Serenity - Chapter 11 (Final)

Serenity - Chapter 3

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.

-

Mary stared at the ceiling of the rather minuscule bedroom. She hardly slept that night, restless. Rapidly thinking about what the following day would bring. Or rather what the Child Catcher would bring.

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on something else, whether it’d be new ideas or just ways to organize the shop, she couldn’t bring herself to stop wandering off to him. Question after question. Wondering.

He said the others at the castle lacked creativity, but that only left room for more questions instead of answers. Was the castle really that bland? Was it that lifeless?

The morning went by at a leisurely pace, and the afternoon even more so. It was as if the world was mocking her. It made her lose her focus. Made her more sluggish. Though it didn’t make her work any less remarkable. She would strive for nothing less than perfection, after all. But it all just so happened to be on possibly one of the busiest days she had in quite some time.

She began to question if there was a special occasion she and her parents were missing out on, or a festival perhaps? A birthday? The possibilities were endless in such a village. But just being a busy day would have to suffice for the time being.

She quickly patched up a pair of lederhosen with some difficulty, which she would never openly admit. The leather was tough to sew especially without the proper equipment. It was already irritating to work with even if she had all of the correct tools. But to compensate for the extra work and material, she charged more than she would for a simple fix. Which the men always had their own opinions on.

After trading with the man she slid her sketchbook in front of her on the stand, readying her pencil over the faded paper. Maybe coming up with some ideas for him beforehand would put her mind at ease? Unless he already had a specific one in mind, then her sketching would be pointless. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.

A candy man, he said? She doubted he would be willing to change his entire fit, rather than something to just throw over. A gentle smile graced her lips, the thought of him wearing such a flamboyant suit amusing her.

At last the pencil began to move across the paper, scurrying and scratching as ideas began to flood. Almost too many to keep up with. It didn’t take long for the first design to be completed with customers stopping by for a quick fix every other minute. She labeled what colors went where and what the fabric would be for each piece. All in great detail.

She repeated the same process for a few others, and thankfully it helped the day go by quicker. The sky was a deep gradient of orange and purple by the time Mary closed up the shop. She closed the double doors, turning to tidy the rest of the room in preparation for the day after. The old wood creaked beneath her feet to fill the airy silence, and it was peaceful. A breath of fresh air after the tiring day.

Once finished she trudged up the stairs to see the dining room empty which was a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. The stove was cold, pots and pans left the way it was that morning. Her father’s cup wasn’t even on the table or in the sink. That was what made her stomach churn.

A cough sounded from her parents’ bedroom through the closed door, growing more violent the longer it continued. The sound of it struck a fear in her that left her paralyzed. She listened. Waited. A minute later it came to a stop.

And the silence that followed frightened her.

Her breathing soft, she strained her ears to listen for even the smallest sound. Anything to ease her frantic mind. Then she heard her mother’s muffled voice.

Mary let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and at last began to prepare everything for dinner. She washed the vegetables and set out the cutting board and knives, chopping them up when she heard a door open. Feet shuffled across the floor, a pair landing beside her.

Her mother placed a larger pot inside the sink and turned it on, moving to light the stove.

“Ma,” Mary whispered softly when she heard a sniff, her own eyes glazing over. “Please stop.”

“Liebling.” Her mother’s voice held a mixed tone. Stern, yet trembled. Mary let it be, a tear escaping down her cheek.

Once they ate and the dishes were washed the older woman waved Mary over into her bedroom, her father still sitting at the table. She sat on the edge, Mary sitting almost directly behind her with a brush. She began to carefully remove the bun from her mother’s hair and combed her fingers through it in an attempt to undo any knots or tangled hairs.

“What did he want?” She asked Mary when she began to brush. She halted her movements for a second before continuing, caught off guard by the blunt question. “And don’t lie to me.” Her daughter hesitated, then huffed.

“You must swear not to tell a single soul.” Her mother let out a heartfelt chuckle.

“Who would I tell, dear?” After a minute or so of brushing she answered.

“He wants me to make an outfit for one of his characters.” A short moment passed and Mary honestly couldn’t tell what her mother was thinking. She didn’t still, didn’t sigh, didn’t gasp. Mary even convinced herself that she didn’t hear her, that is until her mother spoke.

“Will you?” Mary sighed.

“I will. I had a feeling it wouldn’t end well no matter the decision. It was either decline and insult the Baron’s henchman, or accept and face the wrath of the people when they find out.”

“When they find out?”

“It’s only a matter of time.” Mary stood up once finished and put away the brush. “Those intrusive bastards.” She mumbled to herself and her mother just smiled.

“Well, what does he want? Do you know?” Her questions surprised Mary, taking everything better than she thought she would. Just two days ago she was scared to death of him when he first entered the shop and now there they were having a casual conversation about what his next lure would be as if it were common gossip.

“All he said was a candy man. I sketched out a few ideas I had today. Whatever it turns out to be, I just hope he likes it.”

“Only a fool would find your work distasteful. But it is interesting how he is giving you so much free reign for something so seemingly important to him.”

Mary felt guilty for not telling her the whole truth. She trusted her mother more than anything. Not because of familial relation, but because of how much they had been through together. What they still went through together. She meant well, and it wasn’t as if she was lying. She just didn’t want her to worry more than she already did.

By the time her parents finished getting ready for bed and settled down Mary was downstairs collecting all she needed. She put her sketchbook and pencil in a simple tattered shoulder bag along with her favorite measuring tape. She then checked upstairs to make sure her parents had finally fallen asleep before heading to the front of the shop.

She peaked out the window of one of the doors, making sure no one was still wandering the plaza. When the coast was clear she carefully left the shop, turning the knob as she closed it to prevent any unnecessary noise.

Her hands nervously twisted the strap of the satchel as she turned to face the wide open space. She rarely ever ventured out in the dark, let alone to meet with someone. She supposed she was a bit of a hypocrite since she considered herself to be a reclusive person herself. Now, she wasn’t heavily introverted, but enough to call herself one.

Mary took a few steps into the plaza, looking around for any sign of the man. Would he be hiding? Or was he confident enough to just wander in? Perhaps she was too early? She chewed on her lip with blooming panic as the questions began to swirl, but was put at ease when she saw him step out from a nearby street.

Never would she have thought she would be relieved to see the Child Catcher, but alas she sighed at the sight of him. The relief gradually diminished, however, with every step she took closer to him.

Being in his presence would strike fear into even the toughest man in the village. To say he had a reputation would be an understatement. To the others in the village he was a sadist, taking great pleasure in capturing the children and watching them cry and suffer. Same with the adults he had executed for having them in the first place. Mary, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think of the man. As far as she was concerned, he was just doing his job. Maybe he had a bit of too much fun doing it, but it was a job nonetheless.

When she reached him he leaned his head in the direction he came, turning to walk back down the street with Mary in tow. When she turned the corner she saw a horse standing in the middle of it, patiently waiting. She felt intimidated as she stood beside it, being short enough as it was. She turned to the catcher who held a hand out, offering his help.

“Where are we going?” Mary asked warily.

“The bridge.” His bluntness surprisingly made her trust the man more, made him seem like he had nothing to hide which was ironic given the situation.

After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and collected her skirt with the other, placing her foot in the stirrup to push herself up onto the horse. She gasped when she felt him lift her up with a startling amount of strength, yet was still careful in his movements. It was rather deceiving compared to his more scrawny appearance.

As he hopped on behind her she began to welcome the height difference, it even put the hint of a smile on her face. His arms reaching around her to grab the reins soon brought her back to the reality of the situation. After he kicked and the horse began to move she quickly gripped onto the saddle in front of her, never having ridden a horse before as it took on a graceful walk, and once she grew used to it her smile returned.

“Enjoying yourself?” The man behind her piped up in subtle amusement.

“Very much.” Was her simple response. She looked up to the sky, the stars beaming down brightly. Not a single cloud was in sight. “Imagine the view from the castle.” Mary mumbled, losing herself in the many new sensations the night already brought her.

“It’s better than the one down here, no doubt.”

“Well, do you ever look at them?” She questioned, her eyes never leaving the sky. She couldn’t understand why, but she felt more comfortable talking to him as they were. It was refreshing for her to talk to someone new. Someone who was willing to listen, or rather seemed like they were willing. Whether he was doing it out of politeness or because he was her customer, she couldn’t tell. But she appreciated it either way.

“I see no reason to.”

The rest of the ride was silent, yet peaceful. And Mary hated to admit it, but it made her sleepy. She wasn’t used to staying up later at night. Perhaps that was why she always woke up so early. Or was it the other way around?

When they reached the arch of the stone bridge he jumped off, then once again helped Mary. She had been far less graceful and nearly face planted the gravel were it not for the catcher…well, catching her. He tied the horse to a nearby post and turned to Mary expectedly, only to see her already taking a seat beneath the bridge. He followed suit and sat next to her, keeping a good distance so as to not make her feel uncomfortable, which she made a mental note of.

“If you don’t mind,” she began as she pulled out her book and pencil. “I already had a few ideas sketched out during the day if you wanted to take a look at them?” She looked over at him, shrinking with beady eyes at his unreadable expression. “Unless you already had one in mind?” She quickly added. He glanced down at her sketchbook.

“Let’s see yours first.” With a closed smile, she opened it and flipped to find the page.

“Given your line of work, I thought maybe a larger cloak of some sort. It would be a simple change and I think it would flow more gracefully if it has the right flare.” She finally landed on her first drawing. “Since you said ‘candy man’, I thought it would be best to stick to more intense colors, or bright. I was thinking purple for the base color and tried adding in other designs, but the color just didn’t really stick out to me.” Mary flipped to the next page and he watched her enthusiasm begin to show.

As she continued to explain her ideas, the catcher watched on in bewilderment. He knew she had to be at least somewhat skilled to create what she had in the shop, but her range of thought and creativity was far beyond what he had originally thought. Not only was she good at sewing, but he noticed how she tailored to the customer as well.

For the first time in years he was stunned. He greatly underestimated her, and so did the rest of Vulgaria. It was a shame no one took advantage of her work and how much she enjoyed doing it. He could tell she held so much passion, so much love for what she did and yet no one seemed to notice or appreciate it.

It reminded him of himself.

