they were willing. Whether he was doing it out of politeness or because he was her customer, she couldn’t tell. But she appreciated it either way.

“I see no reason to.”

The rest of the ride was silent, yet peaceful. And Mary hated to admit it, but it made her sleepy. She wasn’t used to staying up later at night. Perhaps that was why she always woke up so early. Or was it the other way around?

When they reached the arch of the stone bridge he jumped off, then once again helped Mary. She had been far less graceful and nearly face planted the gravel were it not for the catcher…well, catching her. He tied the horse to a nearby post and turned to Mary expectedly, only to see her already taking a seat beneath the bridge. He followed suit and sat next to her, keeping a good distance so as to not make her feel uncomfortable, which she made a mental note of.

“If you don’t mind,” she began as she pulled out her book and pencil. “I already had a few ideas sketched out during the day if you wanted to take a look at them?” She looked over at him, shrinking with beady eyes at his unreadable expression. “Unless you already had one in mind?” She quickly added. He glanced down at her sketchbook.

“Let’s see yours first.” With a closed smile, she opened it and flipped to find the page.

“Given your line of work, I thought maybe a larger cloak of some sort. It would be a simple change and I think it would flow more gracefully if it has the right flare.” She finally landed on her first drawing. “Since you said ‘candy man’, I thought it would be best to stick to more intense colors, or bright. I was thinking purple for the base color and tried adding in other designs, but the color just didn’t really stick out to me.” Mary flipped to the next page and he watched her enthusiasm begin to show.

As she continued to explain her ideas, the catcher watched on in bewilderment. He knew she had to be at least somewhat skilled to create what she had in the shop, but her range of thought and creativity was far beyond what he had originally thought. Not only was she good at sewing, but he noticed how she tailored to the customer as well.

For the first time in years he was stunned. He greatly underestimated her, and so did the rest of Vulgaria. It was a shame no one took advantage of her work and how much she enjoyed doing it. He could tell she held so much passion, so much love for what she did and yet no one seemed to notice or appreciate it.

It reminded him of himself.

“This one is my personal favorite.” He perked at her words, eager to see why it was indeed her favorite. He leaned closer and carefully looked over the detailed design. It was consistent with her previous cloak designs, however it was the largest of the bunch. Enough to cover the majority of his suit.

The base was a vibrant yellow, orange and white trimming and geometric designs tactically placed to make it stand out more. Flowers of blues and yellows lined the coat along the edges and sleeves, rich green leaves sprouting from them. But it was a patch of red with black zig-zags along the upper back that struck his fancy the most. It seemed out of place compared to the rest, yet somehow she made it work. It wouldn’t be the same without it.

“That one.” The catcher drawled out. Mary snapped her head over to him, mouth agape.

“But, I haven’t -“ She stopped herself when his eyes flicked over to meet her in an intense gaze. She quickly looked away and stuttered. “Of course. This one it is.” She then turned and started digging through her bag to pull out her tape measure and stood up.

Her eyes followed him as he did the same, just over a head taller than her. Her eyes glanced between his own, fiddling with the tape in her hands absentmindedly. Then she suddenly realized why she had it in the first place.

“Right.” She chirped quickly and began to take his measurements, starting with his arms and jotting down the numbers along the way. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your name exactly? I find it rude not to know the names of my customers.” Mary asked softly to break the awkward silence, mostly out of her own curiosity. Her hands lightly shook out of nerves.

“Reuben.” He caught the faintest smile reaching her lips.

“Reuben…?”

“Reuben Herrmann.” It took everything in him not to cringe at the name. It had been quite a while since he heard or even said it after being called The Child Catcher for so many years. Very few people knew his real name, and he preferred to keep it that way. The only reason he even told Mary in the first place was because he was aware of how little she spoke to other villagers, if at all. He had a feeling she wouldn’t even tell her own mother without his expressed permission.

Mary reached around his front to measure his torso and it wasn’t until then that he realized how close they were. He could tell she was trying to avoid it from happening, but given she was taking measurements it was only a matter of time. And now it was his turn to feel flustered, mainly from hearing her repeat his own name back to him.

“I think it fits you.” Mary hummed, then she began to giggle and decided to try and break through his closed-off demeanor. “You know, the people gossip about what they think your name is?”

“They do?” She nodded and continued with her giggle fit. “And what have they said?”

“Well, nothing even remotely close to Reuben. Your name is that of a saint compared to what they’ve come up with. But I think my favorite is Archie.” Mary’s giggling turned into laughter when the catcher’s face twisted into disgust.

“Archie? Well, I’d say we’re blessed that they can’t have children.” By the time her laughter died down she was finished and put away the tape measure, hooking the bag over her shoulder.

“Well lucky for you, Mister Herrmann, you won’t be catching any Archies.” The two of them made their way back over to the horse, untying and mounting it once more to begin their journey back to the village.

Mary let out a gentle yawn, covering it as best she could. The sound of the horse’s hooves tapping against the ground, the movement of it alone practically rocking her to sleep. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the crickets seemed to grow more faint, everything around her meddling together. Subconsciously she leaned back against Reuben, her head rested off to the side on one of his shoulders. But by the time she realized she was falling asleep it was too late.

The Scarred - Chapter 11 🩸🔥🔞

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.

Warning - This chapter contains smut but can be read without it. Smut will start after the second banner. MDNI/NSFW!

The smell of iron filled her lungs, the blood stuck to her face invading her senses as the man now lay still on the floor below her. With a crazed look in her eye, she kicked away the arm that was now detached, heavy as it slid across the stained floor. 

She began to breathe heavily, unable to decipher whether or not she had really done it. But the smell alone brought her to the reality of the situation. 

As the men began to pick up what was left of the body, she began to smile, then it turned into a chaotic giggle. She turned to face the Joker and it immediately dropped.

He stared at her with such an intensity that turned her to stone, eyes somehow darker than they ever were. Her lips parted in a silent question, worried about whether or not she overstepped. 

She heard the doors shut behind her and suddenly, in a few large strides, he approached her and aggressively pulled her into him. His lips crashed down onto her own blood stained ones, not possibly caring less in that moment as he practically suffocated her. 

At first she was stiff, baffled by his sudden behavior that seemed completely out of character for him. 

Then she finally let go and accepted it. 

Her arm reached up around his neck, reciprocating the affection with equal intensity. Nothing was held back by either of them, his hands wandering over her figure as she kept her own planted, choosing to focus on the sensation of his scarred lips. 

She sighed once he pulled away, eye slowly opening to gaze into the hazel gems before her. 

“J?” Penelope whispered, the nickname slipping out without a second thought. His expression faltered when it reached his ears, but their usual spark soon followed after. 

He didn’t correct her. He didn’t snap. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled from his throat, rolling into a sharp, sinister laugh that echoed off of the concrete walls. His gloved fingers came up to her face, tracing the scarred side with surprising gentleness, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

“Well, well, well,” He rasped, voice dripping with twisted delight. “Look who’s getting familiar now, hm?”

Penelope tensed but didn’t pull away. There was something unsettling in his gaze, a wildness dancing just beneath the surface. Yet there was a strange acceptance, too. As if she’d unlocked a piece of him. Something private. Dangerous.

“Ya know, doll,” He cooed, the nickname rolling off his tongue mockingly, yet with a hint of genuine fondness. “Most people aren’t brave enough to give me nicknames.” He licked at his lips. “Ya might want to be careful, though,” He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Calling me that? That’s… close. And close gets people hurt.”

His fingers dropped from her face, drifting lazily down to her shoulder, lingering on the edge of her missing arm. 

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, those crazed eyes searching hers, trying to see if she’d flinch. But Penelope held her ground, her heart racing, something in her stirring. A newfound sense of chaos, creeping up, waking.

“I’ll take my chances,” She whispered, her voice steady despite the flutter of fear and excitement in her chest.

The Joker’s smile returned, wider than ever. He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that sent chills down her spine.

-

When she entered her apartment, she ignored the presence she knew would already be there, prioritizing a shower to get the now dried and crusted blood off of her. His questions of concern were muffled as she mindlessly wandered to her bedroom to pick out her pajamas. 

“Penelope!” Liam finally yelled, gripping firmly onto her shoulders and turning her to face him. For once, he was truly speechless. Unable to hide his worry for what inevitably came to be his best friend, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Liam.” She offered a genuine smile, resting her hand over one of his own. She brushed past him towards the bathroom to turn on the shower and closed the door. 

Questions flooded in his mind as he impatiently waited on the couch, the TV now completely blocked out. His leg bounced anxiously, biting at his nails. He practically jumped out of his skin when the door opened and she walked in, acting as if nothing even happened. 

She searched through her cupboards for something, plastic crinkling in her hands as she opened a pack of popcorn and popped it into the microwave. 

“Penny?” Liam cautiously called to her. She simply hummed in response. He stood and gradually made his way over to her. “Did he hurt ye?” 

“Quite the opposite.” Penelope answered casually, unloading the dishwasher as she spoke. 

“Penny. Ye know ye can trust me.”

“I killed a man, Liam!” She finally blurted out as she whipped to face him. “He found the man that caused this,” She motioned to her deformed body. “And I killed him.” 

The two of them stood silently, searching the other for any sign of distrust or betrayal. While she overthought his reaction, Liam had assumed it was only a matter of time before it happened. As soon as the Joker made himself known to her, he knew it was over.

“The scary part isn’t even that I did it. It’s that I enjoyed it. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. Not after what he did to me, Liam.” Her voice began to break, lip beginning to tremble. “Not after…” She sniffed and wrapped her arm around his torso, relieved that his warm comfort was provided without a moment’s hesitation. 

He gently hushed her, cradling her head while his other hand’s thumb caressed her back. “It’s alright, lovin’.” He whispered. 

Liam pulled away, hands gently taking hold of her face to look at him. 

“There is nothin’ wrong with ye. Nothin’ wrong with what happened, ye understand? He got what he deserved, yeah?” 

Penelope nodded as he wiped away her tears, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave before leading them to the couch. She wrapped herself in a blanket, opening the bag and nibbling on a small handful. 

“Did he scream?” He asked in a joking tone once she calmed down more. To his relief, she giggled. 

“Like a pussy.” 

-

The flower shop was quiet, the soft scent of roses and lilies filling the air as Emma arranged a bouquet of daisies behind the counter. The bell over the door jingled softly as Penelope stepped inside, her movements slow and careful. Emma’s eyes lifted to greet her, but the smile faded slightly when she saw Penelope’s face—pale, drawn, and distant.

“Hey, hun,” Emma called gently, setting the flowers aside. “Everything okay?”

Penelope gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eye. “Yeah, just couldn’t sleep.”

Emma frowned, watching her carefully. She knew Penelope had been through a lot, but lately, something had shifted. The girl had always been quiet, but now there was a tension beneath the surface, as if she were on edge, waiting for something. Emma noticed the slight twitch in Penelope’s remaining hand, her fingers trembling for a moment before she shoved them into her pocket.

