Otto Octavius Fan Video

Chapter 4

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 door hissed closed behind her, sealing out the clinical brightness of the corridor. Dim, ambient lighting filled the compact but private space assigned to her. An austere First Order officer’s quarters, modified slightly to accommodate a Covenant elite.

Her boots hit the floor with a dull thud once pulled off, followed by the slow release of her harness. Piece by piece, she shed the image of a soldier, her black Umbral uniform folded neatly over the ottoman at the foot of her bed. Only then did she stretch - shoulders rolling, spine cracking softly - as if the weight of the day had settled deeper into her bones than she let anyone see.

With a huff, she crossed to the small wall-mounted refrigeration unit in the kitchenette and retrieved a sealed blood pack, marked with the Covenant’s insignia. Twisting the cap open, she drank from it without ceremony. The crimson liquid was cool and iron-rich, satiating her hunger with clinical precision, but not without the flicker of ancient instinct.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the counter, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the day’s events caught up with her. 

It had been a few days since they first suspected the Resistance was harboring a rogue Covenant faction. Herself and Varo had visited each other that night to discuss the issue and grieve over the betrayal that their own kind committed. After all they had been through, going against their own species was an option they never thought would be on the table. 

Steam began to cloud from the refresher as she turned on the shower. Her reflection caught in the darkened mirror. Unnaturally pale skin, the shimmering yet pale gold of her eyes, and the ever-present weight behind her gaze. Not tired, not weak. Guarded.

She stepped into the shower. The water was searing hot, meant more to cleanse her mind than her body. The sound drowned out the hum of the ship. For once, she allowed herself to just feel. The rippling heat against her normally cold skin, a foreign feeling to her rhythmless heart. The steam curled through her hair, head tilted back as she let the water run over her face.

When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, she looked strangely younger. Not in appearance, but in silence. The storm behind her eyes had calmed, if only for a moment.

She slipped into a set of issued black sleepwear and sat on the edge of her bed, datapad in hand. Her eyes scanned the text with machine-like precision. Reports, updates, combat performance logs. But as she scrolled, her gaze slowed on one item. A personnel file.

General Hux, Armitage

“Armitage?” She mumbled to herself curiously. Her finger hovered over the file, hesitating. 

She tapped it open.

It wasn’t invasive. Just basic service records. Public to internal ranks. Dates. Promotions. Assignments. 

At least, that’s what she told herself. 

But she lingered longer than necessary. Not for intelligence. Something else.

Her thumb hesitated before swiping the screen away and powering off the datapad.

For a brief moment, she sat in silence, staring at nothing. No orders. No commands. No expectations. Just a woman forged into something sharp. Sitting alone in the dark, still searching for the pieces that made her whole.

The lights dimmed further at her mental prompt.

She lay back on the bed. No armor. No duty. No one watching.

Just (Y/n). 

The hum of the Finalizer’s systems faded into the background. Lying in the quiet dark, (Y/n)’s eyes finally drifted shut.

The great courtyard of the Covenant’s inner sanctum was bathed in the violet hue of the twin moons. Tall, obsidian spires reached up around the ceremonial space where graduates were gathering, fresh from their final trials.

(Y/n) stood near the edge of the crowd. Lean, composed, her black cloak still streaked with ash from the Gauntlet. Beside her stood her closest friend. They had trained together, bled together, whispered their plans under moonlight while the others slept.

Her friend’s smile was tight. Her golden eyes flickered. Not with pride, but with something hollow. Something new.

“Umbral Academy,” she said, as if the words tasted bitter. “You and Varo. Chosen.”

(Y/n) furrowed her brow. “You forgot yourself, Zera. The High Lords -”

“Are finished with their selections for the remainder of the year.” Zera’s voice cracked, a tremble buried beneath her control. “I wasn’t one of them.”

(Y/n) blinked. “What? That’s… No, that’s a mistake. We’ll appeal -”

“No. You’ll go. Without me.” Zera stepped back, her jaw clenched, her voice sharp now with jealousy. “You always had their eyes on you. You and Varo. I was just the shadow in your wake, made to look worse so you could look better.”