“This one is my personal favorite.” He perked at her words, eager to see why it was indeed her favorite. He leaned closer and carefully looked over the detailed design. It was consistent with her previous cloak designs, however it was the largest of the bunch. Enough to cover the majority of his suit.

The base was a vibrant yellow, orange and white trimming and geometric designs tactically placed to make it stand out more. Flowers of blues and yellows lined the coat along the edges and sleeves, rich green leaves sprouting from them. But it was a patch of red with black zig-zags along the upper back that struck his fancy the most. It seemed out of place compared to the rest, yet somehow she made it work. It wouldn’t be the same without it.

“That one.” The catcher drawled out. Mary snapped her head over to him, mouth agape.

“But, I haven’t -“ She stopped herself when his eyes flicked over to meet her in an intense gaze. She quickly looked away and stuttered. “Of course. This one it is.” She then turned and started digging through her bag to pull out her tape measure and stood up.

Her eyes followed him as he did the same, just over a head taller than her. Her eyes glanced between his own, fiddling with the tape in her hands absentmindedly. Then she suddenly realized why she had it in the first place.

“Right.” She chirped quickly and began to take his measurements, starting with his arms and jotting down the numbers along the way. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your name exactly? I find it rude not to know the names of my customers.” Mary asked softly to break the awkward silence, mostly out of her own curiosity. Her hands lightly shook out of nerves.

“Reuben.” He caught the faintest smile reaching her lips.

“Reuben…?”

“Reuben Herrmann.” It took everything in him not to cringe at the name. It had been quite a while since he heard or even said it after being called The Child Catcher for so many years. Very few people knew his real name, and he preferred to keep it that way. The only reason he even told Mary in the first place was because he was aware of how little she spoke to other villagers, if at all. He had a feeling she wouldn’t even tell her own mother without his expressed permission.

Mary reached around his front to measure his torso and it wasn’t until then that he realized how close they were. He could tell she was trying to avoid it from happening, but given she was taking measurements it was only a matter of time. And now it was his turn to feel flustered, mainly from hearing her repeat his own name back to him.

“I think it fits you.” Mary hummed, then she began to giggle and decided to try and break through his closed-off demeanor. “You know, the people gossip about what they think your name is?”

“They do?” She nodded and continued with her giggle fit. “And what have they said?”

“Well, nothing even remotely close to Reuben. Your name is that of a saint compared to what they’ve come up with. But I think my favorite is Archie.” Mary’s giggling turned into laughter when the catcher’s face twisted into disgust.

“Archie? Well, I’d say we’re blessed that they can’t have children.” By the time her laughter died down she was finished and put away the tape measure, hooking the bag over her shoulder.

“Well lucky for you, Mister Herrmann, you won’t be catching any Archies.” The two of them made their way back over to the horse, untying and mounting it once more to begin their journey back to the village.

Mary let out a gentle yawn, covering it as best she could. The sound of the horse’s hooves tapping against the ground, the movement of it alone practically rocking her to sleep. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the crickets seemed to grow more faint, everything around her meddling together. Subconsciously she leaned back against Reuben, her head rested off to the side on one of his shoulders. But by the time she realized she was falling asleep it was too late.

Chapter 5

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 two remained in the War Room as Varo and Phasma joined them soon after. A large tactical display hovered between them, showcasing the sectors suspected to harbor the rogue threat.

General Hux stood at the head of the table again, hands behind his back. To his right stood (Y/n), and on the opposite end of the table stood Phasma and Varo, their expressions focused, but the tension in the room was palpable.

“We have authorization to act. Now we need to figure out a way to track them down and find them.” The general began.

Phasma followed. “They’re ghosts,” she said flatly. “Not a single trace left behind. No footprints. No blood. Just bodies.”

“That’s the Covenant for you,” Varo muttered grimly. “They know how to vanish. And they’re using it.”

“Not just vanish.” (Y/n) added. “Each strike we’ve reviewed… they’re not looking to make a statement. They’re gathering something.”

Phasma tilted her head in question. “Intel?”

“Or resources.” She replied. “They’re choosing their targets too precisely. They know our protocols. Our rotations. What we have and where. Every time they attack, they raid the location.”

“Then we bait them.” Hux suggested. He stepped forward and gestured toward a flickering system on the map. “These three supply stations are within striking distance of the last known rogue activity. We plant the idea that one of them is carrying classified tech and leak the information through a Resistance channel we know they’ve intercepted in the past.”

Phasma hummed in thought. “Risky. But controlled. I can reroute stormtroopers for concealed perimeter placements.”

“I don’t want any engagement.” Hux ordered. “Observation only. Identify, record, and pull back. The moment we can confirm their identities, we strike with the Covenant’s backing.”

“We’ll need more than scouts, sir.” Varo warned. “These aren’t just any rogues. We engage with standard units, we lose more good soldiers.”

The general nodded in agreement. “Which is why you -” He looked at Varo. “- will be embedded in the region as a liaison. You’ll move freely between units and help direct operations. No one else has the experience to recognize them for what they are.”

(Y/n) shifted and offered a warning to Varo. “If they smell you, they’ll come out. If any of them knew you before they defected…”

Her gaze sharpened.

“They might want to carry out unfinished business.”

Varo’s expression was unreadable, but something cold flickered in his eyes.

“Then let them try.” He threatened indirectly. “I’m very persuasive when it comes to traitors.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” (Y/n) replied simply.

Hux tapped the console, confirming the initial troop deployment orders.

“Begin rotating squads to the target sectors under routine drills. Make it look mundane.”

“They’ll never know we’re watching.” Phasma consoled him.

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

“Dead rogues or silence,” Varo started. ”Either way, we’ll bring order back to the Covenant.” 

Later on, as the night cycle began, the corridors with higher command personnel quarters were dimly lit, lights cycling to mimic planetary night. Most of the officers had retreated by this time. A hush blanketed the area, the kind of silence that only came during these artificial nights in the belly of a warship.

(Y/n) sat alone at a secluded alcove in the corridor, an architectural oddity tucked near the viewport wall. The viewport stretched tall and wide, revealing the swirling stars and the velvet void beyond. A built-in bench sat along one side of the wall next to the window, lit only by the glow of passing starlight.

She sat with one leg curled up beneath her, still dressed in her uniform but with the zipper of the bodysuit around her neck slightly undone for breathing room. A small blood pack, half-drained, rested beside her hip. Her datapad was forgotten in her lap, the screen dimmed. Her gaze was fixed on the stars, lost in quiet thought.

Her ears then honed in as she heard a set of footsteps further down the corridor. Measured. Familiar.

(Y/n) didn’t turn to look. She already knew who it was.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be awake in this sector.” The general commented in a quieter tone.

“Neither did I.”

There was a pause. Hux stood there, considering her. Not just the strange placement of her presence, but the rare image of her relaxed posture and unguarded expression.

“This isn’t regulation seating.” He pointed out. (Y/n) glanced over at him in a playful deadpan.

“Are you here to enforce it, General?”

He let out the faintest sound, almost a scoff. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and took a seat beside her on the bench, maintaining a respectful space between them.

After a moment, the general began to speak again.

“This part of the ship was designed to house long-term High Command. They included comfort features… but few of us make time to use them.”

“It’s the only place I’ve found that doesn’t feel like war.” (Y/n) said in a more hushed tone.

A long silence fell between them. Outside the viewport, stars drifted past slowly, distant and indifferent.

The general hummed. “I find comfort in order.” (Y/n) tossed him a pointed look - as if to say ‘no, really?’ - and he clicked his tongue in minor annoyance. “It makes things… predictable. Safe.”

He paused.

(Y/n) turned her head slightly to look at him. “Why do you think it’s safe?”

He looked at her now, his expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I think predictability can keep a person alive. But it doesn’t protect you from harsh realities in life.”

The words hung between them for a moment too long.

“No… it doesn’t.” (Y/n) agreed softly.

She looked away again, fingers absently brushing her datapad.

“I thought I knew my people. What we stood for. What we bled for. But now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re referring to the rogues.”

“I’m referring to those I once trusted. Those who chose to spit on everything that kept us alive. After what the Resistance did to our kind… I can’t understand how they could turn their backs on the Covenant or First Order.”

Hux thought for a moment before he answered. “Pain doesn’t forge loyalty. Not for everyone. For some, it just festers… until all they want is to be the one holding the knife. And they won’t care who’s at the end of the blade.”

(Y/n) watched him closely now, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he said it. “You speak like someone who knows.”

“I do.” He answered flatly.

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t cold. It was shared. Weighted, but equal.

After a beat, (Y/n) leaned back slightly against the wall, letting her head rest there as she stared up.

“I don’t regret joining the Covenant or becoming an Umbral. But some nights… I wonder who I would’ve been if I didn’t.” 

“You’d still be dangerous.” Hux quipped.

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Just a flicker. “And you’d still be impossible.”

“That almost counts as a compliment.” His lips twitched in a smirk.

Another moment of quiet. 

(Y/n)’s gaze was fixed on the stars outside, but her awareness was sharp. She could feel the  general’s presence beside her as if it were its own gravitational field. And he, for all his rigid posture and measured breathing, had not moved since sitting down.

The silence lingered, no longer heavy with unspoken thoughts, but… tentative. Curious.

“You seem more yourself.” Hux suddenly pointed out.

“I thought I was always myself.” She replied curiously.

“Yes, but… you’re more calm. Not as stiff. It’s refreshing… and it suits you.”

She glanced over at him, a single brow lifting. “Well, I do expect myself to know how to separate professionalism from personal matters, if that’s what you mean. I’m just careful with who sees what side.” She then turned to face him slightly. “How would you know what suits me?”

“I pay attention. You’re not the only observant one here.”

Her lips parted slightly as they stared at one another, but whatever retort she was about to make was lost when her knee brushed lightly against his.

She stilled immediately. So did he.

The touch had been accidental. Casual contact in the narrow space of the bench, but it sparked like static, subtle and unmistakable.

Neither of them moved away.

(Y/n) shifted her gaze back to the window, face unreadable save for the faint shift in her posture. Hux pretended to return to his datapad, his grip on it just a little too firm, his jaw set with a precision that was almost… performative.

“Apologies.” (Y/n) muttered.

“Unnecessary.”

She looked down at her hands. He tapped once on the datapad, but didn’t really read whatever was on the screen.

