Serenity - Masterlist (Complete)

Umbral - Masterlist

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.

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

Song Inspiration -

Evanescence - Afterlife

Umbral

Chapter 1 Chapter 6

Chapter 2 Chapter 7

Chapter 3 Chapter 8*

Chapter 4 Chapter 9

Chapter 5 Chapter 10

The Scarred - Chapter 4

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 vase fell from her hands, the shattering glass echoing through the hall. Penelope’s mind and body grew petrified as she stared at the card sitting in the mess of glass, water and flowers. She fell back against her door frame, her breathing sharp and fast as she began to hyperventilate. She gripped onto the front of her bra to pull it away from her chest, looking for any kind of relief, any way to find space for her to breathe properly. Yet it did nothing. She knew she was making a scene, and she wanted so badly to hide away in her apartment.

But what about the mess? She asked herself amidst the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the ambience around her.

“’Scuse me -?” Penelope shot straight up, eye frantically darting towards the new voice. A tall, average built man stood before her, hands held out in front of him as an offering of peace. “Apologies, I didn’ mean to alarm ye. Are ye alrigh’?” His bright eyes held a gentleness in them, the same as his voice. It was soothing in a way she had never before experienced. It was hardly able to calm her, however, in her panicked state. “Righ’, dumb question…” He mumbled to himself, glancing between Penelope and her welcome mat. “I’ll clean this up righ’ quick fer ye, tha’ alrigh’?” She gave the smallest nod, letting go of her bra to wipe the tears from her face as he disappeared.

She closed her eye, grounding in an attempt to compose herself. Never had she broken down in front of a stranger. And never had she felt more humiliated by it. She hated coming across as weak and vulnerable, and she felt as if she was both in that moment.

Her eye snapped back open when she heard the sound of a plastic bag, eyeing the man warily as he walked back to start picking up the glass shards. He noticed how her breathing had only slightly improved, but it was progress.

“Why are you helping me?” The sound of her voice caught him off guard as he continued picking up the pieces.

“Juss doin’ my duty.”

“In Gotham?” The man sighed and looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor.

“‘Ard as it is to believe, miss, not erryone in this city is a crook.” It wasn’t until then that she noticed his thick accent. It was a surprise to her, however one she greatly accepted. She felt childish for it, but she was excited as it was her first time meeting someone with one. “Ye wann’ keep this?” He asked, holding the Joker card between his index and middle fingers. She hesitated before reaching to grab it. “Now, I’m not all tha’ superstitious,” He stood up with a huff. “But if tha’ is a genuine Joker card, I’d watch out if I were ye. Yer either really lucky, er ‘bout to be really dead.” He noticed the growing fright in her eyes. “Or! Some guy is juss actin’ the maggot and playin’ wit’ ye.”

“People are scared enough to impersonate Batman, I don’t think they’d dare to impersonate The Joker himself. Seems like he gets more bold by the day for a nobody, anyhow.”

“Then pray yer juss really lucky. He’s gainin’ reputation rather quick, if I do say so meself.” He spoke in a softer tone. He began to tie the bag as she continued to carefully watch him. “I don’t believe I’ve caught yer name yet?”

“Penelope.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Miller.”

“Penelope?” The name left his lips in curiosity. “Tha’s a new one.” Her eye shifted to the ground. “Bu’ it’s refreshin’.” The man offered her a friendly smile, but her expression remained constant. “Liam Garson. Juss moved in couple a doors down.” He pointed off to his left.

“Why?” He threw her a confused look. “I mean, why Gotham?”

“Oh!” Liam chuckled. “Well, why not? Barely any restrictions with the mob and cops runnin’ ‘round lie’ chickens wit’ their ’eds cut off. Sure, muggers an’ the lie’ crawl abou’, but tha’s the price ye pay fer freedom, righ’?” He contained himself from beaming when she gave the ghost of a smile.

“Well, I see where your morals lie, Mr. Garson.”

“Liam.” He jested. “An’ I may lack some, but I’m better off than over ‘alf the boyos ‘ere.”

“’Boyos’?” Penelope gave a small chuckle.

“Males, juveniles, youngins.” She nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll let ye be. Juss wanted to check on ye and make sure ye were alrigh’.” He started to back away. “If ye need anythin’, I’m in 329.” With a final salute, he disappeared into his own apartment. Penelope slowly turned around to head into her own, closing her door softly.

She looked down at the card caught in her nimble fingers. She couldn’t help the jolt that rushed through her body when she realized that if it was his card, he knew where she was. He knew who she was. She was somebody to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified. It made her start to question her own morals. Any other person wouldn’t even think to be flattered, so why would she?

He was a murderer, a psychopath. And yet she had half a mind to consider being flattered.

Really lucky or really dead.

Why would she be dead? Had she angered someone without her knowing?

She froze.

“The boss.” She whispered to herself in realization. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. The bald man had to be working for The Joker. Which meant he knew where she worked.

How much else did he know? Who all knew? How many people were following her?

Question after question ran through her head and it was almost unbearable. She didn’t know what she even did to be on his radar in the first place.

“- patrolling the streets trying to trace his whereabouts for the time being, but so far -“ The news anchor’s voice hummed softly from her TV and she practically ran over to it, snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn up the volume.

“Well, John, I think it’s safe to say that The Joker’s slow uprising is truly fascinating for the people of Gotham. Not only in the sense that he is beginning to make a name for himself, but it gives the chance for other criminals to wreak havoc on the city knowing that Batman could possibly be busy with him if things start to get out of hand, more than usual for what the mob calls a ‘nobody’.” The woman on the other line spoke. Penelope scoffed at her words.

“Way to give them ideas.” She mumbled to herself with a wide eye.

“Let’s just hope that Batman is able to do what he does best, and fast. Cause -“ Penelope switched the TV off, having heard enough of it.

It upset her that the city was putting their faith in a masked man, that none of them had the nerve to do something themselves. That they couldn’t even rely on their own first responders. That she couldn’t rely on first responders.

She began to peel off her bandages, dragging her feet towards her bathroom. So much had happened in only a week and it all started to catch up to her, her head starting to pound from it all.

The note. The glass. The bald man offering her a large sum of money for just a vase of flowers, that he possibly worked for The Joker, finding out The Joker had been tracking her for who knows how long.

Penelope reached into her medicine cabinet for pain killers, deciding on taking two with a glass of water. Finally she laid down on her bed, snuggling up to her fuzzy blanket with her eye closed in an attempt to fall asleep. She briefly thought about telling Emma, but if she truly was dealing with The Joker, she wanted her involved as little as possible.

For her safety. She thought to herself in reassurance before sleep took over.

The sounds of rushing water and seagulls filled the air around her, the occasional pair of footsteps passing by that she grew wary of from time to time. The sun began to disappear in the horizon, painting the sky with breathtaking shades of pink and orange on the rare cloudless evening. Music played softly from her phone that sat on one side of her, her dinner left half eaten on the other. Her legs dangled over the ledge as she watched from the pier. It was almost tradition on warmer nights, as it was a rarity. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the littered concrete and occasional plastic bag that floated by as a reminder of where she was.

Along with the gun that clicked from behind her.

“I’d say just jump and save me the work, but then I wouldn’t get your money.” A gruff voice spoke. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare turn her head or flinch a finger. Her heart rate picked up, stomach churning. “Well?” The man urged, losing patience.

“I don’t have any.”

“How’d you get that nice dinner, then, huh?”

“Been saving up for it.” A lie. The man just chuckled.

“Alright. How about you get off of there, put your hands up, and then face me. Slow.”

“I only have one hand.”

“So, raise your one hand, then.” Penelope awkwardly turned around on the ledge.

“Alrigh’, enough talkin’.“ The man halted, red quickly seeping through his jacket. She watched in horror as he collapsed.

Penelope looked up to see the man who had helped her the day before. He walked around the mugger towards her, switchblade in hand. When he saw her flinch he slowed his pace, tucking away the weapon to make her more comfortable.

“Y - you just -“ She spoke frantically, pointing towards the now dead body with a shaky hand.

“Killed a man?” She nodded quickly. He tilted his head dismissively. “Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.” She shied away from him as he took a seat next to her, arm folded in front of her. “Relax, miss. I juss saved yer life, did I not?” He looked over at her to see her chewing on her cheek.

