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Oc Insert - Blog Posts
OC incrustation ~
I've tried to reproduce Horikoshi's style as best I can, even if I think I could have done much better…
STAR RAIL OC he's a cremator RAAAAHHH
Never drawing Moe artstyle again man the freak!!!
You guys ever write self-insert fanfiction in your head and then come to the sudden realization you're basically just making a real-life au.
Childhood Bites Chapter Three: No One Will Miss Him
⚠️TW: Graphic, Blood, Violence, Death, Cannibalism⚠️
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
The first hit shattered something.
Zeke wasn’t sure if it was bone or resolve.
The bat connected with Campelter’s ribs, sending a shockwave through Zeke’s arms. The crack was sickening, a sharp, wet sound that mingled with the boy’s scream.
Campelter collapsed onto the dock, curling in on himself. His breath came in ragged gasps. “Zeke—w-wait—”
Another swing.
This time, it caught his knee. Something popped.
Campelter wailed, clutching his leg, writhing on the wooden planks.
Zeke stood over him, bat gripped tight, chest heaving.
This should feel wrong.
He should be shaking, throwing up, panicking.
But he wasn’t.
He was calm. Steady.
And hungry.
The familiar ache twisted in his gut, gnawing at his insides, demanding more. He swallowed hard, his tongue darting over his lips.
Campelter coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His good hand reached out, weak and trembling. “P-please…”
Zeke tilted his head.
He should stop.
He could still walk away.
But then he thought of Stan and Ford—how Campelter had tormented them, laughed at them, humiliated them.
And suddenly, the decision wasn’t hard anymore.
Zeke dropped the bat and straddled Campelter’s chest, pinning him down. The other boy squirmed weakly beneath him, his strength draining fast.
Zeke’s breath came slow and deliberate. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Campelter’s ear. “You smell delicious.”
Then he sank his teeth in.
The taste exploded in his mouth—copper, salt, warmth. The skin split beneath his teeth, muscle tearing as he bit down harder. Campelter’s body jerked violently, his muffled screams ripping through the night.
Zeke didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
He ripped away the first mouthful, blood coating his tongue, thicker than anything he’d ever eaten before.
It was intoxicating.
Campelter’s screams weakened into gasping whimpers. Zeke barely heard him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the wet, sticky sounds of chewing.
His fingers dug into Campelter’s flesh, prying open the wound, sinking his teeth into raw muscle, devouring.
Bite after bite.
It was better than food.
Better than anything.
The hunger that had tormented him his whole life, the emptiness in his gut—it was gone.
And for the first time, Zeke felt whole.
Hours Later
The night stretched on, the waves lapping softly against the shore. The wooden dock was painted red, but Zeke didn’t notice.
He sat cross-legged beside what was left.
Which wasn’t much.
Flesh, muscle, organs—all gone.
Picked clean.
His hands were drenched in blood, sticky and drying, his face smeared crimson. His stomach was full, warm, satisfied.
All that remained of Campelter were bones.
Zeke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling slowly.
He stared down at the remains, waiting for guilt to settle in.
Nothing came.
No regret. No horror.
Only the quiet, absolute certainty that this had been worth it.
Campelter had been a bully.
He made Stan and Ford cry.
He hurt people.
No one would notice when he was gone.
Zeke got to his feet, stretching. He glanced down at the bones, tilting his head. He could leave them, let the ocean take them.
But no.
He didn’t like leaving things unfinished.
One by one, he gathered them up, taking his time. The dock was surrounded by tall, wild grass, the kind that no one ever bothered to clear. Zeke buried the bones there, deep in the sand, hidden beneath tangled roots.
It felt right.
Like cleaning up after a good meal.
Weeks go by the summer sun hung high over Glass Shard Beach, casting golden light over the waves. The air smelled of salt and motor oil, the usual scent of work and freedom.
Zeke walked alongside Stan and Ford, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The three of them were heading toward the shore, where the half-built Stan-O-War sat waiting for its daily dose of fixing, hammering, and general goofing off.
“Okay, hear me out,” Stan said, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “We steal one of Ma’s pies, but we take it before it cools down so she won’t notice it’s missing until, like… way later.”
Ford pushed his glasses up. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, because it’s foolproof!”
Ford sighed, shaking his head, and Zeke chuckled softly.