The silence returned. Not awkward, but charged. It buzzed faintly beneath their skin.

(Y/n), sensing the tension still in his posture, allowed herself a rare act of rebellion against her instincts. She shifted just a bit closer. Not enough to touch again. Just enough to make it noticeable.

And Hux noticed. But what he noticed even more was how she became even more tranquil after she had done so.

She didn’t look at him, and if it were possible, her cheeks would’ve been tinted. The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. Barely.

“It’s strange.” She spoke.

“What is?”

“Sitting still. Doing nothing. And yet… it doesn’t feel like a waste of time.”

He studied her carefully now. “It isn’t.”

Another moment passed. A pause not meant to be filled.

And then Hux stood, smooth and precise as usual. But the movement was slower. He tucked his datapad under one arm, glancing down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.

“It’s late.”

“So is everything on this ship.” She jested.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, just a ghost of a smile, and then turned.

But just before he stepped away, he hesitated.

“I’ll expect you in my office at 0600.”

“Of course.”

“Bring tea.”

She blinked.

(Y/n), feigning seriousness, replied. “Blood or sugar?”

He glanced at her, a faint glint in his eye. Amused. Surprised.

“Surprise me.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, boots silent on the floor.

Left alone again, (Y/n) stared out at the stars.

Her body still remembered the brief brush of contact. And her expression softened with something akin to warmth.

The next morning, General Hux was already at his desk, filtering through whatever came in while he was asleep. He didn’t look up immediately when the door slid open with a soft hiss.

(Y/n) stepped in, punctual to the second. In one hand she carried a thermal cup. In the other, a sealed blood pack.

She approached the desk and placed the cup neatly within his reach.

“Surprise.” She greeted flatly.

Hux raised his eyes. His gaze flicked between the items. Then his brow lifted, barely.

“You brought both.”

“I like to cover contingencies… that and I’m starving.” She added as she twisted the cap and began to drink from it, the cool liquid easing down her throat.

He regarded her for a long moment, then reached for the cup. Steam rose from it as he took a measured sip.

“Sugar.” He hummed. “You didn’t risk the blood. Wise.”

“I need my commanding officer awake, not disgusted.”

He smirked faintly at that, a rare expression, short-lived but genuine. (Y/n) caught it but didn’t comment.

For the first time since she’d been there, she moved to the small seat across from his desk without his direction, posture straight with her legs crossed. Despite the cold formality of the room, the air between them was… different. Not quite relaxed, but no longer so distant.

He reviewed a few lines on the datapad before speaking again.

“I assume your quarters are adequate? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked.”

(Y/n) replied with a faint tilt of her head.

“Functional and familiar.”

“That’s what passes for comfort around here.”

“I don’t require comfort.” She teased before taking another sip.

“No. But everyone benefits from a moment to breathe in an acceptable environment.”

She blinked at that, ever so slightly surprised.

“Is that what last night was?” She smirked. 

He looked up at her then, the full weight of his focus falling on her face. “Possibly.”

Something passed between them again. Unspoken. Subtle. 

Then, like the snap of a soldier returning to attention, he set the datapad down and stood, brushing a hand down the front of his coat.

“Come. We’re expected on the bridge. I need to have updates on Resistance activity by 0700.”

She stood smoothly, falling into step beside him after tossing the now empty blood pack.

As they moved towards the door, (Y/n) offered an afterthought. 

“Next time, I think I’ll bring both in a thermal. Tea for you, blood for me. Haven’t had it warm in a while.”

Hux glanced sideways at her. “Efficient.”

A beat.

“Thoughtful.” He added, though quieter.

The door hissed open and they stepped into the corridor in perfect contrast, moving in precise sync.

The bridge of the Finalizer was quiet in its efficiency, cloaked in the bluish-gray tones of early cycle operations. Terminals glowed softly, crew members moved with practiced rhythm, and the stars beyond the viewport were distant and still.

General Hux stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back as he analyzed data from one of the terminals. (Y/n) stood beside him, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the bridge with deliberate calmness. She was close enough to intervene if needed, yet never encroaching on his command space.

A lieutenant approached first, offering a crisp nod before handing Hux a tablet. “General, update from outpost Delta-Four. Last contact was at 0300. No response since then and no distress call was sent.”

Hux read it with a furrowed brow. “Similar to Sector Eight last week.”

“Yes, sir. Final transmission mentioned movement along the outer edge of a debris cluster. Then silence.”

“No signs of conflict?”

“None. It’s clean.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed. “They’re getting bolder.” He handed the tablet back to the lieutenant and turned back towards the terminal to key in a command. Facing the bridge again, a map of the outer sectors materialized in a wash of pale blue light. Red indicators blinked in a triangular pattern.

“Have long-range scans pulled from the Starbreaker Array. Cross-reference radiation trails, shield fluctuations. Any anomalies, no matter how faint.”

The officer gave a quick nod. “Yes, General.”

(Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly to the glowing display, then back towards the junior officers bustling quietly. 

Another officer approached. A younger systems technician with smudged gloves and a nervous gait. “General… we detected an attempted intercept on last night’s dispatch to Command. It failed, but whoever it was, it wasn’t Resistance-grade slicing.”

Hux’s hands tightened behind him. “I want the source tracked, triangulated, and dissected. Every data spike, every digital pulse logged. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The technician nearly tripped backing away. (Y/n) didn’t react, though her eyes flicked to Hux subtly, noting the flare of tension in his expression.

He exhaled slowly before the doors to the bridge slid open with a sharp hiss.

Captain Phasma entered first, tall and commanding in her chrome armor. Her pace was deliberate, each step punctuated by the soft thud of metal boots on deck plating. Varo followed at her side, his usual grin exchanged for a more focused expression. When he spotted (Y/n) already at Hux’s side, his brow lifted in silent greeting.

Hux turned as they approached “Phasma. Drenn,” he greeted. His eyes flicked to (Y/n), then back to the others. “You’re just in time. We have a developing situation.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod in response to Varo’s glance. 

Hux stepped back slightly and gestured towards the holomap still displayed. “We may be looking at a coordinated infiltration effort. Unknown parties. Skilled and precise. Possibly something more than the Resistance. This may be one of our only chances to intercept and identify them.” The general nodded his head in the direction of the doors to the bridge and walked, the group following him.

The doors to the bridge hissed open, then sealed shut again as General Hux led them down the corridor. (Y/n) walked beside him as while Varo and Phasma flanked from behind.

No words were exchanged on the walk. The tension from the short briefing still lingered in the air like static. Tightly wound, waiting for direction.

Once inside Hux’s office, the door sealed behind them with a low thrum. Hux moved to behind his desk, bringing up the latest holomap which crackled to life in front of them.

“This is where they’re projected to hit next,” Hux said without preamble, pointing to a small, seemingly insignificant relay station nestled between two inactive mining sectors. “It’s remote. Understaffed. A low-profile target. Perfect for remaining unseen.”

“And exactly what we’d expect them to go for if they’re testing our blind spots.” Phasma chimed in.

“We’ve tracked fragments of their signal spikes converging here,” Hux continued, zooming in on the relay’s coordinates. “Encrypted communications, faint enough to be overlooked if you weren’t already looking for them. But there’s a pattern.”

Varo squinted at the holomap. “It’s a bait station. Easy to infiltrate, but also easy to ambush from. If someone knew how.”

Hux’s eyes flicked towards him. “Which is why we’re going to beat them to it.” He turned slightly, addressing all three of them. “We’ll deploy a stealth team, small and silent. We observe first. Identify who they are. Confirm if this is the same force behind the outpost vanishings.”

(Y/n) stepped forward slightly, her voice level. “And if it is?”

“Then we’ll respond accordingly,” Hux said coldly. “And we won’t miss.”

Phasma nodded. “I’ll have a squad outfitted for cloaked transport and scout support. The relay can be secured quietly, with minimal presence.”

Hux tapped his fingers against his desk. “No standard stormtroopers. It’ll be too obvious.”

He turned his gaze to Varo. “I want you in position ahead of the operation. You’ll be our eyes on the ground. Blend in with the relay crew if needed. Keep comms silent unless contact is made.”

Varo gave a sharp nod. “Understood.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re playing shadow games now. I always preferred being the knife in the dark over the hammer at the gate.”

“Then consider this a return to form,” Hux replied dryly, before turning back to the holomap.

A brief silence followed as each of them absorbed the mission’s stakes. Then Hux looked to (Y/n) once more, his gaze thoughtful beneath the commander’s mask.

“Umbral (L/n) and myself will have visual from here on the bridge while the operation is active. Anyone who is on ground will have a surveillance system so we can track what they are seeing and have more eyes identifying who we’re dealing with should anything happen.” Everyone nodded before the holomap disappeared. “If we’re going off of their typical patterns, the mission will be set during tomorrow’s night cycle. Phasma and Drenn, I want you to coordinate with intelligence and logistics to formulate a plan. Dismissed.”

Phasma offered a curt nod and exited with precise efficiency. Varo lingered just long enough to exchange a glance with (Y/n), a small, wordless assurance before following.

The door slid shut, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. General Hux remained standing, unmoving as he observed the remaining Umbral.

Her gaze was distant, as if she was looking at something far beyond the walls of the office.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Hux said without looking up.

(Y/n) blinked, shifting slightly. “Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to appear distracted.”

“You didn’t,” he said simply, finally glancing over at her. “You appear unsettled.”

Her mask didn’t crack, not fully. But something in her eyes softened. A hesitation.

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

Hux’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “Umbral?” The formality in her title made her glance at him sharply, until she realized he was watching her not with scrutiny, but something bordering on concern. Her posture eased by a hair’s breadth.

She exhaled quietly through her nose. “It’s Umbral Drenn.”

“Ah.”

“He’s the only person I have left,” she said slowly, as if peeling the words out of herself. “We’ve fought, bled, trained… Endured everything together. And now I’m stuck here. Watching him walk into a threat we still don’t fully understand.”

She didn’t pace. She didn’t fidget. But her stillness was heavy, dense with emotion she rarely permitted to surface.

“I’ve lost too much already,” she added softly. “If I lose him too…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Hux studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, but far from cold. He stepped away and moved towards the viewport behind his desk.