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I do it -?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” The man shrugged. “Was either he killed you or I killed ‘im, an’ I wouldn’t dare let such a beautiful woman go to waste lie’ tha’.” Penelope scrunched her nose and scoffed.

“Beautiful woman…” She mumbled to herself. “If you think I’m easily won over by flattery, you’re wrong.”

“With all due respect, miss, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout fer meself.” The brunette noticed her eye take on a more gentle stare. He sighed, scratching at his beard.

“Why’re you here?” She asked, rubbing her left arm.

“I could ask ye the same question.” Penelope looked at him quizzically.

“Dinner.” Liam nodded.

“Was on a walk. ‘Eard the ruckus. Came to see what was ‘appenin’.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Aye. It sure is. A damn good one, if I do say so meself.” Silence fell between the two of them, however it was peaceful. Penelope quite enjoyed it. “If ye don’t mind me askin’,” Liam broke in. “What do ye plan on doin’ wit’ this Joker business? Assumin’ it’s not too late already. I mean, ‘ave ye told anybody?” She shook her head, focusing on her breathing.

“I haven’t.” Penelope swallowed as Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Ye ‘aven’t? Well, why not? Not even the cops?”

“What’ll they do?” She finally looked up at him. “What will they do? You’re the one that was saying yesterday that they’re all ‘running around like chickens with their heads cut off’.“ She began to rant, everything starting to catch up to her. Her eye began to glisten as it watered over. “And if they can’t help me, who can? Certainly not Batman!“ She spit the masked man’s name with venom. “They're all bought out by the mob, anyways! Why the hell would they care to keep The Joker from coming for just a single person, from coming for me -!”

“Miss!” Liam held onto her shoulders, keeping her steady. In a moment of desperation, she clung to him, and once again she caught him off guard as she started to break down for the second time. He began to gently stroke her back, letting her take in the silence to collect herself.

A van sat in the distance, tinted windows making it impossible to see through. It was cracked enough for him to see who was in it and he made eye contact with a pair of almost pure black eyes, giving them a faint nod.

Chapter 3

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 doors to General Hux’s office slid open with a quiet hiss as (Y/n) stepped inside. The space was sterile and methodically arranged, a monitor displaying fleet operations. The room carried the crisp scent of standard regulation upkeep. Precise, orderly, and devoid of warmth, much like the man seated behind the desk.

Hux did not immediately acknowledge her entrance. His sharp eyes remained fixed on the datapad in his hands, his posture as composed as ever. 

She moved forward and stopped before his desk, clasping her hands in front of her. “General.”

At last, he looked up. His piercing gaze swept over her as if ensuring she met the standard he demanded. He set the datapad down with deliberate precision before gesturing to the chair opposite him.

“Sit.”

Without hesitation, (Y/n) obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with rigid posture and crossing one leg over the other. Though she had been assigned to him, there was still much to understand about how he expected her to operate.

Hux leaned back in his chair, his fingers folded together in front of him. “Being assigned to me, you will be present for all meetings, briefings, and high-priority assignments. You will not interfere with my command, but you will ensure my security.” His tone remained even, yet carried the weight of authority. “I expect absolute discretion. You will not speak in official matters unless addressed directly, nor will you allow your presence to be a disruption.”

(Y/n) gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

“You will also continue overseeing security measures aboard the Finalizer, particularly any vulnerabilities that may pose a risk to High Command.” Hux studied her closely, his expression unreadable. “As shown yesterday, your findings have already proven thorough.”

“Thank you, General.” (Y/n) nodded. “I will continue to ensure there are no weaknesses.”

“Good.” He let a brief pause linger before adding, “Now, for your awareness, there is a briefing in thirty minutes.” A silent nod was her response.

Hux’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he shifted his attention back to his datapad. 

The quiet hum of the ship’s systems filled the space, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of General Hux’s fingers against his datapad, eyes locked on the reports scrolling before him, analyzing every detail with meticulous focus.

(Y/n) stayed in her seat, shoulders beginning to relax after a few minutes or so. 

As they awaited the designated time for the briefing, the silence between them stretched, neither uncomfortable nor strained. Just an unspoken understanding of their respective roles.

“You are adjusting well, I hope?” Hux remarked suddenly, still focused on his datapad.

(Y/n) turned slightly, regarding him with measured curiosity. “I was trained to adapt. But yes, I am settling in well, thank you.”

A faint smirk ghosted across his features. “A necessary trait.” He paused for a moment, then added, “What of the security concerns? Have they been adjusted?”

“I have spoken with Captain Phasma and Umbral Drenn about necessary reinforcements,” she replied. “High Command’s quarters now have additional security measures, as well as key control corridors. All other issues are being fixed as we speak.”

Hux’s eyes flicked toward her briefly before returning to his datapad. “Good. I expect nothing less.”

A brief silence followed before (Y/n) spoke again with curiosity, as well as an attempt to get to know him better. But she would never admit the latter. “You didn’t seem too affected by the vulnerabilities when I mentioned them yesterday.”

Hux gave a low, almost amused hum. “If I let myself dwell on every potential weakness, I would hardly get anything done. Besides, that’s what security is for.” He watched as a humored smirk reached her face, then quickly looked back down at his datapad.

Satisfied, he gave a short nod before checking the time. 

“We leave in three minutes.”

Hux said nothing more, simply standing and stepping past her as the time arrived. (Y/n) dutifully followed him out of the office, walking in sync as they made their way to the briefing room. 

The doors slid open and all conversation inside fell into a tense silence as General Hux stepped inside. (Y/n) followed precisely behind him, their presence an immediate disruption to the murmured voices of the room.

Seated at the long, durasteel table were several officers. Intelligence analysts, strategic analysts, and logistical personnel, all awaiting Hux’s arrival. Captain Phasma stood near the back, her imposing chrome figure motionless, observing. Beside her stood Varo, however more casually and seemingly unbothered. 

The officers were disciplined, but even discipline could not mask instinct. The moment they saw her clad in her Umbral uniform - her movements silent and predatory - unease rippled through them. A few of them shifted slightly, others stiffened, their hands resting just a bit closer to their belts. Some exchanged quick, uncertain glances.

The First Order was built on power and control, and yet, the Umbrals were something outside of it. Something unnatural.

If Hux noticed the tension, he did not acknowledge it. He moved towards his seat at the head of the table without hesitation, placing his datapad down in front of him. (Y/n) took her position behind and to his right, standing like a shadow.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Finally, one of the officers - a middle-aged man with a rigid posture - cleared his throat. “Sir.” His gaze flickered toward (Y/n), as if unsure whether to continue with her there. “Shall we begin?”

Hux noted the empty seat at the table. “We are waiting for Captain Essen.”

The room remained still. No one dared question Hux directly, but the unspoken question lingered in the air. 

Why were Umbrals there?

Another officer, a woman with sharp features, shifted in her seat. “General, if I may ask -” her eyes flickered towards (Y/n), cautious, measured, “is security a concern?”

Hux finally looked up, his expression cold and unreadable. “It would be if they were not here.”

The statement was simple. Cutting and final.

Whatever doubts they had, no one voiced them again. The officers turned their attention to their datapads, and the room settled into rigid professionalism once more.

The doors opened once more as Captain Essen arrived, striding in with an air of obnoxious authority. He barely spared (Y/n) a glance before taking his seat, unlike the others who had yet to fully mask their unease.

Hux wasted no time. “Now that we are all here,” he glanced at the captain in disapproval and annoyance. 

General Hux stood, posture rigid, hands clasped neatly behind his back as a holographic image projected itself above the center of the table.

“Recent operations in the Mid Rim have uncovered a disruption within Resistance ranks. Our intelligence suggests that an unidentified force is working alongside them. One that has displayed an unusual level of precision and efficiency in combat against our troops. Whoever they are, they are trained, disciplined, and deliberate in their strikes.”

A murmur passed through the room as the holoprojector shifted, displaying a series of attack reports. Outposts, convoys, scouting units. All ambushed with calculated precision. The markers on the map indicated a pattern, a slow but deliberate targeting of First Order assets.

Captain Phasma tilted her helmet slightly. “Do we have any confirmed identities?”

The General’s jaw tensed. “No. Whoever they are, they remain elusive. There is no clear insignia, no known affiliations, and no captives taken alive. They possess a level of skill that suggests advanced training. Beyond what we have seen the Resistance is typically capable of.”