Just a normal day.
But then—
Stan suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Ford followed suit, and Zeke nearly bumped into them.
“What the—?” Zeke started, but then he saw what they were looking at.
A poster.
Taped to a telephone pole, the edges curling from the breeze.
MISSING: CAMPBELL ‘CAMPELTER’ HAYNES.
LAST SEEN AT GLASS SHARD BEACH.
A washed-out photo of his face stared back at them, smiling wide like he hadn’t screamed and begged for his life just weeks ago.
Zeke’s stomach twisted—not in fear, but in satisfaction.
It was almost funny.
Nothing left but bones, buried deep beneath the sand. No one would ever find him.
“Whoa,” Stan muttered, stepping closer. “So, wait—Campelter’s just… gone?”
Ford frowned. “Looks like it. His parents must’ve put these up.”
“Yeah, well, good riddance.” Stan crossed his arms. “That guy was a jerk. Maybe he ran away or something.”
Ford, ever the cautious one, didn’t look so convinced. “I don’t know… He was a bully, but this is weird. People don’t just vanish.”
Zeke felt Ford’s gaze shift toward him, and for a split second, his stomach tightened.
Ford had a way of noticing things.
But Zeke just shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “Guess we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”
Stan snorted. “Yeah, no complaints here.”
Ford hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I suppose.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
Zeke let out a slow, careful breath, glancing at the poster one last time.
No one will ever know.
The three of them continued walking toward the Stan-O-War, the conversation already shifting to something else.
Stan was laughing.
Ford was rambling about an idea for an engine upgrade.
And Zeke?
Zeke was still hungry.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Childhood Bites Chapter Two: The Hunt
⚠️TW: Blood, violence, implied abuse⚠️
꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
Zeke didn’t sleep that night.
He lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of his family’s rundown beach house. The air inside was thick with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes, the walls too thin to block out his father’s snores from the other room.
His stomach twisted in pain, but he was used to that.
His father’s latest punishment had been a week without food.
Zeke had learned how to ignore the ache, how to push through it. But today, it was worse. Because now, he knew what could make it stop.
His tongue ran over his teeth, the memory of Campelter’s blood still fresh in his mind.
It had been a mistake. An accident. A loss of control.
That’s what he told himself.
The taste hadn’t disgusted him.
It had made him hungry.
He turned onto his side, gripping the old blanket tighter, trying to will the feeling away.
I won’t do it again.
He repeated the thought like a prayer.
I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.
But his stomach growled. His hands trembled. And in the darkness, his eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, where his father’s metal bat leaned against the wall.
The same bat his old man had used on him. Dried blood stained the tip. His own blood.
It had always belonged to his father. A tool of punishment. A reminder of Zeke’s place in the house.
But not tonight.
Tonight, it was his.
The Boathouse
Zeke walked the empty streets of Glass Shard Beach, the bat gripped tight in his hands.
The town was quiet this late at night, only the occasional streetlight flickering. The summer crowd had thinned out, leaving only the locals.
Leaving kids like Campelter free to roam.
Zeke knew exactly where he’d be. The old boathouse near the dunes wasn’t much—just a crumbling shack covered in graffiti—but it was where the older kids went to drink and mess around.
That’s where Zeke found him.
Campelter sat on the dock outside, flipping a lighter open and closed, the flame reflecting in his bored expression. His friends were long gone, leaving him alone.
Perfect.
Zeke stood in the shadows, watching. His heart pounded.
He could still turn back.
He could go home. Forget this. Try to be normal.
But then Campelter shifted, his injured arm catching the moonlight.
The same arm Zeke had bitten.
And just like that, the hunger roared back to life.
His grip on the bat tightened.
Campelter sighed, shaking his head. “I know you’re there, freak.”
Zeke stepped forward, the wooden planks creaking under his weight.
Campelter rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
Zeke’s voice came out quiet. “I don’t know.”
Another lie.
Campelter scoffed. “You here to try and bite me again? Jesus, dude, what is wrong with you?”
Zeke didn’t answer.
His body moved on instinct, stepping closer, closing the distance. The bat in his hand felt heavy. Solid.
Campelter frowned, finally looking at him—really looking at him.
Something in his expression changed.
“…Wait. Are you serious right now?”