“I understand more than you think,” he said after a pause. “The burden of command is not just strategy and protocol. It’s the slow erosion of everyone who made you feel human.”

She looked at him then, some part of her surprised.

He didn’t meet her gaze, but his voice was steady.

“You will remain here,” he continued. “You’ll watch the feed with me. If anything happens to Drenn, you’ll know before anyone else does.”

(Y/n) blinked once, unsure how to respond to the weight of his words.

“Thank you,” she said finally, quieter than usual.

He turned to her now, his expression still composed, but his eyes… there was something else there.  

Their eyes held for a second too long, just long enough for something to pass between them.

Then Hux turned back to his desk. The Umbral stood for a moment in thought, and for the first time in years, she found herself fidgeting slightly. 

-

The lights were dimmed in the corridors, the stars outside scattered like frost across a black pane. The two Umbrals stood side by side, simply looking out at the galaxy before them in the same alcove (Y/n) had sat in with Hux.

(Y/n)’s arms were crossed, a subtle tension in her frame. She said nothing for a while, watching the distant shimmer of a nebula bleeding color into the void. Varo stood beside her, his usually relaxed posture tempered by a rare stillness.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual.

(Y/n) didn’t glance his way. “So are you.”

A small chuckle escaped him. “Fair enough.”

They lingered in silence a moment longer.

“Do you ever think about what we signed up for?” (Y/n) asked. Her voice wasn’t cold. It carried the weight of something old, something uncertain. “What it cost us?”

Varo nodded slowly. “All the time. Just… not usually out loud.”

Now she glanced at him. “Tonight feels different.”

“It does,” he agreed, looking out at the stars again. “Walking into something none of us fully understand. And just… watching. Not fighting. It feels wrong.”

She nodded. “I know.”

His gaze flicked over to her, reading the steel behind her voice. But then it softened, and he tilted his head towards her slightly. “You think we did the right thing, choosing the path we did as Umbrals? All of this?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence wasn’t uncertain. She was simply searching for truth.

“It was the only path that gave us purpose,” she said finally. “And if this faction turns out to be what we fear, then it’s our duty to stop them. No matter who they were to us.”

Varo was quiet again, but then nudged her shoulder gently. “Still. I’m glad I’m not doing this without you.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, a faint trace of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. “Likewise.”

For a few moments, they stood in comfortable silence again. Then Varo exhaled, brushing his hand through his hair and casting her a sideways glance.

“You know,” he added with a small smirk, “if I die tomorrow, I want you to avenge me with dramatic flair. Really make a scene. Rip someone’s spine out or something.”

She rolled her eyes, smirk deepening. “I’ll consider it.”

“Seriously,” he pressed, grinning now. “Cry. Wail. Maybe swear vengeance in front of a flaming backdrop.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” she said flatly, but there was warmth in her tone.

The weight of the night didn’t vanish, but it lessened between them. Whatever tomorrow brought, they wouldn’t face it alone. Even if apart.

Complete Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Pairing - The Child Catcher x OC

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.

Masterlist

Pairing - The Joker x OC

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.

Masterlist

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

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.

The Scarred - Chapter 1

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 bitter morning cold was relentless against her skin, encouraging her to attempt to tuck her face further into her coat. It was moments like these where she was thankful for the bandages as they kept half of her face warm. Cars and buses alike filled the streets during the rush hour, jaywalkers slipping between them when the chance presented itself to involve themselves in the madness. She shook her head to herself, hand reaching up to open the door to a petite shop with a ‘ding’. It was warmer, even somewhat humid. The smells of different flowers and herbals were dominating. She walked behind the small wooden counter to set down her shoulder bag, hearing faint rustling from the back room of the shop.

“Penny? That you?” A woman’s voice floated over. Footsteps grew louder as they entered the front of the shop until a head of brunette hair poked out. “Hey, you!” She chirped with a bright smile while the other just returned it with tight lips. She walked over to where Penelope now sat down, pencil and journal on the counter in front of her. The woman’s figure practically towered over her because of her poor posture that would surely cause problems in the near future. “Long time no see, stranger.” She jested, gently elbowing her side.

“You saw me yesterday, you goof.” Penelope practically mumbled, attempting to bite back a smile.

“Still too long.” The woman ruffled her hair, giggling as she watched her scramble to fix it once she pulled away. She disappeared to the back once more and Penelope picked up her pencil, beginning to jot down some notes as the brunette reentered with a small vase of assorted flowers. “Lunch is on me today, by the way.” She started to touch up the flowers to her liking. Penelope furrowed her brow at her, mouth moving to question her friend before she was cut off. “There’s a food truck just down the street I thought we should try. It’s mostly sandwiches, but I’m sure they have other things, too.” She looked up and smiled at the younger woman who gazed at her with a doe eye.

“Um -” She gazed nervously at the floor before looking back up at her. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” The woman laughed and went around the room to reorganize other vases and pots. It was quiet for a few moments, the sounds of pencil scratching on paper and her friend’s footsteps adding to the peacefulness. The outside streets were muffled in the background and Penelope relished in the calming atmosphere, the ghost of a smile gracing her face. It was soon washed away when a thought reached out to her, buzzing in her head. She started to chew on her cheek.

“Emma?” Penelope asked softly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, hun?” The woman’s chirpiness had died down slightly, sensing the more serious tone in the woman’s voice.

“Do I -” She started, pausing to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. She started to regret her decision of bringing it up, but decided that she now had to commit to it. “Do I have… habits?” It seemed the roles had been reversed, for now Emma was the one furrowing her eyebrows.

“I mean, everyone has habits, hun.” She looked at her friend’s face and immediately noticed the racing thoughts just from her eye, sighing once she did. “Penny, is this about your therapy?” Her voice took on a motherly tone and she slowly made her way over to Penelope who just nodded her head. “I don’t understand why you even visit her, still.” Her arm wrapped around Penelope’s shoulders, her hand rubbing the farther one in small circles. “All they do is pocket your money for hearing your life’s story and feed you bullshit.”

“I’m just too scared to stop visiting.”

“Why, because it’ll break your routine?” Emma leaned on the counter with her elbow, eyebrows raised.

“She knows the most and I’m scared to break that tie because of how much she knows.” Her large eye finally looked up to Emma, filled with desperation and fear. “What if she uses it against me somehow? Or tells someone else and then they use it against me? What -”

“Penny.” Her mouth snapped shut and her gaze cast down to the floor once more. “Not only are your conversations confidential, but - and I don’t mean this in a rude way - what would be so special about you that would make her spill your life’s story to someone?”

With candlelit faces, the two of them laughed. The younger woman’s eyes were glazed over with joy as her mother presented the cake in the dark room.

The soothing ambience of the soft music and boiling water in the background was a stark contrast compared to her raging thoughts. She made her way to the fridge, opening the freezer to pull out a bag of tortellini.

As thick smoke started to crowd the room, accompanied by distant screams, they stared at each other. Now both of their eyes were glazed, yet it held an entirely different meaning.

After having ripped the bag open with her teeth, Penelope warily poured the frozen pasta into the water, standing as far away as possible to avoid being splashed. As she waited for them to be ready she grabbed a jar of pesto from the fridge, then a larger bowl and olive oil from the cupboard.

“Penny -” She was cut off by her own coughing. “The window - open the window!”

Lightly sucking on the inside of her bleeding cheek, she brought the pot over to the strainer that had been placed in the sink. She leaned away from the steam as she poured in the pasta and water, setting the pot aside when finished. The bowl was brought over for the pasta to be transferred.

Even through the overwhelming pain, she maintained eye contact with her daughter for reassurance. She noticed the way she apprehensively glanced out of the window. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

The sound of glass shattering filled the still air of the room. Having now sat down on the floor against the counter she let her head fall back with a light ‘thud’, taking shaky breaths as she tried to ground herself. Suddenly, she cried out to the nothingness in front of her, not a yell or a scream. The noise had found the perfect middleground as she trembled.

Penelope wasn’t sure how long it had been. Hours, minutes, maybe even only seconds. Her legs were laid out in front of her now, head hung low with a gentle sniff every now and then. Her dinner had been long forgotten. She had lost her appetite. She looked over to where the small bowl had been thrown, white chunks scattered below where it hit the wall. Thankfully the wall was fine save for some scratched paint.

She begrudgingly pushed herself from the floor to cover the bowl with the pasta and put it in the fridge. Exhausted, she left the glass where it was, deciding to just clean it up after work the next day. With a soft ‘click’ her bedroom glowed with warm light and she trudged over to the small bathroom. Just as she was about to start her normal routine, however, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was small, barely noticeable as it blended with the egg-white countertop. The lined paper had some chicken scratch on it and she strained her eye to read it, yet when she could finally make out the words her heart dropped.

Don’t forget to smile.

Serenity - Chapter 10

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 days seemed to pass by in a flurry, though Mary was appreciative of the work she performed in order to distract herself from the reality at hand. She lived in her own little world when she was in the sewing room. Even at the village, she had never felt so focused, no matter if it was because of who it was for. The seamstress hadn't taken such care of her work since Reuben's project.

It was well into the night and the woman hadn't left the room since lunch. With the catcher out and about she hadn't a reason to leave as he was always the one to drag her away from her work. Her movements were slower, more sluggish in her tired state. She was too close to finishing with the Baron's attire to stop. As always with practically muscle memory, she made final adjustments and corrections, clipping off dangling strings and whatnot.

Mary missed the presence that entered the room, the disappointed yet adoring look across their face. She heard a sigh from behind her and didn't turn to see them, already knowing who it was.

"I'm almost done, I promise." Mary answered his silent plea.

"You shouldn't put your work over your health." The catcher removed his hat and made way to stand beside her to see the finished product.

"How did it go?"

"Found two of them under a bridge." His usual pride was concealed by his own exhaustion. Any other time of the day he would've been boasting about it like a hero, which he was in a way.

"Two?" Reuben nodded. "How old?"

"I believe six and four."

"I don't ever remember seeing so many in such a short amount of time. That would make five in a little over a month."

"It happens from time to time. Nothing is ever consistent when it comes to children." He nearly spat. Mary finally quit fussing over her work and set down her scissors to face Reuben. She offered a weak smile.