“I’m gonna go handle the new shipment.” Penelope asked, her voice strained.

Emma nodded slowly but kept her eyes on her as she made her way to the door leading into the back room. “Of course, sweetheart. You sure you’re feeling alright, though? You’ve been… distant lately.”

Penelope stiffened, her back to Emma as she began unpacking a box of tulips. “I’m fine.” She said quickly. Too quickly.

Emma bit her lip, the maternal instinct in her stirring. She walked over, placing a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “Look, I know things have been hard for you, but if something’s wrong… you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

Penelope flinched at the touch, though she tried to hide it with a small shrug. “I know. But really, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

Emma’s brows furrowed. She didn’t believe that for a second. There was a darkness in Penelope’s expression, something haunted and restless. Emma had seen it before in people who were hiding something, something dangerous. She couldn’t help but feel a knot of worry tighten in her chest.

“I just want to make sure you’re safe, Penelope,” Emma said softly. “You’ve been acting off. And it scares me.”

Penelope hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the box. “I’m fine, Emma.”

But Emma wasn’t convinced. Her heart ached as she watched her, knowing that whatever it was, Penelope was shutting her out. 

“I’m here if you need me,” Emma said quietly, retreating back to the counter. “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

Penelope nodded, but Emma could see the flicker of guilt in her eye before she turned away.

A little while passed and eventually it was close to closing. Penelope sat behind the counter scribbling away in her journal, however more aggressive than usual. The door chimed as it opened, a sigh of relief falling from her lips when she saw it was only Liam. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Emma. 

“Ey there, Penny.” He greeted, giving a simple nod to Emma as he charismatically leaned on the counter in front of the former. “Day treatin’ ye right?” Penelope shrugged. Emma decided to disappear into the back, but took care to listen in on their conversation.

“As much as it can, I suppose.” 

“Ye still up fer the range?” He asked, concerned about whether she was too tired or overwhelmed. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t think I’ll be up for being there as long, though.” 

“No worries about that, I figured as much.” He glanced over at the clock and Penelope did the same, packing up her things to leave. She walked over to the back room and leaned in the doorway. 

“I’m heading out, Emma. Text me if you need anything, okay?” The brunette gave an appreciative smile. 

“I will. You take care now, okay? Be safe.” 

“You too.” Penelope offered a smile of her own before meeting Liam at the door to leave. 

The range was rather large, hidden away in the outskirts which she appreciated. With how big it was, she was surprised that they were the only ones there besides the owner at the front. 

They stood in a separate room where the actual range was, handguns aimed down range and firing. After finishing an iteration they took their ear covers off, the pressure of them irritating her head. 

“She doesn’t know about what ye’ve been up to, does she?” Liam suddenly asked, catching her off guard. Penelope hesitated before answering. 

“No.” Liam leaned against the nearby wall, eyeing her. 

“I’d be careful about her if I were ye.” 

“Why’s that? She doesn’t know, and it’s going to stay that way so long as I can help it.” Penelope readied her gun for the next iteration, then set it back down carefully.

“Ye see, that’s the thing. Ye don’t trust her enough to tell her. And that says a lot. Ye told me and yet ye’ve barely known me for half as long.” 

Liam pushed himself off of the wall and began making his way towards her. 

“Ye don’t trust her as much as he think ye do, Penny. She may be a friend, but she’s not loyal. The second she gets even a hint of what yer up to, she’s gonna get curious and try to find out more, and when she does, she’s goin’ straight to the cops.” 

“She wouldn’t do that to me -“

“But she would.” Liam spoke sternly, urging her to believe him. “I’ve dealt with plenty of her kind and it never ended well. Even just today, I saw the way she was eyein’ us. She’s already suspicious.” 

Liam raised his hands to rest on her shoulders.

“Ye need to be careful around her. I know it’s hard, she’s yer friend, I get it. I do. But I’m speakin’ from experience. As much as it hurts to hear, ye can’t trust her.” 

Penelope cast her gaze downwards, struggling to take in all that she was being told. 

“Come on. Let’s keep goin’.” He nodded towards the targets in front of them, taking notice of the turmoil going on in her head. 

As always, he walked her to her apartment when finished. Both because he was right down the hall and it was just the right thing to do. But just before she opened her door, he stopped her. 

“Just think about what I said, yeah? I’m tryin’ to keep ye safe.” Penelope paused, thinking. Then she finally nodded and Liam smiled at her, patting her shoulder before walking to his apartment. 

Penelope turned back to her door and opened it, a familiar smell reaching her nose making her sigh as the door softly clicked shut behind her. She looked over at her couch where the notorious clown-like man sat comfortably. He lounged back like he belonged there, flipping through channels with an air of indifference, his lips twisted into that familiar, unsettling grin.

Her heart raced. She didn’t know what to feel. Fear, confusion, curiosity? The same mixture of emotions had been bubbling inside her since that night. The night she’d felt his lips on hers, tasted the madness, and the thrill of what she’d done. The blood on her hands still felt so fresh.

“You’re here.” Penelope finally said, breaking the silence, her voice hoarse but steady.

Joker didn’t look away from the screen, but his grin widened. “Where else would I be?”

She swallowed hard, moving slowly towards the couch, her eyes never leaving him. “I don’t know… plotting, terrorizing people. Laughing at something burning, maybe?”

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and patted the seat next to him. “Sheesh, can’t a guy just catch a break sometimes? Hm?” He jested, eyes still fixated on the TV. “Sit down, toots, we’re watching a comedy.”

She hesitated, glancing at the TV. Some mindless sitcom played, laugh tracks echoing. She took a seat, keeping her distance but not too far. The cushion sagged slightly under her, and she found herself staring at him, trying to read something - anything - in his chaotic, unpredictable eyes.

“What’s so funny about this?” She asked, her voice soft, unsure whether she meant the show or their entire situation.

Joker’s eyes slid over to her, sharp and amused. “Oh, nothing about the show. It’s the idea of it. People trapped in their boring little lives, pretending everything’s fine.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s hilarious, don’t ya think?”

Penelope’s gaze shifted from the TV to him, searching his face. She couldn’t understand how he saw the world. He terrified her, fascinated her, made her want to crawl away and stay close all at once. Her fingers traced the edge of the cushion nervously. “How do you live like this?”

“Like what?” He asked flatly, his eyes glinting as if her question was a challenge.

“Like…” She struggled for the right words. “Without… rules. Without a plan. Just… chaos.”

He laughed, leaning back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder. “Well, I wouldn’t say I live in chaos.” His voice was soft now, almost soothing, but there was still a biting tone to it. “Yeah, I cause chaos. But live in freedom. Freedom from their rules. Their endless nagging, the ‘don’t do this, do this’, ya see? You’ve tasted it, haven’t you? The freedom. The power.”

Penelope tensed, the memory of that night creeping back in. The rush of adrenaline, the way her hands had trembled… then steadied. “That’s freedom…?” She whispered. 

Joker’s grin faltered for just a second, and he tilted his head, watching her closely. “You did what you wanted to do. Without worrying about consequences. Their consequences. The consequences of everyone trying to control you and be someone that you’re not.”

She bit her lip, looking down at her lap. “How can I be sure there won’t be consequences?”

“You’re lookin’ at it, toots.” Joker said, his tone playful but condescending. “You can choose to pretend everything’s fine, just like everyone else. Go back to being quiet, timid little Penelope. Or…” He leaned in close. “You can be free.”

Her pulse quickened, and she turned to face him, searching his eyes.“Why do you want me to change?” She asked finally, her voice quiet.

Joker’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as if he was considering her question seriously. “I don’t want you to change. I want you to stop pretending. I see potential. Potential that is greater than you’d ever know. And I finally got a taste of it. And so did you. The real question is…” He shifted his body to face her. “Can you live with it? Because once you go down this road, doll, there’s no turning back. Your cute little world will not be there for you anymore. It’ll show its true colors. You’ll see. And once you do?” He threw her a look with an accompanied gesture. “I can guarantee you won’t want to go back.” 

Penelope wasn’t sure what to do, what to think. She couldn’t help but believe him. Everything he said had some resemblance of truth. Was the freedom truly worth it? Was it worth throwing everything away? Emma? Liam? If the way she felt that night at the warehouse was only a taste of it, she could only imagine how she would feel if she just completely let go. 

She was sure Liam would understand, he was supportive of her every step of the way. No matter if it was morally questionable. 

But Emma? 

Penelope thought about what Liam had told her. Emma was a close friend. A mother figure, even. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Liam was right about her. She kept telling herself that she never told Emma any of what was happening for her protection, but could she have just been lying to herself to prevent her own guilt? Did she truly trust Emma, or did she just cling to the brunette for lack of options? 

A tear trickled its way down her cheek, not even noticing beforehand as she was lost in thought. She looked Joker in the eye and spoke with a trembling voice. 

“I don’t want to live like this anymore…” Penelope shook her head. “I’m tired of feeling stuck.” She noticed a subtle shift in his expression, hardened. He suddenly rose to his feet with newfound determination. 

“Get up.” He demanded, catching her by surprise. After a moment, she stood and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the bathroom and facing her towards the mirror. “Ya want to stop living by their rules, hm?” Penelope nodded in desperation. “Take off the bandages.” 

Her eye widened in disbelief, breathing halted. He stepped closer to her, his warmth pressed against her. 

“Break their norm. Show them you’re not theirs to control anymore. Stop trying to be like them.” He leaned in next to her ear. “Send a message.”

Penelope took a shaky breath, meeting Joker’s eye through the mirror. Her heart raced, blood rushing in her ears as her hand fought to leave her side. Slowly but surely, it raised. Her hands caressed the edge of her bandages, toying with the fabric until she finally began to pull them off with care. 

She refused to look at herself, tears now streaming down her cheek as a sob left her lips. She felt cool leather grip her jaw, forcing her to look at her reflection in the mirror. 

The sight seemed foreign to her no matter how many times she took them off. The texture was soft, yet uneven. It was finally healed with skin covering where her eye should have been.

“Now that… is a doll.” 

His knuckles caressed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The tickling sensation caught her breath, head leaning back against him. This enigmatic man made her feel alive, made her want to embrace the freedom he spoke of as his hands slid down her slim figure, igniting something within her. 

"There ya go." Joker whispered, his breath hot against her ear. 

Penelope's gaze fell on her exposed scars, and for the first time, she felt truly wanted. She felt beautiful. 

"Now how about that freedom?" He growled, hands slipping under her shirt and caressing her soft skin. As his skilled fingers found her hardened nipples, Penelope's breath hitched. His marred lips mixed with her own textured neck, covering it with nips and licks as he practically worshiped her scars. She wanted this man, wanted to feel his touch. She yearned to explore this new, uninhibited side of herself that he was awakening.

Joker’s hands then lifted her shirt, pulling it off over her head and soaking in the sight of her with a heated gaze. 