Zeke’s breath came faster. The hunger clawed at his insides.
Just go home.
Just walk away.
But his father’s voice echoed in his head.
“You’re nothing. You don’t fight back. You don’t stand up for yourself.”
Zeke’s fingers twitched on the bat.
“You’re weak.”
His jaw clenched.
“You’re always gonna be hungry.”
Zeke swung.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
To Be Continued…
Childhood Bites Chapter One: The Taste of Something Forbidden
⚠️TW: Blood⚠️
꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
Glass Shard Beach was never truly quiet. The waves crashed against the shore, the salty air thick and ever-present, while the laughter of kids carried on the breeze. But beneath the carefree energy of the season, shadows lurked. For twelve-year-old Ezekiel “Zeke” Cutter, summer was supposed to be an escape. A break from school, from expectations, from the gnawing hunger he didn’t fully understand.
He had always been close to Stanley and Stanford Pines. They were his best friends—the only ones who really mattered. Stan was the loudmouth, always getting into trouble, always bruised but never broken. Ford was the brain, always thinking, always planning. And Zeke? He was the protector, the one who made sure no one messed with them. Which is exactly why, when Campelter started picking on them, Zeke saw red.
Campelter was the worst kind of kid. The kind that smelled like sweat and cheap cologne, who thought he was better than everyone because he was taller, meaner. He had it out for Stan from the moment they met.
“Hey, loser! Where’s your freak of a brother?” Campelter sneered, shoving Stan forward.
Stan stumbled, barely keeping his footing. Ford wasn’t around to bail him out—he was probably off reading somewhere, oblivious.
Zeke clenched his fists. “Back off, Campelter.”
Campelter just grinned. “Or what? You gonna cry about it?”
Zeke’s breath hitched. He could hear it—his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something deep, something hungry.
Stan’s lip curled as he stepped forward. “I can handle myself, Zeke.”
But Zeke wasn’t listening anymore. Campelter shoved Stan again, laughing, and something inside Zeke snapped.
It happened fast. One moment, Zeke was standing still, watching Campelter grin like he ruled the world. The next, his body moved on instinct. He lunged, teeth bared, sinking them deep into Campelter’s arm.
The taste—
It was—
Indescribable.
Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, coating his tongue. Campelter’s scream barely registered as Zeke bit down harder, his entire body trembling.
Then, just as suddenly, he let go.
Campelter stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm, eyes wide with terror. “WHAT THE HELL, YOU PSYCHO?!”
Zeke wiped his mouth, breathing heavily. His head swam, heart racing. What…what had he just done?
Stan and the other kids just stood there, frozen.
“Zeke…” Stan whispered, eyes darting from him to Campelter’s wound.
“I—” Zeke swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”
“You BIT me!” Campelter howled, staggering backward. He was bleeding badly, but it was just a bite. It wouldn’t kill him.
Zeke’s stomach twisted. Not in guilt. Not in fear.
In hunger.
He ran. Didn’t wait for Stan. Didn’t look back. He sprinted toward the bordwalk, lungs burning, hands shaking. His mouth still tasted like blood. It wasn’t disgusting. It wasn’t wrong.
It was good.
But it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal.
Zeke gripped his head, breathing hard. “No, no, no. I can’t—I won’t—”
But he wanted no he needed more.
And worse?
He knew exactly where to find it…
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
To Be Continued…
The Forgotten Pines
👁️⃤
* ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
The Mystery Shack was alive with the usual sounds of summer.
The front door jingled as tourists came and went, their voices blending into the background noise of the gift shop. Dipper was at the register, struggling to explain to a skeptical customer why the so-called “Real Bigfoot Toenail” was definitely authentic. Mabel was draped over the counter behind him, doodling in her journal and occasionally chiming in with exaggerated claims to boost sales.
Soos, humming to himself, was fixing a squeaky floorboard near the entrance while Wendy leaned against the doorway, idly twirling an ice pop between her fingers. It was, by all accounts, an ordinary afternoon in Gravity Falls.
Inside the living room, however, things were much quieter.
Stan lounged on the couch, flipping through TV channels with his usual dissatisfaction.
“Two hundred channels, and they’re all garbage,” he grumbled, clicking past an old western, a soap opera, and a conspiracy documentary narrated by a guy who definitely sounded like Ford.