"Finished." The man huffed incredulously, biting back a smile before the two of them made their way to his quarters. As Reuben began shedding his layers Mary undid her hair and jewelry, then turned to him. "Reuben?" She called gently and he turned to her as he pulled his cravat over his head. "Can you...?" She motioned to the back of her dress.

Without hesitation he stepped over to her, beginning to untie it in silence. It was a comfortable silence, however, and it was these moments that they seemed to cherish the most. It was a calm break from the chaos of the day, allowing them to wind down and relax, basking in the comfort of one another.

Reuben softly patted her waist when he finished and she thanked him, then made her way to the bathroom to finish changing. Mary made a beeline for the bed when she emerged, burying herself under the covers and closing her eyes for much needed rest. The room dimmed beneath her eyelids as Reuben turned off the overhead light, leaving on a faint lamp on the end table beside the couch as he opened a faded book.

She began to realize that the sheets started to smell like her, and less like the man they belonged to. Either that or it was starting to become a weird combination of the two which she personally didn't mind. It began to make her wonder if they were really together that often, or if anyone else noticed besides the Barons.

She couldn't remember ever having to rely on someone as much as she did Reuben. Not even her own mother. Perhaps it was because of trauma, that her mind would cling to anyone that gave her the time of day. She wondered if it would ever wear off, or if he would grow tired of her. As close as they were now, even with a fresh courtship, she couldn't bear the thought of being away from him. It scared her to even think about the chance of it happening.

Half an hour passed and she couldn't bring herself to sleep. She was exhausted, and the sound of pages being turned occasionally kept her in her sleepy state, but her mind had other ideas as she tossed and turned. Mary opened her eyes and glanced at Reuben. His head rested against his hand, elbow on the arm of the couch with his legs crossed as he continued to read his book.

"Reuben?" The catcher perked up at her voice. "Could you lay with me?" She almost whispered. His eyes widened in disbelief for a second, then he closed and set down the book, standing up and rounding the bed to the opposite side. "I can't sleep..." Reuben slid off his shoes and carefully crawled on top of the bedding to sit up next to her. She turned to face him and lay her head in his lap, resting an arm over his legs and curling into him.

"Is something bothering you?" Mary sighed and nuzzled herself closer to him. She was silent at first, thinking.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Mary whispered, her hand gripping the fabric of his pants. He didn't say a word in response, only began combing his fingers through her hair. It wasn't until he was sure she was asleep that he leaned his head back against the bed frame and closed his eyes.

"Marianne?" A voice echoed around her. "Mary?" The echo became clearer and the woman spun around in a tizzy, trying to find the source of it. "Mary!" The nearly unsaturated plaza began to spin with her movements. "Mary!" The voice cried out with no echo present and the woman in question spun around to see her mother kneeling before her with outstretched arms, face bruised and bloodied.

Mary quickly made her way to the throne room in a daze, eyes fleeting every which way. When she entered she quickly spotted the barons who, coincidentally, were speaking with none other than Reuben. His presence gave her just a smitch more of confidence and she stepped her way over, then offered a proper greeting.

"Your attire is ready whenever you wish to see them." The four of them looked amongst each other in quite a comedic action, then the Baron answered.

"Well, let's see!"

Once more, Mary rushed her way back up to the room with the three of them in tow. The elevator ride was quite awkward for her, however. With the sound of it buzzing the only white noise in the room it was painful, really. She couldn't be more thankful when they exited and continued their journey.

Her heart banged against her chest like a drum as they neared the entrance to the sewing room, hands beginning to sweat as her body nearly trembled with anxiety. She turned to face them, looking at each of them before turning the handle to gradually open the door. The barons peeked inside, walking further into the room when their eyes landed on what would indeed be their attire.

The Baroness gasped while Bomburst's jaw popped open, staring in fascination in a manner akin to a child. Mary slowly moved to join them in front of the mannequins, carefully watching their expressions.

"You're welcome to touch them, your excellencies."  And so they did. Their fingers traced over the intricate handwork, gawking at the different textures. Their eyes ran over their own mannequins a million times over.

"Miss Elise," Mary's heart skipped a beat. "You're hired." The Baroness spoke without ever taking her eyes off of her dress. It took everything in the seamstress not to jump for joy right then and there, but she most certainly couldn't hide the grin that pinched her cheeks. She bowed her head to hide it.

"Thank you, my lady. I won't disappoint you."

"I couldn't agree more." The Baroness finally looked over at her with a large smile, as if it was Christmas morning and she found presents under the tree.

"You'll have until the day after my birthday off from your work for what you have done. Then you can start your real work." Bomburst spoke, or really shouted, joyfully. The two of them gave her a nod before they left the room, murmuring about their excitement for the upcoming party.

When the door shut Mary rested a hand on her forehead and tittered with excitement, running over to Reuben to engulf him with a hug. The air left his lungs for a moment at the impact, but once he grounded himself he returned it and smiled down at her.

"They loved it! They really loved it!" Her voice muffled itself in his chest, then she tilted her head up and gently gripped the sides of his jaw to kiss his cheek. She was about to pull away when he stopped her and returned the kiss, however on the lips. It bubbled down her elated state slightly, and when he pulled away their cheeks were flushed.

"I'd say this deserves a celebration." Reuben offered with a wink and Mary giggled.

"What did you have in mind?"

No matter how many times she asked or pestered him with questions, he absolutely refused to answer her. Her curiosity, even she could admit, was what got her into trouble most often. She thought it one of her greatest flaws. She didn't even have her sewing to distract her from such misery as Reuben made it an official order not to let her into the room for her days off. As he said, for her 'own good'.

So, being as Mary would be officially living at the castle, she decided to explore a bit more. Of course, she only visited places she was more familiar with to prevent herself from getting too lost, but she did venture off from time to time and had to ask nearby guards for directions.

Mary then wound up in the throne room, a common occurrence as of late. It seemed so much yet so little happened all at once the more she looked on about the room. Everyone was split up into their own little groups, it seemed. There was a trio of women in a corner gossiping, a pair playing badminton, and a few individual stragglers. The largest group, however, was the one knitting, all sat in a row adding on to whatever it was they were all working on. She found it rather amusing more than anything.

"Well, hello, miss." A sophisticated voice greeted. Mary turned to the source, finding a pair of middle-aged women stood next to her. They wore bland gowns, yet their jewelry and wigs showed their higher status.

"Who might you be?" The brunette of the two asked.

"Mary Elise." Both women gasped and did little to hide their excitement.

"So you're the new seamstress?" The second woman dawning a light grey wig poked. Mary simply nodded.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are your names?"

"I'm Mildred Vogel." Answered the brunette.

"Aundrea Bauer."

"Why, I think those are rather beautiful names." The women tossed their wrists and giggled.

"Please, you flatter." Mildred bubbled and the two of them led Mary further into the room.

"We couldn't help but overhear that you finished the Barons' attire for his excellency's birthday!" Aundrea piped up rather loudly and Mary flinched, glancing around to see if any heads turned. To her relief, none did.

"Yes, yes, I can't wait to see what you've made to have them boast so openly!"

"Perhaps you could make us a little something, as well?" Mildred suggested and Mary began to internally panic when another voice interrupted.

"Now, ladies, leave the poor woman be before word gets out that you're pestering his excellency's seamstress." A man with a grey wig and elegant robe intervened, making his way over.

He looked down at the two women over his smaller glasses that balanced on his nose. At first they grew frustrated, but it quickly died down before they scurried off to who knew where. The stranger then turned to Mary.

"I hope they didn't give you too much trouble, Miss." He held out his hand. "Heinrich Fischer, Chancellor." She took hold of it to shake, but before she could remove her hand he covered it with his other and began to slowly maneuver them about the room as they spoke. He didn't seem to mean ill-will, it seemed more like a gentlemanly gesture than anything so she decided to pay no mind to it. Though it was awkward the first minute or so.

"It's not exactly what I expected it to be, I'll have to admit, Chancellor." She commented sheepishly and he chuckled.

"Of course not, dear girl, not at all. Not at all with all the stories floating around about out there."

"Stories?" He looked over at her in curiosity.

"Aren't you from the village?" Mary nodded. "Haven't you heard any stories from here? How the riches outweigh the amountiful brutality and whatnot?"

"I only heard bits and pieces from passerbys, but I never really trusted their opinions anyways." The Chancellor cleared his throat.

"Well, whatever the case, the stories seem to be getting more dramatic the further along they pass."

"How do you know if you don't visit?"

"Why, the prisoners, of course. It's amazing how much people talk when there's trouble a-brewing."

"Prisoners? Like children?"

"Children, yes, of course. Adults, too." He leaned in closer, speaking more quietly with a mischievous expression. "Though, many of those adults used to be children." He chuckled when he stood up straight once more, finally releasing her hand. "I figured you would know all inside and out about that with how much time you spend with the catcher."

"The topic just hasn't come up, I suppose."

"And speak of the devil." Mary noticed his gaze wander and followed it to see Reuben making his way over to the two of them.

"Chancellor." He greeted the man stiffly with a nod. "I'm afraid I've come to steal your company, if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course. She's your lady, after all. Quite a curious one." He quipped with a smile before waving them off and heading somewhere else. Reuben and Mary shared an odd look before she was dragged by the former out of the room.

"Not a fan?" Mary asked once they were out of earshot. Reuben held back a scoff.

"Eccentric. Everyone here is, including myself. But I like to think I'm the more sane one."

"Where are we going?" Mary questioned after a moment as he led her to an unfamiliar area of the castle.

"You'll see." He answered with a sly smile. She slowed for a second, then bit her lip to hide her own and trotted back to his side, taking hold of his arm. "Remember that celebration?" He recollected as they stopped before a larger doorway at the end of the hall. She looked at him in curiosity and he opened the doors, revealing a sight she only thought to be in her mother's fairytales.

It was a grand balcony. A miniature ballroom, one could say. Two large columns sat in the center, wrapped with vine and fairy lights. At the edge of the balcony sat a glass table for two, decorated with a candle and vase of a single rose. Food already sat covered at their seats in hopes to prevent any intrusion. It was a warm setting, one that remained dim so as to not outshine the stars above.

Mary stepped in further, circling to take in everything around her with a beaming smile before landing on Reuben. He looked on at her with fondness, the most gentle expression she had ever seen from him that was enough to make her cry. He followed in after her and took her hand, guiding her to the table to sit. She took a deep breath, still gazing at the scenery before her.