“Zera, that’s not true -” (Y/n) moved forward, confused, reaching for her arm.

But Zera recoiled. Her expression was carved from stone now, guarded and venomous. “They said I lacked the instinct. The control. That I wouldn’t survive a night in the academy.”

“I didn’t know,” (Y/n) murmured. “I didn’t want this without you, we’ve talked about this for -”

“Four years!” Zera interrupted, eyes flashing with something darker now. Other Duskborns began to watch the pair of them as it escalated. “Four years, and you’re just leaving like it meant nothing to you! You were the only good thing I ever had, (Y/n)!”

(Y/n) went to speak, but Varo cut in. 

“It’s not her choice, it’s the Covenant’s.” He defended firmly. 

“Quiet, Drenn!” She snapped, turning back to (Y/n). “After everything we said about not leaving each other. About being there through everything, no matter the cost!” Zera looked between the two of them before she took a step back. “Forget it.” She spat with venom before turning to leave. 

(Y/n) took a step after her, then froze. Something in the air shifted. Too quickly, what they thought was unbreakable, had already been severed.

Varo was silent for a moment. Watching. He met (Y/n)’s eyes and gave a faint shake of his head.

“We can’t help her. She needs to figure this out herself.” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a solemn expression. 

And (Y/n) knew, deep down, he was right.

(Y/n) sat bolt upright, the memory like a blade to the ribs. Her breathing was unsteady, but her eyes… distant. Haunted.

She didn’t weep. She hadn’t in years. But that scar, deep and invisible, throbbed like a fresh wound.

Zera.

The name echoed like a whisper in the back of her mind.

Still in the dark, (Y/n) turned to the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around herself. 

The sharp rhythm of boots echoed through the corridor. Varo walked at (Y/n)’s side, his stride easy, relaxed despite the rigid order of the Finalizer’s halls. His head tilted slightly towards her.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said casually, “I’m pretty sure the Wraith Commander gave you the better assignment just because he was afraid of you.”

(Y/n) raised a brow, her voice cool. “ Him? Afraid?” 

“Well, you did break that instructor’s arm during blade training.” Varo gave a mock shiver. 

“He told me to stop holding back.”

“You shattered his elbow.” He deadpanned.

“His stance was weak.”

Varo grinned, tilting his head. “Remind me never to spar with you again. I quite like my bones in one piece.”

“They’ll heal.” (Y/n) didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched, just enough to show she wasn’t entirely made of steel.

“Well regardless,” Varo continued, “you get to shadow the general. Meanwhile, I’m stuck listening to Phasma bark orders at people half her size.”

“She’s efficient,” (Y/n) said, with a faintly amused glance. “And terrifying.”

“Exactly. I admire her… From a safe distance.”

They turned a corner, passing by a few stormtroopers who gave a wide berth to the two Umbrals. One even hesitated before saluting, a twitch of nervousness as their cloaks swept past.

Varo dropped his voice slightly, leaning a bit towards (Y/n). “But admit it. Watching people fumble around Hux while trying to impress him is a little entertaining.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond right away. Then, quietly, she murmured, “He sees through it. That’s what makes it worse for them.” She smirked. 

Varo laughed under his breath. “Stars, you’re getting soft. Next thing I know, you’ll be complimenting his hair.”

(Y/n) gave him a sideways glance. “It’s always perfectly parted. Not much to critique.”

“Maker help us,” Varo grinned.

(Y/n) shook her head with a faint exhale. “I hope you know that during this conversation I’ve been deciding whether to stab you or ignore you.”

“Either way,” he said with a chuckle, “at least I’d die knowing I made you smile.”

They reached the final corridor leading to the bridge. Their banter faded slightly, replaced with the calm professionalism both had been trained to resume in operational zones.

(Y/n) and Varo stepped in side by side, their long, dark cloaks catching the sterile light.

Varo leaned slightly towards her one last time. “Try not to glare too hard. Some of the crew still think you drink souls.”

(Y/n) smirked without looking at him. “Only on weekends.”