Varo leaned forward slightly. “Their attacks indicate careful coordination. They don’t strike randomly. They are targeting weaknesses in our operations so someone among them understands our tactics.”

Hux inclined his head in agreement. “Precisely. Which is why this matter is of utmost priority. We must identify who they are before they become a greater threat and further exploit the Order’s tactics. The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we become” His gaze swept the room, sharp and expectant. “I want increased surveillance on all known Resistance movements in these sectors. Our reconnaissance units will prioritize capturing one of these operatives alive, if possible. Until we have more information, no assumption should be made about their origin or objectives.”

An intelligence officer hesitated before speaking. “If they are as skilled as you suggest, sir, what makes you certain we can capture one at all?”

A silence settled over the room. (Y/n) felt Hux shift slightly beside her before he responded, voice cool and unwavering.

“Because failure is not an option.”

No one spoke after that.

As the meeting concluded, officers exchanged brief nods before gathering their datapads. Some cast wary glances towards (Y/n) and Varo as they exited, though none dared to address them directly.

Standing beside Hux, she remained still, absorbing the information. She did not need to say it aloud to recognize the familiar sensation curling in her gut that came with the impending doom of an unforeseen enemy. 

Her and the general shared a quick glance before his eyes shifted to stare at the blank surface of the table. 

The last of the officers filed out, the metallic hiss of the door sliding shut behind them leaving the room cloaked in a heavy stillness. The hum of the holoprojector dimmed as Hux tapped its console, dismissing the glowing map and returning the room to its cool, neutral lighting.

He didn’t speak at first, letting a silence settle between the two of them. He simply stared for a long moment, the fine lines around his eyes drawing taut as if calculating a dozen outcomes at once. Then, without turning to face her, he spoke.

“What are your thoughts on this?” His tone was mild, curious, not critical. He then turned to face her. 

She stepped forward slightly, no longer merely standing in the shadow of a soldier but assuming the role of the strategist he was asking her to be.

“There’s discipline in their attacks,” she voiced, her stoic demeanor dropping slightly as she grew more thoughtful. “Clean movements. No wasted time. No reckless aggression. It’s not guerrilla warfare, at least not in the traditional Resistance sense. These are trained killers. Efficient. Precise.” Her tone remained flat, but there was a shift in her gaze. A flicker of deeper concern as she folded her arms in front of her. “From what I’ve seen, they behave like us.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe they’re the Covenant?”

“I believe,” she answered carefully, taking a deep breath. “that whoever they are… they’ve either studied the Covenant and are mimicking their tactics, or were once part of it.”

He considered her words, pacing slowly across the room, hands still behind his back in thought. “If what you say is true,” he said, “and dealing with the Covenant is a possibility, we’re dealing with more than defectors. We’re dealing with apostates. Rogues with the skillset of assassins and the ideology of fanatics.”

(Y/n) nodded. “And worse… they know how to exploit weaknesses in the First Order. Which means they’ve had time to observe us. They’re planning something larger.”

He stopped pacing and turned to her again. “This is your area of expertise. What would you suggest we do?”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Double security rotation in the compromised sectors. If we’re being watched, they’ll expect patterns. Break those patterns. Cause misdirection. Set traps where they think they’re safe. And…” She looked at the spot where the hologram once was. “I want to study the combat reports. If they’re Covenant-trained, I can spot their technique. No matter how much they’ve tried to disguise it.”

Hux studied her face for a long moment, fascinated by her intelligence. Then he gave a small nod.

“I’ll grant you access to the full debriefings. I want Umbral Drenn involved as he is one of your own. I’m sure he’d be able to provide valuable input.”

“Yes, General.”

As she turned slightly to prepare her departure, he spoke again. Quietly this time.

“If they are what you suspect… it won’t be easy for you.”

She paused, looking back at him. There was a glint of remorse, though her voice remained steady.

“I’m not afraid of ghosts, sir.”

His gaze held hers.

“Good,” he said at last. “Because ghosts can be the most dangerous enemies of all.”

Then, with a flick of his eyes toward the door, he dismissed her with a subtle nod as they both shared the familiar sense of unease.

As she exited the room, Varo stood just down the corridor, leaning stiffly against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He straightened the moment he saw her.

“You’re finally out,” he said under his breath, striding toward her. “How bad was it?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the corridor behind him, instinctively checking for eavesdroppers before she spoke.

“I think it’s worse than we thought.”

Varo exhaled sharply. “So we’re right to assume?”

She gave a slight nod. “It’s not confirmed, but… the patterns, the precision, the disappearance? It doesn’t match the Resistance’s usual methods that we’ve studied.”

Varo’s jaw tightened. “And you think they’re Covenant-trained?”

“I know they are,” she said flatly. “They’ve either defected or were exiled and found a new cause. Either way, they’ve been careful to stay out of sight until now.”

Varo rubbed a hand over his mouth, then glanced away, voice low. “I had a bad feeling. As obvious as it is, I still don’t want to believe it.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then he looked at her again, eyes searching. “You don’t think it’s…” he hesitated, words stuck in his throat. 

(Y/n) looked away, the mention of the name flicking something sharp in her otherwise impassive face before she shook her head.

“Zera?” she shook her head. “Impossible to determine off of tactics alone. But we’ll be able to determine if there are Umbrals involved or simply standard Covenant.”

Varo’s voice was quieter now. “Well, let’s hope there’s no Umbrals. That would make things far more complicated.”

She looked back at him then. “I’ll be reviewing combat footage soon with General Hux. Cross-referencing movements. Stances. Flaws in form. He wants you to join to see if you have more input.”

Varo nodded slowly, though his expression remained uneasy. “Regardless of who they are, we’ll be ready for them. Whatever they’re planning, we’ll shut it down.”

“We don’t have a choice,” (Y/n) agreed. “If they’re ex-Covenant, they know our strengths. But we would also know theirs. And I’m not going to let them tear down what we’ve built just because they were too weak to follow the code.”

There was steel in her voice now, the mask of an Umbral settling over her features. But Varo knew her well enough to see the flicker of something deeper beneath it. Pain, betrayal not yet faced.

“We’ll handle it together,” he said, placing a steady hand on her arm.

(Y/n) didn’t flinch.

“For the Covenant,” she replied.

“For our people,” he added, quietly in an unspoken vow. He dropped his arm just as the door to the briefing room opened and the general walked out, making his way towards the pair who followed him once he showed no signs of stopping. 

“We’ll stop by the bridge to settle any matters there before we discuss things further in my office. Umbral Drenn, I want you, (L/n) and myself to go over the combat reports. I will notify Captain Phasma of your temporary absence.”

“Yes, General.” Varo replied with determination as they walked with purpose towards the lift at the end of the corridor. 

The lift doors closed with a soft hiss, and the silence inside immediately turned heavy. General Hux stood front and center, back straight, datapad in hand as he reviewed a stream of tactical updates. (Y/n) stood beside him, composed and motionless, hands folded neatly in front of her. Varo, positioned a respectful distance to Hux’s left, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking between the floor and the countdown on the lift panel.

The silence dragged on.

Varo cleared his throat softly, attempting to ease the recent tension. “So… lift rides. Always this silent, or are we doing something ceremonial here?”

Hux didn’t even glance up. (Y/n) didn’t respond either, though her eyes narrowed slightly. Amused or warning, it wasn’t clear.

Undeterred, Varo continued. “I mean, I get it. First week with the new team, gotta establish dominance. But if this is the vibe every day, I may start talking to the walls just to hear an echo.”

“Time and place, Drenn.” (Y/n) finally drawled out as if she was used to constantly reminding him.

“Hey, I’m just trying to provide a little morale. Emotional support, y’know?” After a moment of silence, Varo leaned back slightly to look at (Y/n), his voice just a shade too loud in the confined space. “Blink once if you’re actually enjoying this, blink twice if you’re praying for explosive decompression.” The general exhaled heavily through his nose.

(Y/n) didn’t blink at all as she responded. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Varo asked, feigning innocence.

She turned her head slightly. “Testing boundaries.”

Varo grinned. “I prefer to think of it as calibrating team chemistry.”

Hux finally spoke.

“If your intent is to measure how much noise I’ll tolerate before reassigning you to cargo inspections for the next month, Umbral, you’re quickly approaching your answer.”