"I don't know what to say..." She finally whispered.

"Your face says enough." He noticed her cheeks redden and he smirked in amusement. They poured themselves a glass of wine before taking the covers from their plates. Reuben's smile widened when she gasped in excitement at the sight of the food. "Had it specially made for you." He winked and they began to eat.

Mary hummed at the first bite, having been the best meal she had since she'd arrived. They nursed their drinks throughout the supper, talking and poking fun at one another as if they'd known each other for years. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the atmosphere, but it was the most she had felt at ease.

"I used your cloak the other day," Mary's eyes glimmered in curiosity. "I'd say it's the most comfortable one in my collection."

"Was it really?!" She perked up. "It wasn't overbearing was it? Not too much?" Reuben smiled at her onslaught of questions.

"It was perfect, my dear." Her hands clapped together with joy.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me!"

"Well, I'm sure it's not the first time you've received such a compliment with all that you did in the village." He raised a brow.

"Not often at all, I'm afraid. Even still, I'm more thrilled with the fact that I'm actually doing something bigger with my material, something better where my work is finally paying off." Reuben noticed the relief in her winsome eyes as she rested her chin in her hand dreamily. "I only wish my mother were here to see how far I've come." The catcher stood up when her expression grew with melancholy, walking over to a nearby end table along the wall as he spoke.

"She would've been the proudest mother in the village, no doubt."

Mary heard him fiddle with something on the table's surface, followed by light scratching when music began to play. The sound of an orchestral piece brought an extra sense of comfort and she smiled at him as he made his way over, holding his hand out to her.

"Care for a dance, my lady?" The woman hesitated.

"I - I don't know how." Reuben tilted his head.

"Then I'll teach you." She thought for a moment, looking away in embarrassment. But he was patient.

It paid off when she finally took hold of his hand and allowed him to whisk her away to the center of the balcony. One hand took hold of her waist while the other stayed joined with her own, her other placed on his shoulder.

"I just want you to follow my footing." She took an anxious breath and nodded. He began slower, allowing her to match his steps. "1 - 2 - 3," He mumbled. She stumbled a bit at first, apologizing for every misstep which he quickly dismissed, but after a few rotations she started to get the hang of it. "That's it." Reuben cooed and began to move quicker to match the music.

Mary began to giggle in enjoyment when she began to get the hang of it, allowing herself to focus more on the moment rather than worrying about her footwork. He returned her joy with a smile and decided to spin her. She shrieked in surprise, laughter pouring out when he pulled her back in close enough for their chests to touch. His hand moved to rest on her lower back, her own tickling the back of his neck beneath his hair.

The tempo of the song slowed, as did their movements. Their heightened cheerfulness died down to simple appreciation, but their gentle smiles remained. With both of their arms wrapped around the other they began to truly focus on one another. They took in every detail, every minuscule expression that crossed the other's face with admiration as they rocked themselves gracefully.

"I don't want to leave this moment." Reuben hummed at her comment.

"I believe you said that the last time we had a moment." Mary clicked her tongue.

"You know what I mean." He hummed again.

"I do. But if we never left that last moment, then we wouldn't have had this one." Mary simply sighed and laid her head in the crook of his neck.

"I can't remember the last time I've truly been this happy." He was left speechless as Mary looked up at him longingly, eyes glancing at his lips before she laid a soft kiss atop of them.

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.”

Waking Dreams

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Rated E - 1.8k words

Tags: lots of fluff, consensual somno, gentle teasing, fingering, jerking off, oral (f receiving)

Summary:

“Oh fuck, I missed you.”

He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”

“Don’t let me deprive you, then.”

A/N: It’s impossible to write this fic without thinking of this incredible art by @themaydecemberist or this gifset 💕(Can also be read as a sequel to Sunburst!)

You feel something coaxing you from a deep-set dream, a warm hand smoothing over your shoulder as you lie curled in the blankets - trying to tug you towards the surface - though you stay firmly under.

Lips touch softly down to your temple, the apple of your cheek, the hand lifting from shoulder to trace patterns on your arm.

You stir, the words tumbling out like a sigh, “Is it morning?”

“No,” It’s little more than a whisper against your skin, “It’s still early, love.”

Eyes drift shut again as the bed dips, and you roll with the weight, shifting from your side to your back, legs stretching out and flexing against soft, cool sheets after being tucked up so long in sleep.

Otto’s fingers brush the hollow of your throat, dropping to loosen one button, and then another, inches of your soft skin coming into view.

The sleepwear you’re wearing is intimately familiar, an old shirt of his - the starch long washed-out, the pattern faded and soft under your fingertips.

“Vintage.” You had teased when you found it buried in his closet, slipping it over bare shoulders, rolling the sleeves up to your wrists.

His smile had been slow at your joke, lost in the word and a thought, until you had made room for yourself on his lap. His palm going flat on a bare thigh as your legs parted to straddle him, the dark lace of your bra peeking out of the deep, low v. Otto had melted under your touch, and after that - you had started sleeping in it when you missed him.

The path of his hand moves, gliding from skin to shirt, smoothing down from the collar to cup a breast as he mouths at your neck. A soft moan comes then, a thumb brushing against the pebbled bit of fabric, circling slowly and gently as you arch into his palm.

Eyes flutter open as he shifts to fill the soft valley between your breasts, fingers oh so gently pinching and kneading, his breath hot on sleep-warmed skin as he works his way downward.

With heavy limbs you stir, the space between your thighs feeling warm and neglected - your legs pressing together in an attempt for some friction, but he’s already there, shifting between spread knees. Deftly undoing the last two buttons until your shirt parts like chiffon curtains, exposing a bare strip of skin from thigh to neck.

Your hips lift lazily as you blink down at him, watching as his mouth leaves invisible marks - your skin prickling as his grey-flecked beard scrapes over sensitive skin. The heat in your belly curls as his face tilts up so his eyes can meet yours, dark and hungry in the late evening light.

The look he gives you is worshipful, his eyes so soft and deep you could fall into them, and you buck again, only for a wide hand to push down against your hip, pressing you against the mattress.

“Patience, my dear girl.” Otto’s voice is gravely, but it’s hard to be patient when he’s teasing - his mouth passing the soft curve of your stomach, down, down to your mound, lips dragging softly against skin so close but so far from where you need him.

You’re fully awake now, though your voice is still low in its own way, the whimpers from your throat coming with each long breath as other hand traces the curve of your knee. Fingers sink into the flesh as he moves back upward, slowly following with his mouth to press a kiss against your inner thigh.

It seems cruel he would rouse you from such a sweet dream only to tease, and when you voice that complaint he laughs, the sound a low rumble.

“Could your dream do this, darling?”

A knuckle brushes against your seam, dragging and pressing, parting your folds to feel how you’re drenched for him. Your moan catches in your throat, thighs clenching as a thumb brushes slick, arousal-swollen flesh, nudging at the sensitive bud of your clit.

There’s the prickle of coarse hair on your thigh as his lips brush another kiss, the knuckle on his finger straightening, the tip just starting to press into you.

Otto slides into your heat, and you’re clenching around him already as his thumb works in tight circles. He starts slow, barely a movement, working small flexes of his hand until he’s thrusting into you.

“Oh fuck, I missed you,” Your eyes close, brow scrunching as he presses in deep, the words sliding out with a moan.

He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”

The hand on your hip tightens when you flex again at his words with a low groan - you had been content with his touches, his fingers. But now that you he’s voiced his thoughts, you ached for more.

“Don’t let me deprive you, then.” You mean it as a tease, but the need in your voice softens the words, betrays you.

His eyes pull from his fingers to your face, they’d be severe-looking under his cut of his eyebrows if not for the way they burn, unspoken promises flickering in them. A second finger presses its way in, stretching, and you can hear the way he fills you, the wet squelch of each thrust.

And he hears it too, his lip lifting in a smile to show teeth, “Could say the same to you, darling. Let me ask - was it those little dreams that have you this wet?”

His fingers curl and drag against your inner walls and your thighs jerk, your lips parting in a rough moan. The thumb circling your clit dips down to your damp lips, dragging through your arousal on its way back up.

“Or is this all for me?”

“You,” You gaze into those expectant eyes, your word coming in a low rush.

Another gasp of breath as you inhale, “Always you.”

There’s a whirring as his actuator arms move, slipping smoothly between sheets and skin, worming their way under your thighs. The cool metal against flushed skin is soothing, but then you’re yelping as they suddenly tilt your hips up a few inches - his fingers withdrawing so his mouth can meet the sweet offering placed before him.

The sudden drag of his tongue against your cunt sends searing pleasure down your spine - your fingers twisting in the blankets by your head, searching for something to anchor yourself with.

He eats you like a man starved, tasting all of you, a low groan in his throat when his tongue presses in where his fingers were, dipping inside you. Wide hands palm your ass, though his mechanical arms have you positioned just right, fingers sinking into flesh as he hold you to him.

Otto’s name is on your tongue as you cry out, clenching down around nothing as he moves up to your clit, soft and messy and fueling the spark igniting in your core.

His nose bumps against soft, slick skin, tongue and then lips are wrapping around your clit, stealing the air from your lungs with a groan that seems to come from deep within you.

Then there’s the press of thick fingers as they return to your heat, pushing deep and then dragging until they bump into something that makes you whimper, finding that spot again and again.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that a mouth so clever could make you feel this way - but you’re still shocked at the way his tongue moves, lapping at your clit, making your muscles tighten deliciously in anticipation.

A silver tongue gilded with promises of devotion and something deeper, something hidden in those dark eyes when you catch him looking at you.

It’s in the way he’s looking at you now, an intense devotion as he catalogs every breath and movements, the gasping of your lips and the way a hand moves to curl around a breast.

Your breath feel shallow in your lungs as his fingers continue to pump, each gasp of breath a soft “oh” as he drags you closer to the edge. Lost in those eyes, you can only grasp feebly as he brings along to the peak he’s created.

A shuffling sound pricks at your attention, your head tilting as his eyes slide shut and he groans against you. One of his palms leaves your ass to unclasp his belt, working down the zipper until he’s pulling himself free.