Ford, seated nearby, barely acknowledged him, too engrossed in one of his notebooks. His brow was furrowed, his pen tapping absently against the page as he reviewed old calculations.
It had been a year since Bill Cipher’s defeat. A year since the Rift was sealed, the universe restored, and Ford had finally come home. For the first time in decades, life had slowed down. No interdimensional chaos. No apocalyptic threats. Just family.
And for the most part, it was… nice.
Until the ground shook.
The vibrations rattled the entire shack, making the overhead lamp sway and knocking a picture frame off the wall. The twins heard it from the gift shop, their heads snapping up in alarm.
“Uh… was that an earthquake?” Dipper asked, already reaching for his journal.
“Or a ghost earthquake,” Mabel suggested, eyes wide with intrigue. “Which, statistically, is way less likely, but way more fun!”
Before they could speculate further, a faint blue light seeped between the floorboards, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Ford froze.
His breath hitched as his gaze shot toward the basement door.
Stan noticed. His brother had the exact same expression he’d had the day they first activated the portal.
“…Oh no.” Ford’s voice was barely a whisper.
Then, without another word, he bolted.
“Hey! What the heck is going on?” Stan barked, scrambling off the couch. But Ford was already halfway to the basement.
Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances. That was definitely not a good sign.
“C’mon!” Dipper grabbed Mabel’s wrist, dragging her along as they chased after the two older men.
Ford practically threw open the basement door, his heart hammering. His stomach twisted as he took the stairs two at a time.
Please don’t let it be what I think it is.
But the moment his feet hit the basement floor, his worst fear was confirmed.
The portal was active.
The impossible blue glow bathed the room in eerie light, reflecting off the rusted machinery that hadn’t been touched in over a year. It should have been destroyed. It should have been gone.
And yet—
A figure stepped through.
They moved slowly, deliberately, as if unused to solid ground. A thick, tattered cloak clung to their thin frame, hood pulled low over their face. Their boots—patched and worn from years of use—scuffed softly against the concrete as they took another step forward.
Stan and the others arrived just in time to see them emerge fully.
The tension in the room thickened. The air felt wrong.
Then the figure raised their head—
And Stan’s heart nearly stopped.
The hood fell back just enough to reveal a familiar, shaggy mullet, streaked with premature gray. Haunted, chocolate-brown eyes flickered between them, distant yet hyper-aware, like a cornered animal assessing its surroundings. Their posture was stiff, defensive, shoulders hunched slightly inward.
They weren’t just thin. They were scarred.
Burns, jagged and cruel, peeked out from the frayed edges of their gloves. The faint outline of an autopsy scar was just barely visible beneath their turtleneck.
But worst of all…
The jagged, glowing marks around their wrists and throat.
Stan swayed slightly, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
“…Lee?”
The name barely made it past his lips, his voice raw and disbelieving.
Ford was silent, his entire body frozen in place.
At the sound of his name, Stanlee flinched.
His hands twitched, one instinctively moving toward his forearm, where an old tattoo was partially hidden beneath his sleeve. His fingers pressed against it—an old grounding habit, though his hand still shook.
His breathing was too fast. The glow of the portal cast shifting shadows across his face, making it hard to tell if he was trembling from exhaustion or from something deeper.
Then—a flash of movement.
A photon pistol was in his hand before anyone could react, the barrel leveled directly at Stan and Ford.
Everyone froze.
“WHOA, HEY—OKAY!” Stan threw his hands up immediately. “Easy there, runt!”
Ford’s heart clenched. The way Stanlee held the weapon—his grip too tight, his stance unsteady—it wasn’t aggression. It was fear.
“Lee,” Ford said carefully, keeping his hands where Stanlee could see them. “It’s us. Stanley and Stanford. Your brothers.”
Stanlee didn’t lower the gun.
His shoulders shook. His fingers twitched. His breathing was too fast.
The blue light of the portal flickered across his face, illuminating something new—
The faintest glisten of tears.
“…I can’t trust this,” Stanlee rasped. His voice was barely there, hoarse from years of disuse, but the raw emotion in those few words shattered something inside Ford.
Stanlee’s hand shook violently.
Then—
“…You can trust us,” Mabel’s voice, softer than usual, cut through the thick tension.