Varo straightened. “Right. Copy that, sir. Just… gauging lift etiquette.”

“As long as you’re in the lift, silence is the default etiquette.” This caused (Y/n) to chuckled softly and the general finally looked over to side-glance at her. His eyes reflected what seemed to be surprise, but he quickly masked it as he looked forward again.

Varo muttered under his breath, “Brutal crowd.”

(Y/n), in an uncharacteristically dry tone, added, “It’s not the crowd. It’s the venue.”

Varo huffed out a short laugh and looked up at the ceiling. “Next time I’ll take the stairs.”

The lift chimed, and the doors slid open. Hux stepped out first, not acknowledging either of them.

Varo and (Y/n) followed behind, the former whispering, “Do you think he heard that?”

(Y/n) nodded. “Knowing you? Every word.”

Varo glanced nervously down the hall, then back at her. “Good. At least we’re bonding.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “You’re an acquired taste.”

He grinned. “You’re acquiring it, though.”

She didn’t answer, but her silence, this time, didn’t seem disapproving.

The subtle change in lighting and sound from the rest of the ship to the command bridge was immediate. Cooler tones, sharper alert systems, and the low murmur of officers moving with strict purpose.

The moment Hux stepped onto the bridge, heads turned and spines straightened. Officers at their consoles stood at attention, acknowledging the general’s presence.

“Status report,” Hux said crisply, eyes scanning the forward viewport before turning toward the nearest communications officer.

The officer cleared his throat. “No change in the last two hours, sir. No new movements detected from the Resistance front. Patrols along the outer systems have remained within predicted patterns.”

Hux narrowed his eyes. “And the anomaly from the outpost?”

“Still investigating, General,” the officer replied. “The team is analyzing the signal distortion. It appears to have been an intentional scrambling. There were faint traces of bio-signatures, but too faint to confirm species or number.”

Varo stepped forward slightly. “Was it similar to the last occurrence near Sector 7G?”

The officer glanced between him and the general before nodding. “Yes, sir. Nearly identical. Quick incursion, silence, and retreat. No tech left behind.”

(Y/n) shifted beside Hux, her eyes narrowing as they looked at each other. “They’re testing our responses. Watching how quickly we mobilize.”

“Agreed,” Hux said. “And they’re becoming more confident.”

He stepped forward, overlooking the bridge with hands still behind his back, then addressed the senior officer at the main console. “Deploy a double rotation on the patrols near the outer systems. I want all tactical relays running constant scans for any trace of cloaking disturbances.”

“Yes, General,” the officer said, turning quickly to execute the order.

Hux looked to Varo and (Y/n). “They’re baiting us. Probing our borders without making themselves fully known.”

(Y/n) nodded. “They’re waiting for us to act first.”

Hux’s voice dropped slightly as he addressed the two Umbrals directly. “Make no mistake. Whoever they are, their actions have escalated them to a direct threat. If they are former Covenant… they know enough to be dangerous. We’ll root them out. Quietly and efficiently.”

He turned to walk back toward the exit, the Umbrals in tow as they made way for his office. 

The office was quiet but for the sharp hum of data scrolling across a holo-projector between them. General Hux sat behind his desk, posture immaculate, one gloved hand resting against his chin in thought. Across from him stood (Y/n) and Varo, both locked in a silent focus like Siamese cats as report after report flickered before them. Damage assessments, troop debriefs, weapon pattern readings.

Varo leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “That’s the third unit that reported full signal jamming mid-op. Exact same signature. Frequency disruption spiked in a sharp wave, scrambled visuals, sensors blinded.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, arms folded. “But only briefly. Just long enough to disorient and isolate them.”

“Classic guerrilla-style tactics,” Varo muttered. “But refined. They knew exactly where to strike and how to disappear.”

General Hux’s voice cut in, sharp and composed. “We’ve fought Resistance saboteurs before. This is beyond their usual disorganized chaos.”

(Y/n) nodded. “They moved with discipline. Patterned strikes. Coordinated withdrawal. Whoever led them had military training… or something similar.”

Hux’s eyes flicked to her. “Similar to yours?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Umbral. But admittedly not as skilled or precise as someone from the academy. Someone simply studied us and are attempting to use the same tactics.”

A beat passed.

Varo glanced between the two. “I’ve been thinking the same. The way they handle shadow ambushes, their use of terrain, misdirection. It feels like home.”

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched slightly, the flicker of unease betraying her usual control. “If they are ex-Covenant… we may be facing a rogue faction. Not just a few stragglers.”

“That would explain the silence from the Covenant,” Hux said. “If they suspect internal betrayal, they’ll be trying to contain the fallout quietly.”

Varo rubbed the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Not everyone graduates as a loyal soldier.”

(Y/n) ’s voice was quieter now. “And not everyone takes rejection well.”

Hux leaned forward. “If this is a rogue Covenant group, what’s their goal?”

Varo shrugged and blew a raspberry before rambling off ideas. “Destabilize both sides. Maybe they want revenge? Maybe they think they can burn it all down and rebuild it better. Could be ideology. Could just be vengeance.”

(Y/n) ’s eyes didn’t leave the shifting data. “We won’t know until we lock an identity and capture them for interrogation.”

Hux nodded. “Then we make that our priority. We’ll identify them. Track them. I want patterns, predictions, and locations. I want to know where they sleep and where they bleed.”

He turned his gaze to Varo.

“Can you do that?”

“Yes, General.”

“Coordinate with Phasma and bring me a plan by the end of the day tomorrow. Dismissed.”

Varo gave a sharp nod, glancing towards (Y/n) a final time before taking his leave. 

The general eyed her as she stared at his desk, arms folded in front of her, deep in thought. He swallowed before deciding to pry. “What troubles you?” 

She shook her head, debating on whether or not she should speak on it. But Hux was patient. After a deep breath, she finally answered. “It doesn’t concern the mission.” 

“That’s not what I asked, (L/n).” Her eyes snapped to meet his own that bore into her with an intensity she was not used to. He stood from his chair and rounded his desk, eyes never leaving her as he stood feet in front of her. 

“What would you do if your own people betrayed you?”

Hux’s hands tensed slightly.

His gaze didn’t shift right away. For a moment, she thought he might ignore the question. But then he exhaled, measured and cold.

“I’d survive it,” his voice was steady, but carried something darker beneath the surface. “And then I would make sure they lived long enough to regret it.”

(Y/n) studied him. No smugness in his words. No theatrics. Just raw, precise conviction. Something about it wasn’t just rehearsed. It was lived.

“So you have.” Her voice was soft. Observational. No judgment in it.

He didn’t confirm or deny.

“Blood isn’t loyalty,” Hux said more softly after a pause. “It never has been. You learn that very quickly in the kind of world we were both shaped in.”

There was no venom in his tone. Just the kind of sharpness that came from an old wound that never quite closed.

“If they betray you, they were never your people to begin with.”

Little edit I made of my fav clown ☺️

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The Scarred - Chapter 10

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

“Jack -“ She whispered to him.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.

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

“How long ago was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, though, things felt different.

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

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

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

Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Scarred - Prologue

Masterlist

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

Tick.

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

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

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

Tick.

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

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

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

Tick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serenity - Chapter 1

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 birds chirping outside were what woke her up first. Then it was the quiet footsteps making the floors creak. Mary peaked out of the small window next to her bed, the sun just barely rising above the horizon. With a rather large yawn and an even larger stretch she sat up on the edge and slid her feet into her slippers. She went through the motions of getting ready for the day, the majority of it fuzzy, finishing with a single braid in her hair before she finally made it to the dining room. Her mother was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

“Good morning, ma.” The older woman looked over and smiled.

“Good morning, liebling.” Mary gave her a gentle hug before helping her. “Sleep well?”

“I suppose so.” The two of them were quiet for a few moments, the sound of stirring and sizzling the only thing filling the silence of the room until it was broken by Mary. “Are you feeling alright?” More silence. Mary was beginning to regret even asking had it not been for the comforting hand that made its way to her shoulder.

“I’m alright, dear.” Mary moved a hand to rest on top of her mother’s, offering a wary smile before resuming her mixing. “I noticed that dress you’re making. Your personal project, is it?” Mary hummed in confirmation.

“It was going well until yesterday.”