You watch his hand close around the flushed, swollen tip, unable to resist the urge to take a bit of the edge off - and the thought that you’ve done this to him, without even touching him, has you aching and tightening around him.

“God, don’t stop,” you rasp, and you’re not sure if you’re talking about his mouth or the jerk of his fist, but it’s all building and swirling and it’s too much-

It hits you hard, the last bit of air ripped from your lungs with your cry as your walls clench down around and flutter around his fingers. You’re not sure if you’re shouting or if it’s all in your head - his lips staying suctioned around your clit as his fingers continue to curl.

The dark room seems to white out as your eyes shut, your hips rocking against his mouth as you ride the undulating waves of pleasure out - until your legs finally unclench, and his arms are tilting your hips back down to rest on the mattress.

You lay there for a long moment, your brain content and fuzzy with your release, small aftershocks pricking at your core. Then, with shaking arms you push yourself up, meeting the man hovering over you half-way, your hand cupping around Otto’s neck to pull him down to you.

His beard is damp and he tastes like you, your tongue brushing into his mouth as he opens for you. Otto moans when you suck on his lip, trapping it between teeth as his body rolls against yours, his cock rutting against the curve of your hip.

Your kiss turns lazy but he arches into you, the broad expanse of his chest and curve of his stomach a welcome weight as he fits again between your spread thighs.

“Was it like you imagined?” You ask when the kiss breaks - one hand cupping his face, the other snaking down between him, until your hand is wrapping around his weeping cock.

He groans as your fist pumps, traveling up his length as you gently squeeze. It was still early after all, and there was plenty of time to return the favor.

“No.” He word catches you off guard, until his hips thrust against your hand, until he’s bending down to kiss you again.

“It was even better.”

Reposting cause my boo is back ♥️🤍🖤

“Terrifier” - Art the Clown

Serenity - Chapter 5

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.

They didn't know how long they had been sitting on the carriage, and thankfully no one else had used the road or passed them for Mary's sake. The majority of it was spent in a pleasant silence, but there were moments of simple conversation Reuben offered that helped to ease her nerves. Mary would be lying if she said she wasn't stalling her return, it applied to both of them really.

Reuben would never admit it, but he found it relieving talking to someone outside the castle in such a civil conversation. He couldn't care less what the other villagers thought or had to say, but Mary? She had a fascinating mind. He wanted to understand the complexity of it, to discover more about her. How could someone seem so simple yet so complicated at the same time?

He looked over at her as she gazed at the sky whose bright sun prepared to set, taking in the moment of peace. Birds chirped and flew around above them, the wind gently blowing through her braided hair as the sound of a nearby creek settled in to create its own natural sense of calmness. It was moments like these she wished lasted forever. But no matter how much she wanted to stay, she knew she had to return home at some point.

"I should get going." Mary muttered with a sigh.

"Why do you insist on staying with him?" The question caught her off guard and she furrowed her brow.

"He's not the reason I insist on staying." She answered as she stepped down with the help of Reuben. "Believe me, if it wasn't for my mother, I'd be out of there quicker than a dog with a bone." Mary chuckled distastefully. "I suppose we'll run into each other again eventually."

"Under different circumstances, I hope?" He questioned with raised brows.

"Yes. Very much hopefully." She watched him for a moment, biting her lip and turning to leave before she stopped herself. "Thank you." She came to face him once more, granting him a genuine smile. "It means a lot to me." Mary then began her journey back to the shop, leaving him to stare after her disappearing figure.

It threw him off. He couldn't remember the last time someone smiled at him, or thanked him. Not the old greeting or just for manner's sake, but a real smile. Let alone directed at him. Shortly after leaving he thought about it again. And again. And many times over until he finally fell asleep.

The plaza was quiet by the time she returned. The chickens clucking and wandering aimlessly was the only noise to be heard besides the usual ambiance. What surprised her was that the doors of the shop were still wide open. She crept up to them. As she inched closer she heard the faint noise of someone sobbing, growing louder and louder until she finally peered inside.

On the floor of the shop sat her father leaning against one of the legs of the table, an empty cup tipped over beside him. The room was dark save for what was left of the sunset. It was a depressing sight, really. It's not that it was uncommon for him to behave in such a way, rather it was just never in front of Mary or her mother.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to alarm him, didn't want him to notice her at all. He could change on a dime at any second. But alas, fate wasn't on her side. A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and she grimaced as her father picked his head up to look at her. His sobbing suddenly grew more intense and Mary almost sympathized with him.

Almost.

"Mary," he wailed. "I'm so sorry, Mary," She began making her way upstairs as he continued, desperate to get away from him. "I'm sorry!" Was the last thing she heard before she made her way into her parents' bedroom with careful footing. As she creeped the door open her mother came into view, sitting up in their bed with her eyes closed. Mary's eyes softened as she gazed upon her a second longer.

"Liebling?" The frail woman called softly just as Mary turned to leave. She looked back at her mother who now had her eyes open, never looking weaker than in that moment. It was a sight. One that frightened Mary greatly.

She made her way over to their bed and sat on the edge next to her mother, placing a hand over her own. As they looked at each other the day's events rushed through Mary's mind. The image of her father, the yelling. Her mother lying almost lifeless. As tears began to spill they enveloped each other in a warm embrace as if it was their last time able to do so.

"I'm sorry, ma. I'm so sorry," Mary cried into her shoulder. "I left you with him, I'm sorry -" She was cut off by her mother shushing her, running her fingers over her scalp in a comforting motion.

"You did what you had to, liebling." Her mother slowly pulled away and cupped her daughter's cheeks, giving her a stern look. "If that ever happens again," the older woman swallowed. "And if I'm not so lucky -"

"Don't say that -" Mary shook her head.

"You run." Her mother gave a firm nod. "You run far away from here and do not come back, do you understand?"

"I can't just leave you here -"

"Do you understand?" Mary shut her mouth and her lip began to quiver.

She couldn't ever leave her mother to rot with such a man. Nothing would quell the amount of guilt that would follow. But most of all, she could never deny her mother. A few seconds passed before she nodded in agreement and was pulled in once more.

"I want to protect you, mein liebling. I can't do that if I'm not around." She whispered solemnly as more tears fell.

"Where would I go?" Her mother was silent as she thought for a moment.

"I don't know. But you're no good dead, now are you?" Mary heard her smile, a simple jest to lighten their spirits. "I'm sure someone out there is in need of your talent." Mary averted her eyes bashfully with a smile. 

"I think someone already is." Her mother tucked a piece of hair behind her daughter's ear.

"Is that where you were all this time?" Mary nodded. "You have been visiting with him quite often recently."

"He's a customer."

"Well, you're never around your other customers this much with such a request."

"He's a picky customer?" The two of them giggled as if they were just two teenage girls.

It made her mother feel young again, made her giddy knowing her daughter possibly found someone. Even if it would be just an acquaintance, it was still someone. Would she have wanted it to be the Child Catcher? Absolutely not, but as long as her daughter was happy and he didn't hurt her, she didn't see the harm in it.

"But he seemed to love one of the designs I drew up for him. Hopefully it'll turn out."

"Knowing your work, liebling, it'll be much better than he's expecting."

"I hope so..."

The two of them stayed up later in the night talking to each other about whatever came to mind. Her mother continued asking questions about the catcher while Mary tried steering away from the topic. It was a much needed moment for the two of them after the day they had. Eventually, Mary made her way to her own bed to at least get a few hours of sleep, and it was surprisingly easier for her that night.

She repeated the same morning routine, working the shop with the usual grouchy customers when a familiar face grew closer. An old man with a slight hunch meandered his way through the plaza towards her shop, riding on a cart filled with goods he'd collected and traded along the way. "Good morning, Miss Mary!" He chirped with a friendly smile as he turned to face the pile behind him to grab a larger box.

"Good morning, Mr. Weber!" The woman returned, taking the box from him. He leaned down closer to her to keep his next words between the two of them.

"Some fancy material you got there, milady. I'd keep it in a safe spot away from prying eyes if I were you." He sat up straight with a wink. "I was finally able to find more silk, if you need it? Or some chiffon?" He continued rummaging through his cart. "Ah!" He pulled out a large bundle of sheer fabric, accented with silver. "This was a rather special find of mine. I had it in safe keeping on the way here. I knew for sure you'd have a use for it, my dear." He passed it off to her as she gawked at the beauty of it, ideas flooding.

"How much?"

"Free of charge! And there's no room for bargaining." He offered another wink and rattled the reins to take off once more. "Take care, Miss Mary!" The woman watched him disappear down the street with a smile, then moved to put away the new fabric before setting the box on the center table.

It was a rather simple brown box. No one would ever suspect it held something of importance. She supposed it was for the best. She thought about waiting to open it when she was alone, but her curiosity ended up getting the best of her and she carefully opened it. What first caught her eye was the carefully folded fabric, both yellow and orange.

She ran her fingers over the smooth texture in awe. Never had she owned a piece so elegant and made sure to handle it with great care as she took it out and set it on a nearby rack. The rest of the items consisted of the material for the more detailed designs of the coat and the typical basic necessities. 

Unable to contain her excitement she giggled cheerfully, immediately putting herself to work on the design. She cleared off the center table and laid everything she needed on top of it, including her sketchbook. She switched between helping customers and her new project relentlessly, continuing to work after hours even if her hands were cramping and sore. It took her mother hollering for her to eat for her to stop herself.

She cleaned up her mess and tucked everything away out of sight, making her way upstairs to take a seat at the dining table. As they ate she noticed her mother and father casting her looks, though her mother's was more knowing and playful.

"What's got you so happy, huh?" Charles grumbled in discontent, scratching at his stubble.

"Mr. Weber stopped by today with more supplies." After a moment he hummed and went back to eating, missing the exchange of looks between the two women.

The Scarred - Chapter 9

Masterlist

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

“You okay, Penny?” Emma questioned, seeing the woman in question begin to nod off. She quickly sat up and rapidly blinked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep, that's all.” She responded, which wasn’t really a lie at all. Liam had tried to convince her to call in to take the day off, but Penelope couldn’t do that to Emma. That and she worried it would come off as suspicious since she rarely ever does it, and even more so given recent events that have been occurring at the shop itself.

“Is something bothering you, hun?” Emma asked gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“No, I’m okay,” She turned to face her. “Promise.” She smiled, and thankfully it was returned before the older woman walked away. Penelope let out a sigh of relief, massaging her temple.