Stanlee’s eyes darted toward the source—two teenagers. One with an earnest, hopeful expression. The other, a young man with hesitant but intelligent eyes, scanning him carefully, as if trying to understand him.
They weren’t illusions. They weren’t tricks.
They were just kids.
Real kids.
His grip on the gun loosened. His posture sagged, years of exhaustion crashing into him all at once.
The pistol slipped from his fingers.
And the moment it hit the ground—
Stanlee collapsed.
Stanford managed to catch his little brother before Lee could hit the floor
Stan quickly moved to support him as well, gripping his brother’s shoulders firmly, grounding him.
Stanlee trembled violently. His fingers curled into the fabric of Ford’s coat, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
“Don’t leave me again,” he whispered, the plea barely audible. “Please…”
Stan’s face crumpled “Aw, kid…” He pulled him in, his grip fierce but careful. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re home, Lee. You’re home.”
Sooo I have two Gravity Falls au ideas for an ask blog and im having a hard time picking one so with out going into too much detail of it but I will say both will have an Oc insert I want y’alls opinion on which one I should do (also the detail is in the titles everyone)
This guy was a fun concept and i love him deeply his name is Bakonis Kerrigan he is…or was a close friend to Stanley when they were teenagers back when Stan was kicked out of the house they did heists together, conned many people, etc but one day after an accident that left Bakonis in the hospital hoping to have his best friend there for support Stan just vanished(that was when Stan got the letter from Stanford.) and left Bakon behind.
Here is teenage Bakonis before his accident he was your local drug dealer and at the time Stanley was his best customer it’s honestly how they met, now your probably wondering whats in the box well if you don’t pay up for the drugs or fulfill your end of the bargain you repay with your limbs mostly small things like your fingers, eyes, and teeth. Bakonis doesn’t play around when it comes to his jobs either pay him or lose a limb it’s your choice.
Anyways my asks are open feel free to ask this lovely gentleman many questions. :)
Not sure if anyone cares but do yall oc insert fans think an OC with a slightly overpowered regeneration quirk would be cool for an MHA AU?
I've got a monstrous idea for a new fanfic.
The Rain After Date
basically my otps + a silly oc x canon thingie (as always lol)
I like to think Surge's type being sassy but chaotic woman
Nihtro was just having a bad hair day actually
what if just ✨ egg ✨
Just born and already got a face of 100% done with every living being
Qualms and Ferocity
A small preview~!
“The ‘Matriarch’ was one of the first dinosaurs that Hammond created… she has been around the longest and was the first surviving dinosaur… but she is not normal compared to others of her species… she’s the only reason that the death tolls caused by other dinosaurs has been so low… they respect her, but no one knows why…” -Dr Wu
Story revolves around Lily my oc… also known as the ‘Matriarch’~!
Are you feeling down? Sad, lonely, or just plainly low? Send me a msg of you or your OC's basic looks so I can brighten your day ! The first two to message will get themselves / oc inserted into the pictures above (warning : you may not get the one you want if someone requested first im afraid If this gets enough likes, ill make more w/ other campers ( or ill just make more period if peeps want/need it~) So yeah, plz dont be shy to message me and request! And if you could make your descrptions descriptive thatd be great! I hope you all have a great day and know that your greater !!
Day 26: Compassion
Tang
This drawing is filled with so many oc lores but it got cut because Huan stood behind Tang.
Tang have my sympathy in this episode.
Huan: MK didn’t mean it, have a snack. You’ll feel much better.
Tang:…thanks Huan.
Day 24: Faith
Blind Faith
Is it me or is MK's blind faith in Sun Wukong a bit...dangerous?
Seriously, the whole time the gang was looking for the rings MK never once grew suspicious of Sun Wukong's plan, or when Sun Wukong was unwilling to elaborate more on it. I know MK looks up to him and all that.
Huan already doesn't trust the Monkey King; Sun Wukong wasn't very helpful in season 2 or when MK needed his guidance and Huan picked up on that for a while now. So, Sun Wukong is on Huan dislike list...for now.
P.S: Huan is looking at Sun Wukong, the direction of where Huan is looking is a little off.
Day 18: Redemption
Macaque
Long: Took you long enough, Macaque.
Please excuse the blurry picture.
Day 9: Heaven
The Celestial Realm
It close enough to heaven…maybe.