He snorted and gave her a casual nod before veering off to the left. “Captain Phasma’s waiting. Try not to miss me.”

As Varo disappeared into the far side of the bridge, (Y/n)’s eyes scanned the command walkway and there, just ahead, stood General Hux.

Clad in his sharp uniform, he was facing the forward viewport, the glint of the stars outside casting a cold sheen on his fiery hair. He didn’t look up immediately, but he was already aware of her arrival after hearing her familiar voice. A sound he found himself growing more accustomed to, and maybe even favor.

She approached with fluid precision, stopping just beside him.

“General Hux,” she said clearly, but her voice gave off a friendlier introduction than usual.

He glanced up, his expression unreadable but unmistakably aware. His gaze swept her form. 

“Umbral (L/n),” he acknowledged. “You’re punctual.”

“I was assigned to your command. Punctuality is expected.” She poked with a knowing look.

A moment passed between them. Not tense, but taut with subtle energy. Unspoken understanding, and the awareness of watchful eyes on the bridge.

Then, as he turned, she fell into step beside him, unobtrusive but unquestionably present.

As they walked, several officers along the command stations subtly glanced their way, some with the flicker of uncertainty in their expressions before Hux stopped at one of the terminals to look over a new report.

(Y/n)’s eyes remained alert, her senses sweeping the room. She could feel the tension. The curiosity. The fear.

Good.

Hux glanced sidelong at her. “They’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

“I’d prefer it if they didn’t,” (Y/n) replied, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

His lips twitched, just barely. “Likewise.”

The quiet buzz of the bridge was momentarily disrupted as Captain Voss entered from the far side, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. He stood a few paces away from (Y/n) and General Hux, pausing for a brief moment before speaking.

“General,” Voss greeted, his voice as sharp and professional as ever, but with a particular emphasis on the word General, as if reminding everyone of their roles. His eyes flicked briefly to (Y/n), who remained standing stoically beside Hux.

Hux didn’t immediately respond as he was watching the report flicker across the terminal, his eyes scanning the data. “Captain.”

Voss stepped closer, his boots echoing with each step, a tablet in his hand. “Updates from the fleet, sir,” he said, still careful to avoid directly acknowledging (Y/n), but it was impossible to ignore the slight narrowing of his eyes as they briefly met hers. “I trust the Umbral has settled in… comfortably by now?”

The words weren’t directly insulting, but the bite behind them was unmistakable. (Y/n)’s gaze didn’t falter. She simply stared, a perfect mask of professionalism. She wouldn’t let him get under her skin. Not here, not now.

However, Varo, who had been standing nearby and quietly observing the exchange, didn’t miss the undertone. His brow furrowed slightly as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in irritation. The thought of intervening crossed his mind, but before he could open his mouth, Hux spoke first, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Captain Voss,” Hux said coolly. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from insinuating things that are neither relevant nor professional in the presence of my personal guard.”

Varo froze for a split second, surprised by the quickness of the response. He could feel the shift in the air as Hux’s sharp tone pierced through the murmur of the bridge. Voss blinked, momentarily taken aback. “My apologies, sir. I wasn’t aware I was offending,” Voss replied, his tone now more clipped, but his eyes still glinting with that same passive-aggressive edge.

“Umbral (L/n) is not to be the subject of your personal musings, do I make myself clear?”

Varo smirked, standing just behind the captain, sensing the rare moment of discomfort in Voss. Voss stilled, his hand gripping the tablet tighter.

“Yes, sir,” he responded stiffly, the forced politeness thick in his voice.

The silence lingered for a moment before Hux finally shifted his attention back to the captain, the brief interruption passing as if it never happened.

“What have you found?” Hux asked, gesturing to the tablet in Voss’s hand.

For a second, Voss opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he simply nodded and began to speak about the fleet’s movements. His words lost a bit of their earlier venom, though the flicker of resentment never fully disappeared. It was clear that he was no longer willing to test Hux’s patience at that moment.

(Y/n) didn’t react outwardly, her face remained a perfect mask. But inside, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of satisfaction, and dare she say appreciation. Hux had handled the situation with precise authority, making sure to put Voss back in his place.