More scars littered her left side, similar to what was on her face. He felt her begin the retreat, but his hands quickly snatched her wrists to keep her where she was. “None of that. Got it?” He threatened and she nodded in response. 

He then unclasped her bra and tossed it away, hands moving to cup and toy at her breasts. One hand began to travel lower, unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her slender legs. Once she stepped out of them he turned her around to face him and pushed her until she was leaning against the bathroom counter. Her legs opened, inviting him to stand in between them. One of his thighs pressed against her radiating core, flexing his muscle until her head leaned back with a sigh. 

He released a feral growl and reached around to the back of her head, pulling her into him so their lips clashed against each other. The kiss was rough and full of need, Penelope lightly moaning into it as she ground herself against his thigh for some much needed relief. 

“Yeah? Ya like that?” Joker taunted before snatching her thighs and setting her on top of the empty space of the counter. “C’mere.” He dropped to his knees, his hands pulling down her panties and spreading her pussy lips, revealing her glistening, swollen clit. He inhaled her scent, a mix of desire and her unique musk, before plunging his tongue deep inside her, making her gasp and grip the edge of the counter.

Joker’s tongue was a skilled weapon, licking and sucking at her clit, sending waves of pleasure through Penelope's body. He teased her entrance, dipping his tongue just inside before pulling away, only to return with renewed fervor.

"J -" Penelope moaned, her head thrown back. "Please, don’t stop."

Joker hummed, the vibrations sending shivers through Penelope. “Dangerous thing to beg me like that, doll.” 

He warned before he continued his oral assault, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. Just as she was about to climax, he pulled away, leaving her breathless and desperate.

"Thought it’d be that easy, hm?" He said, standing. 

Penelope, wild with desire, reached for Joker’s trousers, undoing them with tremulous fingers. Once unbuttoned, her hand tremulously reached inside to grasp his hardened cock, pulling it free from its confines.

Joker’s cock was thick, the head glistening with pre-cum as she stroked it, her touch tentative yet eager. "Like whatcha see?" He asked, his voice hoarse with desire.

Penelope nodded, her eye never leaving his cock as she continued to stroke it, marveling at the power she held in her hands. "Please, J…" She whispered, her voice thick with need.

He didn't need to be asked twice. 

He gripped onto her hip tightly, spreading her legs wide as he positioned himself at her entrance. 

“Now what’d I say about begging?” With one smooth thrust, he filled her, his cock stretching her pussy as he slid deep inside.

Penelope cried out, her body welcoming the invasion, her pussy clenching around his cock as he began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. He leaned forward, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. 

Joker’s hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider as he pounded into her, his cock hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. Penelope's body trembled, her orgasm building with each delicious stroke.

"That’s it," He growled against her lips. "There ya go, toots. Come on, show me how much you want it.” 

His words were like a trigger, and Penelope's body exploded in a cascade of pleasure. She cried out, her pussy clenching around Joker’s cock as waves of ecstasy washed over her. He followed her over the edge, his cock throbbing as he emptied his load deep inside her, filling her with his hot cum.

As their heart rates slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Joker leaned back, watching as one of his hands ran over her scarred body. When their eyes met, Penelope smiled. Eye sparkling with newfound confidence. 

The Scarred - Prologue

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.

Tick.

“What do you think about your day to day habits?”

Screams flooded her ears, a deep, guttural rumbling playing in the background.

“Nothing of it.” A pen scratched away in a notebook.

Tick.

The older woman watched as her eye fluttered about the old wooden floor. “Nothing?”

A cold breeze suddenly reached her numbing skin, her mind unable to comprehend the sensation of an ever true freefall.

“Yes. Nothing.” A sigh reached her ears, her right arm coming up to run over the stump that used to be her left.

Tick.

An eye shifted to the clock on the wall. 5:53pm. Another sigh. The pen stopped, then the notebook closed. Hands folded over the leather cover. “I’m afraid that’s the end of our session, Miss Miller.”

“Of course.” Her eye stayed focused on the clock, yet grew more and more distant.

“Miss Miller?” With a sharp inhale and whip of a head, the woman knew she finally caught her attention. “I said that’s the end of our session.” She raised her eyebrows at the younger female whose eye shifted to the floor once again.

“Right,” Her arm pushed her off from her chair, walking - practically stumbling - to the door to grip the knob. It swung shut with a slight thud, a sign of underlying frustration.

Her hand stuffed in her pocket, she started her journey through the woeful streets of the city, her eye dancing around cautiously at those around her. The sky was clouded, gray and foreboding over the already depressive buildings and people. Her shoes softly padded against the gum and puke stained concrete, silent compared to the heels that clacked around her obnoxiously. She felt the faintest amount of joy upon seeing a familiar building, the chipping white brick a comfort.

She followed the steps up to the third floor, keys noisily being shuffled to unlock the door to what she called home. She took a deep inhale, the scent of lavender filling her senses to bring a light smile upon her face. The apartment was small, obviously run down to fit the exterior, but her choice of furniture made it seem somewhat younger. She had spent at least a week removing mold and a few stains, and by the time she had finished it seemed almost brand new. The bleach smell took a while to wear off, but it was worth it to her in the long run.

The living room was just a bit larger than the size of an average bedroom, furnished with a small kitchen, dining table and couch. It was all put together and connected through accents like curtains, family photos and knick-knacks. She quite liked that it was smaller, that everything was visible save for the bedroom and bathroom which had their own separate rooms for obvious reasons. It left little room for any intruders to hide and she knew exactly where everything was, knowing someone had come through should anything have moved in the slightest.

She hung her coat on a hook by the door, kicking off her shoes and throwing her keys on the table. She made her way to the bathroom that connected to her bedroom, clothes thrown in the hamper in the corner. Her nimble fingers grasped at the soft padding that hid the left side of her face and neck, the cotton coming off with ease as she pulled. She chewed on the side of her cheek as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The once soft, pale skin now uneven, beginning to scar and create discolored skin even where her eye used to be. As they traveled down they seemed to fade, stopping at her mid thigh. Though her arm had received the most damage.

She snuggled under her blankets after a soothing shower, the soft warm glow of her bedside lamp illuminating the area just enough to read the book she had recently invested in, Atlas of World History. While others indulged themselves in the words of romance, fantasy and thrillers, she much preferred factual information. Knowledge. To her, even the smallest bit of information that seemed useless could possibly save a life at some point.

The Scarred - Chapter 10

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 woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes glazed over as she glared at herself, judgment passing over her flawed body. She looked back up to meet her own gaze. Just then, a second familiar figure appeared behind her, stepping closer until the heat of their body was pressed against her.

Penelope tossed in her bed, a thin coat of sweat layered upon her skin as she panted, drowning in her own heat.

Her breath grew shaky as the figure brought a hand up to her neck, grazing his knuckles along the scarred skin. He brought his head to rest against hers, his scarred cheeks creating a soothing texture against her own. His hands slid down her figure to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her eye closed, head leaning back against his shoulder.

“Jack -“ She whispered to him.

Penelope shot up from her bed, too stunned to speak as tears streamed down her face. “Jack?” She cried to herself.

-

“This ‘Jack’ fellow. He mean anythin’ to ye?” Liam questioned as they waited on their order, sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the small fast food joint.

Penelope thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she wanted to explain any further than she could handle. Liam patiently waited, however long it took for her. “He did…”

“Who was he?” He tried to pry further and he noticed her bite her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Do you want the short story or the long one?”

“Whichever you prefer, lovin’.” Another pause. She took a deep breath.

“He was my boyfriend. Together for four years. He joined the Army knowing I was against it and eventually made it to Special Forces.”

Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.

“Shortly after his training was finished, he proposed to me. Then two months before our wedding, he was deployed. I haven't heard from him since.” Penelope’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t help but think of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” Liam reached out, covering her hand with his own larger one as an act of sympathy. Penelope struggled to prevent the dam of her eye from breaking.

“I’m not sure if this helps, but as a man that had me own love once? He’ll do everythin’ he can to find his way back to ye. Dead or alive. I’m not superstitious, but I think that dream was his way of findin’ ye again.”

Those last few words are what broke her. Tears silently fell, and she rushed to wipe them away, too stubborn to show them openly in public. She sniffed and looked away as their order was called, Liam going up to grab their food before guiding them out of the building and back to the apartment.

They ate in a comfortable silence, the TV humming once again in the background as Penelope was deep in thought. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that began to form in her stomach, too strong to ignore. It began to gnaw at her, eating away at whatever thoughts tried to push it away.

Once the sun had set and Liam left for the night, she looked out of the living room window, debating on whether or not she should take any chances.

She eventually sighed and gave in, throwing on her shoes and jacket before making her way to her car.

Pulling into the familiar parking lot, Penelope sat in her car, the engine off, the sound of the city distant as she stared out at the still water. The lake was calm, moonlight dancing across its surface like silver threads. The parking lot was empty, just like the night they had met. When she had been more cautious, more unsure of the man that now haunted her.

Now, though, things felt different.

The woman stepped out, leaning against the driver’s door as she breathed in the polluted air around her.

She couldn’t shake the pull she felt, the way the Joker had gotten under her skin. The thrill, the chaos, the freedom he had awakened in her. It was all still there, humming like electricity in her veins. It was an addiction. And yet, he had vanished afterward, like a phantom slipping back into Gotham’s shadows.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made her stiffen. She turned her head slowly, heart racing just a little. And there he was, leaning casually against a streetlight at the edge of the lot, watching her. His purple coat was open, revealing his attire underneath, and he looked every bit as chaotic and unpredictable as he had that night. But this time, his eyes didn’t hold the same level of danger. Instead, there was something familiar. Something almost intimate.

Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.

The Joker sauntered towards her with a lazy grin, his posture relaxed yet full of that wild energy she knew too well. She couldn’t deny it. There was something there that she couldn’t explain. A tension, but not one born of fear or caution. It was something magnetic, unspoken. Something that pulled them together even when logic said they should stay apart.

“Miss me?” His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, his grin widening as he reached her car.

Her good hand rested casually in her pocket. “What if I did?” She replied, her voice softer than she intended, yet steady. She didn’t feel the need to hide her curiosity now. She wanted to understand what it was that drew her to him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Oh, look at you,” He mused, circling the front of her car like a predator sizing up its prey. “All calm, all… confident now.” He tapped the hood lightly as he passed, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. “What happened to that shaky, nervous thing you were before?”

“She grew up.” She gave him a small smile, knowing full well the Joker enjoyed the challenge.

He stopped at the driver’s side - closer than before - and leaned in, his face inches from hers as he stared at her, unblinking. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Could almost hear the ticking of his erratic thoughts.

“I like this version of you,” He whispered, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a spark in ya, doll… And I’m gonna light it to hell.” His eyes gleamed, the dangerous edge still there. But now it felt personal.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned into the moment, thinking of that liberating feeling from that night. Letting the tension between them manifest into something real. Something tangible. “I want you to.” Penelope replied with an unwavering, honest gaze.

For a brief second, the Joker’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something in her expression, something deeper. Then he laughed, the sound sharp and jagged in the quiet night.

