Joker Scars Novels & Stories

There was no scar. ​She stared at the unblemished skin, a deep frown touching her brow. In the chaotic future she had left behind, Julian Cross was a legendary, untouchable figure—a man whose very name commanded terror in the lawless sectors. Yet, she distinctly remembered seeing a horrific, jagged, twisting scar running from his collarbone down to his shoulder blade. It looked like a wound from a violent blast, the kind of injury that should have left a man crippled, though he carried it like armor.

“No, sir. Those hungry girls won’t keep their eyes off my man. You can’t even deny it, either. Plus, it is supposed to be a thousand degrees today.” “That is a tad dramatic…” Jet said as he walked towards the bedroom door. “Not really.” “Looks like your scar is all healed up.” Jet said to me as I passed him. “Pretty much. It isn’t as noticeable as I thought. Mainly on my forehead, to my eyebrows and across my lips. The rest is there, but not as bad.” “Makes you look like a badass.” Jet said, nudging me. “I always looked pretty badass.” I joked back.

Enough for me to feel their breath on my face. My bandages were loose now. They itched a little less. “Heh, he's out col…” I struck. Two quick jabs — one for each of them. "Fuck!" Joker shouted, stumbling back. Spear Guy cursed and drew back, wobbling. "What the hell did you do?" I still had two needles tucked into my bandages, and that's why they itched against the chains. Thin. Dipped in that same lovely poison used on Ryanna.

"Where did you get that scar?" Diana demanded. Jasper looked down at the scar, as if he was just noticing it. He stared back at Diana, his eyes watching her, trying to read her expression. "Uh... It happened a long time ago." He answered, stammering a little. "I really don't remember how. I think it's a childhood scar." "A childhood scar that didn't heal?" Diana said next, her hands fisted beside her. Jasper drew back his shirt and buttoned it, shielding his body from her sharp gaze.

I slap a hand over my mouth as my stomach churns in protest, barely making it to the nearest door before I feel like I’m going to be sick. I shove it open without thinking— Only to freeze. Jasmine stands in front of a mirror, her back to me, mid-motion of removing her shirt. My mouth opens to apologise, but the words die in my throat. Because that’s when I see them. As the fabric slides down her shoulders, pale skin is revealed, marred with scars. Long, jagged, brutal. Some fresh and raw, others old and faded, crisscrossing over her back like she’d been torn apart and barely stitched back together. A web of pain carved into her flesh.

I can't be bothered to go into the bathroom to change, so I just face the wall while I take my top off and pants, but I make my mistake early, I forgot about the permanent yellow bruising, the fresh red and purple coloured and old white scars, and the deep knife and bullet wounds covering my back and legs. I feel pairs of eyes searching my body, I turn around and find everyone staring at me. And me being me, I make a joke out of it, but they take it seriously. "Wanna know how I got these scars?" They look at me like I'm a lunatic, worry and concern lace their faces, "yeah, actually we do, they look really bad" Saffron says, obviously looking super worried.

“How do you always manage to joke, even in adverse situations like these?” He smiled, “first, joking around might not lessen the suffering by any degree, but it gives us enough power to handle the pain and second, right now, I wasn’t joking. Not when my wife’s body had gone through so many beautiful changes…” He ogled from my neck to my abdomen. Over the three years, I had fought numerous times and got injured numerous times and so there were scars all over my body, “don’t mock my scars.” “I am not mocking your scars. I am admiring them. Because I don’t need a memory reading ability to know what you went through in these three years, your body — your scar speaks everything to me,” he said, t

She turned back to him with a steady smile. “See? Nothing’s there.” He looked at her with a confused expression, nodding slowly. “I feel like I’m losing it.” “Then lean on me,” she said softly. “I’m here.” He almost believed her. Almost. As he turned back toward the bathroom, she caught sight of scars on his arm. Thin, dark lines marring his skin. “Jace, what happened to you?” He pulled away. “It’s nothing. Probably a reaction. Give me a moment; I’ll be done soon.”

I gently put down the crust I had been nibbling on before turning to focus on Tristan and Theo as they both stared at me. “They sting a little bit and they have started to throb a little, it’s not unbearable. I’ve had worse so compared to that its nothing.” My finger gingerly went to the scar that curved across my face, clearing my throat I picked up the crust and finished the last of my sandwich.

Tears stained his cheeks. “Yes, it’s me. Please, I know you hated my people but know that I have nothing to do with them. They tried to kill me too. I tried to save Asher and Zara but they dragged me away. They tortured me.” He held out his arm that has an ugly burned scar around it. Eve’s gazed soften.