Varo, however, couldn’t resist a small chuckle as he leaned in a bit closer to (Y/n). “Didn’t think the General had it in him,” he muttered for only her to hear, his grin amused but still holding a touch of concern.

(Y/n) didn’t look at him, but she did respond quietly. “Neither did I.” Her eyes looked over the general’s face as he spoke with Voss, unaware of how she found herself admiring him. The shadow of his cheek bones, the movement of his eyes and curve of his nose -

“Time and place, (L/n).” Varo teased, breaking her out of her stare and elbowing him sharply in the ribs making him huff with a chuckle. 

The silence in the room lingered after Captain Voss’s departure. His passive-aggressive remarks had left a slight chill in the air, but the tension began to dissipate as personnel moved back to their stations after eavesdropping, giving the trio a moment of quiet.

(Y/n)’s eyes flicked between Hux, who was absorbed in the tablet given to him, and Varo, who appeared to be in his usual playful mood despite the recent exchange. Varo, never one to leave a tense moment without attempting to lighten it, glanced at (Y/n) and gave her a knowing smirk.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched into a barely perceptible smirk, but she didn’t say anything. At least, not until Varo continued.

“I mean, you did have that whole ‘silent rage’ thing going on - very intimidating. I’d be scared to cross you.”

(Y/n) glanced sideways at Varo, her eyebrow raising slightly, but she couldn’t hide the hint of amusement in her gaze. “If you keep making jokes like that, Varo, I might actually consider crossing you .”

Varo’s grin widened, and he threw a quick, playful glance toward Hux, who hadn’t looked up from the tablet. With a calculated, dramatic pause, Varo leaned closer to (Y/n), lowering his voice to a whisper.

“I’m just saying, if you did, we’d probably have to drag you away from him before Hux starts thinking you two are too close.” Another jab in his side. 

The quip made (Y/n)’s eyes narrow, but she held back a quiet chuckle. Hux, who had been focusing intently on the report, suddenly glanced up, a sharp, cutting gaze landing on both of them.

Hux spoke dryly. “If you two are quite finished, I suggest you save the idle chatter for later.”

Varo, ever the opportunist, turned to Hux with feigned seriousness.

“Of course, General. Just keeping the morale up.” He glanced sideways at (Y/n), his expression turning faux-pensive. “It’s hard, you know? Being the only source of entertainment.”

Hux stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression on his face before his gaze switched to (Y/n) who had the faintest smirk. Figuring that the Umbrals had slight leeway given their status, the general decided to humor him.

“You’d be surprised how little your ‘entertainment’ is needed, Drenn.” He paused in hesitation. “But if it helps you two get through the day, I suppose I can allow it on occasion.”

Varo grinned and gave a half-bow, completely unfazed by the general’s dry retort. (Y/n), watching this back-and-forth, finally allowed herself a brief chuckle, one that she quickly masked with a more stoic expression, but Hux had already caught it and he looked at her longer than necessary in masked amusement. The lightness between the three of them was palpable.

Just as the tension was beginning to ease, the door to the bridge opened and a soft chime echoed through the room, signaling an incoming message.

“ General Hux, the Grand Master requires your presence in the War Room immediately. ”

The playful atmosphere that Varo had tried to create faded slightly as the business of the day returned, but there was still a slight, lingering warmth to the moment.

“I suppose we’ll have to continue this conversation later, Umbral Drenn. You can make your jokes when I’m not in the middle of a meeting, though I’m sure I’d be ‘thrilled’ by your input.”

Varo shot him a mock, two-fingered salute, a teasing grin still in place.

“I’ll try to contain my enthusiasm, General. Wouldn’t want to distract you from the really important stuff, right?” He shot (Y/n) a quick, conspiratorial glance, the joke hanging between them.

“Keep it down, will you?” (Y/n) pressed. 

“The two of you together are insufferable. Let’s go, (L/n).” Hux urged. 

With that, the two left the bridge, making their way towards the door to the War Room and entering. 