“You’re not afraid anymore… that’s good,” He purred, straightening up but keeping his eyes on her. “Fear’s no fun when it’s one-sided, hm?”

Penelope felt the pull between them grow stronger. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him, not of the things he brought out in her. And he could sense it. Their dynamic had shifted. They weren’t strangers playing a game of cat and mouse. They were something else entirely now.

“Come on,” He said suddenly, offering his hand. “Let’s go do something fun.”

She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the feeling of his gloved fingers closing around hers sending a shiver up her spine. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. She knew this path would lead to chaos, to something she couldn’t control.

But perhaps that’s what she craved for. And how would she know if she never tried?

He led her to what seemed to be just a regular black car, but she knew better. One of his men waiting by the car opened the passenger door for her, another doing the same for the driver’s side which was new to her.

“You’re driving this time?” Penelope mused once they took their seats, attempting to joke with him and poke the bear.

“I’ve driven plenty, toots.” He winked at her and started the car, his men taking their seats in the back. The car revved and his grip choked the steering wheel, then suddenly took off into the dark streets.

Penelope yelped in surprise before it turned into laughter. The car quickly sped up, the empty streets offering him leverage as he swerved in the road. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal when they reached a long stretch of road, reaching nearly ninety miles an hour that had the woman clutching her seat.

“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.

“Thought ya grew up, toots?” He began to cackle. “So grow up! Enjoy the ride!” Taking a leap of faith, she eased into it, choosing to trust the man behind the wheel. A wide smile spread across her lips once she decided to embrace it as it came, growing more comfortable. And eventually she joined his laughter.

When the car slowed down to a more decent speed, she rolled down her window and began to ease her torso outside, sitting on the door and holding onto the handle inside as leverage. Neon lights sped past as she leaned her head back, taking the wind as it came.

“There ya go, doll!” She heard the Joker encourage from below. His hand reached for her ankle when she wobbled slightly, the small act making her stomach flutter unexpectedly.

The same hand patted her calf when the car pulled into an open lot in front of a large, worn down building.

She fully climbed out and looked over at the Joker, then at the building where two men stood at the doors. Following closely behind him, she eyed the men standing guard who offered the same in turn, the other two from the car close behind her.

The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked concrete walls as a few lights flickered ominously. Different voices echoed and carried through the building as they made their way up the stairs past different floors, stopping at the uppermost level. It was an open space with little furniture, weapons of every kind littered around the room. With a single look from the Joker, the other men that were there left.

Penelope stood near an old, rusted table, her body tense, feeling out of place in the gritty environment. She ran her fingers over where the scars on the left side of her body were, feeling the uneven texture.

Across the room, the Joker leaned against a pile of crates. His scarred smile never wavered as his wild eyes observed her every move. He tilted his head, amusement playing across his face.

“Relax, toots. You’re too stiff.” The Joker said, waving his hand theatrically. “Now, the basics. Crime? Oh, it’s not just about the guns and the knives and the explosions. It’s about the art of chaos.”

Penelope’s gaze flickered to his, her curiosity fighting her hesitation. “Chaos?” She asked, her voice soft yet edged with something deeper, something he’d been coaxing out of her since they met.

Joker stepped closer, shoes scraping against the floor, and set down a blueprint on the table between them. “Soon,” He said, tapping his finger on a marked building, “We make a statement. But first, you gotta learn how to send a message. It’s not just about what you take. It’s about what they lose.”

She blinked, studying the blueprint, unsure what part of this made sense. “I’m not like you, Joker, I can’t just -“ She motioned to the table in front of her, unable to find the right words.

A low chuckle escaped the Joker’s throat, and he walked behind her, placing his gloved hands lightly on her shoulders. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper in her ear. “Oh, but you already are. You just need to let go. Stop playing by their rules and start looking at the bigger picture, hm?”

Penelope shivered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away. There was a flicker of excitement she couldn’t deny, a part of her that wanted to let go of the fear. Of the guilt and the pain.

“Here’s the thing,” Joker continued, circling back to face her. He tossed a knife onto the table in front of her, its blade gleaming under the warehouse’s dim light. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about how much you’re willing to risk. For control. For power. For fun.”

Penelope looked at the knife, then back at the Joker. “What do you want from me?”

His grin widened, his eyes burning with manic intensity. “I want you to embrace that spark. That little chaos inside you - and, oh, I see it, don’t you dare try and hide it.” He cocked his head. “That fire that turned you into this?” He motioned at her figure. “That took your arm, your eye? It didn’t kill you. So let it burn.”

Suddenly, the doors burst open, followed by grunts and muffled screaming and yelling from what seemed to be a man. Penelope turned to see what was going on, but Joker quickly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him.

Penelope exhaled slowly, her mind replaying flashes of her past. The fire, the agony. Her lost innocence. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. The chaos was already there, harnessed and held against its own will.

His gloved hand let go of her face, moving down to her waist and turning her around to face the commotion behind her.

In front of her sat a disheveled and bloodied man on his knees, gagged by a rag tied around his head. Two men stood at either side, guns in hand as they carefully watched between him and their boss.

“Know who this is?” The Joker questioned, hand still on her waist. The woman shook her head. “Remember that fire?”

Everything suddenly grew cold for Penelope. She stiffened, practically staring into the pitiful man’s very soul.

“New hire. Whaddya know?” Joker chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Then he just had to open his mouth and - ope! Lookie here.”

He slipped past the shaky woman and snatched his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to make him look up at his blackened stare.

“Just so happens that ya hurt this doll right here!”

He motioned to Penelope, then playfully slapped his face and made his way back to stand behind her.

“Remember that? Now you can finally put a face to it.”

He peeked over her shoulder to catch her change in expression, nose slightly flaring every other breath as she attempted to harness her emotions.

“Don’t hide it. Embrace it.” He rested a hand on her upper arm. “Pick up the knife.” The Joker urged, his tone softer but no less dangerous.

She looked over at the table, thinking for a moment before she reached for the blade, the cool metal now more familiar in her palm. But as she gripped it, something shifted. The fear that had once anchored her slipped away, leaving room for something else. Power? Defiance?

“That’s it. Now look at him.” She obeyed. “Remember that pain. Remember everything you lost because of him.”

Without another word, he watched as she took a step towards him, knuckles white as she squeezed the handle of the blade. Another step. Then another, until she was directly in front of him.

Tears welled up in her eye, images flashing across her mind at the horror he caused. The pain she endured, the pain she continued to endure. The blade slowly inched its way towards his face, the tip resting just below his left eye.

“I think I’ll start with what I lost.”

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.

Serenity - Chapter 9

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.

Reuben decided to stay with Mary as she continued her work, watching her careful movements in curiosity. The baroness' dress hung on a mannequin, nearly finished as Mary made final adjustments. Finally, she straightened it out and fluffed the skirt just a bit, standing back to admire her handiwork while fiddling with her fingers.

Sheer fabric was used for the arms, collar bone area and back. Ruffled fabric lined the shoulders, trailing around the back of the neck. The majority of it was a silver color, not too flashy yet still stuck out in a crowd. It held purple accents, of course, in representation of the Vulgarian colors.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Mary questioned anxiously, glancing at Reuben.

"I think you know my answer."

"'Of course, Miss Mary, she'll love it!'" She mocked him, making sure to flail her arms dramatically as she made her way over to her sketchbook to work on the design for the Baron.

"Well, you're not wrong, Miss Mary." He wiggled a finger behind her ear making her curl away from him and he smirked. "I'll be off to make my rounds, get out of your hair." Mary shot him a look as he made his way to the door. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I've told the maid to make sure you eat." Reuben eyed her before shutting the door behind him. Mary rolled her eyes with a bashful smile, sketching away.

She paid no mind to the time, naturally. There were no windows in the room and she was delved too deep into her work to really care to check. Emilia was her only clock. Mary did grow more aware after lunch, knowing she had to prepare herself for dinner.

A knock sounded softly from the door and was cracked open.

"Miss?" Mary whipped her head towards the maid with a nervous expression.

"Time already?" She received a sympathetic smile.

"I'm afraid so." Mary sighed, finding a stopping point in her work to follow her to Reuben's quarters. Her stomach sank at the sight of a new dress that lay across the bed.

"It gets tiring wearing more than one dress a day, no?" She questioned Emilia as she began undoing her dress, taking a deep breath within the short moment of freedom.

"I certainly would think so. At least you're not the one tying and untying all of them." Mary nodded in agreement, slipping out of the dress and into the more elegant one that Emilia held for her. "Your head seems to be healing well." The maid felt her tense slightly. "I could try and conceal it if you wish?"

"No, it's fine." Mary mumbled. "Thank you, though."

"My pleasure, Miss." Emilia finished up and undid Mary's hair, running her fingers through it in thought. She sat her down at the vanity, beginning to twist and braid it.

"Have you ever worked closely with the barons?" Now Emilia sighed.

"Once. Quite the experience. I would rather not do it again."

"Are you able to talk about it?" Emilia shook her head.

"I'm afraid I would speak ill of them if I did." She grabbed a few bobby-pins from the desk, beginning to pin up Mary's hair.

"What would happen if you did?"

"Let's just say you wouldn't be seeing me too often." She messed with her hair a bit more to perfect it. "Your curiosity could land you the same fate, Miss." Emilia noticed the woman's skin pale at the thought. Mary swallowed as the maid placed ornaments in her hair, then clipped a necklace around her neck.

"I worry I'll still be underdressed." Emilia chuckled.

"That's what they want." The maid fiddled with the fabric of Mary's dress, in a way soothing the both of them. "That's why everything seems so bland here. Everything except themselves." Mary looked up at Emilia with an unreadable expression. "Come, now." She patted her shoulders and the woman stood up. "I'm sure the catcher is waiting."

The two of them stepped into the hall and, sure enough, Reuben was making his way towards them. Emilia shut the door behind them and curtsied, then left in the opposite direction.

"Beautiful, as always." He complimented with a smirk, holding his arm out to her to which she took bashfully. As they ventured through the halls he could feel her hold grow more tense, anxious. He could almost feel her aggressive pulse through her hands. "You'll be alright. Remember what I told you."

"Will you be staying?" Mary nearly whispered, moving in closer to Reuben. He felt his chest swell with what almost felt like pride knowing she trusted him enough to feel protected, that he was a source of comfort for her. Then again, he was essentially all she had left to hold on to.

"He asked me personally, so I would assume so, yes. Let alone the fact that he thought you were -" He cut himself off, swallowing. "That you are my lady." Mary had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. He began to smile himself when her grip loosened a bit in comfort. Mary's eyes grew curious when they approached a set of glass doors. Reuben held the door open for her and they stepped out into what she assumed was a garden.

It was a decent size, though not incredibly large. It was vibrant compared to the dull interior of the castle, but it was a welcome change. Colorful flowers bloomed wherever she looked, a variety of floral smells pleasantly filling her nose. The golden rays of the setting sun rested on the area, creating an even more alluring scene.