“I think it’s beautiful. Why, I wouldn’t have even noticed anything was wrong if I hadn't known.” The morning continued rather peacefully, the two of them enjoying the small moments they had with each other. It was their break from reality, abeling them to fantasize that they were the only two within their already small family. That nothing else mattered. They both learned to love the little joys in life, the simplest things that no one else seemed to notice. It made everything worthwhile to them.

By the time the sun reached above their heads the market was bustling with energy. Feet padded and clicked along the stone of the plaza, though there wasn’t as quite a hustle as the day before. Personalities clashed whether it was between other customers or vendors, or both which happened to be the most common occurrence. Women gawked at the latest jewelry, and occasionally Mary’s newest attire on display. Men showed off newly bought cattle in a friendly banter. Mary would’ve enjoyed it were it not for her father’s reputation.

The villagers were reclusive with unfriendlies, and unfortunately all it took was one person to ruin it for the lot. Aside from necessities, the delicate work of the seamstress was the only thing saving the family from complete isolation, it seemed.

The skill came naturally to her, much to her mother’s delight. Once she taught Mary the basics she was able to leave her to her own devices. Mary eventually came up with her own techniques, even drifting from basic designs they had been using since the business started. It was refreshing to the villagers and attracted more customers, and though it made the family all the more busy money was coming in quicker and she was able to build a pleasant reputation for herself. But it did little to nothing in the great scheme of things.

Her mother organized the shop in the back, her father naturally taking his place at a table with his morning glass of bourbon as Mary worked on small fixings at the stand. Things had surprisingly gone smooth for the time being, but then again it was still quite early in the day.

It wasn’t until she had the thought that everyone stilled, listening.

Mary couldn’t tell what caused the chain reaction until they began to hear rushing hooves grow closer, followed by a familiar trumpet. She glanced around the plaza anxiously, holding her breath in anticipation until someone shouted from a nearby street.

“Soldiers!” Though thankful, the warning was in vain. Villagers scrambled to the outskirts of the plaza, trying their best to avoid being trampled as the horses circled. Merchants didn’t bother closing shop as it was already far too late.

“Giddyap!” A distinct nasally voice shouted. Their stomachs dropped, the sight of an infamous cage rolling its way into the plaza, coming to an aggressive halt once centered. The figure, clad in black, dropped from his spot on the contraption, net and hook in his gloved hands as he crept around with a crazed look in his eye. “I know there are children here somewhere.”

Mary’s heart rate picked up, fiddling with the fabric in front of her as he grew closer. As far as she was concerned, she had heard nothing of children being in the village. Not for a few months at least. Either that or her family was kept out of the loop which seemed to be the most likely answer.

“Bring them to me and you will receive a painless death.” He mused with a chuckle as he stalked closer to their shop. He seemed to look between her own and the two neighboring marketers, pacing the three of them with determination. He pointed at two nearby soldiers, directing them and their men into the homes of the two others with a grumble. Then he locked on to the seamstress.

Mary froze, regardless if she knew there were no children. She felt as if even just looking at him was a death sentence. Those who fell victim to the Child Catcher rarely ever returned, and she had yet to see a survivor herself.

She quickly glanced away as he stepped closer, now wringing the cloth. She felt him barely brush past her shoulder before he began to lurk around the tiny shop. Mary felt her face and ears burn like a fever, chancing a look at the plaza to see everyone who remained staring at their area as soldiers continued vandalizing houses in search of said children. She heard him shuffling baskets and boxes around, though not as harsh as the others. Then he went silent. No footsteps, no more shuffling.

Out of curiosity, Mary finally turned to face the room. There the Child Catcher stood in front of her mannequin, examining the dress she had been working on. He eyed it every which way, then moved on about the room to look at the rest of the items on display, feeling the different fabrics.

“Who’s responsible?” With no response he turned to face the small family, the parents looking over at Mary. She looked up to meet his eyes once more and he squinted ever so slightly, then glanced between the older couple before scoping the room again. “How exactly are you getting these?” He motioned at the cloth. Mary looked over at her mother.

“I buy them off of a traveling merchant along the road.” The catcher made a noise of approval then looked over at the nearby stairway. Practically sneering at her parents, he rushed up the stairs to scavenge around some more.

Mary took a deep breath and leaned back against the stand, running her hands along the skirt of her dress to keep them from growing more sweaty than they already were. Perhaps it would’ve been better if she hadn't grown so ambitious. She was comfortable with her reputation around the village, but with someone from the castle, let alone the Child Catcher? He was the last person you wanted to stand out to.

Their heads snapped back to the stairs at the sound of his footsteps making their descent. Once reaching the bottom he looked at the parents one last time before making his way back to the plaza, casting Mary a final glance along the way. Just as he passed through screams sounded from the neighboring home to their left.

“Mary!” Her mother whispered her over in a panic. But she didn’t move. She just stood and watched as two soldiers dragged a little boy from the villa, followed by the owners. The catcher eagerly opened his cage, cackling.

“There you are!” He sneered as the boy and his parents were practically tossed inside and shut in. As he jumped up onto his box seat he looked over at Mary one last time, then sped off with the rest of the soldiers with the crack of his whip.

The village was completely silent after the hooves disappeared. Another family was stolen from them right before their very eyes. None of them could imagine what fate awaited them. Nor did they want to find out.

Slowly villagers began to wander out into the plaza once more, though not as many as there were previously. And understandably so. Mary was engulfed by her mother’s warm embrace to which she gradually returned when she finally came to. When she pulled away from Mary she cupped her face, though grew worried when the younger woman refused to make eye contact.

“You’ll be fine, my dear.” She attempted consolation. “He didn’t seem upset.”

“He’s unpredictable and dangerous!” Her father shouted irritably from inside the shop. “I don’t ever want him here nor do I want him speaking to either of you again.” His sentence was reduced to a grumble by the end of it.

“I’m afraid we can’t tell him what to do, darling. The Baron would have our heads.” Her mother cautiously advised, only to be met with incoherent gibberish. He downed the rest of his drink and abruptly left the room, wandering into the streets of the village.

‘Serenity’ Prologue

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.

-

Nimble fingers stitched the thicker fabric with ease, the thread flowing through with years of technique and precision. The movement resembled that of water, calm and patient. A knot was tied at the end and the remaining string snipped. The woman stood back from the mannequin to examine her handiwork, a soft smile gracing her features in approval.

“Pa?” A low grumble met her ears. “Madame Caffe’s dress is ready.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” The woman held in her sigh, head kept downcast as she passed by the grumpy father to the front of their stand.

“Here you go, miss.” The dress was delicately placed into the older woman’s arms.

“How much?”

“One lev.” The customer grumbled and placed the coins into her hand. The seamstress just sighed and put it away, making her way back into the petite shop.

“You seen your mother yet?”

“Not yet.” She turned to see her worrying father and offered a weak smile of reassurance. “The market’s probably more busy than usual, is all.” The woman collected stray fabrics, throwing them into a nearby basket.

“Yeah, whatever.” Her father waved off with another grumble. She waited a few seconds longer to see if he had anything else to say, then sat down at her sewing bench to resume a side project. She threaded the machine, adjusting the fabric so it rested beneath it just the way she wanted before she began pumping with her foot.

The fabric moved steadily beneath her hands, losing herself in the sound of her most prized possession. She was almost finished with her fourth section when she heard a loud crash behind her. She shrieked when the needle stabbed through her fingertip, yanking away from the machine. Hand clutched to her chest she grabbed bandages and a bottle of alcohol from nearby to quickly dress the wound.

When she finished she turned towards the cause of panic to see her father stood angrily over a ‘fallen’ mannequin, clenching and unclenching his fists. She began to take deeper breaths, almost panting as she watched the scene before her anxiously. Refusing to make eye contact with the man, her finger throbbed heavily. Nothing she couldn’t handle as far as she was concerned. He mumbled something incoherently.

“Pa -?”

“Where is she!” He thrashed, swiping one of their end tables clean as everything on top of it cluttered to the floor. “Where is she!” He continued. The seamstress began to creep her way to the entrance of the shop, her father’s shouts turning into sobs by the time she was able to leave. She aimlessly wandered through the plaza to the markets and shops in search of her mother, bystanders looking on in irritation or disgust as she passed. She sighed in relief at the sight of her, water pooling in her eyes.

“Ma!”