MK: Woah! The celestial Realm! Huan what it like growing up here!?
Huan: ………eh.
I've been trying to figure out what Quasar sounds like and Howl from Howl's moving castle is pretty damn close to what I've been imagining
And so fuck it, this is funny and Leyc's a pretty little boy in Sophie's dress
That rock formation is over 100 feet tall. My wife says that rock looks like a penis. I said I have an idea, took a picture. I have several things I would like to place in that pussy. Sorry to many people around for her to drop her shorts
Lucio: Hey! What you did today, honey?
Loona: I accidentally joined a cult.
Lucio: That sounds like something I would do.
Loona: Nah... At first I thought you were cheating, but then I realized that I misunderstood the concept of the word fuck-
Lucio: The fuck..?!
Asra: Welcome to the "Fuck Lucio" support group, where we gather to say "Fuck you” to the insufferable Count of Vesuvia
Asra: But first, a few words from our newest member
MC, sweating: So, I may have misunderstood-
Guys im abt to lock in.
Y/C X y/n
Tw!:
Blood
Mention of injury
Betrayal :(
——-
Y/N x v!Y/C (your choice
It was a lovely day outside in the hero and villain parted city. Your partner was the number one hero in the city, you guys swore to always protect each other (even though they would be the one doing most of the protection)
You stayed by the good side for all the years of living with your s/o, all villain attacks not too severe and handled by the hero’s. Until one day the side of villains infiltrated the security system and shut down the whole cities defense mechanism. The city erupt into flames, people screaming, running, getting hunted by certain villains, and everything just a mess in general. You laid there, injured with a broken ankle, you waited in pain for your hero s/o to save you, but they never came.
You saw a shadow of a person in the midst of chaos and the ashes of the debris left by the fire. It was y/c, the super villain that everyone feared and didn’t dare mess with.
“Don’t come any closer!” You yelled in fear, but they just continued approaching you.
“Hello there, my dear y/n.” Y/c said, you were left confused and in pain. They crouched down in front of your hurt, stuck self and smirked. “You see..heroes will sacrifice you for the world..” y/c started, you rose a brow at their words in confusion but curiosity. “But a villain, would sacrifice the world to save you” y/c finally said.
You let out an audible gasp, which lead them to let out a chuckle.
You started to feel lightheaded from the blood rushing down your leg, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and pick you up.
“I’ll let the word burn for you, y/n” y/c said as you dozed off to a short coma.
I tried a little something! Drew my character into a screenshot of the pilot ^^
I made her for a collab that's why her pose is wonky. She be a weather hashira from kny
-mdeleine
The Scarred - Chapter 8
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 Joker’s manic laughter echoed off of the interior of the van as she took her seat, assumingly next to him based off of the proximity of his voice.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The Joker crooned, his voice dripping with playful malice. "A little birdie all alone in the big bad city."
Penelope’s heart raced with nerves and anticipation. She could feel his gaze pierce through her, as if he could see into her very soul. Just then, the van revved before taking off to who knew where.
"Ah - don't be afraid, toots," The Joker said, his voice oddly soothing. "I'm just here to show you a good time." His deeper tone sent shivers down her spine.
“How could I believe that?”
“You can’t.” He answered bluntly. “Think of it as a - uh…” He smacked his lips. “A trust exercise, of sorts.”
“The bag over my head set the tone for that, I suppose.” The Joker cackled.
The rest of the ride was silent, save for Joker’s occasional humming and commentating. She eventually lost her perception of time, her body slowly growing tired. Just as her eyes began to start closing, the van was parked and doors were opened. Suddenly, the bag was ripped off of her head to be face to face with the Joker.
“Wake up, sleepy head!” He then exited the van, Penelope following slowly after.
It was pitch black, however the distant city skyline somewhat made up for it. Based on the distance, they were a good half hour from the edge of the city limits. If it wasn’t for the lights, she would’ve thought they were lost in a barren wasteland of sorts. They stood on a large patch of dirt-covered flatland, practically surrounded by random piles of what looked like junk.
“C’mon.” The Joker caught her attention and she turned towards him as he started walking towards the back of the van, throwing the doors open.
“Welcome to our little playground.” He drawled more to himself.