Reuben led her down a few steps, guiding her further into the garden as an awed grin spread across her face. It was calming enough to make her forget what she was dreading in the first place, but then a small opening brought her back to reality.

A medium-sized glass table sat in the center, a set of tasteful chairs sat around it. A larger bottle of wine accompanied by glasses sat upon it, already opened and being drunk by the Baron. The Baroness, however, waited patiently as she looked around at the garden. There was a glint in her eyes, however, when she spotted the two of them entering the court and smiled.

"Bombie?" She nudged her husband and he shot up, boisterously cheering. Mary curtsied while Reuben bowed, as per usual.

"No, no, no! Have a seat, none of that!" He exclaimed happily. Reuben pulled a chair out next to the baroness for Mary before seating himself next to her. She looked over at Mary and offered a warm smile, and she gave a more shy one in return. "Well," The Baron drawled as he leaned in. "How is our seamstress settling in? Well, I hope?"

"Very well, your excellency. I couldn't be more thankful for your hospitality."

"Ah, but it's just an eye for an eye! You're helping us, and as long as you do, you will be a welcome guest here." Servers arrived, pouring wine into their glasses and setting plates with silverware in front of them.

"How is your project coming along, Miss Elise?" The Baroness spoke up, sipping on her wine as she turned towards Mary in keen interest.

"It couldn't be any better, my lady. I actually finished your dress just this morning." The Baroness gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together.

"That was quite quick! Efficient, isn't she, Bombie?" The man in question just chuckled with a nod.

"Fast, yes. But quality is what I am personally looking for."

"You couldn't ask for a finer dress, your excellency." Reuben piped in to support Mary, and it seemed to boost the Baron's confidence in her work. The maids returned with their dinner, laying trays and bowls in front of them with what seemed like enough food for the whole village to Mary.

She glanced around, unsure of their customs and courtesies when it came to dining. She watched the others begin to plate once the Baron began and followed suit, being cautious with how much food she took, and rather eating with her stomach instead of her eyes. Mary had to hold in her already obvious satisfaction as she took her first bite, the food warm and freshly cooked.

They all made small talk throughout the meal, whether it was lighthearted joking or simple questions. She wasn't quite sure what to think of them. She'd heard awful things from the villagers, and then Emilia, yet Reuben seemed to think so highly of them. He always spoke of them with utmost respect, save for a snide remark every now and then, but it happens with everyone. She just wasn't sure if it was out of fear or genuine admiration.

"When should we expect to see your work?" The Baroness curiously asked once they all began to settle from the meal, though Bomburst continued to nibble here and there.

"I've just started on his excellency's, so I would say the day after the next."

"Well, I'm thrilled to have a fresh mind at work. And one with unique talent, I've heard." The Baroness glanced over at Reuben, and in turn Mary looked over at him as well. He quirked a brow at her and she gave a tight lipped smile.

"You've built it up so much, I better not be disappointed when I see it!" The Baron suddenly called out. Mary's skin turned to paper, but she continued with her pleasant facade for appearances. She felt Reuben sneak a hand over hers from under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I certainly have no doubts about your talent. If the Child Catcher says your work is a sight to behold, then I trust his opinion." Mary covered his own hand with her other and color gradually returned to her face.

"I suppose you are right, my dear." Bomburst begrudgingly agreed. "He's been with us for many years, you know." He directed at Mary. "I would say he is my most trusted worker here in Vulgaria. I'd take him over the Chancellor or any of those other aristocrats any day." Though it sounded like a compliment, the Baron truly meant it as more of an insult to those in the castle. "So if I see you mistreat him, or if there's any suspicion of it, I will have your head."

Mary feigned a smile at the Baron.

"I wouldn't dream of it, your excellency." He nodded firmly, then slapped his thighs and stood up.

"Well, I think I'll retire for the night. Many things to take care of. I'll be waiting for our little gift, Miss Elise." He poked fun at the seamstress before abruptly leaving the court. The Baroness soon stood to join him, but turned towards the two of them one last time.

"You're more than welcome to visit the gardens if you wish." She then followed after her husband, an elegant skip in her step that Mary found curious.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and sat back in her chair, loosening her posture. Reuben held in an amused chuckle.

"Care for a walk?" The man asked as he stood, offering a gloved hand to her. She collected herself for a few moments before she took hold of it and followed him.

The air was but a gentle breeze that calmed her and she took in her surroundings appreciatively. The village never held such gardens, and it felt as if she had been trapped in the castle forever. She could already see herself visiting quite frequently whether it was by herself or with Reuben.

They reached a railing that looked over the smaller mountain the castle sat on, revealing a grandiose view of the countryside not visible to the village. It held rich shades of green in its hills and other mountains, an occasional structure in the distance. The sun had just reached the horizon and Mary couldn't help but stare.

As Reuben hesitantly slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer she began to realize how peaceful everything truly was in that moment. It was hazy, as if it wasn't truly reality. Never would she have thought she would end up where she was. Not in the castle, not as a seamstress in that castle, and especially not with the man who practically everybody feared most, second to the Baron himself.

"Reuben?" Mary whispered, fearful of breaking whatever it was that was happening.

"Yes?" She hesitated before answering.

"I'm scared to leave this moment."

"Reasonably so." He looked down at her from where they stood. "But there's much more to come."

Chapter 5

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The two remained in the War Room as Varo and Phasma joined them soon after. A large tactical display hovered between them, showcasing the sectors suspected to harbor the rogue threat.

General Hux stood at the head of the table again, hands behind his back. To his right stood (Y/n), and on the opposite end of the table stood Phasma and Varo, their expressions focused, but the tension in the room was palpable.

“We have authorization to act. Now we need to figure out a way to track them down and find them.” The general began.

Phasma followed. “They’re ghosts,” she said flatly. “Not a single trace left behind. No footprints. No blood. Just bodies.”

“That’s the Covenant for you,” Varo muttered grimly. “They know how to vanish. And they’re using it.”

“Not just vanish.” (Y/n) added. “Each strike we’ve reviewed… they’re not looking to make a statement. They’re gathering something.”

Phasma tilted her head in question. “Intel?”

“Or resources.” She replied. “They’re choosing their targets too precisely. They know our protocols. Our rotations. What we have and where. Every time they attack, they raid the location.”

“Then we bait them.” Hux suggested. He stepped forward and gestured toward a flickering system on the map. “These three supply stations are within striking distance of the last known rogue activity. We plant the idea that one of them is carrying classified tech and leak the information through a Resistance channel we know they’ve intercepted in the past.”

Phasma hummed in thought. “Risky. But controlled. I can reroute stormtroopers for concealed perimeter placements.”

“I don’t want any engagement.” Hux ordered. “Observation only. Identify, record, and pull back. The moment we can confirm their identities, we strike with the Covenant’s backing.”

“We’ll need more than scouts, sir.” Varo warned. “These aren’t just any rogues. We engage with standard units, we lose more good soldiers.”

The general nodded in agreement. “Which is why you -” He looked at Varo. “- will be embedded in the region as a liaison. You’ll move freely between units and help direct operations. No one else has the experience to recognize them for what they are.”

(Y/n) shifted and offered a warning to Varo. “If they smell you, they’ll come out. If any of them knew you before they defected…”

Her gaze sharpened.

“They might want to carry out unfinished business.”

Varo’s expression was unreadable, but something cold flickered in his eyes.

“Then let them try.” He threatened indirectly. “I’m very persuasive when it comes to traitors.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” (Y/n) replied simply.

Hux tapped the console, confirming the initial troop deployment orders.

“Begin rotating squads to the target sectors under routine drills. Make it look mundane.”

“They’ll never know we’re watching.” Phasma consoled him.

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

“Dead rogues or silence,” Varo started. ”Either way, we’ll bring order back to the Covenant.” 

Later on, as the night cycle began, the corridors with higher command personnel quarters were dimly lit, lights cycling to mimic planetary night. Most of the officers had retreated by this time. A hush blanketed the area, the kind of silence that only came during these artificial nights in the belly of a warship.

(Y/n) sat alone at a secluded alcove in the corridor, an architectural oddity tucked near the viewport wall. The viewport stretched tall and wide, revealing the swirling stars and the velvet void beyond. A built-in bench sat along one side of the wall next to the window, lit only by the glow of passing starlight.

She sat with one leg curled up beneath her, still dressed in her uniform but with the zipper of the bodysuit around her neck slightly undone for breathing room. A small blood pack, half-drained, rested beside her hip. Her datapad was forgotten in her lap, the screen dimmed. Her gaze was fixed on the stars, lost in quiet thought.

Her ears then honed in as she heard a set of footsteps further down the corridor. Measured. Familiar.

(Y/n) didn’t turn to look. She already knew who it was.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be awake in this sector.” The general commented in a quieter tone.

“Neither did I.”

There was a pause. Hux stood there, considering her. Not just the strange placement of her presence, but the rare image of her relaxed posture and unguarded expression.

“This isn’t regulation seating.” He pointed out. (Y/n) glanced over at him in a playful deadpan.

“Are you here to enforce it, General?”

He let out the faintest sound, almost a scoff. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and took a seat beside her on the bench, maintaining a respectful space between them.

After a moment, the general began to speak again.

“This part of the ship was designed to house long-term High Command. They included comfort features… but few of us make time to use them.”

“It’s the only place I’ve found that doesn’t feel like war.” (Y/n) said in a more hushed tone.

A long silence fell between them. Outside the viewport, stars drifted past slowly, distant and indifferent.

The general hummed. “I find comfort in order.” (Y/n) tossed him a pointed look - as if to say ‘no, really?’ - and he clicked his tongue in minor annoyance. “It makes things… predictable. Safe.”

He paused.

(Y/n) turned her head slightly to look at him. “Why do you think it’s safe?”

He looked at her now, his expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I think predictability can keep a person alive. But it doesn’t protect you from harsh realities in life.”

The words hung between them for a moment too long.

“No… it doesn’t.” (Y/n) agreed softly.

She looked away again, fingers absently brushing her datapad.

“I thought I knew my people. What we stood for. What we bled for. But now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re referring to the rogues.”

“I’m referring to those I once trusted. Those who chose to spit on everything that kept us alive. After what the Resistance did to our kind… I can’t understand how they could turn their backs on the Covenant or First Order.”

Hux thought for a moment before he answered. “Pain doesn’t forge loyalty. Not for everyone. For some, it just festers… until all they want is to be the one holding the knife. And they won’t care who’s at the end of the blade.”

(Y/n) watched him closely now, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he said it. “You speak like someone who knows.”

“I do.” He answered flatly.

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t cold. It was shared. Weighted, but equal.

After a beat, (Y/n) leaned back slightly against the wall, letting her head rest there as she stared up.

“I don’t regret joining the Covenant or becoming an Umbral. But some nights… I wonder who I would’ve been if I didn’t.” 

“You’d still be dangerous.” Hux quipped.