“Mary? Liebling, whatever is the matter?”

“Pa, he - he’s having a fit, he -“ She cut herself off in panic as she tried to catch her breath. Her mother quickly paid the man she was talking to and brought them to a corner away from prying eyes.

“Oh, dear,” She took a cloth and wiped her daughter’s face. “What’s he on about this time?”

“You.” She sniffed and felt her mother’s hand still. “He was getting worried because you were taking a while, I tried to reason with him, but he just - he - he wouldn’t -“

“You did what you could, liebling. Don’t you worry.” She gently pushed her basket into Mary’s hands to which she accepted. “Now, do me a favor and finish up the shopping for me. I’ll handle your father.”

“Ma -“

“I don’t want to hear it. The longer we wait the worse he’ll get, you know how he is.” She gave Mary a quick kiss on the side of her head.

“Be careful.” Her mother nodded and turned to leave, rushing back home as Mary watched her figure disappear in the thinning crowd. She hesitated to leave, then decided it was best she didn’t stall any longer and made her way back to the market.

By the time she finished the sun was setting and most stands were closing down. All that was left on the streets were stragglers either going on a stroll or rushing back to their own homes. She held the basket closer to herself when she caught sight of their oh-so-humble abode, stalking as she entered. Seeing no one in the shop, she cautiously walked up the small ladder-like stairs to their living area and peaked into the room. Her parents sat at the dining table eating their dinner quietly. Though it was anything but a comfortable silence.

Mary finished climbing and made her way over to their cupboard to put away what was in the basket, doing her best to make as little noise as humanly possible. A chair screeched along the wooden floor that jolted her, footsteps growing louder behind her to place dishes in the nearby sink before they faded into a different room. She took a deep breath in relief, turning to face her mother when she noticed a bruise starting to form on her wrist.

Chapter 7

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 hiss of the door was nearly silent as it slid open. The general stepped inside with purposeful strides, datapad in hand, the pale lights of the corridor casting shadows along the walls. He paused just inside the threshold, eyes landing on the figure ahead.

(Y/n) stood motionless at the far end of the room, back to the door, arms stiff at her sides and head hung low. Her entire silhouette coiled like a wire pulled taut.

Hux froze.

She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t moving. But the air felt heavier. Thicker.

Like a storm about to break.

He watched her in silence for a long second before speaking, voice cautious and measured.

“Their shuttle is approaching. They’ll be docking within the next few minutes.”

She didn’t respond at first. Then slowly, deliberately, she turned.

Her eyes met his. Ice-cold. Still. Controlled. And somehow far more dangerous.

Her face was a mask of serenity, but it was the kind of calm that lived just before a strike. The kind of silence that waited before violence.

Hux swallowed. Just once. His pulse kicked against his collar despite himself.

“(L/n)?”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched, just slightly.

“Ready.” 

Her voice is calm. Measured. Controlled.

Too controlled.

Hux stared at her, his own expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a slow nod, stepping aside.

“Then let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

She moved towards the door, walking past him with silent purpose. He watched her go, jaw set tight as he followed.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that waited behind that eerily perfect composure. Wondered how close she was to unraveling… and what would happen if she did. 

The massive expanse of the hangar was clouded with tension. The transport ship settled into place, steam hissing as the ramp descended with a mechanical whine.

Troopers and techs held back, keeping a wide berth as Varo emerged first before turning to the Covenant flanking the detained rogues.

Their uniforms were similar to that of the Umbral, however instead of black, the uniform was more of a grey, along with their cloak. Though, unlike the Umbrals, they wore sleek, black Eva helmets, adding to their intimidation. Yet also kept them from any individual distinction.

“Restrained and on their knees.” Varo ordered.

The Duskborns moved with practiced precision, grabbing each of the five rogues and forcing them forward. The detainees were bloodied but breathing, their mouths bound, hands cuffed with reinforced mag-restraints. They struggled. Some were defiant, some afraid. 

Then their eyes landed on two figures quickly approaching with determination in their long strides as they were shoved to their knees in a line.

(Y/n) stood beside the general, her gaze sharp and fixed on them like a predator tracking prey. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tight with restrained fury.

One of them, a woman with faded dark hair and hollow eyes, faltered as she saw (Y/n).

Her eyes widened.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t with the gag in place. But her stare was laced with recognition, disbelief, and something sharp and uncomfortable.

(Y/n) didn’t blink as they came to a stop in front of them. Her eyes were locked on her mother like twin blades.

The general’s presence was cold and commanding as he addressed the kneeling rogues with both disdain and sadistic satisfaction in their capture.

“Your brood of vipers have made this an interesting couple of weeks, I must say. But all good things must come to an end, unfortunately.” His lips stretched into an evil smile as he slowly stepped closer. “Oh, we’re going to have fun breaking you.” He gestured to the squad behind him. “Take them to the holding cells.”

The Troopers moved to comply, accompanied by a few Duskborns. (Y/n) then spoke. Low, calm, and without looking away from her mother.

“That one.” Her head lowered in the direction of the older woman. “She’ll be the first interrogated.”

Hux looked at her briefly but said nothing. There was no question in his mind that she wouldn’t falter on her decision.

He nodded once, silently giving the order. A pair of troopers roughly yanked (Y/n)’s mother to her feet, separating her from the others as they began escorting the prisoners away.

The remaining rogues were dragged down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the hangar, accompanied by the growls of the Duskborns.

Varo watched them go, his expression grave. But once they were out of sight, he stepped up to (Y/n), his voice low and careful.

“(Y/n).” It was his first time using her first name in the presence of others on the ship, let alone the general. But with the look in her eyes that was present since she entered the hangar, he couldn’t care less about titles and formality.

She didn’t answer.

“You doin’ alright?” He tried again, more gentle as Hux carefully watched the exchange, equally invested.

Her eyes finally flicked to Varo’s. And though she didn’t say a word, her expression was enough. An expression Varo had seen only a few times before.

The look of a wild animal held in a cage.

He didn’t press her. He just stood beside her, silent in his support.

Hux’s gaze bounced between the two of them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

There would be much to discuss. But first, there would be blood.

The air remained heavy with the aftershock of what happened before (Y/n) turned slowly from where her mother was dragged away. Her eyes cut across the hangar to the remaining Covenant who awaited her orders in a neat, disciplined formation.

She didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards them.

“Captain.” She called. A man quickly rushed forward with unnatural speed, stopping directly in front of her at attention. His darker cloak marked his distinction as the squad leader for their group. 

“Yes, Umbral?” He spoke, voice slightly distorted by his helmet. 

“Secure perimeter patrols around the detention wing. No shifts longer than four hours. You will rotate in pairs only, no one guards alone. We don’t know if they are capable of anything outside of Covenant training.”

The captain nodded, taking her words with strict obedience.

“I want you and one other Duskborn to reinforce engineering access points as well as bioscans at every bulkhead and atmospheric control gate. If they’re smart, they’ll try to sabotage next.”

“Yes, Umbral. Understood.”

“If anyone on this ship attempts to prevent you from doing any of these tasks, you report it to me immediately and I will personally handle it.”

“As you command, Umbral.”

“Dismissed.” With a snap of his heels, the captain spun around and began barking orders to the Duskborns. They broke off in precise movements, scattering to carry out their directives.

The general, still standing behind her, watched the exchange with sharp focus. Hands clasped behind his back, lips drawn into a contemplative line. There was no cold detachment in his gaze this time.

There was something else.

Admiration. A hint of surprise. And buried somewhere deeper… a flicker of desire.

She hadn’t just taken control. She commanded. Cool, composed, and utterly lethal in presence. A weapon shaped into a leader.

Beside him was Varo, arms casually crossed and expression unbothered as he leaned slightly towards Hux.

“She always gets like this when she’s pissed.”

Hux’s brow lifts slightly, attention still fixed on (Y/n).

Varo continued with a grin. “I’ve been taking notes. Someday I’m gonna give orders like that and people’ll actually listen instead of laugh.”

“Doubtful.” Hux deadpanned.

“Fair.”

(Y/n) finally turned towards them, her features carefully neutral once again, though Hux caught the sharp edge still hiding in her eyes.

Hux gave her a single nod, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.

“Excellent work, (L/n).” He paused, then spoke lower, almost thoughtful. “Impressive.”