The War Room was dimly lit, its walls lined with shifting holo-maps and live feeds from the far reaches of First Order space. A single long table dominated the room, displaying an active projection of disputed sectors and blinking alerts. Hux stood at the head of the table, his posture rigid as always. 

(Y/n) stood to his right and the general noticed her take a soothing deep breath uncharacteristically. 

“Nervous?” He questioned her. She glanced at him. 

“The Grand Master is the Covenant’s equivalent to the Supreme Leader. The highest elder of our kind.” Her head turned to look at Hux. “I would be.”

The air shifted slightly as the holo-communicator pulsed and activated, forming the image of the Grand Master of the Covenant. Draped in ceremonial black and crimson, his eyes were sharp beneath the weight of age and authority. The halo of his mantle flickered faintly, feeding off the shadows like it hungered.

“General Hux. Umbral (L/n).” He nodded in acknowledgement. His tone was unreadable, neither warm nor hostile.

Hux spoke. “Grand Master. Thank you for joining us.”

“The matter warranted it. You have reports of a Resistance-aligned unit employing techniques unnatural for mortals. I cannot tolerate such rumors under my careful watch for the sake of my kind.”

A pause.

“I assume this is not an exaggeration of your kind’s military incompetence.”

The general didn’t flinch. He was used to the Covenant’s thinly veiled disdain.

“You are correct to assume, Grand Master. These attacks are not the doing of amateurs. We’ve faced Resistance operatives on countless occasions. This is different.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a firm line. She stepped forward, speaking for the first time. 

“They strike in the dark, Grand Master. With coordination and precision that suggests training. Covenant training with attempted Umbral elements. These are not mere recruits or fledglings.”

The Grand Master tilted his head, his expression sharpening as if considering her worthiness to speak.

“And you believe them to be… rogues?”

“With the knowledge of my training and what I’ve assessed, I don’t know what else they could be.”

“You presume treason. A bold accusation. Especially from one so newly graduated.”

Hux’s voice cut in, calm but authoritative.

“We have firsthand knowledge of Covenant methods from Umbrals (L/n) and Drenn, and my own of the First Order. We’ve reviewed the evidence together. The similarities are unmistakable.”

Another pause. The Grand Master’s eyes moved from Hux back to (Y/n). 

“If what you suggest is true, then this would be an unsanctioned breach of the Blood Accord. The punishment for such betrayal is execution.”

He stepped back slightly in his projection. Behind him, the faint silhouettes of the High Lords flickered into view, standing in silent consensus.

“You are authorized, Umbral (L/n), to investigate this matter further with the support of the First Order. Should your findings confirm the presence of a rogue Covenant faction…”

A beat.

“You will have the full authority of the Covenant to eliminate them. All of them.”

A flicker of darkness passed over (Y/n)’s face. Determination, resolve and dread entwined. She gave a silent nod.

“As you command. Thank you, Grand Master.” She bowed her head with a hand crossed over onto her heart. 

“You are not alone in this. I also grant Umbral Drenn operational liberty. I suspect the two of you will perform well, given your history. The Council expects discretion… but finality.”

The Grand Master’s gaze locked once more with (Y/n)’s, this time more direct. It was personal.

“They took their oath, Umbral. They chose exile. They chose treason. And we will provide no mercy for such actions. Show them the price of turning their fangs on their own. Honor in Loyalty, Umbral.”

“Strength in Silence, Grand Master.”

With a flicker, the projection faded, and the War Room fell into silence.

Hux didn’t move for a moment, the two of them digesting the gravity of what had just transpired. Then, without looking at (Y/n), he spoke. 

“Well. That settles the question of what we do next.”

(Y/n) stood quietly beside him and he finally looked at her with the smallest hint of concern. Her gaze was downcast as she was frozen and he caught a familiar emotion in her gaze. 

Betrayal. 

The Scarred - Chapter 5

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.

“Let’s get ye home, yeah?” Liam spoke softly after she had calmed down somewhat. He guided her with a hand on her back, eyeing the van knowingly as they walked past it. Penelope sniffed and placed her hand in her pocket, head kept down in shame.

“I’m sorry.” Penelope whispered after a few moments. Liam’s head whipped in her direction.