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Just a flicker. “And you’d still be impossible.”

“That almost counts as a compliment.” His lips twitched in a smirk.

Another moment of quiet. 

(Y/n)’s gaze was fixed on the stars outside, but her awareness was sharp. She could feel the  general’s presence beside her as if it were its own gravitational field. And he, for all his rigid posture and measured breathing, had not moved since sitting down.

The silence lingered, no longer heavy with unspoken thoughts, but… tentative. Curious.

“You seem more yourself.” Hux suddenly pointed out.

“I thought I was always myself.” She replied curiously.

“Yes, but… you’re more calm. Not as stiff. It’s refreshing… and it suits you.”

She glanced over at him, a single brow lifting. “Well, I do expect myself to know how to separate professionalism from personal matters, if that’s what you mean. I’m just careful with who sees what side.” She then turned to face him slightly. “How would you know what suits me?”

“I pay attention. You’re not the only observant one here.”

Her lips parted slightly as they stared at one another, but whatever retort she was about to make was lost when her knee brushed lightly against his.

She stilled immediately. So did he.

The touch had been accidental. Casual contact in the narrow space of the bench, but it sparked like static, subtle and unmistakable.

Neither of them moved away.

(Y/n) shifted her gaze back to the window, face unreadable save for the faint shift in her posture. Hux pretended to return to his datapad, his grip on it just a little too firm, his jaw set with a precision that was almost… performative.

“Apologies.” (Y/n) muttered.

“Unnecessary.”

She looked down at her hands. He tapped once on the datapad, but didn’t really read whatever was on the screen.

The silence returned. Not awkward, but charged. It buzzed faintly beneath their skin.

(Y/n), sensing the tension still in his posture, allowed herself a rare act of rebellion against her instincts. She shifted just a bit closer. Not enough to touch again. Just enough to make it noticeable.

And Hux noticed. But what he noticed even more was how she became even more tranquil after she had done so.

She didn’t look at him, and if it were possible, her cheeks would’ve been tinted. The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. Barely.

“It’s strange.” She spoke.

“What is?”

“Sitting still. Doing nothing. And yet… it doesn’t feel like a waste of time.”

He studied her carefully now. “It isn’t.”

Another moment passed. A pause not meant to be filled.

And then Hux stood, smooth and precise as usual. But the movement was slower. He tucked his datapad under one arm, glancing down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.

“It’s late.”

“So is everything on this ship.” She jested.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, just a ghost of a smile, and then turned.

But just before he stepped away, he hesitated.

“I’ll expect you in my office at 0600.”

“Of course.”

“Bring tea.”

She blinked.

(Y/n), feigning seriousness, replied. “Blood or sugar?”

He glanced at her, a faint glint in his eye. Amused. Surprised.

“Surprise me.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, boots silent on the floor.

Left alone again, (Y/n) stared out at the stars.

Her body still remembered the brief brush of contact. And her expression softened with something akin to warmth.

The next morning, General Hux was already at his desk, filtering through whatever came in while he was asleep. He didn’t look up immediately when the door slid open with a soft hiss.

(Y/n) stepped in, punctual to the second. In one hand she carried a thermal cup. In the other, a sealed blood pack.

She approached the desk and placed the cup neatly within his reach.

“Surprise.” She greeted flatly.

Hux raised his eyes. His gaze flicked between the items. Then his brow lifted, barely.

“You brought both.”

“I like to cover contingencies… that and I’m starving.” She added as she twisted the cap and began to drink from it, the cool liquid easing down her throat.

He regarded her for a long moment, then reached for the cup. Steam rose from it as he took a measured sip.

“Sugar.” He hummed. “You didn’t risk the blood. Wise.”

“I need my commanding officer awake, not disgusted.”

He smirked faintly at that, a rare expression, short-lived but genuine. (Y/n) caught it but didn’t comment.

For the first time since she’d been there, she moved to the small seat across from his desk without his direction, posture straight with her legs crossed. Despite the cold formality of the room, the air between them was… different. Not quite relaxed, but no longer so distant.

He reviewed a few lines on the datapad before speaking again.

“I assume your quarters are adequate? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked.”

(Y/n) replied with a faint tilt of her head.

“Functional and familiar.”

“That’s what passes for comfort around here.”

“I don’t require comfort.” She teased before taking another sip.

“No. But everyone benefits from a moment to breathe in an acceptable environment.”

She blinked at that, ever so slightly surprised.

“Is that what last night was?” She smirked. 

He looked up at her then, the full weight of his focus falling on her face. “Possibly.”

Something passed between them again. Unspoken. Subtle. 

Then, like the snap of a soldier returning to attention, he set the datapad down and stood, brushing a hand down the front of his coat.

“Come. We’re expected on the bridge. I need to have updates on Resistance activity by 0700.”

She stood smoothly, falling into step beside him after tossing the now empty blood pack.

As they moved towards the door, (Y/n) offered an afterthought. 

“Next time, I think I’ll bring both in a thermal. Tea for you, blood for me. Haven’t had it warm in a while.”

Hux glanced sideways at her. “Efficient.”

A beat.

“Thoughtful.” He added, though quieter.

The door hissed open and they stepped into the corridor in perfect contrast, moving in precise sync.

The bridge of the Finalizer was quiet in its efficiency, cloaked in the bluish-gray tones of early cycle operations. Terminals glowed softly, crew members moved with practiced rhythm, and the stars beyond the viewport were distant and still.

General Hux stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back as he analyzed data from one of the terminals. (Y/n) stood beside him, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the bridge with deliberate calmness. She was close enough to intervene if needed, yet never encroaching on his command space.

A lieutenant approached first, offering a crisp nod before handing Hux a tablet. “General, update from outpost Delta-Four. Last contact was at 0300. No response since then and no distress call was sent.”

Hux read it with a furrowed brow. “Similar to Sector Eight last week.”

“Yes, sir. Final transmission mentioned movement along the outer edge of a debris cluster. Then silence.”

“No signs of conflict?”

“None. It’s clean.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed. “They’re getting bolder.” He handed the tablet back to the lieutenant and turned back towards the terminal to key in a command. Facing the bridge again, a map of the outer sectors materialized in a wash of pale blue light. Red indicators blinked in a triangular pattern.

“Have long-range scans pulled from the Starbreaker Array. Cross-reference radiation trails, shield fluctuations. Any anomalies, no matter how faint.”

The officer gave a quick nod. “Yes, General.”

(Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly to the glowing display, then back towards the junior officers bustling quietly. 

Another officer approached. A younger systems technician with smudged gloves and a nervous gait. “General… we detected an attempted intercept on last night’s dispatch to Command. It failed, but whoever it was, it wasn’t Resistance-grade slicing.”

Hux’s hands tightened behind him. “I want the source tracked, triangulated, and dissected. Every data spike, every digital pulse logged. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The technician nearly tripped backing away. (Y/n) didn’t react, though her eyes flicked to Hux subtly, noting the flare of tension in his expression.

He exhaled slowly before the doors to the bridge slid open with a sharp hiss.

Captain Phasma entered first, tall and commanding in her chrome armor. Her pace was deliberate, each step punctuated by the soft thud of metal boots on deck plating. Varo followed at her side, his usual grin exchanged for a more focused expression. When he spotted (Y/n) already at Hux’s side, his brow lifted in silent greeting.

Hux turned as they approached “Phasma. Drenn,” he greeted. His eyes flicked to (Y/n), then back to the others. “You’re just in time. We have a developing situation.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod in response to Varo’s glance. 

Hux stepped back slightly and gestured towards the holomap still displayed. “We may be looking at a coordinated infiltration effort. Unknown parties. Skilled and precise. Possibly something more than the Resistance. This may be one of our only chances to intercept and identify them.” The general nodded his head in the direction of the doors to the bridge and walked, the group following him.

The doors to the bridge hissed open, then sealed shut again as General Hux led them down the corridor. (Y/n) walked beside him as while Varo and Phasma flanked from behind.

No words were exchanged on the walk. The tension from the short briefing still lingered in the air like static. Tightly wound, waiting for direction.

Once inside Hux’s office, the door sealed behind them with a low thrum. Hux moved to behind his desk, bringing up the latest holomap which crackled to life in front of them.

“This is where they’re projected to hit next,” Hux said without preamble, pointing to a small, seemingly insignificant relay station nestled between two inactive mining sectors. “It’s remote. Understaffed. A low-profile target. Perfect for remaining unseen.”

“And exactly what we’d expect them to go for if they’re testing our blind spots.” Phasma chimed in.

“We’ve tracked fragments of their signal spikes converging here,” Hux continued, zooming in on the relay’s coordinates. “Encrypted communications, faint enough to be overlooked if you weren’t already looking for them. But there’s a pattern.”

Varo squinted at the holomap. “It’s a bait station. Easy to infiltrate, but also easy to ambush from. If someone knew how.”

Hux’s eyes flicked towards him. “Which is why we’re going to beat them to it.” He turned slightly, addressing all three of them. “We’ll deploy a stealth team, small and silent. We observe first. Identify who they are. Confirm if this is the same force behind the outpost vanishings.”

(Y/n) stepped forward slightly, her voice level. “And if it is?”

“Then we’ll respond accordingly,” Hux said coldly. “And we won’t miss.”

Phasma nodded. “I’ll have a squad outfitted for cloaked transport and scout support. The relay can be secured quietly, with minimal presence.”

Hux tapped his fingers against his desk. “No standard stormtroopers. It’ll be too obvious.”

He turned his gaze to Varo. “I want you in position ahead of the operation. You’ll be our eyes on the ground. Blend in with the relay crew if needed. Keep comms silent unless contact is made.”

Varo gave a sharp nod. “Understood.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re playing shadow games now. I always preferred being the knife in the dark over the hammer at the gate.”

“Then consider this a return to form,” Hux replied dryly, before turning back to the holomap.

A brief silence followed as each of them absorbed the mission’s stakes. Then Hux looked to (Y/n) once more, his gaze thoughtful beneath the commander’s mask.

“Umbral (L/n) and myself will have visual from here on the bridge while the operation is active. Anyone who is on ground will have a surveillance system so we can track what they are seeing and have more eyes identifying who we’re dealing with should anything happen.” Everyone nodded before the holomap disappeared. “If we’re going off of their typical patterns, the mission will be set during tomorrow’s night cycle. Phasma and Drenn, I want you to coordinate with intelligence and logistics to formulate a plan. Dismissed.”

Phasma offered a curt nod and exited with precise efficiency. Varo lingered just long enough to exchange a glance with (Y/n), a small, wordless assurance before following.

The door slid shut, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. General Hux remained standing, unmoving as he observed the remaining Umbral.

Her gaze was distant, as if she was looking at something far beyond the walls of the office.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Hux said without looking up.

(Y/n) blinked, shifting slightly. “Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to appear distracted.”

“You didn’t,” he said simply, finally glancing over at her. “You appear unsettled.”

Her mask didn’t crack, not fully. But something in her eyes softened. A hesitation.