They both stared into the miniature arsenal of weapons; knives of every size and shape, handguns, shotguns, and an assortment of explosives. Penelope’s eyes widened as she took in the deadly array, swallowing hard as her heart pounded in her chest.
“Pick one,” The Joker urged, his grin widening. “Go on, don’t be shy.”
With a trembling hand, Penelope reached for a small throwing knife. It was lightweight, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. She held it awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
The Joker chuckled, stepping beside her and motioning to her hand. “Feel the weight, the balance,” he guided. “This isn’t just a knife, y’know. It’s an extension of you.”
Penelope’s grip tightened, a spark of something unfamiliar flickering within her. She glanced up at the Joker, who nodded encouragingly. He then looked up and around before wandering into the wasteland, shuffling around and huffing before he called her over and met her halfway.
“Now, I want you to throw that knife,” he nodded at the object, “at that poster.” He pointed and she followed, seeing a large poster that stood tall of what seemed to be an old billboard advertisement. “Got it?”
Penelope paused, then quickly nodded and stuttered. “How do I throw it?” She practically asked in a whisper.
“Well, first, you're way too rigid. You need to shake out, loosen up.” The Joker shook out his hands. “Relax.” Once he noticed her become less stiff, he continued. “Now, you need good posture. So straighten up.” He performed the actions with her. “Since you’re obviously a righty, stick your right foot forward and left foot back. Hold the blade,” He stepped closer to her and moved her hands into the right position with the grace of a newborn foal. “Handle up, and throw.” He then patted her hand and stepped away, motioning towards the target.
Penelope took a deep, shaky breath, trying her best to forget about the Joker’s presence when she finally threw the knife with surprising ease. When it hit the poster with a ‘thud’, he stepped forward to check where it hit. Suddenly he burst out laughing, catching her off guard.
“Ya mean to hit dead center?” He grabbed the knife and made his way back to her.
“That’s what I was aiming for, yes.” Her fingers fidgeted nervously.
“Well, that was either beginner’s luck or you got some talent in ya! Let’s test that theory, huh?”
He handed the knife back out to her for her to take and she did, getting back into her previous stance. With a second ‘thud’ the Joker checked again and he licked his lips, pulling out the knife once more and repeatedly pointing at her with it.
“Think these were meant for ya, doll.” He growled with barely contained excitement. Much to her own surprise, Penelope couldn’t help the twitch of her lips to form a phantom smile. She took her stance once receiving the knife once more, this time with her head held a little higher.
She had no sense of time the longer she practiced, and at some point the clown-like man disappeared to the van for reasons unknown to her. Penelope had to admit, however, that she was thankful for the colder air after her body warmed up from their activities.
She felt a sense of pride knowing how well she had come to handle the knives in such a short amount of time, and she couldn’t help but feel like it was almost natural to her. Not even the Joker himself could deny it.
Just as Penelope was about to make another throw, she heard footsteps growing closer and she looked over to see the Joker meandering over to her with his hands behind his back.
“Let’s trade, toots.” He suddenly took the knife from her hand and stuck it in his pocket, showing his other hand which held a sleek handgun. She stared at it, unsure and fairly hesitant as he held it expectantly out to her. He quickly lost patience and took her hand, placing it there properly himself.
The cold metal was heavier than she expected, and her fingers fumbled with the grip at first. The Joker’s hands covered hers when he took notice and fixed her hand, then raised her arm to point it at the now abused sign.
He then stood directly behind her, the warmth and pressure of his body nearly overstimulating. His smell intoxicated her, filling her senses as his hand snaked down her arm and over her own, steadying her aim. He leaned his head down next to hers.
“Take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger.” It was nearly a whisper. A hushed command. And she obeyed.
The gunshot echoed through the night, startling Penelope. Her heart raced, but there was a thrill in the recoil, a rush of power. She took a shaky breath from the adrenaline, then exhaled an airy chuckle. She wasn’t sure how to feel about everything that was happening, about the situation she was in.
But one thing she couldn’t deny was how she loved the feeling of pulling the trigger.
The Joker noticed it almost immediately, a familiar glimmer in her eyes that made him more than hopeful. It was nearly impossible to miss, whether he was standing against her or feet away.
“Good, very good.” The Joker purred before stepping away slightly, but close enough to help with recoil if need be. “Again.”