“Fer what, exactly?” She sniffed again.

“I’m not usually like this. You just met me at a bad time.” Her head lifted and she gave him a delicate smile. Only a fool wouldn’t fall to their knees at the sight of it, her large eye glistening under the street lights. It was child-like. Innocent in every way, yet far from it at the same time. Its complexity fascinated him.

“Depends on ‘ow ye look at it.” She stared up at him as he looked forward once more. “The way I see it, I think I met ye at the best time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Not to toot me own horn, but tha’s twice I’ve helped ye in what seems lie’ a crisis. I mean,” he threw his arms up in a joking manner. “What in God’s name would ye ‘ave done without me?” The comment made her chuckle and he joined in with her. It was a relief. A much needed one, at that. They carried on with their conversation as they walked with an occasional brief silence, but soon they had been talking as if they were old friends, eventually exchanging numbers.

It took her by surprise that as the weeks passed, he was able to make her feel so comfortable. To make her feel so secure, so safe with him. Even after he killed someone in front of her, claiming it was for her own safety. There was an aura around the man that drew her to him and she wore it like a blanket to keep her calm.

She wasn’t attracted to him, no. He was handsome, charismatic. Charming, even. But what she felt was a deep admiration. As if he was an overprotective brother. And overprotective, he was. She didn’t know if he was just a gentleman or something else, but the slightest aggression towards her sent him over the edge. He wouldn’t fight unless absolutely necessary, but he could get overwhelmingly creative with his vocabulary, to say the least.

Liam made his way to Penelope’s door, rapping on it a few times to make his presence known. He folded his arms over his chest and looked over to where he heard footsteps, seeing a taller brunette making her way over to him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Hi?” The woman questioned him in curiosity.

“Who might ye be?” Her eyes widened.

“Irish?” She made a sound of approval and nodded her head. “Emma. I’m stealing Penelope for tonight.” She spoke dominantly, winking at him with a smirk.

“Are ye two -?”

“No! No. If anything, I thought you two were.” She laughed. “I’m married.”

“Well, tha’s never stopped anyone.”

“So you two are a thing?”

“Wha -?”

“You didn’t deny it.” She shrugged with a chuckle.

“She’s a good friend o’ mine.”

“Oh! Are you Liam?” She exclaimed in excitement.

“Aye. Tha’s me.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Mentioned me, ‘as she? I should feel special.”

“You should. Took me years to get where you are with her.” Emma’s voice grew softer. “Takes a certain person to get her to trust any -“ The door whipped open and the two snapped their heads towards the woman in the doorway.

“Speak o’ the devil.” Penelope looked between the two of them with a wide eye. Liam’s eyes quickly scanned over her, looking between her and Emma. “Wha’s the occasion?”

“What, am I not allowed to dress nice every once in a while?”

“Juss different seein’ ye without the baggy-ish clothes.” He gestures with his hands.

“She’s visiting my family for dinner. And you look stunning, hun.” Emma gave Penelope a warming smile while Liam practically gawked.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave ye to it.” He began to walk off when Penelope stopped him, voice holding just a trace of concern.

“Was there something you needed?” He turned and looked back at her.

“Nothin’ of importance.” Liam gave her a tight smile before heading back to his own apartment. Once he was gone Emma looked over at Penelope and wiggled her eyebrows, earning herself a light nudge to her shoulder.

“How is it?” The man of the hour asked, a bright smile complimenting his eagerness.

“Amazing!”

“Good, good! I’m glad you like it.” The atmosphere was comforting, save for the older man’s niece’s occasional glare from across the dining table. The two story house was elegant, however not exaggerated. It was warm and the perfect size for their smaller family. The different shades of browns and greens were appealing to the eye, none too bright or too dark. “I hope Gotham’s treating you well? No trouble?” Penelope lightly shook her head.

“Thanks to Emma, it is.”

“And Liam.” The brunette coughed under her breath. Penelope shot her a look and she giggled.

“Who?” Penelope opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“A guy friend she has.” There was a mixture of ‘ooo’s and gasps among the room and Penelope felt her face start to warm.