She tilted her head, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her expression, but it was hard to tell if it was from the praise or the unspoken tension hanging between them.

“You make the rest of us look like amateurs.” Varo teased. “It’s honestly infuriating.”

“You do that all on your own, Drenn.” She replied flatly.

Varo mocked being offended and pointed at her. “That was uncalled for. Accurate, but uncalled for.”

Despite everything, the prisoners, the tension, the weight of what was coming. There was a breath of ease between them. A fragile but welcome reprieve.

Hux exhaled quietly, eyes trailing (Y/n) again.

“We need to begin preparing for the interrogations. And then you’ll be able to…” he thought for a moment. “Handle… your subject.”

(Y/n) nodded before her and Varo followed behind the general as they made their way to his office. Varo gave (Y/n) a sly look, voice pitched low.

“He was staring.” He spoke bluntly. “Like, full-on ‘I’m going to write poetry about her in my quarters’ staring.”

(Y/n) grit her teeth as Varo grinned. “Varo.”

“Just saying.” He put his hands up in surrender. “You’re terrifying when you take command, but I’m pretty sure he thought you were something else. Might wanna warn him next time before he -“ Varo was cut off by a harsh slap on his arm.

But as she looked at Hux in front of them, there was something else flickering in her expression.

The office carried a heavy silence save for the soft clicks of data being organized. Hux stood beside his desk, reviewing the preliminary files of the detainees, his posture rigid, focused. (Y/n) remained near the far wall, her back partially turned, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The silence between them stretched until Hux finally broke it.

“First interrogation is scheduled to begin in 15 minutes.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she spoke quietly. “Elira (L/n).” Hux’s gaze snapped to her at the mention of the same last name. “My mother.”

Hux’s fingers froze above the datapad. His expression was unreadable, though something in his eyes softened slightly.

“I see,” he said carefully. 

Telling herself that it was necessary information prior to the interrogation, she continued, her voice steady but subdued. “I thought I’d never see her again. The last time I did, she disowned me.”

She inhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself as her gaze lowered to the floor. 

“My parents supported the Resistance, so naturally I followed. Growing up, they told me that the stories of what happened to our people were fabricated lies. That the Covenant was just another form of control used by the First Order.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“When I told them I enlisted in the Covenant, that I’d met Varo - who told me the truth - they were furious.”

Hux took a few steps toward her, listening.

“She told me I was brainwashed. That the Resistance was the only path forward for people like us. I told her I didn’t want to forget what they did to our people. I wanted justice. She said if I walked out that door, I would no longer be her daughter.” (Y/n) swallowed the tightness in her throat, eyes flicking up to meet Hux’s. “I left anyway.”

He watched her for a moment longer, taking in the weight of her words. The rare vulnerability threading through the calm composure she wore like armor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“You made the right choice.”

“I don’t need reassurance,” she said, turning away slightly.

“No,” Hux said, “but you deserve it.”

(Y/n) let out a breath, shaky despite her effort to control it. “I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see her. I want to be cold. I want to act like she’s just another prisoner. But…”

“But she’s not,” he finished for her.

“She looked surprised,” (Y/n) murmured with partial amusement. “When our eyes met in the hangar. I don’t know if she was ashamed… or just didn’t expect to see me.”

Hux stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, but close enough that his voice dropped into something more human.

“You’ve turned out loyal. Capable and unshakably devoted to your cause. She should be grateful you didn’t let their cowardice define you.”

(Y/n)’s lips parted as if to speak, but she stopped herself, nodding once instead. The silence returned, heavy but less suffocating now.

Finally, Hux spoke again.

“I’ll attend the interrogation with you. You won’t go in there alone.”

(Y/n) turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to.” He replied firmly.

She met his gaze, and this time, there was no veneer of command or control in either of them. Only something quietly understanding. A long, steadying moment passed between them.

Then (Y/n) nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hux didn’t respond with words. Just a quiet nod… and the comfort of silence shared with someone who understood what it meant to be abandoned. 

And to keep going anyway.

The metallic corridor outside of the detention wing was chilled, dimly lit with harsh overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly, casting pale light across polished black floors. Two Duskborns stood stationed on either side of the sealed blast doors of the interrogation room, their heads locked forward in unblinking silence. A pair of stormtroopers flanked them, weapons held steady against their armor.

Varo stood waiting nearby, his posture alert but relaxed in that uniquely casual way of his. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to see (Y/n) and General Hux striding towards them together.

(Y/n)’s expression was unreadable, her eyes cold, her jaw clenched. She moved with unwavering purpose, every step measured and silent. But Varo knew her too well to miss the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

He stepped forward, glancing at Hux with a short nod before turning his attention to her.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

(Y/n) blinked, her lips twitching as if caught between a grimace and a smile. “Am I pretending?”

Varo shrugged. “You’re walking like you’re about to go into battle. And I’d say you’ve got that ‘vengeful spirit of the ancestors’ look in your eyes again.”

Her shoulders tensed slightly before she forced a breath through her nose.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re angry. And hurt. And about to go talk to the person who did that to you.” Varo’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be fine, (Y/n). You just have to be in control.”

There was a brief pause.

She looked up at him, expression guarded but grateful beneath the steel.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to her,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

“Start with what you want her to hear,” he said. “Then say what you need to say.”

He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve survived worse. She won’t break you.”

From behind them, the general waited silently, allowing the moment between them to settle. His hands were folded behind his back, his gaze unreadable but sharp as ever. But there was no judgment in his eyes, only a rare flicker of something quieter. 

(Y/n) turned to Hux, nodding once.

His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than usual before he offered a nod in return. 

The blast doors hissed as they began to part, the light beyond flickering on with a sterile, clinical chill.

Together, (Y/n) and Hux stepped through - side by side - into the chamber where the ghost of her past waited to speak.

The room was black steel and held a sense of brutality. Devoid of comfort, drenched in sterilized silence. A single spotlight poured down from above onto the table bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Restraints clamped down on the prisoner’s wrists and ankles, tight and unmoving as the table was inclined for her to lay upright.

On that table sat her ghost. (Y/n)’s mother.

Still sharp-featured and graceful despite the grime of capture, but aged in a way that had nothing to do with time. Her clothes, though stripped of insignia, still held the vague air of Resistance sympathies. Her gold eyes burned with a smug, knowing light, even now.

(Y/n) stood before her. Unmoving. Focused.

Her cloak was gone, boots echoing across the metal as she paced in measured steps around the chair. The sharp hiss of the sealed blast door sounded behind them, where Hux now stood silently in the shadows. He said nothing. Observed everything.

“(Y/n),” her mother purred, voice far too casual for the weight in the air. “My daughter, standing like a First Order dog. I always imagined you’d outgrow your rebellion against us. But look at you. Still clinging to the leash someone else put around your neck.”

(Y/n) ignored the bait. She circled again, cool and collected.

“You were found in the company of known ex-Covenant fugitives. Now Resistance operatives.” Her tone was flat, clinical. “You will give us names, contacts, safehouses, and supply lines. Do this, and perhaps you’ll be granted leniency.”

Her mother tilted her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “The Covenant must’ve broken you more than I thought. They told you a new history, gave you new fangs, and now look. You’re snarling at your own blood.”

(Y/n) stopped walking. Her arms stayed at her sides, her posture impeccable, but the line of her jaw was sharp now, locked tight.

“I’m snarling at traitors.”

Her mother’s expression twisted.

“To our people?” she hissed. “Or to the family you discarded for the sake of your friend’s myth? You think they care for you? You think that man behind you,” Her gaze flicked to Hux. “Would even look your way if it weren’t for how useful you are? How obedient you are?”

That landed.

(Y/n) didn’t flinch, but her breath hitched. Subtle. Small. But there.

“My loyalty is to my assignment. And to the Covenant and First Order.” She replied tightly, her voice lower.

Her mother’s lips curled. “That’s not what I see in your eyes when you glance at him.”

From the back of the room, Hux shifted slightly. He remained composed, unreadable. But his gaze sharpened with interest.

(Y/n)’s eyes darkened, fangs just barely visible behind a clenched jaw.

“You know nothing about me,” she said, voice steady but low with restrained threat.

“I know you,” her mother pressed, eyes glowing. “I see the girl who wanted to belong so badly she let herself be molded into a weapon. And now you’re falling for your handler. How poetic.”