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

Hux’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “Umbral?” The formality in her title made her glance at him sharply, until she realized he was watching her not with scrutiny, but something bordering on concern. Her posture eased by a hair’s breadth.

She exhaled quietly through her nose. “It’s Umbral Drenn.”

“Ah.”

“He’s the only person I have left,” she said slowly, as if peeling the words out of herself. “We’ve fought, bled, trained… Endured everything together. And now I’m stuck here. Watching him walk into a threat we still don’t fully understand.”

She didn’t pace. She didn’t fidget. But her stillness was heavy, dense with emotion she rarely permitted to surface.

“I’ve lost too much already,” she added softly. “If I lose him too…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Hux studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, but far from cold. He stepped away and moved towards the viewport behind his desk.

“I understand more than you think,” he said after a pause. “The burden of command is not just strategy and protocol. It’s the slow erosion of everyone who made you feel human.”

She looked at him then, some part of her surprised.

He didn’t meet her gaze, but his voice was steady.

“You will remain here,” he continued. “You’ll watch the feed with me. If anything happens to Drenn, you’ll know before anyone else does.”

(Y/n) blinked once, unsure how to respond to the weight of his words.

“Thank you,” she said finally, quieter than usual.

He turned to her now, his expression still composed, but his eyes… there was something else there.  

Their eyes held for a second too long, just long enough for something to pass between them.

Then Hux turned back to his desk. The Umbral stood for a moment in thought, and for the first time in years, she found herself fidgeting slightly. 

-

The lights were dimmed in the corridors, the stars outside scattered like frost across a black pane. The two Umbrals stood side by side, simply looking out at the galaxy before them in the same alcove (Y/n) had sat in with Hux.

(Y/n)’s arms were crossed, a subtle tension in her frame. She said nothing for a while, watching the distant shimmer of a nebula bleeding color into the void. Varo stood beside her, his usually relaxed posture tempered by a rare stillness.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual.

(Y/n) didn’t glance his way. “So are you.”

A small chuckle escaped him. “Fair enough.”

They lingered in silence a moment longer.

“Do you ever think about what we signed up for?” (Y/n) asked. Her voice wasn’t cold. It carried the weight of something old, something uncertain. “What it cost us?”

Varo nodded slowly. “All the time. Just… not usually out loud.”

Now she glanced at him. “Tonight feels different.”

“It does,” he agreed, looking out at the stars again. “Walking into something none of us fully understand. And just… watching. Not fighting. It feels wrong.”

She nodded. “I know.”

His gaze flicked over to her, reading the steel behind her voice. But then it softened, and he tilted his head towards her slightly. “You think we did the right thing, choosing the path we did as Umbrals? All of this?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence wasn’t uncertain. She was simply searching for truth.

“It was the only path that gave us purpose,” she said finally. “And if this faction turns out to be what we fear, then it’s our duty to stop them. No matter who they were to us.”

Varo was quiet again, but then nudged her shoulder gently. “Still. I’m glad I’m not doing this without you.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, a faint trace of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. “Likewise.”

For a few moments, they stood in comfortable silence again. Then Varo exhaled, brushing his hand through his hair and casting her a sideways glance.

“You know,” he added with a small smirk, “if I die tomorrow, I want you to avenge me with dramatic flair. Really make a scene. Rip someone’s spine out or something.”

She rolled her eyes, smirk deepening. “I’ll consider it.”

“Seriously,” he pressed, grinning now. “Cry. Wail. Maybe swear vengeance in front of a flaming backdrop.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” she said flatly, but there was warmth in her tone.

The weight of the night didn’t vanish, but it lessened between them. Whatever tomorrow brought, they wouldn’t face it alone. Even if apart.

The Scarred - Chapter 9

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.

“You okay, Penny?” Emma questioned, seeing the woman in question begin to nod off. She quickly sat up and rapidly blinked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep, that's all.” She responded, which wasn’t really a lie at all. Liam had tried to convince her to call in to take the day off, but Penelope couldn’t do that to Emma. That and she worried it would come off as suspicious since she rarely ever does it, and even more so given recent events that have been occurring at the shop itself.

“Is something bothering you, hun?” Emma asked gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“No, I’m okay,” She turned to face her. “Promise.” She smiled, and thankfully it was returned before the older woman walked away. Penelope let out a sigh of relief, massaging her temple.

They received more customers than usual that day, thankfully. It helped to both keep her awake and distract her from her thoughts, which grew to be a harder task as of late. By the time the work day drew to a close, Penny was practically sleepwalking. Zombified and depleted of energy, she waved off Emma in a goodbye before she turned to leave.

As she passed an alleyway, thinking all was well and would finally return home to relax, she gasped when something snatched her jacket and pulled her in.

“I did some thinking - y’know?” A familiar voice tossed up her stomach with nerves. She turned to look up at the painted face that greeted her - however much of a greeting it was.

“You scared the hell out of me!” She whisper-yelled in exasperation, her adrenaline throwing all caution to the wind regardless of who was in front of her.

“I think you oughtta have these than myself.” He continued on, completely ignoring what she said. She looked down and saw the handgun and knives from last night.

“You couldn’t have done that last night rather than snatching me and giving me a heart attack?”

“You’re alive, aren’t cha?” The Joker dismissed as if it was the most simple thing. Penelope couldn’t help but roll her eyes to his amusement and he hummed.

“Gettin’ a little bold after last night, don’t cha think?” His voice was flat, yet somehow still held a joking undertone. Penelope grew fidgety, mentally slapping herself for forgetting who she was talking to.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.” She nearly whispered with a downcast gaze.

“Ah, I’m just messing with ya, doll!” The Joker cackled. “But seriously, take these, I don’t want em.” She greatly hesitated before gently taking them from his hands, looking at them for a moment and putting them in her satchel.

“Thank you -“

“I’m going to give a wild guess and say you don’t have a single gun at your place?”

“I mean, I don’t, but -“

“Ah-ta-ta-ta.” He cut her off, placing a finger over her lips.

“Don’t got time for chit-chat, toots, but uh -“ He looked around for a second before leaning in closer to her as if he was telling a secret. “We can save that for later, hm?” He winked with a click of his tongue and gave her a couple of small pats on her head before turning to leave. “Don’t wait up for me!” He hollered over his shoulder and disappeared off to who knew where with a skip.

Penelope just stood in the alleyway confused as ever for the umpteenth time. If she wasn’t awake before, she definitely was now. She turned to make her way back to the main sidewalk, this time bumping into someone else.

“Oi, there ye are!”

“For fuck’s sake!” She gasped once again, hand over her chest. Liam frowned and steadied her.

“First of all, that’s my line. Second, the hell were ye doin in an alley?” He gently coaxed her to start their walk back to their apartment complex.

“Too tired to explain right now.”

“Alright, fair enough. Guess it’s not a good time to say ‘I told you so’ then?” Penelope gave him a side eye and he held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. Quiet time it is.”

When the two of them reached her apartment and stepped inside, they were quick to get comfortable and relax on the couch. The TV hummed in the background at a low volume, soothing the two of them as Penelope began to fall asleep in Liam’s lap, the latter playing a game on his phone mindlessly.

No matter how close the woman was to sleep, though,, her body fought back. Her mind raced with scattered thoughts, a heavy sigh leaving her lips catching Liam’s attention.

“What’s on yer mind, lovin?”

“Too much.” She answered simply. Liam took his turn to sigh.

“Still too tired to talk about it?”

“The Joker is supposed to be dangerous…” She whispered mindlessly. Liam tensed at first and put down his phone. She continued once he began to caress her hair. “And yet I can’t shake that I feel safe with him.” Penelope turned in his lap, head facing up at him as she stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know how else to describe it. But something about him just feels so familiar, Liam. Like a reminder of something I can’t remember.”

“Aye. I know the feelin’, believe me.” He shifted as he thought. “If he wanted ye dead, he would’ve done so already. It’s a gruesome thought, but I believe it’s the truth.” He looked down at Penelope who met his gaze of understanding.

“But what if he has an ulterior motive? What if he’s just using me?” She watched as Liam began to shake his head.

“He doesn’t seem the type. Not patient enough from what we’ve seen on the news. Seems to me that if he wants something, he just goes fer it. The man won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” There was a moment of silence, the two of them sitting in contemplation, coming up with scenario after scenario where something could go wrong. But none of them seemed realistic in comparison to what had happened so far.

Days passed with no contact from the Joker or his men, much to her surprise. Days turned into a couple of weeks. Penelope just assumed that he was either too busy or got bored of her. She wasn’t sure which would have been a better explanation.

In a way, she missed his odd encounters. Before him, her life was boring, for lack of a better word. It was the same routine over and over and over. Granted, Liam tossed things up from time to time. But she eventually grew used to that, as well.

Penelope decided to switch things up herself after some days. She found a target range not too far away where she could continue her practice with the knives and handgun, Liam joining her from time to time.

It wasn’t until a while after that he came up with an idea.

“Come on.” The Irishman dragged the woman by her wrist to what looked like a gym of sorts.

“Liam, what’re we doing here -“

“You’ll see, ye twat, just come on.” As they entered the building, he scanned them in and took her upstairs, the smell making her nose twitch in discomfort. Once they reached the top, she was welcomed to an empty matted room. Her eye widened in surprise, unsure of what Liam was getting themselves into.

“The hell is this about?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Take off her shoes and coat and you’ll see. Stop asking questions, dammit!” He chuckled as he got ready himself and walked onto the mat.

Soon after she followed, giggling at the feeling of the mat beneath them like a child on a trampoline.

“Oi!” She snapped her head up to where he was and stood in front of him. “I figured since ye got them fancy knives and gun, we teach ye some real self defense, yeah?” Penelope’s eye shot wide open.

“Self defe -? You do realize I only have one arm, right?” Liam shrugged.

“All the more reason ye need it.” Penelope sighed and glanced away for a second, then took a deep breath.

“Okay fine, I’ll play.” He nodded with a reassuring grin.

“Right, Penny. First rule: self-defense isn’t about strength. It’s about leverage. Ye don’t need two arms er perfect vision fer this. It’s all about knowin’ how to use what ye’ve got.”

Penelope nodded, her single eye narrowing as she focused on him. Her missing left arm had made her hesitant, and the burns that marked her left side were a constant reminder of her limitations. But she needed to do this.

Liam stepped closer and motioned for her to raise her remaining arm. “Let’s start with balance. No matter what situation yer in, ye need a strong foundation. Feet shoulder-width apart. Right foot slightly behind, heel up. Keep that center of gravity low, but don’t lock yer knees.”

Penelope followed his instructions, her movements stiff but determined. She felt a slight shift in her body as she adjusted her stance. Liam circled her slowly, nodding his approval.

“Good. Now, if someone comes at ye from the front, yer not going to overpower em, but ye can use their own momentum against em. Grab my wrist with yer right hand.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment before grasping his wrist. Liam, much taller and stronger than her, didn’t resist at first, but then slowly applied pressure, mimicking an attacker’s force.

