How Did The Joker Really Get His Scars 소설 & 이야기

Stella looked at him with certainty, "Joker, why don't you tell me how Uncle Joker killed your entire family." "He is crazy. He locked me in the car, went into my house, and hacked my mother, brother, grandfather, and grandmother to death with a knife. There was blood everywhere," He said in a daze, terror and bitterness in his voice. Stella put the toy on the table and said, "This is his gift to you, right?" Joker threw the toy on the table to the ground. "He is a demon." "Yes, he is a demon. He even taught you how to kill people. It's all his fault. He isn't worthy of forgiveness," Stella played along with him.

Her voice rose clear in his mind: *"You're my little Joker." The words startled him so much he nearly spoke aloud. It felt as though she were truly speaking to him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the deck of cards, flipping through them until he found the Joker. Above the word, in his mother's handwriting, were the words *"You're my little."* Jack ran his finger across the letters, feeling the faint impression in the cardstock. Something tight in his chest began to loosen. He let out a breath, then found himself laughing quietly. Anne glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Did we fuck you a little too hard?" I bit my lip as he kneaded the muscles. "I can take it." His hands slowed, his thumb caressing a deep blue X scar that crossed my hip. I felt a pulse of anger and sadness through our bond. The desire to know. "Ask." I folded my arms on the side of the bath, raising my ass to him a bit. He gave a scoffed laugh, sadness tightening it before he sighed, his hands moving again. "What did they use to make those scars?" I wanted to flinch at the growl, but I knew it wasn't anger at me.

"The scar on your neck..." ​"What scar?" Chris asked, touching his throat with his clean hand. "Aiden, half the guys who get into fights have marks. I got this months ago. You are reaching for anything right now because you are in shock. Jovian put these fucked up thoughts in your head to mess with you. He knew he was losing you, so he lied. He wanted to ruin us. He wanted you to look at me the guy who just bled to keep you safe like I am the monster." ​He took another step and knelt right in front of me. He did not touch me, but his eyes were wide and filled with tears.

Like he'd decided the risk was worth it. I undid the next button on his shirt. The one I'd been staring at for the entire conversation. His skin appeared — warm, smooth, a scattering of dark hair across his chest. The scar on his ribs that I'd seen in some corporate photo and had spent probably way too much time fantasizing about. "Tell me where you got this," I said, tracing the scar with my fingertip. "Rock climbing accident. Freshman year. I was being stupid. Fell twenty feet and got impaled on a rock outcropping." He exhaled as my finger traced the length of it. "Should have killed me. Barely missed everything important."

When the shirtless man grew closer, Gregg could see two large lightning bolt tattoos on each side of the man’s six-pack abdomen. Gregg could now see the dark figure. It was a man with white makeup on his face, along with what appeared to be black eyeshadow. The man had his pitch-black long hair tied up into a ponytail, and it looked like he had blood painted across his broad shoulders. The white makeup made the man look like Jared Leto’s Joker from the Snyder Cut Justice League. Gregg felt helpless while looking up at this shirtless, sweaty mass of raw muscle who was towering over him, holding a shiny long antique battle-ax in his left hand. Gregg recognized the man’s face through the white

he shrugged. “I’m asking now.” “You told me that you wouldn’t ask me about my scars. That I can tell you if and when I see fit,” he looked at me, and my stomach tightened into a little ball. He pulled my hand to the little circular scars on his forearm. You could hardly see them, but I felt them, just like I did yesterday. “These are the reason. Every little scar on my body that will never heal or disappear; I got all of them from him.”

Jason ordered as he snapped on yet another pair of latex gloves, "I warned you about trying to escape. Let's hope you've learned your lesson." I bared my teeth at the female who approached me—the one who had made a home for a steel blade in my torso. She was unfazed as she ripped my button-down open, sending buttons clattering against the linoleum floors. Her gasp echoed in the quiet when the scars across my chest were finally on full display. The claw wounds were earned during an attack on the Green Forest pack many many months ago. It was before I had even ascended as the Alpha of the rogues. I should have died that day. But I didn't, these scars served as a memory of it.

The jailer opened her cell door, he has four scars on his face running from the eyebrow to the cheek. From the man's build he seems to be a strong fighter with a large physical appearance and bulging muscles. The tattoo on his shoulder caught her attention. A crescent moon stabbed with a knife. She's definitely inside a rogue territory. She backed away to the corner when he entered, a disgustingly creepy smile plastered on his face.

"Leila, you just focus on your own business. When you need help, call me. As for other things, you should not get involved." He turned around and I saw that his back was covered with scars. The old scars were from the debris that had cut him when the Sin Pack exploded. The new scars, from a knife cut at some point, hadn't healed. These wounds were squeezed into his creamy white back, and it made my heart skip a beat. I couldn't help but lunge forward. I didn't care if the spray of water would get my clothes wet, I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and pressed the side of my face against his shoulder blade.