“Boyfriend.” The niece chirped in. While Emma laughed along thinking it was all just fun, Penelope’s jaw tensed. Thankfully it went unnoticed.

“Really?” Emma’s mother spoke excitedly.

“Nah, we’re just messing with her. But she does have a friend she’s been hanging out with.” Emma died down the situation, noticing her friend’s discomfort. They mingled into the later night, indulging themselves in a glass or two of champagne after having cake and Emma’s father opening his presents. Penelope stepped out into their backyard once things had grown more rowdy. She took a deep breath and closed her eye to calm her increasing heart rate when she heard the door slide open from behind her. She turned to see their niece’s husband step out to join her.

“Needed a break?”

“Yeah.” Penelope mumbled, looking back out to the fenced in yard, rubbing her right shoulder.

“I feel ya.” He chuckled as he pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “This ’guy friend’. You like him?” Penelope began to chew on her cheek.

“As a friend, yeah.” He nodded.

“You trust him?”

“With my life.” She examined the man stood beside her. “Why?”

“Gotham’s why.” It wasn’t until then that he looked at her. He noticed the look she was giving him and sighed. “It’s good to have someone you trust in a city like this. Someone to protect you.”

“Give me a gun and I’ll protect myself.” She quirked her brow at him.

“I’m not just talking about physically -“ The door slid open again and his wife peeked her head out.

“Babe, we should get going.” The addressed man nodded and gave Penelope one last look before heading inside. She sent Penelope her signature glare before closing the door once more.

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.

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

Word Count - 4,091

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

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

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

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

He would be her past, present and future. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

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

“How long has it been?” 

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

“One day…? But how?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he spotted them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She called his nose cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Scarred - Chapter 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.”

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 8

Masterlist

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

"How long has it been?"

"Five hours, at least.”

"I'd say seven."

"I bet nine."

"Has she even eaten?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Reuben!"

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

"Eavesdropped? By whom?"

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

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

"I must say, you work rather quickly."

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

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

"I'm fine, Reuben."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You called for me, your excellency?"

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

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

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

"I have no doubts."

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

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

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

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

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

"Was that on purpose?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Scarred - Chapter 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.

The Scarred - Chapter 3

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Three? That’s amazing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Joker card dangled from the vase.

Mutterseelenallein (Otto Octavius/Fem!Reader)

Angst

Summary: Reader has stuck with Otto Octavius since before his transformation/accident, and continues to do so even afterwards. But the stress of it all finally gets to her.

Word Count: 1236

Warnings: Angst, implied suicidal thoughts/attempt

What once was a bright star now began to die in the hands of its creator. Dizzy. Lost. Swaying back and forth every which way, tossed and turned, lifted and slammed back into the ground that she had to constantly pull herself back up from.

She sat on a small wooden stool, hands folded in her lap with a defeated slouch as she stared at the working man. A blank expression rested upon her face, watching his hands carefully tinker as sparks reflected and bounced off of his goggles. She would have been proud if not for the circumstances.

His whole demeanor had changed. It was night and day. The soft, thoughtful man she once knew was now just a shell for the parasites on his back to use of their own will. In rare moments she saw a familiar glimmer in his eyes, but it faded so quickly that she wasn’t even sure if it was ever truly there.

“I can’t!”

“You can. I know you can.”

“But what if I hurt you?!”

“You won’t hurt me, dear. You need to trust them.” Otto chuckled at the woman in front of him. She moved to a stance so she could throw the ball he had given her, and even though she trusted his work the thought of throwing a ball directly at his face made her stomach quench. In a moment of bravery she threw it with all of the might she had, the ball speeding towards Otto until an actuator slung its way around him to catch it mere inches away.

There was a pause. Then the two looked at each other and suddenly cheered. She ran her way over to Otto and threw herself onto him in excitement.

“It works great - they work great!”

“They sure do!” Otto laughed, voice muffled in her hair. “Quick, let’s see what else they can do!”

The woman bit down on the inside of her cheek as her waterline began to overflow. She rubbed her hands along her thighs and sniffed.