(Y/n) stepped forward too fast. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, close to her mother’s throat, but not touching.

“I said you know nothing about me,” she seethed. “You forfeited that right when you threw me out.”

The words rang sharper than anything that had come before. Her mother’s smugness wavered just slightly.

Behind her, Hux took a single step forward, voice cutting cleanly through the silence.

“Where were your orders coming from?” He redirected.

His voice cut cleanly across the air. Calm, precise, commanding.

Her mother blinked, pulled abruptly from the rising tension between her and her daughter. She turned toward Hux with a subtle sneer, clearly displeased with the shift in control.

“We intercepted coded transmissions routed through an old Resistance frequency,” Hux continued, stepping forward into the light with quiet authority. “You’re going to tell us where the next operation is planned, and how long you’ve been in contact with the rogue faction”

A beat passed.

Then another.

The silence gave (Y/n) time to steel herself again. She folded her arms, lips drawn in a firm line, and resumed her position at Hux’s side, this time more guarded, more resolved.

Her mother looked between the two of them. That smug gleam in her eyes had dulled slightly.

“You two really do make quite the team,” she said, colder now.

Hux said nothing. (Y/n) stared through her like she was already ash.

And somewhere, deep beneath the chill in her voice, something cracked in (Y/n)’s chest that she refused to look at too closely.

A long, dragging silence lingered in the room. (Y/n)’s mother didn’t speak for a moment. Her eyes flicked between him and (Y/n), no longer filled with smugness, but calculation. Weighing.

Then she exhaled, slow and bitter.

“You think I’ll sell them out? That I’ll betray everything for you?” she said, turning her gaze fully back to (Y/n). “You’re a child playing war. You have no idea what we’ve sacrificed to keep the truth buried. What the Resistance gave us in exchange for silence. You think you’re righteous now because the Covenant gave you a uniform and purpose -”

“I think,” (Y/n) interrupted, her voice eerily calm, “that you’re wasting my time. And I don’t like when people waste my time.”

She stepped forward slowly, her boots clicking softly against the metal floor. Hux remained just behind her, a silent force of support, eyes sharp and watching.

Her mother sneered. “You’re going to try to frighten me, is that it? You forget that I raised you. You were always too soft to do what needed to be done.”

(Y/n) stopped directly beside her.

“I was,” she admitted. “But I’m not her anymore.”

Then her eyes darkened. The golden glow in her irises sharpened, deepening into something ancient, something primal. She let her hand rest on the edge of the interrogation table, not threatening, but suggestive. The air changed, subtle and slow, like the pressure before a storm.

Her mother’s composure wavered just slightly.

“You may be working with ex-Covenants who simply studied Umbral technique,” (Y/n) said quietly. “But I’m the Umbral. While your little faction can barely attempt to reach our frequencies, I can reach nerves you weren’t even aware that you had. And unlike them,” she nodded toward the security panel, “I won’t need a droid to do it.”

Hux said nothing, merely backed away to allow her space as he sensed an urge of bloodlust in her tone. His silence was approval, his gaze intense as he watched the scene unfold.

Her mother scoffed, but it was weaker this time. “You’re bluffing.”

(Y/n) smirked sadistically.

She extended her hand with slow, deliberate precision, brushing her fingertips near the side of her mother’s neck, just close enough for her mother to feel the tips of the preternatural sharpness of her nails, the way her presence seemed to sink into the skin.

Her mother stiffened.

Still, (Y/n) didn’t touch her besides the tickling sensation. Not yet. She let the words work their way under her mother’s skin.

“You can talk,” she said softly. “Or I can peel the truth out of you. Slowly .”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Her mother’s jaw tensed. Her eyes betrayed her as she tried to maintain her pride. Her hands tugged slightly against the restraints.

“You wouldn’t -” she began.

(Y/n) interrupted, her voice hollow and cold. “You gave me nothing. You lied to me. Disowned me. I have no remorse for your pain.”

That, more than anything, made her mother flinch.

And for the first time since entering the chamber, the woman’s eyes shifted. Not with defiance, but with recognition.

A crack.

Hux observed it all silently, his hands still folded neatly behind his back. But there was a look in his eyes now. Measured pride, and something else deeper, more personal. Watching (Y/n) become who she needed to be. Commanding. Ruthless. Unshaken.

But he could see the strain beneath the resolve, beneath the fury, the remnants of a daughter still buried under years of betrayal.

Her mother finally exhaled. But no information followed.

(Y/n) leaned in closer, nails beginning to press into her neck with trained precision. Even with barely any pressure, her mother’s eyes widened enough to reveal the amount of pain she was experiencing.

“I would rethink your analysis of what you think I’m capable of. This isn’t just loyalty to the Covenant or the First Order.” Her nails pressed further and the older woman’s mouth gaped, veins beginning to swell on her skull from strain. “This is the wrath of a daughter long forgotten.”

Suddenly, her nails pierced through her skin and dug through directly to her nerves. 

Varo stood just outside the reinforced blast doors, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a caf refill instead of an interrogation to end. For a while, it was quiet.

Then -

A muffled scream erupted from within the interrogation chamber. Sharp. Definitely pained.

One of the stormtroopers stiffened. The other glanced nervously at Varo.

Varo didn’t even flinch. He just raised a brow, cocked his head towards the door with a smirk, and muttered, “There it is.”

The Duskborns didn’t so much as blink.

“About time,” Varo added. “Thought (L/n) might actually try diplomacy for a second there… A brief, terrifying second.”

The stormtroopers exchanged an awkward glance.

“Is that standard?” one of them asked, as another muffled cry echoed from behind the doors.

Varo shrugged. “Depends on your definition of standard. She’s doing the thing where she doesn’t blink, right?” He looked to the Duskborn on the left who held a datapad with surveillance of the interrogation. They gave a subtle nod.

“Yeah,” Varo continued. “That’s her ‘I’m gonna extract your soul through your teeth’ face. Totally fine.”

Another scream. One that sounded like it came with tears.

One of the troopers cleared his throat. “Should we, uh, alert medical, sir?”

Varo snorted. “To have them walk into that room and spontaneously combust? No thanks. Anyways, if it gets too quiet in there, then you should worry.”

The Duskborn beside him let out a low, approving hum. Close to a laugh.

Varo grinned. “Best seat in the house, boys. You’re witnessing a master at work. And by ‘witnessing’ I mean ‘listening to a war crime in real time.’”

He glanced back toward the chamber doors, tone softening slightly beneath the bravado.

“She’ll be alright,” he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Then another muffled scream rang out - panicked this time - and Varo clapped his hands together once.

“Welp. That’s the sound of truth. Sounds like we got what we need.”

After a few minutes of silence, the door hissed open with a hydraulic groan, leaving behind only a faint echo of the storm it had followed.

General Hux stepped out first, composed as ever, though his jaw was tight and his gloves slightly askew. Subtle signs that he’d been more involved than he liked to appear. Behind him, (Y/n) emerged in silence.

Her posture was upright, but her steps were heavy. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, bore none of their usual sharp focus an afterglow of restraint barely kept in check.

Varo stood straighter as they appeared, arms unfolding from where they’d been crossed.

“Ah,” he said with a short nod. “So… good news or do I prep another cell?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer. She brushed past him like a shadow, her expression carved from stone. For a second, it looked like she might keep walking. But then she paused.

Without turning, she said lowly, “She broke.”

Varo raised his brows. “No kidding?”

“She gave us a name,” Hux confirmed, stepping to stand beside (Y/n). “And a destination. We’ll be debriefing shortly.”

The two Duskborns exchanged glances, subtle but meaningful. The troopers remained silent, uncertain whether to feel relieved or unnerved.

Varo leaned in slightly, his voice pitched just for (Y/n). “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped and automatic.

Hux watched her carefully, noting the stiff line of her shoulders and the way her fingers flexed slightly. Telltale signs of unrest.

“She did quite well, I must say,” Hux added evenly, still watching her. “Admirably.”

(Y/n) didn’t thank him. She just gave a short nod and said, “Excuse me,” before striding off down the hall.

Varo let out a breath and looked over at Hux. “You sure she’s alright?”

“No,” Hux replied without missing a beat. “But she will be.”

Varo gave a short chuckle. “You always say that like it’s a fact.”

Hux adjusted his gloves slowly. “Because with her, it is.”

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.