Penelope listened, rocking on her feet before holding firm and taking aim once more. Another shot rang through the air.
She staggered back slightly, a giggle slipping past her lips. Penelope looked back at the Joker for permission and he immediately nodded with giddy delight. Three more shots pierced through the night air and the woman began to laugh. The Joker’s cackles mixed with her own.
Two more shots.
Tears pricked her eyes as she smiled, genuine and free as she felt a wave of happiness and excitement that she hadn’t felt in years.
But then the smile slowly dropped as she began to spiral. Images of what her life used to be flashed before her eyes, mingled with more recent memories.
“What do you think about your day to day habits?”
Screams flooded her ears.
“Y - you just -“
“Killed a man? Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.”
She looked down at the gun in her hand, then up at the sign.
“If they can’t help me, who can?”
She looked back over at the Joker with an unreadable expression. His own was eager, egging her on.
“Come on, come on…” He encouraged as he swayed on his feet.
“Give me a gun and I’ll protect myself.”
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The gun raised to point at the man in front of her, directly at his head. He stepped into it, the barrel pressing into his forehead as he held eye contact with her.
“I’d be worryin’ ‘bout why he’s worried ‘bout ye bein’ fun.”
A single tear trailed down her cheek, lips downturned and trembling to fight back her emotions.
“It’s good to have someone you trust in a city like this. Someone to protect you.”
Penelope suddenly pulled away with a frustrated yell, turning and unloading the rest of the magazine into the sign.
There was a heavy silence that followed. Penelope’s head hung low, breathing heavy.
“You’re starting to see it, aren’t ya?” The Joker said softly, his voice almost tender. Almost. “The world is nothing but a game.” He stepped closer towards her, now directly beside her, facing her trembling form. “And you, doll,” He reached out, two fingers settling beneath her chin to turn her face towards him. “Are finally learning how to play.” His hand dropped.
Penelope met his darkened gaze, a newfound determination in her eyes. “Show me more.”
And he did.
He provided therapy for her that no one else could. He lulled her further and further into his own darkness, his own madness ever so gently in a way that only the Joker could pull off. In a way that only the Joker could to convince such innocence to begin to crack.
Why should he fix something that is broken? Why fix it when he could mold it into something new, something more beautiful than it ever was?
And that was exactly what he planned to do.
As the sky turned the slightest shade brighter, they put an end to their shenanigans. The bag was back over her head, in the same seats as before. The ride was more silent on the way back, their energy depleted from the long night. Though they couldn’t say the same for the Joker.
As they came to a stop in the same parking lot they picked her up in, the bag was pulled from her head, the van’s door sliding open. Before Penelope stepped out, however, she turned towards the Joker who was already looking at her. She swallowed.
“Thank you.” She whispered, then stepped out before there was any response and went to her car without looking back.
The drive home for her was calm, but she fought to keep her eyes open after pulling nearly an all-nighter. Her feet trudged up the stairs to her apartment level, lazily unlocking her door and entering. She leaned against the door as it shut behind her, eyes closed with a faint smile on her lips.
“Yer playin’ with fire, ye know that?” Penelope jumped at the sudden intrusion, glaring at the brunet sat on her couch.
“What’s it to you?” She bit back, taking off her shoes and jacket.
“Oh, I dunno, yer safety?”
“You’ve been waiting for me just to say that, haven’t you?” She disappeared to her bedroom and Liam hollered a response.
“Look at ye, ye know me so well!”
“Wait -“ She reappeared with a large t-shirt in hand. “How long have you been waiting here?”
“Probably since two hours after ye left.”
“What the hell…” Penelope sighed before leaving the change. “Are you spying on me or something?”
“No, just got good enough hearin’ to recognize yer door openin’ and closin’.” The woman chuckled.
“You really are like an overprotective brother, aren’t you?”
“Would ye rather me not be protective at all?” Liam entered her bedroom when he got the ‘ok’, moving to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.
“No, it’s just amusing sometimes.” He sighed.
“Jokes aside, you need to be careful, Penny. I’m not going to tell ye who ye should and shouldn’t take as company, but he’s a dangerous man with a dangerous reputation. I just want ye safe, yeah?” Penelope looked up at him with as much of a smile as she could muster up.
“I know.” Liam pulled her into a hug, head on top of her own. He sighed and closed his eyes.