“Um, Otto?” She barely spoke. “Can I step out for a minute?” He stalled his movements in thought, then grunted. It was enough of an answer to get her to stand up.

“Don’t be too long.” With a nod she exited the rundown building, a cool breeze brushing her cheeks as she closed in on herself. She walked to the edge of the dock and stared down at her reflection with a knowing look. The longer she stared the more lost she became.

Eyes squinted shut with pursed lips she shook in an effort not to cry. Not to break. Not until her body couldn’t handle it. Not until she fell to her knees. Not until that very moment when it finally happened.

Everything seemed to collapse as she took in a trembling, uneasy breath. A silent cry. Trying to stay quiet, what would be wailing came out as a pathetic whine. The hold on her clothes turned her knuckles white, knees buzzing with pain from their impact with the concrete beneath her. Drops landed softly in the water below to distort her reflection.

It all seemed to move slower once she opened her eyes. The sound of her heartbeat flooded her ears. The birds grew quiet. The wind stilled. She leaned closer to the water, hand outreached to come into contact with it. The colder temperature numbed the tips of her fingers as she grew braver with her cries.

Her thoughts ran faster than she could handle as her hand sunk in further. Further to her elbow as she leaned forward off of the heels of her feet. Her breath stilled. The hand that kept her from falling slowly lost its grip.

“(Y/N)!” The bellowing voice startled her, pushing her head first into the water. An actuator grabbed hold of her shirt before her lower half could reach, her head and torso completely soaked in the freezing water when it brought her back up to the wood of the dock. “Have you lost your mind?!” Otto slid out of his trench coat and wrapped her up, ushering her back into the old warehouse. “Imagine what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there!”

He watched (Y/N)’s shivering form incredulously, confused and frustrated with what he saw. It made him feel something he hadn’t felt since the accident. Something he never wished to feel ever again.

He was scared.

“Nothing would be different.” (Y/N) whispered in response as Otto paced. He snapped his head to look at her, seeing her staring at the floor.

“Nothing would be different?” Otto spoke gently, painfully. And it grew louder. “Nothing would be different - are you hearing yourself, (Y/N)?!”

“Just fine, Otto!” She rasped in anguish. The flood gates reopened with a new wave of emotions. “I said ‘nothing would be different’!” She gasped for breath and ran a hand through her dripping hair, frantic. “I’m just a doll to you! Something for you to look at, to have to say you have it even when you don’t need it! You don’t need me, Otto.” She watched as he fumed, face growing red.

“I do.”

“Why? How?” (Y/N) challenged, stepping closer to the taller man who remained silent. “You don’t know?” She laughed hysterically through her tears. “You don’t know?! After all we’ve been through, Otto, you don’t know?!”

For the first time since he changed, he was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. The voices in his head battled for dominance through the confusion, his own gaining what little upperhand he had. (Y/N) took notice, voice softer.

“I came back for you, Otto.” Her eyes glistened as they looked up at him, glazed. “I came back for you and you just cast me aside like some stranger. And even then I kept coming back. Isn’t that enough?”

“My dear, I -“ Otto took a deep breath, the voices the quietest they have been since they started. Everything caught up to him. Everyone he injured, carelessly threw around, stepped on. It broke his heart knowing his own (Y/N) had been involved. He pulled her into him with a hand rested protectively over the back of her head. She held onto him as if her life depended on it, finally sobbing into his chest.

“I just wanted to be important…”

“Hush, now. You’re the most important thing to me, (Y/N).” His own eyes began to water. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through, my dear.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I’m sorry - I’m so sorry.” He dropped to his knees, arms wrapped around her waist with his face buried in her stomach. “They won’t leave me alone. I can’t stand it - the voices! I can’t tell which ones are my own anymore, I don’t mean to hurt you or anyone, I just - I can’t -“

“Otto?” He looked up at her, melting at the sight of her adoring gaze. “It’s going to be okay. Right?” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure herself or the man in front of her at that point, but when he nodded she knew things would get better. It was just a matter of time.

She joined him on the floor and the two of them shared the other’s tears, tied up in each other.