“When someone grabs ye, ye won’t have the leverage to just pull away,” He explained. “But what ye can do is use yer entire body to redirect the attack.” He gently guided her to pivot her hips and pull him off balance. “See? Ye use yer hips and shoulders to create force. That’s what keeps ye grounded and throws em off.”

Penelope felt the shift in weight and how Liam’s body tilted slightly as she pulled him off-center. Her eyes widened in surprise, a spark of confidence growing inside of her.

“Now, what if someone tries to take ye down?” Liam asked, stepping back and raising his hands as if to simulate a grab for her. “Yer instinct might be to pull away, but that just puts ye at a disadvantage. Instead, ye drop yer weight. Lower yer center of gravity, and they won’t be able to lift ye.”

He demonstrated, lunging toward her in slow motion. Penelope took a deep breath and bent her knees, dropping her weight as Liam had instructed. She felt him try to lift her, but she remained planted, like a rooted tree.

Liam grinned. “That’s it! Perfect. And while they’re strugglin’ to get a grip, that’s when ye go fer yer next move. Elbows, knees—anything hard and sharp. It’s not about bein’ clean. It’s about surviving.”

Penelope smirked slightly at that. “So… you want me to fight dirty?”

Liam’s eyes twinkled. “In Gotham? There’s no other way.”

He motioned for her to step back, giving her space. “Now, let’s try it with a punch. Someone’s swingin’ at ye from the right. What do ye do?”

Penelope tensed. Her left eye was no longer, and her missing arm meant her range of vision was limited. But Liam had thought of that.

“Ye can’t block with yer left, so ye have to move. Slip to the outside of their swing, stay low, and use yer shoulder to knock em off balance. That’s where yer right arm comes in.”

He swung at her slowly, exaggerating the motion so she could practice. Penelope sidestepped, dipping her head and bringing her right shoulder up to mimic the block.

Liam nodded in approval. “Good! Now follow up with yer right elbow—hard to their face er throat.”

Penelope did as he instructed, bringing her elbow up in a quick motion, though she hesitated at the last second. Liam chuckled. “Don’t hold back next time. You’ll need that speed and precision.”

They spent the next hour going over similar moves: how to throw a knee into an attacker’s gut, how to pivot and drive her elbow into someone’s ribs, how to avoid attacks from angles she couldn’t see. With each move, Penelope grew more confident, her hesitation slowly melting away.

Finally, Liam held up a hand, signaling for a break. “Yer gettin’ there, Penny. Ye’ve got the instincts. Now ye just need to trust yerself.”

Penelope wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing heavily but feeling more grounded than she had in a long time. “It’s… a lot to take in. But I want to keep practicing.”

Liam clapped her on the shoulder. “And ye will. Just remember, yer not as vulnerable as you think. Ye’ve been through hell and came out the other side. That’s more strength than any move I can teach ye.”

Penelope gave him a small, hearing him say something so endearing a rarity coming from him. Her eye glimmered, practically glazed over with emotion. “Thank you, Liam.”

More days passed. And more. But it wasn’t boring anymore, no. Liam and Penelope had been practicing her self-defense as often as they could without straining themselves, and eventually he decided to teach her offensive attacks as well should they be necessary.

It was obvious to her that he genuinely cared for her and her safety, understanding that he wouldn’t always be there to protect her. That much was clear. Though it was a welcomed respite, the Joker still lingered in the back of her mind.

No matter how long it had been since he visited, she couldn’t help but think that their encounters were far from over.

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! 💕

Serenity - Chapter 2

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 few days that passed since the abduction were wary. The energy in the village had swiftly changed. Heads were downcast. The air was tense and the bustle was far less pronounced, yet still remained nonetheless. Naturally, Mary received less customers than usual due to growing suspicion. Though no one cared to ask what had happened in the first place. The villagers just assumed.

They weren’t the friendliest bunch, which was fitting for the country. Even if the Baron and Baroness were at least decent the people down below would still find something to mope about. Nothing was ever enough for them.

That was how Mary, with quite the facade, saw them. Greedy. Mannerless. Irritable. She was sure things would be different were it not for her father, but even if he were to pass right then and there the people would see Mary and her mother all the same.

With a sigh, she began to revisit the stitching on her dress, touching up and making sure everything was as perfect as humanly possible. She smiled to herself, proud of her work. Throughout her years of working the shop she had scrapped possibly hundreds of designs for a ‘dream dress’ for lack of a better word.

The finished product was far from what she first thought up, but the evolution of it all was fascinating to her. Whether it be the basic design, the color or the fabric. She had never felt so accomplished, yet it felt so pointless now that she had indeed finished. Twenty-six years of brainstorming for a dress that she would possibly never have the chance to wear.

Not quite the dress of an aristocrat, and yet not that of a queen. It was a healthy balance. It wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, but still held a certain uniqueness to it.

It resembled Mary.

She heard footsteps climbing down the stairs behind her, followed by a gasp.

“Liebling!” Her mother placed a hand above her heart in disbelief. “Such talent.“ She gawked. “Such wasted talent.” She began to cough, clutching an area on her chest as she hunched over.

“Ma? Are you alright?” Mary rested a hand on her shoulder as her mother recovered, patting her chest with a deep breath and a nod.

“Yes, yes, dear. I’m quite alright.”

“You should sit down -“

“I’m fine, liebling.” The room grew quiet as the two of them stared at her dress. Thinking too much or not thinking at all, it was comfortable.

“Ma?” Her mother hummed. “What did you mean by ‘wasted talent’?” Mary heard her sigh and felt a light pat on her back.

“You’re so talented, mein lieber.” She started. “I just wish we could offer you more. Who knows how much further you’d be able to go were it not for this Godforsaken village.” She wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “Imagine what you could do if you just had all of the right materials. The tools. The best machinery. And this dress? This dress is just the beginning.”

“Indeed, it is.” A nasally voice interrupted. The two of them jumped and turned to the source, finding the catcher and two soldiers at the entrance. Uncharacteristically, however, he was without his net and hook. It was a rather odd sight for the two of them as he rarely ever visited the town just to show face, if at all. “I’m not here,” He paused, glancing over at the mannequin they stood in front of before looking back over at the pair. “For children.” He practically spat in disgust.

“What are you here for, then?” Mary asked out of curiosity, her mother throwing her a side-eye.

“I have a request for the seamstress.” He paused. “And only the seamstress.” She looked over at her mother who only glared at the man, then softened as she turned to her daughter.

“I’ll be fine.” Mary reassured with her eyes cast to the floor beside her, then quickly checked the entrance past the catcher’s figure before looking back at him.

“Dear -“ One look from her daughter was all it took. One look was all the reassurance she needed. With a hand on Mary’s shoulder as a lasting charm, she left the shop in search of her husband.

Mary took a deep, nervous breath and brought her hands to fold in front of her, wringing them anxiously.

“What is your request?”

“An outfit fit for a candy man, my dear.” He lightly mocked. Her eyes squinted in confusion.

“One of your personas?”

“Yes.” He began to wander, examining a nearby shelf covered in a multitude of colorful fabrics.

“I would be helping you if I were to accept.” She heard him hum and turned to face him. “Why not have another seamstress at the castle make it? Surely there’s more than a few to choose from.”

“The ones we do have lack creativity, something that you carry even with a lack of resources.” He explained as he made his way back over to her. With great hesitancy, she questioned.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” He stepped closer. “But I believe you can trust my authority.” Her heart began to race at the minor threat, if it even was one. She wasn’t even sure anymore. She gnawed on her bottom lip in thought, weighing her options. The words of her mother stuck out to her the most.

Maybe being noticed by the Child Catcher was a blessing in disguise? If she were to accept, she would ruin the reputation she worked so hard for should the villagers notice. As if it could get worse.

But why should she care what they think? No matter the outcome, they would still be their own judgmental, nosy selves. The only real problem would be if her father found out. Mary shivered internally just at the thought of it. As long as he wasn’t around when the catcher was there, she could always blow it off as another personal project. And she wouldn’t dare deny a direct request.

She breathed in, looked up at the catcher who waited patiently for an answer.

“I’ll do it. But as you said, I lack the proper materials.”

“Everything will be provided to you. The only thing you have to worry about,” he pointed to the plaza behind him. “Is them. As soon as they find out what you’re up to, they’ll cast you out faster than I can find the little ones.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that. They’re the least of my worries, to be quite frank.” His brows knit together in question. “I appreciate the warning.” His expression turned into one of realization as he glanced at the living space that sat above them.

“Uh-huh.” Mary began to grow anxious, both at the silence and the amount of time they had before her parents returned. Her mother could only stall for so long before her father grew suspicious.

“When would you like to discuss the details?” Catching on to her restlessness, he decided against wasting any more time.

“The time is entirely up to you, however, I would prefer it if it were done as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure tomorrow would suffice. But it would have to be after dark. My father isn’t exactly the most understanding.”

He held out his hand, waiting for her to shake on it. However, when she reached out to it, his grip was far more gentle than she had expected. She watched as he leaned down towards it, a feather-like kiss placed between her knuckles with his abnormally long nose tickling the top of her hand.

Her mind grew foggy, unable to breathe. It was as if her body completely forgot how to function. She couldn’t tell if the reaction was caused by the man behind it or pure flattery, but she couldn’t say she was repulsed in the slightest.

Mary couldn’t help the disappointment she felt when he pulled away, and the smug grin on his face told her he was aware of it all.

“Until then.” Mary watched as the three men retreated to the plaza, the catcher on his box seat as always with the other two flanking him on their horses.

She let out an exasperated sigh, collapsing her weight against the table behind her as she quickly grew lightheaded. Not a moment later, her father stumbled into the shop, her mother not far behind.

“Are you alright?” She asked Mary cautiously. She just nodded in response, still thinking over what had just happened.

“What is he doing here, are three people not enough for the sadistic bastard?!” Mary’s father abruptly entered, beelining for her. “What did he want?” Mary glanced between her mother and the man who questioned her.

“He offered a job.” Her voice trembled. Her father’s jaw tensed.

“And?” Another glance from Mary at her mother who stilled.

“I declined.” For a moment he was silent, still. Studying her to see if she was indeed telling the truth. Eventually he huffed and made his way up the stairs, most likely to grab his usual bourbon.

“Where was he?” Mary whispered, tidying up the center table after catching her breath.

“I found him on the outskirts. He was headed for the road.” Mary rolled her eyes as her mother began to help.

“Ma, you need to rest.”

“Stop your worrying, liebling. Can’t have you doing all the work by yourself.”

“You’re only going to make it worse, especially after running around like that. Go rest. I can handle the shop.” Hesitantly, her mother gradually came to a stop. She eyed her daughter guiltily before resting a kiss atop of her head.

“Alright. You holler if anyone gives you any trouble, you hear?” Mary chuckled, bidding her farewell as she retired upstairs for the day.