They received more customers than usual that day, thankfully. It helped to both keep her awake and distract her from her thoughts, which grew to be a harder task as of late. By the time the work day drew to a close, Penny was practically sleepwalking. Zombified and depleted of energy, she waved off Emma in a goodbye before she turned to leave.

As she passed an alleyway, thinking all was well and would finally return home to relax, she gasped when something snatched her jacket and pulled her in.

“I did some thinking - y’know?” A familiar voice tossed up her stomach with nerves. She turned to look up at the painted face that greeted her - however much of a greeting it was.

“You scared the hell out of me!” She whisper-yelled in exasperation, her adrenaline throwing all caution to the wind regardless of who was in front of her.

“I think you oughtta have these than myself.” He continued on, completely ignoring what she said. She looked down and saw the handgun and knives from last night.

“You couldn’t have done that last night rather than snatching me and giving me a heart attack?”

“You’re alive, aren’t cha?” The Joker dismissed as if it was the most simple thing. Penelope couldn’t help but roll her eyes to his amusement and he hummed.

“Gettin’ a little bold after last night, don’t cha think?” His voice was flat, yet somehow still held a joking undertone. Penelope grew fidgety, mentally slapping herself for forgetting who she was talking to.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.” She nearly whispered with a downcast gaze.

“Ah, I’m just messing with ya, doll!” The Joker cackled. “But seriously, take these, I don’t want em.” She greatly hesitated before gently taking them from his hands, looking at them for a moment and putting them in her satchel.

“Thank you -“

“I’m going to give a wild guess and say you don’t have a single gun at your place?”

“I mean, I don’t, but -“

“Ah-ta-ta-ta.” He cut her off, placing a finger over her lips.

“Don’t got time for chit-chat, toots, but uh -“ He looked around for a second before leaning in closer to her as if he was telling a secret. “We can save that for later, hm?” He winked with a click of his tongue and gave her a couple of small pats on her head before turning to leave. “Don’t wait up for me!” He hollered over his shoulder and disappeared off to who knew where with a skip.

Penelope just stood in the alleyway confused as ever for the umpteenth time. If she wasn’t awake before, she definitely was now. She turned to make her way back to the main sidewalk, this time bumping into someone else.

“Oi, there ye are!”

“For fuck’s sake!” She gasped once again, hand over her chest. Liam frowned and steadied her.

“First of all, that’s my line. Second, the hell were ye doin in an alley?” He gently coaxed her to start their walk back to their apartment complex.

“Too tired to explain right now.”

“Alright, fair enough. Guess it’s not a good time to say ‘I told you so’ then?” Penelope gave him a side eye and he held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. Quiet time it is.”

When the two of them reached her apartment and stepped inside, they were quick to get comfortable and relax on the couch. The TV hummed in the background at a low volume, soothing the two of them as Penelope began to fall asleep in Liam’s lap, the latter playing a game on his phone mindlessly.

No matter how close the woman was to sleep, though,, her body fought back. Her mind raced with scattered thoughts, a heavy sigh leaving her lips catching Liam’s attention.

“What’s on yer mind, lovin?”

“Too much.” She answered simply. Liam took his turn to sigh.

“Still too tired to talk about it?”

“The Joker is supposed to be dangerous…” She whispered mindlessly. Liam tensed at first and put down his phone. She continued once he began to caress her hair. “And yet I can’t shake that I feel safe with him.” Penelope turned in his lap, head facing up at him as she stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know how else to describe it. But something about him just feels so familiar, Liam. Like a reminder of something I can’t remember.”

“Aye. I know the feelin’, believe me.” He shifted as he thought. “If he wanted ye dead, he would’ve done so already. It’s a gruesome thought, but I believe it’s the truth.” He looked down at Penelope who met his gaze of understanding.

“But what if he has an ulterior motive? What if he’s just using me?” She watched as Liam began to shake his head.

“He doesn’t seem the type. Not patient enough from what we’ve seen on the news. Seems to me that if he wants something, he just goes fer it. The man won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” There was a moment of silence, the two of them sitting in contemplation, coming up with scenario after scenario where something could go wrong. But none of them seemed realistic in comparison to what had happened so far.

Days passed with no contact from the Joker or his men, much to her surprise. Days turned into a couple of weeks. Penelope just assumed that he was either too busy or got bored of her. She wasn’t sure which would have been a better explanation.

In a way, she missed his odd encounters. Before him, her life was boring, for lack of a better word. It was the same routine over and over and over. Granted, Liam tossed things up from time to time. But she eventually grew used to that, as well.

Penelope decided to switch things up herself after some days. She found a target range not too far away where she could continue her practice with the knives and handgun, Liam joining her from time to time.

It wasn’t until a while after that he came up with an idea.

“Come on.” The Irishman dragged the woman by her wrist to what looked like a gym of sorts.

“Liam, what’re we doing here -“

“You’ll see, ye twat, just come on.” As they entered the building, he scanned them in and took her upstairs, the smell making her nose twitch in discomfort. Once they reached the top, she was welcomed to an empty matted room. Her eye widened in surprise, unsure of what Liam was getting themselves into.

“The hell is this about?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Take off her shoes and coat and you’ll see. Stop asking questions, dammit!” He chuckled as he got ready himself and walked onto the mat.

Soon after she followed, giggling at the feeling of the mat beneath them like a child on a trampoline.

“Oi!” She snapped her head up to where he was and stood in front of him. “I figured since ye got them fancy knives and gun, we teach ye some real self defense, yeah?” Penelope’s eye shot wide open.

“Self defe -? You do realize I only have one arm, right?” Liam shrugged.

“All the more reason ye need it.” Penelope sighed and glanced away for a second, then took a deep breath.

“Okay fine, I’ll play.” He nodded with a reassuring grin.

“Right, Penny. First rule: self-defense isn’t about strength. It’s about leverage. Ye don’t need two arms er perfect vision fer this. It’s all about knowin’ how to use what ye’ve got.”

Penelope nodded, her single eye narrowing as she focused on him. Her missing left arm had made her hesitant, and the burns that marked her left side were a constant reminder of her limitations. But she needed to do this.

Liam stepped closer and motioned for her to raise her remaining arm. “Let’s start with balance. No matter what situation yer in, ye need a strong foundation. Feet shoulder-width apart. Right foot slightly behind, heel up. Keep that center of gravity low, but don’t lock yer knees.”

Penelope followed his instructions, her movements stiff but determined. She felt a slight shift in her body as she adjusted her stance. Liam circled her slowly, nodding his approval.

“Good. Now, if someone comes at ye from the front, yer not going to overpower em, but ye can use their own momentum against em. Grab my wrist with yer right hand.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment before grasping his wrist. Liam, much taller and stronger than her, didn’t resist at first, but then slowly applied pressure, mimicking an attacker’s force.

“When someone grabs ye, ye won’t have the leverage to just pull away,” He explained. “But what ye can do is use yer entire body to redirect the attack.” He gently guided her to pivot her hips and pull him off balance. “See? Ye use yer hips and shoulders to create force. That’s what keeps ye grounded and throws em off.”

Penelope felt the shift in weight and how Liam’s body tilted slightly as she pulled him off-center. Her eyes widened in surprise, a spark of confidence growing inside of her.

“Now, what if someone tries to take ye down?” Liam asked, stepping back and raising his hands as if to simulate a grab for her. “Yer instinct might be to pull away, but that just puts ye at a disadvantage. Instead, ye drop yer weight. Lower yer center of gravity, and they won’t be able to lift ye.”

He demonstrated, lunging toward her in slow motion. Penelope took a deep breath and bent her knees, dropping her weight as Liam had instructed. She felt him try to lift her, but she remained planted, like a rooted tree.

Liam grinned. “That’s it! Perfect. And while they’re strugglin’ to get a grip, that’s when ye go fer yer next move. Elbows, knees—anything hard and sharp. It’s not about bein’ clean. It’s about surviving.”

Penelope smirked slightly at that. “So… you want me to fight dirty?”

Liam’s eyes twinkled. “In Gotham? There’s no other way.”

He motioned for her to step back, giving her space. “Now, let’s try it with a punch. Someone’s swingin’ at ye from the right. What do ye do?”

Penelope tensed. Her left eye was no longer, and her missing arm meant her range of vision was limited. But Liam had thought of that.

“Ye can’t block with yer left, so ye have to move. Slip to the outside of their swing, stay low, and use yer shoulder to knock em off balance. That’s where yer right arm comes in.”

He swung at her slowly, exaggerating the motion so she could practice. Penelope sidestepped, dipping her head and bringing her right shoulder up to mimic the block.

Liam nodded in approval. “Good! Now follow up with yer right elbow—hard to their face er throat.”

Penelope did as he instructed, bringing her elbow up in a quick motion, though she hesitated at the last second. Liam chuckled. “Don’t hold back next time. You’ll need that speed and precision.”

They spent the next hour going over similar moves: how to throw a knee into an attacker’s gut, how to pivot and drive her elbow into someone’s ribs, how to avoid attacks from angles she couldn’t see. With each move, Penelope grew more confident, her hesitation slowly melting away.

Finally, Liam held up a hand, signaling for a break. “Yer gettin’ there, Penny. Ye’ve got the instincts. Now ye just need to trust yerself.”

Penelope wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing heavily but feeling more grounded than she had in a long time. “It’s… a lot to take in. But I want to keep practicing.”

Liam clapped her on the shoulder. “And ye will. Just remember, yer not as vulnerable as you think. Ye’ve been through hell and came out the other side. That’s more strength than any move I can teach ye.”

Penelope gave him a small, hearing him say something so endearing a rarity coming from him. Her eye glimmered, practically glazed over with emotion. “Thank you, Liam.”

More days passed. And more. But it wasn’t boring anymore, no. Liam and Penelope had been practicing her self-defense as often as they could without straining themselves, and eventually he decided to teach her offensive attacks as well should they be necessary.

It was obvious to her that he genuinely cared for her and her safety, understanding that he wouldn’t always be there to protect her. That much was clear. Though it was a welcomed respite, the Joker still lingered in the back of her mind.

No matter how long it had been since he visited, she couldn’t help but think that their encounters were far from over.